𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒! [𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐓

"Lonnie's home," said Conor, letting himself into Margo's room on the morning of the funeral. 

She looked up from the mirror where she was doing her makeup. "Huh?" 

"Lonnie Byers." Conor sat on Margo's bed, looking thoroughly out of place in his suit and tie. "His car's in Joyce's driveway." 

"This is fucked," Margo muttered, giving up on the makeup and turning to face her dad. "Do I look okay?" 

He gave her a small smile and stood up. "Pretty as a portrait. Come on." 

They stepped out of their house at the same time as Jonathan left his, a tie hanging loose around his neck. "Hey, Conor!" he called across their yards. "You know how to tie a tie?" 

Conor chuckled a little under his breath. "Kid's hopeless," he muttered, then followed Margo to the Byers' driveway to tie Jonathan's tie. He was just straightening out his handiwork when the door opened again and Joyce stepped out, hand in hand with Lonnie. 

She looked terrible. Margo wondered if she'd slept at all in the last few days. She didn't blame her. Lonnie nodded curtly at Conor. "Campbell." 

"Byers." Conor shook Lonnie's hand without a trace of a smile. 

"You still at the old machine shop?" 

"Always." 

Conor nodded and put an arm around Margo's shoulders, leading her back down the driveway, one hand on Jonathan's back. He was half-comforting them, half moving them along to avoid anymore conversation with Lonnie. 

Conor and Margo stood behind the Byers during the service. She didn't listen to the pastor, her mind was elsewhere. If there was a chance Will wasn't dead- even the smallest chance... maybe things would go back to normal just a little bit. At least Joyce and Jonathan could have some hope. 

When the service was over, she stood next to Jonathan while Lonnie took over accepting condolences from the town. Joyce was zoned out completely, her eyes staring vacantly at the casket in front of them. Margo put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her in the smallest way, and Joyce turned to give her a watery smile. 

"He's not dead," she whispered, just loud enough for Margo and Jonathan to hear. "I know he's not." 

Margo bent down so only Joyce could hear her whisper. "We believe you." 

Once the funeral-goers started to trickle out, Nancy found Jonathan in the crowd. "Can we talk?" she asked, looking around to make sure nobody would see her talking to him. 

Margo stepped forward and whispered dramatically, "About what?" 

Nancy gave her a disapproving frown. Jonathan cracked the smallest of smiles, then led the way to the far side of the cemetery. They seated themselves against the wiry fence and Jonathan pulled a little slip of paper from his suit pocket. It was a map of Hawkins, with red X's drawn in different locations. 

"What's that for?" Nancy asked. 

Jonathan pointed at one of the X's. "That's..." 

"Steve's house," she said quickly. 

"Right, and that's the woods where they found Will's bike, and... that's my house." 

Nancy leaned forward to get a better look. "It's all so close." 

"Yeah," said Jonathan, "Exactly. I mean, it's all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it's... it's not traveling far." 

Nancy stared at Jonathan for a long time. Margo looked down at her boots and toyed with the laces. "You want to go out there," Nancy said at last.