#jancyweek2020

[share-the-damn-bed]

Jancy Week 2020 || day two ➟ holiday or seasons

growth 🌱

season one season two season three

[jonathanssweatercollection]

JancyWeek2020 – Day One: Family

You act like you’re all alone out there in the world, but you’re not! You’re not alone!

[jancyweeks]

Jancy Week 2020 Themes**:

[DAY ONE | Oct. 31 ] - Family

A specific group of people that may be made up of partners, children, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. Or, two or more people choosing to treat one another as family in an emotional sense.

A group of related things.

[DAY TWO | Nov. 1 ] - Holiday and/or Seasons

Maybe you want to focus on Halloween, or Thanksgiving? Maybe you want to compare seasons 1, 2, and 3? Or maybe you want to explore Jancy in the summertime and envision them on vacation?

How you interpret “Holiday” and/or “Season” is up to you!

[DAY THREE | Nov. 2 ] - Reunion and/or ”Dor”

Dor— the heartbreak and sense of longing you feel because you’re separated from your love

Reunion— an instance of two or more people coming together again after a period of separation

[DAY FOUR | Nov. 3 ] - The Past/Childhood and Youth

Anything focusing on Jancy pre season 1 or their lives up through high school graduation

[DAY FIVE | Nov. 4 ] - The Future/Colors

Anything that happens to Jonathan and/or Nancy after season 3. 

Inspiration from the rainbow 🌈

[DAY SIX | Nov. 5 ] - Canon Divergence/“One Difference”

A universe that diverges relatively narrowly from canon, with a point of departure in a character's backstory or even during canon.

Canon Divergence example: “What if Steve and Nancy never got back together?”

“One Difference” example: “One Difference: Jonathan decides to stay with Will and go trick or treating”

[DAY SEVEN | Nov. 6 ] - Happily Ever After

Happy endings, fairy tales, and anything in between! 

**AUs are welcomed for all themes! Descriptions are listed to help inspire participation. Additional interpretation of themes are encouraged and welcomed.

[stoprobbersfic]

telephone line (jonathan byers/nancy wheeler)

rating: light teen

jancy week 2020, day 3: reunion and/or “dor”

dor— the heartbreak and sense of longing you feel because you’re separated from your love

post season 3

Jonathan,

I wrote “Dear Jonathan” like four times and threw out each piece of paper after. That doesn’t feel right, does it? Too formal. Something I’d send my grandmother. You’re not my grandmother.

You’re not here, either. You’re somewhere on the road right now and I’m sitting in my room, feeling you get farther and farther away. I don’t even know where to send this. I think you told me last night, or maybe before that, I don’t even remember. I also don’t remember the numbers or the street name or anything else, just the drop in my stomach when I realized just how far that is and how much Mom would totally notice if I took the car in the middle of the night, because it would be too long to go there and back.

Is it ok to say I hate your mom? Because I think I do. At least, right now. I don’t understand… and I know, I know we’ve talked about this, I know you don’t understand either, but I still don’t. I don’t know how she can’t see how much this hurts you, how much it hurts me. How she could still

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t know how to say what I feel right now. How my stomach hurts and my chest hurts and the room feels cold and how I can’t stop crying and I don’t want you to feel bad because it’s not your fault but Jonathan I miss you, you’ve just left and I already miss you so much.

You said it’d be ok. I’m trying to believe you.

I love you.

Nancy

“You made it!” 

“We did.” He swallows hard, leans his forehead against the wall next to the phone. There’s wallpaper in the hallway his mom hates and he’ll eventually have to strip. It smells wrong. “Not too bad of a drive.”  

“But long.” Her voice is thick.  

“Yeah.” His is too. “Not too bad. Passed a bunch of cool looking camping sites. If you come visit when it’s warm, we could get away from everyone. Pitch a tent.”  

“Is that what they call it out there?”  

He snickers. “I wouldn’t know, but I also wouldn’t mind. I’m gonna hate waking up without you.”  

“God, me too. I keep trying to pretend tomorrow morning won’t come.”  

“I know,” He takes a shaky breath, but she beats him to his next declaration.  

“I miss you.”  

“God, I miss you too.” It comes out a rush of air. “Nance—”  

“JONATHAN IT’S MY TURN!”  

Will’s shriek is ice water down his back. He jumps, straightens, glares down the hall. Nancy chuckles, hollow, in his ear.  

“Jesus. Even I heard that.” 

“It’s been like two minutes. Five, maybe.”  

“So why’s he shouting?”

“I don’t know.” There’s a rattle and a clang, Will pulling out kitchen chairs too loud to make a point. A cabinet door slams next. He sighs, knowing this is a losing battle. When Will wants to be a brat he can with the best of them. “I guess I should go.”  

“Well, that’s not fair.”  

“Yeah. I agree.” He sighs. “I’ll call you again tomorrow, ok? I love—”  

“JONATHAN! I TOLD LUCAS I’D CALL AT EIGHT ON THE DOT!!!”  

“ONE MINUTE!” he yells back.

“How romantic,” Nancy deadpans. “I love you, though. Talk to you tomorrow?”  

“Yes. I love you too.”  

He hangs up with a soft click and whirls on his brother.  

“What the fuck.”

“Whatever,” Will huffs and pushes him out of the way. “We’ve gotta take turns.”

  Nancy,

Do me a favor and don’t show this letter to police. We’re in this together, right? You’ll protect me?

Because I’m pretty sure I’m about to murder to my brother.

I don’t know what his problem is. What he’s turned into. He mopes and he fights. He and El get along perfectly one second, and scream at each other the next. Kinda like you and Mike, actually, which I’ve definitely never envied. I can’t get three seconds by myself without one of the demanding a refereeing of whatever bullshit spat they’re in now. He’s such a fucking whiner too, he’s never been like that before.

I tried to ask Mom if I was like this at his age because I swear I wasn’t, but she just rolled her eyes and told me I had my own issues and left it like that. Thanks, Mom.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you it’s that Will is a monster and won’t give me 10 seconds to myself on the phone. Any time I pick it up, I’m a phone hog. What if Lucas calls, or Dustin, or Mike? What if Mike wants to talk to him?

God forbid I talk to my girlfriend. It’s like we don’t even exist to them.

And I want to talk to you, Nance. I miss you all the time, at school, at home, at work. I hate this new job; it’s so stupid. I am tired of stupid work. For as awful as Tom and Bruce and the rest of the guys at the Post were, it was the first time I got paid to do something I loved and being back at a movie theater doesn’t exactly cut it anymore. Not after that. If only they hadn’t been assholes. If only they hadn’t gotten flayed.

I know you don’t think of it the same way, and I get it, but man, if I could shoot for a living again it’d be heaven. Things would be almost perfect.

Almost because… well, you know.

Seven months. Seven months to graduation. Seven months to independence. Seven months until I’m coming back and no one can stop me.

I love you,

Jonathan

“I’m gonna fail this test.”  

“You’re not going to fail the test, you have never failed a test in your life.”  

“There’s a first time for everything.”  

“Nance,” he sighs fondly, shakes his head. “You got this. I know you do.”  

“I can’t focus. I wish you were here to help.”  

“Jonathan ‘Human Flashcard’ Byers?”  

“You joke, but you’re the best study buddy I’ve ever had.”  

“Well my mission’s complete,” his words drip with sarcasm. “Now that I’ve reached best study buddy I don’t know where else go from there.”  

“Don’t be offended! It’s a compliment.”  

“What every boyfriend wants to hear.”  

“You knew what you were doing and you had just the right incentive,” she says seriously. He grins to himself; there were rewards for both of them for right answers. His lips pucker slightly, involuntary, as he remembers. “You know, Steve once tried to get me to do strip flashcards.”  

That brings him right back to the present, all memories pushed far away. “Why on earth would you tell me that?”  

“It didn’t work.”  

“It doesn’t matter if it worked,” he makes a face, “it’s still not something I want to picture.”  

“So don’t picture it. It probably would have worked if you brought it up.”  

That’s a tantalizing thought. He closes his eyes and pictures her in her bedroom, crosslegged on her floral comforter, inviting smile on her face.  

“Is that so? I never even thought of that. Maybe I should have given it a—”

“Jonathan?” his mother’s voice is so unexpected he actually jumps, barely manages not to shout. “Sweetheart, I told you I was expecting a call from Gary this evening, I can’t have you tying up the line.”  

“I’m not, Mom, I told you I was calling Nancy—”  

“It’s important, Jonathan, this is for work. Please. You’ve been on the phone long enough.”  

There’s a click as she hangs up, no further argument to be had. He and Nancy sigh at the same time.  

“I’ll let you go,” she says, and the sadness in her voice makes his chest squeeze.  

“Nance—”  

“I know, I know. I get it. Maybe we can find some time this weekend.”  

“We will. If I have to lock them all out of the house, we will.”

“Mmhmm,” she doesn’t sound convinced and he doesn’t blame her. “Love you, Jonathan.”  

“I love you too, Nance.”

There’s just a click as she hangs up; no goodbye.

What’s it like? What does your school look like? Are the hallways wide, or narrow? Are the lockers tan like they are here? Are the desks new or old, are the floor tiles cracked or shiny? Do we use the same books, take the same tests? Are the curriculums the same?

Do you have friends? I bet you do, lots of them. Or you could, if you tried. Are the girls interested in you? Do they flirt by your locker before class? I bet they do. I wonder if you notice.

Do you tell them about me? Is my picture hanging in your locker? Or am I just that girl from home, unspoken, unknown? A relic of your past kept from all these new people you know?

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that. I just… I don’t know anything about this new life of yours. I know about El and Will’s fights, I know about your mom’s new jobs, the carpet in your bedroom you hate, the way the house creaks all wrong, that you hate your job more than ever, but there’s more than that you just won’t say. I know you’re not in your room all the time. I know you go to the record store, I know must have some friends. Who are they, Jonathan? Why won’t you tell me?

What don’t you want me to know?

You haunt me. In the corners of my room, the hallway at school. Half the time I find myself walking to the darkroom at lunch just from habit, even though you won’t be inside.

Am I still in the shadows of your life? Or have you moved on?

I’m sorry I missed your call Saturday. Next time, call back.

Nancy

Ring. Ring.  

“Jonathan?”  

“I’m on the phone, Mom!”

Ring.  

“Sweetheart, come on, we’re gonna be late.”  

“I’ll meet you there.”  

“I told Linda we’d all get there are the same time.”  

“It’s fine, I won’t be that far behind.”  

Ring. Ring.  

“Jonathan, this isn’t about you being late, this about keeping the commitments we made.”  

“You made, you mean.” 

Ring.  

“I swear to god, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. I told you about this days ago, and you agreed.”  

“Chill out, Mom. I’ll be right behind you. I need to make this call.”  

Ring.  

“Jonathan Byers, this is not an argument—” 

Hello. You’ve reached the Wheeler residence. Please leave your name and number after the tone and we’ll get back to you.

He slams the phone down, spins to face her.  

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” 

He feels her eyes on him, shocked and angered, as he storms off.

Nancy,

How could you say that?? How could you think that????

You’re more than a shadow in my life, you’re a damn talisman. I roll over in the morning and reach for your waist. I close my locker and look up expecting you to be there. Hell, I even write notes to pass you in class before I remember you’re not next to me anymore.

Of course your photo is in my locker. Of course it is, how could you ask me that?

I know this is hard. It’s hard for me too, I don’t even know how to say how much. But don’t…. don’t think what you’re thinking. It’s not true. None of it is true.

The halls here are wide, the lockers are brown and ugly, and I don’t know anything about the floors because who the fuck pays attention to the floors of their high school? Not me, that’s for sure.

I have some friends, I guess. Some guys who talk to me. Paul, in my photography class, seems cool, but I don’t know. I go to school, I go to work, I go home, I think about you, and I go to sleep. I couldn’t tell you who the girls in this school are if I tried. I don’t care about them, I care about you.

I… I had a dream last night. We were back in the woods, years ago now. I was calling your name, following your voice, and I found that tree again. And your hand came out, just like it did, and I grabbed and I pulled and pulled and pulled but it didn’t work. You didn’t come out, you got pulled back in. And I went after you. I climbed through that tunnel, sticky and tight, into a world where ash fell from the sky. And I called for you, over and over, until you called back.

We didn’t make it out. But I found you and I held you and we were together, even though we were stuck.

It wasn’t a good dream but it wasn’t a nightmare either, because I was with you. All I need is you.

You understand that, right? That it’s not me and you, it’s us? For me, at least, I know it’s us. Is it still us for you too?

We’ve shared trauma before. We can do it again. I know you’re cut open and bleeding right now because I am too, but the wound will heal. We’ll just have more matching scars.

I leave you messages, Nance. You can call me back, too.

Please. I love you.

Jonathan

“Nancy, sweetheart, can you sit down please?”  

She has a headache. She’s had one for weeks now, it feels like. Her feet drag on the way to the recliner her dad usually lays in. He’s not there now. He’s sitting on the sofa next to her mother. Both of them have their hands folded in their laps.  

“Nancy,” her father says, serious and solemn. “We need to talk about this.”  

He unclasps his hands to pick up a sheaf of papers from the coffee table and hold them out to her. She takes them, glances down, and rolls her eyes.  

“This is a phone bill.”  

“That’s nearly twice as much as it was last month,” her father intones, “which was nearly twice as much as the month before.”  

“So?”

“So these long distance charges aren’t coming from me, or your mother.”  

“Yeah, well talk to Mike about them, he’s got two people out of state versus my one.” She tosses the papers back on the table.  

“Nancy, listen to your father,” her mother admonishes, but she’s pretty sure she can hear a note of sympathy in her voice.  

“This is not a discussion about your brother. We will talk to Michael about himself separately.” Her father’s voice is stern and she fights with all her might not to roll her eyes. That’ll just get her grounded. “But it is also past time for you to learn about financial responsibility, especially after what happened with your internship this summer.”  

Her mother visibly bristles at that but doesn’t say a word, and something inside Nancy’s stomach burns.  

“We’ll start with some extra chores, but if this bill keeps going up then we’ll talk about whether it’s time for you to get another job. And we’re also going to set up a phone schedule.”  

“This is bullshit!” she cries, unable to stop herself. “That bill’s not even from me! I’m lucky if I get to talk to Jonathan once a week because Mike is always on the damn line—” 

“Nancy! Language.”

“This isn’t fair!” the tears well in her eyes and she’s powerless to hold them at bay. “You’re punishing me for something that isn’t my fault—" 

“This isn’t a punishment, Nancy,” her mother tries but it doesn’t stop her.  

“—and making me take responsibility for what my stupid brother is doing! In the meantime none of you care about the fact that I can’t even talk to my boyfriend!” 

“Nancy, this is all part of being an adult.” Her father’s voice is so calm and steady it makes her want to punch him in the face. “If you can’t handle this responsibility now, how will you handle college?”  

“Unbelievable,” she breathes, rising from the recliner. “Fucking unbelievable.” 

Her father’s shouts of language follow her as she runs up the stairs, but she doesn’t care. Slams the door as hard and loud as she can.  

She’s shaking with anger and frustration, back to the door as she perches on her bed. She’s not surprised when her it opens a moment later.  

“Nance…” her mother’s voice is soft and kind, but it’s not soothing.  

She doesn’t turn around. “You know this is bullshit, right?”  

“It’s not, Nancy—”  

“It is,” she whirls. “Jonathan and I are falling apart over this, because Mike hogs the phone all day and all night. And now I have to be punished for it?” 

“I know this is hard for you two,” her mother takes a seat next to her, mattress dipping, and places a hand on her shoulder. “And I promise I will talk to your brother. But a few extra chores never hurt, Nancy, and your father isn’t wrong about learning financial responsibility.”  

“It’s not just the chores, mom—”  

Her voice is steady but firm when she interrupts. “I talked him out of a much stricter punishment, too.”  

Nancy falls silent. She has some idea of what that may have been.  

“I know it’s hard,” her mother repeats, rising, “but you’re a strong young woman, and I know you can make it through this.”  

She pauses in the doorway. “Dinner will be ready soon, so don’t spend all night up here. And you can still have the car next weekend.”

Nancy,

I haven’t gotten anything back after the last letter I sent you. Please tell me it doesn’t mean what I think it means.

Mike answered when I called Tuesday. He said you’re both in trouble for the phone bill which, I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard to actually talk so it takes a lot more calls, and I know that costs money. I know, because Mom is mad at me for it, too.

I think it’s kind of bullshit that so much is falling on you for this, considering how many hours Mike and Will and El spend on the phone. I said that to my mom, too. I’m guessing it worked about as well for you as it did for me.

But you won’t return my calls and you’re not returning my letters, or if you are they’re not getting delivered and… and…

Nance…

It hurts, every day, being away from you. It burns, it stings, it aches. All the time I think of things I wish I could tell you, wish I could confide in you. I thought that’s what these letters would do, since it’s such a bitch getting our siblings off the phone. But now it’s just more pleading, more begging you to tell me you still care, you’re still in this as much as I am.

Cuz I am, Nance. There’s no other girls. There’s no other nothing. There’s just you.

Please. Call me. Send a letter. Hell, I’ll take smoke signals at this point. Please, Nancy. Jonathan

Jonathan stares into his locker, a dark brown abyss with a single black and white photo on the door. It’s his favorite photo of her, her eyes cast down and a shy smile on her face, taken a moment after he told her loved her. One of the first times he told her that, before it was as easy as breathing.  

It makes his chest ache in a dull way now. He misses her smile, he misses her scent, he misses the sound of her voice. He misses her. 

The bell rings shrill, but he ignores it, lets his vision double and then come back together before he takes the book out of his bag and slides it in along the others. It’s only lunch, plenty of time and nothing to do, though he thinks Paul might be looking for him. He likes Paul, likes having someone to talk photography with, but he finds he has to catch himself mid-sentence as he turns to explain a term to Nancy or let her in on the joke.  

Does she still feel him at her elbow around the lunch table?  

He closes his locker with a sigh and turns on his heel, ready to head to the dark room. He’s got a couple rolls of film from the last days before leaving Hawkins left to develop and this is probably the last time he’ll have the room to himself with midterms looming. The little black canisters make his heart ache to look at but he hopes the developed film will help soothe things.  

At least it’s Friday.  

“Hey, Jonathan!” a voice rings out from down the hall. The approaching figure looks like Paul and he hopes the drop of his shoulders isn’t visible. So much for privacy.  

“Hey,” he says, raising his hand in greeting, lips parted to say more and then—  

“Jonathan?”  

He’s sure he’s hearing things. He has to be. But in front of him Paul has stopped, a puzzled look on his face. Students keep moving around him, on their way to the cafeteria or out to the parking lot for lunch, but his vision has tunneled to a pinpoint.  

“Jonathan,” the voice says again, no longer a question. He swears he can hear a smile.  

It takes him a moment to regain control of his body, and when he does he turns slowly. Wanting to draw this out, wanting to believe for just a moment longer that what is surely not possible is actually happening.  

And there she is. A few feet away, looking slightly lost in the middle of an unfamiliar high school hallway, but it’s her. Same brown hair, same loose perm, huge blue eyes, same prim sweater. If she opened her hands he’d see the same scar across her palm.  

“Wha—” is all that makes it out of his mouth before she is suddenly there, slamming into him with all the force of a football tackle. He stumbles, knocked back a few steps, but he catches herm, just like he always has.  

 He can feel her nails digging into his back through his jacket and his sweater as she clings to him, and the bite has never felt so good.  

Thank god his body knows what to do because his brain has shorted out completely, unable to form a thought beside her name, just Nancy, Nancy, Nancy, over and over again as he buries his face in her hair.  

“Surprise,” she says into his shoulder and he laughs, truly laughs at that, a sound from deep in his belly he hasn’t made since he left Indiana.  

“What the fuck,” he says into her hair and pulls back just enough so she can look up at him. Her eyes are shining and she’s smiling has wide as he’s ever seen. “What are you doing here?” 

“Mom let me take the car for the weekend. It’s been… well, you know. No one can kick us off the phone if I’m here, right?”  

She doesn’t let him answer; lifts up on her toes and catches his lips before he can reply. The taste of her is like a shock to the system and before he knows it, he’s leaning her back, bending her over, drinking in everything he’s missed.  

Somewhere on the edges of his attention he hears someone whistle, loudly. He kisses her deeper. It’s only when her fingers dig into his shoulders, a request for air, he lets them part.  

Another whistle rings out. She winks at him.

“If anyone asks, I’m a prospective student,” she says and pulls his face down to hers again.  

[storybookwolf]

Everybody Loves Jonathan

[This is my contribution to Day 1 of @jancyweek2020. The theme is Family, so I’ve shown Jonathan getting to know the Wheelers as Nancy’s boyfriend. It’s set just after season 2. It’s shameless cutesy fluff, and I hope you enjoy it!]

Mike (November 1984)

Nancy had asked Jonathan to pick her up for school at 8.15. ‘Just wait in the car and I’ll come outside. If you come in we’ll get sucked into a vortex of a million question from my mom, and I’d prefer to make a clean getaway.’

He was doing what she’d asked, but he still felt like he was being kind of rude and weird, loitering outside of a girl’s house. Especially since he’d arrived twenty minutes early. He sat there, trying to read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest but instead just scanning the same paragraph over and over without absorbing it and repeatedly glancing at the Wheeler house for signs of life.

Finally, at 8.04, the front door opened, and he felt all the tension drain out of his body. It was instantly replaced by confusion, however, when he saw Mike emerge from the house and come running towards his car.

‘Jonathan! Hey, Jonathan!’ the middle schooler yelled, wrenching open the door and throwing himself into the backseat. ‘How’s Will? Is he okay? When’s he coming back to school?’

Jonathan smiled. He was so glad that his little brother had someone who cared about him this much. ‘He’s doing a lot better, but I think Mom’s gonna keep him at home for a few more days.’

Mike grinned. ‘Awesome. That he’s better, I mean. It sucks that he has to stay home.’ Then he leaned back in his seat and looked at the older boy, suddenly serious. ‘So are you, like, Nancy’s boyfriend now?’

Jonathan felt himself start to blush (he hated when that happened). ‘Um…yeah, I guess? I think so. Has she said anything about it?’

‘She refuses to answer any questions,’ said Mike. ‘It’s cool if you are, though. She always seems happier when you’re around.’ He shrugged. ‘So are you dating or what?’

Before Jonathan could answer, the passenger door opened.

‘Hey, you’re early!’ said Nancy. She leaned over and kissed him. It was just a peck on the lips, but Mike started to make gagging noises as though they were full-on making out in front of him.

‘Ugh, why are you guys so gross?’

*

Karen (November 1984)

Nancy checked her reflection in the bedroom mirror for the twentieth time. Should she change her earrings? The hoops had seemed like a good idea, but her curls just kept getting tangled in them. She decided to switch them for tiny gold studs. The rest of the outfit was okay – navy tights, denim skirt, the peach argyle sweater that Jonathan had said he liked. She knew it was silly to be nervous about their first ‘real date’, given that they’d been together for three weeks now (and given everything they’d been through before that), but she couldn’t help but be a little anxious.

And the fact that he was late was only making her more nervous. It wasn’t like him, he was usually either early or exactly on time. Frowning, Nancy grabbed her jacket and purse and decided to wait downstairs … where she found her boyfriend in the Wheeler family kitchen, helping her mother unpack groceries.

‘The tuna fish goes on the third shelf down, and the spaghetti has its own special Tupperware, on the top shelf,’ Karen directed. ‘Oh, hi Nancy!’ she said when she noticed her daughter. ‘Jonathan pulled up just as I was unloading the car, and very kindly offered to give me a hand with all this.’

Of course he did, thought Nancy with a smile.

‘What are you two up to tonight?’ her mother asked.

‘We’re seeing a movie at the Hawk. Actually, it starts pretty soon, so we should probably get going,’ Nancy said, taking Jonathan’s hand and starting to pull him out of the kitchen.

‘Okay, have fun! Make sure you’re home by midnight,’ said her mom.

‘Isn’t your curfew usually 11?’ Jonathan murmured once they were out of earshot.

‘I guess you doing grocery duty gets us an extra hour,’ said Nancy, grinning.

*

Holly (December 1984)

It didn’t take long for Jonathan to become a fixture at the Wheeler house. He’d bring Nancy home from school and stay to study with her. He’d come over for Sunday lunch and weeknight dinners. He’d arrive an hour early to pick up Will from D & D, and spend the time sampling whatever Karen’s latest baked creation was. And wherever he went, he had a shadow: Holly.

The youngest Wheeler seemed to think that Jonathan was actually there to visit her, and therefore it was her job to entertain him. So she’d show him her latest drawings, and make him play dolls with her, and insist that he watch her favourite cartoons. And Jonathan always played along, engaging with the pre-schooler on her level in a way that Nancy found ridiculously adorable. But after a while, it started to grate. She just wanted to spend time with her boyfriend, and it was deeply weird to have to compete with her baby sister for his attention.

Which was why Alan Stavinsky’s retirement dinner seemed like such a great opportunity. He had been her dad’s boss at the insurance company for nearly twenty years, so her parents wouldn’t dream of missing it, even though it was being held all the way in the city and was bound to be a late night. So they’d need Nancy to babysit – she could invite Jonathan over, and once Holly went to bed they would have some privacy.

But Holly just refused to go to sleep. There was yelling, and tears (from both Wheeler sisters). Eventually, the younger girl was persuaded to put on her pyjamas and get into bed. Three bedtime stories later, she reluctantly agreed it was time for lights out.

‘At last!’ said Nancy, snuggling into Jonathan’s side on the couch. ‘I thought she’d never leave us alone. Now, how should we spend the rest of the night?’

‘Do you have any more Berenstain Bears books? I’m pretty hooked,’ Jonathan deadpanned.

‘I have a better idea,’ said Nancy. ‘How about we—’

‘I can’t sleep!’ a small voice announced from the doorway of the living room. ‘Jonathan, play Hungry Hippos with me!’

Nancy managed to stifle a groan of frustration as her boyfriend turned away from her and towards the little girl.

‘I think Hungry, Hungry Hippos might be a little too exciting for after bedtime,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a deal. Do you promise to go back to bed and stay there if we watch ten minutes of one of your Strawberry Shortcake videos?’

‘The Christmas one?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

‘Okay!’ Holly bounced over to the couch and squeezed in between Nancy and Jonathan.

Nancy dutifully put on the video and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, hoping to miss as much of the nauseatingly sweet cartoon as she could. When she returned a few minutes later, her little sister had finally fallen asleep – and so had Jonathan.

Sighing, Nancy switched off the TV and settled into the La-Z-Boy with one of her mom’s Cosmopolitan magazines. So much for a perfect night with her boyfriend.

*

Ted (January 1985)

It was the last day of winter break. Jonathan and Nancy had spent the afternoon hanging out at her house, doing nothing much at all.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?’ Nancy asked as they said goodbye at the front door.

‘I’m sure,’ he said, leaning in for a quick kiss. ‘I told Will I’d help him with some art project tonight. Besides, your family is probably sick of having me around.’

‘Not at all! They love you,’ Nancy protested.

Just then, Ted Wheeler walked by, the newspaper under his arm and his evening scotch in hand. ‘Good night, Steven,’ he said, nodding at Jonathan.

‘Um…Good night, sir,’ said Jonathan. Nancy buried her face in his shoulder, trying to contain her laughter until her dad left the room.

‘Okay, so most of them love you,’ she said. ‘Me especially.’

Jonathan paused at that, and raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question. Really? He didn’t have to ask; it was clear from her fixed gaze on him that she meant it.

‘I love you too,’ he said.

[heartbeatsdouble]

🌊 for jancy week: a much needed break~ 🌊

[leslie057]

lover, please stay;

rating: general / words: 1.2k / read HERE

written for jancy week day 2 theme of “seasons”

about christmas eve in 1986, and all its heartache

[arctic-comet]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler Characters: Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Christmas Summary:

Nancy's car breaks down as she's on her way to Hawkins for Christmas. She ends up being saved by a familiar mechanic. Written for Jancy Week 2020, Day 1- Holiday and/or Seasons.

[share-the-damn-bed]

Jancy Week 2020 || day one ➟ family

Jonathan + the Wheeler Family Nancy + the Byers Family

[share-the-damn-bed]

Jancy Week 2020 || day four ➟ the past and/or childhood and youth

memories

[jancyweeks]

Jancy Week 2020 ✦ Schedule [ with themes! ]

{{ be sure to check out this announcement post for details }}

[stoprobbersfic]

beware of darkness (jonathan byers/nancy wheeler)

watch out now, take care, beware of the thoughts that linger, winding up inside your head, the hopelessness around you, in the dead of night

beware of sadness; it can hit you, it can hurt you, make you sore and what is more, that is not what you are here for

post-starcourt, pre-finale. jancy week 2020 day 1: family

It is stifling in the house.

There is no exhale of relief this time, no confidence that it is over. Wounds may heal but this time Jonathan feels certain this will happen again, and again, and again, until it wins and they are all dead.

And so the air does not lift. It stays weighted.

His mother’s shoulders stay slumped, exhausted and wrung out, as she goes through the motions of everyday life. This time their house was not the target so she can make coffee, do laundry, mop floors. Carefully manage her youngest son’s resentment, her new daughter’s fragility.

Her oldest son is but an afterthought, a squeeze on the bicep or a hand on the back of the neck in passing, assurance he is still there, still solid, not a figment of her imagination.

He’s no longer quite so sullen that he thinks it’s intentional; that she’s checking he’s still there for fix breakfast and run errands while she tends to the more important child. But it doesn’t not feel that way either; if she’s ever wondered about the bruises spread like camouflage across his back and shoulders, or how he got that cut on his forehead, she hasn’t asked.

But she is caught in the fog of Eleven’s grief, the thickest and most pervasive air in the house.

It’s humid as the tropics and just as suffocating, a weight on everyone’s chest. El weeps nearly constantly; sometimes wracked sobs from behind his mother’s bedroom door, sometimes a slow drip she seems almost unaware of.

She drips as she stares past the television, or a magazine, her dinner plate, or an Eggo waffle. She drips while Mike speaks softly from a perch by her elbow. She drips while his mom tries to distract her with offers to go somewhere, do something, anything other than return to the splintered cabin she can no longer call home. His mom, he catches her dripping too.

Jonathan stands at the edges of it, and while another home with different air at the ready when he needs a full inhale he’s caught at the threshold. Will is trapped in the middle, tended to but only absently, for once not the center of attention after a supernatural disaster. He supposes he thought Will would find it a relief, but he doesn’t seem to.

He’s almost impossible to read. Sometimes he seems brooding. Sometimes he seems guilty. Sometimes, often when Mike is over, he seems angry – a kind of anger Jonathan doesn’t recognize in his brother; deep and burning and resentful, with long roots and winding branches. It reminds him of their father.

Will doesn’t say much to El; not hostile, but more often than not cold. Jonathan watches from across the living room or the kitchen table, wondering. They have so much more in common than they seem to realize. They know another world intimately – are perhaps the only two people on earth who can say a being from another dimension is hunting them – but they remain locked in a standoff.

Will seems to resent the attention El gets, even though he’s been shaking it off himself for a year now. She doesn’t seem to notice. She stays blank, hollowed out and lost as she is spoken to, checked on, bathed and dressed and fed with the care of handling something desperately fragile.

Jonathan suspects that only makes it worse, reminds her of the scrutiny of scientists and researchers, the experiments and punishments, only now it’s all for her unfamiliar vulnerability and not the power that no longer crackles under her skin.

He considers his suspicions confirmed when she casts him desperate glances, silent pleas for help extricating herself from this time, this place, this life she’s found herself in. In his own way, he knows the feeling.

She trusts him, he thinks. He knows. She lay panting with pain on the floor of a mall and let him cut into her leg with a kitchen knife he sterilized in a stove’s flame. She trusted him then, and she trusts him now. But he’s not sure what to do with that.

The air in the house thickens by the minute, until it’s choking. On the sixth day, he gives her his room. Perhaps a little privacy will let them breathe again.

He’s lost in his own haze as he piles blankets and pillows on the sofa, stares at the shadows on the ceiling from the front yard. His mind drifts through the corridors of the last couple weeks, not just the battle at the mall but his own horrors big and small - Tom, Bruce, fighting with Nancy, fighting with Will, the smell of blood and antiseptic, the sound of screams echoing off empty hallways and lightweight metal stands bending against solid wood doors, the crack of shattering wood walls and falling roof tiles, headlights in his peripheral vision growing bigger, brighter, doubling a shadow that ducks down in a desperate attempt to escape the inescapable.

The weight of the air is replaced by the weight of something else, and he fists his hands in the blankets, holding them closer for protection.

He’s nowhere near sleep but he is nearly lost in memory when there’s a crash, a yelp, the hiss of shushed voices from the direction of his room and he’s skidding down the hall in his boxers and socks before he can even think.

He slides to a stop in his bedroom doorway and catches sight of El, bolt upright under his covers, and Nancy, trying desperately to right the pile of records she’s knocked over in surprise before it can make any more noise, just seconds before his mother’s bedroom door creaks open.

“El?” she’s saying as she crosses the threshold. “Is everything—Jonathan?”

He turns to look at her for just a moment, just long enough to hear a thump and a crash and wince; there go the records.

“Is everything alright?” his mother asks, trying to look over his shoulder into the room.

For a moment he’s at a loss for words but El surprises him by speaking up.

“Yes,” she says softly, voice wavering slightly. “I’m sorry. I wanted to listen to music but I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he answers automatically, still blocking his mother’s view. When he turns back to her, Nancy is gone.

The time on the stereo blinks 11:42 and for a moment he thinks maybe, just maybe, he dreamed his girlfriend in the dark room but then the records shift again, another one sliding from the top of the crooked pile, and he hears the quietest hiss along with the thump as it hits the ground.

“Sweetheart do you need—”

“I got it, Mom,” he interrupts her. “It’s okay, El. I’ll show you how to use the record player. Next time you want to listen to something, just turn on the light first, alright?”

“Are you sure?” the little girl replies in a near-whisper and his smile is genuine.

“Jonathan—” his mom starts but he waves a hand at her.

“It’s fine, I promise. Go back to bed, I got this.”

Joyce looks at him and the darkened doorway, eyes flitting back and forth like she knows there’s a piece of the puzzle missing. But the circles under her eyes are dark and deep, too, and Jonathan knows she’s tired to the marrow of her bones, so he just waits. It only takes a moment for her to sigh and take a step back. “Alright. You get some sleep too, okay Jonathan? You need sleep too.”

“I will, Mom.”

His mother gives him one more long look then finally nods. “Alright then. Good night Jonathan. Good night, El. You come get me if you need anything else, okay?” “Yes, Mrs. Byers,” El whispers in return. Something in his mom’s eyes flashes like sadness before she gives him a pat on the shoulder and returns to her bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind her, he slips inside his room and does the same.

“My head,” Nancy moans softly, and he snaps on the bedside light just in time to see her rise onto her knees from where she was lying flat on her stomach between bed and window. “That last one got me right on the head.”

He bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh aloud and bring his mother back to his room, properly blowing their cover. Nancy sticks her tongue out at him.

“I’m sorry,” El says again. The waver in her voice stronger, and he realizes the younger girl is genuinely upset. “I didn’t mean to be so loud; I just didn’t know what was happening and someone was coming through the window—”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” he rushes to cut her off, lunging toward the bed to comfort her. “No, El, really, it’s okay. I didn’t think about it, I should have told you Nancy might come over. It’s my fault. I forgot.”

“Clearly,” Nancy mutters, standing properly and brushing the dust off her jeans before starting to gather the falling records. “I didn’t know you’d be in here, El. Sure would have been nice if someone had told me that.”

The words sting but to his surprise they bring a tiny smile to El’s lips. He pulls a face at both of them in return.

“It was a last-minute change. Slipped my mind.” He squeezes El’s wrist lightly, which he hopes comes across reassuring. “Would you like to listen to something to help you sleep?”

El’s eyes are still shining brightly but she nods. He slides off the bed and crosses to his stereo, and as he does Nancy’s hand rests lightly on the small of his back. Its warmth spreads across his skin through his thin t-shirt.

“What do you like?”

“Um,” Eleven sounds deeply unsure. “I usually listen to the radio.”

“That’s okay,” he assures her, or tries to.

“Hop likes—liked,” she swallows so hard against the word he feels sympathy pains in the pit of his stomach, “Jim, uh, Jim Cro... Crock-ee?”

Jonathan’s brow furrows. “I don’t know who that is.”

To his surprise, El starts singing; soft and out of key, but singing nonetheless. “You don’t tug on superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind…”

“You don’t pull the mask of that old lone ranger and you don’t mess around with Jim,” Nancy finishes quietly behind him. For a second he’s once again unsure he isn’t dreaming, but then her hand presses slightly too hard on a bruise that’s still healing and the dull throb confirms he’s not. “She means Jim Croce. My mom plays that record.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t have any Jim Croce but,” he considers the girl on the bed and the collection in front of him, thinking about what might be close enough to Hopper’s taste to soothe her without dragging her down that well of mourning once more. His eyes land on a double cassette, and it feels right. “I think you might like this.”

“If I put on the record you’d have to flip too much,” he explains as he snags it, holds it up. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He demonstrates methodically; how to take out the cassette, put it in the player, which button to push to make sure it flips automatically. He shows her play and pause, fast forward and rewind, and how to tell when you’re at the beginning of the tape. Once there, he sets the volume nice and low and steps away.

“Me?” she asks. He nods.

“Push play.”

She looks nervous but slowly reaches out an index finger, pressing down on the dull silver button. There’s a click, a whirr, a pause of a few seconds and then a bending guitar. Jonathan smiles at her.

“There you go. Think you can sleep now?”

She nods swiftly, almost frantically, and withdraws back into his bed sheets. Nancy’s hand has drifted from the small of his back to his wrist. He laces their fingers together and she squeezes harder than he’s expecting.

He leads her to and out the door, expecting nothing but a dark hallway and nearly jumps out of his skin when Will is standing there, mid-step, as if he’s not sure whether to push forward or retreat.

The look on his face is hard to read, somewhere between concern, apprehension and something else he can’t place. Not resentment, not quite. In the shadows of the corridor Jonathan could swear it looks like determination. Whatever it is, it solidifies into exasperated disgust as Nancy emerges from behind him.

Will huffs a dismissive note from the back of his throat and turns on his heel, shutting his own bedroom door before Jonathan can say anything.

“What was that?” Nancy whispers behind him.

It’d take hours, he thinks, so just sighs and leads her to the living room.

“I’ve got the couch,” he says, dropping her hand and sitting down in the mess of blankets he left behind. He rests his elbows on his knees, forehead on the heels of his hands. He’s tired but his blood is thrumming.  “You don’t have to stay.”

Two soft thumps signal the removal of her shoes.

“If I’d known I’d have worn comfier pants, or stolen a pair of your pajamas,” she laments, nudging him with her knee, “but I think we can fit. Scoot.”

They don’t fit, not really, but she is slim and presses herself all the way against him, wedging him between the back of the couch and her warmth. Even as the bruises on his back protest, he nuzzles his nose into her hair and inhales the flower scent of her shampoo. He’ll take it.

“So,” she says into the corner of his jaw. “Things seem…”

“Yeah. El’s sad. Mom’s sad. Will is… lost, I think. He’s not quite sure what to do when the person most in need of help isn’t him.”

“You’d think he’d be relieved.”

“You would.” He considers a moment. “I think he doesn’t know what to do with El.”

“He doesn’t like her?”

“He doesn’t know her. And she barely knows him. It’s nuts. They’re the only two people who could possibly understand each other and they either can’t or won’t see it.”

He falls silent, not quite wanting to say what’s on the tip of his tongue and hoping she won’t notice. Knowing she will.

“And?”

He sighs deeply, rustling her curls. “I think Mike is making it worse.”

He’s not surprised when she pulls away from him, closes his eyes briefly to brace himself for the upcoming argument, but when he opens them, she’s propped up on one elbow, contemplating him. For once he feels compelled to fill the silence.

“He’s Will’s best friend, and all he does when he’s here is stay with El. And I get it, I do, she basically lost her dad, but… it’s like Will doesn’t even exist. It hurts him, a lot. They got into that fight before— before the cabin, and I don’t even think Mike’s ever apologized to him.”

“Mike’s a little shit,” Nancy agrees, “but I’d bet my entire piggy bank he’s not doing it intentionally.”

He can’t help it; he grins at that.

“What?”

“Just thinking about Nancy Wheeler’s piggy bank. Pink and pretty, right next to her reporter pad and her gun.”

“Shut up,” there’s no bite behind her words and she leans down to brush a kiss over his lips as she says it, “Just because I have some dignity and don’t keep my savings stashed under my mattress…”

“Not sure a pink pig is dignified, and my savings are not stashed under my mattress,” he sniffs primly.

She smiles at that, fond, amused, and kisses him again.

The temptation to stop talking, to fall into her warmth and softness and take the comfort from her he needs is strong, but when he moves to do so a spring beneath the worn cushions digs into his side, right into the center of one of the worst bruises and he can’t help it; he winces and pulls away. Nancy sighs.

“Stupid couch,” he grumbles as she settles back into his arms, cheek on his shoulder and nose lightly tracing his cheek.

“How bad does it still hurt?”

He shrugs the shoulder that’s not occupied. “It hurts. But not as much. Just bruises.”

One hand slides across his torso and onto his ribs, tracing his side from armpit to hip.

“Still in one piece,” he assures her softly, returns to the topic at hand. “And I know Mike probably isn’t doing it intentionally. But he’s here nearly every day and it’s not helping.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“I don’t know,” honest but unhelpful, “They’re not little kids anymore. I don’t know if any of this is my business. Will used to tell me everything but… not anymore.”

“I can talk to him,” her tone is insistent. “I will.”

They lapse into silence, and with her warmth and weight under the blankets with him, the tug of sleep comes closer behind his eyes. If he closes them and listens closely, he can hear the barest undercurrent of music beneath their breathing.

“I wouldn’t have guessed George,” she murmurs, lips first brushing against stubble, then pressing with intention.

“Hm?”

“For your favorite Beatle. I’d have guessed John.”

“It’s not about favorite Beatle. It’s a good album, and one I think would help her right now,” he pauses, considering, “It’s about grief too, in its own way.”

“But your favorite Beatle is John, right?” She deftly maneuvers around his chin as she raises her face to look at him. “Right?”

“That’s not the point,” he repeats, rolling his eyes and shifting into a slightly more comfortable position more half-under her than beside her. “Go to sleep.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and the sound of her breathing with the barest hint of music from down the hall lift the pall that’s been hanging in the air all week. Then he feels her lips move, curling into a smile just above his shirt collar.

“…Knew it.”

+++

 A bop on the head wakes him, paired with a snort of amusement. He’s still on the couch and so is Nancy but in the night they’ve moved, leaving him spooning against her back, arm tight around her waist as she hangs partially off the edge of the sofa, feet nearly on the ground. His neck and shoulders ache from the tight squeeze and his arm is shaking from the effort, he realizes. Beside him, Nancy groans softly as she wakes too.

“Rise and shine.” His mother’s voice is wry as he blinks his eyes open, the room blurry around him. “I’ll get a cot for El this afternoon so you don’t have to do this again.”

“No, I can use the cot,” he protests immediately, automatically, brain lagging a little behind his mouth. “I don’t mind, the living room’s not that bad—”

“Not for the living room,” his vision clears a little and he can see she’s got that look on her face, the one for when one of her sons surprises her. “Will said she can move into his room for a while, at least until we figure out something more permanent.”

“Really?” He pushes himself up on one arm, so shocked he almost feels guilty. He sees Will’s face in the hallway again. Perhaps it was determination after all.  

“I think he understands what she’s going through more than we give him credit for,” his mom points out and then turns her attention to the girl rising beside him, awkwardly balanced on the edge of the cushion. “Good morning, Nancy.”

“Morning Mrs. Byers.” There’s a sheepish note in her voice and Jonathan bites back a wince, but his mother doesn’t seem too terribly bothered. With all that’s happened, maybe it’s time to stop being contrite about it, he wonders.

“I, uh, let me get dressed and I’ll help out with breakfast,” he offers, before the silence can get awkward.

“We’ll help,” Nancy adds and something in his chest lifts a little.

Nancy follows his mom to the kitchen, rumpled and barefoot, and he watches her for a moment before rising himself. His knees creak and protest, moving from his odd and cramped position for the first time in hours.

He yawns and stretches as he pads to his room but draws up short in the doorway. El and Will are sitting side by side on the bed facing his stereo, heads bent in what is obviously intense conversation.

“So you liked this, then.” Will taps the case to All Things Must Pass, set on his bed between them.

“Yes.”

“Well, what other kind of songs do you like?” Will presses. “Sad songs, happy songs, angry songs?” “Mike likes love songs,” El offers. Will scoffs.

“I didn’t ask what kind of songs Mike likes, I asked what kind of songs you like.” He leans in further, face deadly serious. “You don’t have to like anything just because someone tells you you should, you know.”

The corner of Jonathan’s mouth lifts, involuntary pride.

“But what if I like those songs too?” “That’s fine. But you have to find out what you like.” Will holds up a tape; Jonathan recognizes it immediately, that first mixtape he ever gave Will all those years ago, when times were bad. As bad as they are right now for El, perhaps.

All the best stuff’s on there. Joy Division, Bowie, Television, The Smiths. It’ll change your life.

An emotion he can’t name rises in the center of his chest.

“I want to hear it,” El is saying when he snaps out of the memory.

“But you promise you’ll tell me if you don’t like any of it?”

“Yeah,” El nods fervently. “Promise.”

“Okay then,” Will nods too, and reaches for the cassette player.

Jonathan takes a step back as the first chords of “Do I Stay or Do I Go” ring out from the speakers. Getting dressed doesn’t seem so important anymore. He lingers with one foot in the doorway, watching Will watch El listen to his little brother’s favorite song.

He takes a deep inhale, and realizes the air is a little lighter. Then he leaves to help with breakfast.

[stoprobbersfic]

quick jancy week 2020 update

just wanted to say that i actually have some fun ideas in the works but as you guys are SURELY aware there’s a HELL OF A FUCKING ELECTION HAPPENING. 

i have hopes for the weekend but i fully plan to post these jancy week responses regardless of when they’re done. 

hey, if we can have Election Week 2020 we sure as hell can have Jancy Fortnight (Month?) 2020!

[heartbeatsdouble]

🍁jancy week 2020: day 2: late autumn vacation🍁 ~

[heartbeatsdouble]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler Characters: Nancy Wheeler, Small mentions of the rest of the found family Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 03, Jancy Fic Week, Jancy Week 2020

[storybookwolf]

Halfway There

[My contribution for @jancyweek2020 day 2. There were two possible themes: Dor (the heartbreak and sense of longing you feel because you’re separated from your love) and Reunion (an instance of two or more people coming together again after a period of separation). I started writing this as a reunion story, but a lot of dor crept in there. Reunions can be very sweet when you know they are only temporary! 

NB: Greenville is one of the most common town names in the US. I haven’t attempted to guess where the Byers now live – all I know is it’s a long way away!]

Nancy really wished she’d had a second coffee at that diner.

Yes, the first one had been disgusting – it tasted burnt, left a gritty residue coating her teeth and tongue, and was served in a chipped, ancient mug. But coffee meant caffeine, which meant energy. And she was feeling a severe lack of energy now, two hours after leaving that roadside diner and following the highway through indistinguishable, nondescript towns and fields. Her eyeballs were starting to hurt.

Jonathan was right about this being the maximum any sane person would want to drive in a day. When he’d told her how far away he was moving, she’d been full of confidence that she could tackle any distance if he was at the other end of it. But the reality of hours and hours behind the wheel was proving her wrong. Her leg kept cramping, the tape deck had eaten the roadtrip mixtape Jonathan had sent her, and she desperately needed to pee (another coffee would only have made that worse, so maybe it was just as well she’d stopped at one).

But she was nearly there. She only had to keep it together for another twenty minutes or so and it would all be worth it. She’d arrive in Greenville, a town that was just as nondescript as all the ones she’d driven through en route, but which had one very important thing going for it: it was roughly halfway between Hawkins and the town where Jonathan now lived.

The Byers had stopped at a motel there when they left Hawkins back in October. Joyce had taken a book of matches from the front desk, and seeing it sitting by an ashtray in their new kitchen sparked a plan in Jonathan’s mind. They were too far apart for study sessions, or going to each other’s proms, or any normal teenage date. But what if they could each get away from their families and schools and jobs for one weekend? A motel halfway between two small towns could be their little oasis. So Nancy had hit the road early on a Saturday morning, her mother pressing Tupperware full of chocolate chip cookies into her hands (Jonathan’s favourites) and her father sternly warning her about road safety.

When you factored in all the time spent driving there today, and the time it would take to drive home tomorrow, they wouldn’t actually have that long together. It was going to be worth it though, to see him. She needed to be with him, a longing so intense that it still shocked her, even though she’d been living with it for months. It was a need to have sex with him, obviously (they definitely weren’t getting a double room this time), but it wasn’t only that. More than anything, she just needed to be near him. She felt safe and comfortable with him in ways that were impossible when they were apart.

There was so much that she wanted to talk to him about, but also a few topics that she knew they would just skirt around. The biggest one, of course, was that graduation was around the corner, and they hadn’t decided what came next. That Nancy was desperate to get away to college, to start a new life completely free of interdimensional monster and government conspiracies and small-town small-mindedness. That Jonathan wanted all that too but couldn’t afford it. Couldn’t leave his family, who were dependent on him. (Didn’t want to leave his family, who he was dependent on. Neither of them had ever said that part out loud.)

Nancy didn’t want any of that to impinge on these few hours that they were going to have together. So she would bite her tongue, choose different topics, or just make sure that their lips were otherwise occupied. Reality could wait for a little bit longer.

A faded billboard announced Rest Easy Motel next left – colour tv, ice, kitchenette. She glanced at her eyes in the visor mirror, relieved to see that her eye makeup had largely survived the journey. Not that Jonathan would care; she could have rolled straight out of bed into the car and he’d still be happy to see her.

The car park was fuller than she’d expected, but she managed to manoeuvre her mom’s station wagon into a space. She got out of the car, and was still scanning the lot for a rusted LTD when she heard his voice. ‘Nancy!’

She turned to see Jonathan emerging from reception, room key in one hand. Her heart quickened as he jogged towards her. His hair was longer, he was wearing a jacket she didn’t recognise, and he was beaming at her, looking more relaxed and happy than she’d ever see him before.

Meeting him halfway across the car park, she launched herself at him, and he kissed her with an intensity that rivalled that night at Murray’s. When they stopped to catch their breath, he stroked her face gently and gave that familiar half-smile that took her breath away.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

***

Less than twenty-four hours later, Nancy was back behind the wheel of her mom’s Mercury and on her way back to Hawkins.

Their one night together had been perfect. It was exactly what she needed. She’d spent the night in Jonathan’s arms, she’d vented to him about everything from the annoying jocks in her homeroom to how much her mom was drinking, and he’d made her laugh and believe that everything would be okay.

So why was there an ache in her chest that grew more intense with each mile that ticked over on the odometer? It was as though this lightning-fast reunion with Jonathan had just reminded her how much she missed him. She’d been in a desert for months, parched and dehydrated. Now she’d had a few drops of water – and instead of quenching her thirst, they’d made her whole body cry out for more.

They were both busy (him especially), so it would be a while before they could do this again. She knew they’d get through it, like they had so far. But god, she wished they didn’t have to.