Chapter Text
When Eric had asked Jonathan if he could cover last night's shift, he hadn't thought it would be a big deal. He would earn a few extra bucks, which he knew would go a long way at home. His mom was working late too, but most nights, it was just he and Will home alone and come on, it was Hawkins - nothing exciting ever happened in Hawkins. It wasn't a big deal.
Except it was.
And now it was all his fault that Will was missing.
If only he had been home, if only he had been there for Will...
Jonathan stood in their backyard, staring out into the woods. He shivered as a gust of cold November wind cut through his thin t-shirt. His mom had driven into town to the Police Station to filing a Missing Child report. She had told him to stay home in case Will showed up.
He would have thought that his mom was just being overly paranoid, but Will was a good kid. He always called if he was staying over at a friend's house and more importantly - he never missed a day of school. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.
"WILL!" Jonathan screamed, circling the run-down tool shed at the edge of the woods. "WILL!" He checked the shed for the third time, looking under the worktable and behind the rickety shelving. All he found was dust and cobwebs.
Jonathan returned outside and paced the tree line, scanning the overgrowth for any movement. His heart pounded in his chest and it felt like a rock had settled into the pit of his stomach. "WILL!" he screamed again, his vision suddenly blurring. He angrily wiped away the tears that streaked down his cheeks.
He walked back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind him. "WILL!" he yelled, marching down the narrow hallway. His mom had already turned the house upside down, but Jonathan had to check for himself. He started in the kitchen, opening the few cabinets that were big enough for a kid to fit inside. When Will was little, he used to hide in those cabinets when they played hide-and-go-seek. Will was still a pretty small kid, especially for his age... if there was a possibility Will could be hiding in such a small space, Jonathan was going to check.
The kitchen revealed nothing but the few pots and pans and second-hand casserole dishes his mother owned.
In the living room, Jonathan checked behind the sofa and the arm chairs, he pulled the television away from the wall and looked inside the cabinets built into the wall - Will used to hide in there sometimes too, behind the boxes full of old magazines, blankets and trinkets. Of course, it turned up nothing.
He searched the bathroom and all three bedrooms. He checked under the beds and rummaged through each closet. He did find a bottle of whiskey tucked away at the back of his mother's closet inside an empty carton of cigarettes. He found the history textbook he thought he's lost in ninth grade under his dresser and a box full of mixed tapes he had made Will in his brother's room. Jonathan rocked back onto his heels and dropped his head into his hands.
"Will," he muttered, the hopelessness of the situation washing over him. His brother was gone. Just... gone.
He slowly lifted himself from the floor and trudged back to the kitchen. He started down at the breakfast he had made this morning, cold and untouched on the table. He picked up a piece of toast, staring at it for a moment before tossing it back onto the plate. He wasn't hungry any way. He grabbed his denim jacket and shrugged it on before he pulled open the front door and settled into one of the chairs on the porch. He left the door ajar so that he could hear the phone if it rang.
It felt like an eternity before his mom returned home from the Police Station. She was even more worked up than before she had left, the worry etched deep on her face. She told him what Chief Hopper had said, about missing children usually turning up with a family member.
Jonathan scoffed at that. No way would Will have gone to their dad's. Lonnie was off somewhere in Indianapolis, living his own life while they lived theirs in Hawkins. Jonathan and Will hadn't seen their dad in over a year. "No way Will's with Lonnie," Jonathan said, frowning as he gazed into the woods again. He paused, considering for a moment. "Would he... do you think he went to his castle?" he asked, referring to the make-shift fort he had helped Will build when they were younger. Jonathan didn't go there anymore, but he knew Will still went there, to study, to read, to imagine a different and better place than Hawkins…
Joyce's eyes lit up for a moment before the doubt overshadowed it. "Maybe, but wouldn't he have come home by now? He's not at school, he's not at the Wheeler's or the Henderson's or the Sinclair's. But... maybe..."
Jonathan pulled at his mom's arm. "Come on, let's check - just to be sure."
Autumn leaves crunched under their feet as they navigated the small hills behind their house, crossing dry creek beds and avoiding large roots and rocks.
They called his name occasionally until they came within sight of Castle Byers, as Will had named it. The blue tarp covering the side closest to them shifted with the wind, pulling and snapping with each new gust. His mother jogged ahead.
Jonathan circled to the other side of the fort, peaking inside the branch walls. From what he could tell, there was no one inside. He was certain that if Will was there, he would have come out when they called for him.
His mother pulled the old sheet acting as a door aside, her expression falling as she gazed into the empty space.
"WILL!" Jonathan yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth, hoping to amplify his voice. "WILL!"
"Will!" Joyce screamed behind him, the desperation leaking through. "WILL! Where are you?"
"WILL!"
He walked back toward his mom and pulled her into a hug. She clutched the collar of his jacket. "I don't know what do you, Jonathan, I just -" her voice cracked, cut off by a sob.
He pulled her closer, sighing into her hair.
"We-we need to make posters - you know those posters they make for missing kids? We need to find a picture of Will - a recent picture - and we need to make posters -"
"Ok, Mom," Jonathan said, shifting so that his arm was draped over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go home. I'll make up the poster."
"Ok, good, good," she muttered, sniffling as she rubbed her hands anxiously. "I'll-I'll call Lonnie, Lord knows I don't want to -" she started mumbling and Jonathan let her continue to talk as he guided them back home.
Once they were inside, his mother disappeared into her room to find Lonnie's phone number. Jonathan went into Will's room and rummaged through his desk, finding some stock paper, a pencil, some markers, and a ruler.
He found that he couldn't just sit in Will's room - somehow it just felt wrong without his brother there, so he took the items he had found into the living room and set them out on the coffee table. He wrote out what he thought the poster should say on a scrap of paper and then began to line the stock paper with the pencil using the ruler.
His mom came storming down the hall, a piece of paper clutched in her hand. She spun the dial to the rotary phone and waited for an answer with a hand on her hip.
"Is Lonnie there?" He heard Joyce ask, not bothering with anything as tedious as greetings.
"Can you please -" Jonathan glanced over as his mom pulled in a small breath. Her lips pulled into a thin line. "Who is this?" she asked through clinched teeth. "Cynthia, this is Joyce ... Lonnie's ex-wife. I really need to speak to him -"
Jonathan's frown deepened as he listened to his mother arguing with who was probably his dad's new girlfriend. He carefully began to write out 'Have you seen me?' with one of Will's blue markers.
Joyce's hand curled into a fist as she attempted to control her building anger. "Can you please put - No, not later," his mom nearly growled into the phone, "Now! Can - Bitch!" she yelled, as she slammed the phone back into the cradle.
"Mom," Jonathan said, brow furrowing in concern.
"What?" she snapped, glancing at him.
"You have to stay calm," he urged. He was really starting to worry about her.
Joyce just rolled her eyes and forcefully turned the rotary, redialing the phone number clutched in her hand.
She gave an exasperated laugh before speaking into the phone. "Lonnie, some teenager just hung up on me. Will is-is missing. I don't know where he is. I need- I just need you to call me back, please, just - Damn it! Damn it!"
Movement out the front window caught Jonathan's eye. He slowly stood, starting through the pane of glass.
"Mom?"
"What?" she snapped, her hand poised to redial the same number.
"Cops." It came out softly, like a whisper, like a prayer. Oh God, please no...
Joyce ran to the front door, Jonathan at her heels. They hesitated on the porch for a moment, staring at Hopper and his deputies. Hopper was at the back of his vehicle, pulling something from the truck bed. Their eyes fell to Will's bike as the Chief carried it toward them.
Hopper paused for a moment, before he carefully leaned the bicycle against the porch post.
He cleared his throat, his eyes on their feet only momentarily before flitting briefly to Jonathan's face and finally, resting on Joyce.
"We, eh, found what we believe to be Will's bike."
Joyce nodded, glancing at the bicycle. "Yes, yeah, that's Will's bike - where did you find it?"
"Off of Cornwallis and Kerley," Hopper replied.
"Mirkwood," Jonathan muttered.
Hopper glanced at him before turning back to Joyce. "Do you mind if we come in?"
"Of course," Joyce said, waving them to follow her inside.
Hopper nodded and removed his hat, running his fingers through his thinning hair. "We found his bike just off the road, lying on the ground." He followed the Byers back inside, his two deputies trailing him.
Joyce whirled around, staring at Hopper incredulously. "It was just lying there?"
Jonathan frowned. That didn't found like Will. He was always very careful with his bike.
"Yeah," Hopper muttered, glancing around their sparse living room. "Cal?" One of his deputies nodded and stepped into the tiny dining area. Jonathan watched him, slightly puzzled as he began to look around the small space.
Joyce stared at the police chief, waiting for an additional explanation. "Did-did it have any blood on it, or -" she followed him as he began to move further into the house.
"No, no, no, no, no..." he reassured her absently. "Phil?" he said, as some kind of command. Jonathan glanced behind him as the other deputy lingered in the living room, slowly walking around, looking at the poster he had left unfinished on the coffee table.
Jonathan frowned and finally spoke up. "If you found the bike out there, why are you here?"
"Well, he had a key to the house, right?" Hopper stated, walking a circle around their kitchen.
"Yeah..." Jonathan replied, his frown deepening.
"So..." Hopper concluded, glancing out the window before turning toward the back door. "... Maybe he came home."
Joyce stopped in the middle of the kitchen, clearly affronted. "You think I didn't check my own house?"
The Chief shook his head. "I'm not saying that," he murmured, pausing as he stared at the wood paneling on the wall. He extended a hand toward a small mark on the wall that Jonathan hadn't noticed before. "Has this always been here?" he asked, tracing the mark with his finger.
His mother blinked in confusion. "What? I don't know. Probably. I mean, I have two boys," she said, in way of explanation. "Look at this place."
Jonathan frowned. He knew their house wasn't the nicest, but it was home and that was enough for him. He turned and walked down the hall to his bedroom.
He heard the screen door creak open and their dog barking in the yard. He sat down on his bed, flipped on his record player and pulled on his headphones. He stared up at the ceiling and crossed his arms over his chest. Static crackled through his headphones and then the Clash began to play.
One of the deputies - Cal - pushed open the door to his bedroom. Jonathan glanced at him before turning his attention back to the water stain on his ceiling. He closed his eyes and just listened to the music.
+++
Several hours later, after Jonathan had cooked a dinner, which neither of them ate, he and his mom sat in the living room, sifting through their photo box, trying to find a picture of Will that could serve as a headshot for the 'Missing Child' poster.
He was going through some school pictures from a few years ago when he heard his mom sigh.
"Jonathan, wow." He glanced down at what she was looking at. Several photographs that he had taken with his prized camera were in her hands. "You took these?" she asked, glancing at him. He gave a small nod. She smiled though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "They are great. Wow, they really are."
Jonathan turned back to the school pictures in his hand and carefully flipped through to find a good, recent picture of Will.
Joyce slowly folded into herself, sniffling softly. "I-I know I haven't been there for you," she whispered. Jonathan stopped and slowly laid the pictures back on the coffee table.
His mom threw up a hand, her voice tired and barely holding back a sob. "I've been working so h-hard and I- I just feel bad." Joyce turned to him, tears wet on her cheeks. He stared at the worn carpet, his jaw working at he fought to keep his own emotions at bay.
"I don't even barely know what's going on with you..." Joyce tentatively touched Jonathan's knee before pulling back. Jonathan felt something inside himself break. "All right? I am sorry about that..." he heard his mom say.
Jonathan hunched his shoulders and released a shaky breath, hoping his mom wouldn't notice.
She did. Of course she did. "Hey, what is it? What is it, honey?"
"Nothing." He almost choked on his own lie. It's me. He wanted to scream. It's my fault. It's my fault Will was taken, it's my fault Will's not here with us right now... If I'd only been here...
"Tell me."
Jonathan shook his head, chin quivering.
"Tell me," his mother begged, rubbing his back encouragingly. "Come on. You can -"
"No," he managed to say without sobbing. But... he had to say something... his heart felt like it was being crushed. His little brother. Will. His kid brother that wouldn't hurt a fly... "It's just..." Jonathan's voice cracked as he hung his head, trying to swallow the sob stuck in his throat. "...I should've been there for him."
"No-" Jonathan shook his head. He didn't want to hear his mother refute the fact that this was all his fault. If he hadn't picked up that shift. If only he had been home, he could have stopped... whatever it was, he would have at least been there. For Will.
"Oh, no," his mother shushed, rubbing Jonathan's arm. "You can't do that to yourself. This was not your fault." Tears rolled down his nose as he tried to compose himself. "Do you hear me? He is... close. I know it. I-I feel it in my heart." Jonathan's own heart wrenched and his chin trembled. He sniffled as he leaned slightly against his mother's shoulder, wanting to believe what she was saying. "You just have to- You have to trust me on this, okay?"
He sniffed again, but nodded slowly. "Yeah," he whispered. He faintly heard thunder rumble overhead.
Joyce nodded, rubbing his arm once more before reaching for a picture. "Oh, look at this. Look at this one." She held up a small picture of Will, taken in the spring. He's smiling at the camera, his eyes warm and kind as ever. She gave a little laugh. "Look at this one," his mom repeated softly, stoking the picture longingly. "I mean, that's it, right?"
Jonathan leaned into her. He found that he could smile as he gazed down at the picture of his brother wearing a hand-me-down orange sweater. "Yeah," he nodded.
"That's it. That's the one." The phone rang and Joyce passed the picture of Will to Jonathan as she hurried to answer.
"Hello? Hello?" Jonathan glanced up at his mom as her brow furrows, concern replacing her smile. "Lonnie?" Joyce asked, her expression concerned and perplexed as she tried to listen through static.
"Dad?" Jonathan breathed, not quite believing that his father would actual call his mom back.
"Hopper? Who is this?" Jonathan rose from the sofa, moving to his mother. She paused for one dreadful second before whispering, "Will?"
Jonathan froze. He held his breath.
"Will?" Joyce's voice began to sound hysterical.
"It's Will?" Jonathan took a step toward her, but his mom turned and twisted away from him, frantic, as she tried to hear. "Mom, it's Will?"
Joyce sobbed, her expression darkening. "Who is this? What have you done to my boy?"
Jonathan's stomach twisted in a sickening knot. "What? What?" he pleaded, not understanding. Who was on the phone?
"Give me back my son!" she screamed into the receiver, sobbing in desperation when suddenly a spark of electricity flashed a brilliant blue. There was a sharp static snap from the phone and a yelp from his mother as she dropped the phone, holding her lip.
Jonathan jumped forward, grasping at the phone as he lifted it to his ear. "Hello? Hello, who is this?" The line sounded dead, so he hit the cradle a couple times, hope fading as only silence answered him. "Hello?"
Joyce sobbed behind him. Jonathan turned to her, grabbing at her arms. "Mom, who was it?" She briefly met his eye. "Who was it, Mom?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.
"It was him." She sobbed, attempting to reach past him toward the phone.
"Look at me, Mom," Jonathan urged, fresh tears in his eyes. "Was it Will?"
"Yes," she said with such conviction that he was inclined to believe her.
"What did he say?" He asked, desperately trying to get his mother to stand still for just one goddamn second.
"He just breathed," she sobbed. "He just breathed." She finally pushed past him and grabbed the phone.
Jonathan's voice cracked with a sob. "And was someone else there? Mom, who was there? Who was it?"
"It was him," she insisted as she sobbed. She collapsed against him, the charred phone hanging loosely in her grasp. "I know it was his breathing. I know it was his breathing..."
Thunder roared.
His mother sobbed.
And Jonathan had never felt so helpless in his entire live.