Chapter Text
Jonathan was gone.
Will doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here. The steps of Hopper’s cabin are rough under his palms, the wood worn soft in some places, splintering in others. The planks creak when he shifts his weight, but other than that, everything is silent.
The air is heavy.
His fingers twitch. The cigarette between them burns close to the filter, the ember glowing dull orange in the fading light. He watches the smoke curl in front of him, slow and lazy, before it vanishes into the cold.
Nancy plucks it from his hands before he even realizes she’s moving. She doesn’t say anything, just lifts it to her lips and inhales, her shoulders rising, then falling. Her hair is messy, half pulled back, half falling loose around her face. Her eyes are red.
Will knows his must be too.
It’s been five days.
Five days since the Upside Down. Five days since—
His throat tightens.
Nancy exhales, staring straight ahead. “You should eat something.”
Will doesn’t answer.
The weight in his chest sits heavy and unmoving, pressing down on him like a stone. He hasn’t eaten since it happened. Not really. Every time he tries, his stomach knots up, his throat closes. The food turns to ash in his mouth.
Nancy shifts next to him, the cigarette balanced between her fingers.
“I keep thinking about the last time I saw him,” Will says. His voice is hoarse, quieter than he meant for it to be. “The way he smiled at me.” He swallows, but it doesn’t help. His mouth is dry. “Like he was happy to go, protecting us.”
Nancy nods. Her fingers tighten around the cigarette, knuckles going white.
“The last time I saw him,” she says, voice breaking, “he was scared.”
Will’s stomach lurches.
“But he didn’t want me to know,” she continues. “He was always like that. Always so—” She cuts herself off, jaw clenching. She shakes her head. “And now he’s gone.” Her breath shudders out of her. “Just gone.”
Will presses his palms against his knees. His nails dig into the fabric of his jeans.
Nancy sniffs, swiping a hand under her nose. “It doesn’t feel real.”
Will stares down at his hands.
“I know.” His voice cracks. “It’s not fair.”
Nancy doesn’t answer, just shifts a little closer, her shoulder brushing his.
The silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating. The air is cold now, sharp in his lungs. The last of the cigarette burns out between Nancy’s fingers, and she flicks it away. It lands in the dirt, a tiny glowing ember before it fades.
The door creaks open behind them.
Will doesn’t look up.
“Figured you two might be hungry.”
Mike’s voice is softer than usual. Careful.
A plate clatters against the wood beside them. Will catches the smell of eggs, the bitter scent of coffee. His stomach twists.
Nancy reaches for the plate, picks up a fork. She eats in small, mechanical bites, not really looking at anything.
Will doesn’t touch his.
Mike hovers. Will can feel it, the way he shifts on his feet like he’s not sure if he should stay or go. The way he’s watching them.
It’s too much.
Mike clears his throat. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be inside.”
The door creaks again. Clicks shut.
Nancy sighs.
She picks up the cigarette pack from where it sits between them, taps another one out, offers it to Will.
He takes it.
She lights it for him, her hands steady.
"You know," she says, voice quieter now, "he would hate that you're not taking care of yourself."
Will exhales, the smoke curling from his lips.
"Yeah, well." His voice is flat. “He’s dead. He doesn’t get to hate me.”
Nancy huffs out something that isn’t quite a laugh, isn’t quite anything at all.
“Touché.”
The night settles around them. The wind shifts, rustling the trees. The stars start to blink into the sky, one by one.
Will watches the ember at the end of his cigarette glow, then dim.
His chest feels hollow.
Nancy doesn’t say anything for a while. She just smokes, slow and measured, like she’s trying to keep her hands busy. Like she needs something to do.
Will watches the way the cigarette burns down between her fingers, the paper curling in on itself, the ember eating away at it.
She exhales, tilting her head back. “Do you think he’s at peace?”
Will’s stomach twists.
Nancy doesn’t look at him when she says it. Her voice is even, but her grip on the cigarette is too tight.
“He was in so much pain,” she murmurs. “I mean, we all saw it. We all—” Her voice wavers, just slightly, before she swallows it down. “I just… I hope he’s somewhere where it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Will closes his eyes.
“I don’t know.” He exhales through his nose. “I hope so.”
Nancy nods. Doesn’t say anything.
The night air is cool. The forest hums quietly around them, the wind shifting through the trees. It’s peaceful, in a way that feels cruel. Like the world is trying to move forward while they’re still stuck here, waiting for something to shift, something to bring Jonathan back.
But he’s gone.
Will knows that.
Nancy shifts, flicking the ash off the end of her cigarette.
“We’re gonna get through this,” she says, after a long moment.
Will lets his head tip back against the step behind him.
The stars are bright. Cold.
“Yeah,” he says. “We will.”
But it doesn’t feel real.
They sit there until the air turns colder, until their cigarettes burn down to nothing and the only thing left is the taste of smoke in their mouths.
Nancy stands first, stretching her arms over her head. Her joints crack. She exhales, running a hand through her hair.
“I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” she says.
Will glances up at her.
She offers him a hand. “You wanna come?”
Will hesitates.
Then, slowly, he reaches out and takes it.
The woods are quiet.
Will shoves his hands into his jacket pockets as they walk, their steps slow, unhurried. Nancy doesn’t say anything. Neither does he.
The trees arch over them, their branches black against the deep navy sky. The air smells like pine, like dirt, like the lingering traces of smoke on his clothes.
Eventually, they reach a clearing, the grass thick and soft under their feet. The moon is bright overhead, casting long shadows.
Nancy sits on a fallen log, pulling out another cigarette. She taps the pack against her knee, then hands it to Will.
He takes one. Doesn’t really want it, but it’s something to do.
Nancy flicks the lighter open, holding the flame out to him.
He leans in. Inhales.
Blows smoke into the dark.
Nancy exhales through her nose, her gaze distant.
“Do you ever think about what we’re supposed to do now?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Will glances at her.
She doesn’t look at him. Just stares straight ahead, tapping her fingers against the cigarette, shaking the ash loose.
“I mean,” she continues, “me and Jonathan were supposed to go to college together. Move to New York. My whole life was shaped around him being in it.” Her lips press together, like she’s trying to steady herself. “And now…” She trails off.
Will exhales, watching the way the smoke curls in front of him.
“I know what you mean,” he says. “He was always there. Like—like my anchor, you know?” His voice is quieter now. “And now it’s like I’m kind of just… existing.”
Nancy nods.
A single tear slips down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, like she doesn’t want him to see.
Will doesn’t say anything.
The wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves. A bird calls out somewhere in the distance.
Nancy huffs out a breath, shaking her head. “God,” she mutters. “I just don’t know what to do with myself.”
Will looks down at his hands.
“I don’t either.”
Nancy nods again, slower this time.
They sit there for a while, the silence stretching between them.
Then, suddenly—
Will lets out a quiet chuckle.
Nancy glances over. “What?”
“I just—” Will shakes his head, still laughing, a little breathless. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… remember that time Jonathan made us all go camping, and he forgot the tent?”
Nancy blinks. Then, after a second, she lets out a small laugh. “Oh my God.”
Will grins, just a little. “We had to sleep under the stars. It was the most uncomfortable night of my life.”
Nancy laughs again, shaking her head. “And Mike and him argued the whole time. I think I slept on a pinecone.”
Will huffs out a breath. “He got so mad at Mike for snoring.”
“He made us all move our sleeping bags away from him.”
“It was so dark, I could barely see my hand in front of my face.”
Nancy’s laugh is lighter this time. Softer.
The tension in Will’s chest eases, just a little.
Nancy exhales, tilting her head back to look at the sky. “Remember when he chewed Mike out in front of everyone for not liking pineapple on pizza? Wouldn’t talk to him for three days.”
Will snorts. “Oh my God. And then he got really high with Argyle and dumped a can of pineapple in Mike’s bed.”
Nancy’s laughter brightens. “His room smelled like Hawaiian Punch for weeks.”
The air between them shifts.
It’s still heavy. Still full of grief.
But now—
Now, there’s something else, too.
Something lighter.
They sit in the clearing, trading stories, voices dipping in and out of laughter.
Will hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound.
Nancy’s laughter lingers, soft and aching. The sound settles between them like something fragile, something neither of them wants to break.
Will shakes his head, still smiling, still caught in the ghost of a memory that feels too far away now. “God, Jonathan was—” He laughs again, breathless. “He was such a fucking idiot sometimes.”
Nancy hums in agreement, lips twitching up. “Yeah,” she says, voice quieter now. “But he was our idiot.”
Will exhales through his nose, something warm curling in his chest. It feels good. To talk about him like this. To remember.
“Remember when he tried to teach me how to surf?” he says suddenly, shaking his head. “It was a disaster.”
Nancy barks out a laugh. “Oh my God—Mike told me about that! In a letter you wrote him.” She nudges his shoulder. “I told him to tell you that next time we saw each other, you’d have to show me how.”
Will freezes.
The laughter sticks in his throat, sharp and sudden.
“Oh,” he says, and it comes out flat, like the breath’s been knocked from his lungs. “Mike never wrote back.”
Nancy’s face falls.
The shift is instant, a drop in temperature, the kind you feel in your bones.
Will forces out a chuckle, but it’s thin. Brittle. “Jonathan actually yelled at him about that, too.” He shakes his head, but his hands tremble where they rest against his knees. His breath catches, hiccups. “He—he was always yelling at Mike about something.”
Nancy watches him.
Will’s shoulders shake.
His laughter stutters out of him, falters, cracks, and then—
Then it’s not laughter anymore.
A broken sound wrenches itself from his throat, something sharp and ugly and desperate, and before he can stop it, before he can swallow it down, the sobs come.
His whole body caves in.
Will's laughter is still hanging in the air when it starts.
It happens fast. The way it turns. The way his chest caves in, the way his breath catches, hitches, stutters. He tries to keep smiling, but something cracks inside him, deep and splintering, the kind of break that can’t be stitched back together.
His ribs feel too tight. Like they’re trying to trap something inside him, something massive, something clawing its way out. His throat aches. His eyes burn.
“I miss him,” he says, and it sounds so small. So insignificant compared to the gaping, monstrous grief inside of him.
Then the first sob rips from his chest.
It’s awful. Ugly. A wretched, broken sound, like something dying.
He doubles over, his hands clawing at his ribs, like he’s trying to keep himself from splitting open. But he is splitting open. He’s tearing apart at the seams, unraveling into something raw, something unrecognizable.
Nancy reacts instantly.
She’s reaching for him, pulling him in, but Will can’t stop it. It’s too much. His whole body convulses with it, like he’s being hollowed out from the inside. His sobs hit him like waves, relentless, cruel, one after the other, leaving him gasping, choking.
His fingers dig into the dirt. His nails scrape against the ground. He wishes it would swallow him whole.
“I miss him,” he sobs again, and it hurts. It physically hurts. Like the words are knives in his throat, like they’re carving into his lungs. He sucks in a breath, but it doesn’t reach him. Nothing does. “God, I miss him so much, Nancy, I—”
Nancy grips him tighter, holding him together while he falls apart. Her hands are in his hair, rubbing slow circles against his scalp, but it doesn’t soothe him. Nothing will.
Will presses his forehead to his knees, shaking so hard his teeth clatter. His body can’t keep up with the weight of this. This unbearable, endless ache.
“He was my brother,” he gasps. “He was—he was my fucking brother, and I—” His breath shudders out of him, a violent, wrecked thing. “I was supposed to have more time. We were supposed to have more time.”
Nancy squeezes her eyes shut.
“I know,” she whispers, and she’s crying too, but not like Will. Not like she’s losing pieces of herself with every breath. “I know, Will.”
Will shakes his head, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His whole face is wet, his breath ragged and uneven, and it still isn’t enough.
It’ll never be enough.
Jonathan is gone.
Jonathan is never coming back.
And Will—
Will doesn’t know how to exist without him.
Nancy pulls him in tighter, and Will buries himself in her shoulder, shaking so hard it feels like his body is rejecting the weight of his grief. Like it’s trying to expel it, like it’s trying to collapse under the sheer, unbearable force of his loss.
“I just want him back,” he sobs.
It’s a prayer. A plea. A desperate, broken wish to something that isn’t listening.
But there’s no undoing this.
Jonathan is gone.
And the world is still turning without him.
Will doesn’t know how to live in it.
Nancy presses her lips together, tears streaking her cheeks, her fingers trembling against the back of his neck.
“I know,” she whispers, her voice nothing but wreckage. “Me too.”
Will gasps against her, body curling in on itself, and she holds him through it.
Holds him like she can stop the world from caving in.
Holds him like she can keep them both from breaking.
Holds him like she knows—
It’s already too late.
They stay like that for a long time.
Nancy holding Will. Will holding nothing.
His sobs don’t stop so much as they burn themselves out, leaving him hollowed, stripped down to bone and nothing else. He feels scraped clean, gutted from the inside, like there’s nothing left of him but the space Jonathan used to take up.
The world around them is unbearably quiet. The trees don’t whisper. The air doesn’t move. Even the stars seem to watch them in silence, cold and distant, as if they know there’s nothing they can offer.
Nancy’s breath is slow, steady. Will can feel it against the side of his head. She hasn’t let go of him yet. Her hands stay firm against his back, like she’s trying to anchor him to something. Like she’s afraid he’ll slip away if she loosens her grip.
Will wants to tell her it’s too late.
Jonathan is already gone. And Will is already slipping.
Nancy shifts slightly, and Will hears her inhale like she wants to say something. But she doesn’t.
Because what is there to say?
Nothing can change this.
Jonathan is still dead.
And Will is still here, stuck in the unbearable afterward.
Finally, Nancy pulls back just enough to look at him. Her hands stay on his shoulders, grounding. His face is wet, his lashes heavy with tears, his lips bitten raw. He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes.
She exhales, slow.
“We should go back inside,” she says softly.
Will doesn’t answer.
His hands are still curled into fists in his lap. His ribs ache. His throat feels flayed open, stripped bare from the force of his sobbing. He doesn’t know how to move.
Nancy waits.
She doesn’t push. Doesn’t tell him it’ll be okay. Doesn’t lie.
She just waits.
Finally, Will swallows and drags a hand down his face. His fingers come away damp.
“Just a minute,” he murmurs, his voice wrecked and fragile.
Nancy nods. “Okay.”
She doesn’t move away.
The air between them is thick, still heavy with grief, but something is different now. The weight of it has settled, no lighter, no easier to bear, but more familiar. Less like a knife, more like a bruise.
Will wipes at his face again, his fingers still trembling, and lets out a slow, uneven breath.
Nancy’s voice is quiet when she speaks again.
“Do you ever think about what he’d be doing now?”
Will closes his eyes.
“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse. “He’d probably be getting high with Argyle in the back of his van.”
Nancy huffs out a laugh, quiet and wet.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Talking about music. Complaining about how all the best bands peaked in the ‘70s.”
Will’s lips twitch.
“He’d be telling me to cut my hair.”
Nancy snorts. “He never knew when to shut up about that.”
Will swallows.
His throat still burns. His chest still aches.
But for the first time since it happened, he can almost—almost—breathe.
Nancy looks at him, her gaze soft, sad. “We should go back.”
Will hesitates, then nods.
But as he stands, as they start making their way back to the cabin, he realizes something.
Jonathan is still gone.
And Will is still here.
But maybe—just maybe—he’s not alone.