Chapter Text
The smell wakes Jonathan before the sound does.
It isn’t strong or abundant, but it’s unmistakable: something warm. Something real.
He sits up slowly, still half-asleep, and looks at Will.
He’s tangled in the blankets, breathing deeply, his brow relaxed in a way it rarely is.
Jonathan watches him a second longer than necessary, making sure he’s okay, that he’s there.
From downstairs comes a soft noise: a pan, a spoon tapping against a plate.
—Mom… —Jonathan murmurs.
He gets up and gently wakes Will.
—Hey —he whispers—. Wake up, bud.
Will shifts, blinks, then frowns.
—Is it late?
—No —Jonathan says—. But there’s breakfast.
That gets Will sitting up immediately.
—Really?
Jonathan smiles.
—Really.
They go downstairs together.
Joyce is in the kitchen, her hair pulled back messily, wearing the old sweater she always puts on when it’s cold.
On the table are three plates. Not matching. Not perfect. But full.
Scrambled eggs. Two slices of toast for each of them. Butter melting into the bread. And an apple cut into wedges.
It isn’t much.
It’s enough.
—Morning —Joyce says, turning around—. Sit before it gets cold.
Will obeys without hesitation.
Jonathan lingers a second longer, watching her.
—Thank you —he says quietly.
Joyce meets his eyes. She doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t point anything out. She just nods.
—Eat —she says—. That’s all that matters right now.
Jonathan sits. He takes his fork. The first bite of eggs is simple, but the warmth spreads through him like it’s feeding more than just his stomach.
Will eats fast, with honest hunger, without guilt.
Joyce watches him with a tired smile, then looks at Jonathan.
—I picked up some extra hours today —she says casually—. Not many. But it’ll help.
Jonathan swallows.
—I’ll look for more shifts too.
Joyce raises an eyebrow.
—After school —he adds quickly—. And only if you’re okay with it.
She nods.
—We’ll talk about it —she says—. Together. Always together.
Will looks up between bites.
—Can I take an apple for later?
Joyce slides the plate closer to him.
—Take two.
Will grins, wide, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.
Jonathan finishes his toast and leans back slightly in his chair.
He can’t remember the last time they ate like this.
No rushing. No lies.
Joyce stands and rests a hand on each of their shoulders.
—I can’t promise it’ll always be easy —she says—. But I promise you’ll never be hungry alone again.
Jonathan places his hand over hers.
—That’s enough.
The clock keeps ticking.
The day waits.
But for now, at that small table, with nearly empty plates and full stomachs, the Byers are okay.
At least for this morning.