withlovewriting - Tumblr blog

withlovewriting · 27 days

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 14: Light 'Em Up

Chapter Fourteen.

So bright, the flames burned in our hearts, That we found each other in the dark, Black beast, out in the wilderness, We are fighting to survive and convalesce, But we're gonna live, we're gonna live, at last, Then I heard the church bells from afar, But we found each other in the dark

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,726

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of injuries, fluff, Protective!Hopper here for duty, the death of dart that i am still not over, attempted suicide in the absolute most minimal way i promise (you'll understand when you read it i promise, everyone is good everything is fine i just don't know how else to label it), i am now totally unsure which one is the bigger idiot.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, no use of y/n, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter: coming soon

Chapter Fourteen: Light 'Em Up

The tires of the blue Camero groaned in discontent, screeching as the car finally came to a stop with half of Merrill’s pumpkin sign still attached to it.

Steve had progressively become more awake, and also more panicked during the ride, and despite the pain you’d be in any time you had to brace during Max’s overzealous drive, you couldn’t deny the fact that had any of the boys driven, you probably wouldn’t have made it out of the Byers’ driveway.

“Told you. Zoomer.” Max told them proudly before pushing open her door and allowing Mike to climb out, followed by Dustin as you and Steve were left to clamber — or in Steve’s case, fall — out of the too-small backseats.

You made your way around to the trunk, grabbing goggles as the kids tied their bandannas around their faces. You didn’t have much time to look for real supplies, and you just prayed that what you had would suffice.

Either way, it would have to do.

Steve groaned as he pulled himself up from the floor where he’d all but rolled to, his face beaten and swollen slightly as he stumbled for a moment whilst he tried to get his bearings.

“No… Guys. Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He questioned Mike as the younger boy strolled right past him, can of gasoline in hand, “What are you, deaf? Hello? We are not going down there right now. I made myself clear. There is no chance we’re going to the hole, all right?”

You passed Steve, too focused on the task at hand to bother yourself with his dramatics, and instead handed Mike a rope as the older boy continued to emphasize his argument. Walking back around to the trunk to grab your own gear, Steve’s hand shot out, the boy stumbling a little as he held on to you.

“This ends now!”

Shrugging his hand off, you sent him a sharp glare whilst Dustin finally responded, “Steve, you’re upset, I get it. But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance.”

Dustin stormed off, making his way toward the group as they began to lower items into the hole whilst Steve stood — still a little dazed — and inhaled deeply. You could tell he was frustrated, but at least he wasn’t yelling about it anymore.

“He’s not wrong.”

“You too? I thought we were on the same side here.” Steve sighed, his tired eyes roaming over your face. The boy had perfected the kicked puppy dog look.

Biting your bottom lip, you moved closer to the boy and placed your hand on his arm that was leaning against the open car door, “We are on the same side, okay? Look, these kids are gonna go down there whether we go with them or not. If you need to stay up here, that’s fine. I get it. But I’m not letting them go down there alone, especially not with those things running around.”

Steve sighed, tightly squeezing his eyes closed, “We said we’d keep them safe…”

Your hand moved from Steve’s forearm, hovering over his bruised knuckles for just a second before gently squeezing his hand, causing the boy’s eyes to pop open almost comically, “So let's keep them safe. You got this, Steve. We got this.”

Your left hand grabbed a backpack from the trunk containing a bandanna, goggles and Steve’s trusty nailed bat. You held it out to him with bated breath, waiting for his decision. After the relentless attack from Billy, you wouldn’t blame him if he decided he needed a time-out. Your own head was throbbing, you couldn’t begin to imagine how his felt.

Nor could you ignore the relief that flooded your bones when he took the bag from you, a simple nod from the boy before you began to pull on your own gear.

In usual Steve fashion, the boy demanded he go first into the hole to check it out and make sure there wasn’t a pack of hungry Demo-dogs waiting underneath for you all to drop directly into their open mouths.

“Holy shit,” Steve gazed around the tunnel as the rest of you dropped down, Mike pulling out a map before setting off in the direction he believed would lead you all to the hive mind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey. I don’t think so. Any of you little shits die down here, we’re getting the blame. Got it, dipshit?” Steve grumbled, pushing past Mike, “From here on out, I’m leading the way. Come on, let's go.”

You all began to follow him, no questions asked as Steve led the group and you brought up the rear. By the time you were deep enough into the tunnels, you were ready to throw your flashlight at him. A little hustle this, and c’mon, pick up the pace that.

You’d almost forgotten that he was captain of both the basketball team and the swim team and was more than comfortable ordering people around.

Vines wrapped their way along the long floors, keeping you conscious of where you were stepping, as if they might leap out at you any second and dangle you upside down, and the particles of something floating in the air made you cautious that maybe the bandannas you all wore were not enough to keep your respiratory system safe and working.

You felt like your head was turning every few seconds, paranoia from the Demo-dogs, as well as uncharted tunnels, making you feel on edge and Dustin’s sudden screaming really didn’t discourage that.

Rushing toward the boy as he fell to the ground, his shouts desperate enough to rattle your bones, you grabbed at him as he flinched away, unaware of your presence until you managed to get him to look at you, the boy calling for his friends as the group quickly returned.

Slipping from your grasp as he continued to flail about, the group surrounded him, “What happened?”

“It’s in my mouth! Some got in my mouth! Shit!”

He began to hack up a cough as you pulled down your bandanna, trying to catch Dustin’s attention as you called his name, pulling his face into your hands, all but forcing the boy to look up at you,

“Dustin, relax!”

Gulping in a large breath of air, the boy finally settled, his blue eyes peering into yours, “I’m okay…”

“You serious?”

“Very funny, man. Nice. Very nice.”

The group continued on, murmuring under their breath as you helped pick the boy back up, a possibly too-hard whack to the back of his cap to send him on his way after you pulled up your own bandanna once more.

This was going to be a long night.

“Alright, Wheeler,” Steve sighed, flashlight pointed at the crossroad of tunnels surrounding you, “I think we found your hub.”

“Let’s drench it.”

And so you got to work, covering the walls and surrounding tunnel entrances in gasoline. Turning toward Steve, who was busy pouring out his own canister, you pulled your bandanna down once more,

“Are you sure you won’t, like… light up like a Christmas tree?”

Steve’s brow cocked, the only hint that he was silently questioning you.

“You know, with all that hairspray, are you sure you’re not flammable?”

Despite not being able to see his facial features, you felt it in your soul when Steve was glaring at you, causing a smirk to pull one side of your mouth upward.

“Ha ha, very funny,” the boy’s monotonous tone only caused your smile to broaden as he moved closer toward you, the tips of his sneakers knocking your own slightly as he reached forward with his free hand, rubber glove gently gripping the bandanna that now loosely hung around your neck and pulling it back over your nose, “And stop pulling this down. We don’t know what’s floating around down here.”

Rolling your eyes, you secured the cloth a little tighter around your face and wondered how ridiculous you all looked.

“You guys ready?” Steve asked once you were all standing at the entrance to the tunnel you came from.

“Light her up,” Dustin confirmed as Steve pulled out his lighter.

You felt his dark eyes peering up at you from where he knelt on the floor, “We are in such deep shit.”

You placed a hand over Max’s shoulder, pushing the girl in front of you as the tunnels lit up, an unbearable and unforgiving heat beating across your face as you watched the vines along the floor begin to dance along the embers. Everything really was connected, and you could only hope this didn’t hurt Will more than it had to.

“C’mon, go!” Steve pulled you along by the wrist, only letting go once he was certain your feet would follow, as he pushed his way to lead the group once more, “This way!”

Unfortunately for you, you were running just behind Mike when he took a tumble — a thick vine wrapping around his ankle and slowly dragging him across the floor — causing you to trip right over him, your own ankle rolling under your weight as you failed to catch yourself on the sharp walls of the tunnel.

Mike’s screaming caught the attention of the group as you tried to drag yourself toward the thick vine, unable to untangle it as it fought against you, only tightening its grip on the boy. Despite struggling to pull off your backpack, you finally managed to pull the ax that you were yet to return to Mrs. Byers and hobbled to your feet, balancing on your one good foot as you swung at the vine, cursing as you lost your balance and tumbled toward the wall.

A shrill screech seemed to emit from the vines as they curled up, releasing the boy's ankle as Steve’s bat connected with it once, twice, three times.

Lucas and Dustin pulled Mike up, a tight grip on their friend as they checked him over whilst Steve turned to you, eyes wide even under his goggles as he looked from your face to your ankle, and back again, noting your flamingo-like posture,

“You good?”

Before you could respond, a growl from behind the group stopped you all in your tracks.

A Demo-dog stood on all fours, large mouth opening, and closing as it continued its inhuman noises. Dustin watched for a moment, head cocked slightly to the right.

“Dart.”

When the monster didn’t immediately attack, seemingly checking out the boy in front of him — friend or foe? Possibly even snack — Dustin stepped forward, despite everyone pleading for him to stay where he was.

“Shh, stop. Trust me, please.”

Dustin remained eerily calm as he slowly approached the dog, the monster taking a few cautionary steps closer too, meeting him near the middle of the tunnel.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s your friend, it’s Dustin,” the boy pulled down his bandanna before lifting his goggles in hopes the monster would recognize him, “It’s Dustin, all right? You remember me? Will you let us pass?”

The monster snarled at him, revealing far too many sharp teeth for your liking, but remained in place. If it wanted to, it easily could’ve ripped Dustin apart by now. You knew that as well as the boy did. But this… thing, something about this one was different. Maybe it really was Dart, and maybe, he and Dustin had formed some kind of weird, fucked up human/alternate-dimensional-creature bond in the few days it had taken Dart to sprout four legs and a mouth full of teeth.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the storm cellar. That was a pretty douchey thing to do. You hungry? Yeah?” Dustin reached into his backpack, pulling out what looked like a Three Musketeers bar, “I’ve got our favorite, see? Nougat.”

As Dustin opened the wrapper, the creature slowly padded toward him, much like a family dog might’ve. Once Dart began to eat, Dustin shooed the rest of you through, Steve holding you up as you hobbled alongside him.

Once everyone had passed, Dustin stood, pulling down his goggles as he moved past to follow the group, turning around as Dart did the same, “Goodbye, buddy.”

As your group rushed back looking for where the rope to safety dangled, leading back up to the surface, the whole tunnel system seemed to shift, rumbling and sending you all in different directions.

“What was that?” Max asked, turning in the direction of… roaring?

“They’re coming. Run! Run!”

Steve lifted Max up first, the girl pulling herself up the rope with no problem, quickly followed by Lucas and then Mike. Dustin was halfway up the rope, clutching to his friend's hands when you saw the first shadow of a Demo-dog on the wall.

“Harrington,” you swallowed, heart pounding against your rib cage, eyes beginning to water as you realized your fate.

“I know, I know…” Steve panicked, gripping his bat in his hands as he shouldered Dustin a little further up, “Go, c’mon, get up-”

You both knew you didn’t have enough time for the two of you to get back out to safety and somehow, Steve had continuously surprised you in these life-and-death situations — especially when it was between his life and your death — constantly putting his safety on the line. Back last year with the Demogorgon, hell, even earlier that evening at the Junkyard.

This time… This time, it was your turn.

“We’re not gonna both make it up there in time. You need to go.”

His head swiveled around so quickly, you were sure he almost gave himself whiplash, but you didn’t give him enough time to disagree as you rearranged the ax in your grip, holding it high and standing your ground despite your shaking hands, “I’m not gonna get up there quickly, it’s pointless. Just go. Please.”

Ignoring the crack of your voice, and the shouting from the kids above you, Steve shook his head, eyes darting between yourself and the incoming monsters, their roaring getting closer and closer, “No, I-”

“Go, Steve!”

“Not without you.”

Snapping your own head toward the boy, you both stood silently as the few seconds that passed felt like hours, before finally accepting your fate.

The kids would be safe. But you were doing this. You and Steve would foolishly take on a pack of Demo-dogs.

Despite Steve’s eyes flicking back to the tunnel, yours remained on him as you tried to swallow down the fear that was crawling up your throat, clutching at your vocal cords and making it impossible to speak.

The first Demo-dog rushed around the corner, but you barely saw a flash of it as you were suddenly spinning around, Steve’s chest colliding with your back as he gripped you with one hand, turning your body behind his.

When the pained cries and shouting and screaming didn’t come, your eyes peeled open, watching as the dogs ran straight past you, entering a different tunnel and paying both you and Steve no mind.

Once the echoes of their rushed feet had disappeared, the tunnel remained silent, even the kids above were in shocked silence. Blood rushed in your ears, as your body shook, the ax falling from your grip and landing by your feet.

Steve’s labored breaths pushed his chest into your back repeatedly, and you weren’t quite sure if it was your heartbeat or his that you could feel.

His grip remained tight around your waist, rubber gloved fingers digging into your skin a little too tightly to be reassuring, yet you still leaned your weight against him, head bent backward at a mildly uncomfortably angle as you pulled down your bandanna and caught your breath, trying to work out if you were actually still alive.

It was only when he tilted his own head down, resting his chin on your shoulder that you flinched away — his panting a little too loud in your ear — the previous pain from earlier that evening finally ebbing its way back now that the adrenaline was finally dissipating from your veins.

“Eleven,” Mike shouted down, “She’s doing it, she’s closing the gate. Get out of there, now.”

Neither of you needed to be told twice, and once Steve had awkwardly lifted you halfway up the rope, allowing you to place your weight onto his shoulder as the other kids had helped you crawl out of the hole, he quickly followed after you just in time to watch the headlights beam on Billy’s car, momentarily blinding you all.

And, just as it had seemed last year…

It was over.

Steve had managed to drive to Hopper’s cabin thanks to your directions as the kids huddled in the backseat. Nobody uttered a word, and the car radio remained off the entire drive. The only words you spoke were a mumbled thank you as he assisted you out of the car, tucking your arm over his shoulders, his own hand wrapping back around your waist as he helped you slowly hobble toward the cabin.

You could only pray that whatever had its hold over Will was gone, leaving the boy unscathed and that Eleven and Hopper were alive and safe.

Thankfully, you’d spotted Hopper’s Chevvy hidden where he usually parked it between the trees and found yourself all but rushing toward the safety of the cabin.

The commotion from the kids must have alerted everyone to your appearance as the group, bar Will and Eleven, stepped out onto the porch, eyebrows pinched together, confused at your sudden appearance. The plan was for you to stay at the Byers and wait. It was clear to everyone that somehow, for some reason, that plan had changed.

You felt a whimper force its way out of your lips before you even recognized the sound as your own when you caught Hopper’s gaze, the man pushing through the small crowd outside the front door, his long legs reaching you quickly.

Steve released you from his grip as soon as the larger man approached, brows still furrowed on his face as he pulled you into a tight hug,

“What the hell happened to you guys?”

It took Steve a second to realize that Hopper’s attention was now directed toward him, his dark blue eyes taking in his bruised face.

“Uh, something came up. We… We couldn’t stay at the Byers. I know we said… I promised we’d look after the kids, but-”

“Can we talk about it later?” You sighed, hoping Hopper would take pity on your tired eyes and pained limp, “Eleven and Will… are they okay?”

Hopper helped you up the porch steps, a sweet smile sent Joyce’s way as she took your face between her warm palms and placed a kiss on your forehead, “They’re fine. Exhausted but… Alive. Safe.”

It felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, the ability to finally inhale deeply causing your vision to blur a little. The plan had worked, and most of you had survived. Mike had already made his way into the cabin, grabbing at both Eleven and Will and pulling them into a tight hug, quickly followed by the rest of the kids, bar Max who hung back a little.

Joyce, however, moved her attention to the young girl, pulling her into a motherly hug, “Whatever you kids did tonight… Thank you.”

“Can we, uh… Clean up a little?” you turned toward Hopper, nodding toward the bathroom, knowing there was a first aid kit stashed in the medicine cabinet.

Hopper’s gaze switched between you and Steve before sending the latter a slight glare, despite his nod, “Head on through, do you want me to-”

“It’s fine, Hop. We won’t be long,” you sighed, trying to put as little weight onto your ankle as possible as you shuffled Steve into the too-small bathroom.

Once the folding door was shut, shutting out the quiet mumbles from the group, you let out a long, exasperated sigh, leaning on the door whilst Steve was already looking through the cabinet, pulling out the small box.

“Do you want to-”

“No, no… You sit down, I don’t think that ankle is gonna handle any more pressure on it tonight.” Steve interrupted, motioning for you to sit on the closed toilet as he nosed through the first aid supplies.

Finding some ointment for bruising and a clean cloth, Steve ran the tap until the water was warm, ringing out the excess water before standing in front of you, hesitating.

“Do you, uh-”

“I can’t exactly see the back of my head, Harrington.”

Nodding, Steve placed the cloth against the back of your head, a mumbled apology falling from his lips when you hissed in pain.

“Billy, he uh… He didn’t-”

“Billy didn’t touch me,” you sighed, “not really, anyway. Shoved me away from Lucas and I hit my head on the counter.”

An unintelligible grumble fell from Steve’s lips, his eyebrows almost connecting as he frowned, only deepening as you continued to speak, “I must say though, Harrington. I’m pleasantly surprised. You got in, what? At least three hits before-”

“Before he blindsided me by hitting me in the head with a plate?” Steve huffed, pulling away the cloth and rinsing it when he found only dried blood. He took a second to look over the wound, unsure as to what he was really even looking for.

“I mean, it’s Billy. Do you really expect him to play fair?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Steve groaned slightly as he bent down, resting on his knees as he lifted your ankle. After taking off your sneakers and socks, then rolling up your jeans a little, he turned your ankle cautiously as he inspected it. The skin had already begun to swell, and a deep red bruise was blossoming along the outer side of your heel,

“You really need to ice and rest this,” Steve placed the cold cloth against the skin and held it there, continuing to scrutinize your injury.

A small huff fell from your lips as you sent the top of his head a smirk, “Where did you get your Ph.D. from again?”

“I play sports,” Steve’s eyes met yours, an annoyed, but innocuous glare settling across his face as he peered up at you, “I’ve rolled my ankle enough times in Basketball to know how to deal with it.”

A high, mocking tune rumbled in your throat as you cocked a brow, “My bad, Harrington. Didn’t know you liked to play Doctors and Nurses in your spare time.”

“Why do you do that?” He interrupted thumb subconsciously grazing the part of your skin that the cloth didn’t reach.

Your face scrunched slightly, feeling a little too defensive already, “Do what?”

His shoulders slumped as a long sigh escaped his nose, but his eyes remained focused on you, “You know, I think tonight, when you were convincing me to follow those little assholes into the pits of Hell… I think that was the first time I’ve heard you actually call me by my name.”

“I call you it all the time-”

“No,” he interrupted once more, the line between his brows emerging once again as he tried to stress his point, “You call me Harrington all the time. Normally with a glare, but still…”

You remained silent for a moment, wondering if you did, indeed, do that, “Does it matter?”

“I mean, it makes you sound like you’re always mad at me-”

“I am normally mad at you,” you joked, but your smile slipped from your face just as quickly as it had appeared when his expression didn’t change, “I don’t know why I do it, alright? I do it to everyone, I guess…”

“I just…” Steve sighed, the hand that was holding the cloth to your ankle moved to push his hair back from his forehead before quickly reattaching itself to you, as if he needed to anchor himself to something to get his thoughts out, “I like it when you call me Steve. Makes me feel like we’re, you know… Friends.”

You watched as he shrugged, his throat bobbing as he tore his eyes away from you in what you could only assume was embarrassment.

Because even after everything you went through together almost a year ago, even after he saved your life… you weren’t friends. But now?

“Seems like the universe is trying to tell us something.”

Steve’s eyes returned to yours, confusion etched on his face as you sighed and sat up straighter, your body a little closer to him, “We are friends. I mean, you saved my life twice in one year. It would be kinda rude not to be, right?”

A small puff of air forced itself from his chest as he sent you a small smile, “Third time’s the charm,”

“Oh my god, why would you even say that?” You laughed back, mouth agape in faux offense, “But, I suppose I could… try and reserve last names for when I’m actually mad-”

“It would save me a lot of confusion.”

You shared a small, almost silent laugh, his eyes boring into you, seeming much darker in Hopper's dodgy bathroom lightening, Steve’s thumb still subconsciously skimming over your ankle as you both reveled in the quiet, the voices in the lounge were low and muffled slightly, so when the folding door was swiftly yanked open, nearly sending the boy into your lap, you both jumped out of your skin, your wide eyes narrowing into a glower as you stared down the man on the other side of the door,

“You kids need some help in here? Been long enough I thought you’d got lost.”

Rolling your eyes, you settled back against the tank of the toilet with a sigh, “Waiting times in the ER are outrageous. I’ll tell my doctor to hurry it up.”

Steve cleared his throat, discomfort written on his face as he sent Hopper an almost pained smile, unable to keep eye contact for more than a few seconds, “Almost done. Promise.”

You watched Hopper as he watched Steve — the boy suddenly finding the bare wooden floorboards beneath him a little too fascinating — his eyes flitting to you for just a moment before settling back on the boy, “Yeah, well, speed it up, alright? I need to take a leak.”

“Hop,” you heard Joyce warn, pulling the man’s attention for just a moment. His tongue ran across his bottom lip as if he were deep in thought, before he finally conceded, pulling the door across once more, but not shutting it fully.

Steve quickly poured the Arnica ointment onto some toilet paper before gently dabbing it onto your ankle, brows furrowed in concentration “We really should speed things up.”

“Ignore him. He’s just… weird.”

Steve sent you a quirked brow, all too aware that you didn’t bother to lower your voice and that the possibility of Hopper hearing you was high.

“You’re pretty close, huh?”

“He, uh… He dated my Mom. Hung around for a while and never really left, even when they broke up.”

“That’s nice.”

Shrugging, you peered through the gap in the door, eyes finding the man across the room talking quietly with Joyce for a moment before disappearing from your obstructed view, “I guess so. I don’t really see eye to eye with my Mom. I mean, I know what people say about her, about my family, but Hopper, he just… He never cared about all that stuff. I, uh… I cried myself to sleep the night they broke up. I mean, I’d seen guys come and go for years, I was used to it, and I just kind of thought he’d disappear like everyone else. Cross the street when he saw me, duck his head when he saw me in the same aisle at Big Buy… But he just… didn’t, you know? It wouldn’t have ever lasted with my Mom, but he’s been there for me more than anyone. Especially my own dad. I owe him a lot.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way.”

Steve’s comment caught you off-guard slightly. You’d heard all the gross accusations that high schoolers had thrown your way. That Hopper had left your mother for you, that he was your real dad and everything in between. You had thought for so long that he had simply hung around because he felt guilty. Then, you’d heard that he had a daughter, Sara, who had passed away in New York, and you thought that maybe his protectiveness over you was down to grief. That he was trying to make you fit into a Sara-shaped hole.

But Hopper, despite all of his flaws — and he had plenty — was simply a good man.

Sending your sudden tension, Steve scrambled to continue, “I mean, I don’t think he thinks you owe him anything. He seems like a decent guy-”

“He is,” you cut Steve off. Your chest felt heavy and tight as if your body was desperate for the conversation to finish before you burst into tears and embarrassed the both of you.

“All done,” Steve smiled, placing the toilet paper into the sink to be flushed later. He placed your ankle gently on the floor after rolling back down your pant leg and pulling on your sock, “I wouldn’t even try the sneakers, but you do need to ice it.”

Holding out a hand, Steve pulled you up, your bodies a little too close in the cramped bathroom, “We should-”

“Sit your ass down, Steve,” you wanted to pat yourself on the back for remembering, “It’s your turn.”

Eventually, you and Steve emerged from the bathroom, one arm slung over his shoulder as he guided you back into the lounge, Hopper quickly moved from where he was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom and took over, walking you back to his armchair whilst Steve quietly argued — and lost — with Joyce as she tried to give up her own chair, eventually reassuring him that she was going to check on Will, who was resting on Hopper’s fold up bed across the room.

When the once cold can of beer pressed against your ankle had warmed to room temperature, and the box of ‘Eggo’s’ Steve had held against his bruised face had turned soggy, the boy finally pushed himself up, clearing his throat, “I, uh… I should get going.”

You’d explained most of your evening to the group, leaving out that Hargrove had been the cause of your own injuries, and Hopper had told Steve that Billy would find himself on the receiving end of a few extra speeding tickets since the former didn’t want to press charges, and by now, everyone was visibly exhausted. It had been a very long weekend.

“Can I catch a ride?” You asked, already pushing yourself up off the armchair to follow.

Steve nodded and extended the offer, eventually driving you, Max, Lucas, and Dustin out of there. He’d have to drop Billy’s car back before anyone became suspicious, but he’d just waved a hand at you when you’d offered to drive the Camero back after picking up his own car, telling you he would simply walk home and collect it from the woods where he’d left it with yourself and Dustin at the beginning of your hunt for Dart.

Despite Hopper offering to stay at his for the night, you declined. You just wanted to crawl into your own bed and not emerge for a couple of days, despite knowing it was the beginning of another school week. So, after Jim had made you promise to radio him if there was any issue, he begrudgingly sent you off into the night with Steve.

The excitement seemed all too much for the kids, each one falling asleep before Steve had even passed back by Merrill’s farm. His voice was gentle as he woke them up, bar when he gave Dustin a shove, the boy snoring obnoxiously loud as he spread out across the backseat, the last to be dropped home.

Once the boy was safely inside his house, Steve sighed and pulled away, ready to make his way to your house. He could've easily dropped you home first and left Max to last, but the both of you remained quiet as he drove past the long, winding road that would've led to your street. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy, and he cursed each time his hand subconsciously rubbed at them after he'd pulled over outside of your home.

You hesitated for a moment — your hand ready to open the door — unsure of what to say. So instead, you let out a long sigh and turned in the boy’s direction, “Get home safe, okay?”

Steve nodded, “Want me to walk you to the door? You really shouldn’t be putting weight on that-”

“-After everything that’s happened tonight, if I get murdered between this car, and my front door, then so be it,” you joked, a small smile on your face as Steve tiredly returned it.

Steve’s mouth opened, ready to retort, but instead remained hanging wide as you shuffled across the seat, pulling him into an awkward but quick one-armed hug, “Thanks again, Steve. And I’m sorry for, you know… dragging you along to the tunnels.”

Clearing his throat, Steve sent you a firm nod, “No, it’s… I get it, you know? I mean, either way, we kept the kids safe, right?”

“Right…”

“We make a pretty good team,” a puff of laughter fell from Steve’s lips. The irony wasn’t lost on the boy. 12 months ago, Steve wouldn’t have given you the time of day. You both knew that. Hell, you were certain he wouldn’t be able to pick you out from a lineup full of new students that he’d never met, despite the fact Hawkins only had one high school.

“Yeah, I guess we do. Goodnight, Steve.”

You shuffled out of the car ungracefully, and Steve watched with a wince, forcing himself to remain seated as you hobbled your way up the creaky, decayed porch steps and eventually into your home.

Only once you were tucked away safely in your house, bedroom light flicking on a moment later, did Steve finally drive away.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut

33 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 1 month

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 13: Benchwarmers

Chapter Thirteen.

Say what you want, but say it like you mean it, With your fists for once, A long cold war, with your kids at the front, Just give it one more day, then you're done, I do what I want, crying in the bleachers, And I said it was fun, I don't need anything from anyone, It's just not my year, But I'm all good out here

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,098

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, physical violence, Steve gets his ass beat but good God did he try, forced drug use (kinda. If you've seen the episode then I'm sure you understand)

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Thirteen: Benchwarmers

“Are you okay? When you weren’t at the cabin I… I thought you’d gone to find Mike, and then he was with Will and… I thought you left. I thought you were in danger-”

“I’m okay,” the girl tried to reassure you as you held her face between your palms, eyes watery as she tried her best not to cry.

Once you had double-checked her for injuries and wiped her nose with the sleeve of your jacket, you pulled her tight against you once more, “Don’t ever run off like that again, okay? Promise me, El.”

The girl nodded, a quiet ‘I promise’ falling from her mouth as you finally pulled away. Her eyes wandered around the group, falling on the boy she’d been desperate to see for almost a year.

“Eleven?”

“Mike,” This time, the tears fell from the young girl as she tightly gripped the boy. This was all she had wanted for three hundred and fifty-three days.

Hopper placed an arm across your shoulders, pulling you close once you’d moved back next to him, a relieved expression on his features, despite feeling dubious about the sight in front of him. The whole reason he had kept Eleven’s survival shrouded in secrecy was to protect her. To protect all of you, really. And now, the cat was out of the bag. Yet without her, you’d all most likely be Demo-dog food right now.

“That’s her? The girl with the…” Steve wiggled his fingers around slightly, “magic?”

Unable to pull your eyes away from El, thankful that she was here and safe, you simply nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there? That you were okay?”

“Because I wouldn’t let her.” Hopper intervened, causing Mike to turn, a glare settling on his dark brows as the man walked between the two and turned his attention to the girl, “The hell is this? Where have you been?”

“Hop-” you sighed, head already pounding, you refused to witness another fight.

“Where have you been?” El answered back, big brown eyes still brimming with tears. Hopper didn’t reply, and instead pulled her toward him, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

As if the clogs in Mike’s brain finally began to turn, connecting pieces of a puzzle previously hidden from him, he realized that Eleven had been here all along. And both yourself and Hopper knew about it.

“You’ve been hiding her. You’ve been hiding her this whole time!”

Mike shoved Hopper’s back, and despite the man barely moving, you still stepped in, placing a hand on Mike’s arm, only for the boy to shrug it off as he turned back to you, “You too! You were both hiding her, letting us think she was dead… or trapped in the Upside Down. But you knew. This whole time, you knew.”

“Hey,” Hopper grabbed a hold of Mike’s shirt, tugging him down the corridor, “Let’s talk. Alone.”

Your leg bounced as you leaned against the arm of the couch, the sounds of Mike’s pained and frustrated shouts heard from the living room, and despite the boys surrounding El and pulling her into a group hug, you felt several pairs of eyes fall on you.

Your eyes caught with Joyce’s just as she pulled the girl into her own hug, a gentle kiss placed against El’s gelled hair — a personal choice of hers that you'd decided you wouldn’t comment on — before you turned your gaze elsewhere, the older woman leading El through the house to see Will.

“You knew where she was this whole time?” Max asked, a little perplexed by El’s apparent coldness toward her, despite this being their first time meeting.

“Look, Hopper was protecting her. I wasn’t gonna go against that. It was in everyone’s best interest.”

Inhaling deeply, Max shrugged before standing with you, looking around at the drawings that covered the walls, “So this is all real? Not some stupid joke to pull on the new girl?”

A small laugh fell from your lips as you shook your head, “I wish it was joke, but no. All this shit… It’s happened before. Kind of, anyway. I just… I thought it was over with. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged along in this. I shouldn’t have ever told you to-”

“I’d rather know about the Demo-dogs that wanna eat me,” Max’s mouth pulled up in a half-smirk, despite her eyes still holding fear.

Sure, Eleven was here now, which significantly raised your chances of helping Will. But as you learned from last year, someone always gets hurt. Bob was dead and those… things were roaming around in the tunnels under the city, growing by the minute.

“Do you think if we got you back there, you could close it?”

Joyce’s question pulled your attention away from the small redhead, who followed you as you made your way toward where the older woman and Eleven now stood.

“Yes,” El all but whispered, dark eyes full of certainty, “I can close it.”

Standing next to El, her hand clinging to your own, you sighed as the group discussed their choices.

“The place is crawling with those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin interrupted, much to Hopper’s dismay, “Like Demogorgon and dogs… You put them together, it sounds pretty badass-”

“How is this important right now?"

“It’s not. I’m sorry.” The boy sighed, returning his attention to the table you were all standing around, a map of the tunnels spread out.

“I can do it,” El said, no hesitation in her voice at all.

“You’re not hearing me,” Hopper sighed with exasperation, arms folded over his chest.

But El pressed, “I’m hearing you. I can do it.”

“Even if El can, there’s still another problem.” Mike interrupted before the two could begin another argument, “If the brain dies, the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max questioned, confusion lining her brow.

Your head snapped round toward Mike, eyes slightly wider as you sharply inhaled. The boy — who had barely sent you a second look since coming back from his talk with Hopper — watched you across the table, dark eyes peering into yours as you caught on, asking quietly,

“If El closes the gate and kills the mind flayer’s army… What happens to Will?”

“Will’s a part of that army…” Lucas sighed, connecting the dots.

“Closing the gate will kill him,” Mike confirmed, causing everyone’s eyes to fall on Joyce as she pushed her dining chair backward and rushed into Will's room.

The group followed Joyce, eyes peering over Will as he led, still unconscious in bed. Joyce looked around the room, brows pulled together as she racked her brain for answers. Anything that could save Will, whilst still closing the gate.

Your eyes fell from the boy, to the walls where even more papers were taped to the wall. Clogs in your brain turning, you blinked a few times before speaking up.

“You said it’s like a virus, right?”

“That’s what Dr. Owens said, why?” Joyce questioned, her doe eyes turning toward you, almost begging for a solution.

“When you told me he was sick, you said… You said that he liked it cold, right? Will didn't mean himself, did he?”

Joyce’s eyes widened as she darted further into the room, shutting the open window, “We keep giving it what it wants.”

“If this is a virus, and Will’s the host then…” Nancy began, glancing toward you,

“Then we need to make the host inhabitable.” Jonathan finished for her.

“So if he likes it cold…”

“What are you talking about?” Hopper questioned, brow furrowed as he looked around the room.

Sighing, you turned your attention back toward Joyce, the poor woman tearing at her bottom lip with her teeth, “Then we need to burn that motherfucker out of him.”

Hopper had carried Will out toward his car, giving Jonathan directions toward his cabin as Joyce followed behind whilst Steve and Nancy made their way toward the garden to collect anything that would emit heat. You’d told them you’d thrown a decent heater out there whilst clearing the shed, so the two decided to start there.

“You should go with him,” Steve spoke quietly, sifting through the pile of junk.

“What?”

“With Jonathan.”

Nancy scoffed, digging around the other side of the pile, “No, I’m… I’m not just gonna leave Mike.”

Steve’s eyes turned toward the kitchen window as he placed down a ball of tangled Christmas lights, attempting to swallow down the mild dread that still settled in his stomach a year later.

He caught sight of you, standing with your hip against the sink as you spoke to Mike and the others. He could tell by how you struggled to swallow that you were most likely explaining your reasoning for keeping El’s whereabouts hidden. When Mike finally returned your glance, saying something Steve couldn’t make out before nodding, his face softening when you placed an apprehensive hand on his shoulder and pulled the begrudging boy into a half hug. Regardless of the fact he was sure it felt as awkward as it looked, he couldn’t help the small, upward tug of his lips.

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Steve continued, eyes darting toward the large fan that Nancy had lifted when he realized the girl was watching him, “I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but… turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter.”

Steve pulled out the small heater, handing it to Nancy who remained silent for a moment, a look of guilt and understanding written across her soft features when she finally looked toward him, “Steve…”

“It’s okay, Nance… It’s okay.

“If I thought for a second it wouldn’t keep you safe… wouldn’t keep El safe too, then I would’ve fought harder to tell you all, I promise.”

Mike sighed, eyebrows still furrowed together as he kept his eyes on his sneakers, “I thought I’d never see her again.”

“I just… I wanted to protect you. All of you.” You sighed as your fingers pulled at the skin around your nails.

“She’s done more than enough to prove that,” Lucas sent you a small smile across the kitchen, perched at the dining table, and you sent him a tight-lipped smile back, forcing down the bile that threatened to crawl its way up your throat whenever you thought of last year. Of what you did.

“We forgive her, right?” Dustin shrugged.

Lucas nodded in agreement, “Yeah. We get it.”

“I really am sorry, Mike.” You sighed, somehow feeling like a weight had lifted from your shoulders, only to be placed on your chest as you awaited the boy’s response.

“It’s okay,” Mike sighed, before sending you a small nod, “I forgive you, too.”

Placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, you pulled him reluctantly toward you, and despite the scoff that fell from his lips and the eye roll he had most likely sent to the rest of the group, you could feel the smile pull at his cheek.

Looking out the kitchen window, you observed Steve and Nancy awkwardly sifting through the pile of junk you and Hopper had haphazardly thrown outside. Nancy was holding up a large fan that would be useful in the summer months, and you watched as Steve approached her slowly, the former glancing up at him with her large blue eyes.

Frowning, you could only be grateful you had remained inside with the kids and not stuck in the middle of whatever that was. Pushing yourself from the sink, you made your way outside to where El stood.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked quietly, watching as Hopper loaded Will into Jonathan’s car.

“I can do this,” she began, sighing slightly.

Turning toward her, you grabbed one of her hands, “That’s not what I asked. You have a choice in this, no matter what the outcome might be without you. So, are you sure?”

Eleven’s gaze mapped out your face, eyes softening almost instantly, “I’m sure.”

Nodding, you blinked in an attempt to clear your vision from the tears that threatened to fall, “Then you better stay safe, alright? Don’t do anything that you don’t absolutely need to.”

The girl sent you her own nod before her eyes caught something behind you, causing her to inhale deeply. Turning, you watched over your shoulder as Mike slowly approached and decided to head over toward Hopper to give the two some semblance of privacy.

“That goes for you, too.” You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. You knew that Hopper had most likely been listening to your conversation, just as he now had to pretend that he wasn’t eavesdropping on the one El was having with Mike.

“I think you need to be looking in a mirror, Kid.”

“I’m not joking, Hop. Just… Make sure you both come back.”

Hopper’s full attention was now on you as his brow furrowed. Instead of reassuring words, the man simply stepped forward, pulling you into a strong embrace, and if the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed, you would’ve complained about his bear-like strength and knocked his hat from where it perched on his head.

Instead, you felt your tense shoulders relax slightly as the man pressed his lips against the top of your head, mumbling as he promised you a safe return, quietly pleading with you to remain in the house and stay safe, to keep the kids safe.

Once you’d separated, the man pulled a cigarette from his pack, a sharp glare sent in your direction as you swiftly grabbed one too, but his attention was quickly stolen by the two young teenagers standing suspiciously close together.

“El… Come on, let’s go. It’s time.”

His large hand gripped your shoulder reassuringly one last time before you made your way toward the porch, watching as Hopper and El clambered into the former’s car, Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce behind in the eldest Byers siblings vehicle, Will’s head resting against Joyce’s lap.

As they drove down the long, winding dirt drive, you stood next to Steve, the gang of teens surrounding you as you watched them all leave, the feeling of helplessness weighing heavily on you all.

Everyone had returned inside, leaving you alone on the porch to stew in your feelings. You’d barely been in the house a minute after everyone left, lighting your stolen cigarette on Joyce’s stove before strolling back out and settling down on the hardwood.

As you ran a hand over your face you felt the exhaustion finally settle deep in your bones. Despite feeling useless, you couldn’t help but be glad you were left here to look after the kids. God knows you wouldn’t be of any help in this state.

Head bent backward, you blew up a cloud of smoke, watching as it danced around in the cold November air and clouded the stars above you for just a moment before you inhaled another deep breath, eyes falling closed as you held your breath, the smoke gradually burning your lungs.

“Heard that’s bad for your health.”

The sudden interruption of silence caused your body to jerk, the smoke finally escaping you as you spluttered, feeling like you were hacking up a lung.

Steve settled beside you on the porch step, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder as he waited for you to either stop coughing or keel over and die. He hadn’t meant to scare you half to death, but a smirk pulled at his mouth regardless when you finally turned to him with a glare,

“You are bad for my health, Harrington.”

Taking a second to consider what you’d said, his smirk only grew, “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” you huffed before offering him the cigarette.

He contemplated it for a moment before declining with a shake of his head, “After surviving Demo-dogs, you think I’m gonna let these things take me out?”

“I’m going to take you out in a minute if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette.

“Didn’t realize I was your type,” the boy quipped, “I’m a fan of Enzo’s, they have unlimited breadsticks. Not too sure it’s in your budget, though.”

Your glare was much more intense as you stared him down, “You’re not, and God… Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

Steve nudged your shoulder with his own before leaning his arms onto his long, slender legs that were bent awkwardly in front of him, “If you think I’m an ass, you should see what Henderson’s done.”

“What do you mean?” You questioned suspiciously.

“Let's just say,” Steve rubbed a hand through his hair, causing it to look wilder than normal “If Mrs. Byers invites you round for dinner, I'd pass.”

“In the fridge?” You all but screeched, pushing the front door open, eyes darting around for the curly-haired kid, “You put that goddamn dog in Mrs. Byers's fridge?”

“Demo-dog,” you heard Dustin call from the kitchen, making his appearance, “And yes, obviously. As a woman of science, I thought you'd-”

Your nose scrunched up as you shook your head, “No. No, don’t call me that ever again.”

“But I thought-”

“Look, whatever little science fair project you plan on doing with it, fine. Whatever. That’s your business. But you’re cleaning that mess up, and you can explain to Mrs. Byers why there’s a monster in her fridge-”

“Demo-dog,” Dustin stressed again, exasperated.

Rolling your eyes, you turned away from the boy who quickly made his way back to the kitchen and began picking up the abandoned refrigerated food, throwing it straight into the bin.

“Mike, would you stop already?” Lucas sighed, hands holding the dustpan as Max swept up the remaining glass that littered the floor from the Demo-dog's grand entrance.

“You weren’t in there, okay, Lucas?” Mike glared, finally stopping his pacing, “That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs!” Dustin hollered, clearly annoyed with everyone’s lack of detail.

“The Chief will take care of her,” Lucas tried to reassure the boy, but Mike only rolled his eyes, Max scoffing that the girl clearly didn’t need protection.

Steve made his way toward Mike, trying his best to keep the peace, “Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?”

“Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game. And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

“Right, so, my point is…” Steve stammered, glancing toward you as five pairs of eyes settled on him, “A little help here?”

You merely shrugged, picking at your cuticle, “Oh, I don’t do sports analogies.”

His mouth opened and closed several times as he sent you an exasperated glare, “…Right. Yeah, we’re on the bench, so, uh… there’s nothing we can do.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Dustin spoke up, causing Steve to peer at him over his shoulder, “I mean, these Demo-dogs… They have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.”

“So if we get their attention…”

“Maybe we can draw them from the lab.” Max finished Lucas’s thought aloud.

“And clear a path to the gate.”

You could almost smell the gears in their head begin to spin.

“Yeah, and then we all die,” Steve chided, his hands falling to his narrow hips and you noticed the dish towel still slung over his shoulder, like an irritated mother.

“That’s one point of view,” Dustin shrugged.

“No, that’s not a point of view, man. That’s a fact.”

“I got it,” Mike pushed through the two, leading you all toward one of the drawings that hung on the wall, “This is where the Chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. So…”

Moving back toward the living room, he stood on top of where some drawings were taped together on the floor, all tunnels seemingly leading to that point, “So, you got all the tunnels feeding in here. Maybe if we set this on fire…”

“Oh, yeah? That’s a no.” Steve interrupted, unamused and unwilling to hear the boy out, but the gang was already considering it.

“The Mind Flayer would call away his army.”

“They’d all come to stop us.”

“Hey… Guys.” Steve tried to interrupt once again, his patience well and truly leaving the building as they continued to talk over him, “Hey, hey, hey!”

Everyone turned their attention toward the boy as he lowered his voice, “This is not happening.”

“But-”

“No, no, no, no, no. No buts. We promised that we’d keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing, right?”

Realizing Steve was now looking to you for backup, your mouth opened and closed a few times, much like a goldfish aimlessly swimming around a too-small bowl. Your eyes darted between the kids almost pleading looks, and Steve’s stern stare. Sighing, you closed your mouth and shrugged, silently agreeing with the older teen, even if the plan seemed… workable.

“We’re staying here, on the bench, and we’re waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand?”

“This isn’t a stupid sports game, ”Mike tried to argue one last time, but it fell on deaf ears.

Pulling the towel from his shoulder and using it to point at the group, Steve repeated himself, “I said does everybody understand that? I need a yes.”

Before any of the kids could agree, the sound of an engine revving outside pulled everyone’s attention away. It was way too early for anyone to be back, plus, the only one of you who could afford a car that made that kind of noise was standing opposite you.

Max, clearly recognizing the sound, dashed toward the window, Lucas next to her as they watched the familiar blue Camero drive up the path, headlights blinding as he drove a little too fast.

“It’s my brother,” Max sighed, “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

The sound of screeching tires caused your feet to move toward the door before your brain could calculate a plan. Steve, however, caught hold of your elbow, brows almost pinching together as he shook his head,

“Where are you going?”

“He’s not gonna just go away. He knows someone is home, it wouldn’t be weird for me to be here.”

“And what exactly are you gonna say to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought maybe I’d ask him on a coffee date. What the hell do you think I’m gonna say.”

Steve scoffed, his hand falling from your elbow as he crossed his arms over his chest, “I’m not… I’m not gonna let you go out there after what happened. He said-”

“I don’t care what he said, Harrington. He isn’t going to just leave.”

“I’ll go-”

“Oh, please. He’s been gunning for you all week.”

Grabbing the towel from his shoulder, Steve pushed it into your hands, a serious expression falling over his features, “Stay here with them. I got this, alright?”

Leaning against the closed door, you could barely hear the boy’s conversation but you knew damn well that Steve, in fact, did not have this. Your eyes were closed as you concentrated on the mumbled words spoken between the two outside.

The younger teens suddenly fell onto the sofa underneath them, eyes wide with panic.

“Shit, did he see us?” Dustin questioned, causing you to straighten up.

Sending them an incredulous glare, you pushed away from the door slightly, “Oh my God, get away from the window!”

The sound of a body hitting the ground, quickly followed by a second grunt caused you to try and peer through the frosted glass of the door, unsure as to whether it was Harrington, or Hargrove who was now making their way up the porch.

You barely had enough time to dodge out of the way as the door swung open and bumped harshly against your shoulder, the momentum causing you to stumble to the floor as Billy stepped foot in the Byers home.

His cruel eyes darted between where you were sprawled out on the floor, and Max as she stood surrounded by the boys, face remaining stoic as he slammed the door shut behind him, blocking your view of Steve, who was taking a moment to recover out on the driveway, “Well, well, well…”

Stepping over you, Billy’s eyes now focused on his primary target, “Lucas Sinclair. What a surprise.”

Your brows furrowed together as you pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the ache in your arm as your eyes bore into the back of Billy’s head as he approached his step-sister, “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max.”

“Billy, go away.” Max’s voice shook, but she stood her ground.

“Hargrove, c’mon…” You stepped forward, heart thumping against your rib cage in what seemed like a great escape.

“You disobeyed me,” the older teen said, low and gruff, using his height to leer over the girl, “And you know what happens when you disobey me… I break things.”

Billy moved quickly, and before you had a chance to stop him, he grabbed Lucas by the collar of his jacket, dragging him across the kitchen and slamming him into the small shelving unit.

The kids yelled for him to stop as you launched yourself across the room, “Hargrove! Get off of him!”

Your hand made contact with Billy’s burgundy shirt, attempting to tug him off the younger boy, but he was much stronger than you. His right arm shot out, knocking you away from him and causing your head to hit the corner of the cabinet behind you on your way to the floor, unable to catch yourself.

Billy leaned in close, threatening Lucas once more, but you could barely hear him, the whooshing sound that reverberated between your ears taking front and center of your attention as your hand reluctantly touched the crown of your head, causing you to flinch and pull your now blood-stained fingers away quickly.

Before you knew what had happened, Billy was forced away from him, Lucas’s foot connecting with a much more sensitive body part of the older boys.

Billy merely took seconds to recover, his eyes now full of fire, “You’re so dead, Sinclair! You’re dead.”

“No,” a strained voice came from behind, forcing the older boy away and allowing you to see Steve who had finally made his way off the floor outside, “No. You are.”

Steve’s fist flew, connecting with Billy’s nose and causing the boy to spin, but not quite fall, his sneakers barely missing your fingers that were staining the linoleum.

Steve’s eyes glanced over at your huddled frame as he shook out his fist before they found Lucas — who was now the center of a group hug before Billy’s loud, mocking laughter caught his attention,

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?” Billy practically shouted, blood slowly trickling from his nose, “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about.”

Steve remained stoic as Billy approached him, a firm hand against his chest as he pushed the boy away slightly, “Get out.”

But Billy wasn’t leaving without a fight.

Steve managed to duck, avoiding Billy’s initial attack, and land his own punch against the boy’s cheek causing him to bump into the table. Pulling himself back up quickly, Billy continued to taunt Steve as he laughed out loud, even when Steve hit him again and again, pushing the boy past you, and into the kitchen sink.

The kids yelled for Steve, cheering him on, and you were genuinely impressed. Either Steve had been practicing since last year, or Billy was a much better fighter with his words and not his fists.

That thought, however, quickly changed when Billy lifted a clean plate from the draining board next to the sink, smashing it over Steve’s head and causing the boy to lose his bearing. Which made the next punch all too easy.

“Hargrove, stop!” You tried to yell, attempting to push yourself upright, but your sneaker slipped on a small piece of china, causing you to crash back down, your vision dotted.

With a swift headbutt, Billy continued his relentless attack, even once Steve was on the floor and unable to fight back. A dirty fighter, that made much more sense.

Billy crowded over Steve, his fists flying as he took out a wave of anger that seemed far too exorbitant to be over a step-sister he claimed he really didn’t like.

Finally managing to steady your footing, you used the cabinet to pull yourself up, smearing bits of blood over the counter as you stumbled over toward the sink, looking for something, anything to stop Billy’s attack.

Your fingers found the glass you’d been drinking out of earlier — the one you’d originally poured for Steve — and cursed slightly as it fumbled from your grasp. Once you were sure your grip was tight enough, you raised your arm, throwing the glass directly at Billy. Whether it hit his head or his back, you couldn’t quite make out, but when he halted his vicious attack on Steve and slowly peered over his shoulder at you, your hands grasped onto another plate that had been draining on the side.

Billy’s mouth pulled up into a sardonic smirk, goading you as if you hadn't already thrown a glass at him. His smile dropped quickly, however, when he found himself having to raise an arm to block the plate as you threw it like a frisbee, this time purposely aiming for his head.

You couldn’t tell whether it was through your fear or your potential concussion, but it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Billy pushed himself up, chest heaving with hostility as he approached you, and it felt like you were underwater, unable to move quick enough to escape his wrath.

“People like you never learn, do you? What did I tell you last time?” Billy didn’t give you a chance to answer as he — almost tauntingly — made his way toward you with slow, steady steps as he licked his lips, “I said, I wouldn’t be so nice about you hitting me again.”

Thankfully, Max had already darted into action. Grabbing the spare needle from the side, Max dashed toward Billy, injecting him in the neck from behind before he could reach you.

You saw the confusion fall over Billy’s face as he turned slightly, eyes meeting the enraged stare of his step-sister. The room remained quiet, everyone watching with bated breath as Billy tried to step forward but his wobbling legs were unable to hold him up properly, the sedative already working its way through his body.

“What the hell is this?” Billy’s bloodied hands fumbled with the syringe, finally managing to pull it out of his neck before he fell to his knees, “You little shit, what did you do?”

Max sidestepped him easily, the boy’s body seemingly turning boneless as he fell from his knees, flat out onto his back. Still, he continued to jeeringly laugh.

Grabbing the nailed bat and raising it high, Max made her way toward Billy, “From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?”

“Screw you,” Billy practically babbled, his eyes trying to focus on the redhead.

The bat swung down harshly, right between the boy's legs, causing him to peer down, shock evident on his face.

Ripping the bat from where it stuck into the floor, Max raised it again, “Say you understand! Say it!”

“I understand,” Billy mumbled, his vision tunneling as his fight to remain conscious became a losing battle.

Once it was clear Billy was not waking up any time soon, you all began to move. Dustin and Mike made their way over to Steve, both fussing before Mike rushed off to get a wet cloth in an attempt to wipe off some of the blood, whilst Lucas wrapped an arm around your waist, helping you toward where Steve lay, sprawled across the floor.

“Holy shit,” you grumbled as you took in the boy's battered and bruised face as you rested on your knees next to him. Mike returned with the cloth, handing it to you as you tried your best to stop the blood from gushing out of Steve’s nose. You wouldn’t be shocked if it was broken, especially as one of his eyes was already beginning to blacken and swell.

“I found these,” Dustin huffed, pulling out a few decorated plasters from Mrs. Byers's first aid kit.

“I don’t think they’re gonna do much-”

“We need to get out of here. If we’re gonna do this, we need to leave now.”

“We can’t just leave him,” Dustin huffed. Steve had just almost kicked Billy’s ass for them, he wasn’t about to leave him here.

“Especially not with Billy. If he wakes up first, there’s no knowing what he’ll do.”

Mike’s head whipped around in your direction, “Then what do you suggest?”

Blinking a few times in an attempt to focus your slightly blurred vision, you released a sigh, “You can’t just go down into the tunnels.”

Lucas shook his head, “We can’t just stay here and do nothing, either.”

“I’m not… That’s not what I’m saying,” the group turned toward you, faces shrouded in confusion, “I’m just saying we can’t just go into the tunnels. We need to be able to get out of them, too. And we don’t know what’s down there, or how it affects us. We need supplies.”

Mike stepped forward, eyes watching you warily, “We’re gonna do this? You're in?”

“I thought it was a pretty decent plan, so yeah, I'm in… I'm all in.”

You had argued for a solid five minutes that you should be the one to drive Billy’s car, considering you were the only conscious person in the room old enough for a license. But as you stood to make your way toward Max, hand held out of the keys, your vision tunneled, causing you to stumble, swallowing down the wave of nausea that felt unrelenting.

So, somehow you ended up sitting next to Dustin in the back seat of the Camero, Steve’s head resting on your lap as you held an ice pack to his face, the other hand grasping the passenger seat’s headrest, cursing Max under your breath whenever she took a turn a little too sharply.

Too occupied with keeping yourself firmly in the car, you didn’t notice Steve wake up until he began to grumble, his eyes meeting yours as he gazed up at you. You caught his hand as he tried to rub at his bruised face when Max hit a pothole a little zealously, and placed it back over his chest, “It’s best if you don’t touch it.”

“Hey, buddy,” Dustin cooed, smiling down at Steve as the boy began to look around, unsure of where he was, or how he got there, “It’s okay, you put up a good fight. He kicked your ass, but you put up a fight.”

“Henderson, that’s not really helping.” You scolded the boy as you rearranged the ice pack when Steve tried to bat it away.

“Okay, you’re gonna keep straight for a half mile, then make a left on Mount Sinai.”

“What’s going on?” Steve grumbled, his words slurred slightly as he looked up at Max peering over the steering wheel. Then at you.

Then at Max again, because why the hell was a thirteen-year-old driving?

Adrenaline flooded Steve’s system, causing him to begin to panic, “Oh my god…”

The boy tried to sit up, despite laying across the entire back seat, and essentially over yourself, Dustin, and Mike. Pushing his shoulder, you tried soothing him, “Steve, it’s fine, alright? You just need to calm down-”

“What’s going on?!” He asked, his voice much higher than before as Max floored it. If Steve had panicked before, he was now well on his way to having a coronary, “Stop the car! Slow down!”

“I told you he’d freak out,” Mike glared toward Dustin as Steve continued to do just that, leading to Max screaming at them all to shut up and let her concentrate.

After a — once again — too-sharp left turn, you passed Mount Sinai, taking an all too innocent mailbox with you, your knuckles aching from how hard you clutched at the passenger seat, uncaring if you tore the leather.

That would be the least of Billy’s worries.

42 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 2 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 12: The Return

Chapter Twelve.

Now I see you, trouble, it's coming up ahead, Black dogs running through the fields, They're dripping red, The world is quiet and there's nothing left unsaid, A million image, million capture, million dead.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,028

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of death (incl. murder oopsie daisy), bonding, Dustin is my whole heart, but also a little a-hole sometimes.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Twelve: The Return

Watching as Mike was held back by some kind of invisible force, shouting and pleading to be let past, Hopper’s concerned brow as the pieces of whatever puzzle he was trying to solve finally fit together in his brain, their voices were drowned out by a continuous banging sound.

Slowly turning, Eleven’s breath caught in her throat when she saw you, your body trying in vain to keep something closed, to keep something out. And one ferocious, shrill growl told her exactly what it was that was after you.

The growl echoed in the back of El’s head as she realized it wasn’t just one. She could hear the grunts and shallow breathing of the others, but your body pining something closed was all she could concentrate on. The fear and horror in your eyes, the banging shoving you forward, little by little, as you quietly prayed to not lose your balance, your sneakers slowly sliding across the floor.

You were all going to die.

“They’re going somewhere.”

Steve’s voice was the only sound that hadn't been drowned out by the blood rushing around in your ears. The monsters had run into the woods, and El had been missing for God knows how long. You prayed she’d found Mike and was safe with him, even if it meant she had broken her promise to Hopper, but a heavy, sickening feeling in your gut told you she wasn’t. And if El was still missing, traipsing around the woods, then there was a good chance those monsters would find her, and although you knew Eleven could stand her ground against one of them, you didn’t want to think about what a group — albeit, smaller — could do.

Especially if she didn’t know they were coming.

“Your stupid pet could’ve eaten us!” Lucas yelled, his eyebrows furrowed together at Dustin’s sheer stupidity at keeping a damn Demogorgon that had eaten his cat.

Storming back over, you pushed between the two, “Hey, assholes. I don’t care who broke your loser code first, alright? And I don’t give a shit about Dustin’s cat, either. But unless you wanna end up like Mews, I suggest we leave. So if you can’t argue and walk at the same time then just shut up and let's go.”

“We should’ve waited in the bus like I said. Waited until someone came through on the radio-”

“And if nobody answers? If those things come back? We’re dead.”

“Steve has the-”

“Dead, Dustin. We’re lucky we got out of there once, I don’t wanna take my chances again.”

“You protected us last time!” Dustin’s voice cracked a little at the end, but the desperation in his voice was enough to stop anyone from mentioning it.

Your eyebrow cocked, but your mouth settled into a thin line, part of you daring the boy to say the words while the other part of you wanted to shove his hat in his mouth, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Last time? What happened last time?” Max questioned, a frown still painted on her face from Dustin’s previous insult.

“Last time we were on the bus... That’s why you didn’t wanna stay there, right? Because of what you did to that man-”

“-Dustin,” Lucas warned, his large eyes darting between you and his friend,

“Maybe we should-”

Steve was cut off by the curly-haired boy who couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut, “What you did-”

“What I did isn’t important right now,” you painfully swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, “We need to get out of these woods and… Harrington? What the hell are you doing?”

“Dude, that was not cool,” you heard Lucas whisper to Dustin as the boy stuttered, trying to explain himself.

But you were too concerned with Steve, and the fact he was now staring off into the woods, clearly straining his ears in an attempt to hear… screeching?

The boys continued to bicker until Steve finally shouted for their attention, his flashlight pointing off into the woods. Everyone remained silent for a moment, and Steve’s gaze turned toward you as if asking for permission to continue.

Squeezing your eyes closed for a moment, you exhaled deeply and sent the boy a short nod before following after him.

“Guys… Why are you headed towards the sound? Hello? Shit…" Max grumbled, finally following after the two younger teens who had begun to rush behind you and Steve.

The noise led you out to a large opening upon a hill, looking over a large majority of the town.

A town full of people who were completely unaware of what had been released into Hawkins. Again.

Lifting his binoculars, Lucas looked around the open space, over the treetops of the surrounding area. Nothing in sight but… “It’s the lab. They were going back home.”

Steve’s body felt warm as it hovered next to yours, and you felt your brow pull down slightly because, of course, he’d be able to keep himself warm on a cool evening like this. Huffing out in annoyance, you rubbed your arms over your denim jacket, trying to preserve as much of your body heat as possible.

The walk down through the rest of the woods had been easier than anticipated, most likely due to the fact you were heading downhill for a large majority of your travels. And now you knew that a Demogorgon wasn’t going to pop out from behind a bush, you felt a little safer. But still, your pace remained hurried, head-turning every few seconds to check and re-check that the kids were still following along behind.

At the end of the woods, you heard a familiar voice that you really weren’t expecting. Nancy and Jonathan stood not far from the latter’s car, calling out as you all emerged through the tree line. Your eyes darted down toward where Jonathan's grip was protectively clinging to Nancy's sleeve, before he quickly dropped it, realizing she was safe as they made their way toward your group,

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Mike and Will,” Nancy clarified, confusion etched on her face.

“They’re not in there, are they?” You asked, head nodding toward the large, grey building.

Jonathan’s brow furrowed slightly, realizing you knew something he didn't, “Why?"

The screeching reverberated around you, carried by the chilly November air, causing everyone to turn their attention to the building, a few windows lighting up from flashing lights.

Just like how the Christmas lights had flickered around Joyce's house last year before the whole building suddenly lit up.

“The power’s back,” Nancy said before you all made your way toward the entrance gate. Jonathan sat inside the control box, tapping a button in vain, but the gate remained closed. Bickering with Dustin for a moment, the older boy finally allowed Dustin to bash it, and the gate slowly creaked open.

You stayed back with the kids and Steve, Nancy explaining that there simply wouldn’t be enough room for everyone in the car if they did manage to find their families. So instead, you ungracefully threw yourself down on the curb and ran a hand over your face.

You felt exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained and somehow, this night felt far from over.

“Are you okay?” Dustin settled on the grass next to you, his sneaker scuffing yours slightly.

Taking in a deep breath, you looked up toward the star-filled sky and nodded, “Yeah. I’m good, Henderson.”

The boy was silent for a moment, trying to pick his next words carefully, “What I said earlier, you know? About last year…”

Your jaw clenched as you turned your attention to the grass next to you, plucking a few strands.

Max and Lucas stood only a few feet away in the road, and you could tell that they — along with Steve, who stood even closer — were listening, only Lucas being aware of the impact of Dustin’s words.

“I’m sorry if it upset you. Brought up some bad memories. I just-”

“It’s fine, Henderson-”

“-I just think it was totally badass of you, you know?” The boy refused to let you cut him off, his eyes boring into the side of your face as you cautiously turned toward him, “That guy… El said he was bad. He would’ve killed us in that bus… Probably would’ve dragged El back here, and nobody would’ve been able to stop the Demogorgon last year.”

When you remained quiet, despite your slightly softened expression, Dustin continued, “Will would’ve never been found, Joyce would’ve probably been sent to Pennhurst, and we’d all be dead. I know it probably felt really shitty, but you killed him to save us.”

Your eyes returned to your shoes, eyebrows pulled together as you tried to breathe around the large lump that had clawed its way up your throat.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t had this exact conversation with Hopper already, the man explaining that what you had done was brave and heroic and a bunch of words that made your skin crawl.

You had killed a man, without any hesitation. And if Jim hadn’t caught that metal pipe, you’d have probably accidentally killed him too. The thought still choked you, even a year later.

“He’s right,” Lucas spoke quietly, “It was all he would talk about for a solid week. Will had come back from the dead, El had superpowers, but all he could talk about was how cool you were.”

“Yeah, alright. We get it, Lucas.” Dustin scoffed, standing up as his cheeks reddened, obvious even under the dark sky. The boy placed his cold hands into the pockets of his hoodie and looked at you one last time, “Like I said… Badass. So uh, on behalf of us all... Thanks.”

The silence between the group felt like it stretched on forever, and you could feel Steve’s gaze on you, even after he took Dustin’s seat on the curb. His shoulder bumped yours a few times on accident as he fiddled with the bottom of his jeans, pulling at a loose thread.

Thankfully the screech of tires stopped whatever conversation he was gearing up for, and caused you all to stand and rush toward the gate.

Jonathan’s Ford came barreling down from the lab, horn blaring as if he didn’t already have your attention, causing the five of you to rush out of the middle of the road, his car not stopping as it passed by.

Hopper, however, slammed on the brakes of his Chevvy before it could pass you, “Come on, get in.”

Your group poured into the Byers’ home, eyes wide and suspicious as you all peered at the unusual drawings strung up along the walls, everyone feeling a little too uncomfortable to ask Joyce what had happened as she made her way into the back of her house alone.

Will was resting on the sofa, still unconscious as Jonathan pushed back the fallen hair from his face, softly reassuring the boy and apologizing for his absence, Nancy stood behind him with a gentle hand of her own placed on his shoulder, squeezing every so often.

When Steve turned away from the two, pinching the bottom of his nostrils, you sent him an apologetic glance, and despite knowing next to nothing about the argument that had occurred on Halloween, you knew he hadn’t expected this. The dying red roses in the bottom of his passenger side foot well told you as much.

Blinking a little too quickly for your liking, Steve bypassed you quickly and instead made his way into the kitchen and away from the scene unfolding in front of him. Instead of listening to any more of Hopper’s incessant — and frankly, pointless — yelling down the phone, you followed Steve, leaning against the counter as you poured a glass of water from the tap.

“You good, Harrington?”

The boy released a sigh, taking the glass from your offered hand before taking a few sips, his eyes refusing to meet yours as he looked at the paper lining the rooms, “Fine. I just, uh… I thought all this shit was over with.”

You couldn’t be certain if Steve meant the Upside Down situation or the Nancy and Jonathan situation. Either way, you didn’t dare to ask

“They didn’t believe you, did they?” Dustin questioned once Hopper had replaced the telephone.

“We’ll see,” he sighed, already knowing the answer, but trying to keep even remotely positive for the kids.

His bullshit, however, wasn’t sitting well with Mike, “We’ll see? We can’t just sit here while those things are loose!”

You’d caught Hopper’s attention before everyone made it into Joyce’s, both hanging back in his car as the rest made their way inside, a sight not unlike the one last year. You’d told him about El, and how you hadn’t been able to find her. You’d had no idea when she’d left, but you’d thought maybe she’d be with Mike. But if the boy had seen her, he wasn’t letting on, seemingly still in the dark about her well-being as he was at the beginning of the week.

After that, you’d rushed back inside and away from Hopper’s worried eyes. If you were surrounded by people, maybe he wouldn’t get the chance to question you.

“We stay here, and we wait for help,” Hopper grumbled, making his way down the hallway toward where Joyce had shut herself away. He’d mentioned on the drive back that Bob had sacrificed himself to make sure they all got out alive. He nearly made it and then… Then those monsters tore him apart.

Releasing a deep sigh, you rubbed your hand over your face before watching the four children at the table. You would be sitting ducks if you remained here, let alone the rest of the town who had no idea what was out there.

You jolted slightly when you felt a warm palm over your other hand, gripping to the counter with such intensity that your knuckles were beginning to ache.

In Steve’s other hand, he held out the same glass of water to you, now only a quarter full, “You’re shaking.”

Taking the drink, you slipped your other hand from under his own and placed it against the cold glass. Despite the chilly November breeze, the air in this house felt stale.

“I just… I feel so useless, you know?” Steve’s eyes remained on you, sad and all too soft, waiting as you continued, “They’re kids. They shouldn’t be sitting here waiting to be… hunted. Because let's face it, the same government that caused this isn’t about to break down the front door and help us.”

Steve didn’t know what to say, feeling just as helpless as you. So instead he remained leaning against the kitchen counter, staring out the window as Mike began to tell them about Bob, and the fact that he alone had started the AV club and that they couldn’t let the man’s death be in vain.

“I mean, when it was just Dart, maybe…”

“But there’s an army now.” Lucas sighed in defeat.

“His army,” something seemed to click in Mike’s head, “Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army, too.”

The boys looked around at each other, clearly catching onto whatever Mike was babbling on about much quicker than you, Steve, or Max.

“Who’s army?” You dared to question. Mike didn’t respond, instead rushing toward the table where more pictures were set and showing you one of some kind of… spider monster.

“The shadow monster,” Dustin began, only to be cut off by Mike.

“It got Will that day on the field. The doctor said it was like a virus, it infected him.”

“And so this virus, it’s connecting him to the tunnels?”

“To the tunnels, monsters, the Upside Down, everything.”

“Whoa, slow down… Slow down.” Steve sighed, eyes darting between the paper and you, glad he wasn’t the only one in the group to be completely oblivious to whatever the kids were discussing.

“Okay, so, the shadow monster’s inside everything. And If the vines feel something like pain, then so does Will.”

“And so does Dart.”

“Yeah. Like what Mr. Clarke taught us. The hive mind.”

“Hive mind?”

“A collective consciousness? Like... Bees?” You questioned, one eyebrow cocked in almost disbelief. Snatching the drawing from Steve’s hands, you inspected the drawing, and what you assumed they thought was the brain.

“...Like the mind flayer,” Dustin announced, causing the other boys to look at him with shock.

Max, yourself, and Steve were once again on the outside of Nerdville looking in, “The what?”

Dustin rushed into Will’s room, grabbing a large book from his desk without a second thought and calling everyone else to the kitchen before slamming it onto the table, already opened to the right page, “The mind flayer.”

“What the hell is that?” Hopper questioned, brows pulled down, clearly unconvinced.

“It’s a monster from an unknown dimension. It’s so ancient that it doesn’t even know its true home. Okay, it enslaves races of other dimensions by taking over their brains using its highly-developed psionic powers.”

“Oh my god, none of this is real,” Jim sighed, “This is a kids’ game.”

“No, it’s a manual. And it’s not for kids. And unless you know something that we don’t, this is the best metaphor-”

“Analogy,” Lucas interrupted almost accidentally.

“Analogy? That’s what you’re worried about? Fine. An analogy for understanding whatever the hell this is.”

“Okay, so this mind flamer thing-”

“Flayer. Mind flayer…”

Nancy’s jaw ticked in annoyance before she continued, “What does it want?”

“To conquer us, basically. It believes it’s the master race.”

“Like the Germans?” Steve stammered, finally hoping he understood anything going on, only to be met with confusion around the table.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled under your breath, “We’re in the same history class, you are not this dense.”

Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times, brows pulled down low as he scoffed at you.

“Uh, the Nazis?” Dustin sighed, watching as Steve stuttered once more.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah… The Nazis.”

As Dustin continued, your eyes shot across to Hopper who was rubbing at his eyes in annoyance, and you could count down the minutes until he lost it.

“We are talking about the destruction of our world as we know it.”

“That’s great. That’s really great. Jesus…”

“Okay, so if this thing is like a brain that’s controlling everything, then if we kill it-”

“We kill everything it controls.”

“We win.”

“Theoretically.”

“Great, so how do you kill this thing? Shoot it with fireballs or something?” Hopper asked, grabbing the book from Nancy, annoyance still etched on his face.

“No, no… No fireballs,” Dustin’s slight amusement vanished the second the Chief turned his disdained glare to him, “Uh, you summon an undead army, uh, because… Because zombies, you know, they don’t have brains, and the mind- the mind flayer it… it likes brains. It’s just a game…”

“What the hell are we doing here?” Jim questioned, more to himself than anyone else, slamming the book back onto the table. There it was.

“I thought we were waiting for your military backup.”

“We are!”

“Even if they come, how are they going to stop this? You can’t just shoot this with guns.”

Rubbing at your temples, you tried to drown out their arguing as thoughts seemed to whoosh past you. Something the boys had said had rubbed you the wrong way, you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

“-And we know it’s only a matter of time before those tunnels reach this town.”

“They’re right,” a croaky voice interrupted them. Joyce made her way toward the table, eyes red from crying, “We have to kill it. I want to kill it.”

And a plan was set into place.

You helped Hopper clear out the shed in the Byers’ backyard, tables and old fans thrown carelessly on the floor as you quickened your pace, untrusting of the dark night.

“Do you really think this is going to work?”

Sighing, Jim threw the last box to the floor as everyone else passed you, nail guns in hand, in an attempt to make the small shed look unrecognizable, “I don’t know what I believe anymore, kid.”

“We’re gonna be able to save him, right?”

Hopper stood back up to his full height before turning toward you and placing his hands on his hips, “We’re gonna do everything we can. Now hurry up and start-”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, unable to hold the words down, despite how acidic they tasted on your tongue. You weren’t used to apologizing, normally any arguments with your mother were over as soon as the morning came and she sobered up a little. And despite your vicious tongue, you often refrained from apologizing to anyone else, whether or not you wanted to. 'Sorry' had never solved anything for you before.

Hopper’s features softened slightly before he released a long sigh, “You don’t need to-”

“About everything. I’m sorry, for everything.” You reaffirmed, hoping he understood.

You were sorry that El had left, and you hadn’t been able to find her. You were sorry that you had broken the frame that held the only picture of his daughter that he dared to have on display. You were sorry he had to go through this again.

You quickly turned, marching out of one awkward conversation, and right into another.

Steve nailed the top corner of a tarmac sheet to the wall as Nancy peeled off some tape. You knew it was only them in the shed, but your mind had been distracted from the seemingly endless drama between the two. Before you could make a silent exit, Nancy turned, wide, blue eyes on you,

“Oh, hey.”

“I didn’t mean to come in here I just… Uh, I didn’t wanna be out there anymore.”

The girl sent you a shy smile, shaking her head as she continued to rip off pieces of tape. Steve, however, held out the nail gun in your direction, “Promise you won’t staple me to the wall if I let you have this?”

Huffing out a barely concealed laugh, you carefully took the staple gun out of his hand and shrugged, “No promises, Harrington.”

Once the rest of the gang had finished their jobs, collecting newspapers and flattened cardboard that would help to conceal the small shack, you all made your way back into the house as Jonathan carried Will into the shed.

Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, you squeezed reassuringly before taking your exit, faces of the others peering out from the kitchen window.

As time ticked by, Steve made his way toward the lounge, practicing his baseball swing, feeling almost certain that he’d need to use it again tonight as the rest of the kids, bar Mike were scattered around the house.

You stood in the kitchen with Nancy, the girl staring blankly at the wall as you slowly washed up the dishes in Joyce’s sink, trying to make yourself feel a little less unhelpful.

“Jonathan and I… We, uh… We planned on meeting with Barb’s parents to tell them the truth.”

A plate slipped out of your grip, landing back in the soapy warm water and splashing your shirt. Looking over your shoulder, you didn’t manage to get out a word before Nancy cut you off,

“We didn’t… But, we did do something else. We met with someone else. That’s where we were this weekend. Why we ditched school.”

You’d heard the rumors that the two had been seen rushing away from school Thursday afternoon and hadn’t shown back up Friday morning. Billy and Tommy had been cackling about it whenever Steve had passed them in the hallways, causing the rest of the school to mumble and giggle about it, too.

But you knew how rumors worked, especially in high school, and decided to keep your nose firmly out of their business. But this? Well, this was your business…

“Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid,”

“We met with the detective that Mrs. Holland told us about-” Dropping your head forward, you let out an exasperated sigh, “It’s fine he… He isn’t what we thought he’d be like. We told him… Everything. Had proof, too. But he made a very good point-”

“At keeping your mouth shut?”

“At telling the right story. You were right… The truth wouldn’t do anything for Barb, or her parents. It would just put us all at risk. But if we tell some of the story, the important parts… Then we can make sure they don’t get away with what happened to her.”

Squeezing your eyes shut briefly, you placed the clean plate onto the side and dried your hands before finally turning to the girl, “Okay. So they go down for… something?”

“Murray’s taking care of that. But, yes… They won’t get away with what they did, even if it’s only a half-truth.”

Your mouth opened but quickly shut as the lights above began to flicker, a sure sign that something was here.

Turning back around, you peered out of the kitchen window, unable to see anything in the shed. Your heart was pounding like a drum, pushing against your rib cage in what felt like an escape attempt. A hand pressed against the middle of your back, just firm enough to notice it was there, as two dark eyes peered down at you.

The nailed bat in his hand was a strong reminder of what had happened here almost a year ago, and somehow, shit hit the fan whenever you stepped foot in the Byers home.

But Steve was here, again. And if need be, he would protect you. Again.

Once the flicker had settled, you remained at the kitchen counter, hands folded over your chest as you stared off into space with Steve standing nearby like some kind of guard dog when Hopper pushed through the back door, causing everyone to jump slightly, Joyce and the boys following close on his heel.

“I think he’s talking, just not with words.” Jim began writing something down on an old envelope, lines and dashes and-

“Morse code?” You asked, your brows pinched together as you peered over Max’s shoulder.

“Here.”

“Will’s still in there. He’s talking to us.”

You sat around in a group at the table listening to Hopper over the walkie-talkie, tapping out the morse code as you all tried to decipher it,

“Dash, dot, dash dot.”

“C,” you sighed, not needing to look at the paper that came with the radios, watching as Nancy waited for the kids to double-check, a quick nod before writing down the letter.

“Where the hell did you learn Morse code?” Lucas questioned, not meaning to sound so rude.

“Hopper made me learn it a while back. He has some stupid code to get into his cabin.”

When the group sent you a confused glance, you simply shrugged, “He lets me stay there when I need to get away from my Mom. That was an L, by the way.”

Nancy quickly wrote down the letter, and the rest of the group seemed to let your previous comment slide, now much more focused on the task at hand.

C L O S E G A T E

There was another gate. And El was the only one who could close it.

The sudden, blaring ring from the house phone caused you all to leap from your positions, Dustin lifting the receiver only to place it back down. When the phone rang a second time, Nancy ripped it right from the wall, ensuring it wouldn’t happen again.

“It’s just a phone. It could be anywhere, right?” Steve questioned.

But in the silence that surrounded you all, you heard it.

The screeching in the distance that haunted your dreams, and now your reality.

They knew where you were, and they were coming.

Jonathan rushed back into the house, a once again unconscious Will in his arms as he laid him on the bed in his room as if that could keep him safe from the monsters that would be barrelling through his front door any minute now.

“Can you use this?” Hopper asked, holding out a gun toward Jonathan as he returned. Looking as if the Chief had just spoken an old, ancient language Jonathan simply shook his head. Thankfully, Nancy stepped in, taking the gun. If anyone had a chance at hitting those things, it definitely wasn’t Jonathan.

Your hands gripped the ax that Joyce had stowed away next to the bookshelf, your grip clammy but tight as you held it up high, ready to swing it, throw it, or… do something. Anything.

Standing between Hopper and Steve, you waited with bated breath for the monsters to get closer, hoping to God that at the very least, you would fill the monsters up before they had time to start munching away on the kids.

The screeching grew louder and louder, turning into groaning, a yelping almost, and then… it stopped.

You all swiveled around the room, unable to tell which direction they’d be coming from when suddenly, one flew through the front room window, smashing the glass and lying, unnervingly still on the floor.

A collective gasp fell from the group's mouth as the kids were pulled back by Joyce, Steve shoving you behind where he stood next to Hopper, the two watching silently, almost expecting the monster to stand up, shake it off, and then attack them.

But it didn’t.

Something, or someone, had killed it.

“Holy shit,”

“Is it dead?” Max asked as Hopper nudged its head with his boot.

The door creaked slightly, a force from the other side began to turn the locks, and before you knew it, you had shoved Hopper’s gun downward, pleading for him to not shoot.

And there, with blood running down from her nostril, stood Eleven.

Her name had barely fallen from your lips when she propelled herself forward, meeting you halfway across the room as you wrapped your arms around each other, a soft sob falling from her.

48 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 2 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 11: The Junkyard

Chapter Eleven.

My past has tasted bitter for years now, So I wield an iron fist, Grace is just weakness, or so I've been told, I've been cold, I've been merciless, But the blood on my hands scares me to death, Maybe I'm waking up today.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,651

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, allusions to PTSD, mentions of child loss, bad dating advice from Steve, these two idiots do not stop riding each other's asses and I love it. I think that's it.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Eleven: The Junkyard

You’d planned on apologizing to Steve that morning. Really, you had every intention of doing so. But the minute he walked into third-period history, you’d ducked your head down and refused to peel your eyes away from your textbook, despite having no idea what the lesson was about.

You’d heard around the hallways that Steve and Billy had another altercation during the basketball scrimmage, the latter knocking the boy to the floor after taunting him the whole time. But you figured the further away from Billy you remained, the further away from another detention you were.

So instead, you avoided the boy — who at least seemed to have other, more pressing things on his mind — and made your way toward the town square, wandering around Melvald’s in search of a photo frame to replace the one most likely still shattered on Hopper’s floor.

“No Mrs. Byers today, Don?”

The elder gentleman peered up at you from where he was stood, rearranging stock by the cash register, “No, her boy isn’t well.”

“Jonathan?” You questioned, aware you hadn’t seen him at all that morning, still unable to get your house key back from his car.

“No, the little one. Will.”

Swallowing deeply, your hand froze halfway to the wooden frame. Kids get sick all the time, you tried to convince yourself. Hundreds of tests had been run on the boy since he’d been found, and he was fine. Whatever was going on had nothing to do with that place. It was November, he probably had the flu or something.

Shaking your head, you gripped the frame tight before making your way to the register to pay.

“Everything okay, Miss?”

Nodding, you placed down the money you’d had saved, not bothering to wait for your change as you rushed out of the shop, breath heaving in your chest. You just needed to be outside where the air wasn’t stale, too warm and suffocating.

The ride to the Byers’ household didn’t take long, but your stomach lurched the whole way there, making you almost certain that you were going to throw up.

Knocking on the door a few times, it didn’t take long for Joyce to answer, wide-eyed and worried.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers. I’m sorry to intrude like this but uh, I stopped by Melvald’s today and Don said Will was sick?”

You didn’t realize the woman’s dark eyes could get even wider.

Joyce stepped out, shutting the door behind her as if trying to keep Will from hearing your conversation, “He’s uh, he’s just not feeling well. He’ll be fine, though.”

Nodding, you couldn’t help but feel stupid that you hadn’t even brought anything. Instead, you’d just turned up, banging on the poor woman’s door.

Your mouth bobbed open for a moment, unsure as to what you could possibly say when Joyce interrupted you, her voice much lower than before, “Doctor Owens, the uh… the man who checks up on Will thinks it might be something called the 'Anniversary Effect'. He thinks Will's struggling because it’s so close to when everything happened last year. But I- I’m sure it’s just a bug or something.”

Joyce sent a tight smile your way as if she was begging you to believe her. To believe her that Will was absolutely fine, and it was just a sick bug. That rest and recuperation would make everything go away, and that everything would go back to normal. That if you believed, she could believe too.

But you didn’t, and you couldn’t.

“Can I… Can I just talk to him for like a second? I just… I don’t know. Wanna say hi…”

Joyce watched you with bated breath for a moment, clearly debating whether or not that was a good idea. Eventually, however, she nodded, opening the door back up and ushering you inside, “Not for long though, alright? He needs his rest.”

You stood in the doorway of Will’s room, the boy looking pale and small as always, fast asleep in bed with the window wide open, “Is it the flu, or?”

“We don’t know. He’s just… He’s not feeling well.”

Nodding, you sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself, “Have you tried a warm bath? If he has a fever-”

“He likes it cold,” Joyce repeated, her mind recycling the words her son had told her earlier, “He, uh… Thought the water was too hot.”

“Cold baths won’t break a fever. Not safely, anyway. Too much of a drop in temperature. I’m… I’m sorry, you totally know all this already. I should head out, but thanks for letting me see him.”

Joyce walked you back to the door, her eyes seeming a world away as she watched you clamber onto your bicycle, a wobbly voice stopping you before you could peddle off, “Do you… Are you okay? I mean… It’s a year for you too, right? You doing alright?”

Your eyes widened slightly, brain-wracking about for some kind of answer, eventually settling on a nod of the head as you sent back your own tight, slightly strained smile, “I’m fine, Mrs. Byers. See you soon.”

Your experience with Joyce had startled you, and you’d decided to leave replacing Hopper’s frame until Saturday morning. This time, you were much more weary of the trip wire.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself as you approached the cabin, the stairs creaking under your feet as you eyed the half-open door, causing your brows to pinch together. Hopper’s car was nowhere to be seen, which only meant one thing. Eleven had left. Again.

Quietly making your way around the cabin, calling the girl’s name out in vain, you stepped over the half-assed attempt at cleaning the shattered glass. Quickly changing the frame over, you couldn’t bring yourself to look into the familiar eyes of the little girl you’d never met. Hopper had never really spoken about Sara, at least not to you. But you’d seen him last night, the look in his eyes that told you his heart had been torn apart and never really quite healed. Bruised, battered, and broken, but somehow still beating.

You wondered if maybe that was why your mother and Jim had found each other in the first place, both mourning a loss that time could never quite heal.

That you could never heal.

The photograph looked almost odd, now the only thing untouched in a room shattered from top to bottom. A flower blooming in the middle of a battlefield.

Dusting off your hands on your jeans, you ignored the sound of glass crunching under your sneakers and made your way back out into the chilly Fall air. If Hopper had left this morning, then El couldn’t have gotten far. So you began your bike ride to the place you thought she’d head first.

The Wheeler residence.

Your hand slammed the door before it could close, leaning over Dustin as you sent Ted Wheeler a strained smile, “Hey, Mr. Wheeler. Is-”

“Nancy’s not home. She’s at Ally’s.”

“No, no. I’m not here for Nancy. I was wondering if Mike’s home?”

The man took you in for a second, watching as you all but gasped for air. You weren’t sure if your lungs or legs were burning more. Eventually, Mr. Wheeler rolled his eyes and repeated the same spiel he’d told the Henderson boy, “He’s at Will’s. Neither of our kids lives here anymore,” he scoffed, “Am I done here?”

Dustin sighed, shaking his head as he turned, ducking under your arm, “Son of a bitch. You’re really no help at all, you know that?”

“Hey! Language.”

You mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ before following the boy up the path, grabbing your bike that had been haphazardly dumped next to his.

“Wait,” he turned to you before you could push off, “Why the hell are you looking for Mike?”

Your mouth bobbed open and closed a few times as you wracked your brain for an excuse before giving up, “It’s nothing, later Henderson.”

“No, no, wait! Are you busy?”

Facing the boy, you cocked a brow, “Clearly.”

“You know, you were much nicer last year-”

“And you were much less annoying last year-”

Your argument with the boy ceased as the sound of a car engine approached, pulling in against the sidewalk outside the Wheeler’s house. Turning, you recognized the car right away. Squeezing your eyes shut and tipping your head back slightly, you let out an annoyed sigh.

Steve Harrington made his way around the Beamer, one hand gripping a bouquet of red roses as the other fussed with his hair, the boy mumbling to himself the whole time.

“Steve,” Dustin approached him, causing Steve’s brows to pinch as he looked between you and the boy, “Are those for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?”

“No-”

“Good,” Dustin grabbed the bouquet before making his way toward the BMW, “Nancy isn’t home.”

Steve stood, watching as Dustin opened the passenger’s seat, “Where is she?”

“Doesn’t matter, we have bigger problems than your love life. Do you still have that bat?”

Shaking your head, you pushed off, only to be halted by the pre-teen, “Where the hell are you going?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

“Nu-uh, it’s a code red. All hands on deck. Get in.”

“Dustin, I got shit I need to do, so-”

“I need your help, alright? I’ll explain everything when we get there, but nobody else is picking up, and I need help.”

Releasing a long, frustrated sigh, you shoved your bike back to the floor next to his own before opening the back seat and ungraciously falling in.

You could feel Steve’s puppy-dog stare every so often as he glanced at you in the rearview mirror, the two boys arguing most of the drive,

“-Because his face opened up and he ate my cat.”

Your head darted, wide eyes staring into the back of Dustin’s headrest. When he’d said he thought it was another Demogorgon, you were apprehensive. That… thing wasn’t easy to miss, and there had been no sightings, no disappearances, nothing.

Steve pulled into Dustin’s drive, shutting off the engine as the two made their way around the back of the car to grab a flashlight and the nailed bat. Eventually, you pulled yourself from the car, a million thoughts flying through your mind, all of them begging you to not take another step.

“You alright?”

Steve stood watching you, brows pinched together in concern. You hadn’t spoken since your altercation in school, and this wasn’t exactly how you planned on spending your Saturday, “I, uh… I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know that, right? I can drop you home, sort this out myself-”

“What don’t you understand about a code red?” Dustin interrupted, shutting the open door that you were half leaning against, “All hands on deck. Now come on.”

Releasing a long, exasperated sigh, you nodded toward the boy, ducking your head down as you passed Steve and followed him into the backyard, the three of you crowding around Dustin’s locked cellar door.

“I don’t hear shit,” Steve told him before knocking on the door with his bat, “All right, listen, kid. I swear, if this is some sort of Halloween prank… you’re dead.”

“It’s not,” Dustin argued back, eyes practically closed from where Steve was pointing the flashlight directly at him, “It’s not a prank. Get it out of my face.”

Grabbing the flashlight and essentially giving Dustin back his vision, you aimed it back toward the cellar door, “You got a key for this thing?”

You and Dustin stood back as Steve opened the doors, fist wrapped tightly around the nailed bat.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Steve asked, his eyes remaining on the dark basement before peering up at you from where he sat squatting on the floor.

Chewing your lip, your eyes remained steadfast on the empty space as you reaffirmed your grip on the light, “It’s fine. I’m pretty handy with a flashlight.”

You could see the corner of Steve’s mouth pull up in your peripheral but chose to ignore it as the boy stood up.

“I’ll stay up here in case he tries to escape…” Dustin swallowed, his eyes drawn to the darkness of the door. Dart had to be down there somewhere and if he was hiding, Steve and his bat was everyone's best chance of sorting this out and keeping all their limbs.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you watched Steve begin his descent, quickly following after him as your chest grazed his back, flashlight held high over his shoulder in an attempt to find this stupid giant lizard before it found you.

Steve kept the hand that wasn’t holding the bat behind him, caging you behind his body until you both reached the basement floor.

If there was any sound to be heard, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat echoing around in your ears.

Your hand gripped the back of Steve’s jacket as he led you further underground, your flashlight slowly casting light over the area until Steve tugged on the light switch. Stopping abruptly, he leaned over slightly before lifting his bat and inspecting what seemed to be a layer of skin, still dripping with some kind of goo.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled, stepping out from behind Steve for the first time and pointing the light toward the other end of the room, “Dustin? Get down here.”

The boy's sneakers sounded all too loud in the small room. He approached Steve first, his eyes focused on the end of his bat, “Oh, shit.”

“Henderson, you never said this thing could dig through walls.”

Dustin looked up to where you were pointing the flashlight, noticing the large hole in the wall that had definitely not been there before, “Oh, shit.”

Unpacking the trunk of Steve’s car, your nose twisted as you set a bucket full of raw meat down, “This is absolutely disgusting.”

“Well, if you have any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

Scoffing, you leaned against the car, pulling at the yellow rubber gloves that had already made your hands clammy, despite the cold morning air, “I didn’t say it was a bad idea, just a gross one.”

Between tossing and turning, and jumping at every little sound outside your bedroom window, you had barely slept. To say you felt grumpy would be an understatement, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep again until this possible baby Demogorgon was gone. And if El had run away from the cabin, she was most likely in the woods, and you could only hope you got to her before Dart did.

So if you had to lure the Demogorgon into the junkyard by tossing pieces of raw meat that Steve had thankfully brought that morning, then so be it. But it didn’t mean you had be be happy about it.

Stomping off in front of the boys, Dustin finished his call with Lucas before joining you, the three of you kicking up leaves as you made your way along the train tracks.

“So let me get this straight,” Steve huffed, throwing out another piece of meat despite complaining for a full three minutes to use to meat sparingly, “You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who… who you just met?”

You’d been ignoring their idle conversation so far, but the comment about a new girl — most likely Max — piqued your interest.

“All right, that’s grossly oversimplifying things.”

“I mean, why would a girl like some nasty slug, anyway?”

“An interdimensional slug? Because it’s awesome.”

“Well, even if she thought it was cool, which she didn’t, I just… I don’t know. I just feel like you’re trying way too hard.”

Rolling your eyes, you threw a piece of meat down a little harder than necessary.

“Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, all right?”

“It’s not about the hair, man. The key with girls is just… just acting like you don’t care.”

Your face scrunched up, despite knowing neither boy could see it. The last person Dustin needed girl advice from was Steve.

“Even if you do?”

“Yeah, exactly. It drives them nuts.”

Apparently, your scoff was much louder than you’d anticipated.

“What?” Steve asked, and you could already picture his eyebrows knitted together before you’d even turned around.

Walking backward, you continued to throw small chunks of meat, nose still wrinkled in revulsion as you stared him down, “That is the dumbest advice I’ve ever heard.”

“It is not-”

Turning your attention to Dustin, your tone softened slightly, “Don’t listen to Harrington for girl advice, alright?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m great with girls.”

“You’ve had flings with half the girls at school, sure. I don’t think that constitutes as great with advice.”

“I’ve had plenty of girlfriends, actually. I mean, how many relationships have you been in? You’re not exactly an expert.”

Brow pinched together, you threw a chunk of meat a little too close to the boy’s sneaker, “I don’t have to be an expert in relationships to be an expert at girls, Harrington. You might’ve forgotten, but I am one. And that advice is bull crap.”

“Well, it’s worked for me, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, sure. I mean, that’s why you’re out here with us, right?” You watched as Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed, the annoyance from his face draining slightly as he watched you, hurt in his eyes.

Refusing to give in, you quickly spun back around, “Just take my advice, Henderson. If a guy acts like he doesn’t care, we’re gonna presume he doesn’t, and that’s not cute.”

Dustin was quiet for a moment as he considered his options. You were, in fact, a girl. But Steve did have a reputation in town that even he’d heard of. Girls in his grade fawned over the idiot, as did their mother’s. So, leaning in a little closer, Dustin dropped his voice, “So then what? After you act like you don’t care?”

“You just wait until, uh… until you feel it.”

“Feel what?”

Sighing, Steve resumed throwing the meat pieces, his own voice a little quieter in an attempt to keep you and your wrong opinions out of his conversation. He didn’t know much, but Steve definitely knew how to get the girl,

“It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh… electricity, you know?”

“Oh, like in the electromagnetic field when the clouds in the atmosphere-”

“No, no, no, no… Like a… Like a sexual electricity.”

“Oh.”

Steve threw another chunk of meat on the path, doing his best to avoid stepping on the pieces you’d already thrown, “You feel that, and then you make your move.”

“So that’s when you kiss her?”

“No, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Romeo.”

“Sorry…”

“Sure, okay, some girls, yeah… They want you to be aggressive. You know, strong, hot, and heavy, like a… Like a, I don’t know… Like a lion. But others, you gotta be slow, you gotta be stealthy… Like a… Like a ninja.”

“What type do you think she is?” Dustin questioned, his head tipping toward you slightly, causing Steve’s brows to pull together in thought.

“I, uh… I don’t know. I don’t think she even knows.”

The boys watched you for a moment as you haphazardly threw the meat slices in front of you, mouth still twisted in disgust at the copper-like smell invading your nostrils from the raw meat, but your head was tipped upward slightly, no longer concerned with their conversation and instead focused on your surroundings. On alert, almost.

“What about Nancy?”

Steve turned toward the younger boy, brows pinched slightly, “She’s uh… Nancy’s different. She’s different than the other girls.”

“Yeah, she seems pretty special, I guess.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Dustin let out a long sigh, his mind still clouded with confusion that could only be felt by a preteen, “But this girl’s special, too, you know? It’s just, like, something about her.”

Steve stopped the boy in his tracks, remembering at the last minute to not touch his jacket with his blood-covered gloves, “Whoa, whoa… Hey, you’re not falling in love with this girl, are you?”

“Uh, no. No.”

Steve watched him closely for a moment, not quite believing him, “Okay, good. Don’t.”

“I won’t.”

“She’s only gonna break your heart, and you’re way too young for that shit.”

“Hey losers,” you called out, once again walking backward, “If you wanna reach the junkyard before nightfall, you need to move. You can have your lady's luncheon after... If we survive tonight.”

You turned back around quickly, slipping on one of the damp wooden slacks as the boys picked up their pace. Steve sent Dustin a sideward glance and couldn’t help but feel a slight stab in his chest at the boy's downcast eyes.

“Faberge.”

“What?”

“It’s Faberge Organics,” Steve told him, pointing a glove at his hair as the two continued to try and catch you up.

Making your way into the junkyard you tipped the remaining meat into a large pile, turning when you heard a familiar voice call out,

“I said medium-well.”

Your eyebrows pulled up when you spotted the redhead next to Lucas, a strained, slightly shy smile on her face as the two made their way over.

“Who’s that?” Steve questioned, watching as Dustin watched the girl closely, eyes softening with a slight glint of sadness. And without an answer, Steve knew.

“Max? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she sighed, looking around at the yard, “I mean… You said to make friends with them.”

Shrugging, nodded your head toward the large piles of junk, “Fair. Let’s get started.”

The decision had been made. You were to lure the Demogorgon to the junkyard and set it on fire whilst you all took refuge in the abandoned school bus that you were currently boarding up. It wasn’t a half-bad plan, but you still felt a little too over your head.

Placing a large sheet of metal down next to the bus, you held your hand to your chest, flexing the still bruised and sore knuckles that had connected with Billy’s face.

Taking a deep breath, you bent down and grabbed the sheet again, halting halfway back up when you spotted the half-dead grass, a barely there stain covering it. Swallowing deeply, your hands began to shake as flashbacks of last year hit you full force, the memories of the heavy lead pipe in your shaking grip, the sound of it connecting to a skull. The sound of the man dropping to the floor.

“You alright?”

Steve had been casually keeping an eye on you as he helped barricade the bus, noting how you suddenly went stock still, eyes drawn to the grass below your sneakers. When you didn’t respond, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving you a small shake,

“Hey… What’s up? Your hand hurting?”

“It’s none of your business, Harrington.” You scoffed, shaking your head in an attempt to physically remove the memories from your mind, busying your shaking hands by gripping the metal sheet tighter and handing it to Lucas before wandering back through the yard in search of anything else to help.

Steve stood, hands on hips, watching as you stormed off, kicking a can as you went. Max watched, and despite not having much more daylight, the Autumn sun was still bright enough to make her squint slightly,

“What did you do?”

Steve sent her an unamused glance, eyebrows pinching together in offense, “What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“You’re a guy,” Max shrugged before calling out your name and wandering over to help you carry a large wooden ladder.

By the time night fell, you were all securely tucked away in the school bus, Lucas sat atop with his binoculars awaiting any sign of Dart.

Steve sat flicking his lighter open and closed, the soft tinkering sound scratched against your brain in a way that made you want to throw both him and the lighter out of the window. Instead, you remained seated, feet pulled up on the seat next to you as you checked out your hand in the small amount of light left inside the bus.

“So, you really fought one of these things before?” Max asked, her brow cocked slightly as she watched Steve dubiously. At first, she’d assumed Lucas was lying, or at best, exaggerating.

Steve’s eyes met the girls before drifting over to yours, watching as you swallowed thickly and pulled the front of your jacket together subconsciously.

When Steve nodded, Max continued, “And you’re like, totally 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?”

“Shit, don’t be an idiot, okay? It wasn’t a bear. Why are you even here if you don’t believe us? Just go home.” Dustin interrupted, pacing back and forth.

“Henderson, be nice.” You mumbled, sending him a glare. Clearly, he was taking Steve’s advice this time.

Max, with raised brows at the sheer audacity of Dustin’s attitude, scoffed as she stood, making her way toward the ladder where Lucas was still perched as a lookout, “Geesh. Someone’s cranky. Past your bedtime?”

“That’s good, show her you don’t care,” Steve mumbled once the girl was out of sight.

Dustin stood with his hands in his jacket pocket, guilt obvious on his face, “I don’t… Why are you winking, Steve? Stop.”

Shaking your head at the two idiots, you leaned back against the covered window looking toward the roof.

“Is it still hurting?”

Finally meeting Steve’s eyes, you flexed your hand as you studied it, “Kinda.”

“Here, let me see,” Steve pushed himself upward, pocketing his lighter and knocking your knees, hinting at you to move your feet to allow him to sit down.

Apprehensively, you placed your hand into Steve’s outstretched one, eyes boring into him as he turned your hand over a few times, fingers grazing the bruised knuckles, eyes jumping to meet yours when he touched a too-tender bit of skin, “Does that hurt?”

Biting back a sardonic response, you simply nodded, now avoiding his caramel eyes. Steve closed and opened your hand a few times before placing your hand back onto your lap, “I think it’s fine. Probably just bruised but… I don’t think it’s broken.”

Sighing, you held your hand against your chest again, “Nobody ever told me it hurt so much to punch someone.”

“Yeah, well… I’m usually on the other end of a fist, so…”

You felt the corners of your mouth pull up as you finally met his eyes, “I mean, between you and Jonathan, it was like watching two stray cats fight. Pretty embarrassing on both fronts.”

A small laugh escaped Steve as he swiveled slightly on the seat, facing forward, “Yeah well, it wasn’t exactly my finest hour.”

Your leg bounced — thigh brushing against Steve’s own — as you picked at your cuticles, causing the boy to return his attention your way, “You didn’t have to come, you know? We would’ve… I would’ve understood if this was too much for you.”

Placing your hand down on top of your thigh to physically stop it moving, you shrugged, eyes gazing over Dustin who was still pacing, “Wasn’t really an option… I couldn’t leave them to deal with it alone. Couldn’t leave you to deal with it alone, either. Especially after you came back last year, you know?”

Since last year, neither you nor Steve had brought up the Demogorgon attack that left you forever scarred, and you’d really been naive enough to hope that it was a one-time situation. Like Hell wouldn’t rip itself a new asshole and start all of this shit again. You wanted nothing more than to lock your door and hide yourself away, the childish false sense of security that only came from hiding under your blanket — or in your case, the closet — but you couldn’t leave these kids to face that thing alone.

And as you said, Steve came back, and without him, you’d most likely have faced a similar fate to Barb that night. This Demogorgon would have to rip those kids from your cold, dead hands before you’d let it get to them.

“I uh, I heard about your fight with Nancy. At Tina’s party…” you watched as Steve ducked his head, gnawing on his bottom lip, “People fight all the time, alright? You shouldn’t let one drunken fight at some stupid Halloween party ruin your relationship. The roses were a nice touch. I’m sure she’ll love them.”

Steve shifted in his seat, a long, exasperated sigh falling from his lips, “We’ve been pretty on and off since last year.”

Your brows shot up toward your hairline, that was news to you, “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Steve.”

But the boy shook his head, a far-off look in his caramel-colored eyes, “Tommy said he saw her ditching school with Jonathan. Nobody’s seen them since Thursday…”

“Yeah, well… Tommy’s a grade-A dickhead. I wouldn’t pay any attention to him.”

“Easier said than done,” Steve sent you a strained smile, lips pressed tightly together, “I don’t know… Nancy and I, we argue a lot but… Not like this.”

You watched him for a moment, his downcast eyes unable to hold your gaze, “What happened?”

Before Steve could respond, a loud, shrill shriek was heard throughout the junkyard… Dart was here.

Rushing toward the window, you peered through looking for any sign of movement, but the late evening fog had rolled in, distorting your vision, “Guys? What’s going on?”

Moving toward the ladder, Dustin took your place, mumbled words exchanged between himself and Steve as the elder boy continued to search for the Demogorgon.

“I’ve got eyes! 10 o’clock!”

“There,” Steve pointed a finger through the makeshift grate.

“What’s he doing?” Dustin questioned, watching as Dart sniffed around, but remained hidden in the fog, a low-pitched growl echoing around you.

“He’s not taking the bait… Why is he not taking the bait?”

“Maybe he’s not hungry…” Dustin offered, his heart beating so loud it was ricocheting in his ears.

“Maybe he’s sick of cow…”

Your head snapped round, no longer concerning yourself with Max and Lucas who were still perched on the roof, eyes connecting with Steve’s as he pulled away from the window and turned toward you, “Don’t even think about it, Harrington. I swear to God-”

But it was too late, and your words were lost on the boy who’d already made up his mind, nailed bat in his grip as he ignored Dustin’s calls along with your glare, throwing the boy his lighter, “Just get ready.”

Your body froze as you watched him exit the bus, the door creaking as it slid back into place, only moving to grip the grating that covered the window so you could watch the boy’s every move with bated breath.

If Dart didn’t kill him, you just might.

Steve whistled as he made his way further into the fog and further from the safety of the bus.

Rushing down the rickety ladder, Max appeared by your side, “What’s he doing?”

“Expanding the menu,” Dustin shrugged, eyes peeled on Steve and his surroundings, voice full of wonder and awe.

Taking Max’s place atop the bus, you mumbled to Lucas to get back inside, but the boy was as defiant as you remembered, binoculars attached to his face as he watched Steve goad Dart.

“Human tastes better than cat, I promise.”

Eyebrows pinched together, you let out a shaky breath, “I swear to god, I’m gonna kill him. I’m going to drag him back into this bus by his damn hair, and kill him myself.”

Your back straightened, feeling like the oxygen had been punched out of you as the creature appeared from the fog on all fours, a much smaller version of the Demogorgon you’d encountered last year, but still much bigger than Dustin had last seen him as.

If he was malting, shedding his skin, you had no doubt in your mind that this… thing, was going to end up exactly as the one last year had.

You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut, to lock yourself back in the bus and allow the panic attack that was nipping at your heels to enshroud you. Pretend this isn’t happening and wait it out until it was all over.

But Steve was still out there, face to face with a monster, and you couldn’t peel your eyes away from the scene.

Shuffling back, you drew in another shaky breath, eyes darting around the junkyard, hoping there was something that you could use to assist the boy, but knowing you weren’t that brave. Not with those things. And then you saw it. Saw them.

“Holy shit. Lucas… Lucas, over there!” The boy turned, jumping slightly as he saw not one, but two more Demogorgons.

Sharing a look with you, the boy called down, “Steve, watch out!”

“A little busy here!” The boy called back, refusing to take his eyes off the beast in front of him. One wrong move, and he’d be in scraps on the floor.

“Harrington, you need to get back here now.”

Steve straightened his back slightly, turning toward you when a movement to his right captured his attention.

“Steve!” Dustin called, rushing to the front of the bus where he opened the door, “Abort! Abort!”

A loud growl could be heard before Steve had even managed to consider moving, one of the Demogorgons ran toward him on all four legs. Managing to roll over the trunk of an abandoned car, Steve swung his bat as the rest of the monsters began to rush him.

You rushed down the ladder and back into the bus with Lucas on your heel, and shoved your way past Max and Dustin, both calling the older boy’s name as he began his sprint back towards the sanctuary of the bus, which in hindsight wouldn’t be able to keep the monsters out for long.

Steve met you at the door, your hand connecting with the lapel of his jacket to help haul him inside as Dustin hit the door lever, the sound of the metal clanging as the monster ran head first into it, unable to fully come to a stop.

Managing to turn in your grip, the momentum from Steve sent you both backward and the boy used his long legs to press against the door as the monster began to ram itself against it in an attempt to gain entry.

“Are they rabid or something?” Max asked, more confused than ever.

Managing to grab a sheet of metal from the windshield, Steve held it against the door and pressed against it with his feet once more as Lucas and Dustin continued to yell behind you. The bus lurched, a clear sign the other Demogorgons were now attacking the bus as you shoved Steve forward, rolling out from under him,

“Get to the back, and stay low.” You barely sent the kids a glance as you began to look around the bus for anything to use as a weapon whilst Steve began to whack at the monster who’d managed to get a claw through the metal sheet.

Dustin grabbed his radio, shouting for help from anyone who would listen, until a large claw hit at the back door, denting it in the shape of its hand.

“Shit!” Dustin yelled, trying his radio once more, “We’re at the old junkyard, and we are going to die!”

You didn’t bother to berate him, nor did you bother to hold out any hope that someone would be able to help, too focused on pressing your back against a large hunk of metal that was keeping one of the monsters outside, hoping to God it wouldn’t pierce through both the metal and yourself.

A loud banging could be heard from the roof, and it took you a second too long to remember that the ladder was still in place, giving whatever was on the roof free access to get inside. Max, who was standing almost directly under the gap let out an ear-piercing scream as the monster growled at her, and you felt absolutely helpless as you stood against the door, constantly slamming your full body weight back into it, trying in vain to keep the monster out.

Steve, thankfully, was quicker than you, and rushed toward the ladder, shoving Max out of his way and into safety as the demogorgon looked down on him, mouth wide open as it continued to growl.

“You want some? Come get this!” Steve shouted with the bat raised high and ready to attack.

Your brows pulled together in confusion as the clanging against the door stopped, no longer shoving into your back. Steve had also frozen, his once protective stance relaxing ever so slightly as he watched the monster peer over its own shoulder, no longer interested in the 5-piece human nugget meal that was on offer inside the bus.

You heard one last growl before the bus shook once more, the monster leaping from it. You could hear the growls of the other monsters, but they seemed to be getting quieter and more distant. But you still couldn’t find it in yourself to push away from the door, too scared that they were just playing with their food.

You all stood in a tense silence for a moment, eventually realizing that for some reason, the monsters had left. Sucking in a long, deep breath you tried to blink away the tears that lined your eyes as you focused on the driver's seat in front of you.

Steve approached you much like he would a wounded animal, steps light and eyes soft and wide as he appeared in front of you, bat still in his grip but no longer protectively raised, “Hey, it’s alright. They’ve gone. We’re okay.”

Your breath released a little too shaky for your own liking, but as the adrenaline left your body, you began to shake, still too afraid to step away from the door.

Steve’s eyes only narrowed as they took you in, scanning your body for any injuries you might’ve had that could cause you to suddenly become mute. Once he was certain you weren’t going to end up bleeding out in the back of his Beamer once again, he placed his bat on the driver’s seat and stepped into your space, eyes finding yours as he ducked his head slightly.

Stepping forward, you ignored the clattering of metal as the sheet you had been holding up fell to the floor, chest bumping against Steve’s as you pulled him into a tight hug, nails digging slightly into his shoulders as your arms wrapped around him. Steve’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline, shock evident on his soft features as he stood frozen for just a moment before finally wrapping his own arms around you, one hand rubbing up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.

“I need to uh, I need to go check they’re gone. Just stay here, alright?” Steve’s words were murmured into your hair as he slowly untangled himself from you, pulling back and gazing down at you until you nodded, “I’ll be right back.”

Steve stepped off the bus as silently as he could — which considering there was scrap metal everywhere wasn’t all that quiet — with his bat raised, ready to strike but hoping he wouldn’t have to. Once the coast was finally clear, the rest of you trailed out behind him.

“What happened?” Lucas asked, eyes still darting around the junkyard just in case.

“Steve scared ‘em off?”

“No,” Steve sighed, turning to face the group, “No way. They’re going somewhere.”

39 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 3 months

Text

i am currently experiencing writers block (despite being almost 5k words into the next chapter of my steve Harrington fic) sOOoOoo

i'm going back to an old document I have saved which was a part 2 of You're on your own kid.

idk if i'll release it because its been in the drafts since like a week after that one was released but hopefully it gets me past the block. either that or I just post the chapter I have written and refresh my brain by starting a new chapter D:

2 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 3 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 10: Billy Blue Balls

Chapter Ten.

I get so distracted by some people's reactions, That I don't see my own faults, For what they are, for what they are, At times, so self-destructive, With no intent or motive, But beyond this emotion, A sensible heart.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,852

Chapter Warnings: strong language, child abuse, drug use, steve isn't in this one much, but he shall be back with a vengeance, Eddie is kinda a dick, but it's all good I promise, Billy is a dick which is just expected at this time, reader is also a bit of a dick you ain't getting away with shit either, buddy. Barb is also queer-coded and I do not care to elaborate.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Ten: Billy Blue Balls

A content sigh fell from your lips as you snuggled deep down into the comforter's warmth, the smell of laundry detergent mixed with bergamot and amber wood lulling you back into a light sleep despite the sound of far-off water running.

For a few sweet moments, you were blissful. Warm and safe as the sun burned against your eyelids, trying its hardest to pull you from your slumber.

But it wasn’t the sun that finally managed to rouse you. Instead, it was the soft shove of your shoulder, the familiar but displaced voice of Steve Harrington that caused your eyes to shoot open, the sudden intrusion of light forcing them back shut as you tried to wiggle under the duvet.

“C’mon, we gotta leave in like, five minutes.”

And he wasn’t joking. Peeling your eyes open, you could’ve throttled the boy as he watched you with amusement as you tried to get a bearing of your surroundings, confused about the boy's appearance until you noticed that you in fact were the displaced one.

“My Dad’s already left for work and my Mom headed out a few minutes ago. I don’t think we’re gonna have time to swing back to yours, so just throw these on,” Steve placed a pile of folded clothes onto the bed next to you as he grabbed his school bag.

“Jesus Christ, your interior decorating skills could use some work,” you grumbled, face pinched as you looked around the plaid-filled room.

Rolling his eyes, Steve grabbed a shirt from his chest of drawers and threw it into his bag, ready for his physical education class, “My Mom designed it, not me.”

“Okay then, your Mom’s interior decorating skills could use some work. I mean, matching curtains? Really? God, It’s making me nauseous.”

A small huff of laughter fell from his lips as he threw his backpack over one shoulder before placing both hands on his hips, much like you’d expect an annoyed mother to as she tried to peel her child from their bed, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the gallon of pure fuel you drank last night. Now get up, seriously. We have to leave.”

Practically herding you into his car, you grumbled the entire ride to school. Originally, you’d told him to just drop you home — even if you didn’t have time to change — and you would happily play hooky today if it meant not having to open your eyes for the remainder of the day, but he wasn’t having it, “You can walk from the school if you’re that desperate.”

“Who even has a party on a Wednesday? God, I hate Tina.”

The boy sent you an amused glance from the corner of his eyes as he shut his car door. As you stepped into the cold November air, you were thankful for the sweater Steve had lent you.

“Somehow, I don’t think you can blame this one on-”

“I mean, sheet-faced? In the middle of the week? It’s like she was trying to set us up.”

Walking through the school hallway with Steve at your side, you were all too aware of the peculiar stares you were receiving, giggles and quiet muttering as you passed made your whole body feel too warm, and if you didn’t think you’d upchuck at any moment, you’d of barreled right back out of the door and ran home.

Steve, however, kept his eyes front and center, either unaware or uncaring of the hushed whispers as you passed. And it wasn’t until the second period that you found out why.

Storming toward the gymnasium, your stomach churned with more than just the remnants of whatever the hell was in that punch bowl last night. You were infuriated, certain that steam was coming out of your ears as you pushed the doors open, unperturbed by their bashing against the wall. Like a mad woman, you were on a mission.

“Hargrove,” You called across the gym, the screeching of sneakers against the floor drowning you out, causing you to repeat yourself, only this time much louder, “Hargrove.”

Billy’s head turned toward you, his frown transforming as he sent you a haughty grin. Throwing the ball to his teammate, the boy made his way toward you slowly, strutting like a damned peacock, and you forced yourself to keep your eyes on his face,

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, were you dropped on your head as an infant or something?”

His smirk faltered slightly, eyes glinting with a flash of animosity, “Oh, you’ve got a temper when you’re hungover.”

“I’m not joking, Hargrove. What the hell have you been telling people about last night?”

His tongue darted out, licking the corner of his mouth, “Hey, don’t take it out on me just because you can’t handle your drink. I only said what happened. What people saw.”

You could feel some of the student’s eyes on you, much like you had since the minute you stepped out of Harrington’s car that morning, but you pushed on.

“Nothing happened, Billy. People didn’t see shit, because nothing happened.”

A deep laugh fell from his lips, mocking you even as his cerulean eyes leered over your body, “Exactly, sweetheart. Imagine my surprise when it turns out you’re not the little whore I was told about. You’re just a prude who likes giving guys blue balls.”

“I don’t owe you shit-”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” the boy shrugged, causing you to scoff and walk away from him, knowing this conversation was going nowhere. Still, the boy continued, grasping at any straw he could to inflict the same pain and embarrassment on you that his fragile ego was currently suffering, “Or, maybe, it wasn’t me you put out for, huh? I mean, I heard you were seen crawling into King Steve’s car last night.”

His attention turned toward the boy, who was already watching the altercation, “That right, Harrington? Wheeler doesn’t want you, so you thought ‘Hey, why the hell not’-”

In your sober state, hitting Billy didn’t feel as good as it did the night before. Unable to control it, your fist flew toward his nose, cutting his sentence off as a collection of shocked gasps fell from the other students.

Wiping away the trickle of blood from his nostril, Billy’s expression had lost all humor as he stepped into your space, bumping you backward slightly, “That’s twice you’ve done that. Next time, I won’t be so nice about it.”

“Whoa, hey man-”

The coach’s whistle broke the tension and Billy stepped around you, shoulder-checking Steve as he passed him, the latter much closer than you’d realized. His eyes followed Billy as he returned to the court, knocking the basketball from another student's grip, before eventually returning to you a little softer,

“Hey-”

“Forget it, Harrington.”

The boy’s sneakers squeaked along the linoleum as he followed you, uncaring of the coach’s and his teammates' calls for him.

“Hey, hey… Slow down a minute. What’s going on?”

“Like you don’t know,” you scoffed as your feet pounded the floor. Any faster, and you’d be breaking out into a run.

The boy stuttered for a moment, his eyes as wild as his hair as he tried to piece together what had just happened. Pulling the arm of his sweater and effectively stopping you, he kept his voice calm and low as you panted in anger,

“Look, I just had like, the worst fight with Nancy, so the last thing I need right now is for you to be mad at me too. Whatever Billy did, whatever I did... I’m sorry, alright?”

Squeezing your eyes closed, you tried your best to calm yourself. Deep breaths, counting to ten, imagining you’re in a far-off, safe place where nothing and no one could hurt you… All the things Barb had tried to teach you over the years. But your heart still pounded against your chest, blood coursing through your veins as hot as lava,

“I don’t… I don’t think we should hang out anymore.”

Steve’s brows furrowed, trying his best to catch your eyes, “What are you talking about-”

“People think I left Billy at the party and slept with you instead.”

The silence between you was deafening, Steve’s mouth opening a few times before clamping shut as his brain caught up with itself, “But you didn’t. We didn't.”

“Yeah, no shit, Harrington, I’m aware of that. But it hasn’t stopped people gossiping about it all morning,” you narrowed your eyes before folding your arms over your chest, “So I think it’s best, for Nancy’s sake, that we just… Stay away from each other.”

You didn’t give him a moment longer to reply, marching off into the girls' toilets to go and run your throbbing hand under the cold tap.

Laying on your front, you flicked through the pages of the magazine that was spread in front of you, “Do you really read this shit? I mean, ‘Pretty clothes for right now!’ and ‘When your boyfriend forgets your birthday!’ You can’t tell me you actually enjoy these magazines, B.”

Barbara pulled the magazine from you, closed it, and placed it on top of her desk, “I don’t know. I mean, I know they’re dumb but…”

You watched as she shrugged, her eyes never leaving the cover of the Seventeen magazine you’d been mocking.

“I mean, wouldn’t we all buy this shit if Brooke Shields was on the front of every cover?” Your grin widened as you watched Barb’s face flush.

Quickly turning the magazine over, she sent you a sideward glare, “You’re not funny.”

“I bet Brooke Shields is hilarious-”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Barb grumbled, grabbing a small throw pillow from the bottom of her bed and aiming for your head.

Fumbling to catch it, the pillow bounced off the top of your head as you sat up, lightly hitting her with it, “She’s so pretty and so funny and so smart!”

Barb’s giggles blended with your own as she tried to dodge the pillow, eventually throwing herself down onto the bed when her mother’s voice called up the stairs, telling you in the nicest way possible to settle down.

“I’m never telling you anything ever again.” She smirked, turning her head to watch you, a glint in her eyes reassuring you that her words held no weight.

This time, it was your turn to shrug, “Oh, I’m sure. You know I’m an excellent secret keeper.”

“I know,” Barb released a deep sigh, her eyes remaining on you as they glazed over slightly, “You know I trust you with my life, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to lay on your back next to her, “Is that why you ditched me to go see ‘Grease 2’ with Nancy Wheeler last weekend?”

You didn’t want to sound jealous, but the tang of bitterness dripped off your tongue, causing Barb to sit up on her bed, legs crossed in front of her, “We did invite you. You were the one who didn’t want to go.”

“Go and watch you drool all over Michelle Pfeiffer whilst Nancy delicately sighs any time Maxwell Caulfield is on the screen? Yeah, no thanks. I’ll pass.”

Pinching your side, Barb sent you a playful grin, “How about we go to Family Video and see if we can find someone to rent us ‘Halloween II’?”

Interested piqued, you sat up, legs crisscrossed, “But you hate scary movies.”

“But I like you.”

The loud SMACK against your table made you shoot upright, Mr. Mundy’s yardstick only a few inches from where your hand rested on your plain sheet of paper. As he looked at the paper, tutting when he realized not only had you been sleeping during detention, you also hadn’t written any of the lines down that you were meant to,

“It would do you well to remember that corporal punishment is still legal in the state of Indiana.”

Glaring at the back of Mr. Mundy’s head as he passed by, you scrambled for your unused pencil as soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of your detention. Apparently punching another student in plain sight of a teacher resulted in consequences of the writing lines after school kind.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Hawkins High’s own little miss delinquent. Heard a lot about you today.”

The locker next to your own creaked under the boy's weight, and you couldn’t help but note the slight animosity in the boy’s tone.

“Thought you of all people knew not to believe everything you hear in the school hallways, Munson.”

“Yeah, see… normally I wouldn’t give a shit about the vapid scuttlebutt between the kretens of this school, but this one really piqued my interest.”

Slamming your locker shut, Eddie didn’t even flinch, instead his dark eyes watched you carefully.

“Eddie, it’s been a long day, so please just cut the dramatic shit and get to the point.”

“Wow, does that sparkling personality come with a brand new shiny pair of pom-poms?” Eddie’s smirk didn’t meet his eyes as he shook his hands to each side of his head, imitating a half-assed cheer routine, “Or is it only exclusive to us peasants?”

“Eddie-”

“Heard you and King Steve are pretty close, too. Didn’t take you for a traitor.”

You were at your limit, and Eddie loved to toe the line.

“Steve and I are… Not friends but, we went through some really tough shit last year-”

“Don’t even try me with that sob story shit. Last year I saw him drag you down a hallway and now you’re telling me you’re just cool with him? Like he isn’t a total dick-”

“He isn’t, alright? He… He used to be, sure. And he knows that. But things happened last year, and he’s been trying-”

“Heard things happened last night, too.”

Eddie knew it was a hit below the belt. You knew it, too. But sometimes the boy’s mouth moved before his brain had fully caught up.

“Nothing happened, Munson.”

Shrugging, Eddie’s sardonic smirk tugged at his face in an almost unnatural way that didn’t suit his normally soft features, “Not what I heard-”

“I didn’t think someone like you would pay much attention to small-town gossip. Especially after this year.”

His brows scrunched together, his dark eyes watching you closely as his head cocked to the side. You weren’t exactly friends with Eddie, either. But you’d shared enough shifts at the Hideout the previous year to know what had gone down with his family, with his dad.

“And why’s that?”

This time, you were the one suffering with word vomit, “Because we both know why your house got burned down, don’t we? The fact your father ran and left you to deal with his consequences. The fact everyone else in town believes you did it.”

Eddie’s eyebrows dipped, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he struggled to swallow down the lump that had crawled its way up his throat whenever he thought of his father and the shit he left him to deal with earlier that year. It was low-hanging fruit, but it was all you had.

Stepping forward and into your space, Eddie let out a forced huff of laughter, peering down at you with eyes that seemed endlessly dark, “And where’s your Dad, huh? Probably got a whole new family.”

Your chest heaved as you bit down on the insides of your cheeks. You would not cry in front of Eddie.

"Fuck you, Munson."

"Yeah, well... fuck you too, sweetheart."

Turning on your heel you rushed down the hallway, the blood pounding so loudly in your ears that you didn’t hear Eddie’s hushed ‘fuck’ as you left, the back of his head hitting the locker he’d been leaning on.

After heading home, you changed into your work uniform and quickly cycled your way toward the woods. Whether you’d admit it or not, you were seeking some form of comfort, and knowing you wouldn’t receive it from your mother you headed towards Hopper’s cabin. Your day had gone from bad to worse, your hand still aching from a punch that probably caused you more damage than Billy, the intrusive eyes of your peers judging you from every side of the hallway, whispered giggles swarming around you like a cloud of — not killer, but very annoying — wasps, their harsh, hushed words clearly about you. And the fight with Eddie? Well, he had started that, but it had shaken you nonetheless.

You just wanted to sit in the presence for a moment of someone who wasn’t mocking, cruel, or nosy, and catch your breath.

You could hear the ruckus as you approached, remembering to step over the trip-wire just in time and you couldn’t help but think that if Hopper was trying to keep this place secluded, he should probably stop shouting so goddamn loudly.

Wrapping your denim jacket tighter over your chest, you picked up your pace as you jogged up the few stairs of the porch, almost as decayed as your own.

Banging on the door a few times, you watched as your breath puffed out in small clouds around you, making you crave a cigarette. The argument had seemingly stopped, the cabin a little too quiet.

“Hop? Let me in, it’s freezing.”

You could hear the man mumble under his breath as he made his way toward the door, the sound of him unlocking several locks before he pulled it open, a deep line between his eyebrows as his glare burned down on you,

“We have a code. The code is there for a reason. It’s not some silly little game we made up for fun. It’s a goddamn code. For a goddamn reason.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you took a step back, his clipped tone causing your heckles to rise. Pushing the door wider, you sent your own glare back, “I forgot, alright? It’s freezing and my brain doesn’t work too well in extreme temperatures.”

“Kid, I swear to god-”

“Who the hell pissed in your coffee this morning?”

You stopped short as you finally saw El, the girl standing in her bedroom seemingly on the verge of hyperventilating in frustration, “Hey, El-”

“Did you know?”

Turning back to Hopper, the glare returned to your face. You weren’t too keen on his tone, “Did I know what?”

Hopper shook his head, a small huff of laughter that held no amusement falling from his lips, “Did you put this in her head? I mean, it's what you said would happen, right? Some shit about caged dogs, and biting and shit?”

“Hop, I literally have no fucking clue what is going on right now, or why the hell you’re mad at me.”

“You’re grounded,” Jim returned his attention toward the younger girl, “You know what that means? It means no more Eggos and no TV for a week.”

You watched with bemusement as Hopper made his way around the small cabin, throwing the frozen waffle box into the trash before making his way past you to grab the TV. Once El reached your side, you noticed the dark drop of blood from her nostril as Jim struggled to move the television set.

“All right, knock it off. Let go.”

El merely shook her head as the blood dripped down her cupid's bow, but Hopper was not in a joking mood, instead almost putting his back out as he shook the damn thing, “Okay. Two weeks. Let go.”

Another shake of the head.

“A month!”

“El, I’d really-”

“No.”

The girl's cool composure, the sheer confidence in her power alone was unnerving, but her unwavering stare had made even you feel uncomfortable.

“Well congratulations,” Hopper puffed, “You just graduated from no TV for a month, to no TV at all.”

“Hopper, c’mon…”

“No!” El screamed out as the man pulled the cable from the back of the TV.

Rushing toward the set, El frantically tried to move the antenna in a vain attempt to turn it back on.

“You have got to understand that there are consequences to your actions.”

“You are like Papa!”

Your back straightened as you watched Hopper struggle to keep what little composure he had left. Rubbing his forehead, you could see the distress pass over his features as he questioned El.

“Wow, alright. You wanna go back to the lab? One phone call and I can make that happen.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mumbled, watching the ongoing tennis match between the two. But it wasn’t until El started hurtling books and moving sofas into Hopper that you forced your way back into the argument, “Hey, how about you both just cool it for a second and-”

Dodging out of the way of the falling bookcase, you backed into the small end table and jolted when the corner of it dug a little too deep into your back. Almost losing your balance, you threw your hand back to try and steady yourself, a loud shattering noise catching your attention as a photo frame fell to the floor.

Turning, you saw the picture of a young girl with bright blonde hair and even brighter blue eyes smiling up at you, a large crack distorting her face as the shards of glass that surrounded her splintered into thousands of pieces.

The scream that fell from Eleven’s lips shook the whole cabin, every window surrounding both yourself and Jim shattering inward, causing the windows to shatter, flying at you from all directions.

Silence fell between you both — the sound of your heartbeat drowning out the sounds of El’s soft sobbing — and you felt your own chest begin to hyperventilate, vision becoming blurry from the tears that now lined your waterline, but it wasn’t until the man turned around and saw what had caught your attention,

“Hop. I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t see it, and I didn’t mean to... I can fix it-”

You rubbed your sweaty palms over your trousers, forcefully trying to swallow down the familiar lump, unable to tell whether it was a sob or vomit.

Jim’s silence only made you feel worse. Like a deer that was looking down the barrel of a shotgun, a voice in the back of your head screaming at you to run, but your feet felt glued to the floor and despite your scattered thoughts, your mind still tried to dig around for an excuse.

“You should go.”

Hopper’s voice — a little too cool, and much too calm — unsettled you. You’d expected him to shout, to yell, hell… You’d expect the man to cry before this. His stoic, unnerving calm, despite the tornado that had just ripped his cabin apart, the framed and now cracked photograph of his deceased daughter lying on the floor, staring up at you with such familiar eyes, despite never meeting the girl.

“Jim, I’m-”

“Go. Please.”

Your mother’s backhand hurt less.

Work passed by all too quickly, and for once you were glad not to get a moment of silence, the kids rushing between machines and pestering you to at least try and turn Mrs. Pacman back on, despite it breaking a few days ago — the repair man still not coming out to fix it — and a constant barrage of Slushee orders meaning it would be much less time consuming to clean at the end of your shift.

Before you knew it, the last of the straggling kids had been ushered out of the doors, the machines had been wiped clean from sticky fingers and Keith had handled the toilets. Eventually, the boy had locked up and you were unchaining your bike from the bike rack when you heard the slam of a car door.

Spinning around on the spot, your heart no longer threatened to jump out of your chest when you recognized the mop of hair heading toward you, dark eyes akin to a puppy dog who’d chewed up your favorite sneakers and got caught.

“How long have you been waiting out here?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Eddie assumed that you not storming off yet was a good sign, “Thought you closed at 9.”

“You’ve been here for two hours? God, do you have any other friends, Munson?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he huffed, the leather of his vest cracking slightly as he folded his arms over his chest, “I spent most of that time trying to get into the restricted section in Family Video.”

Unsure whether or not he was joking — hazarding a guess that he, in fact, was not — a small laugh fell from your mouth, “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m also sorry,” he sighed, smirk dropping as he ducked his head, looking at you through his long, dark lashes, “But… I brought a peace offering.”

You watched with a quirked brow as Eddie pulled something out of his pocket, a perfectly rolled joint offered to you in the palm of his hand.

“You think you can buy me off with Reefer Rick’s shit weed?” Walking toward the boy, you all but snatched the joint from him, a wide smirk pulling at your lips, “You’re damn right, Munson.”

The boy helped load your bike into the back of his van before climbing up to join you on the roof, music from his radio playing quietly for what might’ve been the first time since he’d inherited the thing.

“You know, about this whole Billy thing-”

“Eddie, seriously. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s embarrassing enough.”

“No, I… Look, just, if you ever want me to hot wire his Camero and drive that baby off the quarry, you just gotta ask.”

Sighing, you passed him the joint, watching him carefully as he avoided your gaze, “I think I’m good, but thanks. It's nice to know I have someone in my corner.”

“Yeah. I mean, you bus enough tables together and you’re kinda bonded, right? And, about the whole Harrington thing-”

“Eddie-” you warned, taking the joint from his ringed fingers, but the boy continued,

“I just, I wanna know you’re okay, that’s all.”

Sighing, you took another toke of the joint before continuing, “I’m fine, Munson. Really. Like I said, Steve is… he’s not the same person anymore. I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s a pretty decent guy.”

“I heard he left Nancy at that party, drunk as a skunk in the bathroom. Didn’t think the priss had it in her.”

“He left her?” you huffed, annoyance at the boy who wasn’t here to defend himself.

Shrugging, Eddie leaned back on his palms, hair wild as he stared up at the night sky, “That’s what I heard. They had a big fight right before, or something. Apparently, they broke up.”

Squeezing your eyes closed, you couldn’t help but feel like a total bitch. Steve had told you he’d had an awful fight with Nancy, and yet you’d still abandoned him in the school hallway, telling him that you didn’t want anything to do with him. Despite him making sure you got home safely the night before. Despite following you out of the gymnasium when you were upset. Guilt dragged its way up your throat, cutting it raw like sandpaper. But, right now, you had other, more pressing issues to deal with, so, swallowing the ever-growing lump in your throat, you turned to the boy after taking another toke.

“I’m sorry too, you know.” You sighed, exhaling a large cloud of smoke before passing the joint back to him, “What I said… It wasn’t cool.”

“Yeah, well, looks like we’ve both got some daddy issues to work through, right?”

“I mean it, Eddie. You’re nothing like Al. I mean, Wayne’s practically raised you since…You know… And I think you’re way more like him, only…”

“Only what?”

“Only much louder,” you smirked watching as he turned his head toward you, eyes wide with false offense, as he blew a gust of smoke at you.

“You are such a bitch,” he laughed, passing over the last of the joint.

“Whatever, freak.”

A silence passed over you both, and you were certain this was the longest the boy had ever gone without making some kind of noise. Eventually though, through the high haze that engulfed you both, you finally spoke up,

“Do you ever feel like everything is just… Turning to shit?”

“I’m a second-year senior,” Eddie turned to you, straight-faced and flat-voiced, “What do you think?”

You couldn’t help the long sigh that escaped your lips as you threw the roach to the floor of the parking lot, “Do you think we’re like, predestined to experience the shit we go through in life? Like, no matter what we do, or how we try to change ourselves, our lives were set from the get-go?”

“When the hell did you start getting philosophical when you’re high?” Eddie laughed, quickly settling down when he realized you were serious, “I, uh… He is bound up with the fate of the ring.”

“What the hell are you-”

“My heart tells me that he has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end.”

“Eddie, I don’t get your nerd shit, you know that-”

“It’s not nerd shit,” he glared, “It’s Tolkien. Lord Of The Rings. And it was said by Gandalf who’s like, super fucking wise.”

“I still don’t-”

Eddie held a hand up, stopping you mid-sentence, “It’s about choices, right? All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. Choices.”

Noticing your less-than-impressed stare, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “Fate. Destiny. Karma. All that bullshit. Who knows, right? Who knows if things are written in the stars from the moment we’re born or if it's all the just consequences of shitty actions, or if some shitty higher power up there is just being an asshole. We have like, zero ways of knowing, and the only thing we have control over is what we do about it. That’s what matters.”

Watching him for a second, you eventually turned away from his red-rimmed eyes and watched the late night sky, a blanket of stars covering it that seemed to twinkle back at you, “God, you are so high.”

Eddie merely chuckled in agreement.

Eddie drove you home, the music too loud and driving a little erratic, and you were almost shocked that he didn’t get pulled over. But, like you, he had a reputation in this town, and his driving safely and quietly probably would’ve garnered much more suspicion.

You’d thankfully remembered to grab the spare key before you’d left for the cabin considering your set was probably sitting pretty in Jonathan’s car waiting to be spotted, and you were grateful you wouldn’t have to attempt to wake your mother upon arriving home.

Your mother, however, was a woman full of surprises, not all of them good.

Closing the front door and clicking the lock into place, you heard her call your name from the small living room. You could tell from her demeanor that she’d been drinking, but not enough to end up in a state. Sometimes, her being black-out drunk was better. Safer.

“Where the hell have you been?” She asked, releasing the curtain from her grip where she had no doubt been peering out of when she heard the ruckus that was Munson’s van barrelling down the street.

“Work, Mom.”

A scoff fell from her lips eyes trying to remain on you, “Don’t try to bullshit me. It's past 1 am, and I saw that Munson boy’s van pull in outside. He’s trouble-”

“Mom, it’s late. Can the lecture wait until the morning?”

You tried to walk to your room, barely getting to the door when her spindly fingers wrapped around your elbow, long nails digging into the skin, “I can smell the marijuana on you from here. You know what he did, what his father did. I’m not having you bring trouble to this house. Do you want to have to go live in a trailer when they burn our home down, too?”

Glaring at your mother, you didn’t quite have it in you to tell her that despite being a two-bedroom house, it wasn’t much bigger than Munson’s trailer. And it definitely wasn’t a home. Not anymore.

No matter how much you begged and prayed to anyone who would listen for your mother to get well, for her to one day decide she didn’t need the drink anymore and instead become a real parent, your heckles always raised a little when she tried to pull this shit. Because this wasn’t her trying to mother you, it was her trying to take control of the one thing in life that she had left. You.

It began with Barb a few years back. She would question you on your poor decisions whilst swigging from a bottle, asking why you’d entertain someone like Barbara Holland. Who, sure, was smart and nice, but wouldn’t make it further than the head position at the library in life. She wouldn’t find a handsome, rich husband. Instead, she’d settle unhappily, and her life would pass her by boringly. Barbara Holland was not going to be remembered in the town of Hawkins. How wrong your mother was.

But you knew Barb. She might’ve looked like the kind of girl who gets trapped in Hawkins, but she had plans, and she was going places. She wanted to head out to San Francisco, at least that’s what she’d planned as a kid. But anywhere other than Hawkins seemed like a good idea. Barbara Holland was going to get the hell out of Hawkins… And then she was killed. It all seemed too unfair, but your mother was much more concerned with you making better friends.

Friends like Carol Perkins, Vickie Carmichael, or God Forbid, Tammy Thompson who, despite being pretty and popular and relatively kind to mostly everyone, wouldn’t stop singing her own rendition of “Total Eclipse Of The Heart”, and if you had to hear that damn song one more time…

“None of that was Eddie’s fault,” you pulled your arm from her grip.

The anger in her eyes was evident, the line between her brows sharp as she stared at you, “And what if he’d been pulled over? I could hear that god-awful music from halfway down the street. You think people around here wouldn’t call the cops on him? If you were caught with him-”

“Maybe he shouldn’t have driven home like that, sure. But it’s nothing worse than what you’ve done. Do you really think people don’t already talk about us? About how I’m going to end up like you, how you’re already halfway to your mother-”

The back of her hand stopped you, the whooshing sound blocking out whatever pained response she had. Pushing your way into the room, ignoring her calls, you slammed the door in her face and pushed against it, settling on the floor in front.

Despite the tears that welled in your eyes, you were right.

Your mother's backhand hurt a lot less.

32 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 4 months

Note

i just binge read all the chapters of ur steve harrington fic, and omg i’m scratching at the walls for more it’s so good. ur writing and pacing is amazing, and i love the dynamics you chose for steve and reader. 10/10 ! 🩵

Thank you thank you thank you!! I'm so glad you're enjoying it <3 Hope you have a wonderful new year <3

12 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 4 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 9: When The Party's Over

Chapter Nine.

I wanna feel something, I wanna feel something, I drink to feel something, I sleep and feel nothing, Maybe that's where you come in, Maybe that's where you and I begin

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,839

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of menstruation (not really a warning, but here you go), mild Nancy slander, Billy Hargrove getting a little too comfortable, derogatory name calling, strong language, mentions of scars, and insecurities regarding them, heartbroken Steve, reader is wasted, but more bonding.

Season's greetings, babes.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Nine: When The Party's Over

The exhaustion had finally got to you. That was the only plausible reason you had for entertaining Billy Hargrove for so long without swinging at his annoyingly pretty face.

You’d only approached him that morning to speak to Max as she exited his Camaro, but the boy had leered at you over the roof of the car the entire time as he puffed away on a cigarette. Unfortunately, he seemed to take that as an invitation to pester you for the rest of the day.

“I don’t have time for this right now, Hargrove.”

The sound of his boots hitting the linoleum flooring told you he wasn’t giving up any time soon, “It’s cool, I can walk and talk. I ain’t got nowhere to be.”

“I’m pretty sure you have a class to be in, actually,” you rolled your eyes, continuing your march to your destination.

“You know my schedule already? How sweet. But look, it’ll be my first party here in Hawkins, you gotta make it.”

Scoffing, you pushed onward toward the library. Somewhere you weren’t sure Billy knew existed, “I haven’t gotta do anything. Plus, Hawkins' parties are all lame. I wouldn’t hold your breath for this one to be different.”

“It’ll be a whole lot less lame with me there, sweetheart,” Billy was on your heels, practically trying to mount your back as you finally pushed through the doors, halting a little too quickly as the door hit the wall, which caused the boy to bump into your back as all eyes cast over you as he laid an arm over your shoulder, “Who knows, you might even crack a smile.”

Spinning on your heel and effectively removing yourself from the boy’s grip, you pushed at Billy’s chest — frown deepening when he barely moved an inch — and huffed, “I’m not in the mood, Hargrove. So leave me alone.”

Stomping off, your fingers dug into your bag as you held it against your chest as if it would magically stave off the unwanted attention from the surrounding students. Especially the attention of the boy with the coffee-colored eyes that you could feel boring into you from the moment you barreled into the room.

You hadn’t been actively avoiding Steve, per se. But with the embarrassment you felt last night still running hot under your skin, you didn’t have the willpower to be around him. You’d felt disconcertingly vulnerable under his unwavering gaze last night, and deep down, a part of you still expected to find him in the cafeteria with his old posse of jerks giggling at your expense.

Sure, he hadn’t bothered with Tommy or Carol since last year so your paranoia seemed unjust, but you knew old habits died hard.

“It’s not my fault you’re on the rag or something,” Billy shouted crudely across the library, clearly not trying to be subtle or considerate, before turning on his heels and making his way toward whoever his next victim was, ignoring the annoyed hissed whispers of the librarian.

You’d kept your head down throughout your free period and you could only be grateful that both Nancy and Steve had kept their distance. You had a history project to finish, and truth be told you hadn’t even started yet, and the distraction of Romeo and Juliet wouldn’t be much appreciated.

Once you were settled, you swiftly made your way across the room and toward the small supply office to browse through the encyclopedias, however you skidded to a stop when you pushed open the door only to come face-to-face with the boy you were absolutely not avoiding on purpose, and his girlfriend.

“Jesus, is nowhere in this school sacred to you two? Can’t you just go make out in the back of Harrington’s car like normal teenagers?”

The boy rolled his eyes at you as Nancy stepped out of his grasp, “I think we should tell Barb’s parents-”

With wide eyes, you scrambled into the room and shut the door behind you, already shaking your head, “Are you insane? We can’t tell Barb’s parents. We can’t tell anyone.”

“You were there, you saw what it’s doing to them.” Nancy was clearly in distress and although your heart went out to her parents, you couldn’t even begin to imagine the repercussions you’d all face if you were to open your mouths.

“I get it, Nance. Really, I do. But we can’t tell them anything. God knows what the Lab would do. What the government would do. The Byers and I would have to pay back the hospital fees and-”

“This isn’t about the money,” Nancy huffed, her head shaking as you stared at you with indignation, but you cut her off quickly,

“That’s because you grew up with a silver spoon shoved in your ass, Wheeler. Do you know what it would do to Mrs. Byers? To Will and Jonathan? To me? When you don’t have money, it factors into everything.”

Nancy was on the verge of tears, but you could flip a coin for which one of you was on the verge of hysteria, “We don’t have to tell them everything.”

This time, Steve spoke up, making his way to stand in between you both, “This isn’t some game, Nance. If they found out we told anyone… They could put us in jail, okay? Or worse, they could destroy our families. They could do anything they want, okay? Just think about what you’re saying.”

As Nancy’s bottom lip wobbled, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. But she knew — just as well as both yourself and Steve did — that she couldn’t tell a soul.

“It’s hard, but let’s…” Steve perched himself back on the table, a hand soothingly running up and down Nancy’s arm, “let's just go to Tina’s stupid party, wear our stupid costumes that we’ve been working on for a stupid amount of time, and just pretend like we’re stupid teenagers, okay? Can we just do that, just for tonight?”

Despite Steve’s attempt, Nancy didn’t seem pacified. In fact, she seemed dejected as she agreed to his plan before making her way out of the small room, not bothering to send you a second glance.

Releasing a deep sigh, the boy stood and ran a hand through his hair, leaning against one of the bookshelves as your shoulders sagged, “She’s going to get us all killed.”

“Don’t say that, alright? She’s just… She’s hurting.”

Clenching your jaw, you shook your head at the boy as you looked off to the side. Noting his thoughtlessness, he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, “Not to say that you’re not too. But Nance just…”

“She feels guilty, Harrington. She feels guilty because she left Barb that night to shack up with you,” lifting a hand, you stopped him from interrupting you, “I’m not blaming her. Like, at all. Okay? I shouldn’t have left, and Nancy shouldn’t have let her leave. But we did, and telling her parents, putting everyone’s life at risk, isn’t going to change that.”

Steve remained quiet, but his eyes softened, and you knew he had to bite back whatever reassurance was sitting on the tip of his tongue. You didn’t want it, and you didn’t need it. It would only fall on deaf ears, anyway.

Instead, Steve’s head fell backward, a quiet thump that barely shook the rickety bookcase behind him.

“I think the party would do you some good, too. The new guy seems pretty insistent that you’re there.”

Scoffing, you moved toward the boy, leaning up to grab at the first encyclopedia your fingers grazed, unbothered by the letter. You watched as Steve’s Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes remained focused on you until you turned, strolling out of the small room, throwing the encyclopedia into your bag before making a hasty exit. The list of people you definitely weren’t purposely avoiding was growing by the minute.

“Hop, hey Hopper!” You called out, chasing down the man as he marched out of the station.

He stopped in front of his car, waiting as you pulled up on your bike, sans helmet. Again.

“Can this wait, Kid? I’m in a hurry-”

“I just… I wanted to double-check about the trick-or-treating thing tonight. I can make sure-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Jim asked, peering down at his watch.

Chewing your lip for a second, you cleared your throat, “I have a free period.”

Cocking a brow, Hopper watched you silently for just a moment, “So if I called the school, they’d confirm that, right?”

“Confidential, I’m afraid. You’re not my parent or guardian so…” You sent him a haughty smirk, relishing the way his face pinched slightly.

“I’m the damn Chief of police, Kid. I can-”

“Trick-or-treating. Yes, or no.”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times. No, and that’s final.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed forward on your bike slightly and lowered your voice, “C’mon, Hop. You can’t treat her like a prisoner of war. You know what happens when you cage a dog?”

“The hell are you talking-”

“They start to bite. And when they finally get out, they start to run.”

Hopper lifted his hat to run a hand over his hair, a long, irritated sigh falling from his lips, and you knew he’d had this argument a million and one times with El, “I said no. End of. Now get back to school.”

“The hell is that smell?” you questioned, nose scrunched up as you tried to breathe through your mouth instead.

Pulling back the cover of Eugene McCorkle’s truck, you found yourself gagging as the awful, pungent smell of decay finally filled your nostrils, “That is why I’m in a hurry. Now if that’s all, I gotta go. And put a damn helmet on.”

Jonathan Byers didn’t cancel on you. In fact, he even offered to pick you up after finally deciding to allow his brother to trick-or-treat alone with his friends.

“She’s evil, I swear.” You told him as you searched through your mother’s chest of drawers, thankful she was out.

“She’s like… ten.” Jonathan laughed, leaning on the door frame, politely refusing to enter your mother’s bedroom.

Rolling your eyes, you continued to dig, “She’s actually nine, but still… Evil. We hit Cherry Street, and she managed to bully Mr. Benson into giving her three full-sized Butterfingers bars.”

Despite not seeing the boy's face, you could almost hear the amused smirk in his tone, “Oh, wow. I better call The Hawkins Post, let them know there’s a new Stalin about town.”

“Shut it, Byers.” Snatching up the yellow button-up shirt that you knew was hidden somewhere with a devilish smirk, you pushed yourself upright and almost skipped back to your room, the door shutting in Jonathan’s face before you began to change.

“You know, you don’t have to dress up, right?”

Jonathan didn’t hear your mumbled response as you pulled your black vest over your head, but a small huff of laughter fell from his lips when you finally opened the door, “Black Christmas?”

“You know that we still have time to ask Bob if you can borrow his Dracula costume, right?”

House keys half-shoved into your back pocket, you clambered into Jonathan’s Ford, already rummaging through his glove compartment to find whichever tape picked your fancy. The boy waited until you settled on a familiar yellow and black cassette.

Waiting until he pulled out of his driveway, and the second verse of Burning Down The House transitioned into the chorus, Jonathan — who had most definitely not asked Bob for his costume — finally asked the question that he had been swallowing down since his arrival at your house,

“Are you okay?”

His troubled glance burned a hole in the side of your face, but you refused to meet his eyes, “I’m fine, Jonathan.”

“This just… doesn’t seem your kind of thing.”

“And what, it’s yours?” You didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, “Didn’t realize you were such a social butterfly, Byers.”

Sighing, Jonathan’s fingers tapped at the distressed steering wheel as he returned his gaze to the road, “I don’t know why the hell either of us are going. I mean, we’re going to hate at least 90% of the people there, right?”

Unable to hide the stretch of a smile from your lips, you finally chanced a look at the boy, grateful that his eyes remained focused on the road out ahead of him, “90%? Have you made friends that aren’t me?”

The boy shook his head, a small smile tugging at his own mouth as you grabbed the orange paper invitation that was sat on his dash, “And we’re going because we’re gonna be stupid teenagers, doing stupid things, at a stupid Halloween party. Plus, we’re gonna get sheet-faced, Byers.”

The party was in full swing by the time you’d arrived, and since you’d promised Jonathan that you’d be ready to leave by 9pm to pick up Will, you didn’t plan on wasting one second of your time.

Tina’s family home sat on Oak and First, and much like Steve Harrington’s house, it was huge and surrounded by the woods. Whilst it was great to know the chances of any neighbors calling the cops were minimal, one glance at the vast, dark treeline set you off enough to refill your cup. You didn’t know how much you’d had to drink, nor did you have any idea as to what was in the punch, bar Drew practically burping in your face that it was pure fuel. All you knew was that it tasted like grape juice. Grape juice with a lot of Tina’s parent's expensive vodka.

Turns out, Nancy was also on a mission to get absolutely wasted.

A loud cheer came from outside, and the chants of the new boy’s name could be heard even over the shredding of guitars of Motley Crew. You weren’t sure who had jacked Tina’s record player, but you were at least grateful that it was a break from back-to-back Madonna.

Ignoring the way Billy stared at you as he passed, making his way toward Steve and no doubt attempting to start trouble, you wobbled toward Jonathan, a drink in each hand.

“Oh shit, Siouxsie Sioux, right?”

The girl, Samantha — with whom you shared art class together — nodded, sending an amused, but tight smile, “Yeah. What are you?”

“Drunk,” Jonathan’s voice was loud next to you, “She’s drunk.”

Rolling your eyes, you purposely gulped down a large mouthful from your solo cup as you offered the other to Jonathan, “And you are sober. Time to catch up, Byers.”

“I’m driving,” shaking his head, Jonathan’s eyes darted around the party, and even in your drunken stupor, you knew who he was looking for.

So instead, you shrugged and took a sip from his cup, “Sucks to be you. Have a good night, Siouxsie.”

Stumbling around the party like Bambi on ice, you almost dropped both of your cups as Drew pushed past, his once rosy, alcohol-flushed cheeks now appeared to be tinged with the slightest shade of green as he rushed out toward the garden,

“Hey, Dipshit!” You halfheartedly yelled after him, eyebrows drawn together as you tried to decipher which one of the two Drews you were currently seeing was the real one, “Watch where you’re going!”

“Jesus, how much have you had to drink?”

Face still pinched, you turned to face the familiar voice, barely holding back the sigh that threatened to fall from you lips, “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Charming,” the boy scoffed, eyes darting around the room to find his girlfriend — who was merrily dancing away, her own drink high above her head — before he returned his attention to you, “Seriously though, you good?”

“I am great.”

Steve was certain it was the first time he’d ever heard you giggle.

Watching you like a hawk, Steve grabbed hold of the half-full red solo cup just before it met your lips, “I think you should slow down a little.”

“I think you should mind your own business, Steven.”

Finally managing to wrangle the cup from your grasp — which really wasn’t that hard considering your state — he placed it on the side, allowing his eyes to dart toward his girlfriend once more, “Is this about the other night? About the nightmares? Because I swear I didn’t-.”

“So you decided to show,” Billy’s smirk was wide, his eyes leering over you despite your outfit being pretty conservative, “You wanna try out the keg? You’re looking at the new King of Hawkins High.”

Your face remained stoic, unsure as to why Billy thought that would impress you, “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You wanna dance then?”

Nodding, you pointed at Billy, “Now that… That is something I wanna do.”

Steve watched as you took a large gulp from the cup he hadn’t seen, allowing Billy to begin to lead you toward the crowd. He called your name once, twice, three times, before you stopped, turning to watch him approach you with concern etched over his features, “C’mon, this isn’t like you.”

Sending the boy a sardonic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you peeled his gentle grip from your elbow, “That’s the thing, Steve. You don’t know me. You don’t know me, at all.”

Even as you turned to walk away again, Steve called after you, his voice full of hurt, but Billy was the one to intervene this time, a condescending smirk tugging at his lips, “You heard the girl, Harrington. Go find your girlfriend.”

Lips pressed tightly together, Steve huffed and decided that if you didn’t want his help, he would in fact go find his girlfriend. Turns out, it wasn’t exactly hard as Nancy was standing by the punch bowl, helping herself to another drink.

The party was fun for a while, you wouldn’t bother to deny that, but it was only so long that you could handle feeling so out of control. The room was spinning, and you couldn’t tell if things were moving too slowly, or a little too fast, and you felt like you didn’t know up from down. The only grounding force you had was the chest pressed against your back as Billy held you against him, hips gyrating a little too promiscuously, not that you were in any state to notice.

The smell of sweat, smoke, and aftershave that was just a little too strong for your liking hit your nostrils before the pungent, overwhelming smell of alcohol covered it, “So who’d you come as?”

“Jess Bradford,” you mumbled, eyes closed and head resting against the boy as you swayed clumsily to Duran Duran, scoffing loudly when Billy questioned who that was, “You know, from Black Christmas? 'The calls are coming from the house.'”

“Why the hell are you dressed as someone from a Christmas film?”

Out of all the times you’d wanted to slap Billy, this might’ve been the one time you would’ve, had your hand-eye coordination been any good.

“I thought you might’ve come as something a little sexier, you know?” Billy’s lips grazed the side of your neck, the hairs from his mustache tickling you in the worst of ways, “Maybe a little pussycat, or a-”

“Why would a cat be sexy?” You slurred, body no longer moving to the music as you tried to clear your bleary vision, completely unaware of the argument that was going on back in the kitchen, “God, you’re so weird-”

The words died from your mouth as your whole body stood still in shock, one hand clutched against Billy’s wandering one as it grazed over your abdomen, hand shoved between your vest and your shirt. Pushing his hand away, you tried to create some kind of distance, but the boy wouldn’t allow for it, turning you in his grip instead,

“Hey, c’mon, don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything, just get off of me. I wanna go home,” when the boy moved closer, a haughty smirk pulling at his lips, you shoved your hand limply to his chest as if to move him back, “Alone. I wanna go home alone.”

His smirk dropped instantly, eyes narrowing as he looked over you, “The hell is wrong with you? One minute you’re all over me, the next you’re acting like a total prude.”

“I wasn’t-” slurring, you wobbled slightly where you stood, expression pinched, “I wasn’t all over you. You… You were all over me.”

“Last I heard, a little bit of alcohol and you turn into the county slut-”

His words stopped abruptly as your hand connected with his cheek. Even though you were wasted and your arms felt like cooked spaghetti, the darkening in both his cheek and his eyes told you it had at least hurt a little,

“You wanna go home, then fine. Go. Nobody here gives a shit.”

Refusing to allow your bottom lip to wobble until you were outside and far enough away, you stumbled out of Tina’s house, refusing to make eye contact with any of the passersby. However much of a dick he was, Billy was right.

Nobody in that party cared. Jonathan was here for one reason, and whilst you couldn’t blame him, you knew you were just along for the ride. The only friend — the only true friend — you’d had, had been dragged into the pits of Hell by some monster. The same monster who’d left a permanent reminder on your body in the form of three large, ugly scars along your abdomen. The same scars that Billy had — albeit, unwittingly — ran his hand over as he tried to feel you up.

Making your way to the end of Tina’s drive, you plopped yourself down on the curb, cursing yourself as you rummaged around in your pockets for a cigarette, only to come up empty-handed.

The first tear fell, but you wiped it away almost viciously, refusing to allow any more to fall. But you were drunk and tired — both emotionally and physically — and you just wanted this night to be over. This year to be over.

A pair of white Nike trainers came into view, stopping directly in front of you and causing you to crane your neck.

There, with bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks, stood Steve Harrington, his large hand held out in front of him, waiting to assist you up, “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

You both remained silent for the most part, your eyes drooping every so often, before shooting open when your head would bump the window, a quiet murmur of ‘sorry’ from the boy next to you.

Groaning, you forced your eyes shut, the image of the passing trees making you feel nauseous, “You’re not gonna hurl, are you?”

“No,” you hiccuped, swallowing down the excessive saliva that was building up in your mouth, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” the boy said quietly, eyes darting toward you as you curled in on yourself, sending him a half-assed glare.

“Yeah, well… Neither do you.”

A short, humorless laugh fell from his lips before he wiped at his nose, pinching the tip of it, “Yeah well, not everyone had as good of a night as you, I guess.”

“I don’t think having Billy Hargrove grinding against me is my definition of a good night.” Sighing, you ran your hand over your face, ignorant of any makeup you had probably smudged.

“Sure looked like you enjoyed it,” Steve’s eyes darted toward you, squeezing his eyes together for just a second, “I’m sorry. That was… Look, it’s none of my business, alright?”

Folding your arms over your chest, you leaned your head against the window, “You’re right. It’s not.”

Pulling up to your house, you noted your mother’s car gone from the small driveway, and you were willing to thank whatever higher power was out there until you stood patting your dark pants in an attempt to find your keys,

Thankfully, Steve was waiting until you were safely inside the house to pull away, but when you came up empty-handed he sighed and quickly exited his car, following you as you fumbled with the front room window, eventually turning your attention to the overgrown garden, “Just… Just get back in the car.”

“I’m sure I can get in through at least one window-”

Steve’s eyes widened, grabbing hold of your wrist as you lifted your arm, ready to throw a large rock you’d found straight through your bedroom window. Drunken logic, he assumed,

“Look, we don’t need to add breaking and entering to your charge sheet. Just… get back in the car. You can stay at mine.”

“It wouldn’t be breaking and entering if I’m breaking and entering my own property, dumbass,” you scoffed but allowed him to gently pull you toward his car once more, stumbling over your Converse.

Within the blink of an eye — or maybe you’d just had a five-minute nap — you were pulling up to Steve’s familiar house, the bright red door almost taunting you at the one memory you had of this place, and the stark reminder that things would never be the same again.

“My folks are home, so you’ve gotta be quiet, alright?”

Steve cringed as you slammed his car door accidentally, eyes widened as you turned to him, “…Sorry.”

After assessing the top floor windows, thanking his lucky stars that his parents seemingly remained fast asleep, he helped you into the house and up the stairs.

Delicately closing his bedroom door, Steve finally turned to you, rolling his eyes as you fell face first onto his bed, before making his way toward his chest of drawers and pulling out an old shirt, “Here, you can wear this if you want.”

Your head popped up, face pinched in disgust, “When did you last wash your sheets?”

Steve was certain that by this point, he’d seen the back of his eye sockets a million times, “Calm down, they’re clean. Just… change into that, and I’ll be back.”

Eventually pulling yourself upright, you managed to wrestle yourself out of the black vest as you grumbled to yourself the entire time before flopping back down onto the bed, unable to care that sleeping in your slim-fit yellow button-up shirt would be mildly uncomfortable at best. When Steve finally made his way back to the room — a gentle, wary knock before he reentered — he found you tucked under the navy blue comforter, his spare shirt still on the edge of the bed where he’d left it. Steve placed the cold glass of water down on the bedside table, along with the bottle of aspirin he’d brought up. Placing his hands on his hips, Steve let out a long sigh as he looked around his room, unsure of what to do.

It had been a long night, and despite Steve wanting to go to bed, he was somewhat grateful for the distraction you’d given him. He’d been warned a long time ago when he was much smaller, that crying was a weakness, even in the privacy of his own bedroom.

“Steve,” your voice was barely above a whisper, but it made him jump a little anyway, “I’m sorry I was a total bitch earlier.”

A small huff of laughter fell from his lips as he grabbed a pillow from his bed, throwing it to the floor before making his way to the cupboard, grabbing his summer comforter, “After the night I’ve had, it’s nothing.”

Flicking off the light switch and making sure his bedroom door was locked, Steve finally made himself comfortable on the floor beside the bed, his foot knocking against his desk every so often as he shuffled in an attempt to get comfortable. Releasing a sigh, Steve rolled back onto his back, gazing at the moon outside his bedroom window.

He used to have everything.

The popularity, the friends, even the girl. And now, everything was in turmoil, ripped out like a rug from under his feet, and Steve felt like he was forever falling. He was stupid to think that tonight could’ve been the night he finally felt normal again.

Rolling onto your stomach, you peered down at the boy in silence, watching as he became lost in his own thoughts. Despite the remainder of his previous summer's sunkissed skin, the moonlight washed him out, betraying the dark circles that nestled under his red-rimmed eyes. Eyes that appeared much darker.

You wouldn’t pretend that you knew Steve well. In fact, most of the things you knew about Steve could be counted on one hand. One thing you were learning, however, was that when Steve was upset, he’d become pensive. Quiet. Un-Steve like. Watching him like that — in an almost silent trance as his eyes grew dull, losing focus — tugged at your heartstrings in a way you didn’t appreciate.

“Why are you sad?”

Blinking a few times, Steve managed to pull himself out of the never-ending spiral that long, quiet nights alone seemed to inevitably end in, his eyes instead turning toward you as his brows pushed together, “I’m not sad.”

“Tell that to your face,” you didn’t have it in you to roll your eyes, instead remaining laser-focused on the boy, “because you look like a kicked puppy.”

Steve, however, did roll his eyes. Releasing a sigh, he crossed his arms over his chest, wriggling a little to get comfortable, “I’m not sad, I’m just… It's been a long night.”

A long year.

His tone was final, evident that he didn’t intend to divulge you any further into his problems, so you remained silent, still peering at him over the edge of his bed. Eventually, the pinch between his brows settled, eyes gazing back toward you, “Why were you crying?”

“I wasn’t crying,” you grumbled, burrowing yourself into the soft comforter, “I just… Also had a long night.”

“Hargrove?”

Your silence, only interrupted by a long, deep sigh, told the boy that he was correct.

“He’s an asshole.”

A short silence, followed by a slight sniffle and a defeated ‘yeah’ caused the boy to furrow his brow, hand slowly moving toward where yours hung off the bed slightly, fingers grazing your wrist as he tapped it to get your attention back, “He didn’t try anything, did he?”

Your glossy eyes refused to meet his, focusing on the moon that looked like it was about to roll right across the sky, “It’s Hargrove, he’s always trying something.”

Watching as you gnawed your bottom lip, knowing it would be sore by the morning, Steve waited patiently as you tried to rearrange your thoughts.

If you hadn’t drunk so much, you probably wouldn’t have entertained his curiosity, and Steve knew if Nancy hadn’t ripped out his heart in Tina’s bathroom, he wouldn’t have grasped at someone else’ tribulations, needing to do anything to keep his mind from imploding in on itself with questions he didn’t have the answers to.

“Last year,” your voice was as quiet as a mouse. Trepidation and dubiety wound tight on your tongue, burning like acid as you dug through the memories you’d been trying so hard to repress the past 11 months, “when that thing attacked me… Well, let's just say it left a pretty gnarly scar.”

Remaining silent, Steve watched as your throat bobbed, taking in your words even if they were still slightly slurred. Steve had a scar on his left knee from falling off his bike when he was younger, the thin, white line had become nothing more than a passing thought throughout the years, but now, watching your chin wobble slightly as you tried to find the words, it felt like the most important information he had.

“I just… Billy grazed over it, you know? He doesn't even know it's there, but… I see it every morning, and it makes me… It makes me sick. And then I realize that I’m so lucky that all that monster did was leave a scar because, for all we know, it ripped Barb apart. But I… I just hate it, and I hate that fucking Demogorgon, and I hate that I will forever have that reminder on my body. ”

Wiping your eyes with the comforter, you shook your head, “I’m sorry. It’s so fucking stupid.”

“When I was seven, my Dad tried to teach me how to ride a bike,” his words were enough to pull you from your downfall, tear-filled eyes finally connecting with his, “he gave up pretty quickly, didn’t like it when I wasn’t automatically good at something. Every afternoon after school, for like, a whole week, I’d force myself back out on that bike. I knew I had to learn because I had to prove my Dad wrong.”

Your eyes remained on him, feeling comfort from his warm, soft gaze, even if his sudden switch in conversation had thrown you through a loop, “What happened?”

“I fell off, busted my knee on the driveway. Got a pretty badass scar myself-”

“-Harrington-”

“-But, I kept going. Picked myself up, dusted myself off, and carried on. And then one afternoon, I just… I did it. Pushed off and sailed down the street.”

Sniffling a little, you watched him with a furrowed brow, “Does this story have a point, or are you just trying to send me to sleep?”

The shadow of a smirk tugged at the side of his lips, but he did his best to repress it, “What I’m trying to say is… Actually, I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. But I do know that your scar, it might be a reminder of all the shit that went down last year, but it also shows that you survived it, came out the other end, you know? And you shouldn’t… You shouldn’t care about what anything thinks about it, especially not Hargrove.”

Blinking away the tears that had settled along your lash line, you remained silent as you watched the boy watching you. Never in your wildest dreams would you expect Steve Harrington — Hawkins's own knockoff version of Tom Cruise, if you asked him at least — to be the one to comfort you over a deep-rooted insecurity. You’d heard the ways his gaggle of friends would loudly mock other students — yourself included on occasion — everything from their hair to their music taste, the acne on their forehead to the braces that lined their teeth. Like sharks, they were able to smell insecurity from 3 miles away and didn’t hesitate to go in for the kill.

But from your position on the comfortable bed, peering down at the boy who somehow looked much younger and much older all at the same time, you realized that the Steve Harrington you thought you knew was slowly but surely evolving. A caterpillar that had entered the first stage of metamorphosis. And only time would tell if he came out a moth or a butterfly.

61 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 5 months

Text

56K notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 5 months

Note

im typically a pretty silent reader but i cannot contain my excitement every time i see u post a new chapter! u deserve sm more attention on ur stories i feel cheated seeing ur likes so low :(

BUT! im hopeful its bc there’s other silent or shy readers out there that enjoy it as much as I do but like i said, are shy.

the slow burn between steve and reader has me MELTING im literally in love with them ur building up their story so beautifully ahh!! can’t wait to read more u are sooo talented i feel like i just finished reading an apocalyptic rom com haha <3

This is honestly so sweet, thank you!

I know there's always a lot of focus on tumblr about likes/reblogs etc, but I'm genuinely not fussed by them, so long as people are enjoying the story then I'm happy because I genuinely really love this story so writing it is also partially for me. I'm honestly so thankful for everyone who reads, likes, comments, reblogs, or messages me like this, but I never want people to feel like they have to do any of those things but the fact you took the time to when you're normally a silent reader is so lovely too <3

I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! You're so sweet and you've just made my whole day so thank you! <3

12 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 5 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 8: Chasing Shadows

Chapter Eight.

Did you fall asleep with your eyes open? And did you lose your way as darkness creepin' in? Did something terrible leave you in a wasteland? Did you feel it in your bones, Like life slipped right through your hands? I won't let you down, I won't let you down, I'll carry you.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 9,185

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, allusions to alcohol abuse, Billy is introduced and he is a pest, mentions of death, reader is becoming president of the Steve Harrington defense club, brief mention of mom's creepy male friends, explicit language, bonding.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Eight: Chasing Shadows.

After the holiday season had passed, New Year's flew by, and the Summer of ‘84 remained monster-free, you had finally started to settle. While you still felt horrified whenever you thought of the previous year — especially as the year anniversary was about to hit — you had eventually stopped believing that some hideous monster from the Upside Down had ripped a new asshole into this dimension and was lurking around the corner ready for its revenge.

As the year passed on, friendships fizzled out, especially that of Nancy and Jonathan, and although you would still call the former your friend, you knew you had pulled away from her. You’d driven into Indianapolis with her when she decided to cut a few inches off her hair, and she’d helped you hand out resumes during the summer, scoring you a summer job at the RadioShack downtown.

Jonathan and yourself, however, remained as close as you were beforehand. For a while, you felt like maybe the boy was only hanging out with you because he felt indebted to you, you were all trying to forget what had transpired the previous year, but he had scoffed when you mentioned it one evening as he leaned against the food desk at the arcade — watching his brother from afar — and told you that he doesn’t really like people, and if he didn’t want to hang out with you, he wouldn’t. You didn’t bring it up again.

All in all, you were feeling much less anxious as the year crept by.

And that was when the nightmares began.

Rule number one of the Palace Arcade was that the Slushee machine had to be cleaned out every night. A close second rule, however, was that there had to be two people on the closing shift.

Both rules were frequently ignored.

You were meant to work the closing shift that evening with Andy — some asshole jock from school who was on the basketball team despite being built for football — but the boy had dipped just after 8pm, leaving you to struggle as he went off with his equally asshole-like friends to a rager down at Lovers Lake. So instead, you were struggling to carry over the mop and bucket, along with the wet floor sign for the bathroom as you made your way to the door to lock up.

Your hand had barely grabbed the door handle when it was almost ripped from your grip. A loud yelp fell from your mouth as your eyes widened, peering through the glass door at whoever — or whatever — you expected to see.

Although the machine lights were slightly blinding as they reflected on the glass, you could make out a smaller figure outside, a shock of red hair that made your heart feel like it was about to pound right out of your chest, a loud buzzing almost deafening you as you struggled to take in your next breath.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Move.”

“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.” You hated the fact your voice wobbled, but you were more focused on the lessening grip from your sweaty hand as you continued to cling to the door.

The girl stared you down for only a moment before her attitude seemed to melt away in defeat. Her hand slipped from the door as an exasperated sigh fell from her mouth. Looking around as if to find something else to do, your gut clenched in something akin to guilt.

“What are you doing out so late anyway?”

“I’m thirteen, not three.” And the attitude was back.

Swallowing your annoyance, you sighed, “Do you need to call somebody for a ride?”

The girl reached up to tighten her ponytail before shaking her head, “No. It’s fine. I just… I snuck out, and I can’t go back yet.”

You presumed she was new to town — Hawkins wasn’t that big of a town, so when someone moved here it was always obvious — and didn’t know where else to go. It made sense since it was late October and they were in the ass-end of Indiana and nowhere in town — bar The Hideout, Hideaway, and Family video — was open.

Squeezing your eyes shut for a long moment, knowing that if you were caught, you’d be fired on the spot. And yet, you still pushed open the door, watching as the girl came into view properly, “I have to finish cleaning, so you have like thirty minutes, maximum. Okay?”

“You’re not some kind of creep, are you?” The girl hesitated in the doorway, unsure.

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes before walking away to start mopping the bathroom floor, “Obviously not. Look, come in, don’t come in… I don’t care. Whatever you’re doing, just shut the door, you’re letting all the warm air out.”

After a moment or two, you heard the door close and the girl’s sneakers scuff across the carpet before a machine loaded up, the loud noises making you stumble slightly, a bit of soapy water escaping over the rim of the bucket and plashing the carpet.

It didn’t take long to mop the bathroom floors, and you were thankful that all you had left to do was vacuum the office and clean out the Slushee machine. Deciding that the office could wait until tomorrow — that was Andy’s job, after all — you sighed as you watched the half-full cherry section slowly swirl around as if to mock you. It was the one job you all hated, after all.

The Coca-Cola flavor was almost totally out, so it wouldn’t take more than five minutes to clean, but the thought of cleaning out the cherry section made you visibly annoyed. So you thought fuck it, you deserved a treat for dealing with the cleaning alone.

“Hey, you like cherry Slushee’s?” You placed the bucket behind the desk and stood, hands on hips, staring down the machine.

The girl responded, not bothering to pull her attention away from the Dig Dug machine, “Sure.”

The girl returned the following evening, and thankfully, you were on the closing shift again. This time, Keith — who was usually a stickler for rules — had left an hour before closing after eating too many Cheetos and vomiting orange all over the bathroom. He’d tried to convince you to ring Andy and ask him to come in but knew very well that you wouldn’t bother. I wasn’t like he’d turn up anyway.

So once again, you were stuck wiping down all of the machines when a gust of wind from the door caught you off-guard.

You span quickly on the spot, a spray bottle of bleach ready to launch at the intruder, when the red-headed girl — whose name you had learned was Max, not Maxine — stared at you as if you’d been caught with your hand in a cookie jar. Eyes full of suspicion, she quickly closed the door behind her and made her way to the same machine she enjoyed frequenting, “God, you’re jumpy.”

Rolling your eyes, you continued spraying down the Galaga machine, wishing that people would eat their sticky sweets after playing the games, “I’m not jumpy, I just didn’t expect anyone to come in since we’re closed and all.”

Max shrugged, and you continued with your cleaning in silence for a while, until eventually, a small conversation had begun between you once more.

You’d learned little about the girl, only that she had moved to Hawkins from San Diego with her mother, her mother’s new husband, and her new step-brother, Billy. You could tell from the way her eyebrows dipped closer together that she wasn’t their biggest fan.

Max had only briefly mentioned her father, who had remained on the West Coast, but the longing in her glazed-over eyes told you enough. She didn’t want to move to Hawkins, and her opinion on that had been totally disregarded by her mother.

After you’d finished cleaning, you’d made two cherry Slushees and locked up, the both of you sat on the curb out front to finish your drinks.

“You need a ride home or anything?” You asked as you stood, throwing your empty plastic cup into the trash bag, ready to take it to the dumpster.

Before the girl could respond, your attention was drawn toward a car that was speeding into the parking lot like a bat out of hell. It screeched to a stop in front of you, causing you to leap back before it sent you over its hood.

“That’s my ride,” Max grimaced as she shoved her empty cup into the black bag before quickly making her way to the car.

You heard the door open and turned to watch as a boy around your age stepped out, presuming this was Max’s infamous step-brother, “You almost hit me.”

The boy shrugged before speaking around his cigarette, “You were in the road.”

Scoffing, your eyebrows pulled together as you glowered, “Barely. You came barreling in here-”

“Thanks for the drink,” Max interrupted, watching you both from her side of the car as her step-brother continued leaning on his open door, “See you later.”

Max knew damn well that if you put Billy in a bad mood, she’d have to deal with it on the drive home, but despite her attempt at luring him back into the car, Billy’s eyes remained on you.

“You want a ride?” He asked, eyes roaming up and down your body, despite you wearing your worn-out, navy work shirt.

Folding your arms over your chest, you tried to remain stoic, “I drove.”

The smirk on his face grew so much that he had to remove his cigarette for just a moment, sending a cloud of smoke in your direction, “Not the kind I meant, sweetheart.”

Unable to stop your nose from wrinkling in disgust, you turned your attention to Max, a similar look of repugnance sent in her step-brother's direction.

“Hey, Max? Remember what I said about school, alright? You can’t miss them, trust me.”

The girl looked uncertain but nodded regardless before clambering into the car. Billy chuckled — as if he were entertained by your decision to ignore him — and retreated back to the driver’s seat, zooming back out of the parking lot, despite his tires screeching in disagreement.

The last thing Hawkins needed was another asshole.

Your legs burned as you forced them to continue cycling, silently cursing your mother for taking the car this morning for her early shift. She had rolled out of bed just after you, poured a cup of coffee — as if that would hide the late-night drinking — and left without a word, which then left you rushing about in an attempt to make it to school before the bell.

Thank God Hopper replaced your bike.

Pushing your bike through the gaps between cars wasn't the smartest decision, but it was the fastest. You'd made it to school in record time, despite having to pass whatever awful smell lingered at Merril’s pumpkin patch.

As you passed by a familiar maroon car, a hand shot out, grabbing your arm, and if it was anyone else, you'd have probably sent a fist through their lowered window. Instead, you stopped, head darting around to glare at the car's owner, his coffee-colored eyes staring back, “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

Your eyes roamed from his face to his grip on your arm, but the boy didn't seem to catch on until you spoke, “I can not punch you in the face if you let go of me right this second, Harrington.”

With slightly widened eyes, his hand retracted back through the window, reappearing with a piece of paper. Huffing slightly, you grabbed it and began to skim the words. From the way your frown deepened with every passing moment, Steve wasn't feeling all too confident as he pushed open his door to exit the car, quickly followed by his girlfriend.

“Does it suck? Nancy said it doesn't, but-”

“Oh, no, it totally does. I'm just trying to work out how much it sucks.”

Nancy sighed your name in annoyance before she sent Steve a sympathetic — bordering on pitying — tight smile, “It could use some work, but it doesn't suck.”

Your eyebrow cocked as you sent her a skeptical glance before the paper was ripped from your fingers, “See, I told you it’s crap. I'm not gonna get into any colleges, and my Dad's gonna be on my ass the whole year until I reapply, or work for him.”

“This is your college essay?” You asked, grabbing the paper back from him and continuing to read about his Granddad's time in the war and how that somehow related to his own high school basketball career.

Glancing up, you watched as he carded a hand through his hair with a clenched jaw causing you to actually feel some semblance of commiseration for the boy. Handing back the paper, you sighed, avoiding Nancy's pointed glare, “I mean, it's not the best, but it's workable. Anyway, when has a shitty essay ever stopped someone like you from getting into whatever fancy, prestigious college they wanted?”

Steve stared at you for a moment, confusion clouding his features as he tried to work out if you were insulting him this time or not.

“See, Steve. It's workable,” turning her attention back to you, Nancy sent you an almost desperate look, her big eyes appearing even bigger, “And you can help him with it, right?”

“When is it due in?” You sighed, eyebrows pulling together as you watched Steve avert your eyes.

“Uh, tomorrow for early applications.”

“Tomorrow?” The aghast in your voice was funny enough to make Steve's lips pull up at the sides. At least it would've been if he wasn't on the receiving end of it.

“Oh, like you're so punctual.”

“I'm sure as hell more punctual than this-”

Steve opened his mouth to argue back, but was quickly interrupted by his girlfriend, “You can help him though, right? After the dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Holland's tonight?”

Closing your eyes tightly, you didn't want to admit to Nancy that you'd totally forgotten about the arranged dinner. And now you remembered, you definitely didn't want to go. You'd been grateful that the previous week when they'd originally tried to arrange the meal — with the announcement that they had some promising news about their daughter — Nancy had to be the one to cancel. Surely this meant that this week, you could do the same.

“Oh, about that-”

“No. No, we're not canceling on them again.”

Scoffing, you sent the girl a glare, “You did last week. This week is my turn.”

“And what are you doing that’s so important?” The girl asked, one brow raised as she folded her arms and awaited your reply.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to rack your brain for any kind of excuse, knowing the list would be extensive the moment this conversation was done and you'd been verbally manhandled into agreeing. Your eyes darted toward Steve — as if he would be any help — but the boy was reading through his essay for what was probably the hundredth time, looking as defeated as a kicked puppy dog, “I, uh… I'm helping Harrington with his essay. Did you just entirely ignore our previous conversation?”

Nancy's expression remained the same, and you had to physically ignore the temptation to rub the back of your neck, knowing damn well she wasn’t about to put up with your lame excuse.

“Honestly, whenever you two start arguing, I zone out. But, that's great… Right Steve?” The boy looked up, eyes wide but nodding nonetheless despite definitely not knowing what he was agreeing to, “And you can help him after the dinner.”

You weren't given the chance to oppose, as a vaguely familiar blue Camaro raced into the parking lot, easily pulling into a space. It was as if the whole parking lot had gone silent, watching as the doors opened. Max hopped out of the passenger seat, not giving her step-brother a spare glance as she raced off on her skateboard toward the middle school, but Billy took his time getting out, basking in the attention.

The boy looked around the parking lot, cigarette hanging from his mouth as he took in the scenery. You were sure that since he was from the West Coast, he'd find little to be impressed by with the fairly small Midwest high school that hadn't been redecorated since the '60s. His eyes met yours across the lot, the small wave he sent you as his lips tugged into a smirk caused a frown to settle across your forehead.

“You know him?” Nancy questioned as her gaze remained on the boy. It wasn't every day Hawkins got a new resident.

“No,” you answered, gripping the handlebars of your bike.

“He sure seems to know you,” Steve said, a slight furrow to his brow as he looked between the new guy and yourself.

Sighing, you pushed your bike, ready to begin your slow walk to the bike rack. If Nancy wasn't concerned with rushing to class, it meant you had enough time to slow down a little, “He almost hit me with his car last night.”

Their expressions turned to that of concern, both now giving you their full attention, “It's fine, it wasn't on purpose or anything. He's just a creep. Look, I gotta get going.”

“Don't forget tonight, and don't be late!” Nancy called after you as she watched you cross the parking lot, the new boy quickly on your heels.

“Nice to see a familiar face,” Billy smirked, talking around his cigarette as he followed you toward the school.

You sent him a glare, trying to ignore the giggling from the group of girls that you passed, “We met once, for all of a minute, and you almost ran me over.”

“I never forget a pretty face,” he huffed a laugh before throwing his cigarette on the floor, “you gonna show me around? Be my little first-day buddy?”

Placing your bike in the rack a little too aggressively, you remained silent as you stomped off toward your locker, leaving the boy to find the office by himself. Hopefully, he'd get lost and find himself back in California.

Walking through the school hallway, you’d thankfully managed to avoid Billy since this morning, but three sets of eyes had followed you instead.

Your name on the brunette’s lips almost felt foreign, and you weren’t even sure that before today, the girl even knew your name,

“Here,” she sent you an overly ingratiating smile as she handed you an orange flier, “I’m having a party. Feel free to bring a plus one.”

Tina had never been exclusively mean or rude to you before, despite hanging around with Carol and Nicole, but she had also never invited you to a party before. Slowly nodding, you continued on through the doorway, making your way toward Jonathan and Nancy, who were standing talking at the latter’s locker.

“I can’t let you sit all alone Halloween. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Well, you can relax. I’m not gonna be alone.”

“Have you seen this shit?” You interrupted, leaning on the locker next to Nancy’s, “A Halloween party. On a Wednesday. Who the hell throws a party on a Wednesday?”

“Are you gonna go?”

Scoffing, you scrunched the paper up into a ball and threw it into your bag, “I’d rather chew off my arms. Plus, we’re going to see the new Terminator film.”

“After we take Will Trick-or-Treating,” Jonathan clarified, to which you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“I know. After babysitting duties. The 9pm showing will be better anyway,” Jonathan cocked a brow at you, awaiting your explanation, “Adam’s working the late shift, and he always gives me free popcorn.”

A small huff of laughter fell from the boy's lips, “Don’t you think that’s kinda wrong? Taking advantage of him having a crush on you?”

“Well since my favorite worker quit two months ago,” you glared at Jonathan playfully, “I now have to rely on my womanly charms to secure free food.”

This time when Jonathan laughed, you punched him in the shoulder a little harder than he probably deserved.

“I mean, you two should still totally come. The film will still be playing on Thursday.” Nancy sent you a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Before either of you could respond, Steve grabbed Nancy, causing her to yelp out loud as he lifted her off her feet, “Oh my God!”

“I missed you,” Steve smiled, ignorant to Jonathan who had quickly shuffled back down the hallway toward his locker.

“It’s been like an hour,” Nancy rolled her eyes but was still unable to wipe the small grin from her face.

“Tell me about it,” the boy gushed, pulling her into a sweet kiss.

“You two are so gross,” scoffing, you rearranged your bag on your shoulder as your nose crinkled.

“No need to sound so jealous. You’ll find someone one day.” Steve smirked, his eyes barely glancing your way before they settled back on his girlfriend, soft and heart-shaped.

Your lip curled in disgust as you pushed off the locker you were leaning against, “Take off your sunglasses, you’re inside, dumbass.”

Refusing to give the boy another minute of your time for fear you may vomit right there in the hallway, you marched away, rushing toward Jonathan’s slowly retreating form as Nancy shouted out to you about the dinner tonight.

Honestly, you thought this day couldn’t get any worse. However, the universe was cruel, karma was a bitch, and maybe this was part of your punishment, considering you weren’t the type to attend church and repent your sins. God knows, you’d be saying enough ‘Hail Mary’s to finish off the year.

Saved by the bell, you pushed yourself up from the Holland’s couch, rushing toward the door before either of them could move.

“Why the hell are you so late?” You glared, trying to keep your voice low.

“Why the hell are you so early?” Steve countered, causing your eyes to widen, hands thrown out in the direction of his girlfriend.

“Because she told me to get here at 4.30.”

Nancy had to bite down on her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from letting out a laugh, “Because I knew you’d purposely be late.”

“What time did you get here?" Steve asked brows knitted together.

Your jaw was slacked, realizing that maybe Nancy was right in tricking you, “4.45.”

Her smug grin only made your frown deeper, “I was waiting outside on the porch for you, and she found me. Sniffed me out like some kind of bloodhound. I’ve been in there for 10 minutes listening to them explain the backstory of every single one of Barb’s baby pictures. And there are a lot of baby pictures.”

“Oh, Nancy, Steven. Lovely to see you both. Please, come in.” Mrs. Holland’s voice caused you to jump, a strained smile on your lips as you finally moved out of their way, eyes looking out desperately toward the road as she closed the door, kissing goodbye to freedom.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get to cook. I was gonna make that baked ziti you guys like so much, but I just forgot about the time, and before you know it, oh my god, it’s 5 o’clock.”

Nancy and Steve reassured her as you shoveled another forkful of mashed potato into your mouth, hoping that maybe if you ate faster, you could leave sooner, heartburn be damned.

You liked Barb’s parents, but this was just… Weird. Sitting at her house, eating at her table. All without Barbara. It didn’t feel okay.

“So I noticed a ‘For Sale’ sign out in your yard… Is that the neighbors’, or…”

“You wanna tell them?” Marsha asked, turning to her husband.

“Go ahead.”

“We hired a man named Murray Bauman. Have any of you heard of him?”

While Nancy and Steve shook their heads, you couldn’t chew your food fast enough to let her know that yes, you indeed have heard about the man. None of it good, if you went by what Hopper had to say about him.

“He was an investigative journalist from the Chicago Sun Times.”

“He’s pretty well known,” Barb’s dad interrupted, handing the man’s business card to Steve. You peered over his shoulder, mouth still chewing as you read the small amount of information on the card before he passed it to Nancy. Whatever they were going to say next, you knew it wouldn’t be good.

“Anyway, he’s freelance now, and he agreed to take the case.”

“That’s… That’s great,” Steve smiled around a mouthful of chicken. Nancy, however, bowed her head, eyes glazed over slightly, “No, that’s really… that’s great, right?”

“Um, what exactly does that mean?” Nancy asked, avoiding the boy’s stare.

“Means he’s gonna do what that lazy son of a bitch Jim Hop-”

Martha cleared her throat, her eyes darting toward you as she placed her hand over her husband's arm. Looking at you, the man apologized as he met your stare. You felt everyone at the table's eyes settle on you as you pursed your lips. Deciding that this wasn’t the time, nor the place to defend Hopper, you simply sent him a quick nod and pushed away your plate, appetite all but gone.

“What the Hawkins police haven’t been capable of doing. Means we have a real detective on the case.”

“It means,” Marsha couldn’t help but interrupt as his eyes twinkled for what was most likely the first time since her daughter had disappeared almost a year ago, “It means… we’re going to find our Barb.”

“If anyone can find her, it’s this man. He already has leads. By God, he’s worth every last penny.”

Anger bubbled through your veins, blood replaced with hot lava that was going to explode the moment you met this Murray Bauman, but you remained silent, eyes trained on the tablecloth as Nancy continued to question them.

“For the first time in a long time… We’re hopeful.” Marsha smiled, her eyes soft at the thought of bringing her only daughter home again. It made your stomach churn with nausea and guilt and suddenly, those forkfuls of mashed potato didn't seem like such a good idea.

Barbara Holland wasn’t coming back, because she wasn’t missing. She was dead.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Nancy stammered as she slipped out of the dining chair, quickly making her way toward the bathroom.

A silence settled over you all but for different reasons. You felt as if time had slowed down, and you couldn’t quite get a deep enough breath to fill your lungs.

“It’s finger-lickin’ good,” Steve said after taking a large bite of chicken.

Not so subtly kicking him in the shin under the table, you ignored his sour glare and instead sent Mr. And Mrs. Holland a feeble smile, “I’ll be right back.”

Knocking on the door lightly, you could hear Nancy breathing heavily from the outside, though she tried to remain quiet until you announced yourself. Unlocking the door, Nancy glanced at the picture of Barb before settling on the rim of the bathtub as she tried to control herself.

Neither of you spoke, instead sitting next to each other in silence, but when the floodgates broke for the girl, you couldn’t help but embrace her, “I know, Nance. I know.”

“It’s all my fault,” Nancy sniffled as tears continued to slowly fall down her cheeks, “If I’d have just left the party with you, with her, none of this would’ve happened. I was stupid and selfish, and I got her killed.”

“Hey, no. Don’t start that bullshit with me, alright? You didn’t cause a gate to open in the fabric of time and space and let a monster rip its way out, okay? None of that is on you. Was it shitty letting Barb leave alone? Yeah, sure. I’m not gonna pretend it wasn’t. But we’re just stupid teenagers, Nance. None of us knew that was going to happen. Not a person in town would’ve bet on those odds.”

Deep down, Nancy knew you were right. But it didn’t stop the swell of guilt and shame that had made a home in both of your chests since news of her disappearance.

“That night,” Nancy wiped her nose on her sleeve, the red surrounding her eyes only making them pop more than usual, “the night we went into that place… I’m not sure I ever really thanked you. Not properly, at least.”

You tried to shrug her off, shaking your head as you kept your eyes firmly planted on your shoes, “No, Nance-”

“No, I… I would’ve died if you hadn’t followed me in there. And then you…” sniffling a little, Nancy tried her best to pull herself together, “You put your own life on the line just so I could get out of there.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat that appeared whenever you thought of last year, you shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah well, I still owe your Dad a flashlight.”

Nancy’s bark of laughter caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but join in, “He has asked about it once or twice.”

“Tell him it makes an excellent distraction for a Demogorgon.”

After a few more minutes of talking, Nancy wiped under her eyes, checking in the mirror that she hadn’t smudged her makeup, “I can’t believe you threw a flashlight at that thing. That’s pretty reckless, even for you.”

Standing up from the lip of the bathtub, you sent her a smirk as you caught her eyes in the mirror, “It worked, didn’t it?”

“This looks cozy,” A voice interrupted from the doorway. You hadn’t even noticed that the door had been opened, let alone that Steve was leaning against the door frame, “Am I interrupting or..?”

“Button it, Harrington.”

Despite the pinch of his brows, Steve’s eyes remained soft as he turned his glance to you, “I mean, it was either me that came to check on you, or Mrs. Holland.”

Nancy stood upright and sent the boy a warm smile, “We’ll be out now.”

She moved past Steve, who continued to hold the door open, but you shook your head, “I’ll be right out.”

Remaining in the doorway for just a second as he sent you a quizzical glance, he soon shut the door. Once you could no longer hear his retreating footsteps, you released a sigh and leaned forward, palms pressed against the large, cold sink.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you inhaled deeply as you tried to steady your pounding heart. When you finally opened your eyes, you didn’t feel any calmer, and instead, your eyes found the picture of Barb in the mirror, the same crimson hair that had been silently haunting your dreams for the past few nights. You were never quite able to see her, but you knew it was her nonetheless. Your blood turned ice cold, forcing a shiver down your back as a multitude of goosebumps prickled across your skin. Unable to fully force the guilt down, you instead placed the photo frame face down, hoping that maybe if you buried your anguish deep enough, it might stay hidden.

Closing the door behind you, you kept your gaze on the back of Steve’s head as he pulled off his jacket before quickly realizing you didn’t have any coat pegs and instead folding his jacket awkwardly over his forearm. He couldn’t look any less at ease if he tried.

“Do you want a drink or anything? We only have water but-”

“Waters fine,” he sent you a tight-lipped smile before his eyes continued to wander around the small area, looking over your cigarette-stained yellow walls before returning his gaze to you and awaiting your direction.

Looking away, slightly abashed, you cleared your throat and pointed down the small hallway, “My room is the second on the left. I just need to make a quick phone call.”

Steve nodded and began to walk down the small hallway, his hand reaching toward a doorknob, “Other left, Harrington.”

The boy's cheeks were tinged a dusty pink as he quickly turned and barreled into your room.

It had been Flo — as usual — who had answered the phone at the station, letting you know that Hopper had already left for the night, so instead, you made your way to the kitchen where you’d haphazardly thrown your backpack after school and rummaged through until you came across the radio that Hopper had given you back last year.

The usual code — Us in Morse Code — left you in a moment of silence before Hopper’s grainy voice came through,

“What’s up, Kid?”

Despite not hearing another noise over the static, you knew that El would’ve been there, listening as always, “I uh, I’m not gonna be able to make it tonight. I’m sorry.”

Hopper huffed out your name in a sigh, “I thought we were going to have dinner tonight.”

“I already ate at the Holland’s, I totally forgot I’d agreed to this week but, Hop- that investigator, guy? Bauman? Barb’s parents have employed him to try and find Barb. They’re selling their house to-”

“Son of a bitch,” Hopper grumbled, “Look, can we talk about this another time? I’m uh, mid-argument about Trick or treating.”

“I can take her if you want? Jonathan’s taking Will and-”

“Not happening. Look, check in with me tomorrow. Night, Kid.”

You understood Hopper’s concern, but he couldn’t hide El away for the rest of her life. She was a kid, and all you wanted was for her to finally be able to act like one. But it was an argument you were bound to lose, so instead, you sighed and bid the man goodnight.

“Didn’t know you had plans with Chief Hopper tonight.”

Steve’s voice made you jerk forward, the radio almost toppling out of your hands and into the half-full sink. You quickly put it back into your bag as you sent the boy a glare, “Nosy, much?”

“I was just worried you’d fallen down the sink with how long you were taking.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed two glasses from the dish rack and filled them with tap water, handing one to Steve before grabbing your bag, and making your way back to your room, the boy following along like a lost puppy dog.

Steve had settled on the chair in front of your desk, eyes widening slightly as it wobbled under his weight, “So you’re not going to Tina’s party?”

“What?” You mumbled, barely sparing him a glance as you pulled out a relatively empty notebook before fishing around in your bag for a pen.

“You said about taking someone trick or treating with Jonathan. So I’m guessing neither of you is going to the party.”

Huffing out a sigh, you shook your head, “Not really my kind of thing.”

“Not Byers’ either, I guess.”

“You’re not still hung up on last year, are you? Nancy told you nothing happened, and you came face-to-face with why they were so close.”

Steve’s hand ran through his hair before unfolding his essay, trying to iron out the crinkles with his palm, “No… No. I get all that. I dunno, just Nance is convinced there’s something there, you know? Between you and Jonathan.”

“She what?” You couldn’t help the way your nose wrinkled at the thought.

Shrugging, Steve turned his attention away from you, “I don’t know. She’s just mentioned it a few times.”

Biting your tongue, you refused to air out the real reason Nancy was so interested in Byers’ romantic life and the fact it had absolutely nothing to do with you. Instead, you pat the space next to you, “C’mon, Harrington. Sooner we get started, the sooner you can go home.”

“So,” it had taken Steve almost two whole minutes to distract himself, “You and Hopper are pretty close then?”

“I guess,” you murmured, eyes scanning his essay in front of you as you started to underline some parts, “He dated my Mom for a while.”

Steve nodded, his eyes watching as you stopped at one — pivotal, in his opinion — part of his essay, brows pulling together as if you were trying to work something out, “So he’s kinda like your dad-”

“-My Dad’s somewhere in Louisiana last I heard,” you cut him off.

Noticing your tensed shoulders and the way your lips pursed, Steve finally decided to drop the subject. He’d been in the waiting room of the hospital almost a year ago — despite the fact he was certain nobody wanted or needed him there — and he’d seen how Hopper had almost antagonized the doctors for news about you, how his knee had bounced so forcefully that his hat had fallen off its perch more times than he had bothered to count, and how in the moments of silence, the man’s eyes glazed over like he was re-watching old memories in his head. Whatever Hopper was to you, it was clear the man cared for you deeply, and no matter how much you tried to conceal your feelings, you cared for him just as much.

A few more moments passed in silence between you both, the boy focusing his attention on a fray at the bottom of his jean leg, “So, is it really workable, or were you just being nice for Nancy’s sake?”

“I’m not nice for anyone’s sake, Harrington,” you rolled your eyes, handing him back the now scribbled-on paper, “Honestly, it’s not the best. Probably not the worst, either.”

Steve threw himself back on your bed theatrically, a loud sigh forced from his lips, “This is pointless. I’m not gonna get into college and I’ll end up working for Dad.”

“Oh, boohoo Harrington. You’ve got a rich Daddy who can just give you a well-paying job with benefits and insurance and shit. God, get over yourself. Some of us have to actually try.”

Steve shot up, brows pulled together as his wounded eyes met yours, “Wow, tell me how you really feel.”

When you remained quiet, biting your tongue to stop any more vitriol from spilling from your lips, Steve huffed out an annoyed breath, hand scraping through his hair, “If it’s really such a problem, I can leave.”

The boy stood, a frown etched on his forehead as he began to gather his things, only stopping when you finally broke your silence, “I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t take my shit out on you, you didn’t deserve that.”

Steve watched you for a moment, his eyes softening but the hurt still evident across his features.

“I’m sure your Dad could like… pay your way into whatever college you wanted, if he really needed to.”

Steve sighed, sitting back down at the end of your bed, “You don’t know my Dad. Part of me thinks he wants me to fail, you know? Just so he can say he’s right about me. Maybe we should just pack it up. I’m too stupid for College anyway.”

His words caught you off guard. In all the time you’d known Steve, he’d surpassed the line of confidence and strolled straight into cocky. He’d breezed through school so far because — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it — he could be charming when necessary. So to hear him speak so lowly of himself, of his intelligence, enforced the belief that he’d heard it one too many times.

Steve Harrington was told he was stupid, and he believed it.

“You’re not stupid, Steve.”

Shaking his head as if he didn’t quite believe you, the boy looked down toward his socked foot, “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

Shoving his shoulder a little, he finally looked up toward you as you repeated yourself from earlier, “I’m not nice for anyone’s sake. You might not be book smart, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid, Steve.”

“You really think so?” His dark eyes glistened with something akin to dubious hope as they searched your own as if he was expecting you to change your mind at any moment.

Nodding, you sent him a small but hopefully reassuring smile, “I wouldn’t be here wasting my time if I thought you were, Steve.”

A small huff of laughter left Steve’s lips, but he placed his essay down on the bed once more, “So, lay it on me. Do I need to start from scratch?”

Handing him your notebook, you shook your head, “It’s got potential. I mean, I get that thematically your winning the game against Northern is kind of in correlation to your Grandfather winning the battle of Iwo Jima, but I mean… It was a basketball game, Steve. Not even a championship game… And your Grandfather won a battle during a war. It just kind of seems like, I don’t know… You’re downplaying that, you know?”

Steve threw himself back along your bed once more, just as dramatically as the last time, “I’m doomed.”

The clock ticked methodically, but it felt like the hands hadn’t moved at all, stuck to the clock face as you watched it push forward, only to be dragged back.

The sounds of chatter among your classmates drowned out as you idly doodled in your workbook, hoping to pass the time a little faster. It was your last lesson of the day, and it was absolutely dragging by, so much that you were sure you felt every minute twice over.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound was utterly too loud, but as you looked back toward the clock, you noticed it wasn’t moving forward slowly at all. It was moving backward.

A lump formed in your throat, threatening to claw its way up as a wave of trepidation washed over you, threatening to drown you from the inside out. Your hand stopped moving, clutching your half-chewed number 2 pencil so tightly in your grip that the grooves dug into your clammy palm.

“I think Mrs. O’Donnell needs new batteries for her clock,” you mumbled, turning your attention to the girl who usually sat next to you, blinking dumbly at the unoccupied chair.

Turning your attention toward the rest of the class, you jolted in your seat feeling your breath quicken when every pair of eyes bore into you across the room. Swiveling in your chair slightly as your heart began to pound against your ribs, you called out to a few of your classmates, but none of them responded. Instead, they sat there. Unblinking. Unmoved. Staring into the depths of your soul.

A flash of red caught your attention from the doorway, the familiar face of the girl you were previously looking for, staring back at you through the small pane of glass. Sending you a smile that seemed a little too saccharine, the girl turned and made her way down the hallway, causing you to follow her without abandon, your chair scraping along the floor as you rushed out of class, still feeling the empty stare of your classmates peering from their seats as their bodies turned to follow your direction.

“Barb?” you called out once you were in the hallway, empty as usual at this time of morning, “Barb! Where are you?”

Spinning on the spot, you were panting as if you’d run a marathon, eyes glassy as they searched for your friend before a tuneful giggle sent you off in the opposite direction. The hallway was grey, as if all of the colors had been stripped from it, and the further along you ran, the more desolate it seemed to become. Lockers were now only half attached, thick vines forcing their way through the gaps, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Pushing through the only doors at the end of the hallway, you found yourself at the edge of the parking lot, cars seemingly abandoned as they too were overrun with foliage, broken windows and windshields, leaving a scattering of glass that crunched under your shoes as you passed by.

Calling for your friend again, you felt almost silenced by the gust of wind that blew past, leaves, mud, and dirt from the ground swirling around as it continued to whip against your cheeks, leaving them so cold that they actually hurt.

A shiver ran through your body, icy and forceful, causing you to physically shake as you continued to survey the parking lot. You’d seen her, you knew you had.

Barb was here, and you couldn’t lose her now.

Your heart was pounding so hard that you felt it in your ears as you continued to step over the glass and vines, making your way to the edge of the lot where Barb’s Volkswagon Cabrio was parked, headlights illuminating you as you approached, the rumbling engine barely audible over the wind.

“Barb?” You called out, trying to block the light to see into the car, “This isn’t funny, c’mon.”

A faint brush against your back caused you to whirl around, eyes peering into the all-too-dark space around you as you tried to catch sight of whoever was there.

It was so dark.

Looking up, you saw no streetlights or stars. No moon.

Another frigid breeze blew by, your name gently clinging to it, somehow so close yet so far. Turning your head to follow the familiar voice, you saw it again. The flash of red hair. Her puffy, cerulean coat.

Ignoring the warm tears that were overflowing from your eyes, you followed the girl deeper into the darkness, vines and overhanging branches blocking your view of her. Yet, you continued to follow her, calling her name regardless of how futile it felt as your voice bounced around, echoing back to you.

The branches dug into your arms as you tried to push past them, scratching you and catching your clothes as if trying to force you back. But still, you persisted.

You’d seen her. You’d heard her.

Barb was here. You just had to find her. Find her before it was too late.

A large flash of lightning temporarily blinded you, the area surrounding you becoming illuminated in an eerie, red haze.

You shouldn’t be here.

The once mellifluous sound of your friend's voice — of her laughter — deepened, sounding somehow more sinister.

Goosebumps broke out along your skin as you stood frozen to the spot, feet feeling as heavy as cement. Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths when you finally stepped forward, ignoring the sounds of faraway laughter and music playing from inside the house.

And there she was.

Hair as red as you remembered, her blue puffer jacket wrapped around her to keep the chill from her bones as she sat on the small diving board, dipping her feet into the warm water.

You’d left by now. But you’d seen this, the scene in front of you matching the photograph Jonathan had managed to capture.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Time seems to move slower as you watch the scene unfold. You shout and scream and plead until your throat is sore and aching, calling your friend's name in a fruitless attempt to capture her attention, to get her to just move.

A drop of blood from her injured hand drips, dispersing in the water and sealing her fate.

As your mouth opens, preparing to release one last scream, a loud, sharp screech falls from it instead. A sound that was so bloodcurdling and familiar that it would be etched in your memory until the day you die.

The colors that surrounded the Harrington’s backyard drained away, the same grey-toned haze surrounding you like a dirty camera lens, specks of dirt or dust — maybe both — floating in the air like ash. Barb’s mouth moved, screaming out for help, but it was silent. The monster's screeching had stopped, and you could no longer hear your own wails as you tried to rush toward Barb who clung to the pool ladder, limbs all too slow as if you were trudging through molasses. You were so close, and yet somehow, still so far.

Just as you reached the ladder — by this point crawling on your hands and knees — reaching out to try and grab the girl, she lost her grip, being yanked toward the bottom of Steve’s empty, rotting pool.

You were no longer moving slowly and instead felt yourself toppling over the edge, into a pit of eternal darkness.

Taking in a sharp breath, your bedroom lights were suddenly much too bright as your body moved without your permission, pushing itself upward as you scrambled away from the arms that had gripped you until your back was pushed against your headboard.

Everything seemed too loud. Too bright. Too real.

A soft voice called your name, but you were unable to see the boy as tears brimmed your eyes, threatening to tip over the edge with every passing second.

“Get off of me, don’t- don’t touch me,” you panted, batting hands away from you as you struggled to catch your breath.

“Okay, alright, I’m sorry…”

It took a moment before your body and brain caught up to your surroundings, the bedroom you’d grown up in refused to lend any form of security to you, so instead, you clawed at your quilt cover, hands clenching and un-clenching around the scratchy fabric as you came back to reality.

“How long have you had nightmares?” The soft, concerned voice of Steve Harrington caught your attention once you had seemingly calmed down, no longer stuck in your fight or flight response, but it only made you turn in on yourself more, bowing your head to avoid his coffee-colored gaze that seemed to be scrutinizing your every move.

“Hey,” his voice was barely above a whisper as his hand extended toward you, catching your attention, “have some of this.”

Accepting the half-filled glass of water, you sipped at it for a few seconds longer than necessary, the shame and embarrassment beginning to settle in. When you didn’t respond, the boy continued,

“I had my first one a week after that night. Thought I was over it, you know? Thought that was the end of it. Caught me off guard when it happened.”

Steve watched with worry as your lip began to wobble, a soft sob managing to escape as the first tear fell.

“Here, give me that,” he motioned, taking the glass from you, his head jerking up when your fingers grazed his, causing him to place the glass down a little less elegantly than he’d anticipated, uncaring either way as he gently took your hand in his, “Jesus, you’re freezing.”

The gentleness in his voice wasn’t lost on you as he tried to comfort you, rubbing his large hands over your smaller ones in an attempt to warm them before pressing them to his lips, gently blowing out warm air, and beginning the whole routine once again.

“This was the first time...” your throat felt sore like you’d swallowed a bag of nails, and you wondered just how many of your screams had transcended into this reality, “...the first time I saw Barb.”

You’d seen shocks of red before. Hair, blood… it all seemed to melt into the same image. But this time, it had felt so real. Like Barb was really there.

Steve’s motions stopped, his lips barely grazing your fingers as he peered up at you, big, dark eyes seeming almost puppy-like. Your name fell from his mouth in a soft whisper, his forehead wrinkling with concern or pity, you weren’t given the chance to find out.

A loud slam of your front door caused you to rip your hands out of the boy’s grip, back ramrod straight as you turned your attention to the door. You could hear shuffling about, cupboards opening and slamming shut as two rambunctious voices laughed.

“You need to leave,” you told the boy, quickly shoving Steve’s belongings toward him before scooping up your own and dumping it on your small desk.

Steve watched as you darted around your room, mouth open in confusion as he folded up his half-reworked essay, not quite willing to tell you he’d also fallen asleep and hadn’t managed to finish it.

So instead, he stood and made his way to the door, shocked when you came up behind him and held onto the door handle,

“Not that way! You gotta go out the window-”

Steve’s mouth opened, an annoyed whinge ready on the tip of his tongue when your name was called from the other room, your mother was obviously intoxicated as she stumbled to your room. Your hand pressed against his mouth, stopping whatever was about to be said as your other hand squeezed the door handle.

You could only be glad that Steve held his weight against the door when your mother tried to open it, and you were certain that despite the wide-eyed look he was sending your way, he’d been in this position — for much less chaste reasons — many times before.

“Where’s that bottle of whisky I had? You better not have-”

Cutting your mother off, your eyes remained on Steve’s, “You drank it already. There’s a few bottles of beer left in the fridge,”

“Beer? God fuckin’ dammit- open your door, I need you to go to the store for me-”

Your body pressed into Steve’s as she wiggled the doorknob in her attempt to open the door, and you prayed that your additional body weight would stop her from being able to shoulder it open,

“You know they won’t serve me, Mom.”

“Why are you hiding in your room, little girl?” The man’s drawl forced your nose to wrinkle, but you remained silent, eyes now avoiding Steve’s.

As if this evening couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

“I need some money tomorrow,” your mother snapped at you before turning her attention to whichever man had met her fancy that night, “C’mon, let's go get that beer.”

After you heard their voices fade far enough away that you could presume they were in the kitchen, you removed your hand from Steve’s mouth and gently pushed him toward the window.

“Are you gonna be-”

“It’s fine, Harrington. This isn’t the first creep my Mom’s brought home, and he won’t be the last, either. Did you manage to finish your essay?”

Shrugging, Steve sent you a tight smile, “Yeah, yeah… Thanks for the help, you know. You didn’t have to.”

Unable to hold eye contact due to the embarrassment running rampant through your body, you simply bid him goodnight, closing the window behind him, before moving your chair and placing it under your door handle.

You knew sleep wouldn’t come that night, and this time, you welcomed the passing hours you spent awake, the baritone sound of David Bowie distracting you from the world outside your headphones.

36 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 5 months

Text

absolutely massive protest for gaza in tokyo today. the crowd was stretched over 7-8 blocks through shibuya. amazing turnout.

15K notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 5 months

Photo

2K notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 5 months

Note

holy shit um just wanted to say u are a BRILLIANT writer!! seriously one of the best st rewrites ive ever read. i love the heart you’ve given the reader and the relationship you’ve given her with hopper 🥹🥹

also the small moments between steve and the reader have my heart skipping beats its just so perfectly written ahhh!! can’t wait to read more 🤍

this is legitimately the sweetest message ever. I always feel like starting a series where you're essentially asking the reader to re-read an entire season of a show is always a lot to ask, especially when it's been done brilliantly a million times over by other writers, so thank you so much for reading! I'm so glad you're enjoying the series and the relations between characters.

I'm also super excited to actually get to write some more scenes that are a little more reader/steve forward. Thank you so much though, you've genuinely made my day <3

#please excuse me whilst i cry with happiness

1 note · View note

withlovewriting · 6 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 7: There Is A Hole In My Soul That Can Never Be Filled

Chapter Seven.

Oh, the truth, The damn hard truth, That I didn't think I was capable of love, Loving anyone, even you, But then you, undeniable you, You came to me like a dream, And you changed me through and through, Oh because I, I was a broken man, Never thought that I could love again, I thought I'd leave this world a lonely man, But then you, undeniable you, Changed me through and through

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 9,528

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of hospitals, mentions of money problems, parental style arguing with Hop, mentions of possible near-death experiences, mentions of mental health conditions, allusions to addictions, eye contact. Lots of eye contact. We're almost through the Stancy storyline, I promise.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Seven: There Is A Hole In My Soul That Can Never Be Filled

The incessant beeps were driving you insane.

Your head was pounding and all you wanted to do was sleep. Sleep until nothing hurts anymore. But that god-forsaken beeping wouldn’t stop.

You could hear chatter around you, muffled and distant, but there nonetheless yet you couldn’t recognize any of the voices. For a moment, you wondered if you were in one of those half-awake states. That you had slept through your alarm and your body was too slow in waking up, knowing that the school rush would be hectic.

You wanted to slam your arm on top of the alarm clock and throw it across the room in an attempt to quieten it, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force your arm to move.

Trying with all your might, you tried to peel your eyes open, the beeping increasing in tempo when you realized it shouldn’t be this hard to wake up. The voices around you drew closer, your name falling from unrecognizable mouths, a futile attempt to pacify you as you began to panic.

Everything smelt a little too clean as if someone had scrubbed every inch of the room with bleach before bathing in antiseptic. An underlying bitter smell, leaving an aftertaste on your tongue akin to that of iron.

It wasn’t until your eyes finally peeled open that worry bubbled into panic, settling under your skin, merging and fusing with your bones as you realized you didn’t recognize this place, and the insistent beeping was not your alarm clock.

You expected the pain to hit you, but your body remained numb, tingly almost, as if you hadn’t moved in too long, pins and needles bursting through your limbs and you weren’t sure whether to remain still and let them fade or to shake your body in hopes of forcing them from you.

Turns out, the latter wasn’t even an option.

More mummers from around the room, a soft, soothing voice trying to reassure you of your safety, but the words of strangers fell flat. Your body was still in fight or flight, and all you wanted to do was run.

Run far away from this place. Far away from Hawkins. Far away from the Midwest.

The private waiting room wasn’t as full as it was earlier in the evening, and despite the young boys’ insistence, Mr and Mrs. Wheeler had driven them home an hour or so ago.

Nancy, however, remained in her seat, Steve’s offer to drive her home being the only reason her mother had allowed her to stay. Her leg bounced as she checked her watch for what felt like the millionth time in the last couple of hours.

Will had woken up earlier, a sigh of relief erupting from the small waiting room, but she refused to leave until she heard how you were.

They’d rushed you to Hawkins Memorial in Steve’s — much faster — car, your head resting in Nancy’s lap, the girl trying her best to keep you conscious as Jonathan continued to hold the stained pillow against your body.

It was there that they ran into Joyce and Hopper, the kids turning up a little later to be checked over, and once they’d realized Will had been found, they refused to leave, so Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler offered to drop the rest of the kids home when they got news on the boy.

Jonathan had rushed home to pack him a small box of items and had since returned to his brother's side, unwilling to leave him, Joyce was much the same.

Although Hopper was beyond relieved that he had managed to find the boy and rush him to the hospital, the teens’ pale, worried faces as he questioned your whereabouts made his heart drop.

Nancy had explained what had happened, why you were here, and Hopper was certain the minute you were out of surgery he would kill you himself.

His head shot up, watching as a nurse entered the small room, her eyes looking around for someone she wasn’t going to find, eventually settling on the Chief instead,

“She’s awake, but she’s very groggy.”

Hopper stood, stepping over his fallen hat without a second thought as he made his way toward the door, only to be stopped by the nurse’s outstretched hand, “I’m being serious, Chief. She lost a lot of blood, and she’s very confused. She doesn’t need a grilling from the police right now-”

His eyebrows pulled together, a mixture of annoyance and offense at the nurse’s words, “I’m not here to question her.”

Despite his effort to move forward, he was halted once again, “Then I’m afraid it’s only parents or guardians at this time. I’ve already told the last officer-”

“Look around, do you see her parents anywhere? Now I’m going-”

“Other officer?” Nancy questioned, her eyes darting between Hopper and the nurse, “What other officer?”

“The one hanging about by the room... Chief? Chief!” Hopper bumped the nurse out of the way, long legs marching down the corridor until he reached your room. His hand flexed over the gun that was resting in his holster. There were no officers outside, and as he peered through the small window of your door, he couldn’t see anyone in there either.

Pushing the door open, Hopper froze as he looked over your frame, finding himself unable to fully catch his breath.

He hated the clinical smell of hospitals, and if he closed his eyes, he could’ve easily been transported back to 1978. To New York… To that hospital.

Forcing a deep inhale through his nose, Hopper pushed himself forward, one step at a time as he approached your bed, his heart pounding in his ears, and the slow, steady beeping of the monitor was the only thing that kept him grounded. You were here, and you were alive.

Your name fell softly from his lips as if he was almost too scared to wake you. Or himself. Because what if he was back in that waiting room, life forever on a loop of tragedies that began and ended in a hospital? He couldn’t help but believe that he definitely was cursed.

It took two more calls of your name — and the feather-light drag of fingertips along your forearm — before you arose, eyes wider and more alert than before, gasping for breath as much as you were for something to ground you. Something you recognized.

The beeping — the same annoying, unceasing noise — seemed to get louder, the tempo increasing more and more as you panted, your heart feeling like it was going to burst from your chest at any given moment.

You could hear your name being called, at first gently, almost soothing, before that too became more frenzied, a strong hand gripping you as you sat up, stopping you as your frantic hands tried to rip the wires from your body and off your face, panic and flight set in all too quickly, evading your senses and blinding you to what was really there, the pain from your tugging stitches merely a thought on the back burner of your mind.

More voices joined the chaos, but you focused on one. The only familiar voice in the room, the one now telling you to breathe, instructing your breaths as if you were a child.

His scent was less familiar. Once tinged with a dark-colored liquor, now only the faint stale smell of smoked cigarettes and a sheen of sweat invaded your senses, but above all, a deep, woody smell that you could never quite describe. Not cologne or aftershave, but something wholly natural. Something utterly Jim.

It was Jim.

The nurses surrounded you — ready to sedate you — but Hopper shooed them off, his grip only tightening as you clung to him, words babbling out of your mouth without much control as your weary, drug-addled brain tried to fight its way out of the fog. Stuttering, you couldn’t contain the tears that fell from your eyes when you finally realized you were safe. You’d lost consciousness in the back of Harrington’s car, but your night was foggy even before that, unable to fully recollect how you had got here, the fragmented memory of tonight only coming back in flashes.

Once your heart rate settled the nurses backed off, but Hopper continued to hold you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks and dropping onto the top of your head and for a long while, the room was filled with silence.

It was Hopper who eventually broke it, his voice gruff before he cleared his throat, “What the hell were you thinking, Kid?”

You didn’t reply, and he didn’t give you a chance to, “You could’ve been seriously hurt. God dammit, you were seriously hurt.”

Of course, he knew why you’d agreed to go with Nancy and Jonathan, the former explaining everything to him once her own parents had left the hospital. The monster would’ve been heading right for himself and Joyce, and they would've been completely unaware. You had to distract it, to lead it away. You were willing to sacrifice your safety for Will’s, Joyce’s, and his own.

In hindsight, it really was a terrible plan. Dangerous, too. But once you’d seen Joyce’s warm, brown gaze from your doorway the next morning, her bottom lip wobbling as she approached you slowly, you knew you’d do it again and again. Without question or hesitation, and despite any trepidation.

She had explained how Hopper and herself had found Will, that he had managed to find his way to Castle Byers — a den he and Jonathan had made the day their father left home for the last time — and was on the brink of death. How Hopper had revived him, and that the boy was now healing only a few rooms away.

Once he was well enough, Joyce wheeled him down to see you and despite her not wanting to leave his side, she entrusted you with him when she went home to shower and collect some more items for the boy. Plus, Jonathan wasn’t far from his side most of the time.

Will sat quietly coloring whilst you stared at the hospital door, waiting for the one person you wanted to see to walk in. But, as usual, you were left disappointed and embarrassed.

You couldn’t leave until a parent or guardian had signed you out, and you were already feeling nauseous about how much this visit was going to cost you.

Will and Jonathan had returned to the boy’s own room earlier — Will was still recovering and needed his rest — when the door handle of your room turned, your heart leaping to your throat in desperate hope.

Everyone you had expected to see had already visited you. Nancy had come by earlier that morning, the tension between herself and Jonathan almost palpable, awkward enough that you were prepared to leap from your 10th-story window just to get away from it.

You’d questioned the girl once Jonathan had left, but Nancy shrugged and told you Jonathan was focusing on his mother and brother right now, and she understood that. It was then you realized the one thing Nancy Wheeler couldn’t do was feign nonchalance.

It was the tall head of hair that pulled your brow into a frown, forehead wrinkling as you watched the boy almost timidly slip into your room with one hand behind his back before he settled on the uncomfortable chair that had been placed in your room per Hopper’s demand.

You watched him for a moment as he looked anywhere but your direction, discomfort evident on his face, and it took a solid two minutes before either of you spoke.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” your voice was still a little gravely, and you watched as Steve picked up the cup of water from your bedside table, only to place it back when you shook your head.

One hand scratched the back of his neck as the other clung to a denim jacket, “I, uh… I didn’t know whether or not I should come. I mean, I didn’t think that you’d wanna see me.”

“And yet, here you are, Harrington.”

You didn’t mean to sound so standoffish, but this situation was still so surreal. If you’d been told just two weeks ago that Steve Harrington, of all people, would be visiting your bedside you would've slapped them silly. It wasn’t until you saw the dusty rose on his cheeks that you backtracked,

“I just… I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cheeks remained stained pink, but his eyes finally met yours.

“I didn’t know if I was actually gonna come,” he sent you a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his amber eyes, “Was even less sure that you’d actually want me here.”

Nodding, you couldn’t help but scan your gaze over his still bruised face, wondering what he’d told his parents about his injuries, or if they’d even been home to notice them.

“Why did you come back?”

Your question caused Steve’s dark eyes to dart away from you, eyebrows furrowed as if that night was the last thing he wanted to think about because he could still hear your blood-curdling scream when it was too quiet. Running his hand through his hair before scratching at the back of his neck again, Steve eventually met your eyes, “I uh… I was about to get in my car when I saw the lights flickering. I heard everyone yelling, and then I heard a scream...”

His voice trailed off as he peered up at you from underneath his lashes as if he was revealing some dark secret and wasn’t sure how you’d respond. Instead, you nodded, fingers playing with the rough hospital blanket,

“Thanks, Harrington. I owe you. And I’m sorry if I stained the back of your Beamer,” at his confusion, you continued, “Nancy told me that you drove me here. I’d offer to pay for the cleaning, but I think this place draining any savings that I already don’t have.”

You said it in jest, but Steve could see the underlying trepidation that you tried to repress.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

You nodded as the room filled with silence, the repetitive sound of your heart monitor only adding to your restlessness. You were positive the noise was now embedded in your brain.

Steve’s thumb traced over a button on the jacket he was still clinging to, his heart stinging a little at the other girl’s name. After dropping Nancy home the first night, she hadn’t spoken to him. He had only tried to contact her once, Mrs. Wheeler letting him know she was busy, and Steve had realized he needed to give her time despite wanting nothing more than to drive to her house and apologize profusely. Instead, Steve had put all his efforts into this stupid, denim jacket.

As if the thought had prompted him to remember why he was here, he placed the jacket on the bed, ignoring your perplexed gaze, “I uh… I found this on the Byers' driveway. Kinda why I stopped, too.”

Unfolding the jacket, you couldn’t hold in the huff of laughter, gratitude pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Cheeks painted pink, the boy stuttered for a second, refusing to make eye contact, “I… I managed to get most of the blood out. My Mom only has Daz, I hope that’s okay-”

“Steve,” your voice stopped his babbling, his big, doe eyes gazing toward you, “Thank you.”

A moment’s silence passed between you both despite Steve’s mouth opening and closing a few times as though he was doing his best impression of a fish. You knew he was looking for the right words to say, but knowing Steve Harrington, it could take a while.

Before Steve managed to find those words, the door swung open a little too quickly, Hopper wandering in with a brown bag filled with what you presumed was lunch. His step halted as his eyes darted between yourself and the boy, watching with a furrowed brow as Steve stood up, brushing the nonexistent dirt from his hands onto his jeans.

“Chief,” an awkward smile pulled at his lips, much more of a grimace than anything else.

“Harrington.”

Hopper didn’t bother to move, forcing Steve to make his way around him instead after bidding farewell as he finally took his leave.

Once the door was closed, Hopper made his way toward you, reclaiming the chair Steve had just left, “Didn’t know you two were friends.”

Rolling your eyes, you released a petulant sigh, “We’re not, he was just dropping something off.”

It took Hopper a few seconds, but eventually, he muttered a half-assed reply before pulling out two sandwiches from the bag. He held the two options up, allowing you to pick which one you’d prefer before unwrapping his own.

Inhaling sharply, your hands gripped around the scratchy hospital gown as if that could stem the pain you felt as you tried to sit up.

“Hey, hey, hey! Go careful, or you’ll tear a stitch.”

“It hurts,” you grumbled, allowing Hopper to help you sit up a little despite his mouth being full of turkey and bread.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what the drugs are for.”

“I know, but I’m not using any,” unwrapping your own sandwich, you picked at the crusts as Hopper sent you a sharp glare that you could only roll your eyes at, “Do you know how much they charge for that shit? Hop, I’m never going to be able to pay these bills, and the only reason the hospital hasn’t kicked me out on my ass yet is because of you.”

Swallowing down a bite of his sandwich, Hopper wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, brushing the crumbs onto your bed, not that you took much notice, “Kiddo… You need that pain medication. Don’t worry about anything else-”

“My Mom lost her job,” your previous hunger had all but vacated the building, leaving you to place your food back onto the Saran wrap, “and somehow, I don’t think my shitty part-time job at the arcade is gonna pay the bills. We can barely afford the heating in winter, these hospital bills are going to absolutely crush us.”

Hopper’s blue eyes met yours, hardened over the years but somehow still soft, “You ain’t paying for shit, Kid. It’s covered, don’t worry about it-”

“I am not taking money from you, Hop-”

“Relax, it’s not mine. There’s uh… Some people are gonna come meet us later. Scientists. They’re talking to everyone involved, already paying the Byers’ hospital bills… They’re paying for yours, too. So enjoy the free morphine and eat your damn sandwich.”

Turns out, Hopper wasn’t yanking your chain. Sam Owens — apparently the new director of operations at Hawkins’ lab — had personally visited you. He’d explained that the lab had all of your hospital bills paid for, as they did Will’s, and that you, along with everyone else involved, would need to sign an iron-clad NDA, and despite the almost feral urge to throw the money back in their face and refuse the help, you knew you had no say this time and so, your silence was bought.

The official story was simple. You had made your way to the Byers house when a bear attacked you. To your own ears, it sounded wildly ridiculous. Even your doctor seemed uncertain, but his questions were quickly cut off by an agitated Chief of Police.

Once given the all-clear, you were finally allowed to leave. Your mother was yet to return home, and instead, Hopper had signed you out despite the receptionist's complaints.

“Are you sure you want to stay here? Joyce said she could make up the sofa for you-”

“I’m not intruding on Mrs. Byers.”

Rubbing his hand over his beard, Hopper released a sigh, “She said it wasn't a problem. Or you could stay-”

“I am not sharing a one-bedroom cabin with you, Hop. Thank you for the offer, but it’s not happening. I know how loudly you snore.”

Although it didn’t sound very glamorous to the man himself, he still found his eyebrows pulling together in slight offense, “I just don’t feel comfortable with you being here alone-”

“My mom will be home eventually,” you waved a hand dismissively as you made your way up the rickety porch, happy to finally be home.

Hopper was close on your heels, almost running right into the back of you as you crossed the threshold, not really expecting the sight you saw, “I’m sure she will, but we don’t know when that’ll be... What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just… Has someone been here?” Looking around the lounge, the broken glass had been swept, the coffee table fixed, and it even looked as though someone had vacuumed. It was too much of a stretch to believe that your mother could’ve been here.

“Oh, yeah. That Wheeler girl grabbed you some clothes for me to bring in. Why?”

You were too ashamed to tell him the real reason, so instead, you sent him a shrug and continued into the small house as Hopper threw your backpack that held the few essential items Nancy had grabbed.

“I need to leave soon, but if you need anything-”

“I think ringing an emergency line would be frowned upon. Especially if Flo’s there.”

Annoyance evident on his face, Hopper huffed out a long sigh, “Well, don’t go calling it for a pizza or anything. But if you need me, I’ll be there until 6. You have my number for the cabin, right?”

Despite knowing the number by heart, your mother still kept the crumpled napkin that Hopper had used to scribble down his number when they were first reacquainted in a drawer in the kitchen.

“You’re good to go, Hop. I’ll be fine.”

Hesitating in the doorway for a second, he watched as you slowly made your way to the couch, cautiously laying yourself down as you pulled out a cigarette from an abandoned pack Nancy must’ve found under the sofa and grabbed the lighter left next to it.

“Those things will kill you, Kid.”

Waving a hand around, you sent him a smirk, “Looks like it’ll have to get in line.”

Sending an unamused glare, Hopper finally shut the door, his own cigarette already dangling from his mouth before he’d even reached his vehicle.

Your mother had returned home a few days later, unbothered and unaware of the events that had transpired since you’d last left. Apparently, she had met someone in a bar just outside of town, and the two had a whirlwind romance and decided to take a road trip to Minneapolis until they eventually grew sick of each other — or rather, sobered up — and she all but raced back.

She didn’t ask what had happened, and you had no intentions of telling her, either. If the bills were paid for, then she needn’t worry, and if she found your blood-soaked jeans in the trashcan, she never bothered to mention it.

You had seen Nancy a few times — both of you still haunted by the loss of Barb — and she had confided in you about how she’d heard Mike down in the basement, trying to contact Eleven every day since, hoping that she was out there somewhere. Eventually, she tried to contact Jonathan, but the boy always seemed busy. He was hesitant to let his brother out of sight, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell Nancy that the boy blamed himself for his brother’s disappearance, even now. He worked extra shifts to help his mother, but the two alternated, making sure someone was home. He was dropped at the Wheeler’s house for their DND nights and picked up, no longer allowed to ride his bike alone, especially at night.

At first, Will had thought that it was great having a personal chauffeur, but Jonathan had confided in you that he knew the boy had grown sick of the constant observations. In less than 4 months he would officially be a teenager, and Jonathan knew they couldn’t coddle him much longer. But he still saw the uncertainty storm in his mother’s dark eyes — the same expression he was sure he wore himself — whenever his brother left their sights, counting down the hours until she would be picking him up.

Only a month had passed, and life had seemingly returned to normal. Despite your mother losing her job at The Hideout, she had managed to score a Christmas temp job at Bradley’s Big Buy, and although it wasn’t the best-paying job in town, it paid more than her bartending and at least took the pressure off of you a little. Despite being told to take it easy, you had returned to school after only missing a week or so and went back to work acting as if nothing had ever happened. Keith agreed to swap a few shifts with you, covering your few days off if you worked over the Christmas period. Not that he had any parties to attend, but hey... Neither did you.

Jonathan had picked you up from the closing shift and offered you a ride home. After everything you’d risked for his family, he felt it was the least he could offer. He told you he had to stop off at the Wheeler’s house and pick up Will, and you knew it would be the first time he’d possibly run into Nancy. It wasn’t that he was actively avoiding her, but you knew that once rumors had surfaced around the school halls that Nancy and Steve were back on, the boy presumed things would return to normal. Steve — and Nancy, by association — were popular kids, and he was just… Jonathan Byers, the loner. And he was okay with that.

Mrs. Wheeler answered the door — one hand holding a glass of white wine and a dirty look sent her husband’s way — with eyebrows raised in surprise as she eyed you from the other side of the doorway. Jonathan had all but dragged you from the car once he’d seen Steve’s familiar burgundy BWM parked on the drive. You didn’t have the guts to tell him that you already knew about the teenagers getting back together. In fact, you seemingly helped push them back together.

Jonathan headed down to collect Will as you remained in the kitchen speaking to Nancy’s mother,

“I can give her a shout if you’d like? She’s only in the living room-”

Waving her off, you pulled your woolen beanie from your head and placed it on the counter, “Oh, no, really, it’s fine. I’m sure the boys won’t be long.”

Nodding, Mrs. Wheeler took a big gulp of her drink as she continued to sprinkle icing sugar over one of her many Christmas desserts. For a moment, you wondered if in another lifetime, another dimension, maybe your mother was a master baker, too. Maybe she’d whip up fresh apple pies in the summer, leaving them to cool on the window’s ledge, and in Fall, she’d make cinnamon rolls and pumpkin whoopie pies for all of your neighbors. You’d decorate the house in beautiful string lights — although that thought didn’t seem too comforting recently — and make DIY Christmas wreaths. You’d donate extra cans of food to those in need instead of being the ones to line up at the holiday canned food drive every Christmas and Thanksgiving.

But your mother wasn’t, so you didn’t, and despite your heart longing for a simple childhood, something a little softer, you had come to terms a long time ago that life had dealt you these cards. Yet you still couldn’t stem the bubbling jealousy under your skin that cooled into uncomfortable guilt as you looked around the Wheeler’s clean and spacious kitchen in their fancy house with their white picket fence family.

As if thinking of the girl drew her toward you, Nancy appeared in the kitchen doorway, almost as surprised to see you as you were her, despite it being her own house.

“Hey, when Jonathan comes back can you get him to hang on just a minute? I have something for him.”

Nodding, you watched as she jogged past you and disappeared up the stairs.

Rather than standing in the kitchen awkwardly with Mrs. Wheeler, you made your way toward the basement door, ready to call down to the boys. You could hear their faint giggling as your hand grabbed the door handle, and you decided to leave them be. Five more minutes with his friends — even if it were at your detriment — was the least Will deserved.

Your eyes skimmed past Nancy’s father, fast asleep in the armchair as you looked over their decorations, the stockings hanging above the fireplace, no doubt embroidered with each of their names, the cards from friends and family and neighbors delicately placed with precision.

Someone clearing their throat caused you to jump a little, forced out of your own head before you began to spiral too deep.

Your eyes darted toward the sound, meeting Steve’s. The boy had been quietly watching you trace the room with wistful eyes and decided to make his way over to you.

“Jesus, that’s a fashion choice.” You joked, wishing you could suck the words right back into your throat when his cheeks began to redden, his hand scratching at the back of his neck as he looked at your attire.

“Who are you dressed as? Scrooge?”

You looked down toward your — albeit, all black — outfit, brows pulled together before glaring at the boy, his own eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, which only made your frown deepen.

“Well, excuse me for not feeling all that festive this year.”

The silence that fell between you was uncomfortable, and the heat radiating from the warm kitchen made you want to tug at your collar.

“How is… you know… that?” Steve asked, his eyes darting toward your stomach for just a second.

Swallowing the same lump that formed every time you saw or felt the ghastly, puckered skin across your stomach, you shrugged, eyes looking anywhere but at the boy. You’d seen the people he hung out with, the girls he’d dated. Steve Harrington was shallow, as most high school boys were, and you weren’t about to let him in on how grotesque your new scar made you feel.

“It’s fine. Doctors said it's healing well, so nothing to write home about.”

For a moment, Steve pondered whether you’d even told your mother what had happened or if she knew about the ‘bear attack’ that had left you pouring blood in the back of his BMW. About the probable scar that you buried under layers of clothes. He hadn’t uttered a word to his own parents, merely heading upstairs and shutting himself away in his room for the evening when he heard his mother mention it on the phone to one of her friends.

But secrets didn’t stay secret for very long in a town as quaint as Hawkins, and despite being in totally different friendship groups growing up, even Steve was aware of your turbulent upbringing. Your father left unexpectedly after the death of your sibling, and your mother has an attachment to a certain Mr. Jack Daniels.

His mother wasn’t one to gossip — or so she’d tell her friends during her wine and book club — but your mother had a reputation around town. For however long she could remain sober, she’d spend twice as long stumbling around town drunk.

'It won’t be long until she’s chanting that it’s the end of the world like her crazy mother,’ he’d once overheard her say before downing her glass of white wine and inspecting the clock, waiting for her husband to come home with barely visible lipstick staining his shirt collar, and smelling faintly of a floral perfume that didn’t belong to her.

Steve knew firsthand that everyone had secrets.

“I uh… I wanted to thank you, by the way,” Steve hesitated, taking a moment to run his hand through his hair, “Nance told me what you said to her at the hospital. About how you knew it wasn’t me who spray painted the marquee.”

Brows pinching together, you watched the boy quietly for a moment as he struggled in your silence before eventually putting him out of his misery, “I hope she still gave you shit for hanging around whilst your friends did it.”

“She did. Trust me. And I went back that day and washed it off. I just… I wanted to know why. I mean, how did you even know I didn’t do it?”

Shrugging, your eyes met the TV as you feigned an interest in the silenced TV advert, “Wasn’t your handwriting.”

The boy’s face scrunched in confusion as your eyes widened slightly, realizing how it sounded, “Jesus, Harrington. I’m not like, a stalker or anything. I just… Last year, I did something kind of stupid, and Tommy spray-painted my locker. I recognized his handwriting.”

Steve tried to rack his brain, only slightly remembering the rumor that had spread quickly around the school.

It had started at a party — the first and last that you had attended so far in high school — and you’d gotten a little too drunk, leading you to get a little too friendly with a boy named Reed. He was on the school's wrestling team and in Steve’s grade, but the boy didn’t know him all that well. The rumor that you’d slept with him went around school for a few days until the next big story broke. But Steve couldn’t remember Tommy defacing your locker. Then again, there weren’t enough hours in the day to remember all the times Tommy and Carol had involved themselves in gossip that had nothing to do with them.

“-Bitch doesn’t quite have the same impact when it’s missing the T, so… Yeah. That’s how I knew.”

Steve nodded slowly, his eyes watching you with an expression you’d never seen come from the boy before. Your skin felt too hot and itchy when you realized it was probably a look of pity.

“Ready to go?”

Jonathan’s voice broke the tension, both you and Steve were suddenly much more interested in the carpeted floor in the Wheeler’s living room than each other. Before you could answer him, you heard Nancy return downstairs, a wrapped gift in her hands as she led the eldest Byers sibling away for a moment, Will remaining by your side as you turned your attention to him.

Steve remained in the doorway, silently watching as you spoke to the younger boy. A little under two months ago, and Steve wouldn’t have been able to pick Will out of a lineup. He didn’t care about his disappearance, barely giving his missing posters more than a glance. He didn’t stop for a second to think how the boy being missing had affected anyone. Not Mrs. Byers, nor Jonathan. Not you. Not even Nancy.

Your conversation with Will was cut short as Nancy returned, her cheeks speckled with a light pink dusting and a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she passed by.

“You ready?” Jonathan asked, dark eyes meeting those of his brother, his own cheeks warmed under the soft lightening of the hallway.

“Yeah.”

You followed after them, wishing Mrs. Wheeler a Merry Christmas as you passed back through the kitchen, hot on Jonathan’s heels.

You’d only made it halfway down the drive when you heard Steve’s voice again, calling out your name. The boy stood in the doorway with his arm around Nancy, watching you ruffle Will’s hair gently.

“Is it really that bad?”

He didn’t divulge any further, despite the perplexed looks he received from everyone else, including his girlfriend, as his grin pulled up on one side, causing your grin to try and force its way across your lips.

Taking one last look at his atrocity of a Christmas sweater, you laughed silently and began to walk backward, heedless to the ice that lined the sidewalks and streets, “The absolute worst, Harrington. Merry Christmas.”

Jonathan had extended the offer of dinner at his house on his mother’s behalf, but you had begrudgingly declined, not wanting to intrude on the family’s meal. So instead, the boy dropped you home, but not until you and Will forced him to open his gift from Nancy.

The Pentax camera was brand new and much better than his old one. A part of you knew that despite Nancy never having to go without, Steve definitely would’ve had to put a decent chunk of money down for her to afford the gift.

The old Ford pulled onto the gravel outside your house, and the headlights lit up a sight you were shocked to see.

“Is that-”

“No,” you shook your head, peering through the windshield as if you'd see better, “No, it’s not. Look, I’ll uh… I’ll talk to you later, alright? Tell your Mom Merry Christmas for me.”

You didn’t wait around for the boy’s response, and despite being unsure whether or not to leave, Jonathan knew his mother would be stressing over the stove, so he did as you asked, driving back home for the evening.

Slowly, as if it could attack you on sight, you made your way toward the front of your house, staring at the bike that leaned against it, a red bow stuck to the front. It couldn’t have been your old bike, that was lost to the claws and teeth of the Demogorgon last month, damaged beyond repair. This bike was new, with no rust whatsoever, and a black helmet hung from a handlebar.

Ripping both the bow and helmet off, you dumped them onto your lawn, the falling snow seeping into them slowly as you jumped on, darting towards downtown.

Hopper threw some chicken tenders into his Tupperware container, cigarette hanging from his mouth, all but ready to leave. Tonight was the annual Christmas Eve party, and he’d shown his face for a while, but he had other, more important plans.

“You leaving already, Chief?” Powell questioned, his own plate filled high with finger foods.

“Oh, come on, you think I actually wanted to come to this thing? I was just hungry,” Jim told them in jest.

“Oh yeah, that’s the spirit.”

Jim made his way back out through the room, coming to a stop when Florence blocked his exit.

Taking the cigarette from his mouth with the glare of a mother, she let out a sigh and nodded her head to the side, “You have a visitor.”

Brows furrowed, Jim looked behind the older woman and spotted you standing by the door, jaw clenched and arms folded in front of you. Before he could leave, Flo patted his chest and wished him a Merry Christmas.

“What’s wrong, Kid?” Hopper asked as he approached you, much like he would a wounded animal.

“Take it back,” you told him harshly, swallowing down a ball of anger mixed with a tinge of regret, “I don’t need a pity gift, Hopper. And I know it was you. So just... Take it back.”

You turned and pushed through the door, more than willing to walk the long distance home, when the door swung behind you, the large man blocking the light as he made his way out, Tupperware container still in hand,

“Did you even wear the helmet when you rode down here? Jesus Christ, Kid. I’ll superglue it to your head next time I see you without it-”

“There won’t be a next time because I’m not taking it. So return it, donate it, do whatever. I don’t care.”

A large sigh fell from his mouth, and Jim had to try his best to dampen his temper, “It wasn’t a pity gift, or whatever you said. It’s a Christmas present. Simple as that.”

“Should I ring the ‘Hawkins Post’? Let them know you're gonna be flying around in a police cruiser handing out presents tonight? A real-life Santa, right here in Hawkins, Indiana? Who’d have thought!”

You turned around, strolling past the bike and across the parking lot. Your spiteful words left the bitter aftertaste of acid on your tongue, but you pressed on, stomping through the snow.

You heard Hopper open a car door, seemingly heaving the bike into the back before the door slammed, and he was on your tail. A hand wrapped around your elbow, stopping you in your tracks despite the lack of force behind it.

“If you wanna argue about this, then fine. But get in the car, and we can do it there.”

“I don’t want to argue, Hop. I wanna go home.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim took a moment to calm himself, wishing Flo hadn’t taken his cigarette, “Fine. Just get in.”

Hopper made his way to his vehicle, leaving you to weigh up your options for just a moment. You could walk back home, past the woods that still haunted your dreams most nights, or you could put up with him for 10 miserable minutes and be back home in your somewhat warm, somewhat safe house.

With your decision made, you kicked up snow as you made your way to his car, only half slamming the door when you were settled, ignoring Hopper’s side eye for doing so.

“You hungry?” He asked, eyes remaining on the road as he nodded toward the container.

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Hopper’s fingers itched for another smoke, but he kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel instead, “I know you well enough to know you’re only this crabby when you haven’t eaten properly-”

“I’m not crabby, Hop. God.”

Remaining silent for a moment, Hopper swallowed down his annoyance, “The hell you angry for, then? I’m the one who bought the damn thing, and you’re acting like a spoiled brat who didn’t get the color they wanted.”

“I’m embarrassed, okay?!”

Hopper felt his face drop as he lifted his hand to run over his beard. He really didn’t think this through. “You haven’t got to feel embarrassed, alright? It’s just me. And it’s just a bike. If you feel that strongly, I’ll take it back. But I didn’t get it for you because I pity you. Your old one got chewed up and spat out — literally — and I just wanted… I thought maybe it could make up for all the shit that’s happened.”

Unclenching your aching jaw, you watched the man closely for a moment as guilt pooled in his eyes, “None of that was your fault, Hop. The world tore itself a new asshole, and a monster crawled through. You weren’t to blame for-”

“-I don’t mean that shit,” he sighed, eyes now avoiding you like the plague, “I mean everything before. Everything with your Mom and… leaving. Leaving you there with her.”

The silence between you two grew with guilt and awkwardness, choking you both from the inside out.

“It isn’t your place to worry about that.”

“I worry about you,” he sighed, knuckles whitening as he clenched his hands over the steering wheel, “I knew that shit wasn’t right, and I still packed up and left.”

“You’re not my dad, Hop. If he doesn’t feel guilty about leaving, neither should you-”

“Yeah, well, your dad’s an asshole.

Unable to stifle the small laugh that fell from your lips, you nodded in agreement, “Yeah, he is.”

Despite a weight being lifted from his shoulders, Jim couldn’t help the tinge of guilt he still felt — and probably always would feel — when he looked at you, his cornflower blue eyes watching your hands as they fiddled with the threads of your jacket sleeves.

“I wasn’t ready, you know? I’d been back a year, and it had only been two since…” Clearing his throat, Jim forced himself to continue, “Since I lost Sara. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I shouldn’t have been involved with anyone. Especially someone with a child.”

Hopper didn’t want to admit it, but he hadn’t intended on staying with your mother for as long as he did. Sure, she was fun to drink with back then, but he hadn’t planned on it lasting longer than the night. Then that morning, as he shuffled into your cramped kitchen, mind foggy with lack of sleep and most likely still a little drunk, he came across a 12-year-old you, perched at the breakfast table eating no more than a handful of stale cornflakes, sans the milk.

You’d looked him over, one brow lifted slightly in contempt — an expression he still witnessed to this day — as you moved past him, grabbing your threadbare backpack from the floor. You didn’t utter a single word, nor did you spare him a second glance as you left for school.

It would’ve been so easy to leave and never look back. But the next thing he knew, he was in 'Bradley’s Big Buy' throwing a box of ‘Frosted Flakes’ into his basket, along with a carton of milk. When he’d bumped into you the next morning, once again sat at the table, spoon hanging from your mouth as you looked up from your bowl, you remained silent. It wasn’t until you placed your bowl in the sink — knowing full well it would still be there when you returned home from school — that you uttered your first words to him as you took your leave,

“Coffee’s in the pot.”

He should’ve left when it was easy. But Hopper’s heart was broken and bruised, and he was nothing if not sadistic. He’d grown attached, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to remain in your life and that you wouldn’t ever fix the hole in his entire being that losing Sara had caused, just as his being there hadn’t healed the ever-lasting pain that having a parent walk out had caused. But for a while, the bandages held in place, allowing you both to bond and soften the chipped parts of your souls.

“When I lost Sara… I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance, you know? Hell, I didn’t want one, anyway. I lost my baby girl, and nothing in this world could’ve replaced that, you know? But shit, Kid… You come pretty damn close.”

His eyes met yours as he pulled to the side of the road, eventually turning the engine off, “I’m sorry for a lot, you know? I’m sorry I forced my way into your life when I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay, and I’m sorry for not believing you when all this shit started to happen. I’m sorry for the shitty cards you’ve been dealt in life. But I don’t pity you alright? Shit, you risked your life for a kid you barely know. I think you’re brave, and fuckin’ stupid sometimes, but… I think the world of you, Kid. Always have, and always will. No matter what dumbass thing you do next.”

Sniffling, you could feel his eyes boring into the side of your face as you turned away, wiping your nose.

“You alright over there?” He asked, eyes a little teary himself, not that he'd ever admit that to you.

Shrugging, you cleared your throat, “Flu season, right?”

You heard a soft laugh fall from his mouth as the man undid his seatbelt, reaching over to grab the container from the dashboard before he opened his door, “C’mon, we haven’t got all night.”

Ripping your seatbelt off, you followed the man, confusion written all over your face, “Where the hell are we going? You got a new hobby feeding the wildlife or something?”

Hopper passed you the container of food as he turned on his flashlight, making his way into the woods as you followed, practically on his heel. You both remained silent during the short walk, your footprints in the soft snow being the only indicator that you were even there until Hopper opened a lockbox. Taking the container from you, he placed it in before pulling something from his pocket — you were pretty sure it was two Eggo waffles, wrapped in Saran wrap — and placed it on top. Closing the box, Hopper took a moment to look around the woods before standing up. He didn’t utter a single word until you were back in the car, driving towards your home.

“You think she’s gonna come back?”

Shrugging, Hopper took off his hat, “I don’t even know if she can.”

You sent him a small, genuine smile, “If she can, she will.”

“You sound awfully optimistic.” Hopper couldn’t deny that he, too, hoped Eleven could… hoped she would come back.

Shrugging, you pulled your jacket closer around you as you turned up the radio, the bass of The Waitresses ‘Christmas Wrapping’ filling the short ride home.

Pulling up outside your house, Jim noticed the lack of Christmas decorations — something that wasn’t abnormal in your home — but decided not to comment on it. Your mother’s car was haphazardly parked on the driveway, and despite knowing you wouldn’t be alone in the house, it didn’t help him feel any more at ease.

“You gonna be alright on your own tonight?”

Your question caught him off-guard, halting his actions as he was half out of the car, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Got some beer at home, and CBS is showing re-runs of ‘Dukes of Hazard’ all night.”

Rolling your eyes, you closed his door — this time much more gently — and watched as he pulled the bike out of the backseat. Pushing it toward you, he watched as you apprehensively took it. Hopper's eyes softened as he pulled you into a hug, the heat from his body and jacket swamping you for a moment in all the best ways.

You heard the front door open and your mother's footsteps as she stepped onto the porch. Calling your name, she watched as Hopper placed a gentle, barely there kiss on the top of your head. You could hear the porch creak under her as she shuffled slightly, calling your name once more, only this time a little more firmly,

“Time to come in now.”

Pulling away from the man, you began to push your bike toward the porch where you’d leave it out of the snow. A call of your name — this time in the other direction — stopped you in your tracks, and you watched as Hopper tipped his hat slightly to your mother. She rolled her eyes, but backed up into the doorway a little — her half-assed attempt at giving you privacy.

“Wear your damn helmet next time, alright?”

Rolling your eyes, you quickly found the helmet covered in snow, grabbing it and wrapping it over the handlebars.

Hopper returned to his car, waiting until you were safely inside before pulling away.

This year, Christmas Eve hadn’t been the worst. Your mother — as usual — had drank a little more than she should’ve, her questions surrounding Hopper turning into a borderline inquisition, but eventually, she wandered off into the living room, glass of brandy in her hand as you prepared some boxed Mac’n’Cheese.

By the time you were finished, she’d fallen asleep, sprawled out on the sofa as the TV blared. Grabbing the duvet from her room, you placed it over her and took her now empty glass to wash up.

The clock had struck 12am before you knew it and despite the need to sleep nipping at your heels, you remained steadfast in your search. You’d pulled out the few clothes you had that no longer fit you, checking through the size tags before making a small pile of ones that were decent enough.

If Hopper believed that Eleven could come back, you would make sure she had something to come back to. Telekinetic powers or not, she’d freeze to death in the bitter, unforgiving winters of the Midwest.

A quiet knock at your front door halted your actions, an old jacket held halfway to a pile. Waiting for a few seconds, you heard no other noise and continued to fold the clothes, until you heard another — slightly louder — knock.

Cautiously making your way toward the front door, you took a deep breath before tugging the door open, cringing as it creaked loudly.

Steve stood, hand raised in the air as if to knock again, honey-colored eyes wide as if he didn’t expect the door to be answered at this time of night, despite knocking twice.

“Harrington? What the hell are you doing here?” You whispered, eyes darting around behind him as if you expected his gang of idiots to pop up behind his car and pelt you with snowballs.

The boy looked unsure, following your suspicious glances behind him, “I, uh-”

Eyes widening, you shushed him before turning, watching your mother stir slightly from his voice in the all too quiet house. Stepping out into the cold night air, you closed the door behind you, hoping the mechanism wouldn’t jam and lock you out.

Steve stepped back a moment too late — your body bumping into his to make room — and caused a loud creak on the unsteady porch, causing you both to wince. Looking up toward you with a feeble smile painted on his face, he apologized quietly.

“I just came by to bring you this. You left it at Nancy’s.”

Pulling your hat out of his coat pocket, you carefully took it from him, holding it in a tight grip in hopes it would warm your already chilled fingers, “You really didn’t have to drive all the way out here just to give it back to me, but... Thanks.”

The boy nodded, both his hands shoved into his pockets, ignoring the snowflakes that had yet to melt from his hair, “It’s cool.”

You both stood for a moment, equally unsure as to what to say or do next. Being cordial with someone like Steve didn’t come naturally to you, but the boy was clearly making an effort, and for now, you would too.

“You know, if you’re not asleep when Father Christmas comes, he won’t leave you any presents.”

A cloud of air fell from the boys mouth along with his soft laugh, “Yeah well, I’m not sure I deserve much more than coal this year.”

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and biting down on it for a moment, you tried to keep your opinion to yourself, “I mean, you were an asshole for a solid 70% of the year.”

“Giving me a whole 30%? Someones in a good mood.”

Shrugging, you tried to keep the smile from your face, “I mean, it’s the holidays. It’s all about charity and giving, right?”

Scoffing slightly, Steve rocked on the balls of his feet, stopping quickly when the porch groaned under his weight, “So I’ve heard.”

A cold wind blew through, rattling the front door and causing a burst of goosebumps to cover your skin. Pajamas really weren’t outdoor clothes. Steve watched as you shivered slightly and decided to take his leave, but before he could excuse himself, you caught him off guard,

“Won’t your parents be wondering where you are?”

This time, his scoff seemed much less friendly, “Yeah, I doubt they even knew I left. They, uh... They have their annual Harrington Christmas Eve party. Not really my kind of thing, I guess.”

“Free alcohol and rich folks having pissing contests. Thought that would’ve been right up there on your list of things you enjoy.”

Despite his hands still being firmly pressed in his pockets, his fingers twitched with the desire to tug at his hair, “Oh yeah, it’s a ball.”

This time you were unable to hide the broad smile that split across your face, shoulders shaking slightly from a silent laugh. It felt weird to know that Steve Harrington of all people didn’t feel at home in his own house. Your skin felt itchy and hot, and you yearned to rip it from the bone as if you knew a secret about the boy that you probably shouldn’t.

It wasn’t unknown that the Harrington’s were away often, that’s how Steve had managed to throw so many parties over the years. But not knowing if he preferred it that way or not — something even he was unsure of — made you feel uncomfortably connected to the boy.

“Is your mom…”

“Asleep on the couch, half a bottle of brandy in. Just like every other day ending in a Y.”

Steve nodded, “Right. I uh, I should go.”

You watched as Steve made his way down the driveway toward his car, his hand finally reaching up to his mop of hair to ruffle the snow from it. Before he could get in the car, you called his name, one last time,

“Merry Christmas, Harrington.”

“Merry Christmas.”

40 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 6 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 6: The Blood You Bleed Is The Blood You Owe

Chapter Six.

Woken up like an animal, I'm all ready for the healing, My mind's lost with nightmares streaming, Woken up, kicking, screaming, Oh, take me out of this place I'm in, Oh, break me out of this shell-like case I'm in, Underneath this skin, there's a human, Buried deep within there's a human, And despite everything I'm still human, But I think I'm dying here

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,864

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence, cursing, mention of breaking the law but nothing too serious, blood/mentions of injuries.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Six: The Blood You Bleed Is The Blood You Owe

You sat on one of the small armchairs in the Byers’ living room, leg bouncing and only half listening as Mike explained the concept of the acrobat and the flea — the same one you and Mr. Clarke had described during Will’s Wake — to the rest of the group.

Hopper’s eyes were darting between yourself and the small girl sitting in front of the coffee table, her shoulders hunched slightly, as if she were ready to flee at the first sign of danger. On the other hand, you were much more interested in biting the skin around your nail, knowing that you’d regret your decision in the morning when the area would boast a sore hangnail.

The Upside Down, Eleven had called it. Here, but not really here. And if you guys were the acrobat, that meant the monster — and somehow — Will was the flea. It meant Barb was the flea.

The good news was that Eleven was certain she could speak to Will and Barb, despite them being trapped in the Upside Down.

Everyone stood around the kitchen table, watching as Eleven tried her hardest to connect with the place, but despite the flickering lights above you, Eleven’s voice cracked as she explained that she couldn’t find them.

Once the girl had excused herself to the bathroom with tears lining her eyes, the boys explained what they knew about Eleven’s powers.

“Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak.”

“The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets.”

“Like, she flipped the van earlier-”

“-It was awesome.”

“But she’s drained-”

“-Like a bad battery.”

“Well, how…How do we make her better?”

Mike shrugged, his eyes darting toward you as if you could be of any help at all, “We don’t. We just have to wait and try again.”

“Well, how long?”

Eleven appeared from the bathroom silently, only alerting you all to her presence when she finally spoke. She explained that she entered the Upside Down before, but she’d always been in water of some sort.

“A sensory deprivation tank?” You asked her, watching as she struggled to find the right words to explain whatever shit the guys at the lab had made her do.

Nodding, Eleven’s eyes turned, watching you carefully, “Yes. Like a bath.”

“How the hell do we get one of those?” Jonathan asked, pacing behind his mother who was currently brushing her hands through her unwashed hair.

“We don’t. We make one.”

Dustin had gotten off the phone with Mr. Clarke after only a few minutes, guilt-tripping the teacher into explaining how to build a homemade sensory deprivation tank at 10p.m. on a Saturday evening. You had to give it to the kid, he could bullshit his way in, and out, of most things.

“Do you still have that kiddie pool we bobbed for apples in?”

Joyce turned towards Jonathan, shrugging slightly, “I think so. Yeah.”

“Good. Then we just need salt. Lots of it.”

“How much is lots?”

Peering over Dustin’s shoulder, you watched as the boy slowly tried to calculate the solution. Placing a hand on his shoulder, casting the boy’s direction toward you, you sighed, “Average kiddie pool? About 1,500 pounds.”

“Well, where are we gonna get that much salt?” Nancy questioned, already feeling exhausted with the back and forth, the ‘can you, can’t you’ of the situation.

“The school,” you turned your attention towards Hopper, the man’s eyes already boring into you from across the table, “I mean, they have it for snow days, right? They grit the roads every December.”

Sending you a small smile, Hopper nodded, “Let's go. Boys, you and Joyce grab the pool and we’ll meet you at the middle school.”

You sat in the classroom feeling a little more than useless as the others prepared the pool in the gymnasium. Joyce was wrapping up a pair of science goggles with duct tape as you watched the girl nervously look around and you’d guessed she’d never been in a classroom before.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” When she turned, silently questioning you with her large brown eyes, you clarified, “You don’t have to go back there. I know it probably feels like you have to, but we’re not those bad men and you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Placing her small hand over yours, she sent you a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Nancy and I… We found our way there. Only once, but… that was more than enough. It’s okay to be scared, and it’s okay to not do this. We can always try and find another way.”

“You’ve been there? To the Upside Down?” The girl’s eyebrows pulled together as her hand clasped around yours instead.

Shrugging, you tried your best to not shake off her grip and instead allowed her to cradle your sweaty palm, “On accident. We… There was a tree, and we crawled into… You know what? It’s not important. I just wanted you to know that you have a choice in this, and nobody is gonna be angry if-”

“I can do this,” her voice was quiet but sturdy. Unwavering. “I want to do this.”

“This will keep it dark for you,” Joyce handed Eleven the goggles, unknowingly interrupting your conversation, “just like in your bathtub.”

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself up from the too-small seat, feeling mildly uncomfortable, as if the young girl had looked right into your soul, “I’m gonna go see how everyone's getting on. I’ll meet you down there.”

Joyce’s dark, doe-like eyes followed you as you left the room, lips puckered as she watched with the concern of a mother. Something was off about you tonight, and it seemed so much more than everything that had happened this past week. She had seen the concerned looks Hopper had sent your way, the way the boys had spoken as they exited Hopper’s cruiser earlier, your name whispered on their tongue, and the fact you’d avoided eye contact with almost everyone since joining them in Joyce’s house. She’d also noticed the blood splatter on your sleeve, but declined to ask you about it so far, her thoughts circling back to her son instead.

Heading through the cafeteria, you grabbed a carton of eggs from the large fridge, handing them over to Dustin as you joined them in the gymnasium.

“Oh, I’m not hungry-”

“It’s to see if the water is salty enough, dumbass,” Lucas rolled his eyes as Dustin’s cheeks flushed.

“The salt increases the density of the water. So if the egg sinks, add more salt. Eleven needs to float.”

You were all silent as the girl blindly stepped into the pool with the help of Joyce and Hopper and as she laid down, you couldn’t help but watch as her — or rather, Nancy’s — peach-colored dress spread out around her, the fabric softly moving in the barely there ripples.

Almost immediately, the lights above flashed, flickering before going out completely. You watched with bated breath as Eleven slowed her breathing, her body relaxing as if she were no longer in the room. And, you guessed, she wasn’t.

The silence was deafening as you heard the girl mumble a name. Your eyes connected with Nancy’s across the pool and you willed yourself to not cry. She had found Barb.

The lights fluttered once more, and you could hear Eleven inhale deeply, as if whatever had seen her had shocked her. Or rather… scared her. Nancy tried to speak to the girl, but Eleven’s soft, wobbling voice told you everything you needed to know.

Gone.

As Eleven began to shout, the words echoing around the empty gymnasium, Joyce and Hopper grabbed her hands, the former’s reassuring coos settling the girl.

“Castle Byers…”

Eleven had done it. She had found Will, and he was alive even if just barely.

Somehow, the boy had found his old hideout in the Upside Down and managed to stay safe and if it wasn’t for the sound of his weakened voice on the radio, you might not have believed it.

After Joyce had cradled a weeping Eleven, she was eventually helped out of the pool and wrapped in a towel, the boys all crowding her on the bleachers like a band of protective brothers as she laid her head on Mike’s shoulder, exhausted.

Following Hopper outside, your words were wobbling at best, “Hop, you can’t go on your own.”

“You’re sure as shit not coming with me. Get back inside and stay with the others.”

“You don’t know what that place is like-”

“And you do?” He questioned, his tone leaving no space for niceties, and it was only once he saw your chin wobble that he realized what he’d said. His voice grew softer but remained desperate, “Listen, we can talk about all of this when I get back. But right now, I need to find Will.”

Less than a second later, Joyce and Jonathan burst through the door, the former already wearing her jacket. Squeezing his eyes closed, Hopper swore under his breath,

“He’s my son, Hop. My son. I’m going.”

You stood side by side with Jonathan, watching as the tires on Hopper’s truck screeched out of the parking lot, Joyce in the passenger seat. A cold, solid weight settled on your chest, threatening to cut your breathing off completely. You were almost certain you wouldn’t see either of them again.

“They’re going to get themselves killed,” you grumbled as you followed the eldest Byers sibling back through the door, “They’re going to walk into those woods with no idea of what’s out there. Not really.”

“They’re walking in there like bait,” a small voice said from the other side of the hallway, drawing your attention to her. Nancy sat with her knees tucked under her chin, back against the large mural dedicated to the Hawkins Tigers, and looking just as exasperated as the rest of you. “That thing is still in there, and we can’t just sit here and let it get them, too. We can’t.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” you mumbled, brows knitting together as your eyes roamed over the painting of the tiger.

Nancy’s deep blue eyes watched you as you began to pace, the clogs in your brain working hard enough that she was almost certain smoke would soon steam out of your ears, “What do you mean?”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you eyed them — sat side by side — from the other side of the wall, “It’s dangerous and stupid, and I mean… Shit, it might not even work-”

Your name fell from Jonathan’s mouth, a desperate plea to stop second-guessing yourself and just tell him. To finally speak the words that were clawing their way up your throat, but Nancy remained silent, almost ready to agree to whatever dumbass plan you’d conjured up if it meant helping Joyce and Hopper and saving Will too.

This monster had taken Barb and for that, you both wanted revenge.

“Instead of going back out there, we lure it elsewhere. Somewhere far enough away from the woods that Hopper and Joyce have a shot at finding Will. We are the bait.”

Nodding, Nancy looked towards Jonathan, fully prepared to do this with, or without his help, “I wanna finish what we started. I want to kill it.”

Jonathan's dark stare flickered between you and Nancy, his usually stoic face now lined with certitude, “We’ve gotta go back to the station.”

“And what happens if you get caught? Hopper’s not exactly here to get you out of trouble.”

“I won’t get caught. Listen, it’ll be easy, alright? I’ll get the keys to Hopper’s office and you’ll get the supplies. We’ll be in and out in minutes.”

“What if you can’t get the keys?”

Rolling your eyes, you were already half out of Jonathan’s car, “There’s a reason they all know me by first name here. I’ll get them. Now, c’mon. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Despite sharing an unsure glance, the two followed, allowing you to enter the station first to distract the on-duty officer.

“Hey there, Paul.”

The man jumped, feet leaving the desk they were resting on as he sat up straight and spun around in his chair, and you had to try your best to stifle a laugh. Once it was apparent you weren’t the Chief coming in to do a nighttime check or worse, Flo coming in to berate him for not filing his paperwork correctly — he really didn’t care much for Robert’s tall tale about a small girl robbing the Best Buy, and all for Eggo waffles, none the less — his forehead creased, annoyed simply by your presence.

“Hop isn’t working tonight. If you-”

“I’m not here to see Hop,” you sighed, returning his glare, “I came by to give a witness statement”

Paul watched you for a moment, skepticism clear in his eyes before he seemingly caught on, “The Byers kid fight? Heard he caught Callahan pretty good. I’m surprised though, he doesn’t look like a fighter.”

Sending him a sarcastic grin, you made your way toward the desk, looking down at his radio, “Hey, I love this… channel.”

Cranking up the volume — only mildly put off that it was in fact playing a talk show rather than any actual music — the voices booming through the small speaker was enough to cause the officer to jolt in surprise, scrambling for the radio on one side of the desk as you grabbed the small key ring from the other side. Looking up, you saw Jonathan’s face as he hid around the corner and sent him a minute nod of the head before returning your attention to the man’s desk.

“Hey, what game are you playing?”

“Leave that alone!” Ditching the radio once the volume was returned to normal, he scrambled for his cards that you spread onto the desk, collecting them up quickly as you discreetly threw the keys through the small gap where Flo usually sat.

Once Jonathan and Nancy had silently crept past, you grabbed the discarded cigarette that the officer had ditched in an attempt to gather his cards — pocketing the man’s lighter — and inhaled deeply as he glared at you.

“Well, Paul. It’s been real. See you later.”

Bamboozled, the man watched as you trotted toward the exit, “Wait, I thought you were here to give a statement-”

Stopping to peer back through the same gap you’d thrown the keys through, you shrugged, “Yeah, I’ll come back tomorrow. I don’t wanna be a bother.”

Once outside, you peered through the window by the man’s desk, waiting for any sign of the others as you continued to puff on the stolen cigarette. A shock of brown hair caught your attention, and you quickly banged on the window, uncaring as to whether you would send the man into a second possible cardiac arrest of the evening.

“Goodnight, Paul. Don’t work too hard.”

The man returned your wave, albeit slower and much more dubiously, his actions slow as he watched you warily. But it had given enough of a distraction that Jonathan and Nancy were able to sneak out, a box of contraband in one set of arms, a fire extinguisher in another.

Nobody spoke until you were all in Jonathan’s Ford and far enough away from the police station to deem yourselves safe.

“How the hell did you know that would work?” Nancy questioned, turning in her seat to watch you with wide eyed.

“She got arrested a few years ago. Caught shoplifting at the 7/11 off Cornwallis.” Jonathan smirked, his dark eyes finding your glare in the rear-view mirror.

Scoffing, you folded your arms over your chest and turned your attention to the window, watching as the outside whizzed by, “I wasn’t arrested, I was escorted off the premises. And I wasn’t even shoplifting. That time, at least.”

Nancy’s mouth opened, gaping like a fish. Sure, she’d heard rumors… But Barb was always the first person to dispel them, waving off the gossip as if it was nothing more than fodder.

You’d been thirteen at the time — not much older than the kids that were currently situated at the middle school — and if you didn’t find something for dinner, then you wouldn’t be eating. And after already missing breakfast that morning, your stomach had been berating you all day.

But you weren’t lying. Technically, you hadn’t been stealing. At that exact moment, anyway.

Jonathan pulled into the driveway, killing the engine and hopping out of the vehicle. Time was of the essence, and if you wanted to keep Joyce and Hopper alive, you needed to set everything up quickly.

Placing a gas canister next to the box Jonathan had brought in, the three of you shared a look. You were really doing this. You were really going to try and lure that monster back out of the woods, or the wall, or wherever it was hiding now.

Nancy and Jonathan got started on screwing the bulbs back into the Christmas lights — the only real indicator you had that the monster was near — as you began to sort through the box.

Bear trap to one side, bullets to another, you grabbed the baseball bat that Nancy had brought and eyed it for a moment,

“Hey, Jonathan? Do you have any nails? A hammer, too?”

The boy stopped, colored light bulb in his palm as he stared at you, “For what?”

Standing, you threw the bat between your hands gently, “You ever watch that film, ‘Escape From New York?’ I have an idea…”

The gun had been loaded, the bear trap set and gasoline poured along the carpet, and you had finished hammering the nails into the baseball bat ala Snake Plissken style.

“Have you got the lighter?” Jonathan questioned, looking around the room at the mess you’d all made. God, was his mom gonna be pissed. The carpet was going to smell of gasoline for months. And that was if it didn’t set the whole house on fire.

Patting your pockets, you glared as you came up empty-handed, “It probably fell out in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Jonathan tossed you his keys before you slipped away. Despite being more than aware of Nancy’s relationship with Steve — even if that may, or may not be over right now — you couldn’t help but feel the palpable tension between Jonathan and the girl. And whilst you really didn’t care either way, you didn’t appreciate feeling like a third wheel between two people that you knew longer individually.

Leaning against the side of the car, you let out a long, wearied sigh. This week, hell, this day had felt like it had gone on forever. Only this morning you were curled up in your bed, trying to pretend that monsters weren’t real, and now here you were, preparing to fight one. Preparing to risk your life in an attempt to save Will’s, Hopper’s, and Joyce’s. Shrugging your jacket off and leaving it on the floor by your feet, you inexplicably felt too hot all of a sudden, uncaring of the chilly autumn air that blew through the surrounding trees and left a path of goosebumps along your exposed skin.

Running your hands over your face in an attempt to stop them from shaking, your peaceful few moments alone were interrupted by the sound of an engine way too smooth to belong to anyone you knew.

The car’s headlights blinded you momentarily, and even once the engine was killed you could only see brightly colored spots whenever you blinked.

Peering into the darkness once your vision had returned to normal, you couldn’t believe your eyes. “God, what the hell are you doing here, Harrington?”

The boy slammed his door shut, unfazed by the way the sound echoed into the darkness, or the way you flinched, eyes darting away from him and toward the treeline,

“Me? What am I… It doesn’t matter what I’m doing here. What are you doing here? Where’s Jonathan?”

Poking his chest with your finger, you glared up at him, “I swear to God, if you’re here for round two, I might just help him kick your ass this time.”

The boy held his hands up — a silent white flag — as he shook his head, ignoring your pressing finger, “I’m not, I swear. I just… Look, I really need to see Byers. You were right, I-”

“-Then come back in the morning. He’s busy.”

“With what?” His words came out a little too desperate as he watched you rip open Jonathan’s car door, hunting for the lighter.

Once you had fished it out from between the car seats, you quietly closed the door and began to make your way up the gravel drive, a sharp glare sent Steve’s way as he began to follow you,

“Listen, Harrington. He doesn’t want to see you. Not right now, at least. The best thing you can do is to go home.”

“But-”

“Go home, Steve,” you huffed, quickly ducking back inside the house and leaving the perplexed boy to contemplate your lame excuse.

Shutting the door behind you and sharing a look with Jonathan who had let you back in, you turned your attention toward Nancy, “We have a problem. Your boyfriends here.”

��What? No, he can’t be here right now.”

Handing the lighter to Jonathan, you moved further into the room, inspecting the damage, “Yeah, well… Hopefully he’s got enough sense to-”

A flurry of knocks interrupted your words, and you found yourself almost choking on the annoyance that was Steve Harrington. Considering you’d managed to spend the majority of your school career avoiding the guy and his meathead friends, this week had really made up for it. You’d do almost anything to go back a few weeks and avoid this whole situation altogether.

As Nancy made her way towards the door — something you weren’t sure was the best idea considering Jonathan and Steve’s earlier fight — you noticed the white bandage that was wrapped around Jonathan’s hand, the boy toying with a loose strand of the fabric.

Silently, you took his hand into yours, eyebrows pinched together. He shrugged, only half paying attention, almost too mindful of Steve’s pleas from the door, “Bait, remember?”

Steve had pushed his way past Nancy, stopping to look around the room. His eyes were wide, confusion evident on his face as his eyes darted between you and Jonathan, and the accumulation of weapons spread across the small coffee table.

“What is…What the…”

“You need to get out of here,” Jonathan pushed the boy backward, “Listen to me. I’m not asking.”

But Steve had begun his descent down the rabbit hole, his tunnel vision stopping him from listening to what the boy was saying, “What is that smell? Is that… Is that gasoline?”

“Steve, get out!” The click of Nancy’s revolver was enough to separate the boys, Jonathan backing up and almost knocking you over as you stared at the girl wide-eyed, much her like boyfriend currently was.

“Wait. What? What is going on?” He shouted, eyes darting between the three of you.

“You have five seconds to get out of here.”

“Nance-” you tried to intervene, eyes stuck on the gun in her grip. You might not have believed that Nancy would hurt Steve, at least, not until the whole cinema graffiti debacle.

“Okay, is this a joke? Stop. Put the gun down,” Steve’s hands were held out in front of him once more as his brain began to re-circuit. Nancy Wheeler, of all people, was holding a gun up to him. It was almost a shame he didn’t see that she was doing this for his safety, and instead, he panicked.

The lights above you flickered, and you finally managed to peel your eyes away from the weapon, despite the girl now counting down and Steve’s incessant begging, “Nancy…”

“Nancy, the lights!” Jonathan shouted, finally causing the girl to lower her gun as she spun on the spot, looking above at the flickering lights.

“It’s here.”

“Wait, what's here?” Steve blabbered, his mouth moving faster than his brain ever could as he tried to work out what the hell he’d walked into.

Jonathan picked up the bat as you all looked around, Steve continuing to ask questions that nobody could quite answer.

Jonathan and Nancy circled around each other, backs pressed together and eyes wide as you froze to the spot. Eyes drawing upward, you spotted the first crack in the ceiling, “Guys… Up there-”

Nancy began unloading the bullets into the hole, the same slimy substance that had coated you both after you’d crawled into the tree was now spreading along the ceiling of the Byers’ home, totally unaffected by the girl's shots.

Grabbing the girl around the waist, Jonathan easily maneuvered her out of the way, ushering her into the hallway as you followed her, hand gripping Joyce’s ax as the boy grabbed Steve by the hand to drag him along too.

Slamming the door to Will’s room shut, your heart felt like it was about to pound its way through your ribs by sheer force alone, and just for a second, you felt guilty for the shock you’d given Paul earlier at the Sheriff’s station.

Somehow, you could still hear Steve’s shouts over the monster’s screeching.

“Shut up!” Nancy and Jonathan’s voice blended into one, and finally, the boy paid heed to some advice as the four of you turned toward the door, listening out for any sign of the monster creeping closer.

Its footsteps were loud along the hallway, and you couldn’t help but feel like a mouse, waiting inside its hole, being lulled into a false sense of security once you couldn’t hear the cat outside anymore.

Eyes focused on the small, yellow yo-yo, you waited with bated breath for it to move. That was part of the plan, after all.

Once the yo-yo moved, you’d light that motherfucker up. Except, the yo-yo didn’t move and instead, you were left with silence as the lights flickered once more before coming back on.

“Did you hear anything?” Nancy asked, lowering her gun slightly.

Flicking the lighter closed, Jonathan made his way closer to the door, “No…”

“It isn’t gone,” you whispered, eyes focused on the closed door in front of you, silently pleading for it to remain closed.

Jonathan turned to watch you carefully, his hand over the door handle, “The lights-”

“It’s not gone. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Nancy questioned, her gun finally pointing toward the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes darted between the two, completely ignoring the way Steve worried his hands through his hair, “I don’t know, okay! It’s a predator, right? Nancy, in those woods, it wasn’t just trying to track us. It knew where we were… Where I was, the whole time. It’s not looking for us… It’s playing with its food.”

You all crept toward the living room, hands wrapped so tightly around your weapon that you felt the stretched skin across your knuckles ache, your sweaty palm holding onto the ax for dear life as you searched around the room.

Hearing the boy muttering to himself, you turned your attention toward Steve as the boy really lost it, rushing toward the landline, “This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy!”

Nancy ripped the Byers’ phone from Steve’s grip, throwing it to the floor as Steve swiveled toward her, chest heaving, “What are you do- What are you doing? Are you insane!”

“It’s going to come back, so you need to leave. Right now.”

As if the weight of the evening had finally hit him, Steve made his exit swiftly. Barely paying attention to the slamming of the door, you gripped the ax tighter and continued to look around, body straightening as the lights began to flicker, disorientating you before eventually turning off completely.

It was back.

A loud growl caused you to spin on the spot, the large creature stood tall behind Jonathan, yours and Nancy’s joint shouts of his name not quite preparing him for being knocked to the floor, the bat rolling out of his hand and away from you all as he tried his best to keep the creature's claws away from his sternum, the drool dripping over his face as he gasped for air.

Steve dashed toward his car, tripping over the gravel and fallen leaves and eventually dropping his car keys like some bad horror movie cliche. Unlocking his door, he turned to see the lights flash, the flickering Christmas lights felt much less cheerful than before.

His eyes fell to the floor as he leaned against his open door, looking for what had tripped him. And there, strewn across the driveway and half dragged by his own foot, was your abandoned jacket, a splatter of blood on the sleeve that he hadn’t noticed before.

He heard the gun go off, again and again, and Nancy’s voice sounded so distant as if his head was being held underwater and despite being close in vicinity, he was unable to understand her, the blood in his ears crashing in waves too loudly to distinguish any actual words.

And then he heard it. A bloodcurdling, gut-wrenching scream.

And he was off.

“Jonathan!” You yelled, panting as you watched Nancy unload bullet after bullet into the monster, finally casting its attention away from the downed boy and toward her.

Your body felt too heavy as if your bones had been replaced with steel rods, your feet dipped in cement, gluing you to the spot.

It felt like an out-of-body experience. Like you were witnessing everything that was happening, but you weren’t really in the room. Mouth agape and eyes like saucers, you watched as the bullets barely slowed the thing down.

It wasn’t until you heard the dejected, empty click of the gun’s barrel that you were finally able to unstick yourself. Your body moved before your brain had realized, arms pulling back as you swung with all of your might, the ax colliding with the monster's back and lodging into it, tearing the skin as its blood oozed, a loud, horrific screech falling from the mouth of the monster as it turned, swiping you away as if you were nothing more than a fly, buzzing around him on a warm summer’s eve.

A sharp scream pierced your ears, the sound physically hurting you and it took a moment to realize that the scream had fallen from your lips. Colliding with the wall on the other side of the room, the wind knocked out of you was the least of your problems.

The monster hovered over you, and despite not having eyes, it felt like it could see right into your own. Lifting a large, clawed arm, the monster released a horrendous roar, only to be stopped mid-swing as a bat swung into the back of its head, knocking it off balance as it collapsed to the floor, briefly stunned.

The flashing lights mixed with the pounding of your head, leaving you to barely keep up with the scene in front of you.

The nailed bat swung again and again, the sickening sound etched in your memory as it connected with skin. It twisted in the boy’s hand before he released another strong swing that knocked it backward and into the bear trap.

You wondered if Steve had ever been on the school’s baseball team.

Nancy pulled you up and into the safety of the hallway, alerting Jonathan to throw the lighter down, watching as the monster went up in a blaze of glory. Once the fire was out, Nancy assisted you back toward the living room, watching as the lights flickered, following it outside.

“Where’s it going?” Nancy asked, brows pulled together as she left you leaning on the door frame.

Jonathan’s words barely registered in your mind as you hunched over, the pain wracking your body. A clammy hand gripped the door frame as you tried to suck in a deep breath, seemingly coming up short every time, the pain that was encompassing you, forcing it right back out in small gasps.

You felt woozy, as if your body was filled with jello instead of actual muscle and bones and it felt consistently harder to keep your eyes from fluttering shut.

“Holy shit, is she okay?”

Glancing toward you, Nancy did a double take as she saw you wobble, one arm held tight against your abdomen, and it was then that she saw it.

“We need to get her to a hospital-”

Nancy’s words died on the tip of her tongue as she lunged forward in an attempt to stop your body from hitting the hard wooden porch as your legs gave out. Jonathan quickly assisted, taking you from her and lowering you slowly, letting you rest against the wall, “Hey, listen, I just… I need to see it. I need to see how bad it is.”

Tears fell from your eyes as Jonathan sucked in a sharp breath, his dark eyes tinged red as he tried to force back his own tears. The blood had stained your bare forearm, cascading down, the beginnings of a puddle gathering on the floor, the waistband of your jeans soaked a few shades darker, and your top left with three large gashes that had cut into your abdomen.

You tried to tell him that it wasn’t a big deal, that despite your crying, there was absolutely no need for him to be. He wasn’t the one led in a pool of their own blood, favorite jeans ruined and only fit for the trash. But as the adrenaline depleted from your veins, you could barely utter a word, a pained gasp released in their place. The voices around you felt too far away like you were slowly slipping from Jonathan’s grasp, your body still there, but your mind… your soul no longer fully present.

The pain had slowly ebbed away, and despite the strong hand now holding down what seemed to be a couch cushion to your abdomen, you felt only numbness. You just felt so tired, as if the week-long sleep deprivation was finally catching up on you, nipping at your heels and threatening to pull you under, to drown you in it.

You were cold… so cold, and it took you a moment to remember your forsaken jacket left outside on the driveway, the blood from the agent hunting Eleven earlier in the day still splattered across the sleeve. Was this how he felt as he laid in a pool of his own blood, head caved in from the metal pole that you’d held in a death grip? Did he know he was dying, or was he just… gone?

Did she feel this way?

Maybe that’s the way life went. Karma was supposed to be a bitch, right? Or maybe, this was just how it worked.

You violently take a life, then you violently give a life.

30 notes · View notes

withlovewriting · 7 months

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 5: Bad Men

Chapter Five.

I saw the part of you that only when you're older, You will see too, you will see too, I held the better cards, But every stroke of luck has gotta bleed through, It's gotta bleed through, You held the balance of the time, That only blindly I could read you, but I could read you, It's like you told me, 'Go forward slowly, it's not a race to the end,' Well you look like yourself, but you're somebody else, Only it ain't on the surface, Well, you talk like yourself, no, I hear someone else though, Now you're making me nervous

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,832

Chapter Warnings: Conversations alluding to physical abuse, explicit language, Jonathan beating Steve's ass, slut shaming, canon-type violence (which may or may not end in un-aliving someone), Carol and Tommy at this point are their own warnings, mentions of the death of a child/children.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Five: Bad Men

Despite Nancy’s persistence, you declined the offer to stay at hers that night. Sure, none of you felt particularly safe, but you needed the comfort of your own bed that evening. Plus, you weren’t exactly willing to let Nancy or Jonathan see you cry.

All the lights were off when you arrived home, your mother’s car gone from the driveway, most likely in the town over where she could drink in peace after work. At least it meant she was far away from whatever was lurking in the shadows of the woods.

You’d crawled into bed after checking and rechecking the lock on the door, only slightly more worried about the creature than you were about your mother’s wrath of being locked out. Despite the presumption that sleep would manage to evade you, you’d fallen into a restless sleep eventually.

The only thing that seemed to rouse you from your fitful sleep was the incessant ringing of the phone, but thankfully a pillow over your head was enough to drown it out.

When the pounding on the door started, however, your body jerked upright, moving on its own accord. Your heart pounded rapidly against your chest as you crept towards the door and it was only when you heard Nancy’s voice calling out to you that your stomach returned to its rightful place in your body. Your annoyance, however, grew tenfold.

“Why are you banging on my door so loudly, and so early?” You asked, swinging the door open and almost knocking yourself out, “Do you know how lucky you are my Mom isn’t home?”

“We need to talk. It’s about last night.”

Nancy and Jonathan perched on your sofa, thighs lightly grazing and the former’s eyes taking in the mess in front of her. Broken coffee table, pieces of what she presumed was either a glass or — from the smell of the house — an ashtray littering the worn carpet.

“Should we say something?”

Turning, Jonathan’s own concerned expression met hers, but the boy shook his head, “No. It’s best if we just drop it.”

Nancy wanted to protest, but the sound of your bedroom door creaking open was enough of a distraction. Still, the girl couldn’t pull her ocean-blue eyes from the cut on your cheekbone as you rejoined them.

“Please tell me you’re not going back in there,” you sighed, sitting on the small armchair as you watched the two closely.

“No. Not exactly, anyway.”

Releasing a deep sigh, you grabbed the packet of cigarettes from the side table, lit one up, and settled back into the seat, continuing only once the thick smoke had burned your lungs, “I don’t like the sound of that. What do you plan on doing? Wait for it to climb back through your wall?”

Nancy shuffled slightly, her cheeks tinted a dusty rose as her thigh nudged Jonathan’s, “The night Barb went missing… She had a cut on her hand. She tried to shotgun a beer and slipped.”

Your brows pulled together as you watched the girl silently. If she had a point, she needed to get to it.

“You never told me that.”

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” Nancy’s eyes dipped to her knees when she saw the annoyance cross your face but forced herself to continue, “but after last night… That thing didn’t have a face but it still chased us. It still knew where we were. It hunted us.”

Rubbing your hand over your face you winced slightly as your fingertips grazed over the small gash on your cheekbone, “Yeah, I was there, Nance. I don’t need a reminder.”

“No, I mean… It couldn’t see us. I know it heard us but… It was tracking us. Tracking you.”

Releasing a sigh, you stubbed out the cigarette straight onto the end table and sat forward resting your face in your hands, “Nancy, please. Just spit it out.”

“You have a cut on your face, your hands… There was a reason it went after you and not me, and I don’t just mean your name-calling.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked between you both, unaware of what fully happened on your trip to the Upside Down.

“You think it what... smells blood? Hunts like a shark?”

Remaining quiet, Nancy simply nodded causing the slightly condescending smile that had tugged at your mouth to drop, “Shit. I mean, I guess that makes sense.”

“We’re going to kill it.”

Nancy’s voice — however soft — was full of determination, and that might’ve been the only reason you didn’t laugh at her absolutely ludicrous idea. When neither of the two continued to speak, merely glancing at you like two puppy dogs, you let out a long sigh,

“You don’t even know if you can kill it, let alone how.”

“It has to have a weakness-”

“This isn’t some kind of fairy tale villain, Byers. You don’t have a clue what this thing even is.”

“We were hoping that maybe you’d help-”

Pushing yourself from the small chair, you couldn’t hold in the frenetic laugh that bubbled up from your chest as you shook your head, looking anywhere but the two delusional teens who were perched ramrod straight on your couch,

“You’re both out of your minds. I’m not tagging along on this suicide mission-”

Jonathan’s voice trembled, but his dark eyes remained steady on you, “We know the stakes. We know that this thing, whatever it is… It’s dangerous. Deadly. But this is about my brother. This is about Will. And I’m doing this for him, even if it kills me.”

Your pacing had halted the moment the boy spoke with such conviction, feet suddenly cemented to the ground as he stood and made his way toward the door, Nancy dubiously following him.

“I get that you’re scared. And I totally understand if you don’t wanna do this. But we thought that you should know.”

Sending you a sad smile — one that told you no matter your decision, Jonathan wouldn’t hold it against you — the boy pulled open the door, beginning to make his way outside, only for your words to halt him,

“How the hell are we gonna kill this thing?”

Two sets of eyes turned back toward you, brightened with the hope that they wouldn’t have to do this alone. Nancy took a few steps toward you, ignoring the cracking of already broken glass under her boot, a small gracious smile pulling at the edges of her lips,

“We have a few ideas.”

“This feels beyond illegal,” you huffed, following Jonathan around the Hawkins Hunting and Camping store, and the fact that you were now here to fight some kind of faceless monster that had already planned on making you its next meal almost made you laugh outwardly.

Jonathan — not quite able to muster the same amount of tact you had — snorted quietly, causing you to peel your eyes away from the wall of rifles and send him a sharp glare instead, “Since when were you concerned with breaking the law?”

Grabbing a gas canister from the shelf in front of you, you didn’t bother to lessen your stare, “Since my Mom got called to the school by the cops, maybe?”

Jonathan took the canister from your hands, sad eyes boring into the small cuts on your palm. Suddenly much too aware of the unspoken question that was on the tip of his tongue, you squirmed on the spot, shuffling your weight between each foot as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Palms now blocked from his view, he bypassed the mark on your face completely and instead sent you an eye-roll, hoping to defuse the uneasy tension that had quickly built between you, “Please, as if Hopper would let anything happen to you.”

Hearing just the man’s name forced your brow to pull into a frown. Grabbing the gas back from the boy’s grip, you turned on the spot and marched toward Nancy, who was silently browsing the different types of animal traps.

Piling all of your wares into the trunk of Jonathan’s car, a red car cruised by honking, and a — somehow, even more annoying — familiar face peered out of his wound-down window. Reed Jackson.

You barely caught the derogatory comment he howled towards your small group, and it took you a moment to realize that it wasn’t actually aimed at you.

Breaking into a power walk, you stalked after Nancy as she made her way down the street, halting so quickly in front of The Hawk that you almost barreled right into her. Peering up towards where Nancy was staring — her crestfallen expression tugging at your heartstrings — you cursed under your breath as you took in the painted red words,

ALL THE RIGHT MOVES STARRING NANCY THE SLUT WHEELER

You were confused at first. Nancy was well-liked among your peers at school — even if she was a little prissy — and you wracked your brain to try and work out who would’ve written something like that about her. If anything, you were sure Nancy’s reputation leaned a little closer to prude than anything else, and if you weren’t — unfortunately — privy to the fact she’d had a tryst with Harrington, you might’ve assumed the same.

And then you heard them.

Nancy was already moving, and you and Jonathan chanced a glance at each other before following her, hot on her heels as she turned down the alleyway and came face-to-face with the man himself.

Tommy ceased his new artwork — naming Jonathan as his next victim — as you all watched with bated breath as Nancy and Steve stood in a silent showdown.

It was a slap that could be heard around the world. Harrington’s head shot to the side by the sheer force of impact alone as his friends all let out a shocked gasp. If you were being honest, you didn’t know Nancy had it in her.

“What is wrong with you?” She asked, and you couldn’t help but feel impressed that she hadn’t allowed her voice to crack. It was obvious she was hurt, but you couldn’t work out why Steve was so upset with her.

Steve’s darkened eyes peered down at the girl, the only part of his face that didn’t remain stoic, “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you. I was worried about you.”

Nancy’s mouth opened, but Steve didn’t let her question him, “I can’t believe that I was actually worried about you.”

You couldn’t help but watch the two, your eyes darting between them as you watched their verbal tennis match and it wasn’t until Tommy interrupted his girlfriend's attempt to involve herself in the couple’s business that you realized his attention had been turned to Jonathan instead, and it all seemed to click in place for Nancy.

All but rolling her eyes, she watched as Jonathan timidly approached, his dark eyes darting between Nancy and Steve.

“You came by last night.”

“Ding! Ding! Ding! Does she get a prize?”

“Shut up, Carol.”

You ignored her pointed side-eye as Tommy wrapped his arm around her shoulders, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t like that.”

“What, you just let him into your room to… study?”

The realization that Jonathan had stayed over at Nancy’s last night caused you to bite down on your bottom lip. If Steve had come over and seen them, then sure… It probably looked bad. But he should’ve trusted Nancy. If anyone had a reputation, it was him.

The guilt hit you just as quickly, knowing that if you had taken up Nancy’s offer and stayed, maybe Steve would’ve been a little more understanding, and she wouldn’t be slut shamed on the front of The Hawk’s marquee.

“We were just…”

“You were just what? Finish the sentence,” When Nancy didn’t respond, Steve stepped in closer, peering down at the girl with nothing less than disgust, “Finish the sentence.”

Your eyes darted toward Jonathan, the boy’s own were wide and unsure. They hadn’t been doing anything, you knew that. But you couldn’t explain the reasoning to Steve.

Scoffing, Steve began his retreat, “Go to hell, Nancy.”

“Come on, Nancy, let’s just leave,” Jonathan tried to pull at her arm, but Steve stopped, turning quickly for one last stab.

“You know what, Byers? I’m actually kind of impressed. I always took you for a queer but I guess you’re just a little screw-up like you’re father.”

Steve continued to push the boy as you all tried to walk away, but his anger was bubbling under the surface, his words purposeful and full of indignation, wanting nothing more than to hurt Jonathan the same way he was hurting.

Jonathan froze at the mention of his father, and you knew why. Lonnie Byers was an absolute piece of shit who walked in and out of the Byers’ boy’s lives constantly throughout their childhood before wandering back in as if nothing had happened. He was cruel and selfish, and Jonathan had felt it was his duty towards his mother and brother to protect them from the violent man's wrath.

Jonathan was nothing like Lonnie.

But Steve saw a chink in Jonathan’s normally stoic armor and continued to pick.

“Ignore him, Jonathan. He’s not-”

“Yeah, that house is full of screw-ups. You know, I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised. A bunch of screw-ups in your family. I mean, you’re Mom-”

“Harrington, just stop.”

“I’m not even surprised what happened to your brother. I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but the Byers? Their family is a disgrace to the entire-”

Steve didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Jonathan’s fist flew through the air, connecting with the former’s jaw, knocking him sideways.

The silence was piercing and seemed ever-lasting as everyone froze, waiting to see what would happen next. Steve — who wasn’t really one to physically bully anyone at school — versus Jonathan, who’d only ever been on the receiving end of a fist.

Steve rushed the boy, tackling him to the hood of a parked car before using his body weight to throw him to the floor.

Nancy stood trying to get the boys to break it up, whilst you stood wide-eyed doing your best impression of a fish. Despite the fists that were thrown, you couldn’t help but picture two hairy cats scrapping in a yard.

But Steve had pushed Jonathan. After everything that had happened, Steve’s comment was the straw that broke the camel’s back and as far as you were concerned, the boy deserved every hit that Byers got in.

Tommy shoved his way between the two, but Steve beckoned him off as the two began to brawl again. At least Harrington had one redeeming trait and kept the fight fair.

The next thing you knew, Steve was dragged up by his friends before running off in one direction, and Jonathan was being restrained by Powell after Jonathan had elbowed Callahan accidentally after one incredibly painful right hook to Steve’s cheek.

You stood with Nancy in shock watching the boy as the adrenaline finally wore off, his body becoming lax against the hood of the same sky blue Ford he was not too long ago thrown onto, his breath coming out in pants as Powell handcuffed him and led him into his own vehicle.

“I’m just saying, Florence, that I don’t know why I have to be here. I wasn’t even the one fighting.”

The older lady peered at you from under her glasses before she made her way to the small freezer, you quick on her heels, “And I’m just saying, young lady, that you have to be here to give a statement. And whilst I’m glad you’ve — for once — kept your hands to yourself, I won’t if you continue to follow me around this office like a pesky little gnat. Now take a seat. The Chief will be back any time now.”

Sending a sarcastic smile her way as you mock saluted, you made your way back to where Jonathan was handcuffed to Powell’s desk. You’d known Flo for a long time, and her comment was more so a promise, than a threat. You’d been on the receiving end of her swatting hands more than enough times to know she didn’t fuck around with empty threats.

Nancy stood, making her way toward Flo to request some ice for the boy, whilst you watched her from a safe distance. Even Nancy Wheeler wasn’t safe from the older woman's annoyed whacks.

“I’m not one to condone fighting-”

Jonathan huffed out a small puff of laughter through his nose, dark eyes staring up at you as you perched on the desk. Raising your brows, you crossed your arms over your chest and hoped to keep the mischievous grin your from lips long enough,

“As I was saying… Whilst I do not condone violence of any kind… You totally kicked Harrington’s ass back there.”

A languid smile graced his features, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I mean, really. You totally had him. If the cops hadn’t broken it up, he’d probably be lying unconscious in that alley still. What the hell got into you?”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes full of confusion as your expression turned serious, “I thought you didn’t care about Harrington-”

“I don’t,” you reiterated, placing a hand over his own, “I care about you, Jonathan. And this isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you hit back in a fight, let alone throw the first punch-”

“I’m not proud of it,” he told you somberly, his eyes peering down at the metal around his wrists, “But what he was saying, about my Mom, and Will… about Lonnie. I just… I couldn’t stand it.”

“And nobody blames you for that. I’m sure Hopper will understand, and it isn’t like Callahan’s going to press charges. That’s way too much paperwork. This is just… just mandatory.”

Sighing, Jonathan’s shoulders hunched even further as his hands moved, testing the strength of the cuffs, “How can you be so sure? God, this is the last thing my Mom needs right now-”

“Last year, I was at a party at Mike Lewinski’s house, and one of his neighbors called the cops to break it up. Callahan got hold of me when I was running, and when I tried shoving him off, I accidentally headbutted him. Broke his nose and even heard the bone crack. And yet, here I am to tell the tale. I mean, sure... I had to scrub the floors here every day after school for a week, but no juvie.”

“I found some ice.”

Removing your hand quickly from Jonathan’s you turned to send Nancy a small smile, “And now she’s back, I’m gonna head out.”

“Didn’t Mrs Larkin tell you to stay here until Hopper arrives?” Nancy questioned, her blue eyes darting between you and Jonathan as if she was trying to unravel something that she couldn’t quite make out.

Sending her a sardonic smirk, you pushed yourself from the edge of the desk, eyes settling on the secretary who was now tapping away on her computer, the repetitive clack, clack, clacking already grating on you,

“Me and Flo are on a first-name basis. Plus, Hopper is kinda the reason I want to leave.” Placing a hand onto the girl's arm, this time you smiled at her warmly, “He’ll be fine. And if you’re still up for our monster-hunting session later, let me know and I’ll be there. Until then, I’m gonna go find my bike.”

Waiting until Flo turned in her chair to rifle through some files, you began your descent to the door, almost breaking out into a jog. You heard the woman’s annoyed call of your name and could bet a hundred dollars that she hadn’t even turned around.

Barely squeezing through the small gap of the door — sneaking as if the woman hadn’t already spotted you — you left her with your parting words, “If he needs a statement so bad, then Hopper knows where I live.”

You really didn’t want to head back to the woods alone, you thought to yourself before letting out a long, annoyed sigh.

Hands burrowed deep in your jacket pockets — a futile attempt to keep them warm — you continued your long walk. After grabbing your bike, you’d head back, tidy up the mess from the previous evening, and hope that Hopper didn’t make a home visit. Then, you’d wait for Nancy’s call before heading out to what felt like your inevitable death.

Plucking a cigarette out of your crumpled pack, you shook your lighter a few times, cursing under your breath when the damn thing wouldn’t light.

Grumbling, you made a slight detour and headed to Fair Mart, only to stop abruptly when an irksomely familiar head of hair caught your eye.

Perched on the hood of his BMW sat a bruised and bloody Steve Harrington.

“It suits you, you know?” You told him as you approached, his head jerking up in your direction.

“What does?”

“Getting your ass handed to you. Maybe someone should do it more often.”

He tried to roll his eyes, but you caught the slight flinch, brows pinching together in pain, “Look, I’m really not in the mood-”

“Where do you get off on treating people like shit? The stuff you said about Byers? Not ok. And the shit about Nancy? What is wrong with you, Harrington?”

“What’s wrong with me? Jonathan and Nancy were-”

“You have no idea, do you? Jonathan has just lost his brother. He’s still grieving. And Nancy? With your reputation, I wouldn’t exactly be throwing stones in a glass house.”

“Come to fight your boyfriend's battles for him?” Carol asked before popping her gum, glaring at you as she made her way back towards Steve, her boyfriend’s arm in its usual place over her shoulder.

Leering at you, a haughty smirk pulled at the edges of Tommy’s lips, “Yeah I mean, how does that work now? Are you and the Princess gonna have allocated days, or just, you know… Share? Together.”

“Ew, Tommy, shut up. There’s not enough bleach in the world to get that image out of my head.” Carol glared, elbowing her boyfriend in the ribs and causing his arm to drop from her.

“Do you two ever shut the fuck up? Seriously, you’re insufferable.”

Popping her gum a little too loudly, Carol’s icy blue eyes set on you in a cold stare, “You wanna go for another little trip, freak? Or did your Mommy already beat me to it?”

“You don’t know shit about shit, Carol.”

“Really? Are you sure about that?” Carol let out an insolent cackle, stepping closer to you, “Because we all know how much your Mommy likes to pour liquor down her throat after your dad left. I mean, I’d probably go crazy too, if one of my kids died because the other one was a useless, pathetic-”

“-That’s enough, Carol.”

Huffing out a surprised laugh from her nose, Carol turned toward Steve, who had pushed himself from the hood of his car, his body slightly shielding you from her.

“Are you kidding me, Steve? Please, it’s no wonder her only friend is Byers. They both have something in common. Fratricide, right?”

“Don’t forget that loser, Bridgette or Brenda, or whatever-”

“Oh god, her. Yeah, gotta admit though, I’d rather be dead than stuck with you, too-”

“Her name was Barbara, you stupid son of a bitch-”

Leaping toward the girl and fully prepared to have a fight of your own, you were quickly blocked by Steve’s chest as he swiveled, the boy using his body to hold you back as Carol cackled out loud, despite the quick back step she took, hiding slightly behind her boyfriend who didn’t bother to move.

“Get off of me, Harrington-”

“You’re gonna end up doing something you regret, trust me-”

“Oh my god, you really are a psycho. Runs in the family, I guess.”

Carol’s words only egged you on further, the annoyance you felt toward Steve suddenly hidden under a blanket of rage toward Carol, and a need to smash her stupid face into the sidewalk.

“Carol, shut up-”

“Everything okay out here?”

Turning your head, you saw Earl from the gas station exit the store, squinting in your direction before looking around at the group. Finally managing to shake Steve’s grip from your biceps, you took a step away from the group, eyes flitting toward the older man,

“Everything’s fine, Earl.”

“You sure? I can call Hopper if-”

“-No. It’s fine. I was leaving anyway.”

Earl remained still for a moment longer, uncertain as to whether or not he should leave, but when you sent him a stiff nod, he slowly made his way back toward his car, lingering for just a moment before getting in.

“Remind me again, is the chief your mom’s boyfriend, or yours?”

The catty remark went over your head — just — as you turned your attention back to Steve, the boy at least having the decency to look abashed, “You know… For weeks I had to listen to Nancy go on and on, defending you to Barb, telling her that she didn’t really know you and that you were actually a decent person, and for just a minute there, I thought maybe you were.”

Steve’s brows pulled together, disgrace and pain etched across his features as clear as day as he waited for you to continue, his brown puppy dog eyes staring into your soul, “But maybe Barb was right. We might be freaks and losers… But you guys are assholes. You’re an asshole, Harrington.”

Ignoring the need for a new lighter and instead stomping off towards the woods in an attempt to locate your bike, you could hear Carol’s high-pitched voice, mocking your words as you left.

“You say blood draws this thing?” Hopper asked, eyes locked on the beast in the photo Joyce had handed to him.

“We don’t know…”

“It’s just a theory.”

Hopper raised a brow toward the teens, waiting for one of them to clarify. Unsettled under his stoic observation, Nancy broke first, explaining about Barb’s cut on her hand, about how the monster seemed to hunt you down as if it could smell the clotted blood on your cheek.

“Wait a damn second… You’re telling me she’s gone back to the place where this… thing tried to attack her?”

“She’s looking for her bike,” Jonathan shrugged, face pinched as he realized the danger you’d put yourself in, “but we’ve only seen this thing at night.”

His reassurance fell on deaf ears when Nancy piped up, explaining how she was certain she’d seen it stalking around the woods at the back of the Harrington house. A curse fell from Hopper’s mouth as he rubbed a hand over his beard,

“The other day she… She was running from something. She told me… shit. She told me about it and didn’t think I believed her. But she saw it. You all saw it?”

Nancy and Jonathan looked toward each other before nodding.

“Right. Ok. Shit. I’ll be back.”

—

“How long ago did she leave, Flo?”

“What am I? Her personal timekeeper?” Flo sighed, continuing to type on her computer until Hopper slammed a hand on his desk, making the other officers around the station jump, but Flo was immune to Hopper and his sudden outbursts, “About an hour and a half ago.”

“And you just let her go?”

He knew that directing his irritation toward his secretary wasn’t right, but Flo was more than aware that it wasn’t just irritation coursing through Hopper’s body. Right now, he was worried.

“I have about as much luck keeping her in this station as I do getting you to complete your paperwork.”

And as always, Flo had a point.

Spinning on the spot, you were certain this was where you’d left your bike the night prior. You could still see the track marks where you’d almost barreled into Nancy. Your heart was pounding as you stood with your hands on your hips, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip.

Taking one last look around and preparing to return home empty-handed, you spotted what looked like drag marks. Inhaling deeply, you forced your feet forward and ignored the lump that began to creep its way up your throat, threatening to suffocate you.

Pushing back the bush, your eyes widened as your hand found its way to your mouth to stop the loud scream that was bound to erupt from you. You’d found your bike, but it wasn’t exactly… ridable.

The metal frame was bent out of shape along the down tube and completely torn apart at the top tube. One wheel was flat and torn as if something had bitten into it and decided that rubber tiers were of a selective palate, and you were missing an entire pedal, crank arm included.

Blood stained the side of it, and you could only presume that the monster had been stalking about after eating the deer it had allegedly dragged into… wherever you found it.

Nose scrunched up in disgust, you pulled the bike through the bush as quietly as you could, an annoyed huff falling from your lips as you fully took in the irreparable damage, “Well shit…”

—

Your legs ached as you trekked through the woods — following the train tracks that would lead you back to civilization — but you didn’t stop until you reached the junkyard, the fear of the woods still at the forefront of your mind no matter how much you tried to compartmentalize it.

“When do you feel good about anything?!”

Your brain forced your body to halt mid-step and kick a metal pipe that was on the floor, profanities falling from your mouth as you hobbled about on one foot, your hands grabbing the metal pole, ready to launch it across the yard. The voice was muffled, but loud enough to be close. Looking around, you could hear a commotion, hushed voices bickering somewhere in the distance, and it wasn’t until you turned toward the old, broken-down school bus that you saw four pairs of eyes staring at you, heads quickly darting down when they realized you’d noticed them.

“You know, a junkyard really isn’t the kind of place you wanna be hanging out. There’s rats and all kinda shit here. Literally.”

You could hear mumbled conversations before a lone head popped up, eyes widening when the person was quickly yanked back down.

Raising a single brow, you began to walk toward the bus once you realized you recognized the owner of the big, brown eyes and most likely the owners of the bikes that were not-so-well hidden under the vehicle, “Lucas? Is that you?”

More mumbling, before a singular voice caught you off guard, “I can deal with her.”

Unable to control the small huff of laughter at being threatened by a preteen, you knocked on the bus door, watching as the same four pairs of eyes peered around the bus seats,

“Sinclair? What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Are you sure we can trust her? What if she’s with them?”

Lucas shoved off the vice-like grip from his jacket before sending his curly-haired friend a deadpan look, “She’s my babysitter. I really don’t think the bad men would’ve bothered with her.”

More grumbles and hushed whispers continued as the boy made his way toward the barely closed door, pulling it open fully and letting you in.

Once inside, he quickly shut the door as best he could behind you, eyes widened when he saw the broken metal pole still in your grip.

“Why are you holding that?” Nancy’s little brother questioned, eyes brimming with suspicion as he stood in front of a small girl.

Looking down toward the object that in all honesty you’d forgotten that you were even holding, you placed it on a front seat before making your way toward the group slowly, the little girl's eyes never leaving you, “Why are you guys hiding in a broken down bus?”

“Have you seen them?”

“Seen who?” you asked, turning to watch the curly-haired boy, Dustin, peering out of the window.

“A bunch of bad guys in repair trucks. They’re after us-”

Unable to hold in your snort, you settled onto a seat in front of Lucas, “Why? Did you steal their hammer wrenches or something?”

“This is serious, alright? They’re really, really dangerous and if they find us, they’ll kill us all. You included!”

Finally taking him seriously, you turned back toward Dustin as he settled in his seat and let out an exasperated sigh, “Wait… You guys are being for real? Why would a bunch of repairmen-”

“They’re not repairmen! They’re from Hawkins lab, and they’re after us because we have her!”

Your eyes turned toward the small girl, her brows furrowed slightly as her dark eyes watched you with a type of fear you’d never seen before. They were being serious.

Sitting up straighter, you shook your head, “I haven’t seen any guys in any trucks, but I came through the woods. Have you told Hopper? He could-”

“Lando Calrissian!” Dustin bellowed, a finger pointing at Lucas.

“The dude from ‘Star Wars’?” You questioned, forehead creasing in confusion at the boy's sudden outburst.

Dustin’s eyes somehow widened as his mouth fell open, “We finally meet a chick who’s into science and ‘Star Wars’, and we’re gonna die! How is this fair? How is this just?”

“Ok, first of all, Curly, don’t call me a chick. You’re like, what? Ten?”

“-I’m twelve-”

“-I don’t care. And second of all, Hopper isn’t going to betray you. If you’ve contacted him and he knows about these… bad men, he’ll keep you safe.”

The sound of approaching cars caused all of you to turn and look out of the window, Lucas’s hand grabbing your jacket to tug you down with the rest of them when they’d realized it wasn’t, in fact, Hopper.

“What was that you were saying about him keeping us safe?” Dustin asked, hiding behind a half-broken seat.

“Are you sure these guys are the bad men?”

The little girl nodded, her coffee-colored eyes felt like they were penetrating your soul as she spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper, “Bad men.”

You nodded before inhaling slowly, moving into a crouch as you crept toward the front of the bus, hands wrapping around the discarded pipe,

“What the hell are you doing?” Mike whispered, eyes wide as he watched you.

The little girl’s clear trepidation caused a field of goosebumps to burst through your skin, and despite barely knowing these kids, with the exception of Lucas, you believed them.

“Your bikes are under the bus, they’ll know you’re here. Just… Hold out until Hopper gets here. You can trust him, I promise.”

You held up your finger in a silent attempt to hush them as you crept a little more forward, taking up a crouched position at the front of the bus, peering out of the window before quickly ducking back down.

They had found the bikes.

As the broken door creaked open, you tightened your sweaty grip around the pipe, chest heaving as you watched the man appear in front of you. His eyes narrowed slightly, definitely not expecting to see you there right before the loud thunk of metal echoed around the small bus, the man dropping to the floor as blood began to pour from his temple, staining the dirt. The same blood that had splattered down the sleeve of your jacket.

Sharp gasps fell from the boys' mouths, whispered curses only stopping when a commotion could be heard from outside as you pulled the door together before raising the pipe behind you once more.

The door creaked open, and you swung. Your breath caught in your throat as a large hand gripped the now bloodied pipe, blue eyes wide as the man flinched away from you,

“What the hell, kid?”

The car ride was silent as everyone's eyes flittered around, unsure glances between friends as they sat ramrod straight, crushed together in the back of Hopper’s cruiser.

Your eyes, however, remained unfocused on the road ahead as darkness quickly swept across the town, your body finally rid of adrenaline, the events of the junkyard playing dangerously over and over in your mind, causing your hands to shake.

“What the hell were you doing out there, kid?”

Blinking a few times, you tried your hardest to stop any tears from falling, “I was looking for my bike.”

“Yeah, I found it,” he huffed in annoyance, rubbing a hand over his face to scratch his beard, “I saw it all mangled and thought… I thought that thing had got you.”

You felt like you were trying to swallow down a lump of barbed wire, leaving your throat sore, and tight and scratchy, “It was deer blood. Last night… Nancy said she saw a dying dear.”

Releasing a deep sigh, Hopper tipped the brim of his hat back a little, eyes darting to his mirror where he watched the group of kids sit silently in the backseat before he turned off toward the Byers house.

“What’s wrong, kid? Normally by now you’d of cursed me out at least three times and threatened to roll out of the car.” Hopper tried to joke, but his tone still felt too heavy. He still felt too guilty.

You were silent for a moment, watching the headlights illuminate the driveway,

“Did I kill him?”

Now it was Hopper’s turn to remain silent as he processed your question, unsure of how to mollify you, or if he even could. The silence continued as the house came into view, and you barely took note of the door opening, Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy all dashing out onto the porch.

Killing the engine, Hopper placed an arm over the back of your seat, turning toward the kids, “Go see Joyce. We’ll be out in a minute.”

You felt the group's eyes on you as they were all ushered out, and whether their expressions were filled with pity or fear, you really couldn’t tell at that moment. You watched as Nancy embraced her brother awkwardly, the rest of the group hanging around for yourself and Hopper to vacate the vehicle.

Unbuckling his seat belt, Hopper finally turned to you, and the look in his eyes alone told you all you needed to know.

“He was going to kill all of you. He was gonna kill a bunch of innocent kids. So if you ask me, you did the world a favor-”

Turning toward the man, he finally saw your eyes, red and brimming with tears that were threatening to fall, “did I kill him, Hopper? Yes or no.”

“Kid-”

“Hopper…”

“He was a bad guy, alright? He-”

“Please, Hopper. Please.”

The crack in your voice halted any more of his attempts to comfort you. If he didn’t say it, maybe you wouldn’t believe it. Maybe you’d never know, and then maybe you’d be okay. But staring into your crest-fallen eyes as you practically begged him for the truth, hands shaking in your lap as your fingers tugged at the sleeves of your jacket, he knew he couldn’t lie to you. You already knew the answer.

Gripping the steering wheel so tight that the skin stretching over his knuckles paled and the rubber underneath them creaked, threatening to break, he finally answered,

“Yes.”

You were unable to hold in the sob as it forced its way past your lips, chin wobbling as the dam finally broke and tears began to almost pour down your cheeks.

“But listen, kid, and I know that’s not your forte, but listen, alright?” Hopper unbuckled your belt and turned you, his large hands settling at the top of your shoulders and squeezing reassuringly, an attempt to ground you, to pull you back and realize that you weren’t alone. He was here,

“That guy was a dead man walking. Because if you hadn’t done what you did, he’d have killed those kids out there, and yourself. And then I would’ve killed him.”

Your eyes darted towards the group of children that Joyce had begun to usher into the house, a protective arm around them as only a mother would. You caught the little girl’s eyes once more, wide and worried but fixed on you.

Your attention was pulled back toward Hopper as he continued, “You killed a bad guy. And only the good guys, kill bad guys, alright? By doing what you did… You saved five lives. And that is what is important. That is what you need to focus on because right now… I need your help to save one more.”

33 notes · View notes