Stonathan ❤️

133

NOT MINE!!

all credits go to scoutshonour on ao3

A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't posted for so long. My mental health dropped so low again and I've been pretty busy. Love you guys! <3

Also this might a poly with Jonathan Steve and Nancy I'm not sure. I didn't read through this one

"Guys—guys, seriously, I'm fine—"

"Oh really?" Steve challenges, tightening his grip around Jonathan's shoulder as he helps him out of his car.

Jonathan's cheeks feel hot, and it wasn't from exhaustion, having ran and ran on this damn foot. It had still tired him, even with the assistance: Steve, Nancy, hell, even Mike, who looked like he wanted to complain every time Jonathan accidentally shifted his weight onto him, but held his tongue because he was Nancy's...something.

It's not like they had time to discuss what they were, not with the chaos of everything, but calling Nancy his girlfriend felt right. Lord knows they were always going to end up there, anyway.

But he never expected to have Steve Harrington's arms wrapped around him and for him to actually, in a weird, confusing way, like it. Nor did he expect to kind of like Steve helping him limp towards his house.

"So if I just—" Steve mimics the motion of letting Jonathan go.

The sound that escapes Jonathan's throat is horrifying, a lurch that runs through his chest as he clings onto Steve's waist, stumbling with the anticipation of his release.

If Steve is startled, he does a good job at hiding it; a look of faux-offense takes over his features as they approach Jonathan's front door. "As if I'd ever let you go," he scoffs before Nancy can whack his shoulder. Jonathan briefly wonders if Steve was aware of how how his words sounded.

Nancy looks amused, a knowing, small smile working her lips as she reaches forward to him, then stopping. "Keys?"

"Left pocket," Jonathan grunts.

She reaches in, rifling through the assortment of useless things before locating his keys. It feels odd, not due to her hands on him (he's literally been inside of her, so—), but because of Steve, who very clearly averts their eyes, staring up at the sky.

"Are you okay?" Nancy asks for the millionth time, and for the millionth time, Jonathan says without thinking, "Yes."

"That limp says otherwise," Steve nags. Jonathan's partly surprised at how insistent he is, unapologetic about it as they stumble inside his house, Nancy's fingers finding the light switch.

"I'm okay, seriously, we need to go to Hop—"

"You need to shut up and let us take care of you." Steve blurts out just as the lights go on, and Jonathan's eyes search for Nancy immediately. She looks just as surprised as he does, and he's not going to lie; the idea of Nancy and Steve caring after him gives him this strange, pleasant sense of domesticity that he hasn't thought of before and wants desperately now that the idea is there.

"I mean..." Nancy says slowly, and he can see the gears in her mind shifting, working as she looks carefully at Steve, then back at Jonathan. "He's not wrong. Just—" She stops, sighing, and he suddenly sees her. The lines of exhaustion underneath her eyes, heavy bags he thinks, the messiness of her tied-up hair, the dirt all over her face, the scrapes that makes something in his stomach painfully twist, and the gun in her hand, lowered out of relief.

She's so terribly exhausted.

"Take him to his room, please? I'll bring some water."

He knows she needs a minute to herself, maybe shed a tear or just bask in the silence, and he'll give her that. Nancy knows herself and she knows—is learning to, at least—to open up, to come to him when she needs something, and she'll come with three cups of water when she's ready.