“You don’t trust me?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the moment they did, Jonathan felt sick. He’d heard those words before. Years ago.

Loonie had said them to Joyce the night she caught him with another woman, his voice defensive, accusing, like she was the one who had done something wrong. Jonathan had been eight, standing frozen in the hallway. Will had been five, crying quietly behind him.

Jonathan hated that the words had come from his mouth. Hated that he sounded like him.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated, exhausted. “That’s not-“ he started, then stopped. He didn’t even know how to explain himself anymore.

He didn’t understand why you were so upset. You knew about the Upside Down. You’d known for over a year now. You were there, actually there, when everything went to hell. When Steve swung the bat, when the Demogorgon came out of the shadows. You fought and survived. When Will came back, hollow but alive, Jonathan had told you everything.

Even about that night in Nancy’s room since Steve had told you by accident.

He’d explained it, how it looked worse than it was, how nothing had happened the way it seemed. You’d been hurt, yeah, but you talked it through. You got past it. A whole year later, he still talked to Nancy sometimes. She was part of this mess whether any of them liked it or not.

But Jonathan had never lied to you.

And even if he ever did, he told himself bitterly it wouldn’t be like Loonie. It wouldn’t be selfish. It would be because this world had monsters in it. Because sometimes the truth got people killed.

It was the only time he left you alone at a party.

Halloween was loud and crowded, and you were with your friends, laughing in a way Jonathan still wasn’t used to hearing. Then Steve and Nancy started arguing. Nancy was drunk, really drunk and Jonathan didn’t feel right leaving her like that. So he helped her. He told himself it was the responsible thing to do. He didn’t want to pull you away from your friends. He already felt different enough from you.

On the drive back, his mind wouldn’t slow down. He replayed the argument. Wondered what could’ve happened if he hadn’t stepped in. Wondered if he’d crossed a line.

Then he saw you. Standing outside the trashed house. Alone.

“She was drunk,” he said quickly “I had to do something. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

His hand went to his jacket to offer it to you then stopped.

He’d left it in Nancy’s room.