Chapter Text
December 13, 1979
Twelve-year-old Nancy Wheeler didn't care much about dwelling in her younger brother’s life. Most of their interactions were fighting, or arguing, or blaming, and that was perfectly fine with her. Of course, she would prefer to have no siblings to fight with in the first place, but if she had to have one, then she might as well hate it.
Unfortunately, her parents didn't agree with this sentiment. Forcing them both into “sibling bonding time” was her mother's way of showing Mike and Nancy how siblings should behave.
It's how Jonathan and Will Byers act, her mother would say, which was an argument that Nancy didn't see the point in because Mike was about a million times more insufferable than Will and therefore incomparable to him.
(When she was younger, she used to beg Jonathan to swap brothers, but he never took up that offer.)
It was during one of these unfortunate sibling bonding experiences that Nancy began to have the fleeting suspicion that her younger brother was… you know.
Karen was off with Ted at one of their mid-pregnancy appointments, this one being a “gender reveal ultrasound,” something that both Nancy and Mike agreed was unnecessary and unexciting, and so they had left them on their own. Nancy, who was 'In Charge,' had gotten to pick the movie, and Mike had spent the entire runtime of Cinderella whining and making a fuss about her choice of film.
But Nancy ignored him, because it was her favorite movie, and thus she didn’t care about Mike’s opinion.
It was around forty five minutes in that Nancy got frustrated.
“Ewww,” Mike groaned, “Can we watch something else?
“For the hundredth time, Michael James, I'm not turning it off.”
“But they're about to kiss,” Mike announced incredulously, gesturing to the screen as if this was an abominable act.
“So? It's sweet,” said Nancy teasingly, poking at his stomach. “One day, you're gonna kiss a girl.”
“NANCY!” Mike screeched instantaneously, hitting her with a throw pillow. “That's gross!” He mimed gagging.
“Why?” she demanded, pushing her brother back with a grin. As an eldest sibling, her job was to annoy her younger brother, and she took every possible chance to do so.
“‘Cause girls are gross,” he said. Nancy rolled her eyes, about to speak, before Mike added: “I'd rather kiss boys.”
Nancy fell silent. Mike was still huffing from the effort of their pillow fight, clearly not noticing an issue with what he’d said.
“What?” she breathed.
“I said, I don't want to kiss girls, I want to kiss boys-”
Nancy stopped him, putting a hand over his mouth.
“Mike,” she said seriously. “You can't say stuff like… like that.”
Mike frowned further. He pulled Nancy’s hand from his mouth. “Like what?”
Nancy looked around as if worried that her parents had suddenly appeared. Then she looked back at him.
“You can't say you want to kiss boys ‘cause you’re a boy, and that’s gay,” she said softly. “Boys can’t love boys like that.”
“Why?” Mike mumbled in confusion.
“It's just… If you say that, everyone will take it the wrong way. Like the people at church.”
“Why?”
“Its a sin,” Nancy said, repeating what she'd heard before without thinking.
“Why?”
Nancy stared at the wall quizzically. That was… that was a good question. What made it a sin for boys to kiss boys? She tucked that question away in the back of her mind, hoping to access it later.
“I don't know why, Mikey, that's just what Miss Hailey told me.”
Miss Hailey was Mike's favorite Sunday School teacher, and this disappointed him. He was hurt. “Oh. But…” his mouth closed and opened again, making him look like a fish. Nancy would have made fun of him for it had this not been such a serious matter. His face scrunched like a frog's. “But boys are way more prettier than girls.”
Nancy frowned sympathetically. “Sorry, Mike,” said Nancy, patting him on the back.
Mike looked back to the TV screen that had gone forgotten for several minutes. By then, the credits were rolling and the kiss was over.
“Don't tell anyone we talked about this,” said Nancy seriously.
Her brother nodded guiltily.
She held out her pinky. Reluctantly, Mike shook it.
Nancy picked up the pillows that her and Mike had thrown on the floor. Her mind wandered.
Subconsciously, she tucked the conversation into the back of her mind–into the folder holding all of the signs that pointed to the queer feelings of her younger brother, a folder she'd only truly investigate a few years later when she decided for herself that the rules Ted and her Sunday School teachers imposed on her about girls who loved girls and boys who loved boys were dumb.
But at that moment, she chose to ignore it. Mike was only eight, after all. He didn't actually mean any of it.
Right?