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tyrian-witch · 5 months ago

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Prologue: Welcome Home

Everything inside feels heavy, and all you wish for is to be in the warm embrace of your mother. The sun’s warmth is a bitter reminder of what you were now missing, and would forever miss.

Now here you are in Hawkins, a place you hadn’t been to in years. You hardly remember it.

Now it’s your new home.

Heyyy so basically I was inspired and decided to do my own Stranger Things rewrite? Yeah, so anyways! Here's the prologue before we begin the bumpier bumpy ride, I am seriously going to take my time with this fic. In the meantime, hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: my crappy writing, brief mentions of loss, tears, use of y/n (is that last one even a warning? Question mark?)

masterlist • series masterlist

~~~

June 20th, 1983 - Hawkins, Indiana

Summer nears the town of Hawkins on a gleaming June day.

A car cruises along the entryway of the small town, passing a sign that reads ‘WELCOME TO HAWKINS.' The driver is mindful of the posted speed limit as she makes her way through.

You gaze mindlessly out the window as the sun’s rays reflect against your features, the light illuminating your tired eyes. The flight from Philadelphia was exhausting to say the least, despite it only being an hour long. Not to mention the countless goodbyes made it all the more draining, but now here you are.

“Are you all right, honey?” The woman driving asks you. Her hair is short, dark brown and her eyes were green and full of light, a major contrast compared to your own. Her words are gentle enough to lull you out of your disassociation, and when you turn to meet her eyes, she gives you a small smile.

You look back out the window again as you answer, your voice barely above a murmur. “M’fine, Aunt Marsha. Jus’ tired.”

Marsha knows there’s more to it than just that, of course. However, she understands enough not to push it.

She decides to change the subject, which you’re thankful for. “We’re excited to have you,” she says, her excitement evident. “Barb will be so excited to see you again after all this time; we all are.”

All you can muster is a weak smile, the sentiment providing a small comfort to you despite the ache you feel in your heart. “Yeah, s’been a while.”

Your aunt spares you a concerned glance at the sound of your voice, the lack of your usual upbeat tone stirring some kind of worry in her. Knowing very well of your circumstances, she doesn’t push or force you to open up.

All she knows is that the you before her was not at all the same girl she saw last a couple of years ago - talkative, upbeat, and full of joy. Now the girl before her is changed entirely: your eyes have sunken in slightly, the dark circles around them harsh against your sickly pale complexion, the one that was once full of life and colour. And your voice, so quiet and hoarse, not at all boisterous and gleeful.

If someone asked Marsha Holland, she would probably say she doesn’t recognize her niece at all.

Then again, what did she expect after the recent loss of your mother and little brother? You were grieving, one death right after the other.

The rest of the drive to the Holland house was quiet. You curled your legs up against your chest as you rest your head against your knees, staring at the world through the window, the outside a total blur.

Everything inside feels heavy, and all you wish for is to be in the warm embrace of your mother. The sun’s warmth is a bitter reminder of what you were now missing, and would forever miss.

Now here you are in Hawkins, a place you hadn’t been to in years. You hardly remember it.

Now it’s your new home.

Finally, when you arrive, you stay seated for moment and stare ahead at the house in front of you. You were going to adapt to the situation regardless, but no matter, the reality that you’re no longer back home really hit you like a truck. You decide you’ll just have to tough it out.

Marsha has already stepped out of the car and when you finally snap out of your mindless gazing, you follow her and sling your backpack over one shoulder.

Upon exiting the car, you quickly pace over to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk despite your aunt's insistence that she help you. You politely declined and carefully drag it out, thanking her anyways.

You don't want to bother her with such a task, though she claims she doesn't mind whatsoever.

It seems you've grown more stubborn over the years, she thinks to herself.

Marsha unlocks the door and swings it open to reveal her well kept home which is rather fitting; a well kept woman and a well kept house.

"Barb won't be home for another hour and your uncle won't arrive til dinner time," she informs you while you take a look around. She's pleased that she kept it neat upon your arrival.

You acknowledge what she says to you with a nod and a mumbled 'that's okay.'

She gently touches your arm, beckoning you to look at her, and you meet her warm expression with an exhausted one of your own.

"Are you hungry at all, sweetheart? I can fix you something to eat."

You lightly shake your head and manage a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "It's all right, no need to trouble yourself."

"Are you sure?" She double checks anyways, her voice betraying the concern she tries to maintain.

"Yeah, honestly, I just feel tired."

"Oh! Well, let me show you to your room then! I have it all made up for you."

She beams at you with excitement and gives your arm a gentle squeeze. She leads you up the staircase, and for the second time she insists to help you carry your luggage, but you decline once again. She's already done so much for you, you don't want her to exhaust herself on your behalf.

"Here it is!" she sings as she reveals the interior of your room.

It's small but cozy with the carpeted floor and the twin bed that's against the wall near the window. The walls themselves are a gray-ish purple, which makes the room feel a little less small, the curtains, also light gray which gives the atmosphere a feeling of cleanliness. The rest of the room pertains a desk for you to work at which stands opposite from your bed, along with a closet right behind your door, a dresser and of course, a bedside table with a lamp. Just what every bedroom needs.

As you take it all in, you don't know how else to express your gratitude for being received so thoughtfully by your aunt. All you can do is give her a hug, and when you do, you squeeze her just a little tighter before letting go.

She smiles at your sudden display of affection and gladly returns your hug. "I hope you like it, sweetie."

"I do, I love it. Thank you."

"Well, I'll let you rest now." She whispers as she makes her way to your door. Before she closes it completely, she turns back to you and sends another warm smile your way. "Welcome home, Y/N."

The moment she finally closes your door, your shoulders slump and and an exhausted sigh escapes your lips.

Rummaging through your backpack,you pull out the one stuffed animal you brought with you. It's an elephant the size of a newborn baby with black beady eyes and shabby gray fur, dressed in a pink onesie and a bow. Elephants were your mother's favourite animal, so it's the one reminder of her that you carry with you.

You allow yourself to fall onto your bed and curl up in the fetal position, cradling the elephant close to your chest so tightly you're afraid it'll disappear. You lay with your back turned away from the door, leaving you to stare at the wall in front of you until, finally, the tears begin to fall.

Once you've started, all you can do is weep, the faucet behind your eyes leaking and flooding for a good long while until it becomes too much to handle. It's difficult to stay awake - your eyes burn when they close but you welcome the stinging pain anyways.

The beginning of your new life in Hawkins starts with you crying yourself to sleep.

~~~

➢ next part

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x fem reader #without borders

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tyrian-witch · 4 months ago

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Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers

“So, you’re like, new here?”

You’re not sure why Steve suddenly decides to strike up small talk with you at this moment or why he’s asking such a stupid question as that when you’re certain he knows damn well he hasn’t acknowledged your existence till now.

“Sure… I guess…?” you murmur, eyeing him skeptically with a shrug.

Woah! Long first chapter incoming! Took me a good while to finish it but I did say I’d take my time with this fic, didn’t I? I’m doing anything but writing my term paper for art history lol, but hey! Here it is at last! Hope you enjoy! :D

Warnings: my crappy writing, language, use of y/n, brief mentions of paranoia, brief mentions of scars and a pinch of a blood reference, reader not knowing how to deal with being asked stupid questions, mentions of violence and the use of a gun, courtesy of a shady woman in an overcoat.

masterlist • series masterlist • previous part

~~~

November 6th, 1983 - Hawkins, Indiana

When you leave The Hawk, the night is dark and chilly as the cold air bites your face. You’ve been working at the theatre since the summer, and despite the job being kind of slow from time to time, it definitely keeps you busy.

You normally take day shifts, but lately, with school being demanding, you’ve decided to work nights.

You say goodbye to your co-worker, Kat, waving at her with a skeleton gloved hand.

She waves back and smiles. “See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

You pick up your skateboard and begin to make your way home. The only thing that accompanies you on your journey is the sounds of crickets chirping and the soft thrumming of the orange street lights. Zipping along the way, you find that it’s peaceful.

This is when you feel the most alone in the world. It’s your favourite thing; skateboarding when the sleepy town of Hawkins is quiet and there’s almost no cars or people around. Maybe this is what it’s like when the world comes to an end one day. Nothing ever happens and it’s peaceful this way - you don’t need to share the road or sidewalks with anyone - it’s just you and your thoughts.

Maybe it’s just because you’re a loner at heart.

This moment of peace doesn’t last too long, however, when a prickly feeling creeps in. You can’t help but feel that, somehow, you’re being watched. Despite the uneasiness it brings you, you shrug it off - you try to, at least - and place your headphones on over your black toque. You’re glad you remembered to bring it with you today, otherwise your ears would have been thawed out by now.

Slowing down for a moment, you press play on your Walk-Man, followed by the sounds of Maria Callas drowning out the ambiance of the chill November evening - her operatic voice rings through for the remainder of your journey. It seems to ease the strange feeling from before, but because you’re a tad bit paranoid, you adjust the volume and lower it enough just so you can hear the outside world. It’s best to listen to opera on full volume, but right now, you need to be vigilant, just in case.

Curse your paranoia.

The strenuous ride feels as if it stretches on forever, but really, you eventually get closer and closer to home and you’re comforted by the fact that you’ll get to collapse in bed the second you get there.

Well… not unless you eat something first.

The feeling of being watched slowly subsides when you make it to your neighbourhood, surrounded by houses with their lights on, sprinklers watering the front lawns and it brings you a sense of safety.

What were you worried about again?

When you feel it’s safe to turn the volume back up, Maria Callas’ voice crescendos as you near your house. You always had a soft spot for opera, and she is no exception. Looking at you first glance, no one would probably guess you like opera music, let alone listen to Maria Callas of all people, but you figure your style has something to do with that misconception. You know what they say though: Never judge a book by its cover or some crap.

Her voice continues to crescendo when you step foot inside before finally coming to a dramatic halt. Shutting the door with your back, you exhale as you lean against it and kick off your shoes. Your entrance signals to your aunt that you've made it home and she comes to greet you when you fix your slip-on Vans nicely on the shoe rack.

"Hi, honey," she greets you, smiling, "are you hungry? I made meatloaf for dinner, there's some left over in the kitchen."

You nod, composing yourself from your exhaustion and slide off your headphones to lay rest around your neck. "Yeah, I could eat."

She examines your face for any injuries, eyes landing on the scar you obtained on your chin a month ago. You had slipped and fallen into a boulder while skateboarding, immediately rewarded with a bleeding gash - you made it the rest of your way home like a champ, but when Marsha had seen your face that day, she was hysterical. Out of being (over)protective, she had tried to ban you from skateboarding, but you managed to convince her otherwise.

Since then, she’s been constantly checking for any new injuries while giving your board the evil eye.

When she sees that your face is unscathed, minus the aforementioned scar and the faint, barely-there one on the bridge of your nose (a story for another day), she nods in approval.

“Glad you’ve made it safely.”

You hum in amusement and shake your head. “Yes, I am very much alive and well. Now what was it you said about dinner?”

~~~

Safe to say, you harffed down the meatloaf like a starved woman. It's not particularly your favorite meal, but you'd eat just about anything when you’re insatiably hungry. Also, you couldn't tell your aunt you disliked meatloaf after all this time of eating it since you moved in. She doesn't need to know.

You have no issues with being blatantly honest about a lot of things, but sometimes, once in a while, you hold your tongue - not for the sake of pleasing the other person, but rather, it was okay to be quiet about some things.

Besides, what’s the point when you’re just starving right now? You’ll eat just about anything on any given day, even if you don’t like it all that much, but you were taught to not let your food go to waste at a very young age. Most kids are always picky, treating their parents like they’re some kind of damn restaurant and forcing them to accommodate to their every bratty demand.

Not you, though. If you ever pulled that when you were little, you certainly would have gotten an earful, or worse: a good old fashioned spanking.

Nonetheless, even if meatloaf isn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to you, you still eat it because why waste it when the hands that prepared it for you took the time and love to make it?

Naturally, you’re a grateful person, so when you finish your plate after practically inhaling its contents, you thank your aunt and take care of your dishes - another thing you were taught at a young age, and rightfully so - it’s shaped you to be self sufficient, which you’re glad about. You’d be surprised at the kids your age who didn’t know how to do a simple chore.

When you trudge up the stairs with your skateboard tucked under your arm and your backpack slung over your shoulder, you pass by Barb's room as you overhear her talking on the phone, presumably with Nancy Wheeler, her best friend.

"Nance, come on, you can't be serious," she says, rolling her eyes at her friend's blatant obliviousness. "What do you mean ‘you don’t think so?’"

You peek through the crack of her door, curious about this conversation. Despite keeping to yourself, you can't help but be just a little bit curious about some things. So what? It’s just part of your nature.

“Nance,” she laughs this time. “It’s so obvious he likes you.”

You quirk a brow at this, intrigued.

The door creaks a bit when you lean a little close, the sound causing Barb’s head to turn in your direction. With your eyes wide, you mouth a quiet ‘sorry’ and smile with a grimace.

“Uh-huh. What? Oh, no Y/N just got home right now,” she covers the receiver with one hand and says, “Nancy says hi.”

Oh. “Tell her I say hey.”

You’ve hung out with Nancy a few times at school. Perhaps enough times to consider her a friend. Well… sort of anyways.

You don’t normally hang around Barb or her often, mostly because you prefer to stick to yourself, but whenever you do decide to pass time with them, you’re mostly quiet. You prefer to listen rather then talk, only speaking when you feel like it. Regardless, your voice is rather commanding, what with your silent nature and all.

You’re rather stand-offish, and your aloof behaviour is the common denominator as to why you don’t have many friends - not that you mind, you’ve never been the greatest at making friends, let alone keep ‘em.

Your aloofness has been a great concern to your aunt and uncle since you moved here, the couple always trying to encourage you to spend more time with people from school rather than stay holed up in your room. Barb had tried a few times before as well to coax you out of your shell, but eventually realized that you’re not one to be persuaded, but rather, you’ll do things on your own terms.

At least she gets it.

Though their irrational concern can become a bit much, a part of you appreciates the way your relatives care - but you still like your space anyways.

Nancy’s nice enough, though, you decide.

At the same time, you don’t know her all that well, but based on the time you’ve spent with her, you’ve come to know that she is intelligent, studious (much like Barb) and maybe a bit preppy. Maybe a little too much for your liking, but nonetheless, she does well.

Still, she’s not bad. She’s okay.

If anything, she’s kind enough to you. You’re not sure how to respond to her kindness, not because you’re shy, you simply just don’t know what to do with her treatment.

Once you've made it to your room, you shut the door behind you and make a beeline for your closet, shivering when you change into your pyjamas.

"Holy sh-" you inhale a sharp breath through chattering teeth, cold air tickling your bare skin and bones as you slip on your sleeping pants. You shudder when you crawl under the covers, grabbing your elephant plushie in the process and curl up in the fetal position.

You lay there, sinking into warmth as the light from your lamp illuminates your room with a soft glow. You'd ready yourself for bed in a little while, but right now, this was the perfect recovery from the chilly night.

~~~

Normally, you end up crying yourself to sleep just about every night. You have been since you moved in during June, but some nights, you’re lucky enough not to cry. Last night was one of those nights; too freezing and shivery to shed a tear, but you still held on to Dumbo Jr., the stuffed elephant, while you slept.

On nights when you cry - or when you don't - he's always been there to protcect you in some way, though it seems you’re protecting him more - grasping him in your clutches like a lifeline, the only thing you can call yours and guard with your life. He's just that special.

For once, you have a dreamless, tearless sleep, the comfort and safety of your twin bed sucking you further into a cloud of nothingness while you slumber.

It’s good.

So good, in fact, you end up almost being late for school the next morning.

Barb is the first to try to wake you, gently shaking your shoulders with a soft yet urgent ‘wake up,’ only to be met with a grumbled ‘go away.’

The redhead sighs, knowing if you don't get up now, you'll be late and she'll end up leaving you behind to go study in the library before class starts. She always likes to squeeze in some extra study time before school, and you have a chance now if you get up, but the moment 7:30 becomes 8:00, you're screwed.

So when the clock does just that, you finally wake, thanks to Marsha calling your name from the bottom of the steps - or rather, she yells your name in hopes you’ll actually hear her.

Inhaling sharply, your eyes squint open, not quite registering where you are or what day it is. You pick up your Casio watch from your nightstand, eyes widening when the clock reads 8:03 am.

Sonuvabitch! That's 3 more minutes lost now!

Scrambling out of bed, you end up falling face first into the carpet, followed by a soft thud and a pained 'ah-ha-howww'. You curse yourself for oversleeping again when you make it back on your feet and begin scrounging through your closet for something decent to wear.

Settling on a pair of black jeans, a graphic t-shirt and your usual faded dark denim jacket with stitched in angel wings, you nod to yourself in approval.

You run back and forth while you brush your teeth, simultaneously shoving the necessary books in your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. Making haste to run downstairs, you do a 180 and remember to grab your skateboard, cursing quietly under your breath as your feet pad rapidly up and down the wooden steps.

You stride in the kitchen to snatch a piece of French toast from the stack Marsha whipped up, haphazardly drizzling syrup on it and stuffing it between your teeth while attempting to tigthen your black bandana over your head. Ever the multitasker you are.

"Honey, you're going to be late!" the woman stresses as you make your way out of the kitchen.

You let out a muffled 'I know!' as you lace up your Chuck Taylors, one foot propped up on a chair while trying your best not to let the piece of toast slip from your clamped teeth. It's a bit soggy now with a puddle of saliva threating to slip past your watery mouth, but you suck it back in and finally get a good bite out of it.

"I’m working again tonight," you remind her in between mouthfuls. "Will probably miss dinner."

Then as an afterthought, you add, “M’sorry.”

“I can have Barb pick you up tonight,” your aunt offers, “you know how I feel about you being out there so late, especially when it’s dark.”

“It’s okay, I made it back in one piece last night, didn’t I?”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s no trouble-”

“Y/N.”

“Really, Aunt Marsha, I’ll be fine. See you tonight?”

The woman sighs, knowing it’s no use trying to convince you to accept a little help. “Okay… just be careful on that thing please,” she points to your skateboard board and eyes it wearily.

“No promises,” you sing playfully before you see her unamused expression. “Okay, okay, I will be.”

“Could you at least wear a helmet-”

“Nope!” You cut her off mid sentence as you make a dash to get out quickly, shutting the door as to not hear her begin her protests.

~~~

Regretfully, you wished you had had some coffee before you left.

The lack of caffeine that usually fuelled your system was bound to make you feel as if you were suffering withdrawal symptoms, but you just need to make it through the day.

Or the week, really.

Checking your watch, you see you have 10 minutes left to spare before classes start, so you push with one foot against the asphalt with more force, effectively speeding up as you zip down the streets.

I cannot be late, I cannot be late, I cannot be late-

Your mind is going a thousand miles per second through the anxiety of being late, heart pounding and ringing in your ears.

You’re quick at least. The wind whips past you, black bandana flowing in the breeze in the midst of your gliding. With the time limit you have, the rush is still amazing and you love it.

When both the high school and middle school comes into view, you see a group of young middle-schoolers on their bikes, recognizing it’s The Party, with Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair by Michael Wheeler’s side. You met them sometime after your arrival in Hawkins.

It was a day where you didn’t want to leave your room but somehow, Barb had managed to coax you to go spend some time with her and her best friend Nancy. You never knew Nancy had a brother, so meeting him was a bit of a startle when you set foot into the Wheeler home. Where there was Micheal Wheeler, there too, was Dustin, Lucas and Will Byers.

They each remind you of your late younger brother, Will especially. He’s the sweetest, and you’re embarrassed to admit how you almost fell to your knees the first time you met him; seeing him was almost like a punch to the gut.

So when you notice he’s missing from the group this morning, not biking by their side, you’re left wondering if the boy is alright. Surely, he should be.

You smile when they see you and wave, so you make your way over to them as you begin crossing through the intersecting parking lot between the high school and middle school.

When you finally get closer to them you say, “Sup, nerds?” in lieu of a greeting. “How’s the Party? And where’s Will?”

For a moment, they boys share a look between each other before meeting your eyes. Something about it gives you a strange feeling, as if something was just a bit off. Lucas is the first to speak.

“He probably just went to class early again," he shrugs.

Dustin chimes in, saying, “Yeah, he’s always paranoid Gursky’s gonna give him another pop quiz.”

You snort at their reply before smiling, squinting your eyes from the sun as to not be blinded. “Well,” you say, “when you do see him, tell him I was finally able to snag him the Poltergeist poster. Been meaning to give it to him since I got it and I was gonna stop by yesterday but didn’t.”

“How come?” Mike asks you, also squinting his eyes from the sun.

“Worked late. Too beat up to do anything else after, but hey. I hope your campaign went well.”

Once in a while, when you’re not busy working or battling copious amounts of homework, you stop by to hang out with the boys and watch their D&D campaigns take place. You’ve noticed, that out of the boys who have older siblings, with Nancy as Mike’s older sister and Jonathan Byers as Will’s older brother, you’re the most present older kid.

Not only do you spend time with them and watch their games, but you also feel close enough to the boys that you’d guard them with your life. You think it has to something to do with your trauma - granted, it does.

You’re always there to give them advice when you can, telling them to stick up for themselves in a world full of normal people. They don’t know just how much you care about them, so instead of directly telling them, you show it through your quality time spent with them.

“It was insane!” Dustin says, giving you his gummy smile when he speaks.

“Yeah and we played for ten hours,” Mike says casually, which shouldn’t be surprising, but it leaves you baffled anyways.

“Ten hours?!”

The boys nod in unison, smiling at your incredulous reaction but they know you’re secretly fond about it regardless. You’re the only older kid who actually shows interest in their games and it truly makes them happy.

"Yeah? Well why don't you tell me all about it later then? Class is gonna start soon, so."

"Oh we will," Lucas assures you with a cheeky grin.

"All right then, see ya guys. And remember!" You send them a look with a raised fist levelled to the side of your face. “Take care of yourselves, 'kay?"

They all nod, sending you off with a wave and a mix of goodbyes as you depart from them.

~~~

As you make your way through the halls of Hawkins High, you spot Barb and Nancy at the lockers, chatting amongst themselves as you near your locker that is right next to Nancy’s. You begin unlocking yours to save your skateboard while the brunette continues on with whatever she's talking about, twisting and turning her own lock.

“We just… made out a couple times.”

You raise an eyebrow at Nancy, a smirk playing at your lips as a silent way of saying 'oh?'

“‘We just… made out a couple times’,” Barb mimics her with a dreamy tone, rolling her eyes.

Your cousin's antics makes you chuckle, eyeing the exchange from the corner of your eye in pure amusement.

“Nance, seriously,” she says, “you’re gonna be so cool now, it’s ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.” Her blue eyes shine as she denies this, smiling like some kind of fool.

You can’t help but laugh and murmur, “Look at her, it’s written all over her face.”

Nancy gives you an incredulous expression, mouth open to say something before Barb cuts in again.

“You better still hang out with us, that’s all I’m saying.”

Nancy’s face turns to one of confusion before the redhead continues.

“If you become friends with Tommy H. or Carol-”

Your brows pinch together at the mention of the couple and Nancy voices your nonverbal distaste. “Oh, that’s gross! Okay, I’m telling you it was a one-time…”

Barb’s eyebrows shoot up.

“…two-time thing.”

As Nancy neatly places her textbooks in her locker, your eyes land on a folded piece of paper - she sees it too and picks it up, revealing a message inside that reads:

Meet Me.

Bathroom

- Steve

Oh.

Oh that’s just… huh.

You’ve never interacted with Steve Harrington before since you started school, but of course, you’ve seen him around plenty. You’re both in Miss Click’s English class and you’ve quietly observed him from a distance to know enough that he’s your typical grade-a jock; rich, with a douchebag car and all, an American cliche, if you will.

Now he’s about to meet up with Nancy in the school washroom of all places?

Yeah, real damn classy, for sure.

Barb smirks, her teasing expression never faltering. “You were saying?”

Nancy bites back a smile, clearly aware of what was to come in the next few minutes. You, however, find that the very thought of meeting up in the school washroom is rather displeasing.

“Oh how romantic,” you remark sarcastically, rolling your eyes and closing your locker shut a little too hard.

Nancy ducks her head down before she meets your gaze. “He’s not bad,” she says, peering at you through her lashes. "He's actually kinda sweet."

You scoff. “Yeah right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

With that, you turn on your heel, bidding the two goodbye all the while you shake away the disgusting thought of meeting up in such a non-discreet setting.

Who does that?

Steve Harrington and Nancy apparently.

~~~

Tucked away in the corner of the dark classroom, with the only light coming from the projector screen, you prop your feet to lay rest on the empty seat in front of your desk while you stare out the window. Miss Click is droning on about some novel you've all been reading, but you completely disassociate, mind elsewhere as a million thoughts flood through.

Why wasn't Will with the boys? He’s okay, right?

Kaminsky's test is tomorrow.

Why the hell is Nancy letting some asshole whisk her away into the school freaking bathroom?

You really can’t get over that one for some reason.

What's the date today? The seventh?

Shit. The seventh.

If today’s the seventh, then that means tomorrow’s the eighth, which means it’s-

The class door flings open, effectively breaking you from your train of thought when the intruder barges in a little sheepishly.

Steve.

Of course.

Of course he’s late, and you know exactly why.

Miss Click gives him a pointed look through her lenses and he apologizes for being late before she carries on with her lecture. Steve huffs quietly as he runs a hand through his famous - or perhaps, infamous - hair and paces his way to the back of the class in search of a place to sit. He just so happens to choose the semi-occupied seat in front you where your feet are resting. He looks to you, brown eyes a little wide in an urgent need to sit down and asks in a hushed whisper, "Is someone sitting here?"

You bite the inside of your cheek as you make eye contact with him and say nothing, removing your feet from the chair before he claims it and finally takes a seat.

"Thank you," he says hurriedly before his back is turned to you.

You roll your eyes before you slump in your own chair, absently writing notes from the lecture being given while occasionally glaring and burning holes in the back of Steve's head.

Asshole, you think to yourself.

You're surprised when he turns in his chair to face you. His eyes briefly glance down at your page before meeting your face. "What's the date today?" he whispers.

Seriously?

"The seventh," you tell him plainly.

'Kay, thanks!"

You think that's the last of any interaction you'll have with him, so you go back to writing down the lecture notes from the projector screen ahead.

Not even a few minutes later, however, he turns back around again and gently taps his pencil on your desk to get your attention and smiles when you meet his eyes. Your face holds disinterest but you think he's plain dumb to notice.

"Mathers, right?"

Your nose scrunches a bit and you nod slowly. “Yeah. Y/N Mathers.”

“So, you’re like, new here?”

“Sure… I guess…?” you murmur, eyeing him skeptically with a shrug.

He nods thoughtfully, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he asks another question. “Where ya from?”

“…Philly.”

“Oh, shit. Philadelphia, huh?”

“Mhm.”

You look back down at your notes and mull over the words you’ve written, all chicken scratchy and practically unintelligible - you hope he stops with his lame questions so you don’t have to talk. Hell, you didn’t even get to drink your coffee this morning.

It’s clear you do not feel like talking, but he sure does.

“How long ya been here for?”

The muscles in your jaw flexes lightly before you sigh inwardly, looking back to find he’s already looking at you, waiting for an answer.

“Since June,” you mumble so the teacher doesn’t overhear you both talking in the middle of class.

“Huh. And I haven’t seen you around since then?” He raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

You press your lips into a thin line, nodding awkwardly as your gaze falls back and forth between what you’re writing and how Miss Click is moving around the classroom as she continues with her lesson. You’re doing anything but try to give Steve Harrington your time of day, but yet, he persists.

“Do you get out much?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

"Don't feel like it."

"Why's that?"

“Boy, you sure ask a lotta questions, don’t you?” You finally look at him again, annoyance written all over your face when you snap back. It’s not harsh, but it’s enough for him to reel back a little.

He raises his hands in surrender with a smirk and chuckles. “Yeesh. Sue a guy for being curious.”

“Mr. Harrington, is there something you’d like share with the class?” Miss Click’s voice calls from the front of the room and it takes everything in you not to snicker when Steve gets the attention called to him.

Ha, busted.

For a moment, his brown eyes go wide upon hearing his name and it’s your turn to smirk. His head whips around to face the teacher but he plays off the slight embarrassment well, speaking nonchalantly when he says, “Nope, all good here.”

A few of the students giggle at his response and you swear you see Miss Click roll her eyes at the situation before she carries on.

Steve turns back around to face you one more time, sending you that stupid smirk your way and you deadpan once again. “Good talk.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh when his attention is finally off of you. Now you remember why you don’t bother much with other people - they ask too many questions and expect you to answer when you really don’t feel like talking - it takes ‘em a good minute to get the hint, especially Steve Harrington of all people.

Why he decided to talk to you is beyond you, and it’s true - he asks too many damn questions for his own good.

~~~

Safe to say, you’ve made it through another night of work, and with that, your stomach is a-rumblin’. The food from the school cafeteria isn’t always it, but you didn’t have much of choice earlier today. Again, you curse yourself for sleeping in, otherwise you would have had more time to make your own lunch.

You’re not sure if you can hold off your hunger until you make it home, so you weigh the pros and cons if you decide to stop and grab a bite at Benny’s.

Pros: you’d get a good burger with fries and a shake.

Cons: you’d be spending money.

Considering this, you tell yourself ‘screw it!’ and make the journey to the famous burger joint.

You’re alone with your thoughts as you skateboard down the dimly lit streets, too many things on your mind and although you’ve been alone with your thoughts countless times before, you’d rather not listen to yourself think for once.

You press the play button on your Walk-Man and let the music fill your ears, and it’s different from last nights choice of genre. You listen to just about anything, even the old stuff. So when Flanagan and Allen start signing in that old, classic-y voice, you smile.

It’s just like the old Disney films, you think, but at the same time, their voices are a little bit creepy. You don’t mind it too much, though.

On the farm, ev'ry Friday

On the farm, it's rabbit pie day

So ev'ry Friday that ever comes along

I get up early and sing this little song

You hum along to the eerie tune in the dark of night, getting nearer and nearer to where you want to be. Unbeknownst to you, trouble will unwind in a matter of minutes and you will have wished you had just gone straight home instead. Of course, when you’re hungry, you don’t think straight. How can you? You’re not even a person when you don’t have your coffee, so how can you be a person without your food?

When the burger joint comes into view, you stop to get off your board and you walk the rest of the way. The light inside is on still, so you might have just made it on time before closing.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

The gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, but you stop for a moment when you see Benny talking to a woman in an overcoat. You don’t know what it is, but seeing her gives you an odd sensation, as if something bad is about to wrong. She looks like government, and usually, government folk are almost always shady.

It’s seems totally normal at first; they’re talking but you’re not sure what about - not that it matters, but when he turns his back on her for a split second, she pulls out her gun. The moment he turns back around, the smile he had on his face is gone in an instant when a bullet flies through his temple and his body falls to the ground, out of your sight. You don’t think he even had time to properly react.

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run, run

The woman must have used a silencer because there was no bang! and it sent a chill down your spine because of how cold it was.

She just murdered Benny Hammond in cold blood.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

Don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun

You were just gonna grab some food, that’s all.

He'll get by without his rabbit pie

Oh fuck.

You gotta go now.

You stumble backwards on your feet with a sharp gasp at what your eyes had just witnessed; now your heart is beating and it’s ringing in your ears, overpowering the sounds of your music. You swear you think the woman heard you because her head turns in the direction of the sound, but you’re quick to hide behind some garbage cans that are off to the side of the building.

You think you have never felt such fear in your life before.

So run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

The song is a warning to you now and fight or flight mode kicks in. The darkness of the night shrouds you in its shadows - you’re certain if you leave now, you won’t be seen. Besides, you’re supposed to make it back home in one piece, otherwise your aunt would probably kill you.

So before the shady woman gets a chance to investigate, you run into the woods.

~~~

You run for what feels like a long time - you’re gasping for air with your lungs feeling like they’re on fire and you can’t get the image of Benny Hammond being shot down out of your head.

It was supposed to be a normal night. You were just gonna stop for a good old burger and some fries and a melon milkshake, then go straight home and call it a night.

But no.

(You probably weren't meant to spend your money anyways.)

Now you’re running for your life, not knowing if you might end up like Benny tonight.

It doesn’t help that it’s raining and your clothes are drenched too. The rain water weighs down your dark denim jacket while you run, and if you don’t stop now, you’ll collapse.

You let out a sharp gasp when you do slow down, one hand clutching your stomach and the other still holding your skateboard. Your heart is thrashing wildly in your chest and your ears are ringing again.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out, swallowing the air down your throat.

For a moment, you’re steadying your breathing, staying as still as possible when suddenly the sound of a twig snapping rectifies your posture, putting you back on full alert.

You swallow again with a gulp and listen for any more sounds. Another twig cracks and it’s close by.

“Who’s there?!” You call out, cursing yourself when your voice wobbles a little. “I’ve got a weapon and I ain’t afraid to use it!”

The weapon in question is your skateboard. Really, it’s all you have, unless you include your fists. However, your heart rate spikes when you hear a response, but it wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Will!” Someone shouts. It sounds like a child.

“Byers!” Another child? No.

“I’ve got your X-Men 134!” another voice shouts over the booming sounds of the stormy rain.

No fucking way. You’d know his voice anywhere.

“Dustin!?” You call out, not at all believing your ears.

“Y/N?”

Okay, now you’re definitely losing it. Was that Dustin and The Party talking just now? You catch a flicker of light through the gaps between the tall trees and stumble towards it. “Is that you, guys?”

There’s no answer for a second and you think you’ve lost the boys until one of them shines a flashlight in your face. “Ah, shit!” You hiss, blocking the beams from your eyes.

They all jump back in unison with a startled cry, but when they see it’s you, they sigh in relief. But then they realize it’s you.

“What are you doing out here?” Mike is the first to interrogate you. He keeps his flashlight pointed at you and you can barely see him through your squinting eyes.

“Was out to grab a bite, what are you guys doing here?”

“Why are you out in the woods-”

“Hey, I answered your question, now you gotta answer mine. What’re you guys doin’ out here?”

You’re confused because they’re not supposed to be out here in the dark in the rain. They should all be at home right now instead of out here, where a potential threat lies you’re not sure how far away.

When they don’t answer, you ask again. “I said, what the hell-”

“We’re looking for Will-”

“Dustin!”

“I’m sorry! I can’t lie to her! We can’t lie to her!”

The ringing in your ears seems to increase, the whining pitch crescendoing louder than Maria Callas’ operatic singing voice ever could and you’re not sure if you even heard what the boy just said.

“Wh…what? What do you… what do you mean?”

“Will’s missing,” Lucas says grimly, “so we voted to come out and search for him.”

No.

No, that can’t be.

How is that possible, how did he just go missing? This town is the most mundane town there is where nothing ever happens! How is it possible that a twelve year old just suddenly vanishes?

“Guys, I really think we should turn back,” Dustin vocalizes with worry when the rainfall comes down a little heavier.

“Seriously Dustin?” Lucas says, agitation clear in his tone. “You wanna be a baby, then go home already!”

“I’m just being realistic, Lucas!”

“No, you’re just being a big sissy!”

You wipe a hand down your face as the two get into a bickering match as you all walk through the dark woods. It’s stupid for them to fight right now, but you definitely agree with Dustin that it’s best to go back.

“Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?”

Dustin’s question makes your heart nearly drop for a second and it only worsens when he says, “And we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen? And we have no weapons or anything?”

Shit.

He has a point. But what could have happened? How did he even end up in the woods?

Then you remember Benny and how that woman murdered him, so silently and deadly.

What if…

What if she has something to do with it?

Mike, meanwhile, keeps an ear out for anything that may be rustling in the bushes and he urges his friend to shut up.

“I’m just saying, does that seem smart to you?”

“Dustin, shut up,” you say this time through gritted teeth.

A branch snaps nearby and you spin in the direction of the noise, flashlight illuminating the space of the would-be-culprit who made said noise.

“Do you guys hear that?” Mike asks, outstretching his arms in front of the two boys to stop them from walking. You take your place next to Mike to keep them behind you.

A thunder clap and another crack and snap of leaves has you all spinning around again. This time, you’re met face to face with a child. It’s not Will, however - it’s a little girl.

She’s shivering from the rain, doe eyes wide and large in fear like a fawn, large yellow t-shirt practically weighing down her thin frame and she almost has no hair.

You’re not sure why the woods is a place of choice to be lingering tonight, but when you notice the t-shirt she’s wearing is from none other than Benny’s Burgers, that tells you everything you need to know.

She was running, too.

~~~

➢ next part coming soon-ish

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #Steve Harrington x y/n #without borders

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