#i also have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday and I have No Fucking Clue what to say about these allergy meds

[invisiblerhythmcat]

(I finally got around to watching Encanto and overall good I've got some opinions about the music but meh but it really showed me how much of a fucking mess I am because I cried at basically everything and now I feel like shit because of the crying and also the reminder that I don't really have a community or support system that will come find me when I run away and it's exhausting. But, it is good to have moments of crying and catharsis, so I'm just going to go with it for the moment)

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 23 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

hello my loves! Some of you may have already seen this, but I have news! This fic is officially complete. There are thirty chapters, so you still have seven left after today’s update. I’ll be keeping the usual Tuesday/Saturday posting schedule, so you have a month left of updates.

Now that I am done drafting this fic, my requests will be open while I begin to bank up new chapters of the Hotch x Reader Scandal!AU that I plan to write next. Please send in requests here. I would also LOVE if you could fill out this survey about the Scandal!AU so I can get a sense of what you all would like. I will make sure to write it in a way that makes sense, even if you haven’t seen Scandal! 

As always, thanks so much for reading, y’all are just the best. 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: canon-typical descriptions of violence, cursing, hospital mention

wordcount: 2.3k 

A little while later, Hotch sends JJ and Emily to the school to interview the classmates of the students who had been murdered, and you and Morgan head off to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Find anything interesting in the calls from the tip line?” Morgan asks you as he pulls out of the parking lot, and you shrug. 

“I need to go back through my notes. There were a couple kids' names that came up, but I want to go back and cross check for the names that came up more than once-- i figure if the name only comes up once, it’s kids pranking each other and I don’t want to waste our time on dead ends. Garcia’s looking into a teacher for me, though.” 

“We just need a couple more puzzle pieces, and then it’ll all come together,” Derek says, more to himself than to you, and you murmur out your agreement as he pulls into the examiner’s office.

“Cause of death for Mrs. Mack and Mrs. Sutton was a gunshot wound to the neck. The daughters, to the abdomen,” the doctor says, passing over her report. “The men were all strangled. The boys by hand, the men with a garrote.”

“Any idea what order they were killed in?” You asked. 

“My guess is the women first, one right after the other. Then the sons, and the husbands.” 

“How did he stop the husbands from taking him down while he killed the sons?” Morgan asks skeptically. 

The medical examiner points out a bruise on Mr. Sutton’s skull. “Looks like he was knocked unconscious, maybe by the butt of the gun or something in the home.” She explains.

“Thank you,” you said to the medical examiner, who smiled and left you both to your work.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Morgan asks you.

“White man in his twenties or thirties, snubbed by a woman he desired for another man, taking out the families he’s convinced he’ll never have?” 

“Call Hotch,” he said, taking off at a brisk pace back towards the car and trusting you to follow. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and discovered that Garcia was already calling you. 

“Hi Garcia, can you patch Hotch in?” You asked. 

“Already here bug, and trust me, you’re gonna want to hear this.” She told you, and you put the phone on speaker so Morgan could listen in while he drove. 

“What did you find, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“So, I looked into Marc Vexper, and it turns out this long-term English sub has something to hide-- he didn’t make a single card purchase on either day that he was out, and his phone was completely off from the moment he stepped off the school’s campus to the time he returned.” 

“Morgan and I are just leaving the medical examiner’s office now-- Marc fits the profile to a tee.” You interject. 

“Oh but wait, the high school of horrors doesn’t end there,” Garcia warns you. “I took a peek at Marc’s texts looking for clues about his whereabouts, and I noticed some too-friendly chats with Victoria Sullivan, a student in his AP Literature class. Her phone was on both days, and I’ll give you one guess as to where she was both days-- and it wasn’t school.” 

“You’re kidding,” Morgan sighs out. 

“So did he groom Victoria into doing it herself, or was she an accomplice?” Hotch asked. 

“The men were strangled, Aaron. There’s no way she could have done that herself.” You tell him. 

“We need an address, Penelope.” Hotch demands. 

“Already on your phone. The station’s closest.” She tells you. 

“We’ll meet you there.” Hotch says, and the line clicks. 

In a routine you’ve performed too many times to count, Morgan flicks on the lights and sirens as you mount your phone with the GPS sending you in the right direction. It’s all the same as it usually is, so why are you so nervous? 

**********************

Hotch elects not to put on his lights and sirens as he approaches Mr. Vexper’s house, not wanting to alert him that anyone had found him out. There are two cars in the driveway-- a modest sedan with a few dings in it, and a shitbox of an old jeep with a parking permit for the local high school on the back bumper. 

“The girl is here-- she might be a hostage.” Hotch tells Spencer, who nods. “We need to be careful. There’s no need for any other kids to lose their lives,” he says, quietly opening up his car door and gesturing for Spencer to take a back entrance while he takes the front. He climbs the worn wooden steps and peeks into the window, seeing nothing before he takes one hand off of his gun to swing open the front door of the home, where he’s met face to face with the Victoria Sullivan, standing on the main stairway of the home, gun leveled square at the middle of his forehead. 

“Victoria, put the gun down,” Hotch says slowly, raising his own hands as a sign of good faith. “I’m here to help you. Where’s Marc?”

Before Victoria can answer, Hotch hears the woosh of metal in the air and feels an overwhelming crack in his legs, falling to the ground as he yelps in pain. 

“Run, Vicky! You know where to go!” Marc yells, and the girl disappears from Hotch’s blurring line of vision as March continues to beat on Hotch with a crowbar, stomping on his legs. 

Hotch vaguely hears Spencer's running footsteps, and Marc takes off, running in the same direction as Victoria. 

Spencer falls to the ground next to Hotch, attempting to gently tend to his injuries, but Hotch weakly waves him off. 

“Go, go, save the girl, he’ll kill her next. I’m okay. Go,” he coughs out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Spencer goes. 

Hotch groans as he gropes around in his pants pocket, pulling out his cell phone and calling Garcia. 

“I need help,” he says once the line clicks.

****************

If Aaron lived through this, you were going to kill him yourself. You knew you were being irrational, you knew it wasn’t his fault, and worst of all you know that he hadn’t even done something you could be mad at him for, like going in without backup. This was just the job. This just happened sometimes. And you were absolutely fucking livid that it was happening to him. Not to mention scared shitless. 

Morgan had pumped the gas as soon as Garcia called, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Your leg bounced anxiously in the passenger seat. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Morgan attempted to placate you, but you wouldn’t have it. 

“You don’t know that,” you spat out. 

“He’s tough. He’s got a lot to stick around for. He’s gonna be okay,” He tells you, and this time you don’t argue.

When you finally pull up to the house, Aaron is on a stretcher being loaded onto an ambulance. You throw yourself out of the SUV before it’s even fully stopped, calling out for Aaron. 

“I’m okay,” he sputters out as you climb into the back of the ambulance. 

“No you aren’t, you asshole,” you scoffed at him, your voice a little watery. “Tell the paramedics what happened so they can help you,” you said, stroking at the hair at the top of his head as your chin quivered. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, reaching up for you and you see that his hands are bloody. 

“Shh, shhh. Don’t worry about me. Let them help you,” you calmed him down, trying not to let your tears interrupt the medics when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he loses consciousness.

 Aaron will live, and you suppose you won’t follow through on your threats to kill him. Once he’s in the hospital, they wheel him back to a restricted area, leaving you alone in a waiting room while the rest of the team finds the unsub. You call Jess, let her know what’s going on, but ask that she keep it from Jack until you’re back in the room with him and Hotch is able to talk to Jack himself. You didn’t want Jack to worry, and you knew that Aaron’s assurance that he was fine was the only comfort Jack would accept.

After a while-- it could have been thirty minutes or three hours, Emily appears in the waiting room..

“I was appointed to come check on you,” she says by way of greeting. “Have you seen him yet?”

“Not since they took him out of the ambulance. He looked… bad,” you struggle to find a word that explains the magnitude of it. 

“He’s gonna be fine. No gunshot wounds, just some nasty bruises. I’m sure it looked worse than it actually was.” She consoles you gently.

“I hope you’re right.”

At that moment, a doctor appears in the doorway. “For Agent Hotchner?” He asks, and you walk over to him. 

“I’m Aaron’s partner,” you explain, the word “girlfriend” feeling entirely too childish for the scenario. 

“Agent Hotchner is going to be just fine. His left leg is fractured slightly at the femur and the kneecap, but we’ve put him in a brace to stabilize the knee, and he should recover over the next eight to twelve weeks. He’ll need some physical therapy, and field work is out of the question until he is cleared, but he’ll make a full recovery.  He has a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs, but we’ve given him some meds for the pain and the concussion shouldn’t present any further complications.” 

No field work. Aaron was going to be pissed. “Thank you, doctor.” You said gratefully. 

“He’s been asking for you, if you’d like to follow me,” The doctor responds, and you allow him to lead you down a maze of hallways, leaving you just outside Aaron’s room, where his eyes are shut and his chest rises and falls slowly. Figures, you were sure he’d been up all night running through profiles in his head.

You sat on his right side, away from his injured leg, and rested your head against his mattress, near his hip bone. He looked so fragile like this, wrapped up in a thin blanket and a johnny, bandaged from his collar bone to his toes. You wondered, briefly, if he felt this helpless and frustrated the night that he picked you up from your old apartment. The tears well up against your will, but you allow them to fall, for a few moments. You had earned the right to care for him, to worry about him, to fret. You had earned the right to sit vigil at his hospital bed and try to force images of a lifetime lived without him to stop passing through your head. 

Aaron stirred, and you sucked in a quick breath, not wanting to wake him. He settled, again, and you rested your head back against the mattress, letting the gentle rhythm of his breath lull you to sleep. 

He twitches a little while later, and the sudden movement jolts you awake. His return to the waking world is slower, and you let him come at it at his own pace, not wanting to overwhelm him when he was probably already going to be in pain and disoriented. You hear him mumble out your name and you stand, placing one hand on his cheek and the other in his uninjured palm. 

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered to him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to look you up and down without moving his neck. 

“Am I--” you chided gently. “Honey, I’m fine. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” 

“My leg,” he tells you, trying to sit up, but you push back on his shoulders. 

“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You broke your leg. You are staying in this bed until a doctor tells you otherwise.” 

“Fuck,” Aaron muttered out. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Is Spencer okay? And the girl, Victoria Sullivan?” 

“The team took them both alive. Spencer is fine, just a little breathless from his run.” You tell him. 

“When is it gonna heal?” He switches topics back to his injury. 

“You mean, when are you going to be allowed into the field again?” You asked skeptically, and he at least has the good grace to look sheepish. “Not for at least six weeks, more than likely closer to ten, plus physical therapy.” 

“God damnit,” Aaron sighs. 

“It could have been a lot worse, Aaron,” you point out softly, and he looks up at you. 

“You’ve been crying.” He says softly. 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Don’t lie to a profiler,” He chides you gently.

“Well, I’m the woman who loves you and I’ve earned the right to cry when you’re hurt.” You said defensively, but not unkindly.

“Hey, I’m okay. Really, I swear. Come up here,” he urges you, and you roll your watery eyes. 

“I’ll hurt you,” you tell him. 

“You’ll hurt me worse if you don’t come cuddle,” he pouts. 

“Corny bastard,” you chuckle, tenderly sliding into bed next to him. 

Unable to shift and cuddle, Aaron settles for reaching out for your hand, which you allow him to take in his own. He strokes his thumb over the back of your palm tenderly. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers, and you might start crying again right there.

“Don’t do it again. I was ready to kill you myself,” you warned him. 

“Noted.” 

“We should call Jack. I didn’t tell him what was going on, I didn’t want to scare him. Jess knows.” 

“I just… want to hold your hand for a couple more minutes.” 

“Okay, love. A few more minutes.”

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

[argylemikewheeler]

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he  wished  some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift.  Fucking off  and  being a better piece of shit son  just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So  don’t  call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was  sure  his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be  cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um,  puzzles  to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He  failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we  can’t  . So,  that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over  one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w  eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is  more  than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially  his  familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green  dash  barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded  cool  in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like  everyone  was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an  obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I  have  to show you all my inventions! Camp was the  best  four weeks  of  my  life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Girlfriend  ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just  Steve  that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s  super  smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I  just  saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s  crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the  Chief  now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not...  looking  at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car  could  speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was  upset  that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.”  Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since  no one else  in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright--  Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they  weren’t  dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected:  his  sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike--  just  Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he  really  was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re  not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly:  do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for  damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re  never  early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s  not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t  have  to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s  not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy.  Doctor  doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t  too  comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just  was  . Rather than being  cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in:  In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole…  thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it  cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything  to  forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but  instead  seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to  obscure  the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well   are  you seeing someone, Jonathan?  -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will  needed  to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels  boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t  care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little  understanding  between  best  friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too  everything  to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but  blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the  disgusting  amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress.  Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No--  no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s  nothing  . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even  see  us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I  meant  what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my  mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I  meant  because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your  dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just  disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

[samtheflamingomain]

39

Better than last year, but not my best.

I officially took yesterday’s Jeopardy test and got, obviously, 39/50. (And I had to cheat. -ish.)

So every year, there’s 3 tests. Tues/Wed/Thurs. Last year I had to work Wed/Thurs and therefore had to take the Tuesday test. I scored 35/36/47. Meaning if I’d taken Thursday’s test officially, I would’ve fucking been on Jeopardy.

So this year, because you can see Tues/Wed’s questions and answers before taking the Thurs test, I decided to book of the Thursday from work. I also had to go to Toronto last night to stay at my best friend Connor’s place so I could go to an early morning doctor’s appointment in Toronto today.

So we decided to both take the test together, at the same time, at his house, at 11pm after a long day of travelling for me and working for him.

But... it certainly helped. Connor always scores pretty low despite the fact that I’ve literally never beaten him at a game of Trivial Pursuit. But he knows a lot of pop culture and movie facts I don’t. He easily gave me about 6 clues I wouldn’t have gotten.

So it’s an hour after the test, we look up the answers and start counting our scores.

39. I’m immediately disappointed and pissed at the ones that I should’ve gotten. (Waterloo, Buchanan, barley). But then Connor turns to me and says, “I was only counting the ones you didn’t help me with. I only got 16 on my own.”

And we scrolled through the reddit comments. This was an *exceptionally* low-scoring test. And “we” got 39. 

Usually the bar is about 40-43. At least. But because this test was apparently difficult... I might have a chance. You never know.

I did take the Tues/Wed tests for comparison. And I did score 41 on Tues (only 33 on Wed). While that’s a better score, it’s widely accepted that that was a VERY easy test and most reddit people got well over 46. I’d actually say they kinda fucked up and made SEVERAL questions faaaar too easy.

So while I’m still kicking myself for not getting Buchanan over Hayes and not knowing petrology is the study of ROCKS and not OIL like would make SENSE, I’m... I’m much happier than I was last year.

Because there were a LOT of clues that I got INSTANTLY that I never would’ve gotten a year ago. Connor kept telling me to slow down, I just shouted each answer at him as he typed furiously.

But I’ll never forgive the fact that my best friend who is a GRAPHIC DESIGNER convinced me to change my answer to “What does the ‘D’ in PDF stand for?” from document (which I immediately went to, which is the correct answer), to digital (HE’S A GRAPHIC DESIGN MAJOR, WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? HE SHOULD KNOW THAT). Sorry, Connor, it was a good 19-year friendship, but that tears it. 

JK obviously. He gave me Lemonade, Audi, Toulouse-Latrec, Bryant, fungi and March Madness. That’s music, cars, art, TV, biology and sports, which he knows and I don’t. Wouldn’t have gotten a good score without ya, bud.

Anyway, I’m starting to learn a bit more with each test I take. A lot of the answers are very surface-level. So I need to focus on big picture topics and less on minute details if I ever want to get on Jeopardy. The test is much easier than the actual show. 

And now, after a year of intense study, I have a database of knowledge to pour through and memorize, and another year to do it.

Stay Greater, Flamingos

[nightwingxy]

Update To the Update to the Update

Over the past couple of days I’ve been kinda bummed out. Long story short(not really) it started with someone posting an Infinity War Fading Away Meme in a GC, but it was of Steve From Blues clues, with the line “Thanks for all your help”. I saw it and got kinda sad because it was a thing from my childhood fading away. Out of Curiosity I decided to see the comments for that post, and one of them was just the clip of Steve leaving, with the added in markiplier reaction. That was potentially the first time seeing that moment, and I got really emotional, and immediately stepped out of class and cried in the bathroom for like 10 minutes. Because it was a rush of nostalgia, from seeing that show for the first time in almost 2 decades, and and just extreme sadness, as it felt like saying goodbye to and old friend, and saying goodbye to my childhood. I then made that first post about all this, followed by reading an episode summary for context. As the day went on I just couldn’t cheer myself up, and I was just sad and down for pretty much the rest of the day as I couldn’t get it off my mind. Later on that night I watched the full episdoe and I just broke down into tears, and was probably the most sad and emotional i’ve ever felt in years. It was Like saying goodbye to my childhood as I left to college, expect unlike steve, who had his brother joe to take care of everyone and everything he cared about while He was gone, I didn’t Have a joe to pat me on the back when I left for college, to watch over everything I loved and care about. It also Made me realize How not ready I am for being and adult, how much I kinda suck at it, and Really How Much I miss being a kid, who slept in a blue race car bed and watched blues clues without a care in the world, not having to worry about Life stuff and all the other BS that just happens. So after bringing it up in a GC on twitter to some friends, I made that 2nd post where I go a little more in depth and open up a little more about How I was feeling, balling my eyes out. I posted it in that GC, and apologized incase I brought the mood down. One of My friends said No I didn’t and that they’re all here for me if I wanna talk, which made me feel a little better. That was followed up having a DM conversation with a close friend of mine named chris, and how he understood what I was feeling, that just made me feel a lot better, and made me realize how awesome my friends are, how they’re there for me when Things get rough like with this, how they got my back, and how they all appreciate me for who I am and what I like, and started feeling the same towards my family. Hence why I made that Thank you post to all my friends and posted it everywhere. After all of that and having a “Beautiful Cry” as butters from south park puts it (My friend Chris sent me that clip during our DM Conversation and it was pretty much what I was kinda feeling by the end of all that), I went to bed, still kinda sad and still a little teary eyed. I woke up the next morning for my doctors appointment feeling a little better about myself, though by lunch time It was all back on my mind again, so I just took a nap for a few hours, and was feeling better until, again, It came back to mind, and after an hour of feeling down, and managing to cheer myself up a bit with some Super Best Friends Videos on YouTube, I made that 3rd post, which was untitled and untagged, took a shower, then went to bed. For most of today it’s been on an off again kinda feeling sad,, whenever I was not doing something and My mind had a chance to wander off I started thinking about it and would feel kinda sad again, though over all feeling much much better than Monday and Tuesday. I mentioned again in another GC without going too much into it and another friend of mine DM’d me to make sure everything was ok. I told her yeah I was feeling a bit better and thanked her. All of this led me to making one more post to talk about it to try to give myself some closure and to let everyone know i’m feeling better about everything, but tumblr mobile had a whops and the post was gone, so i’m here now typing this up. What I came to the conclusion to was that I shouldn’t let this old kids show clip break me down into tears over the past. I should just accept That was then, this is now, nothing is gonna change that, and while at first didn’t think I had a Joe, I realized I did, in all my amazing wonderful friends I have everywhere, Twitter, Facebook, Here, PSN, All my awesome IRL friends, Everyone, and of course my family. They Care for me, appreciate me for me, Like what I like, and they got my back when Life gets rough, and are there for me no matter what. So Thank you, all of you, for just being there for me, and for being fantastic friends, You guys are the fucking best.

[ihearticie]

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

I had a sonogram scheduled at Magee at 9:30am and a fetal echocardiogram scheduled at 11 am. Carl was not able to be at this visit with me which sucked. It’s how things seem to go with scheduling though. We seem to be getting a taste of how hectic life is with a baby who has a CHD.  I have missed more work with these appointments over that last few weeks than I ever have the entire time of working at the salon. I am lucky to work for my sister who is 100% on board with whatever has to be done for Icie. All of our family members are in this with us, and Icie is their baby as well!

The sonogram was pretty routine.  I found out Icie is measuring right where she should be and weighs 2lbs 7oz. I got more adorable 3D pictures of her and off to the echocardiogram I went. The eco was also the same as last time.  Seeing my baby’s heart moving and hearing it beat should be comforting to me, but all it does is remind me of her heart defect.  Our poor little girl.

After the eco I met with the pediatric cardiologist once again.  She had 2 new pieces of information for me. It seems every time I meet with a doctor, or sonogram tech I find out new information.  It’s becoming normal to me- and that really sucks.

1.       This visit I learned that what Icie has is technically a TOF type. The new images seen at this appointment now points to “double outlet right ventricle”.  Basically, the aortic valve if pushed more to the right than normal. With TOF the aortic valve is in the “center” of the heart.  So since Icie’s aortic valve is more to the right it’s considered DORV.  The surgery will be the same. The only variation is when the patch is placed to cover the hole in the lower chambers of her heart it will have to be brought out more into the heart so that the patch can cover the aortic valve as well. The likely hood of there being small holes around the patch after surgery is higher with DORV vs TOF just because the patch is having to be stretched further.  I was told to not worry about it if that occurs. Small holes are better than one massive hole and sometimes they close on their own. I just learned the legit name to our daughters heart defect, once again.  

2.       As babies we are all born with 2 veins running from the heart. A right superior vena cava and a left superior vena cava aka SVCs.  The left SVC degenerates and we are left with only the right SVC. Whelp!!! Guess who has the left SVC also! Bingo baby- Icie.  Normally the right side of the brain and right side of the body’s blood goes to the right SVC as well as the blood from the left side of the brain and body. With Icie since she has the left SVC,  the blood from the left side of the brain and body will be routed to the left SVC first before being routed to the right SVC. The left SVC apparently runs behinds the heart before being routed into the right SVC.  I was told this needs no intervention and can just be left alone. I was also told that people who have this are normal and nothing results from it. Having a left SVC present is considered a rare congenital vascular anomaly.  We are 2 for 2 on the rareness count! This news really didn’t shock me. I had no clue this was a thing, once again, but I think I am just so use to hearing bad news at these appointments that it is becoming normal for me to react with a head nod and ask questions without crying.  I really wished Carl was here at this point. I was scared I would fuck up relaying the information to him, and this is important information! I had the pediatric cardiologist write things down for me on her print outs which definitely helped.  

We went over what will happen after delivery, just like last time. I also-once again- was told new information. Once Icie is born, she will be wiped down and taken to make sure she is breathing properly. If she is stable Carl and I “may” have a little bit of time with her alone.  Here comes the new info. After,  she will be taken and have lines run from her belly, hands , feet and sometimes head, since baby veins are hard to find, to monitor her 02 levels.  Poor Icie will have needles jammed in her fresh little body within 15 min of being born. Makes me very angry how unfair this entire situation is. All that comforts me now is that she will never remember any of this. Carl and I will though. Our family members seeing Icie for the first time all needled up will remember too.   Then the normal information Carl and I have had beaten into our brain was refreshed.  Carl will be in charge of watching the blue wavy lines which are  Icie’s 02 levels and the main question he needs to ask is if Prostaglandin (PGE) has been given.  PGE is a medication that is used to open the arteries to help with 02 absorption. If her 02 levels are above 85 she gets to go home with us if it goes below 85 off to Children’s Hospital for surgery. If she goes home my job is to fatten her up. They like to do open heart surgery on babies who are 8-9lbs and are 4 -6 months old. Hopefully we do get to take her home and enjoy our little baby. It would be nice to have her with us and pretend things are somewhat normal for a few months before we hand her off to a surgeon.  

On the way to the genetic department, I was somewhat bombarded in the hallway by a woman who runs a study on brain development and children with CHDs’. She handed me a packet of information about what would happen during visits and all of this stuff. Normally I like studies, I think they are beneficial and are great to research but I was really annoyed by this. I have enough appointments already and I really don’t feel like adding more into the mix, especially at Children’s Hospital.  Once Icie is born she would need to go to these appointments and once again, the last place I want to be with her once I get her home is back in a hospital. Sorry science, but not this time around. I need some normalcy with my child.

After that I went to see the genetics department to basically have the visit summarized and see if there were any more questions I had. I did not have any questions and by this point Carl had joined me and he had no questions either, so off to scheduling. The scheduling nurse was really on the ball and already had dates and times that we could be seen. There were 6 appointments that had to be coordinated within a certain time frame. The next set of appointments scheduled for March were another sonogram, echo, genetics department as well as a tour of the NICU. In April I had another sonogram, echo, genetics appointment and this time meet with a high risk delivery nurse just in case the midwives change their mind on me.  

Next thing on the agenda is happening tomorrow. Carl and I tour Children’s Hospital and meet with Icie’s surgeons. I will post about that visit tomorrow.

[simply-sash]

This week has been rough and I’m thankful that it’s almost over. 

I took Zack to the vet again on Tuesday because he just hasn’t been himself lately. He’s been barking and whining constantly, to the point that I’m starting to lose my patience with him and I don’t like that. The vet tech that we had on Tuesday is one that trims his nails frequently, and even she said that he was acting weird. His symptoms were not something that would allow for immediate diagnosis as it could be a number of things causing it. We started with blood work, a urine sample, and an anti-inflammatory to help with his arthritis in his back. His urine sample came back fine, but his liver levels were still abnormal even though they had gone down slightly since I had blood work done in October. They suggest an ultrasound to look at his liver and his gallbladder, and hopefully that space occupying mass that they found in October. Yesterday they gave me a mild sedative to help him sleep at night, because he’ s been keeping me up pretty consistently.

I’m not going to lie, I’m a little nervous. I’m not naïve and I know that his age makes him prone to a number of things. The vet used words like cancer and dementia, and that scares the fuck out of me. If there’s nothing going on in his abdomen the vet says she believes that this could be early onset dementia, and I have no clue what that means for us. I am however thankful that I’m mentally in a much better place because three months ago I wouldn’t have been able to handle this. At least now, if there is something major going on, it won’t be debilitating. 

My mood this week has been generally good, this week has just been lengthy and stressful. After doing cash office twice this week, having a doctors appointment at 7 am in between those, taking Zack to the vet, spending one lunch at therapy and one with my grandparents, I feel like I didn’t sit down for two entire days. I was so exhausted after all of that, but then ended up waking up at 1 am yesterday morning and I wasn’t able to get back to sleep. I slept better last night, and hopefully I’ll get myself back on track this weekend, especially with the help of Zack’s meds. 

Yesterday was also the one year anniversary of Cody’s dad passing. Selfishly, I struggled with it. I thought about Cody all day, and I wanted to reach out so bad, but in my heart I knew it would probably hurt more than it would help, so I chose not to. He’s been pretty heavy on my mind lately. I’m at a place where I hope that he’s genuinely doing well. Part of me still questions what the future holds for us. The other part of me thinks that I deserve better. What I do know is that for the first time in my life I’m going with the flow, I’m happy, and I’m not obsessing about controlling every aspect of my life. 

I know that I've said before that I’m almost thankful all of this shit happened, and I know that sounds so backwards because I lost so much because of it, but damn I’ve gained a lot too. I’ve learned so much about myself, I’ve made so much progress between my medication and therapy, and for once I’m just fucking happy. I’ve been a relatively positive person and I honestly think I’m just a much more enjoyable person to be around. I still have work to do and I know that, but man I’m proud of myself. I’m so damn proud of myself and I will never allow myself to go back to the way that things were before. 

Things with Jerrod are still going well. I think that he deleted his Tinder, but he hasn’t said anything about it. I’m kind of nervous to ask if he did. No idea why, but I’ll just keep telling myself it’s because he’s not interested in talking to anybody else lol. I made cookies last weekend out of the blue and posted on my story that I hope my coworkers like them because there’s no way in hell I can eat two dozen by myself. He messaged me and said “Uh I like cookies too btw” so I stashed a few back for him. I was proud of how they turned out, but I’m always nervous the first time I make something for someone. I joked and told my sisters that he didn’t know what he was getting himself into because after he tried them he was going to want to wife me. He said they were super good and then deleted his Tinder the next day so.. Once I get my floors redone I plan on inviting him over for dinner. I’m really looking forward to cooking for him. 

This whole process had made me realize how much I actually offer to a significant other, and damn I’m going to make a good ass wife some day man. I’ve been putting some finishing touches on decorating around the house and it’s made me realize how hard I worked to turn this house into a home, and I bust my ass to make sure that it stays clean and well taken care of. I can throw down in the kitchen, both cooking and baking. I’m educated, I have a good job, I’m financially secure and stable, I’m kind, I’m compassionate, I’m supportive. Like I’m a whole ass wife without the ring y’all, and I can’t wait to share all of that with someone else some day. 

[smallmouthybrunette]

Only kinda high.

I’m at work with Haley, because she works late on Tuesdays so I come and sit in the back with her because she doesn’t like to be here alone. I like these nights because I smoke in my car before I come sit with her. Then I come back in and watch her bake and just kinda hang out and think too much.

Well I just realized that my doctors appointment with my neurologist is in 6 days and I don’t even know what to say to him. I’ve been off my medicine for 3 weeks as of tomorrow and I’ve been high almost every single day since then. I can’t stand the way my body feels and the shit that it does. The only thing that helps is being high. I don’t really know how to tell my neurologist that though. It’s not like he can write me a prescription because it’s not fucking legal here. Can he get me in trouble? I don’t even know if I’m going to tell him, I don’t even know what’d I’d say really. Oh ya when my body feels like it’s killing me I get really high and lay down…? No. He’s going to be mad I’m not on my medicine and he won’t understand why I stopped taking it, just like everyone else. Who even knows if he will try to find a new medicine to put me on or not. I don’t have any fucking clue and I guess that’s why I’m so nervous about this damn appointment.

Hay just distracted me, she does that a lot. More now. I keep feeling like I need to get away from her, but I can't seem to get myself to do so, which is okay with me really.

We gave our sous chef her birthday present today and it was this bowl that is so fucking sweet and all hand blown and she cried!!

I’ve been gone for a while when it comes to writing and there’s so much more going on in my head that it kills me, but I can’t get it all straight enough to fucking write it out. I just thought about my appointment and started writing just now. Like I said I’m at work with Haley. I just am a fucking mess and I genuinely feels like nobody knows anymore because I’ve just been quiet or faked it or something. I don’t really know, but not even Gia has asked me about what’s going on…I guess that isn’t saying much because I never see her, but I don’t know it just felt relevant while I was typing. Haley and I haven’t really talked about it. I guess I’ve put walls up without realizing it. Nana will always be right when she told me “you’re so jaded when it comes to letting people love you” but according to Halli I’m an in between and I’m not meant to be loved so who knows. They’re both right and I’m learning that.

Oh big[ish] news for me. The other day I told Tanner it’s time for me to walk away from him for good. I asked him what he would do if I left and his answer confirmed that it was time for me to go. I told him that and that I love him and care about him, but that he’s never going to love me and I can’t continue to do this to myself basically. I can’t decide if I feel good about that or not yet. I know it was a good choice overall, but emotionally I’m numb about it so far. My mind goes to him a lot, but that’s alright. I guess since seeing some girl on his snapchat story on new years that I might really be done. I actually forgot about seeing some girl on his story until just now and I want to cry but Haley doesn’t know about that yet and I don’t want to talk about it or I will cry. For a while I convinced myself it was Tayler(Clayton’s gf) but I know it wasn’t. It shouldn’t matter thought, right? I just have so many emotions towards it that I’ve started shutting them out.

I think that’s all I’ve got for now I really hopes this is a start to me writing again, I miss being creative and also writing to get my thoughts out.😘

Xoxo M💕