trigger warning | homophobia, references to parental neglect and alcoholism

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 (𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨)
𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 & 𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬
𝟎:𝟓𝟎 ——|————— 𝟐:𝟏𝟕
♯ 𝐀 ♯ 𝟎𝟒
𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 : ▮▮▮▯▯▯▯▯▯
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

Tuesday, Nov. 10, 1983.

"I'M NOT CUT out for this," Mack pants heavily, falling to his knees in over-dramatic Mack fashion as Jon and Briggs peer between the tree branches, burying their breaths in the shadows of the woods and the piles of fallen leaves.

"Shut up!" they hiss in unison, and Mack glares at them.

The scream—screams, actually, because even as the boys had run, the noise had continued—had been Carol. Carol Perkins. At Steve Harrington's stupid fucking party.

Tommy had been holding her bridal-style at the edge of the pool, counting down and threatening to toss her in fully clothed. And Briggs had crouched at the edge of the woods and gaped at them, desperately trying to slow down his heart rate, because he thought someone was fucking dying or something, but it's just Carol Perkins.

Tommy had caved and set the redhead down, her annoying giggles ringing through the open night. Briggs thinks he hates that sound more than the sharp buzzing of the school bell. Thinks maybe he's a shitty person for it, but he wishes her screams had been for something else, if only so she'd shut up for more than a minute at a time.

Steve, in a green sweater Briggs has never seen before, stupid hair looking stupidly perfect as ever, shotguns a beer like it's nothing—Briggs won't lie, it's impressive—and then glances at Nancy, sitting there shyly in her striped shirt, for approval. He puts a cigarette in his mouth and says something to his most recent girlfriend.

Maybe girlfriend isn't even the right word. He remembers what Cormac said in the locker room—she put out yet? She's still around, so she obviously hasn't. He knows Steve's reputation. Briggs surveys the beer, the cigarettes, the undoubtedly empty house behind Steve, and figures tonight will probably change that. Ugh.

It's a small party, just Steve and Carol and Tommy and Nancy and—oh, Barb. She looks so out of place, sitting on Nancy's right with her hands in her lap, looking like she'd rather be anywhere in the world but here. It's no question that she got roped into the ordeal because of Nancy's infatuation with Steve. And Steve's infatuation with, as Cormac so eloquently put it, getting her to put out.

"Why does she hang out with those asshats?" Mack mutters. Briggs cuts him a glance and finds his friend's eyes wide as he analyzes Barb's every move.

"Who, Nancy?" Jon murmurs, only half-paying attention, and Mack shakes his head.

"Barb. She's so much better than that." Briggs slowly takes in Mack's body language, the offended huff of breath, the tension in his shoulders, every part of him indicating that he genuinely believes what he's saying. And that means Mack knows Barb relatively well. And Briggs has literally never seen them interact, but...

Oh my God.

"You're into her," Briggs snickers, and Mack's jaw drops. That gets Jon's attention, and his head swivels to stare at Mack in confusion.

"I am not into her," Mack mutters defensively. "She's just my lab partner. And she's nice. That's all."

"Barb is your lab partner?" Briggs gapes. Mack has never addressed his lab partner by name before, in all his talks and comments about studying and chemistry and staying after school. And now it makes sense—because he likes her. "Your lab partner, who you hang out after school with, who gave you a ride home yesterday, who you go to class early to see—"

"Shut up!" Mack slaps Briggs on the shoulder. "Not my fault she's a genius." He pauses, looking at the ground. "And cute. Really cute. I mean—"

"Jesus, Mack," Jon mutters, turning back to the party. Briggs watches his gaze settle longingly on Nancy. Jon's not hiding shit.

"You have chemistry together," Briggs snorts, gesturing through the trees.

"That was awful," Mack huffs defensively, but his eyes are back on Barb, who's watching Nancy with wide eyes as she pokes a hole in a beer can of her own.

He wouldn't have pinned Nancy as the drinking, partying type, but then again, she'd surprised him well enough this morning.

And Steve Harrington does have a convincing sort of impact on people.

Who even has a party on a Tuesday night? Briggs hopes Steve is hungover as hell at swim practice in the morning.

Tommy crushes a beer can against his head, his other arm wrapped around Carol, and pumps a fist in the air in victory like he just accomplished something, like he's not a dumbass.

Nancy starts to shotgun the beer, and everyone except Barb starts chanting. It takes Briggs a moment to make out what they're saying—chug, chug, chug—and Nancy does.

Tommy hollers as Nancy succeeds and drops the can to the ground, sketching a little mock bow after. Jon's lips pull into a deep frown. Disapproving, jealous, maybe both.

When Briggs looks back, Barb is trying to open a can of her own. She drops the can without success, and Mack's brows furrow in concern.

Click.

Briggs' head whips around to look at Jon, who's holding his camera to his eyes and positioning the lens through the branches.

"Dude!" Briggs hisses. "The hell? That's creepy."

Jon opens his mouth to justify it, but Mack is faster.

"Evidence is one thing, Jon, but unless you think Steve Harrington kidnapped a kid—"

Frankly, Briggs doesn't think Steve is smart enough to successfully kidnap a child. Will Byers, in particular, could outsmart the guy any day. But for some reason, Briggs' eyes are attached to him like a magnet, Jon's retort fading into background noise as Steve laughs openly, the lights of the house bouncing off the tinted blue of the water and illuminating the boy's face.

Click.

"Jonathan," Mack hisses in warning. But Briggs doesn't bother fighting it, too invested in the scene around the pool.

Steve was always kind of around. Hawkins isn't a big town, and most of its residents are of the born-and-raised variety. So Briggs doesn't really know when he met Steve, but he certainly remembers the first time he noticed him. It was before their rivalry, before they traded insults between pool lanes, before Steve made Briggs so irritated he couldn't speak.

"Good evening, Hawkins!" a painfully enthusiastic announcer crows into a microphone, the words echoing off the walls of the school gym and muddling in the ears of every person pressed together in the bleachers. "Thank you for coming out to tonight's game!"

"Not like we had a choice," Briggs mutters sarcastically, jabbing an elbow into Mack's side. The boy was already nearly asleep beside him, and now he startles, blinking and glaring at Briggs as he rubs his side defensively.

"I'm sorry," Mack whispers. Mack's dad really wants him to get into sports so they can bond over it, but Mack really couldn't care less. So he enlisted Jon and Briggs to accompany him to the middle school game tonight.

Briggs thinks Mack owes him big time, because right now he just kind of wants to melt into the floor. Better cold, empty oblivion than whatever the shit this is—the high-pitched squeaks of sneakers against the wood floors, the murmurs of middle school parents bragging about their kids.

He's seated in the very back, trying to fade into the wall. It isn't working.

The sound of the guy booming into the mic about school spirit and all that other garbage fades into the background as Briggs whispers to Jon, "How long does this thing go?"

"I don't know," Jon murmurs. He shares a dismayed glance with Briggs, sighing deeply.

"I can't last that long."

"I didn't even say how long."

"And now, the Hawkins Youth Boys Basketball team!" the guy shouts, and a bunch of gangly kids file onto the court. There's a few really short ones—sixth graders, probably—a few kids from Briggs' grade, and a lot of eighth graders.

And at the very back of the line stands a kid with fluffy brown hair and a big smile.

The announcer starts listing off team numbers, one by one, and that smile fades as the kid scans the bleachers, looking for someone who isn't there. His eyes land on Briggs for a moment, and Briggs smiles.

The boy smiles back.

"Number seven, Steve Harrington!"

The boy—Steve Harrington—steps forward high-fives his team captain. The captain says something, and Steve laughs, big and bright and loud, and Briggs thinks the sound echoes off the walls even more than the bass of the microphone. But this sound doesn't muddle and ring in his ears. It sings.

Briggs tunes out numbers eight and nine and ten and eleven because he can't focus on anything other than this boy. Has he seen him before? Must be an eighth-grader. Briggs can't put his finger on it, but the guy's conflicting combination of confidence and hesitance make him intriguing.

Mack says something about being too short to play basketball, about how his dad keeps holding out for a growth spurt but he just knows it's not gonna happen. Jon laughs.

The boy frowns when the announcer calls out number twelve, and Briggs hates seeing that smile wiped off his face.

"Jason Carver!"

Then Briggs frowns, too, Jon scoffing beside him. Jason's in Briggs' history class, and he's just awful. Annoying. Entitled. Kind of stupid, but somehow a teacher's pet anyway, much to Mack's chagrin. Apparently, Jason's just as much a menace on the court as he is in the classroom.

But Briggs can't find it in himself to pay much attention to Jason as the game launches into action, and Steve Harrington, number seven, scores again and again and again.

Carol's shriek pulls Briggs back to the present as Tommy finally shoves her into the pool, still smoking, dropping his cigarette before diving in after her. Mack snickers, eyes still scanning the scene for Barb—when did she leave?

And then Steve, with a mischievous little grin, shoves Nancy in. And proceeds to hop in after her, literally still wearing his shoes, not a care in the world. Tommy and Carol are kissing in the water, and shoes are being thrown and there's shrieking and fighting and laughing.

Jon's camera clicks again, but the sound is secondary, barely noticeable. Because kneeling there in the dirt, watching Steve splash around in the pool with someone who isn't him, Briggs realizes he can't deny it anymore.

He doesn't like Steve Harrington. He knows what a crush is—Mack flushing as he talks about how smart Barb is. Jon frowning as he sees Nancy with Steve, because he thinks she deserves better. Corey turning red in the passenger seat of the Jeep and changing the subject quicker than Briggs can flip the turn signal.

Briggs knows what a crush is, and this isn't it. Steve isn't a nice person. Briggs had lost track of the guy when he started at the high school, leaving Briggs behind in eighth grade, and by the time he encountered him again in the Hawkins High pool, he'd become a total ass. So he knows he doesn't like Steve.

But God, Briggs is attracted to him.

And Steve's not the first guy Briggs has been attracted to. Not by a long shot.

Briggs has never felt that way toward a girl.

Ever.

Hot tears threaten to fall from his rapidly blinking eyes, and he sucks in a breath, urging them back, away, away.

Queer.

A breath catches in Briggs' throat, and he realizes he's known for a long time. A long, long time. And he thought he could hide it deep in the recesses of his mind, buried under Hawkins' prejudice and his dad's absence and beating Steve to the other end of the pool.

But he can't.

Queer. Gay. Homo. It's the voices of every Hawkins High prick making fun of their friends in the locker room, the whispers of the parents in the grocery store aisles, the guy on the morning news frowning with an update about the AIDS crisis, but it's also his own voice in his head, berating himself for being like this, for not being able to change himself.

"Briggs," Jon murmurs. And of course he's having this realization now, when he needs to be there for his best friend, when he needs to stop being so selfish for once in his goddamn life and put someone else's needs first. Of course it's now that he realizes he can't escape it, the fucked up way his brain works, the way his heart works.

He knows it's not...wrong. Or at least, it shouldn't be. Knows there are other people like this somewhere out there. Not in Hawkins, but somewhere. Where it's not as big of a risk to look twice at a cute guy in the street. Big cities, maybe.

Briggs knows it's not wholly safe anywhere, not for...for people who are gay. Not when the news anchors just stopped calling it GRID last year, the world finally realizing not only gay people were getting sick. When they renamed it AIDS. But those moms in the grocery store on Sunday mornings, fresh out of church with gossip on their lips, still murmur about the gays being at fault, all the people dying. Still cluck their tongues at the misguided kids and the horrible influences these days.

Are New York grocery stores like that, too? San Francisco? Indianapolis, even?

It doesn't matter, not really. Because Briggs doesn't live somewhere else, with other boys who don't like girls and girls who don't like boys. He lives in Hawkins, Indiana, where people exploit differences like they're crimes and spit on men and women already down.

So no matter what Briggs knows, no matter the facts, the logic, the knowledge that he is not fundamentally flawed, Briggs can't help but feel like he's wrong. Like he's a little bit broken, and he can't ask anyone to help piece him back together.

Vaguely, Briggs registers the irony of the situation, he and his two best friends looking out at the same party, each pining after someone who isn't theirs.

But he doesn't dwell on it for long, because Jon is more perceptive than Briggs realizes, sometimes, uncannily good at reading him, his quiet nature making room for keen observation. And maybe Briggs hasn't been quite as slick as he thinks, because Jon's looking at him with that knowing expression, like he knows Nancy isn't the one Briggs is staring at. Like he knows Briggs hasn't been able to tear his gaze off Steve since the first day of swim practice. Like he knows the contradictory nature of the whole situation forms an impossible knot in Briggs' chest, and he can't escape, and Briggs likes boys.

Idly, Briggs wonders what Jon would see if he took a photo right now. If developing the negatives would reveal the self-hatred in his eyes, the desperation to shrink into himself, to alter some fundamental part of his DNA that somehow got this messed up. If seeing that photo in the darkroom would tell Jon that Briggs doesn't have a crush on Nancy Wheeler, or Barb, or any other girl, and never has. And never will.

But Jon doesn't need photo evidence. He doesn't need confirmation. He knows.

And Briggs knows Jon, too. Knows that look of pity and warning, that look that means Jon's about to warn him away, not because Steve is a boy but because he's Steve, and everyone who catches feelings for the resident king of the high school gets hurt. Not to mention that Steve is undoubtedly straight.

Briggs knows Jon is about to just warn him about Steve, and he can't deal with it right now.

"Leave it," he snaps. And then he stands up and storms away, or at least storms as much as he can while being quiet so he doesn't blow his cover in the dark woods behind the Harrington house. His breath comes faster in his throat, eyes stinging, and Briggs pushes it down, back into that place in his mind beneath all the other shit going on in his life, but it doesn't matter anymore because he knows it's there and he can't get rid of it.

Clumsy footsteps on the dried leaves behind Briggs alert him to Mack's presence. Right. Briggs is still his ride.

"What was that about, man?" Mack asks breathlessly as he piles into the passenger seat, worry in his voice, sympathy in his eyes.

"Nothing," Briggs responds tightly.

"Is it Nancy?" Mack asks hesitantly, wringing his hands in his lap. "Because—"

"It's nothing, Mack," Briggs snaps, throwing the car into gear. Mack goes quiet beside him.

It's not that he doesn't trust Mack. Not that he doesn't love Mack. They've been friends for ages.

It's just...

Mack's family is really, really Christian. And Briggs knows, he knows, that being Christian does not mean hating homosexuality. But knows a big enough portion of the Hawkins congregation clings to scripture so fervently that they condemn anyone they deem queer. Like those moms in the grocery store on Sunday mornings.

Briggs doesn't necessarily think Mack agrees with them. It's not like he's ever talked about it. And Briggs knows Mack loves him. But he just...he can't take that risk. Not with Mack. Mack, who asked if this was about Nancy, because it just doesn't even occur to him that it could be someone else, that it could be a boy. That's not Mack's fault. But he just...he can't lose Mack, can't bear to see the look in his best friend's eyes as he realizes Briggs is everything he thinks is wrong with the world.

So he just cranks up the radio, letting Hall & Oates sing their own sorrows into the car to drown out Briggs'. It doesn't work, not really. Not when the song is declaring, I'll do almost anything that you want me to, but I can't go for that.

Briggs can't go for that, either.

Can't go for a boy. A straight boy, in Hawkins, Indiana, where people talk and people hate and people look at anyone different with malice in their eyes and acid on their tongues.

He turns the radio down. Mack glances at him, thinking the quiet means he's ready to talk.

Instead of opening up, Briggs just says, "You should make your move. With Barb, I mean."

Mack smiles sheepishly, tapping his fingers on his knees.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, I do," Briggs says. He glances at the car radio, still quietly crooning about love and limits. "Anyone would be lucky to have you, man. Go for it."

Mack smiles a little disbelievingly, but he nods as the Jeep stops right outside his house.

"Maybe... yeah, maybe I will."

Briggs watches Mack slip inside the house and pulls a three-point turn, aiming for the Wheelers'.

Maybe Corey's pissed at him beyond measure, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want a ride home.

▮▮▮

"Oh, hello, Briggs," Karen greets with a warm smile. "Your sister just—Holly!" Karen admonishes as the little blonde girl tries to grab Briggs' car keys, and he jerks back, wincing as she pouts up at him.

"Remember, sweetheart, we don't grab other peoples' things," Karen says firmly, pulling the girl into her arms. "I'm sorry, she just likes to touch everything these days."

Briggs shrugs with a half-smile, trying to shake Holly's wide stare, almost reproachful as she looks between the keys in Briggs' hand and his eyes. He stuffs them into his pocket self-consciously.

"I just came by to see if Corey was still around," he says quickly, shifting on his feet. "Was in the area and figured I'd give her a lift if she wasn't home already."

"Oh, that's sweet. I'm sorry, honey," Karen says sympathetically, ruffling Holly's hair. "She and the boys left about an hour ago."

"Oh, that's alright, Mrs. Wheeler," Briggs says, trying to muster a reassuring smile. It must come off as more of a grimace, because the woman's lips tug into a frown. "I'm sure she just biked home. Thanks anyway."

"You're so good to her," Karen says with a small tsk. "I wish Nancy and Mike would get along more these days."

You're so good to her. Briggs wonders what Karen Wheeler makes of his blatantly ignoring Corey for almost a full year, of his slamming doors and seething insults and being an all-around jackass in true Steve Harrington fashion. He supposes he didn't see much of Karen then, back when he couldn't drive.

Briggs almost says that he and Corey aren't getting along right this second, that at least Nancy and Mike aren't cold-shouldering each other after a shouting match in the driveway, but admitting that to Karen Wheeler isn't going to help anyone, so he just shrugs.

"I'm sure they'll come around," he says with a half-hearted smile.

Karen just smiles and wishes Briggs a good night. He returns it as she eases the front door closed, but Holly's stare lingers, her small fists clenching in annoyance as she looks at his pocket, where he holds the car keys she'd wanted to play with so badly.

Briggs sighs as he turns around and walks down the Wheelers' driveway.

Just another little sister he's disappointed.

▮▮▮

Briggs thinks a thousand pounds lift off his shoulders when he sees Corey's ratty Converse sitting by the front door. Home, safe.

Her door is closed, but light peeks out from under it. The sound of Briggs' footsteps is muffled by his socks as he pads toward her room.

"Hey, Corey?" he calls softly, knocking twice. Nothing.

She shuffles around, and if she's trying to be quiet, she's failing horribly.

"I know you're in there."

No response.

"Corey." He isn't really sure what he expects. Maybe a gushing apology, an I didn't mean it. "I'm—"

I'm what? Sorry? Briggs isn't sorry for worrying about his sister. He's not. 

But he's...he's sorry for doing it so late. Corey was right. He hadn't cared about her when she needed it, when all the pressure of a new family and a new house was probably weighing on her just as much as it was weighing on Briggs. He'd been a jerk. And even though things have been going better... Briggs didn't realize those wounds weren't yet healed. So he is sorry.

But for some reason, he doesn't say it. Lets his pride win this time, just for a little while, because he's already been too emotional tonight. And he's tired.

"Corey, please."

A soft thump indicates Corey flopping back on her bed, and Briggs presses his forehead against the door in exasperation, knowing he's not getting anything out of her tonight.

And maybe it's a good thing, anyway. Maybe it's better that she shuts him out now, before she can find out what's wrong with him and reject him in a way that's a thousand times more heartbreaking.

The front door slams shut then, and Briggs makes his way to the living room just as Ma calls his name.

He shoves down the fear and the disgust and the swarming, festering thoughts, just for a little while longer. He shoves them somewhere his mom can't see them until he can sort through them later in the solitude of his room, where he can throw them out into the dark and wish them away. So he can have a normal conversation with his mom and his stepfather and not break down in the middle of it.

He's good at it by now. Compartmentalizing. Ignoring. Has been since his dad left—maybe even a few years before that. Something learned by necessity, honed by experience, and maintained by defense.

Ma kicks her shoes off by the door, followed by Danny, both of them free of the obnoxious search party vests and looking a little worn down. No luck, he figures.

"Hey," Briggs says, hugging Ma at the entrance to the living room.

"Where'd you go?" Ma frowns, hugging him back. Danny claps him on the shoulder and Briggs smiles.

Right. He didn't tell them he was leaving the search party. Just ran off.

Briggs shrugs, praying silently that she doesn't press the matter too hard. Not tonight.

"I have practice in the morning. It was late," he shrugs. "Figured I'd better get Mack home, too. You guys seemed occupied."

"Smart move," Ma says, and Briggs relaxes as the three of them move to the living room, Danny the first one onto the old couch, Briggs taking a seat in the armchair. "How was school?"

She tugs her hair out of a messy ponytail and lets it fall loose around her shoulders. The couch squeaks as she flops onto the cushion beside Danny unceremoniously, and he chuckles as he ruffles her hair.

Briggs shrugs, aiming for casual.

"Boring," he says.

"That's what you always say," Ma complains, rolling her eyes. "One day, something exciting is gonna happen in your life and I'm not gonna believe you."

Briggs cracks a smile.

"Mack tripped over his own foot in gym. That good enough for you?"

It's not a lie. Mack had raged about it on the way to the middle school earlier.

Ma laughs, throwing her head back. "Yes. That's good enough for me. Oh, that poor kid. I adore him, you know."

Oh, Briggs knows. Ma loves Mack. Most adults do—he's just got that goody-two-shoes charm, that winning awkward smile. And it's genuine.

Danny is saying something about M*A*S*H now, Ma laughing in response. Briggs seems to have gotten away with skipping school this time.

Once, back in eighth grade, he hadn't been quite so lucky. His attendance had gotten so bad that the school sent a letter home, but before it even arrived, Macy Forbes from down the street had spotted Briggs biking past Enzo's and ratted him out.

He'd had to give his mom a play-by-play of the school day every day for the next week, down to the lunchroom conversations and the budding romance between the two kids who sat behind him in science class, which his mom was ridiculously invested in.

Briggs doesn't feel like narrating his days again, especially when they involve missing kids and staring at Steve from the woods.

"Has anyone called since you got home?" Ma asks Briggs, furrowing her brows. "Carrie was supposed to let me know about covering her cleaning shift tomorrow."

Briggs frowns, shaking his head. His mom doesn't need to be taking on any extra work tomorrow. Or ever. She's already doing so much.

"You know, Bob over at RadioShack thinks he can get his hands on another early model of those answering machines for the phone," Danny remarks. "Said he could hook us up, if we wanted. Always ahead of the times, that one."

Soft footsteps sound from the hallway, and then Corey appears around the corner, socks slipping a little on the wood floors.

"Hi, kiddo," Danny says, and Corey gives him a tight-lipped smile. She lifts a hand to Briggs' mom in a half-wave.

She doesn't look at Briggs. He's not surprised.

"Find anything?" Corey asks hesitantly, eyes darting from the floor to the ceiling to Danny, anywhere but at Briggs.

Danny sighs deeply. "Well, Scott found a hospital wristband in a tunnel, but I'm not sure it'll lead to anything," he admits.

"Mr. Clarke?" Corey asks, and Danny nods.

"Yeah. Hopper followed the tunnel to the Lab, but—"

"The Lab? Hawkins Lab?" Corey gasps. Danny raises an eyebrow at the outburst, and Corey seems to catch that her reaction was a little odd. Briggs watches nervously as she backtracks. "Weird," she says with a forced chuckle. "Just 'cause, you know, nobody ever goes in there."

Briggs really, really doesn't like where this is going.

"You know, they've been partnering with the plant lately," Danny muses, leaning back into the couch cushions. Briggs' breath catches in his throat, and he knows what Danny is about to say before it comes out of his mouth. "Got these fancy new vans under our name, too. Haven't let me drive one yet."

Holy shit.

Briggs shifts in his seat, swallowing hard, and Corey's eyes finally snap to his. She looks down the second she registers him looking back, but not fast enough to avoid Briggs seeing the worry in her eyes.

He needs to talk to Jon, tell him about the van again. Needs to tell him it's important. And dangerous.

Corey says goodnight to her dad quickly, then Ma, walking past Briggs on the way out of the room. She pauses at the threshold where the old carpet meets the wood floor.

"I have A.V. club tomorrow. After school." She stares at the ground, even though she's talking to Briggs. "Don't need a ride."

She doesn't turn back, shutting her bedroom door.

"Did something happen with you two?" Ma asks. Briggs shrugs, not making eye contact.

"She'll get over it," he says. He doesn't really believe it. "I should, uh, get to bed. Night, Ma. Danny."

He tunes out their responses as he trudges to his own room, throwing on an old pair of shorts and not bothering with a shirt as he shuts off the light.

Briggs burrows under his thin duvet, navy blue to match the ratty curtains pulled across his single window, and breathes in shakily. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes.

"Stop it," Briggs mutters into his pillow. He squeezes his eyes shut tight.

He falls asleep trying not to cry.

▮▮▮

Briggs trudges through the front door, soaking wet, shivering. He toes off his shoes on the rug and edges his way into the living room, trying not to get water everywhere.

His dad is on the couch, beer in hand, something on the TV. He glances at Briggs and frowns.

"Bridger, stop getting water everywhere."

Briggs winces and tries to not move as much, to not spray raindrops all over.

"You forgot to pick me up," he says quietly. Dad shrugs.

"When I was your age, I had to walk four miles just to get to the bus stop. You'll live."

"But you said—"

"Don't talk back to me, Bridger."

Briggs takes a step back, staring at the ground. Swallowing the apology that floats to his mouth, knowing his dad would only shoot back an absentminded "actions, not apologies," and then Briggs would apologize again and his dad would get angry.

"It's raining."

"Oh, don't be a wuss," Dad scoffs, throwing back another swig of beer. "Now get off the carpet. Seriously. I want the wood in the entryway clean and dry when your mother gets home."

It's still dark when Briggs shudders awake, sweating. Sweating in the middle of November, despite the chill in the air, the winter looming barely a month away. God.

He hates Gabriel Reyes.

But he doesn't.

"Okay, mijo," Dad says, sitting next to Briggs at the kitchen table. "How do we say please and thank you?"

"Por favor... and... gracias," Briggs says proudly. His dad ruffles his hair.

"Buen trabajo."

"Thanks." His dad raises an eyebrow, and Briggs corrects himself with a wide grin. "I mean, gracias."

Dad glances up at the clock. "Alright, I gotta go to work. Te quiero, Bridger."

"Te quiero, papá."

Briggs smiles as his dad walks out the door with a wave. He feels warm. And happy. And safe.

He hadn't changed his last name when Ma married Danny. Didn't want to erase that tiny slice of his heritage he had left, his half-assed Spanish-speaking, that minuscule connection to his father. Not with a white bread last name like Holbrook. He'd scoffed at his mom's subtle questioning, trying to gauge his interest in changing his name, erasing that connection to his dad.

Briggs used to be proud to be a Reyes. He thinks Ma was, too. She hadn't hyphenated in her first marriage, had just been Leah Reyes. But she'd taken her maiden name back after that, even with Danny. Leah Davis-Holbrook. Like she's afraid to leave that part of herself behind again, just in case everything repeats itself and her love life starts crumbling.

There was a time when Briggs and his dad and Ma were a good family, a whole family, a content family. But that was before.

Before his dad started searching for meaning at the bottom of a bottle. Before he quit his job and started leaning on Briggs' mom to pay the bills. Before the nights of angry shouting coming from the kitchen as Briggs tried to drown out the sound underneath the blankets.

Before his dad stopped being his dad and started being Gabriel Reyes, resident asshole and absent father.

He wonders what his dad would think if he found out his son didn't like girls.

No, he doesn't. He knows. He knows exactly the slur that would come out of his mouth, accusing, degrading. He'd say, "When I was your age, queers were punished for their actions."

Or worse. He wouldn't use the word queer. He'd say that goddamn three-letter syllable that makes Briggs want to simply stop existing. He doesn't even want to think it.

Clenching his fists in his sheets, Briggs groans, throwing his head back into his pillow. Why does this have to happen now, this stupid, impossible identity crisis, when Will Byers is missing and Jon is losing his mind and Mack is pining after a girl for, like, the first time ever, and Corey is mad at him and he's lying to his mom and nothing is fucking making any sense?

Briggs' alarm clock blinks 3:33 in the darkness. He rolls over and tries to bury his troubles in sleep.

▮▮▮

a/n:

shorter chapter than usual whoops i hope you liked it anyway

it was so easy to get away with skipping school in the 80s oh my god.

realistically, i think people like tommy hagan would use the f-slur, but i can't bring myself to even type it out. briggs' internalized homophobia and the attitudes or ignorance of his peers was unfortunately very common the 80s. it was heartbreaking then and it's heartbreaking now.

to be clear: i am a christian, and i do not think religion can justify homophobia or hatred in any way. i see some christians use their beliefs to belittle the LGBTQ+ community a lot these days and it makes me really, really sad. that's something i'm hoping to address through mack (who is not one of those people) in later chapters.

this was a tough chapter to write, and it deals with some heavy stuff. i know my writing can't do justice to the real experience of being gay in the 80s (or even now). just trying my best. please know i love you all dearly. no matter your sexual orientation or gender identity, you are valid and worthy and beautiful. <3

spanish translations are commented on the relevant paragraphs!

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