Chapter Text
February 1985
Joyce Byers drove home after a late night shift. This is one of the first ones she’d worked since... Since losing Will. It’s been three months, but the wounds were still fresh and if she thinks about him too much, it paralyzes her completely. It had initially taken her weeks to realize that she had to find a way to function, had to find a way to be a better mother to Jonathan and a mother figure to Eleven. When Hop had first suggested she take in the girl, she’d vehemently refused, insisting she couldn’t do it, not in this state. But Hop knew better than to give up on her, and eventually she’d given in. After all, Eleven was just a little girl who needed a home. It wasn’t her fault that Will was dead. It's still hard to say the words, even just in her head, but she knows life has to go on in some form. For her that doesn't mean forgetting her son, but making sure the loved ones she still has know how much they mean to her.
It was Hop who had helped her keep it together when she’d felt like giving up for good. Finally having another adult to confide in had felt like a miracle. Jonathan was a teenager who still needed Joyce to be his parent, to look after him. It couldn’t be the other way around, no matter how hard he tried to be an adult, how hard he’d tried to be an adult since the divorce. Now that she no longer felt like she was drowning every single second of every single day, she couldn’t help but worry about him. Her sons always had a special relationship, a connection she knew she’d never be able to comprehend even though she’d given birth to both of them. Now he no longer had a brother and was, as she suspected all teens were, reluctant to open to her about his feelings. Maybe he was still scared she’d break if he told her, maybe it was just him being a teenager. Either way, what she wished for more than anything was that he had someone to talk to. As long as he had someone, she didn’t care who it was. What made her even more worried was that Jonathan had seen Will die, she hadn’t. Not being there at the hour of her youngest son’s death made her feel like a bad mother. She had tried not to ask Jonathan too many questions about the specifics of what had happened, and he hadn’t offered her many on his own volition.
However, what made her worry about Jonathan the most were the words she’d heard him speak into her shoulder when she’d first heard the news about Will. They’d barely registered back then, but when she’d resurfaced from the bottomless ocean of her own grief, she’d remembered. I’m so sorry, mom. It should’ve been me, it should’ve been me. That was also the only time she’d seen him cry over Will, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think it was the only time it had happened. She had tried every single trick in the book to try to get him to break down in front of her, just so that she could show him that she could handle it, so that she could console him, but nothing had worked. It was like he’d retreated into his shell and made it impenetrable, at least to her.
On the surface Jonathan was still mostly the same Jonathan he’d always been. He’d offered to give up his room to Eleven so that Will’s room could be kept the way it was, but she’d insisted he keep it. He cooked breakfast for her and Eleven, and then gave the girl a ride to school. He still put most of the money he earned into their grocery money jar and still thought she didn’t know that. When he was at home, he stayed in his room most of the time, listening to music or organizing his photos. He’d made an entire album filled with just pictures of Will and given it to her just the previous week.
Joyce wished he’d interact with Eleven a bit more, as she believed it would help both of them, but she wasn’t going to force him. She was going to keep trying to talk to him and believe that eventually he would open up. By now she knew that everyone dealt with grief in their own way and maybe Jonathan’s way was simply a private one. Maybe organizing the photos he’d taken of Will and his friends helped him deal with the loss.
Hop was already in bed when she entered the house. Ever since they had first saved Will, she’d developed a habit of checking in on her sons before going to bed. Tonight there was no need to do that with Eleven, as she was staying at the Wheelers’, but she cracked open Jonathan’s door, just to make sure. These days she often found him awake even at this hour, but this time the room was dark. As she opened the door further, she had to cover her mouth to stop herself from letting out a surprised squeak. Jonathan was asleep on the bed, with a girl pulled tightly against him. Joyce couldn’t make out her face in the dim light and because her face was directly pressed against Jonathan, but the dark tresses were enough to convince her that she was looking at Nancy Wheeler. Closing the door as quietly as she could, she leaned against the wall next to Jonathan’s room. A normal mother would’ve woken them up and insisted Nancy go home immediately, but instead all she could think was how much she wished the girl would stay over again soon. Jonathan was finally sleeping, and he’d looked at peace. Karen Wheeler might disagree with her, but she didn’t care. Jonathan had looked after himself for so long and thought he needed nobody, that all she wanted was for him to learn that it was okay to need other people and that everyone deserved to have someone.
Ever since Will had been rescued and come home, she’d asked Jonathan about Nancy Wheeler many times. He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with information, and the gist of his answer had been “It’s not like that, mom!” She believed him, but she also knew him well enough to figure out that he wanted it to be exactly like that. And if that was what he wanted, it was what Joyce wanted too. The last time she’d asked him had been months ago, when Will had still been with them. She knew she shouldn’t jump into conclusions or give in to wishful thinking, so she decided to settle on crossing her fingers for it to be what she wanted it to be.
The fist that had been constantly squeezing her heart since Will's death eased its grip a bit, and after turning off the lights in the hallway, she changed and slipped under the covers next to Hop.
"You're cold," he murmured.
"Sorry, I thought you were sleeping," she replied.
"Was waiting for you to come home. How was work?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.
"The usual. Did you know that we have a guest?"
"Really? Who?"
"Nancy Wheeler."
"With Jonathan?"
"Yes! At least that's what I think it is!"
"Won't believe it until I see it with my own eyes," he joked, but she could tell he was pleased.
"I like her, and I know Jonathan does too."
"If it makes you this happy, I hope it lasts."
"Me too," she sighed, laying her head on Hop's chest.