Chapter Text
One night. One extra shift. He took one extra shift. He thought they could use the extra cash. They were struggling and the shift was wide open. He knew his mother worked that night. He knew he wasn’t supposed to take shifts when his mother wasn’t going to be home, but it was only one shift. He figured Will would be fine. He was at the Wheelers for most of the night and he could bike home on his own, it wasn’t far. He would be fine like he always was.
Now he is standing in the hallway of Hawkins high school, hanging up missing posters with his brother's face plastered on them.
He pretends he can’t hear the people around him. Pretends he can’t feel their stares on the back of his neck. Pretends he can’t feel their judgement, because who wouldn’t judge him? He especially pretends he can’t hear Steve Harrington through the crowd calling him sad. Calling him pathetic.
That’s what his father had called him. Pathetic. Pathetic because he cried over a rabbit his father had forced him to kill. Pathetic because he found his passion in photography and not something “manly” like sports. His father had been so upset that he had taken his first ever camera and smashed it on the ground in front of him. Pathetic because he could feel the tears well up in his eyes every time someone raised their voice at him.
He won’t let himself think either of them are wrong. They aren’t, they’re far from it really. After all, everything is his fault is it not?
Will Byers is missing, and it is all his fault.
Jonathan Byers really is pathetic.
~~~
When the lunch bell rings, Jonathan doesn’t go to the cafeteria. He doesn’t think he could stand it. People everywhere having loud conversations with their friends and enjoying themselves. Sitting down and eating like things were normal. No. He refuses.
Instead, he hunkers down in the darkroom. He knew no one would be there, he could be alone with his thoughts.
Alone with his thoughts is the last place he should be. He spirals quickly.
He knows Will is the favorite child. He sees it in the gentle looks his mother gives Will. The distinct lack of gentle looks Jonathan receives. He sees it in his mother’s interest in Will’s drawings, and her disinterest in Jonathan’s photography.
She doesn’t mean it, he knows it in his heart. He’s always been more independent, always been there as more of a help than a son. Eventually it became easy for his mother to treat him like that, especially when he’s making breakfast and helping to pay the bills. He doesn’t blame her.
Now his mother probably despises him. Her favorite son is gone because the eldest couldn’t keep an eye on him. She swears up and down that she doesn’t blame him, that she doesn’t hate him, that it’s not his fault. He knows that she’s crossing her fingers behind her back, even if he can’t see it.
He’s pulled out of his daze by the sound of the bell ringing, signifying the end of the lunch period. He doesn’t move, contemplating.
He can’t do it, he can’t go back to the regular school schedule. Things weren’t regular.
Nobody sees him for the rest of the day.
Nobody notices he’s even gone.