Not gonna finish that Will perspective of Jonathan in time for today, sadly. But here's a chunk of it? Sucks, but it was, in the end, good to get these things out into the world in this manner, I think. Had a fun week! Thanks @throttlegainwell for putting this together and all the hard work for a successful @jonathan-byers-week! Til the next one!
But home called, and that meant when the weekend was over, it was time to head west, across all of Long Island, and back to the city. For Will that usually meant taking the LIRR back. Yet on rare instances where he and Jonathan came on the same weekend, it meant a ride home with his big brother.
Nancy spent the first half hour of the ride idly chatting with them both, occasionally turning to give attention to their dog, Stripe, sharing the backseat with Will. Complaints about Mike (“I don’t know how you put up with him, he’s such an opinionated pain in the ass,” she muttered once and Will had to look away from Jonathan’s eyes in the rearview from laughing too much) and Holly (“Mom is far too lenient on her. I know she’s been through a lot, but give me a break. All Holly does is break rules. She’s going to be too spoiled,”) marked the start of the trip and Jonathan only nodded in agreement with Nancy, and Will had to hide a smile from her.
Sometimes the Wheeler obliviousness could be endearing rather than enraging. Then, the complaints lessened. Nancy put a hoodie on to make sure the cold AC air made it back to Will, and more importantly, the dog. She shivered and leaned against her window and closed her eyes.
A few minutes stretched on and on in comfortable silence. Finally, Will breaks the ice.
“She’s sleeping?” Will asks as Stripe snores on his lap.
“Yup,” his brother says and Will can feel his smile even though all he can see is the back of his brother’s head.
Jonathan adjusts the rearview mirror so he can look at Will in the back seat. As he does, the sun gets caught in the glass for a second and blinds Will. It should be annoying, and it is, but because it’s Jonathan, Will somehow finds it endearing.
“Sorry, bud,” he mutters softly, not wanting to wake Nancy in the seat next to him. Jonathan shoots him a small smile. “Just wanted to look at you.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smile that creeps up his face. God, his brother can be so fucking weird at times. But somehow, that only makes Will love him even more. Jonathan has always been himself, even when it was hard. That kind of example made it easier for Will to be himself, in time, too.
Will wonders if his brother knows how much he really loves him. How can he? How can Will come up with the words to describe the feelings Jonathan evokes in him? Sometimes thinking of what his brother gave up for him takes his breath away.
He remembers. Not all of it, but enough. The way his brother always put him first. Even if it meant less for Jonathan. Less food, less space, less of their mother. Less love. The thought of it sometimes eats Will alive. His brother was just as much a kid as Will was. Except, not really.
Childhood was something Jonathan Byers was forced to put aside. Because of him.
And somehow, Jonathan still views himself as a failure. One night, some time ago, after he had just purchased the Montauk house, his brother got a bit tipsy. Will found it endearing, the rare instances when his brother would actually let loose. As they sat in the backyard, a fire burning in a pit front of them, Will was stunned into silence by Jonathan’s drunk ramblings.
“Glad you like the place, bud. You deserve a place like this. After all you went through.”
“You went through just as much, Jonathan.”
“It was my job to keep you safe,” he muttered with a distant look in his glazed eyes. “And I failed. From Lonnie, from the demogorgon, from Vecna.”
When he looked away, Will thought he saw tears in his brother’s eyes, reflecting off the light of flames.
“Bullshit,” he had muttered. “You’re the only reason I survived.”
He didn’t believe it then and Will is sure he doesn’t believe it now. The notion eats at him. Like a splinter in a finger that he can’t remove, a nuisance, but an occasionally painful one.
A thought strikes him, then, a bit of lightning in a tiny bottle. But as he pops the cork, the spark turns in his head, finding kindling in parts of his brain. Bit by bit it grows and morphs. The flames burn and illuminate and paths reveal themselves. He leans against the window and closes his eyes and follows those little trails where they lead. Some are dead ends. Others lead to places he doesn’t want to go. But some…work.
A small smile fills his face. And the idea is born.
By the time the city, in all its glory, comes into sight in the distance, Will has a pretty good idea for a piece to add to his upcoming gallery presentation.
