#TLWB

[winterarchives]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. The Leather Winged Bat ࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 3

Word Count - 11.8k+

Pairing - Eddie Munson x Reader , Soft!Steve Harrington x Reader , Bestfriend!Nancy x Reader

Summary - YN meets the rest of the crew.

Warnings - cussing , violence , blood

P1 - P2

ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾.

“Gentle, Jesus,” you hiss out through clenched teeth. 

“Sorry,” Steve winces, eyeing the scarlet cotton wrapped around your ankle. “Pain gone down at all?” 

“Hardly,” you spare a glance at your injury, brows furrowing in frustration. “I just stood there. I should have stepped to the left or something. My bad,” you shrug. 

You’re both sitting on the trunk of his car, the kids pacing back and forth near the hood as they try to contact Mike on their walkies. Steve had been hell-bent on getting you some sort of first aid. You were thankful, and a tad bit sore- his hands weren’t the best suited for medical care.

“How many times did you say you guys have dealt with this stuff now?” 

“This will be my second time,” Steve answers you, pulling the leg of your jeans back over the bandaged wound. “They seem to always be dealing with it, though,” he says, looking towards the small figures at the hood of his car. 

“And the things you dealt with before… bigger than those dogs?” 

“Way bigger,” he grimaces. “Bigger than me.” 

“And you killed it with fire…?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Hey- are you okay? Besides the injury, I mean.” 

“Sure,” you huff, trying to keep the mood light. Trying not to focus on the near-death experience that had occurred only an hour prior. 

“Seriously, YN,” Steve pushes softly.

“I don’t know,” you admit, kicking your feet. “Are you?” 

“Nah,” he sighs, wincing at the pull in his ribs from swinging the bat earlier. 

You glance at him, lips twitching upwards, “at least you’re honest.”

It’s silent for a bit after that, night settling around the two of you and the warm wind pushing lamely against your frames. Exhaustion is trying its damnedest to seep into your bones and muscles, the adrenaline from earlier washing away in waves. Steve sighs again, “You, uh… you’re not going to like… tell anyone about all of this, right?” 

You snort, “of course I am. First thing tomorrow? Straight to the mayor’s office to report that shadow monsters are taking over Hawkins.” 

Steve smiles, shaking his head, “Alright, alright… I just- I had to check, you know?” 

“I get it. Don’t have to worry about that with me, though.” 

“Not even going to rat us all out to Munson?” He presses.  

“Unlikely,” you shake your head. “Enough of this, though. We need to get to the lab, yeah?”

Steve nods, pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking the car. “Get in, shitheads,” he calls to the three kids. You clamber into the passenger seat a bit clumsily, wound screaming in protest as you bend your legs to accommodate the nailed bat sitting between them. Steve offers to move it but you push his hands away with a shake of your head. He doesn’t argue, just starts the car and drives. 

“We’re going to the lab now, right?” Dustin asks from the backseat, leaning forward and resting his elbows against the middle console of the car, “Right, guys?” 

“Trying to, if you would just sit back and calm down,” Steve grumbles, eyes on the road and eyebrows knitted together. 

“Let’s all just stay quiet, please,” your voice breaks a little, headache building, and leg thrumming in pain. 

“Hey,” Steve snaps a finger near your face, “hey, hey… You okay?” 

“Think so,” you nod slowly. “Headache.” 

“And your leg?” 

“I’ve been better,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How long?” 

“Few minutes, give or take. Are you gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah, just need to close my eyes or something.” 

And you do, though it doesn’t offer much reprieve. Your skull still feels like it’s splitting and your leg is sending shooting pains from your shin to your teeth. You’re pretty sure the only parts of you that aren’t hurting are your fingers and toes. 

You’re only the tiniest bit aware of the others in the car and can sense Steve looking in your direction every so often. It feels like there’s a fire roaring to life in your head. Wild and unyielding. You squint your eyes closed harder, and it’s gone almost as quickly as it’d begun. Your leg still hurts. Still feels broken and torn.

“Next left,” Dustin calls to Steve. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive,” Dustin nods, leaning between you and Steve again. “See?” He asks, pointing to a sign on the side of the road that reads “No Trespassing.’

“Alright,” Steve taps his fingers on the steering wheel, “you gonna be good to walk?” His eyes are gentle and concerned as they shift on you, and Dustin turns to face you as well. 

“I’ll have to be,” you sigh. “Head feels a little better. I can at least focus now.” 

“About walking…” Max states from the back, “Look at that.” 

You follow her eyes, expression flattening as you spot the complication in front of you. Steve slows the car to a stop, “shit,” he whispers. 

“Shit,” you echo, nodding as you step carefully out of the car and up to the closed gate. There’s a panel on the side, lights on the buttons muted. “Power’s out,” you tell the others as they step up next to you.

Your attention is drawn to Dustin, who clicks a button relentlessly. “Damnit,” he snaps, “damnit, damnit, damnit.” 

“Dustin-” you hiss, “Stop. It’s not going to work.” 

He does stop, but you can see the frustration on his face. The realization sinking in that maybe you’re too late. Steve gets back into the car and backs it up, pulling it so it faces away from the lab. 

“Get in,” Steve says, looking from you to the kids. 

“What do you mean? We can’t leave!” Lucas shouts, arms raised towards the lab, “What if they need us?” 

“We don’t even know that they’re in there-” Steve starts. 

“They’re in there,” Dustin replies adamantly. “But we can’t get in,” he tells Lucas, “the power’s out and there’s no box here for me to fix it.” 

“We’re no help to anybody here,” Steve adds, “but maybe we can help out there. Or at least go check and see if everyone’s at the Byers’ place?” 

“I don’t think–” 

“It’s not a thinking thing!” Steve cuts Dustin off, but you’re not focused on the two of them. Instead, you’re listening to the low rumbling that begins to echo across the clearing on the opposite side of the fence… and the following pops. 

“Shut up,” you snap. “Do you guys hear that?” you ask, pointing out towards the field. 

They all fall silent, intent on listening to the surroundings. “Are those…?” 

“Gunshots, yeah,” you nod at Steve, “and screams.” 

“Yeah,” Dustin whispers, stepping back towards the fence. “They’re here.” 

There’s a burst of shots and then resounding silence. The kids all look between you and Steve, eyes wide and expressions grievous. The gate hums to life and begins to open.

“Look!” Max points, and you twist your neck in time to see two sets of headlights racing towards the fence. 

“Get back!” You shout at the kids, pulling Max out of the way so the smaller car can speed through the open gate and continue down the road. The second car, a Hawkins chief of police vehicle, pulls to a stop next to you, the man driving calling for you all to either get in or follow behind them. 

Lucas and Max clamber in, and you look at Steve and Dustin. The BMW door groans as you rip it open, sliding into the seat and feeling the searing pain shoot up your leg again. “Follow him,” you tell Steve and he nods, shifting the gears and peeling out behind the police car. 

You can hear the roaring behind you, still coming from the lab and growing in volume regardless of the distance Steve puts between you and the building. Your headache comes back in full swing, waves of pain washing through you as Steve drives, flashes of red and white, fiery hot and searing your nerve endings all over. You lean over and curl in on yourself, pain overpowering the need to hold your leg steady. You hear Steve asking if you’re okay, and you want to respond, you want to reassure him and Dustin that you’ll be fine, but you can’t speak. 

Eventually, the roaring stops, it ebbs to a low pulsing, and you realize that it hadn’t been coming from the lab at all. It comes from somewhere inside of you. Deep and ugly, twisting your insides and threatening to spill out through every pore in your body. You shove the realization down deep, muttering out an ‘I’m fine,’ to Steve as he pulls into an unfamiliar driveway and sends you a concerned look. “Where are we?” You whimper. 

“Byers’ house,” Steve answers. 

You nod, sliding out of the car once more and shuffling up towards the gathering of people on the porch. Steve and Dustin follow behind you, and you catch Nancy’s eyes as you step up towards them. “Steve?” She gapes, “YN?” 

“Are you okay?” She gasps, eyeing the bandage on your leg.

“Think so,” you tell her, repeating your answer to Steve from earlier. 

“What- what happened?” She asks, eyes flashing from you to Steve and back.

“Dogs,” you answer, wincing. You look over her shoulder and watch as a small figure in a hospital gown is carried inside. Jonathan and the burly man who had driven the police car carry the young boy, while a woman with a tear-streaked face follows behind them. “What happened? What’s going on?” 

Nancy looks at you hesitantly before looking up at Steve. You barely catch the nod he gives her. “You- maybe we should sit down for this?” 

“I can tell her,” Steve whispers, eyes pained. “You should go. Help Jonathan.” His words aren’t malicious, but you can still see the guilt flash across Nancy’s face. “Seriously, Nance. It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

She nods, turning on her heels and heading inside after the other three and the boy. The kids look at both of you. “Inside,” Steve sighs. They listen, thankfully. Lucas, Dustin, and Max. The last boy looks hesitant but follows and pushes past the five of you into a hallway once you’re in. 

“Mike-” Dustin starts. 

“Let him,” Lucas shakes his head. “We can talk to him after.” 

Dustin nods, settling into a reclining chair and closing his eyes. Max and Lucas follow his lead, collapsing onto a couch and whispering amongst themselves. You look at Steve confusedly, “What’s going on, Steve?” 

He points towards the kitchen table, leading you into the room and sitting in the chair across from you. “This is all going to sound- well, it’s going to sound crazy. Stupid, even.” 

“I’ll bite,” you tell him, raising a brow. “No judgment from me, okay? Just tell me what’s going on.” 

He bites his bottom lip but nods, and the words flow pretty simply after that. You stay true to your word, no criticism or even so much as an interruption passes your lips as you listen to Steve talk. He recounts the events of the past year. You listen as he tells you about a girl named Eleven, about the Demogorgon and Barb, about the guilt and strife that chewed away at his relationship with Nancy. You listen as he tells you about Will being lost in what he calls the ‘Upside Down.’ As he tells you about the dogs and their presumed connection to the lab and Hawkins… about El disappearing. 

“So…?” He asks at the end after you’ve been silent for a series of minutes. 

“That’s… that’s a lot to take in.” 

“If you don’t believe–” 

“Oh, I believe it, Steve. After what we dealt with earlier? I believe it. But if what you’re telling me is true… these things have a weakness to fire, and this kid- El? She’s your guys’ best weapon against these things, and she’s gone?” 

Steve nods, face grim and exhaustion seeping in. “Look, I know the odds aren’t good,” he shrugs, “but we can’t give up, can we?” 

“No, we can’t,” you agree, eyes locking on the large man who nearly rips the phone from the wall and dials a number. 

There’s a pause as everyone in the living area watches him, and you can faintly hear the sounds of Jonathan speaking with his mom down the hallway. 

“Get me through to Owens… He’s at the lab! It just got overrun by those things. Aren’t you a government official?! Shouldn’t you know who the hell I’m talking about?! Sam Owens!” The man spits into the phone, “Dr. Sam Owens,” he shouts. “I don’t know how many people are there… I don’t know how many people are left alive!” A pause. “I am the police! Chief Jim Hopper… Yes, the number I’m calling from– yes. Six seven six seven- I will be here.” He growls, slamming the phone back on the receiver. 

“They didn’t believe you, did they?” Dustin asks, adjusting the cap on his head. 

The chief turns around slowly, “we’ll see,” he huffs. 

“We’ll see?” Mike asks incredulously, walking into the room and sitting with Dustin, “We can’t just sit here while those things are loose!”

“We stay here, and we wait for help,” Hopper states before exiting the room and heading down the hall. Jonathan enters with Nancy at the same time, settling onto the floor near the couch of kids. 

“What happened…?” You ask lightly, eyeing the defeated looks on their faces. 

“We lost someone,” Jonathan whispers, “and Will… Will is…” 

“We’re not giving up yet,” Nancy says. 

“I’m not- I’m not saying that,” Jonathan replies, “I just… my mom. And now Will…” 

“Your mom is strong,” Nancy tells him, grabbing his hand. You don’t miss the way Steve looks down at the floor. “Bob would want us to finish this.” 

“Yeah,” Jonathan nods, “yeah, he would.” 

“Did you guys know Bob was the original founder of Hawkins AV?” Mike asks, picking up a blue square off the coffee table. 

“Really?” Lucas asks. 

“He petitioned the school to start it and everything.” Mike nods, “And then he had a fundraiser for equipment. Mr. Clarke learned everything from him. Pretty awesome, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dustin nods. 

“We can’t let him die in vain.” 

“Well, what do you want to do, Mike?” Dustin asks, playing with his hands and looking up at his friend. “The Chief’s right on this… We can’t stop the demo-dogs on our own.” 

“Demo-dogs?” Max asks, brows raised. 

“Demogorgon,” he raises a hand, “dogs,” he raises the other, and then puts them together, “demo-dogs. It’s like a compound. It’s- it’s like a play on words–” 

“Okay,” Max nods, “I get it.” 

“I mean, when it was just Dart? Maybe,” Dustin readdresses everyone. 

“But there’s an army now…” Lucas nods. 

“Precisely.” 

“His army,” Mike whispers. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks from next to you, leaning against the table as he stands up. 

“His army!” Mike repeats, “Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army, too.” 

And then he’s running down the hall and grabbing a paper, returning to the table, and planting it in front of you and the kids as they swarm it. 

“The shadow monster,” Dustin says as everyone looks at the paper in front of them. 

You feel a ringing in your head as you look down at it. The monster (large and admittedly terrifying) is familiar. Somehow. 

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

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

“To the tunnels, to the monsters, to the Upside Down, to everything,” Mike nods. 

“Whoa, slow down, slow down,” Steve waves his hands. 

“Okay, so, the shadow monster’s inside everything,” Mike reiterates, “and if the vines feel something like pain, then so does Will.” 

“And so does Dart,” Lucas adds. 

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

“Hive mind?” Steve asks. 

“A collective consciousness,” Dustin elaborates, “it’s a super-organism.” 

“And this is the thing that controls everything,” Mike points to the drawing. It’s the brain.” 

“Like the mind flayer,” Dustin gasps. 

Lucas snaps as Max and Steve both ask for clarification. 

“Hang on,” Dustin rolls his eyes, heading over to a room and exiting a moment later with a red-lined book. You smile as he opens it up, miscellaneous monsters from D&D staring up at the collective lot of you. You stand up between Steve and Max, looking down at the book as Dustin starts up again, “The mind flayer.” 

“What the hell is that?” Hopper asks, stepping behind you and Max. 

“It’s a monster from an unknown dimension,” Dustin explains to him, “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. This is a kids’ game.” 

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

“Analogy,” Lucas corrects him. 

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

“The comparisons are there,” you nod your head. “If what Mike is telling us is true, you can’t deny that. Both use some sort of mind control to manipulate their hosts. We were right there, face-to-face with three of those demo-dog things, and they just vanished. All of them at the same time just up and left when we were at a disadvantage- all of them, to go to the lab.”

“Okay,” Nancy nods, “so this mind flayer thing- what is it that it wants?” 

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

“Like the uh Germans,” Steve stammers. 

“Uh- the Nazis?” Dustin deadpans, staring at Steve confusedly. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, the Nazis.” 

“Uh… If the Nazis were from another dimension, totally. Uh, it views other races, like us, as inferior to itself.”

“It wants to spread and take over other dimensions,” Mike adds.

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

“That’s great. That’s great. That’s really great,” Steve laughs dryly, “Jesus,” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and walking away from the table and towards the kitchen sink. 

“Okay- so if this thing is like a brain that’s controlling everything, then if we kill it…” Nancy says, lifting up the book and carrying it around the table. 

“It kills everything it’s controlling,” you nod. “We win theoretically.” 

“Great, so how do you kill this thing? Shoot it with fireballs or something?” Hopper asks, grabbing the book from Nancy. 

“No, no fireballs,�� Dustin laughs, “you summon an undead army, uh, because… because zombies, you know, they don’t have brains. And the mind flayer, it… it… it likes brains. It’s just a game. It’s a game,” he nods after an awkward pause. 

“What the hell are we doing here?” Hopper snaps, tossing the book on the table. 

“I thought we were waiting for your military backup,” Dustin snaps back.

“We are!” Hopper shouts lowly. 

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

“You don’t know that! We don’t know anything!” 

“We know it’s already killed everybody in that lab,” Mike shoots back.

“And we know the monsters are going to molt again,” Lucas adds. 

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

“They’re right,” a weak voice comes from behind Hopper, and the woman from earlier steps out. Will and Jonathan’s mom Joyce, Steve had told you. “We have to kill it. I want to kill it.” 

“Me, too-” Hopper nods, approaching her gingerly, “Me, too, Joyce, okay? But how do we do that? We don’t exactly know what we’re dealing with here.”

“No, but he does,” Mike says, pointing his chin down the hall. “If anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it’s Will. He’s connected to it; he’ll know its weakness.” 

“I thought we couldn’t trust him anymore,” Max whispers. “That he’s a spy for the mind flayer now.” 

“Yeah, but he can’t spy if he doesn’t know where he is.” Mike tugs on Hopper’s sleeve and leads him out a back door. 

“We’re gonna board up the shed,” Hopper says as he enters the house again with Mike. “Start grabbing newspapers, cardboard, paper, foil, anything that won’t give Will or whatever is inside of him any ideas on where we are. No blankets, no clothes, nothing personal.” 

You nod, going through the drawers in the kitchen and pulling out tin foil and papers. Dustin sits down next to you, helping you pull pieces of foil off and tape them to the papers and other pieces of foil. 

“Thanks,” he tells you quietly, “for the advice earlier.” 

You shrug, smiling a bit. “Don’t need to thank me,” you tell him. “Steve’s a good dude and knows what he’s talking about sometimes, but… don’t take all of his girl advice. I can help in that department, okay?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, and he looks like he might cry. 

“It’s going to be okay, Dustin. I promise that,” you tell him gently. 

“I’m going to go grab more newspapers out of the trash,” Dustin tells you, standing up and heading outside. 

“How’s the leg?” Max asks, taking Dustin’s spot. 

“Hurts,” you answer her truthfully. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’ll be okay,” she tells you. “Lucas said you’re new to this, too?” 

You nod at her, taping another piece of foil to a torn piece of newspaper, “very new.” 

“How’d they find you anyways?” Mike asks, settling down near the oven and tearing some foil off of the roll for himself. 

“Steve,” you answer, shrugging. “I was with Steve when Dustin showed up.” 

“Oh,” Mike replies, lip twitching, “did they… did they tell you everything?” 

“Kind of had to… Don’t worry, okay? I’m not going to rat anyone out. That’s not me.” 

“Good,” he nods, and the conversation dies. He works quietly across from you and Max, eyes focused on the task at hand and hands steady aside from the small bit of tightening they exert around foil and paper alike every so often. He’s stressed. Stressed and scared. You can see that- hell, you’re familiar with that. You can also see the hesitant glances sent his way from Max, her mouth opening a few times to speak before closing. 

“I get why El was your mage now,” she finally says. 

Mike turns on his spot, eyes wide and expression shocked, “What?” 

“Lucas. He told me all about her.” 

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have,” he snaps. “And just because you know the truth, it doesn’t mean you’re in our party. You do know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I– I know. I mean, why would you want a stupid zoomer in your party anyway? I’m just saying… El? She sounds like she was really awesome.” 

“Yeah, she was,” Mike nods. “Until that thing took her. Just like it took Bob.” And then he’s grabbing paint from under the counter and walking away again. 

Max deflates as he walks away. “It’ll be alright,” you tell her, “let’s go put this up, yeah?” 

She nods and follows behind you, piles of taped-together papers, foil, and cardboard in your arms. The shed is small, and it doesn’t take long to cover all of the surfaces or to set up the spotlights. Once it’s done, you share a look with Steve and head back inside, the kids behind you, aside from Mike. He stays back to help Joyce, Hopper, and Jonathan. You half-waddle to the couch, collapsing against one of the arms and taking a deep breath while Steve practices his swings with the nailed bat. 

“Getting good,” you chuckle, wincing as you raise your leg onto the couch. 

“Trying,” he smirks, “leg still bugging you?”

“Probably will for a while,” you grimace, jumping as the lights in the room start to flicker. 

“He’s awake,” Dustin says, standing near a corner of the room. The lights stabilize, and the room falls silent, anxiety skyrocketing. 

You all nearly jump out of your skin when Hopper, Jonathan, Joyce, and Mike shoot into the house minutes later. 

“What happened?” Dustin asks. 

“I think he’s talking,” Hopper sighs, “just not with words.” He grabs a folded piece of paper and a pen and begins drawing lines and dots. 

“What’s that?” Steve asks.

“Morse code,” you reply as Hopper begins to decipher. 

“H E R E,” Hopper spells out. 

“Here.” Mike breathes. 

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

“How…? When?” You ask. 

“We were reminding him of memories… stories.” Jonathan stutters.

“So if you keep doing that… if one of you could send us the code and if we could decipher as you go along…” 

“We could figure out what Will knows without alerting the mind flayer,” Mike nods to you. 

“I could play music,” Jonathan offers, “you could relay the signal over the walkies,” he tells Hopper. “The mind flayer won’t hear it then.” 

“Sounds like as good a plan as any,” Hopper sighs, grabbing a walkie and following Joyce and Mike back out to the shed. Jonathan smiles to himself before heading to his room and exiting a moment later with a portable stereo and mixtapes. 

“Good luck,” Nancy whispers, smiling reassuringly at him. 

You grab a pencil and paper off the counter and sit at the table. “I’ll write, you guys decode,” you tell Max, Lucas and Dustin. They nod, falling into the empty seats. The walkie sits between you all, Steve and Nancy standing somewhere behind you. 

“Dash, dot, dash, dot.” You whisper, writing down the code as it starts to filter through the walkie minutes later. 

“C,” Lucas tells Dustin, who begins to write down the letters on another piece of paper. “L,” he says next. 

It’s quick, the flow of code Hopper sends through the walkie, but you all take it in stride, working together and piecing together the first piece of a bigger puzzle. 

“Close gate,” you all say in unison, eyeing the paper that Dustin holds up. 

“What does that mean?” You whisper, looking up at Steve and Nancy.

The phone rings after your question. Shrill and annoying. Everyone’s eyes widen, and you look back at Nancy. Dustin beats her to it, running and picking up the phone before slamming it back into the receiver. “What if that was the government guys?” Steve asks. 

“Too late. He’s gonna know where we are,” you whisper. It rings again, and Nancy rips it out of the wall. 

“It’s just a phone… it could be anywhere, right?” Steve asks, and it sounds like a plea. 

The room falls silent once more, and you stand carefully, hobbling towards the living room. That’s when you hear the roars. 

“That’s not good,” Dustin whispers. 

The others enter through the kitchen, Will incapacitated in Jonathan’s arms, Mike and Joyce wide-eyed, and Hopper carrying multiple guns. 

“Do you know how to use this?” He asks Jonathan when he enters the room again, rifle raised. 

“What?” Jonathan pales. 

“Can you use this?” Hopper raises his voice. 

“I can,” you reply at the same time Nancy does. 

“I’ve got a pistol,” Hopper adds, pulling a third gun out of his waistband. 

Nancy looks at you, waiting. “I’m better with a pistol,” you tell her. She nods, taking the rifle as Hopper readies his AR and hands you the pistol. It’s heavy in your hands, far heavier than the ones your dad had taken you to shoot in your previous years, but you can use it. 

You click the safety off, stepping in front of Dustin and Max; Lucas with his slingshot and Steve with his bat stand on either side of you. Snarling and roaring seem to ricochet off the outside walls and into the surrounding forestry. “Where are they?” Max whimpers. No one answers. No one knows. 

“Sounds like they’re everywhere,” you whisper.

“What are they doing?” Nancy asks as shadows whip past the windows and snarling continues to bounce off the house’s perimeter. 

“Circling,” you explain. “Trapping.” 

A loud growl emanates from the wall near Lucas, and you reposition, stepping in front of him and aiming at the window. The growling transforms, stopping at a weird groan before cutting off abruptly and completely, and then a demo-dog shoots through the window and lands lifeless at your feet. “What the…?” You whisper. 

“Is it dead?” Max asks, and you nudge it with your good foot. “Think so,” you tell him.  

The door creaks, and everyone shifts, weapons raised again. Hopper steps forward- AR ready. The deadbolt flips, and the slider lock slides slowly, popping out as it reaches the end of its track. It swings open slowly, growls and roars silenced now. A figure steps forward. Small. Child-like. 

You watch Nancy and Hopper lower their guns, and Steve his bat, before you follow suit. You eye the strange girl with the nosebleed in front of you, headache growing again to an almost blinding level. Mike steps forward, eyes wide and breathing quickened. And you know it’s her. You click the safety on and stash the pistol in your waistband as Hopper had.

“Eleven?” He whispers, stepping up and hugging her as she breathes a relieved ‘Mike.’ 

“Is that…?” Max asks, and Lucas nods. 

You grind your teeth together, confused at how you’re not shattering enamel with the force. Your headache is unbearable, flashes of white and red popping into your vision again.

“I never gave up on you,” Mike tells her, “I called you. I called you every night. Every night for–” 

“353 days.” Eleven smiles. “I heard.” 

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

“Because I wouldn’t let her,” Hopper says gently, stepping forward to the kids. “The hell is this? Where have you been?” He asks Eleven, his voice strict but emotion-laden. 

“Where have you been?” Eleven counters. And then they hug. 

“You’ve been hiding her,” Mike snaps, “you’ve been hiding her this whole time,” he shouts, shoving Hopper. 

“Hey!” Hopper turns around, facing the teenager and grabbing his shirt collar. “Let’s talk. Alone.” Mike leads the way, Hopper hot on his tail. 

You stay standing there, staring at the girl in front of you. There’s something so familiar about her, but you can’t place it. Your head still feels like it’s going to split, and you can swear you taste blood from the way you’re biting down when she glances at you. If she feels the same pain, she doesn’t show it, but there is a flash of recognition on her face. 

“Seven.” She whispers, and you sink into nothing.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺₊˚ੈ✩

It feels like you’re burning. You want to open your eyes, but the idea alone is a task. The flames lick at you- your nerves, your skin, your bones. A girl screamed in the distance- small, wild. You. The air crackled with electricity, rage, and heat. A name.. No, a number echoed over it all. 

Seven. 

It’s all fast after that. Like a movie where someone has pressed fast forward. 

🗡🗡

You see a small, sterile white room with a single bed. The walls are glassy and too bright. A pale little girl—you— lies curled up, eyes wide and searching.

A man in a lab coat—a doctor with hair that matches the white of the walls—leans over you, speaking softly but with an edge you don’t understand yet. Speaking to others in the room with you that you can’t quite see. 

“Subject Seven. We need to push her limits. No mistakes.”

You feel cold, small, and trapped.

A monitor beeps sharply.

The cold air stings your lungs.

You try to move but can’t.

Then, a light pulses behind your eyes—red, sharp, burning…

🗡🗡

You’re strapped to a chair in a dark room.

Your wrists and ankles bound.

Scientists watch from behind one-way glass.

A woman with kind, too-familiar eyes touches your hair.

“You’re stronger than they think,” she whispers.

You close your eyes. Trusting her. Suddenly, the air hums.

You raise your hand, and a small flame flickers to life above your palm—fragile but real.

Someone gasps.

The doctor’s voice cuts through: “Contain the fire! Control it!”

You try to focus, but the flame surges, burning bright and too close to the nice woman, then disappears completely.

Your heart pounds.

You want to scream, but no sound comes…

🗡🗡

You’re in a hallway lined with doors.

Each door has a number.

You’re drawn to one: “Seven.”

You reach out, touch the metal plate, and eye the small ‘007’ in black text on your wrist. On the wrist of a 6-year-old girl.

Your fingers tremble.

A voice echoes in your head- his voice: “You are Seven. You are nothing else.”

You pull away, tears blurring your vision.

You don’t want to be just a number.

You want a name.

You want a life…

🗡🗡

It’s night.

You creep down the hall, barefoot and quiet.

The lights flicker.

You hear footsteps.

Your breath hitches.

You duck behind a door.

The doctor’s voice booms, “Find her! She can’t run forever.”

You run harder.

Suddenly, a heavy hand grabs your arm.

You struggle, but the grip tightens.

A needle pricks your neck.

Everything fades…

🗡🗡

A shadowy figure—a girl younger than you by a few years—stands in a distant hallway.

She reaches out a hand.

You try to move toward her.

She smiles softly.

“Eleven,” she says.

Your vision blurs again.

You wonder if you’ll ever know what it means to have family…

🗡🗡

It’s later. Years or months- it doesn’t matter. The girl, you, is older now. Nothing too noticeable, but you see it in the way her eyes analyze the small room she’s in. It’s different from your first glimpse. Less childish, more critical. 

She’s staring up at the ceiling, the man with white hair nowhere to be seen. You can feel her self-loathing, thick as twine in your throat, heart, and soul. 

“Broken,” she whispers, frustrated tears slipping from the corners of her eyes, which only serves to upset her more. The emotion builds slowly at first, and then erupts all at once. She stares at her hand, hisses in pain, screams. “Focus,” she groans, and again… nothing. 

A tight scream bubbles up her throat, and she hides the rest of it in her pillow, biting and sobbing. You’re afraid your heart might shatter. 

The realization hits you slowly. She’s stalled. Whatever they’re wanting from her- from you- is not working the way it’s supposed to. And with that realization, it’s all clearer. The sounds more real. The feeling more direct. 

The fluorescent lights flicker, and the girl on the cot winces- a knee-jerk reaction. She turns towards the door and you can guess the age now, probably somewhere between 8 and 9. 

You hear it just beyond the door… the voice of the man with white hair. “Her progression isn’t matching the projections. Too much emotional interference.” He spits. The girl looks confused on the cot- maybe not understanding all of the words- but her body responds to the tone, sinks in on itself more. Disappointment, frustration, the kind of tone that comes before they make it hurt everywhere. “Either flush her, or terminate the experiment completely. I have other subjects that show more promise. As for the two of you… Your contribution to the program has been noted, but your services are no longer necessary.”  

The medical gown swings loosely around her frame as two people enter the room. Your heart might stop.  

They look younger. Less happy, more straight-to-business. But it’s them. Your parents.

“Come here, sweetheart, quickly,” your mom urges. The nice nurse from before- too young to recognize immediately. The memory was too fuzzy. 

“Where’s Papa?” The girl asks, voice uneven from fear.

You watch your dad kneel, his hand finding hers on her knee. “We’re getting you out. Now.” 

Alarms aren’t sounding. No one else is busting through to stop them, yet the tension in the air coils like smoke and threatens to swallow you whole. You watch as the girl stands and follows them out the door, and you hurry to do the same. They lead you both down a hallway you’re sure she’s never been allowed through before. Past sealed doors and other children’s rooms. Her eyes linger on door 011. And then she’s moving again, and another room comes into focus. Cold. Quiet. A metal table in the middle, and on that table…

A small, lifeless body. It looks like her. Hair, size, features… all perfectly replicated. 

She stares, eyes like saucers and uncomprehending. Anxiety is shooting through you both like bullets. 

“Me?” She whispers. 

Your mom squeezes her shoulders tightly, eyes glassy but resolute. 

“It’s not real,” she soothes, “it’s what they’ll find. What we need them to believe. We’re not leaving you here. Not leaving you with him.” 

She trembles, Seven, looking between your parents, and glassy eyes land on the door they came through. Pleading with words she doesn’t know yet. 

“We can’t save everyone,” your mom chokes out between quiet sobs, “sweetheart, we can barely save you.” 

“You?” She looks between the two of them.

Neither answer, but your mom’s eyes drift just enough for her to follow. 

Two additional bodies near the tunnel you all stand at now- explosives strapped to the chest of the larger figure. 

“We have to make them believe,” your mom repeats.

And that’s it. Discussion over. Seven’s face- your face- breaks as you weep, your parents dragging you down the tunnel. The last thing she sees is the fake body- the cold decoy of herself- cool and still under those harsh fluorescent lights. A perfect corpse to buy her freedom, just as the alarms sound and the explosives trigger. 

🗡🗡

You gasp, mouthfuls of oxygen sucked in and stomach lurching as you shoot up off of the Byers’ couch, Your skin is hot, but the piercing headache from earlier has dimmed practically nothing. 

”Hey, hey- YN, you with me?’ Steve asks, perched on the chair across from you in the small room. 

You nod, not ready to trust your voice yet, and you catch the look Steve shoots at your leg. With a raised brow, you look down, eyes widening on the puckered and pink flesh that’s flat across where the injury had been before you’d fallen unconscious. Scar tissue. Hot to the touch when you rest the pads of your fingers against it. New. Healed. Not fully, but on its way. 

“I don’t- what happened?” It’s raspy, your throat burning with each breath you take. Everything’s so hot. 

“We moved you to the couch,” Steve explains softly, the kids peering at the two of you from across the room. “You were– YN, your skin was like… it was like you were on fire. From the inside. Not the outside. Hell, the house was a furnace, too. And your leg, well, it kind of just… it was like your skin seared it shut.” 

”I- what?” 

”It sounds crazy,” Dustin says from the wall he leans against. “We know it sounds crazy, but El called you Seven, and you do have that scar on your wrist…”

You stand slowly, focusing on the scar on your left wrist. You’d gotten it super young, in your toddler years before memories could really… stick. Your mom had told you all about it - you’d crawled your way out of your playpen and into the laundry room, where you got your wrist snagged on a big sliver of wood splintering off from the cupboards in the room. She’d moved your playpen back into the master bedroom after that, didn’t want you getting hurt anymore. “I got this when I was a baby,” you add. Avoid. Defend. Deny. 

“That’s when El got hers, too,” Mike’s brows furrowed, “well, she was little.”

“I don’t understand–”  

”Eleven came from a lab,” Lucas answers, ignoring the heated glance Mike shoots his way. “She was some sort of experiment or something. Like a superhero.” 

“A lab?” Your ears heat, 

“They took her from her mom-from her family,” Mike adds weakly. “That’s why she’s the way she is. It’s why she has superpowers. We think maybe you do, too… For El to know you? She was down there her entire life.” 

“Who took her?” 

“Doctor Brenner,” Mike answers, “she called him Papa.” 

The ache blooms, grows into something nastier. What you’d seen…what all had you seen?

”White hair?” You whisper the question, scared of the blooming pain in your frontal lobe but also scared of the answer itself. You suck in a broken breath when Mike nods. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“I saw him,” you answer, ignoring the concerned gaze of Steve. “I saw her too, I think. Eleven. When I was out… I can’t- I can’t remember it all. It’s so jumbled.” You shake your head. “I don’t think my parents are...” 

You stiffen at the realization. Cold. Detached. Not you. 

“Don’t think they’re what?” Steve asks. 

”My parents… What am I?” 

”Hey, don’t do that. You’re you. You’re still YN,” Steve tries to reassure you, but you just shake your head. 

“I’m not, though. Not really…” You whisper, “Where are the others?” 

“Getting whatever is in Will out of Will,” Steve answers. “And closing the gate. I’m on babysitting duty.” 

“Hey—“ Dustin starts to interject, but raises his hands in surrender at the withering gaze Steve shoots his way. “My bad.” 

“We can’t just stay here,” Mike huffs. “Our party is out there. Undefended. Those dog things—“ 

“Demodogs,” Dustin corrects. 

“Those demodogs are out there somewhere. If Will wakes up and sends them to the lab or wherever he is with Nancy and the others…” he trails off. 

“They said they were going somewhere he wouldn’t recognize,” Max replies. 

“Sure, but once El starts shutting that gate… Will or the Mind Flayer or whatever it is, it knows where the gate is. The second they start closing it, it’ll know, which means the demodogs will know. They’ll be in danger. We help our party members in danger. We don’t abandon them. We can do something. Burn the tunnels? When the soldiers used fire on the vines, Will reacted. So if we set it on fire… the Mind Flayer will feel that. He’ll send his army to the tunnels. We can circle back and come out from where Hopper went in, and by the time they realize we’re gone- El will be at the gate.” 

The other kids nod and then Steve stands, kitchen towel over his shoulder, “no… no, no, no, I told Nancy I’d keep you little shitheads safe and that’s exactly what I plan on doing. No one’s going anywhere, understand?” 

The kids don’t answer, just exchange glances with each other, “no!” Steve reiterates. 

They’re still arguing back and forth while you’re trying to dissect everything you saw while you were out. The lab, Brenner, El, and your parents… The cover-up. The fake bodies. Your stunted progress. What are you?

“Guys,” Max whispers, a hiss of a noise meant to quiet them, but they’re so relentless. “Guys,” she says a little louder, and then finally: “guys!” 

They’re all wide eyes and open mouths when they look her way, brows furrowed. “Listen,” she snaps, pointing towards the window as her face pales- you see it. See the color drain and the anxiety crash in on her like a tidal wave. You’ve never felt so angry. Can feel your blood boiling in your veins and your skin heating. 

The feeling leaves as quickly as it had come, your fear stomping out the acidic anger that had risen in you. You felt like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for something to ignite your fuse, to set you off. Would you level buildings? Hurt the people in your proximity? Would you kill? 

“It’s Billy,” Max hisses. “If he catches me here… he’s gonna kill me.” 

“No one’s dying tonight. Not on my watch,” Steve shakes his head, heading towards the door. “I’ll deal with him.” 

“I’m coming with you—“ you start. 

“No,” Steve dismisses you with a shake of his head. “No, stay here. With them.” 

You nod, too tired and still a bit scared of yourself, to argue with him. “Be careful. Seriously.” 

Steve offers a smile and a nod, opening the door and walking out before Billy can even turn off his engine. You stand, heading to the door to listen. To hear anything. 

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?” Billy’s voice sounds different from how it’d sounded when he’d tried to convince you to let him drive you home. More detached. Cold. 

 “Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants.”

“Didn’t know you made house calls outside of the suburbs… now, where’s my little shit of a stepsister? Hm?” 

Your blood heats again. 

“Dunno what or who you’re talking about, man. Go home,” Steve replies flatly. 

“Small, red head, bit of a bitch?” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry buddy.” Steve sounds more nervous, almost calculating.

Footsteps, closer now. Somewhere near the porch, maybe. 

“See, this whole thing- I don’t know, Harrington. I don’t like it. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.” 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“My 13-year-old sister goes missing, all day, and I find her here with you- in a stranger’s house. And you lie to me about it?” 

“Were you dropped too much as a child or what?” Steve counters, sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door. “I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said. She’s not here.” 

“Oh yeah? Then who’s that?” 

Your head snaps to the left, eyes bulging when you see the kids all peering out the window. 

They duck automatically, “shit, did he see us?” Dustin whispers, looking to you for an answer. 

“Get in the kitchen,” you seethe, watching the kids all file into the kitchen behind you. 

You hear Steve hit the ground. Hear the grunt of pain- and then the door swings open so fast and with such force that the wood nearly splinters on the threshold. You’re sent backward immediately, your spine meeting the shelf in the entryway as a result of the door flying open.

“What a surprise,” Billy smiles, not at all sweet. There’s so much anger there in his expression that you recoil. “Didn’t expect to see you here, YN- though, you and Harrington have been close since him and Wheeler split, huh?” 

“You need to leave,” you grit out, trying to see behind him to check on Steve. You can’t, though, because Billy’s frame blocks the majority of the doorway. Whether Steve is unconscious or not, your priority is the kids.

You move to stand further between him and the kitchen, to block him from them, but Billy is fast and strong. You’re sent flying back before you can even try and channel whatever powers woke up in you earlier. The wood of the shelf splinters and cracks as you make contact again, and your head spins from the crash. 

“Don’t touch her!” Max screams, and you crane your head just enough to see the kids and the kitchen. To see Billy’s frame towering over them, closing in. 

“Lucas Sinclair, what a surprise,” Billy tuts, and you can taste the bile in your throat. “Thought I told you to stay away from him, Max…” 

“Billy, go away,” Max replies, ignoring his statement entirely. 

“You disobeyed me,” he shakes his head lowly, “and you know what happens when you disobey me.” 

“Billy…” she whispers- a plea.

“I break things,” he sighs, and then he’s grabbing Lucas and pushing him against the wall. You try to stand up, really you do, but your vision is swimming, and your back is screaming as you try to move. 

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will,” he growls out at Lucas, the collar of his shirt in his hands. “You stay away from her. Stay away from her! You hear me?” 

“Get off me,” Lucas shouts, kneeing Billy hard in the groin. 

You hear Steve huffing and making his way into the house, and can hardly make out what he says to Billy as he passes by you and enters the kitchen. A sickening crunch of knuckles meeting flesh and then Billy is laughing. 

“Looks like you got some fire in your after all, huh? I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about!” Sick laughter still, the sound of spitting. And then fighting. Louder. 

There are grunts and sounds of things breaking, the kids screaming, Steve gasping for air somewhere across from you, and you crane your neck just enough to watch as Billy lands more punches. Steve’s face is almost unrecognizable, his eyes swollen shut and already turning a black-blue color. It rises again- the anger inside of you and your body tenses, the coiling building along with the burning. The flames licking your insides. Your spleen, your heart, your stomach, your throat, your brain. You scream. Scream like it’s the only thing to do. 

The windows go first. Shattering and fracturing, and shards are flying everywhere. The closer they get to you, though, they turn to mist. The sound of the door splintering is deafening, the wood cracking in on itself and folding in further. You feel the pain sinking deeper and deeper, becoming almost nullifying as it seeps into your finger bones. You look down, half expecting the digits to be gone completely, and recoil when you catch sight of flames licking out and extending. 

Just like earlier, your fear kills the anger immediately. Your body returns to it’s normal temperature, your headache dying down. 

The kids all stare wordlessly, and the grunts are gone as well. You look up, eyes landing on Billy, who still leans over Steve, but is now staring at the door and the windows that you ruined. 

And then Max moves towards the shelf somewhere above you, gripping something and walking towards Billy just as he looks down at Steve again. She grunts and her arm flies, sinking a needle into her brother’s neck and pressing the plunger down, down, down. It’s curtains after that. Billy falls to the floor, and Max is on him, the nail bat in her hands, hot anger simmering in blue eyes. 

“Shit,” Mike whispers, backing up as Max readies the bat. 

“From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?” She asks Billy, eyes still angry, mouth set in a grimace. 

“Screw you,” Billy spits, and you see the blood trickling down his chin. Your vision is less blurry now; more actual shapes, colors, and people, less rotation and clumped-together blobs. She sends the bat flying, the nailed end sinking into the floor between Billy’s legs. Just South enough…

“Say you understand! Say it! Say it!” 

“I understand,” he mumbles back, eyes fluttering closed from the drug. 

“What?” 

“I understand,” he says, clearer now. Max nods, looking to the rest of you before digging through Billy’s pockets and fishing out his keys. 

“We’re going,” she tells the throng of you. 

You’re just able to stand when Steve lets out a small groan of pain. He’s not conscious– that much you can tell just by glancing at where he’s sprawled out on the floor. You shimmy over to him slowly, trying not to focus on the slow churn in your gut and the way the room unsteadies itself from your presumed concussion, or the shards of glass you have to avoid due to, well, you. “Steve?” You hiss at the feeling of a lone shard embedding itself in your palm. 

He doesn’t reply in words, just lets out another low grunt, and you look up at the kids. “Are there bandages here or something? Ice? Anything?” 

“I’ll- I’ll check,” Mike shoots over his shoulder as he runs towards the hallway. 

He runs out a minute later, arms full of small bandages and burn cream? 

“It’s all they have,” he shrugs, tossing the creams and bandaids on the carpet. 

You offer him an appreciative smile, hoping the emotion is conveyed, and get to work on Steve’s face. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Light on the gas,” you tell Max. 

“Didn’t you just say you couldn’t drive like five minutes ago?” Dustin chirps from the backseat. 

“I said I didn’t have my license, not that I don’t know how to drive.” You snap at him, “plus, I’m pretty sure I’m concussed, so unless you want us driving directly into a tree or something–” 

“We still might,” Mike grimaces. “She’s speeding. I can feel it.” 

“Shut up,” Max growls, “let me concentrate.” 

You do as told, more because talking hurts your head than from fear of a child. The passenger seat in Billy’s car is less comfortable than Steve’s, but totaling Billy’s car seemed a better choice than possibly totaling Steve’s. 

You glance back, checking on the others for the millionth time since leaving the Byers’ house. Steve is snug on Mike and Lucas, head on Mike’s lap while the rest of him drapes over Lucas and part of Dustin. 

“Still here,” Dustin tells you, offering a weak wave. 

“Sorry,” you tell him. 

“He’ll be okay,” Dustin adds. “He just sucks at fighting. O-for-two now. He’s going to hate it.” 

“He did his best,” you sigh. “We all did.” 

“Are we going to talk about–” Max starts. “No,” you interrupt her. “We’re not. We don’t even know if I–”

“Your fingers were on fire, YN. It was you.” Dustin argues. 

“Fine. Whatever. Regardless, we’re not discussing it right now. We have bigger things to worry about. Like your guys’ friend and your sister,” you tell them, eyes landing on Mike. 

“Nancy’s smart,” Mike tells you, but his eyes do house a spark of concern. “She’ll be okay. She has to.” 

You nod, settling into the heavy silence once again. 

It lasts for a few minutes, and then, “Nancy?” 

He sounds drunk, and you don’t know whether to credit that to the thorough beating he took or worry about whether he’s allergic to the burn cream Dustin had insisted on applying to a few of his deeper cuts. 

“No, don’t touch it, man,” Dustin hisses, “hey, buddy! Yeah, it’s me, Dustin. It’s okay, you put up a good fight. He kicked your ass, but you put up a fight. You’re okay.” 

There’s a groan and then Lucas is giving out directions again, “Okay, you’re gonna keep straight for half a mile, then make a left on Mount Sinai.” 

“What’s going on?” Steve whimpers, and you can feel the movement in the car from him sitting more upright, “Oh- Oh, my God! What the hell!?” 

“Just relax! She’s driven before.” Dustin coos. 

“Yeah, in a parking lot,” you chuckle. 

“That counts!” Max and Dustin both reply. 

“We could have left you behind,” Max adds, eyeing Steve in the rearview. 

“Eyes on the road, Max!” You snap. 

“Oh, my God!” Steve groans again. 

“I promised that you’d be cool, okay? And YN wasn’t going to just leave you back there either,” Dustin explains. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve shakes his head, “What’s going on? My God! No, stop the car!” 

“Told you he’d freak out,” Mike groans. 

“Stop the car!” 

“Everybody shut up!” Max shouts, “I’m trying to focus! Oh, wait, that’s Mount Sinai.” 

“Make a left,” Lucas orders. 

“What?” 

“Make a left!” 

Gravity and inertia are two crazy things. You feel them both intimately over the next thirty seconds. Airborne cars? Not fun. Plowing through a fence? Not fun. Driving through a pumpkin field? Not fun. 

You stumble out of the car with the rest of them, focused on the hole in the Earth in front of you and the vines surrounding it. 

“Woah,” Dustin gapes, “Incredible.” 

“It’s a hole, Henderson,” Steve grumbles, watching Mike pull the goggles and bandanas out from the trunk of Billy’s car. The gas can is his breaking point. 

“Hey, where do you think you’re going? What are you, deaf? Hello?” He waves in the faces of Max and Mike who both ignore him, instead putting on the goggles and bandanas- Lucas and Dustin following suit. His eyes finally land on you, wide and pleading, and swollen to shit. “We are not going down there right now. I made myself clear. There’s zero chance we’re going into that hole, all right? This ends right now!” 

“Steve, you’re upset. I get it,” Dustin pats Steve on the shoulder, and you wince at the expression Steve shoots him with. “Bottom line? A party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance. Now, I know you promised Nance you would keep us safe. So, keep us safe,” he finishes, shoving the nailed bat into Steve’s empty arms. 

They’re still bickering back and forth when you turn and grab your own pair of goggles, heart heavy in your chest still from your memories or visions, or whatever anybody wanted to call them. It doesn’t matter if Steve or Dustin tells you you’re not a monster. You are. You know it. The fire. The power. The fear in the kid’s eyes back at the Byers’ house…The roiling in your gut since coming to Hawkins- or coming back- it was there for a reason. A warning. A smoke signal. Your body was begging you to turn back around. To get out of there quickly. 

And now? The truth? You’re not real, not anymore- not in the way you thought you were. And now you can’t unsee it. The way your parents’ voices cracked when you asked them about family members over the years. The gaps in their stories, the way they watched you so closely. Were you ever truly their daughter? Or were you an asset? A weapon? 

A number? 

Seven. 

Not a name. Not even a person. Just a file in a locked drawer in a lab in Indiana. A mistake they tried to ‘rescue’ under the guise of heroism. 

A monster, a voice deep inside of you rumbles, and what do we do with monsters, YN? We cage them or we kill them. What will we do with you?

“YN? Hey-” Steve steps in front of you, all blue and swollen, “you with us?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “sorry.” 

“Hey, if you don’t want to go down there–”

“Don’t,” you stop him, shaking your head. “I’m already in this, okay? Let’s go.” 

He sighs deep and nods his head, motioning for you to take the lead. Half of the kids are already down in the hole, you only have to wait for Max and Lucas to slide in before you’re down there yourself- Steve following after you with a grunt. 

“Holy shit,” his voice echoes through the tunnels. 

“They’re massive,” you whisper, hand tracing along the wall of the nearest tunnel. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s this way,” Mike signals. 

“You’re pretty sure or you’re certain?” Dustin asks. 

“100 percent sure. Just follow me and you’ll know.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve shoves the kids lightly out of the way, standing in front of you all with his bat at his side. “I don’t think so.” 

“What?” 

“Any of you little shits die down here, I’m getting the blame. Got it, dipshit? From here on out, I’m leading the way,” Steve explains. “Come on, let’s go.” And you follow behind him.

Your stomach coils, mind rubberbanding back to your memories, the feeling of walking out of the room labeled ‘007’ with your parents, your destination being the room with your fake body on the table. 

“Me?” You’d sounded so small. So sad. So confused. So… lost. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

You look down and find Max at your side, blue eyes looking up at you in concern. 

“I think so,” you whisper. “Head just hurts a bit. I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll stay with you,” she tells you simply, and even though she’s a literal child, you do feel safer. 

“God,” Lucas grimaces, stepping aside so you and Max can also step into the larger vine-riddled tunnel the original tunnel funnels into. 

“What is this place?” Max whispers. 

“Guys, come on. Keep moving.” Steve snaps. 

Dustin’s screaming breaks the silence that follows Steve’s order. You spin on your heels, searching for him in the mess of vines. You find him on the ground, thrashing around wildly, and you’re on him in seconds, helping him sit up and watching him cough out gunk. “Stuff got in my mouth! Holy shit!” 

“Are you okay?” You shout, patting his back softly to help him hack up more of the gross substance. 

He looks at you through his foggy goggles, eyes bright and wide, lips and cheeks puffed and pinkened from the exertion of energy, “I’m okay,” he nods. 

“Are you serious?” Max sighs, body sagging as she relaxes. 

“Super funny, man,” Steve shakes his head. 

The tunnels prove intricate and difficult to navigate, and your leg wound, though it’s now seared shut, still aches. You fall a few times, and you’re grateful for Max’s presence. She helps you up on more than one occasion. Steve checks the map Mike had stuffed into his backpack multiple times, asking Dustin and Mike to double-check every now and then. Eventually, the tunnels give way, and you filter into a room that’s got to be the size of your new house. It’s like a tomb, walls cold and blackened from the soil and sediment. 

“Wheeler, I think we found your hub,” Steve says, flashlight scanning the tunnel for any signs of movement or danger lurking in the darkness. 

“Let’s drench it,” Mike answers. 

You nod, tossing Steve the lighter you’d stored for the kids. You’re all quick, using the few gasoline cans to douse what you can of the large chamber. The smell filters through the room slowly, but once it’s there, it’s overwhelming. “We good?” You ask. 

“We’re good,” Steve nods, “everyone ready?” 

“Ready,” they all agree. 

“I’m in such deep shit,” Steve huffs, flicking the small metallic lighter and tossing it into the chasm once you’re back in the tunnel you came from. 

It lights up like a tinderbox, and you can feel something inside of you warming as well. Greeting the flames. More, more, more.

The roar of the flames licking the surrounding air is deafening, heat meeting oxygen snapping like a million fireworks. And then it’s calming, the roar quieting to a low whistling. And then the walls seem to fight back. Tendrils lash out, lassos that spurt out of the dirt walls and the ground, spinning in turmoil as the flames flick at them. 

The first time you hear them again, the nape of your neck prickles. Clicks and screeches, a steady pounding in the distance. Movement. 

“Go,” Steve whispers, and then he’s loud and all over, “go! Go, go, go!” 

You run, leading the way back with Max at your side. 

“Mike!” Dustin screams, and you turn in time to watch a vine tangle around the younger Wheeler’s ankle. 

“Steve! Steve, help him!” You scream. 

He responds to your voice, grabbing his bat and running towards the kid. 

“Everybody back,” Lucas shouts, pulling Dustin back as Steve whacks at the vine. It takes three hits before the vine gives, a slurping sound echoing before it splits and releases its grip on Mike. 

“You okay?” You ask him, breathing heavily. 

He nods, but you can see the tenseness in his shoulders and chest. 

“Guys, we gotta go, we gotta go like now,” Steve announces. 

There’s a low growling from behind you, and you turn slowly, heart hammering in your ribcage, when you spot the demodog standing across from you in the tunnel. Blocking the rope that’s got to be only 40 meters away from you now. 

You can’t move, can’t speak, can’t think. It’s too close. Too much. Your throat runs dry. 

“Dart,” Dustin says carefully, and you watch him step forward, slinking his way around you and Max. 

“Dustin, no–” you hiss. 

“Stop,” he whispers, “trust me.” 

Despite every fiber in your being screaming at you to grab the young boy, you quiet yourself, gripping onto Max’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Dustin coos at the thing, “it’s me, it’s me. It’s just your friend. It’s Dustin.” 

He kneels down infront of the demodog, and you feel your face pale, blood draining to either your asshole or your feet. 

“You remember me? Will you let us pass?” 

Its face opens, showing the limitless teeth you’d seen on the bus. The teeth that had been so close to your leg. It aches in reply. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the storm cellar. That was a pretty douchey thing to do. You hungry? Yeah?” The thing, Dart, snarls more gently, and seems to await a treat as Dustin reaches into his own backpack. 

“He’s insane,” Lucas whispers from behind you and Max. 

“Don’t,” Mike snaps, and you hear a light thwap. 

“Shut up,” you grit out. 

“I’ve got our favorite,” Dustin adds, pulling out a candy bar. “See? Nougat.” Dart grunts, stepping closer. “Look at that. Yummy. Here, all right?” Dustin sets the chocolate down in front of the monster. “Eat up, buddy.” He tells it before motioning to the rest of you, “come on, come on.” 

You scoot around them in a single-file line, Max hot on your tail as you near the rope. 

You’re just about to grab Max and hoist her up when the ground beneath you shakes, nearly sending you down in a mess of limbs. 

“Jesus!” Steve shouts, grabbing at your shoulder to steady himself as the rest of them arrive. 

“What was that?” Max asks. 

“They’re coming.” Mike answers, “Everyone, get up! Go! Now!” 

Steve kneels down next to the rope, hands looped together. “Come on! Let’s go! Let’s go!” 

He lifts Max first, and then Lucas, Mike, and Dustin. He’s just about to lift you up when you spot their shadows. 

“There’s no time, Steve,” you spit out.

He looks ready to argue, but then he catches sight of the shadows, too. He lets out a low groan as he stands back up, pain shooting through him like it’s shooting through you. One of the dogs lets out a high-pitched howl, like it’s been shot in the foot, and you can feel something, too. Your knees buckle, hands shot out into the dirt as you try and steady yourself. 

Flashes of red and white, hot and angry, all over again, paint your vision. And the pressure- the pressure kills you a hundred times over. You’re anchored to the groun,d and all you can feel is pain, discomfort, frustration, hatred. 

The ground sparks under your hands, and you raise them, screaming as the flames break through flesh once more and shoot out. 

It lasts for what feels like forever. It feels like you’ll never know anything except for pain again, and it scares you all over, and then it’s done. The pressure is gone, the flames recede, your vision is yours again, and you’re collapsing into the dirt. Bodies of handfuls of demodogs are scorched in the tunnel ahead of you. 

There’s a sticky feeling on your lip, and you wipe at it, hand hot to the touch. You wince at the crimson painting your palm. 

“Are you okay?” Steve whispers, and you look up to meet worried eyes. 

“Think so,” you grit out, but the look plastered on Steve’s face is anything but reassured. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” he tells you softly, lifting you up over the edge of the hole. 

You clamber out, body sagging into the soil below you and eyes staring listlessly up at the ink-stained sky. You’re tired. Exhausted. Empty. 

“Did she just–” Dustin starts, but is immediately silenced by someone smacking his shoulder. “Geez, sorry.” 

“You’re bleeding,” Max tells you, pulling out a spare cloth from her pocket, “here.” 

“Thanks,” you exhale, wiping at your nose. “Just my nose?” 

She nods, helping you up once you’ve gathered enough air to deem yourself ready to sit. 

They’re all watching you, none harshly. All with a mix of wonder, confusion, and maybe a little fear. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You hadn’t waited for the others after Steve took you all back to the Byers’ house. You needed space. Air. Concussion be damned. You pulled your backpack out of his car the second he slid Billy’s into park and yanked your skates on. 

“You can’t just leave,” Steve called out to you, hands on his hips where he stood on the Byers’ porch. He’d been the first in, making sure Billy was nowhere to be found. 

“I need space,” you snapped back, already skating off down the street. 

Which led you here. To the school. Sitting on the rusted bleachers out on the baseball field no one really used anymore. 

“It’s late,” a voice states, light, not wanting to frighten you. 

Eddie raises his hands in mock-surrender as you spin around to face him. “Don’t shoot,” he chuckles, “m’just here for a little bit. Had a buyer.” 

You nod, not feeling up to the banter. “Yeah,” you nod. 

“You okay, angel?” He asks, settling onto a seat a row ahead of you. 

“Managing,” you shrug. “You?” 

He offers a half-smile, “I’m alright… Listen- I get that I’m not exactly inviting to look at or maybe even to talk to, but I’m here, yeah?” 

“You weren’t at the Halloween party,” you tell him, pivoting the conversation to something more comfortable. 

“I wasn’t,” he nods. “My uncle needed help around the trailer, and, well, he’s family. The only ‘family’ I have, at least. I wanted to go. Would’ve made decent money,” he sighs. 

“A shame,” you smile softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Not really. It was actually kind of boring.” 

He laughs at that, a warm, deep sound. You laugh, too. The first truly happy sound that’d come from you since the bus. 

“Well, my apologies, angel.” 

Your heart warms further, and you offer Eddie a sarcastic eye roll. “I’ll forgive you someday, maybe,” you smirk. 

“How long’re you gonna be out here?” Eddie asks, “it’s already,” a glance at his wrist, “two in the morning.” 

“Not too sure, yet.” 

“Well, my uncle’s out of town. And it’s late. If you need a place to crash for the night…” 

Your brows furrow, “I don’t mean it like that,” he sighs. “I just- I don’t like the idea of leaving you out here all alone at ass-crack o’clock. Besides, my trailer has a couch.” 

You look down at your nails, and can see bits of dirt still under the tips. “You sure?” You whisper. 

“Positive,” he nods. “Nothing weird. Just a place to crash.” 

You take a second, weighing the choice in your head. 

You think of home. Of the reality of home now. 

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, “yeah, that sounds good.” 

[abbotjack]

hi just wanted to come her and tell you that i truly love everything you’ve been putting out and im wondering whats to come🤔 would you mind telling us about any fics/requests ur working on? just somethings to look forward to :))

also as a writer myself, how do you handle requests? do you just go with the ones that inspires you most atm or do you go by the order in which they entered your inbox? i sometimes go with the first option and feel a little guilty 🤣🥲

hi!! first of all, thank you so much for saying that — it really does mean a lot 🖤 and yeah, as someone who’s still kind of new to sharing my writing, i definitely get overwhelmed sometimes. but honestly? i love getting requests. it’s really cool to me that someone would take the time to think about a story and send it my way. because of that, i usually just go with whatever i have the most inspiration for in the moment — i never want to half-ass something. if someone cared enough to send it in, i want to care enough to do it justice. and honestly, people have been super understanding about that, which i'm really grateful for.

and since you asked, here’s some of the stuff sitting in my notes app right now:

part three of the life we built series : this picks up after reader and jack’s daughter is born — it’ll cover her first twelve months of life, but not in a montage-y way. i want it to really show how their lives change: the little things like jack falling asleep with her on his chest after night shifts, their first trip to the lake with her, the quiet moments where reader second-guesses herself as a mom and jack grounds her without even realizing he’s doing it. it’s going to be very domestic but layered too — lots of marriage dynamics, balancing work and family, seeing jack in this new phase of life without losing the parts of him that have always been there. i want every month to feel like its own chapter of growth, not just for their daughter but for their relationship too.

an addition to the handoff universe (pre-wedding story) : this will be set a few months before their wedding —it’ll probably revolve around some kind of high-stakes night at the hospital (a bad trauma case or a near miss), and how that forces them to confront everything they’ve been putting off talking about — fears, what it means to build a future together, whether they can survive the life they've both chosen. it’ll feel a little heavier than the life we built stuff — more about the growing pains of trying to have it all. i’m consciously not leaning into pregnancy here, since TLWB already covers that side of life. and the universes stay separate — accountant reader vs. attending reader 😭 different lives, different dynamics.

dad’s best friend jack abbot fic (potentially robby’s daughter) : this one’s still brewing, but i’m obsessed with the idea of setting it over fourth of july weekend. reader would have grown up around jack — years of cookouts, pool parties, firework shows — and now she’s grown, back home from college, and the tension’s impossible to ignore. jack’s trying to stay composed because of loyalty (to robby, to her dad, to whatever rules he thinks still apply), but the dynamic is all heat and bad timing. if i go with reader being robby’s daughter, it’ll add even more conflict: not just the age gap, not just the forbidden aspect, but the loyalty jack feels — and the way he starts to realize that loyalty is tearing him up inside. thinking major national anthem x lana del rey energy: reckless, indulgent, a little dangerous, and completely inevitable.

a jack abbot x all too well (10 min version) inspired one-shot : this isn’t going to be a direct retelling of the song, but i’m pulling hard from its structure — moments flashing by, small details that add up to heartbreak. it’ll be one of those fics where you feel the weight of time passing, even if the characters try to pretend it isn’t. probably a former relationship between reader and jack that fell apart because of timing, or choices he made that he thought were protecting her. i want it to be devastating in a quiet way — not loud fights, but all the little silences, the missed moments, the things they almost said. very lyrical, very slow-burn angst.

a one-shot based on girls / girls / boys by panic! at the disco : you, jack, and robby have always been close. too close. the kind of friendship that feels a little dangerous, a little too intimate when no one’s watching. it’s always been half a joke — the three of you piled onto the same barstool, robby slinging his arm around your shoulders like he owns you, jack sitting just a little too close, like he doesn’t trust robby not to do something stupid. you laugh it off. they laugh it off. but everyone feels it — that spark pulling tight between the three of you like a tripwire. the story would open on a night that starts like a thousand others: post-shift beers at some dive bar that should’ve been condemned years ago. the alcohol’s kicking in. the music’s too loud. the glances last a little too long. someone bumps your shoulder and jack’s hand is immediately on your lower back, steadying you — fingers lingering like he forgot he’s supposed to let go. and when robby notices, he doesn’t pull jack away. he grins. like he’s been waiting for this.

i’m trying to make sure each one-shot feels different and actually brings something new, instead of just reworking the same beats over and over! also have a lot of stuff in my inbox.. so really dk what is coming next!

[slightlys0iled]

just read your rant on cr slightly soiled and since he is the single greatest peter pan character i wanna toss you something i think about a lot: how Slightly's characterization is near identical to Peter's character in The Little White Bird/Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. And i just like to roll that thought around in my head. That little baby bird peter who was always so glum to realize he hadn't been playing the way real boys would vs slightly whose not so good at imagining getting rapped on the knuckles because he can's keep up with pretending the way peter wants him to (and peter's only hitting him like that because that's how teachers reprimand students/how kids play school). i'm always thinking about peter and slightly compared and contrasted.

Hi there anon and thank you so much for the ask!!This was such a good read! (Also ty for agreeing Slightly Soiled is the single greatest peter pan character, I love him) So I present you with some of my Slightly-And-Peter-Dynamic-Thoughts

I’ve always liked how Slightly is the most flawed Lost Boy, right. As in, he stands the most in contrast to P&W!Peter’s rules for the Lost Boys. He cannot play make believe to the same level as the others, he outwardly goes against Peter by whittling his tree, he is conceited and vain— his egotism in the group is only rivalled BY Peter “The cleverness of me” Pan.

A rather interesting comparison a former friend of mine made was that Slightly has a shown talent for music, right? He cuts whistles out of the trees, dances with ostriches (top ten best scenes not included in peter pan adaptations), on stage in the early play, was our first introduction to the Neverland and he comes onstage playing a whistle. Peter has his pipes which too are made of wood and he usually plays to introduce himself, his pipes he gained way back in TLWB. Could we read this as Slightly wanting to be more like Peter? Maybe, idk.

I find it really interesting how a lot of adaptations opt to make him the second in command to the Lost Boys too. I’m pretty sure that role SHOULD be filled by Nibs seeing as Peter makes him first mate on the Jolly Roger (OR, Tootles since he leads the formation, but he’s never there for adventures). I think it’s likely Nibs was the official but unspoken second in command while Slightly probably just claimed it was actually him and believed that he was second in command. I think this idea goes back as far as Daniel O’Connor, who in his Barrie-approved novelisation clarified that Slightly was the eldest. I do not think Peter would make him his second in command, I think his lack of make believe talent is a possible reason, but ALSO because Slightly is just fucking annoying and when he isn’t annoying he’s miserable. I’d honestly say that the Lost Boys are all six little mean brats (not you Tootles you’re a good boy) and Slightly is an exaggeration of that to a huge degree. He’s a little shit, he’s a pompous vain coward and he stands as the one Lost Boy who contrasts Peter the most, Peter ain’t gonna make him second in command. I love my son.

Do you ever think about how he’s the only Lost Boy who doesn’t fight on the Night Of Nights and instead runs around with a lantern? I also don’t think he fought at the mermaids lagoon skirmish with the pirates either. I think the choice to not have him fight is to further set him away from the other boys and therefore what Peter’s expectations for the Lost Boys are.

There are so many instances where Slightly is set apart from the wider group, I find it really interesting.

I do think Peter loves him as he loves all his boys (I think Peter has a lot of care for the Lost Boys because he is just so damn lonely when they go away, you could say that’s cause the Darlings left too but Peter is alone for the first time possibly since Kensington) and I agree that there’s definitely a lot of similarities between the two of them and we can contrast them for sure.

Slightly is a really strange character in that he just… has so much going on? I’m sure I’ve spoken about this before but I think he (and Tootles, kind of???) does too much to be considered just part of the collective. Barrie spends NO TIME describing the Twins, Nibs, Curly, and yet Slightly and Tootles are rolled in whenever a Lost Boy needs to do something. And it’s usually Slightly let’s be real. Love that boy but give him a break.

Ty for the ask, I need to reread TLWB but from what I remember I do not doubt the similarities between our boys!!

[turtle-love-waist-beads]

I can't keep holding back this urge to brainwash all the "I can'ts" and the "but I don't like this about me" out of you. I am a pusher. I push hard. I push self love, reality-based self love. . Report me for being a pusher, but let's abuse this drug first!!! Place your orders using the link in bio, or DM me @turtlelove_waistbeads . . 💚 Like 💚 Share 💚 Follow . . . . . . . . . #turtlelovewaistbeads #waistbeads #lovequotes #beautifullove #lovequotesforher #letmeinspireyou #beadedgang #beadlove #gettied #wordpost #waistbeadsbyadanna #tlwb #caridotcom #bellybeads #trinidadandtobago #trinidadartisan #trinidadbusiness #thisistrinidad #islandlove #islandlife #tobagogirl #trinigirls #islepreneurs #livelovelaugh #womenhealing #womanthouart #reikienergies #higherpurposeconcentrates #fallinlovewithyourself #womanyouarelove https://www.instagram.com/p/B9NHK0wFz7v/?igshid=1cf17ocl6rd54

[exx-bee]

hey just letting you know you forgot to put the unparalleled innocence tag on TLWB asfgfhgf

ON THE FIC ???? UHOH

[inkwell-arts]

Just some more background work for my graphic novel. The first one is just a few sketches of the two protagonists and the antagonist. The second are some style tests, including a “handmade” look, a more traditional cartoon approach, and a more sketchy style (made with calligraphic pens). 

Finally has a title, too! Meet the cast of Wayfarer. 

Art, characters, and story of Wayfarer © @tempiarts

[junker-town]

Most people refer to Texas-Oklahoma as the Red River Rivalry, but Shootout is still popular, too

And neither of those is the current official name.

The Texas Longhorns take on the Oklahoma Sooners for the 112th time on Saturday afternoon from the Cotton Bowl in Dallas (3:30 p.m. ET, ESPN). The annual rivalry is timed each year around the famous State Fair of Texas.

The game’s technical name these days is the “AT&T Red River Showdown.”

Same classic game with a new name: annual Texas-OU game is now the AT&T Red River Showdown. http://t.co/zF8cCLUqVF http://pic.twitter.com/qJYz0KG4Pm

— Texas Football (@TexasFootball) April 4, 2014

For the majority of the first 100 years of rivalry’s history, it was the Red River Shootout.

A lot of people still call it that. Google Trends shows it’s still more popular than the current official one, but not quite as popular as the second one:

The Shootout name stuck until 2005, when a corporate sponsor changed the name to the “SBC Red River Rivalry” to avoid the gun violence connotations that “shootout” has. The reaction remains pretty mixed.

It's the Red River Shootout, ABC. I don't care what you wish to call it, it will always be remembered as the Red River Shootout. #RRS

— TLWB (@_TLWB_) April 4, 2014

Folks, I could give a crap what THEY want you to call it: IT'S THE RED RIVER SHOOTOUT! One game does not make a "rivalry." (cont.)

— Sixth Year Seniors (@6thYearSeniors) October 13, 2012

Sorry it will always be called the "Red River Rivalry" no matter what AT&T or anyone else wants to call it. http://t.co/tUDjp7KDba

— Matthew Vermillion (@mvermi) April 4, 2014

After all these changes, some television announcers don’t really know what to call it, either.

Can’t blame em!

Red River, shootout, showdown, rivalry......FS1 announcers have no clue what to call this game.

— Sans Cheese (@SansCheese) October 8, 2016

These commentators don't even know what to call this game. "Red River shooto...showdown."

— BoomTown (@BoomOUUpdated) October 8, 2016

The bottom line here is that this is America, and you can really call this game whatever you so please.

Just wanna stick with the traditional Texas-OU or OU-Texas? Go ahead! Let’s be honest, this thing will most likely get a different corporate sponsor every so often, as we pointed out a couple of years ago:

In 10 years, the game will be renamed the Bank of America Red River Meetup, with the Comcast-Netflix Red River Event following 10 years after that. The Facebook Red River Facebook looms in the distance as a warning to us all.

Sure, you can try and keep up with the likely forthcoming changes, but it’s probably just easier to just pick one and roll with it!

[winterarchives]

ִֶָ☾. The Leather Winged Bat ࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 2

Word count - 8.9k+

Pairings - Eddie Munson x Reader , Soft!Steve Harrington x Reader , Bestfriend!Nancy x Reader

Summary - after meeting Nancy and Steve, YN’s starting to get involved in the lives of the Hawkins High students. Whispered words weave their way into her mind as she becomes closer to Nancy, Steve, and, of course, Eddie. A chance encounter with Dustin Henderson begins the spiral towards truth YN has been seeking out whilst asleep.

Warnings - cussing, mild leg injury, himbo!steve

P1 HERE

☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾.

Nancy is quiet the remainder of the week— you want to ask her what is on her mind but there’s an edge to her lately that tells you to do anything but dig. She’s not around Steve as much either, and despite your lack of relationship with the guy, you feel bad for him. If the party was anything to go by, there was something going on between Nancy and Jonathan; and Steve was the odd guy out.

He’s not even sociable at school lately, opting on spending his lunches and breaks in his car; doing what looks like studying. Which is weird for Steve, given the brief summary of his character you’ve received from Nancy— who, surprisingly, has not been at school for two days now.

You watch Steve rest his head in his hand, shaking his head lamely and tossing a paper at the passenger window of the inside of his car. When he finally releases his hold on his forehead he rests his hands against the steering wheel, squeezing and releasing until his features soften.

Despite not wanting to partake in the typical highschool banter and drama in the halls, you do listen. You know Steve and Nancy hadn’t been the same since the incident with Barb, which you still need to do some research on. There’s people saying she’s missing, others saying she died horrifically, and the really deranged few who are suggesting she was trafficked on the highway by a famous family from out of state.

Whatever the story was, it was taking a toll on the few people you socialized with. Nancy was a wreck even before the two of you became acquainted- but lately it’s been worse. The party only seemed to deepen her pain or regret, or whatever it is she was feeling that left you yourself feeling clueless.

‘It’s nothing,’ she’d told you time and time again. Not believable in the slightest, but you knew pain and loss, and you would not push Nancy any further.

You were a decent friend. She’d tell you when she felt the time was right or when she needed to for her own wellbeing. Until then you could be reliable and bond over the notes she shared and the lunches you’d spent together notating materials from class.

You can’t shake the feeling that the same pain haunting your friend right now was haunting Steve Harrington, too. Something about the relaxed hold he has on the steering wheel and the blank stare he’s giving to the far end of the parking lot leaves you worried and your anxiety rising- the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight and the tickle in your spine growing once more.

“Creeping or peeping?”

You nearly jump out of your shoes where you’re standing, eyes still locked on Steve’s car across the school parking lot.

“Observing,” you answer Eddie, squinting your eyes at him when he settles against the tree you’re using as a cover, chemistry book in your hands.

“I’m somehow doubtful of that, L/N…” He chuckles, “Harrington’s sunk his claws in you, huh?”

“I don’t even know him.” You roll your eyes, “Not my type anyways.”

Eddie rolls his eyes back at you, dramatically leaning into the tree’s trunk, “sure, that explains why you’re standing over here, pining.”

“You’re a comic,” you quip, shrugging your bookbag off of your shoulder and sliding the chemistry book into it. “What’s it to you anyways, Munson?”

“I’m nosey,” he shrugs, picking lamely at his thumbnail, “endearing, right?”

“More like annoying,” you counter, stepping away from the tree and heading back towards the building. You can’t help the smirk that grows on your face when you hear Eddie fall into step behind you.

“You’ll get used to it,” Eddie nudges your shoulder.

“Unlikely,” you smile.

“But seriously, why the longing glances towards Harrington’s car?”

“If you suggest one more time that I’ve got the hots for my friend’s boyfriend, I swear-”

“Color me curious, angel. I just wanna know what he’s got that’s so magnetizing.”

You have half a mind to tell Eddie to shove it, but there’s something so entertaining about the way he’s grilling you for whatever it is he’s grilling you for.

“It’s his hips,” you sigh, catching the way Eddie’s nose scrunches and his eyebrows furrow. “There’s just something about the way they sway when he’s walking away that leaves me wanting more…”

“Are you serious? You can’t be serious.”

“Fuck no, Eddie.” You laugh heartily, “I’m fucking with you, clearly.”

“You’re weird.”

“You’re the one asking me weird questions.”

“Valid questions,” he corrects you, opening the door to the main-hall for you and bowing as you enter ahead of him.

“He’s dating the, like, one friend I have in this town,” you point out, raising an eyebrow at the metalhead.

“Word on the street is; that relationship is going down the porcelain bowl,” he explains. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now would you, L/N?”

“Are you a highschooler or a reporter? And why are people saying that?”

“Have you seen Harrington pouting around lately? It’s honestly sad,” Eddie explains, scratching at his head.

“People fight, Eddie,” you sigh, “I haven’t heard anything and I certainly don’t know anything,” you explain.

“Whatever you say, angel,” Eddie shrugs, “I got class, but keep me updated.”

He walks away, sticking his tongue out at a couple of jocks who glare at him from across the hall. You think one of them is named Jason, but you weren’t invested enough in school politics and hierarchy to care.

The rest of the school day is monotonous, filled with boring pop quizzes and hushed whispers of whatever drama the school populous is focused on for the day. Today it’s something about a cheerleader and basketball player finally hooking up. By the end of the day you’re hankering for a coffee and a skating session through the local neighborhoods. Thank god it’s a Friday.

You’ve got one skate on and the other halfway on your foot when a car pulls up to the curb. A car you’re a bit familiar with after this past week.

“Hey, uh, do you want a ride? I kind of was wondering if I could have your help with something, uh, something a bit stupid.”

You shrug, looking pointedly at the one lace in your skate that won’t cooperate with your wishes for it to tie properly. “Sure,” you smile, kicking the one tied skate off your foot and sliding back into your sneakers.

Steve’s car is everything Eddie’s is not. Clean, drug free, and so small it’s practically a coffin with wheels— but you digress.

“She’ll like these, right?” Steve asks you, and he looks as nervous as he sounds, eyeing the bouquet of roses on the dashboard.

“Does she like red?”

“I think so…” he answers, but he sounds unsure.

“She’ll like them,” you offer him your support, “do you wanna enlighten me a bit on what’s going on, Steve?”

He shrugs, “we’re not in a good place right now.”

“Is there something I should be mad at you for as Nancy’s friend?”

“No, god, no. I’m the one that’s mad at her right now. Or, I mean- I don’t know. Look, it’s complicated.” He offers, tapping the steering wheel.

“That explains absolutely nothing, but thanks,” you nod.

“It really is,” he retries, “complicated,” he explains. “You’ve heard the rumors?”

“About?”

“Barb.”

“Hard not to,” you answer.

“Do you believe them?”

“No,” you tell him, “but I do have questions.”

“I can’t talk about it,” Steve whispers, and you look over to see him biting at his bottom lip, focusing too hard on the road to avoid emotions. “I wish I could, you know. The only person I can talk to about it is Nancy and I don’t think she sees things the way I see them, or maybe she does, I dunno. Maybe she blames me for shit that happened-” he stops himself, taking a jagged breath and tightening his grip on the leather wheel. “I wish I could talk about it,” he nods.

“I get it,” you tell him lightly, turning to look out the passenger window at the houses that pass by. “It sucks not being able to talk about things…” you trail off, thinking of the limitless moves and the contracts your family was bound to due to your father’s job. “So, that’s what the roses are for?” You ask, redirecting the conversation.

“Something like that,” he answers, huffing a breath. “I wanted you to be there in case she doesn’t forgive me, that way she can talk to you or something. Plus she’s always talking about how you should just carpool with us.”

“What’s up with everyone wanting to give me rides,” you laugh. “I like my skates.”

“People are bugging you to give you rides? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you answer, shaking your head. “First Billy, then Eddie, now you and Nance.”

“Hold up- Hargrove and Munson are asking to give you rides? You’re shitting me?”

“I’m not,” you chuckle, “Eddie’s the only one I’ve taken up on the offer until today.”

“Munson’s weird,” Steve mumbles, “but he’s better than Hargrove, so there's that.”

“Well as long as he has your stamp of approval,” you huff.

“I’m serious, Y/N, Hargrove is no good. And Munson… well, he’s Munson.”

You want to argue just for the sake of arguing, but two people now who are NOT acquainted in the slightest have told you the same thing about Billy. It’s hard to ignore.

“Okay, I’ll be careful of Billy,” you reason, tapping your thighs with your fingers. Steve eyes you doubtfully, “I promise,” you reassure him. “But Eddie? He’s not bad.”

“I don’t believe you, but alright,” Steve smirks, pulling up to the curb of the Wheeler household. “Wait here?”

You nod, handing him the roses from the dash, “good luck.”

He hops out of the car, adjusting his hair and nearing the large house. You have to admit, he does have a nice walk. Eddie would puke. You smile at the thought.

You expect him to make it at least halfway to the front door before nerves kick him, but it’s not nerves that stop Steve in his tracks. It’s a kid, probably around 12 or 13, with an antenna sticking out from his ear and a microphone strapped to his cheek. Thankfully the window is down, you couldn’t make out the weird mumbling pep talk Steve was giving himself, but the kid? The kid is pretty loud.

“Steve, are those for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?”

“What? No?” Steve scrunches his face, “why would I- Hey! What the hell, man!”

You laugh at the exchange, surprised the kid had the guts to rip the roses out of Steve’s hands.

“Nancy isn’t home,” the kid deadpans, heading straight for Steve’s car.

“Where is she?”

“Doesn’t matter.” The kid quips, eyeing you in the front seat before rolling his wide eyes and popping open the rear passenger door. “We have bigger problems than your love life,” he adds, eyeing up Steve who’s still standing in the middle of the yard with his hands empty.

“Do you still have that bat?”

“Bat? What bat?” Steve asks, looking exhausted.

“The one with the nails?”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain it on the way.”

“Now? Or-”

“Now!” The kid yells, slamming the door. “Who are you?” He finally asks you, eyeing you from the backseat.

“Y/N, who are you?”

“Dustin,” he answers in a way that sounds like he expects you to already know who he is. “You really didn’t tell her about me? C’mon, man,” Dustin sighs, swatting Steve’s shoulder when he hops back into the driver’s seat.

“Well, forgive me,” Steve exclaims, engine roaring back to life.

“Give me the roses and I might,” Dustin laughs. “Roses, Steve, really? I mean, c’mon…”

“Hey, how many relationships have I been in, kid?”

“A lot,” Dustin answers exhaustedly.

“And how many have you been in?”

“None.”

“Be nice,” you tell Steve.

“Really?”

“You’re the one who was on his way to apologize to his girlfriend with roses,” you point out. “He’s a kid, cut him some slack.”

“I like her,” Dustin smiles, a weird purr noise emanating from his mouth.

“Dude, seriously. Not the move.” Steve sighs, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Now where the hell am I taking us?”

“My house.”

“And why am I taking us to your house, dude?”

“Dart is there.”

“Who is Dart?”

“My, uh,” Dustin looks at you skeptically, “...lizard. Yeah, lizard. His name’s Dart but he’s, well… he’s changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like he’s massive now. He was little and now he’s big.”

“How big?”

“First it was like that,” he demonstrates with a pinky, “now he’s like this,” he motions with his arms a size similar to that of a housecat or smaller dog.

“I swear to God, man, it better be just some little lizard…”

“How would I know if it’s not?” Dustin asks, challenging Steve.

“How do you know it’s not just a lizard?” Steve replies.

“I feel like I’m missing out on some lore or something,” you speak up, looking at Dustin, “am I right?”

Dustin doesn’t say anything but the unsure look he gives you is answer enough.

“Well you’re both stuck with me for the time being,” you shrug. “I’m not bad company. I thought you said you liked me, anyways.”

Dustin shifts in his seat, a blush tinging his cheeks, “I can’t betray my party.”

“Party? Like D&D or is there a birthday going on?”

Dustin’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, “you play D&D?”

“Used to,” you smile.

“So you get it. I can’t betray them.”

“Listen, I’m going with you guys seeing as how Steve’s my ride home and you’re in a huge rush, so you might as well prepare me for what we’re headed into a little bit,” you reason.

“Would you believe me if I said it were easier to show you than tell you?”

“As long as I’m not excluded, sure.”

Dustin nods at you, sending Steve a nervous glance in the rearview mirror.

“You want the truth? It’s not a lizard,” Dustin admits, and Steve bites his cheek and groans.

“You’re shitting me,” Steve grumbles.

“It’s not a lizard.”

“What if it is? You could be wrong, you know.”

“You want to know how I know it’s not just a lizard?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve nods.

“Because his face opened up and he ate my cat,” Dustin snaps.

“I’m sorry- what?” You speak up, looking at Steve. He goes from looking argumentative to defeated and nods his head.

You deflate a bit in your seat, looking at the woods passing by through the windows on the now dark streets of Hawkins.

Steve is out of the car as soon as he pulls it into what you assume can only be Dustin’s driveway, popping the trunk as you hop out of the passenger seat. Dustin stands next to him, catching the keys Steve tosses his way. Your eyes widen when Steve pulls a wooden baseball bat from the trunk, nails sticking out harshly from the end of the wooden instrument.

“What in the everloving fuck is that?” You ask, eyeing the make-shift weaponry confusedly.

“Nothing,” Steve huffs.

“He’s in the cellar,” Dustin announces, pointing his flashlight towards the doors sticking out from the ground on the side of his house.

“You should probably stay back,” Steve tells you, grip tightening on the bat as you take in the chains Dustin haphazardly wrapped around the storm-cellar handles.

“Toss me the light,” you reply, “that way you can use both hands and not end up impaling yourself on that thing.”

Steve sighs but does what you ask, gently lopping the flashlight your way. You catch it with ease, repositioning yourself so you can bathe the cellar-door in light more easily.

Steve leans closer to the doors, using his bat to support his weight while he does so. “I don’t hear shit,” he announces after a moment.

“He’s in there,” Dustin states, and even though he’s been dealing with this Dart creature for who knows how long, you can hear the fear creeping into his voice.

Steve takes a second, listening once more before tapping the nailed end of his bat against the doors. It’s quiet after, leading you to question the validity behind what Dustin’s been telling the two of you. Steve sighs and then brings the bat down harder, the resounding bang assaulting your eardrums momentarily.

“All right, listen, kid. I swear, if this is some sort of Halloween prank, you’re dead.”

“It’s not,” Dustin tells him, voice wavering.

“All right?”

“It’s not a prank, Steve.”

“You got a key for this thing?”

The hairs on your back are standing up once more, a growing tickle in the center of the nape of your neck twitching uncomfortably. Dustin nods his head, taking his leave to go retrieve the keys.

“You wanna let me in on what all is going on?” You ask Steve, noting the fear slowly trickling its way into his gaze.

“I don’t even know if he’s telling us the truth,” Steve shrugs.

“You don’t look like you’re doubting it,” you reply dryly. “Listen, I just would like to know what’s going on before we open the big scary cellar in the middle of the ground.”

“We’re about to find out one way or another,” Steve answers, nodding his head towards Dustin who had just rounded the corner of the house, keys dangling from his hands.

“We completely sure about this?” Steve asks Dustin once the key is in the keyhole, “once I open this up, it’s going to be hard to close again.”

Dustin doesn’t answer, just nods his head sadly, eyeing the chains as Steve twists the key. The padlock falls to the ground, chains following quickly after.

“Here we go,” Steve whispers, grabbing one of the handles and pulling it open. You near the opening, your flashlight aimed at the bottom of the stairs.

“He must be further in,” Dustin explains, “I’ll stay up here in case he tries to escape.”

Steve looks ready to argue but you interrupt, “okay,” you answer, nodding your head as you step in front of Dustin, effectively blocking him from the cement stairs.

“You got the light?” Steve asks you, sighing.

“Let’s go,” you nod, aiming the beam just in front of Steve so he doesn’t misstep and fall down the stairs.

It’s extremely dark, that is until Steve finds the string hanging from the ceiling and yanks it, bathing the room in a dim light from a single lightbulb hanging in the center of the remarkably small room.

“Shit,” he huffs, and you prepare yourself as you turn around towards him. “What the hell is this?”

He angles his bat up, the squelching sound of the sickly-wet looking membrane hanging from the bat sending your stomach into a wicked somersault.

“What the hell?” You grimace, looking away from the otherworldly amalgamation. “Put it away, dude.”

“That’s bigger than a housecat,” Steve pales, flicking the substance off his bat and back onto the cement floor. You shiver, disgusted, and regain your composure before running your flashlight along the walls of the cellar.

You’re equally disgusted to find that most of the walls are covered in the same goo that covered the pile of what you can only assume is skin that Steve had picked up a moment ago.

“Steve,” you whisper, pointing the light at the rather large breach in the cellar wall, the earth beyond it dug perfectly into what looks like a small tunnel.

“What the…” Steve murmurs, eyeing the compromised cement.

“What’s going on down there guys?” Dustin asks from the top of the stairs, voice still uneven.

“Get down here, Henderson,” Steve orders.

You can hear the sound of Steve picking up the gross skin off the floor with his bat again, and this time you are more than happy to not look at it.

“Oh shit,” Dustin sighs, and then his gaze settles on you and where the beam of your light is focused. “Oh, shit! No way,” he says, getting closer to the tunnel, “no way…”

“There is no way I am going home tonight…” you whisper, lost in the way that the beam of light disappears far down the tunnel.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩

Dustin’s plan is simple enough. Sort of. Maybe.

Though buckets of raw meat were not in your itinerary for a late Friday night and early Saturday morning, you can’t really find a flaw in his plan. Dart was growing, whatever Dart was— and any sort of growing, living, monstrous thing loved to feed. You can’t argue with that logic. Even if it would take an extensive amount of time to breadcrumb the raw meat from his cellar-hole to the junkyard a few blocks down.

“Dustin! This is Lucas, do you copy? Dustin!”

“That thing works?” You ask Dustin, eyeing the walkie on his hip.

“Old reliable.” He smiles, “well, well, well, look who it is.” He answers.

“I’m sorry, man. My stupid sister turned it off.”

“Well, when you were having sister problems, Dart grew again, he escaped, and I’m pretty sure he’s a baby Demogorgon.”

“Wait- Demogorgon?” Your inner D&D nerd raises its head, ears perked. “Like D&D?”

Steve eyes you incredulously, “really?”

You shrug, setting the can of gasoline down on the ground, “are they suggesting demogorgons are real?”

“Wait, what?” The voice on the walkie asks.

“I’ll explain later,” Dustin answers, “just meet me and Steve at the old junkyard.”

“Steve?”

“And bring your binoculars and wrist rocket.”

“Steve Harrington?”

You chuckle, eyeing the jock leaning against the car. “The gloves really do suit you,” you tell him, pointing out the bright yellow kitchen attire he and Dustin had swiped from Dustin’s kitchen.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes.

“Whatever you say.”

“All right, let’s go,” he grunts, slamming the trunk of his car closed. “My car’s going to smell like a hunting trip for the rest of the year.”

“Just be there stat,” Dustin orders over the walkie, ignoring yours and Steve’s chatter. “Over and out.”

“Who was that?” You ask, grimacing when the boys start tossing the chopped up raw beef along the train tracks you begin following. The soft squelching noise each chunk makes as it hits the railing is not exactly enticing.

“Lucas,” Dustin answers, “he’s our ranger.”

“And what are you?”

“Bard.”

“I like it,” you smile.

“So does Max,” Dustin smiles, “at least, I think she does.”

“Who’s Max?” Steve asks.

“She’s new,” Dustin sighs.

“Oh, is she the girl you’ve been asking me for advice about?”

Dustin blushes deeply, ignoring the question. “She liked Dart,” he smiles.

“Wait, who all knows about Dart?”

“Lucas, Max, Will, Mike… and now you guys.” Dustin answers. “I think Max liked him most, though.” Dustin sighs, “I wanted to keep him after that.”

“Right, so let me get this straight,” Steve starts, “you kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who… who you just met?”

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

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

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

“He has a point,” you nod, “has a nice ring to it.”

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

“Steve…” you warn.

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

“It’s not about the hair, man.” Steve tells him, tossing another chunk of meat. “The key with girls is just… just acting like you don’t care.”

“That is categorically untrue,” you shake your head.

“Even if you do?” Dustin asks, ignoring your interjection.

“Yeah, exactly. It drives them nuts.”

“If, by that, you mean it pisses us off,” you add, “sure.”

“It works with all the girls I date,” Steve shrugs at you. “You just wait until, uh… until you feel it.”

“Feel what?”

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

“Oh…”

“You feel that and then you make your move.”

“So that’s when you kiss her?”

“No, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Romeo.”

“Sorry.” Dustin sighs.

“Sure, okay, some girls, yeah, they want you to be aggressive. You know, strong, hot and heavy, 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 is Nancy?”

“Nancy’s different. She’s different from the other girls.”

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

“Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

“But this girl is special, too, you know. It’s just, like, something about her.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey, hey.”

“What?” Dustin blinks.

“You’re not falling in love with this girl, are you?”

“Uh, no. No.”

“Okay, good. Don’t.”

“I won’t.”

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

“Please do not listen to anything he just told you,” you plead. “Aside from maybe the last part, love at your age is not ideal and won’t work.”

“What do you suggest he does?” Steve smiles.

“Be himself. You’re not going to be happy if you have to act like someone you’re not to get someone you want. There’ll be no common ground, no shared hobbies. It gets boring,” you sigh. “Besides, you’re a cool kid. Give it some time, girls start realizing that the more stable and reliable guys are better once you hit like 17.” You shrug, “romance is overrated, anyways.”

Steve eyes you, nodding his head, “that’s fair.”

“Well, I’m lonely,” Dustin shrugs, “I want someone to have fun with.”

He falls quiet after that, going into a pattern of walking ten yards or so before tossing another chunk of meat. You jab Steve’s shoulder, sending him a pointed glance when he glares at you. He looks to Dustin, sees the low set of his shoulders and the defeated tosses he uses to send the meat flying.

“Fabergé.” He announces.

“What?” Dustin asks, turning to look at Steve with confused eyes.

“It’s Fabergé Organics…” he points to his hair, “use the shampoo and conditioner, and when your hair’s damp… It’s not wet, okay? When it’s damp…”

“Damp.” Dustin echoes.

“You do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray.”

“Farrah Fawcett spray?” Dustin giggles.

“Yeah, Farrah Fawcett. You tell anyone I just told you that, and your ass is grass. Goes for you too, YN.”

“My lips are sealed,” you chuckle, looking at Steve’s hair, “it does add a certain poufyness to the whole look.”

“Shut it,” Steve groans. “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Dustin walks ahead, tuning his walkie as he goes and spreading the raw meat every few minutes; the intervals increase as you near the junkyard.

“That was nice of you,” you tell Steve, balancing on the train tracks.

“It was nothing,” he shrugs, tossing one of his few remaining chunks of meat aside. “Dustin’s a good kid,” he reasons.

“It was nice,” you reiterate, smirking when Steve rolls his eyes at you. “I was starting to worry you were just an ass,” you admit, “sorry,” you mumble when he raises his brows at you. “We haven’t really talked much before today,” you add, “it’s not like I had much to go off of.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, “I’m glad there’s at least one person who doesn’t hate my guts.”

“Aren’t you popular?”

Steve sighs, “yeah, but that doesn’t matter. People can crowd around me in the halls and want to talk my ear off, but they never really stay around after that.”

“I guess I don’t pay too much attention to that stuff,” you tell him. “I’m sorry, though. On behalf of those kids, you know… for what it’s worth.”

Steve smiles lamely, “thanks.”

The junkyard is hardly distinguishable from its surroundings, blending in perfectly with the woods beyond the clearing it lies in. There are no gates separating it from the trees beyond, and the cars aren’t piled against each other as you’d expected. The spacing is ideal, and the area is clear enough for movement, particularly running, were you in need of doing so.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, this will do. This will do just fine. Good call, dude,” Steve tells Dustin, readjusting the sunglasses from his Halloween costume on his face.

“That is unappetizing,” you grimace, cringing away from the pile of meat that the boys dump onto the grass.

“Well it’s not your dinner…” Steve huffs, tearing the sunglasses from his face.

“Dart isn’t too picky when it comes to… meat,” Dustin explains. “Candy is another story.”

“Candy? Really?” You ask.

He shrugs, “he likes nougat.”

“Of course he does,” you nod. “That your friend?” You ask, tipping your chin in the direction of two children entering the clearing.

“I said medium-well!” The boy yells, bike in one hand while he waves with the other. The other kid, a girl, red hair and hand in her pocket raises her unoccupied hand loosely and eyes the meat pile with similar distaste to what you had moments prior.

“Who’s that?” Steve asks.

Dustin’s face falls, something you and Steve both notice. “I need to talk to Lucas,” Dustin sighs. Your eyes meet Steve’s, finding the same confusion in his that you know is present in your own. You both nod to Dustin, watching him approach his friend and pull him to the side.

The girl looks at you and Steve both, and you wave her over. She offers a shy smile, walking towards you two.

“Dustin could have at least introduced us,” you smile, “I’m Y/N, and this is Steve,” you offer, “you’re one of Dustin’s friends?”

“Yeah, I’m Max,” she smiles back, rubbing at her wrist nervously.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“So, I’m thinking the bus is our best option,” Steve tells you, pointing out the large vehicle in the clearing and shrugging off the introductions, “it’s big enough to where we all can fit, and there’s wiggle room. There’s emergency exits, windows are small, and we can defend ourselves in there.”

“I guess you’re right,” you hesitantly agree. “Steve?” You wait for his eyes to meet yours before continuing, “what exactly is it we’re going to need to defend ourselves from? What am I missing here?”

“The, uh, the demogorgon stuff Dustin mentioned earlier?” Steve mentions, and you nod your head for him to continue. “Well, you asked if it was real…” he breathes in deeply, letting out a long sigh.

“You’re joking?”

He stares at you sadly.

“You’re not joking…” you chew at your bottom lip. “Are we saying true-to-lore demogorgons?”

“Hell if I know,” Steve chuckles. “The one I dealt with last year-” his voice catches.

The pieces slowly start to fall into place, the puzzle becoming whole in your mind.

“Barb?” you ask blankly, heart speeding up when Steve shuts his eyes. “Oh,” you whisper.

He opens his eyes after a second, tears swimming behind them that you don’t point out.

“You guys killed it?” You ask, and you know you shouldn’t be so gullible but there’s something about the way Steve is looking at you so rawly that makes you not question anything he’s saying. Dustin had mentioned the monsters earlier, too, and he doesn’t seem like a liar at all. And if you think back hard enough, just a week prior in Nancy’s bed, she had asked you about monsters. Real monsters.

Steve nods at your question, flipping the spiked bat in his hands.

“Okay,” you swallow back the nerves creeping up your spine and throat. “So what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to deal with this thing,” Steve explains. “We’re going to board up the bus, make it as indestructible as we possibly can and I’m going to deal with it how I dealt with it last year,” he nods. “Scrap metal, anything we can use as a weapon, grab it and bring it to the bus.”

Both you and Max are immediately off, grabbing whatever you can salvage from the bushes and underbellies of vehicles in the clearing. None of what you grab is in mint condition, most of it is suffering from severe cases of rust and corrosion, but it’ll do. You still don’t quite understand what you’re dealing with, and you’re afraid to begin wondering, but the heavy crowbar you find in the back of an older Mustang has your nerves settling slightly.

There’s a generous amount of scraps lying near the bus now, and Dustin and Lucas are still huddled near a broken down Chevy whispering back and forth to each other. At least, they were until Steve slammed a rusted metal chair against the car and scared the shit out of them.

“Hey! Dickheads! Why are the only people helping me out right now Y/N and the new girl? We lose daylight in 40 minutes, let’s get moving!”

And they do move, albeit begrudgingly. The scraps are tripled in size by the time the sun begins to set behind the trees.

You settle into the bus, piling what scraps you can against the windows and windshield. You’re careful with the rusted metal, trying your best to avoid cutting yourself on the jagged pieces. “At least tetanus shots exist,” you shrug when Steve rams a scrap right against his knee.

“Smartass,” he shakes his head. “It didn’t break skin,” he explains.

“Small victories, huh?” You smile, shoving one of the last pieces of scrap metal available against a hole in the floor of the bus.

“Whatever,” he grins, “wanna help me wheel the drums down?”

You nod, following him out of the bus and up the small hill to the side of the clearing. The barrel drums are heavy and exhausting to move, but the two of you manage to get the four of them down and position them where they’re needed, effectively blocking off most of the underside of the bus.

“Now the gas,” Steve announces, grabbing the gas can from next to the bus and leading a trail of it up to the bus doors.

“Got the ladder up,” Max announces, standing on top of the bus and eyeing the sunset in the distance. “It’s getting dark.”

“Last call for backing out,” Steve shouts, looking from the kids to you.

“No chance,” you answer, though the knot in your stomach has doubled in size.

“You know, I could go for a nice relaxing bath-” Dustin starts, immediately halting his speech when he sees the look Steve shoots at him, “I’m kidding, jeez.”

“We’re staying, too.” Max nods, eyeing Lucas.

“Alright, well, settle in,” Steve shoots a thumb at the bus, “because now we wait.”

You slide into the bus behind the kids, watching them make their way to the near-back of the bus and settle into their seats. Lucas and Max sit on one bench and Dustin sits across from them, looking left out and a bit deflated.

You start to head in Dustin’s direction but get derailed by Steve tapping on your shoulder and signaling for you to sit next to him near the front. Steve offers you one of the water bottles he’d pulled out of his trunk when you guys arrived, and you take it gratefully, downing the whole thing in record time.

“Are you scared?” You ask him, tossing the empty plastic onto a bench.

Steve nods, tapping his foot against the metallic floor of the bus and messing with the silver lighter in his hands, “aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what we’re up against,” you point out, “it’s hard to be fully scared of something you haven’t seen…”

“If it’s anything like that thing from last year,” Steve trails off. “It’ll be big, and, uh, strong… weak to fire,” he offers, looking up at you through his eyelashes. “I really am scared, you know.”

“I know,” you nod, “I’m sure I will be, too.”

You look towards the kids, watching Lucas climb the ladder to check the perimeter once more with his binoculars.

“So you really fought one of these things before?” Max asks Steve, messing with her hands on her lap. Steve nods, flipping the lighter again. “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?” Dustin snaps, standing from his bench and pacing the length of the bus. Steve looks to you, eyes wide, probably once more mirroring your own. “Just go home…”

“Geesh. Someone’s cranky,” Max quips back, “past your bedtime?” And then she climbs up the ladder after Lucas.

“That’s good,” Steve chuckles, “just show her you don’t care.”

“I don’t,” Dustin huffs. You raise your brow at Steve, nearly laughing at the wink he shoots Dustin. “Why are you winking, Steve? Stop.”

“Listen, Dustin,” you finally speak up, ignoring the flick of Steve’s lighter. “Ignoring him and his advice, do you mind if I give you some helpful insight?”

Dustin hesitantly nods his head.

“If she’s not into you, she’s not into you. Acting like you’re uninterested or being mean to her won’t change that,” you glare at Steve when he looks ready to argue. “You’re a good kid, seriously, you shouldn’t mess that up by being a dick to her. If she doesn’t want to be with you, she doesn’t. You can still be her friend. She doesn’t sound like a bad person. She’s been helping you guys for the past, what? Two hours?”

“But-”

“Ah, no buts.” You stop him in his tracks, “she’s nice and she cares about you guys. Be her friend. Stop being an ass. You’ll find someone who returns your effort. I promise. Don’t ruin your chances at a friendship with Max because you can’t accept the rejection. And cut her some slack, it’s hard to believe all of this right away.”

Dustin looks thoughtful for a moment before he eventually nods his head and heads up the ladder, presumably to apologize.

“Stop giving him relationship advice,” you chastise Steve. “And for the love of God, stop flicking that thing.”

“I’m bored.” Steve shrugs, “besides, the kid could use some tough love.”

“Your advice? That’s not tough love, Steve. You’re teaching him how to be an asshole. That won’t go down well for him.”

“Why not? Worked for me.”

“Which is why you admittedly don’t have many friends?” You point out. “Listen, I know you’re not a bad person, we’ve been over this. But you’ve got to stop suggesting your womanizer ways to the youth,” you laugh. “You’re reformed.”

“Reformed?”

“The roses, the willingness to help these kids… you’re even being nice to me.” You shrug, “I hear what people say about me in the halls,” you explain. “Thankfully they’ve been focusing more on relationship drama lately… thanks for that, by the way,” you smile, “but I’m not clueless. Everyone thinks I’m weird. Or that I’m some charity project for you and Nancy.”

“You’re not,” he scoffs.

“I know that, and you guys know that. My point is, you don’t let that bother you. Just accept that you’re becoming a better person.”

Steve looks ready to argue, or maybe at the least disagree, but the bone-chilling growl that cuts through the silence like a knife has you both shooting to your feet and peering out the window of the bus. There’s a light fog that’s built up and spread across the clearing rendering you guys blind inside of the bus, and Dustin nearly scares the shit out of you when he clambers back down the ladder.

“Do you see him?” He asks neither of you in particular.

“No,” Steve answers, grabbing his bat off of the bench nearest to you.

“Lucas, you see anything yet?” Dustin calls up the ladder.

“Hold on!” His friend yells, and it’s silent for a brief moment, “I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock! Ten o’clock!”

Your eyes track over to a lone truck across the clearing, the fog around it shifting slightly with each passing second.

“There,” you point, helping Steve see the barely visible shape beyond the mist.

“What’s he doing?” Dustin asks.

“I don’t know,” Steve replies, watching the figure shift slightly, “he’s not taking the bait…” he explains, “why’s he not taking the bait?”

“Maybe he’s not hungry,” Dustin offers, and you feel rather than see Steve deflate next to you.

“Or maybe he’s sick of cow,” Steve counters, stepping back from the window and flexing the bat in his hands. You meet his eyes for what feels like the millionth time that night, watching the inner conflict dance beyond them.

“What are you doing Harrington?” You ask as soon as he makes his way towards the door. “I’m serious Steve, what the hell are you doing?”

“Just get ready,” he finally tells you, turning and tossing you the silver lighter he’d been toying with for the past 30 minutes.

“Are you seriously going out there?” You blanch at the thought, the figure is far enough away that the size of the shadow tells you all that you need to know. The thing is big.

Steve doesn’t offer you an answer, just turns on his heel and continues towards the door of the bus. You feel yourself pale, but manage to regain your composure enough to open the cap of the lighter, ready it for use.

Steve slides out of the bus without any more pause, and you follow to close the door shut behind him, watching his figure through the unblocked glass pane of the bus door. He has the bat ready, both hands tight against the handle as he walks out into the fog. You feel the hairs on the nape of your neck stand harshly, cool sweat dripping as Steve disappears further into the clearing.

“Lucas has eyes, right?” You ask Dustin nervously, not tearing your eyes away from your friend, if you could call him that, outside of the bus.

“Yeah,” Dustin answers, and you can tell he’s moved closer to you since Steve’s departure.

You hear someone making their way down the ladder as Steve whistles, but again, you can’t look away.

“What’s he doing?” Max asks.

“Expanding the menu,” Dustin answers, and your stomach tightens in your belly.

Steve’s swinging the bat loosely in his hand now, probably getting ready to swing it in earnest, but there’s something unsettling about the entirety of the situation that has you wanting to scream out to him and beg him to return to the confines of the bus.

“He’s insane,” Max whispers.

“He’s awesome,” Dustin corrects her, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Steve!” Lucas screams, and your heart stutters in your chest, “watch out!”

“A little busy here!” Steve shouts back.

“Three o’clock! Three o’clock!” Lucas shouts.

You force yourself to look away from Steve for a split second and check his three. Lucas is right. Two more figures, much closer than the original, are eyeing Steve.

“Steve!” Dustin screams, and you look back at your friend.

You kick the door to the bus open immediately, “get back in here!” You scream, “now!”

It all happens so quickly it almost gives you whiplash. Steve looks at you, and then he looks back at the monster in front of him. Dart, if that’s the right monster, finally makes a move, opening its maw and letting out a shrill shriek as it faces Steve. Its face is almost disturbingly beautiful, the way it opens like a flower, ‘petals’ sticking out in different directions as the screech echoes through the clearing. Steve’s quick, turning and bolting towards the bus as the creatures all jump into action.

“Hurry!” You scream, hopping out of the bus when one of the beasts throws itself at Steve’s side. Steve dodges in time, rolling across the hood of a car gracefully enough that he lands on the other side and has time to land a sickening blow across the head of the monster closest to him.

“Go!” Steve yells back at you, finally in full stride and headed towards the reinforced structure. You’re quick to oblige, jumping back into the bus and preparing to shut the door.

He's quick, jumping through the open gap and landing on the floor of the bus. You slam the door shut behind him, backing away from it as loud thuds send the bus swaying in place.

“Shit!” Dustin shouts, trying to help Steve up as you pile a spare piece of scrap metal against the door, barricading it from the inside.

“Are they rabid or something?” Max asks, backing towards the ladder.

“They can’t get in! They can’t!” Lucas shouts, shrinking back when one of the monsters pulls the door nearly entirely off its hinges, and enough to squeeze its face through the slot. You scream, pulling your crowbar off of the nearby bench and swinging it into the face of the creature.

There’s a squelch as metal cuts through the membrane of the creature’s face and you have to hold back the bile building in your throat. You send the crowbar into the face again and again, relenting a little when Steve runs up and assists you with his bat.

You hear Dustin on his walkie screaming for help, and Lucas and Max are behind you and Steve screaming in fear. It’s pure chaos.

“We are at the old junkyard!” Dustin yells. “And we are going to die!”

Steve’s sent onto his back by the monster as it shoves its shoulders through the hole, and you send your crowbar flying again, trying to give him enough time to get back up on his feet. With another swing and sickening squelch the monster relents, backing up and giving you a moment of reprieve before it swings a ‘paw’ back through the hole, catching your ankle and sending you to the floor. You can feel the tear of flesh, and the swell of blood after the claws leave your leg and you let out a pitiful whimper, rushing back to your feet as soon as the monster is gone.

You have enough time to turn towards the others who have grouped up near the ladder, Steve eyeing the top of it and swinging his bat once again. You’re about to make your way over and provide what assistance you can when the monsters surrounding the bus all let out a scream, loud enough to leave your ears ringing afterwards.

And then they’re gone. The three monsters are running from the clearing and the night is quiet once again. Steve is the first out of the bus, looking around the clearing for any sign of where they’ve disappeared to.

“What happened?” Lucas asks.

“I don’t know,” Max whispers.

“Steve scared ‘em off?” Dustin offers.

“No,” Steve answers, turning around as the kids hop out of the bus. “No way. They’re going somewhere,” he nods.

You finally manage to get to the steps of the bus, half-falling down them when you try to put weight on your bad ankle. Steve’s eyes widen and he rushes over quick enough to prevent your fall.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, “what happened?”

“Grabbed my ankle,” you wince, trying not to look at the crimson color staining your jeans.

“Here,” Steve offers you his arm, “lean on me, seriously, that looks pretty bad.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, but you do lean against him because, fuck, it hurts. You wince and let out a tiny hiss when you try to lean against Steve, accidentally having put some weight on your bad leg.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Steve tells you, “Dustin, keys, back pocket,” he orders. Dustin listens, quickly fumbling Steve’s keys out of his back pocket and handing them to him. “My car, now.”

The kids listen, heading out of the clearing hesitantly and walking towards the train tracks.

“I’m going to feel this for a while,” you groan, tightening your grip on Steve’s shoulder when the ground beneath you changes from soil and dirt to stones and metal tracks.

“Correct,” Steve nods. “You’ll have a cool scar though,” he adds, almost thoughtfully.

“How is it that you actually charge the monsters but I’m the one with the injury?”

“Bad luck,” Steve smiles. “Did you see me dodging them? Pretty cool,” he sighs. “But, seriously, you’re not going to pass out on me or anything, right?”

“No, no. I’m solid for now, I just can’t put weight on it.” You explain.

“Well, if you need to stop and take a second, just let me know.” He tells you.

“You’re positive that was Dart?” Lucas asks Dustin. The kids had been quiet since leaving the junkyard, only whispering amongst each other.

“Yes. He had the same exact yellow pattern on his butt.”

“He was tiny two days ago,” Max adds.

“Well, he’s molted three times already,” Dustin explains.

“Malted?” Steve grimaces.

“Molted,” Dustin sighs. “Shed his skin to make room for growth like hornworms,” he adds.

“Gross,” Steve shivers.

“Well, when is he gonna do it again?” Max asks.

“Well, it’s gotta be soon. When he does, he’ll be fully grown, or close to it. So will his friends.”

“Yeah, and he’s gonna eat a lot more than just cats.” Steve points out.

“Wait, a cat?” Lucas shouts, shoving at Dustin’s arm. “Dart ate a cat?”

“No, what? No.” Dustin huffs.

“What are you talking about? He ate Mews,” Steve reiterates, and you nudge his side, pointing your chin at the two pre-teens about ready to fight.

“Mews? Who’s Mews?” Max asks.

“It’s Dustin’s cat,” Steve answers.

“Steve!” Dustin shouts.

“I knew it!” Lucas shoves Dustin again, “you kept him!”

“No!” Dustin argues, “no… No, I- No, I… He missed me! He wanted to come home…”

“Bullshit!”

“I didn’t know he was a Demogorgon, okay?”

“Oh, so now you admit it?”

“Guys, who cares? We have to go,” Max stammers.

“I care!” Lucas shouts, “you put the party in jeopardy! You broke the rule of law!”

“So did you!” Dustin screams back, stepping up towards his friend.

“What?!”

“You told a stranger the truth!”

“A stranger?!” Max shouts, wincing away from the light Dustin shined at her face.

“You wanted to tell her, too!” Lucas shouts.

“Yeah, but I didn’t, Lucas, okay?!”

“And Y/N knows!”

“Actually, I-” you begin.

“I didn’t tell Y/N anything about what happened last year!” Dustin screams, “anything she knows is from Steve’s mouth, not mine! I didn’t tell her!”

You freeze in Steve’s arms when a screech echoes in the distance, and Steve goes rigid, too. He turns you both slightly, walking in the direction the sounds are emanating from, and stopping to listen when you’re closer to the edge of the tracks.

“We both broke the rule of law, okay? So we’re even. We’re even.” Dustin shouts.

“No, no! We’re not even! Don’t even try that!” Lucas argues. “Your stupid pet could have ate us for dinner!”

“That was not my fault!”

“Hey, guys…” Steve states, almost weakly as the screeches grow in size and volume.

“He wasn’t gonna eat us,” Dustin shouts back.

“Oh, so he was crawling to come say hello? He attacked Y/N’s ankle to say hi?”

“Guys!” Steve finally yells and you relish in the silence that follows.

“Hear that?” You ask, eyeing the kids behind you.

Dustin pales, jogging in the direction of the sound with Lucas behind him.

“Catch up to them,” you tell Steve, disentangling yourself from him. “They need you with them, I’m right behind you guys. Max will stay with me,” you explain.

He seems hesitant but listens when he hears Dustin shouting at Lucas to hurry. “Help her,” he tells Max, running after the boys.

You stand up straighter, nearly puking when blood flow picks back up after you put weight on your ankle.

“You wouldn’t have, like, a scarf or something, would you?” You ask Max. She shakes her head no and you wince, “figured,” you whisper.

The two of you eventually catch up to the boys, a clearing at the top of a hill opening up enough to where you can see a majority of Hawkins below you.

“It’s the lab,” Lucas explains to you, handing Max the binoculars.

“Shit,” Dustin breathes out, “we need to get there.”

“And do what, exactly?” Steve asks, eyeing up the kid.

“Anything,” Dustin shouts, frustration boiling over.

“First we need to get to my car,” Steve explains, “I get that you want to help, that you feel responsible, but Y/N is hurt and I’m pretty sure I have a first aid kit in my glovebox.”

“Car, first.” Dustin nods.

Steve re-offers you his arm, and you take it once more, relieving some of the weight off of your foot. “We can go to the lab after,” Steve tells Dustin, “but we need to check her leg first.”

The kids fall into step behind you, the sounds coming from the lab decreasing in volume behind you as you head back towards the train tracks.

[scottspack]

there’s ///so much sterek

ive stopped breathing like 74 times this episode

[turtle-love-waist-beads]

They are 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙞𝙚-𝙤𝙣 𝘼𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙨, designed for more permanent wear, as originally intended. ⁣ ⁣ There are no:⁣ - clasps⁣ - fasteners⁣ - screw twist caps⁣ - hooks⁣ - any external mechanism to secure TLWBs to your body⁣ ⁣ 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝!? ⁣ - you can tie these beads on your body yourself⁣ - use a soft cloth measuring tape to measure your waist, or hip ⁣ - your tlwb will be lengthened (at no extra cost) where there are available beads⁣ - design customization will be very possible eventually. ⁣ ⁣ Traditional tie-on waist beads have been used for centuries through out the African continent for the following reasons,⁣ - proposals⁣ - coming of age traditions⁣ - weight management⁣ - status quo⁣ - culture requirements⁣ - waist shaping⁣ - sexual appeal ⁣ - confidence⁣ - self love⁣ - self worth⁣ ⁣ We on the western side of the globe, can too!!! Now, we don't "get waisted", let's get you adorned!!! Let's get your tied to your intentions!!⁣ ⁣ ⁣ ⁣ ⁣ _____________________________________⁣_____ #growingup #energyshift #lovemesomegrowth #realignedenergies #realignedpurposes #masteringmyself # #adannakaye #reminderstokeepon #feelingsmattermost #reactingonfeelings #myfeelingsmatter #termsandconditions #speakforyou #selflovematters❤️ #positiveenergy #littlethings #dailypost #mindfulness #respectisearned #turtlelovewaistbeads #caridotcom #trinidadandtobago #waistbeads #weightloss #weightcontrol #slimwaistline #beadedgang #beadorned #madeintrinidad #trinidadbusiness https://www.instagram.com/p/B9rDj6LpkOa/?igshid=14asz04hnp6kf

[inkwell-arts]

Another style test.

Wayfarer story, characters, and art © @tempiarts

[tlwb]

To-Do List

Bold text is in progress Italicized text is long-term, done in bits and pieces, as inspiration hits

Get organized:

templates for:

themes

locations

mechanics (books!)

notable entities (beasts, people, legends)

unified tags

#entry type, #entry type: number, #status

Determine world themes/tone/hooks

Generate world:

Flesh out the “physics” of the world

On the Nature of Mana

Beasts, Wonderful and Terrible

Mankind and His Place Among the Gods

Of Men and Elves and the Like

World map, including geography, climates, rivers

Determine starting points for civilizations, history

Find suitable time period to ‘stop’ generating history, populate world

Political borders, and culture

Last edited: 5.15.16 Expanded ‘Generate world’ to include world ‘physics’, as books, possibly. Separate posts as chapters and excerpts.

[winterarchives]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. The Leather Winged Bat ࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 1

Word Count - 7.1k+

Pairing - Eddie Munson x Reader , Soft!Steve Harrington x Reader , Bestfriend!Nancy x Reader

Summary - You're new to Hawkins, a town with a history that you've lived prior but have yet to remember. When you meet the Hawkins crew, bits and pieces of your forgotten memory start to fall back into place, but at what cost? What has your family lied to you for so long about? And what price will you pay for the answers you seek?

Warnings - cussing , amateur writing as this was years ago , mentions of drugs

P2 HERE

ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾. ִֶָ☾.

You didn’t care to be moving again. You had told your parents no, that you had just made a sustainable amount of friends in Colorado, which was difficult enough to do in the first place. And moving this close to Halloween? You wanted to stay in a single location for once, not uproot your life and have to cut ties with the few people who made you feel like… you. 

But your dad was a bigwig in the FBI. Moving was something you’d grown accustomed to in your nearly 18 years of life; it didn’t matter how much you had a distaste for it. Your parents, though compassionate, would not budge. The move was not an option, your dad had explained. Something strange was happening in a small town in Indiana, and he had been freshly plucked from the Bureau to assist. He couldn’t give you details, just like any other case he’d worked. You and your mom were clueless, just had to settle in for the ride. The newfound comfort you’d discovered in Durango would once again be forgotten, you’d have to adapt once more, and you knew it likely wouldn’t be the last time. Thankfully, your ever-changing living situations had left you with few possessions to relocate. You had the bare minimum: clothes, a pair of roller skates, some dusty old comic books and D&D cards you’d not opened since your last obsessive bout years ago, earrings and earring-making equipment, and your most prized possession: your blue walkman accompanied by an absurd amount of cassette tapes.

It wasn’t much, but that made it all the easier, right?

This move felt different, strangely enough. You didn’t have more to pack, didn’t have a boyfriend or girlfriend begging you to stay… Yet it still felt more final, more pivotal in ways you couldn’t yet lay a finger on. It had been on your mind for the last month, since your dad had announced it to you at the dinner table all those nights ago. Something in his face was different, he seemed almost scared. Your mother held his hand while he told you, her eyes wide and breathing uneven. And there’s something in your parents’ eyes that tells you you’re not getting the full story, that even though your parents love you and wouldn’t put you in harm's way, there’s deception in their words. Your dad apologizes again, his breath catching in his throat when you nod your head silently, not arguing with him as you always had when news of moving was broken to you. It shocked you, too, in all honesty. But even though you were upset, truly upset to be leaving Durango, you could not bring yourself to fight for it. You couldn’t bring yourself to announce your departure to the friends you had, or the teachers at your school. A clean break, you reasoned, but there was an incessant probing feeling in your mind that kept your hair on your neck standing straight and echoes of Indiana ringing in your ears.

You find yourself absentmindedly pulling at the strings in your tattered jeans in your dad’s Suburban, readjusting your headphones while Fleetwood Mac plays, trying once more to lose yourself in music while mentally disconnecting yourself from everything you were leaving behind you. The glass window provides little comfort when you rest your head against it, but you don’t like the way the landscape is changing… the Rockies disappearing somewhere behind you. And you especially don’t like the unsettling calm climbing up your spine and settling deep in your veins the further you get from your most recent ‘home.’ It feels like an icy snake, slithering its way through your organs and resting cold against your skin from the inside; and when your car finally passes the Welcome to Indiana sign on the side of the road there are so many icy tendrils poking at what feels like every nerve in your body that you turn your walkman off and curl in on yourself, missing the nervous glance your mother shoots your father in the front of the car.

It passes… eventually. Slowly dwindling to a steady ebb somewhere in the background noise of your brain. 

“How you holdin’ up, kiddo?” Your dad asks you, meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Fine,” you lie, glancing out the window at the flat farmlands, “how long until we’re at the house?” 

“Should be just under an hour,” he answers. “It’s a nice one, I think you’ll like it. It’s got a nice backyard and a decent neighborhood.” 

You roll your eyes and push your headphones back on, quickly swapping the cassette and visibly relaxing when ABBA starts to play. You fish out the sketch pad and a few pencils you’d always left under the passenger seat for trips like this, flipping the book open 3/4s of the way and finding the next empty page. You doodle absentmindedly, having to switch pencils a couple of times due to breakage when your dad makes a turn or comes to an unexpected stop. You’ve practically filled the thing with random assortments of flowers, stick-figure superheroes and poorly drafted bubble letter lyrics when the car comes to a final stop. 

The scenery around the vehicle has changed considerably from the sad flatlands you had been around roughly an hour prior. Everything is remarkably green, and the buildings aren’t too dilapidated for your liking. The house in front of you isn’t what you’d expected it to be, it’s not monochrome like the rest of your houses had been throughout your life. This one had character. The yellow paint isn’t too gaudy; it looks surprisingly elegant paired with the white trim and hardwood accents. 

“What do you think?” Your mom asks, waiting while you take off your headphones.

“Not bad,” you nod approvingly, “I’m surprised.” 

“I said you’d like it,” your dad smiles, “wanna know the best part?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him, “if you tell me there’s a pool, I won’t be thrilled. You know I hate swimming.” 

“Nah, better than that,” he laughs, “there’s a grandmother’s cottage. You get your own tiny house.” 

“Now, that, I can definitely appreciate. You guys are fine with that?”

“You’re 18 soon, sweetie,” your mom reasons, “and we want you to have an actual space to come back to when you’re on summer break in college.” 

“Are you telling me we will actually be staying here for longer than six months?” 

“I’ve been signed to be here for at least two years,” your dad explains.

“YEARS?” You blanch at the thought, “I’ll actually get to graduate here?” 

“That’s the plan,” he smiles. 

Another thing you didn’t like about moving, the emptiness… Walking through a house when it feels gutted never appealed to you, the acoustics messing with your comfort a bit much for your liking. Your dad helps you settle your boxes into your small living space, handing you a copy of the keys for the house and your cottage, which still feels alien to you. It’s small, easy to manage, and practically a scaled-down version of the actual house. There’s a large enough main area with a wall housing a fridge, sink, and stove, and a mirrored wall that dips in and holds a new bed, and a small bathroom behind a door that mirrors the entryway. The carpet is a soft beige, the walls an off-white that opens the space up more than it probably really is. You sigh, eyeing your boxes and set to work before you can procrastinate any further or fall asleep, headphones once again shoved onto your head.

You wake up in a cold sweat, hair matted to your forehead, and a white T-shirt clinging to your heaving chest. The creature in your dreams had been just that, a creature in your dreams. Nonexistent, false, unable to cause you actual harm… but it had felt so real. It was right there, tangible and so clear that you’d even questioned its existence inside the dream. The monster, whatever it was, was so humanoid it shellshocked you. And when it said your name… but then again, it was your mind playing tricks on you, probably getting back at you for the late night of unpacking you had bestowed upon it. But there are echoes of the creature saying your name that feel like they’re emanating from the center of the back of your neck. You shake your head, trying to dislodge the feelings wrapping themselves around you like a cocoon, desperately digging your nails into the palms of your hands. It works, thankfully, but the echoes have reshaped themselves into what you can only describe as a headache that threatens to split your skull in two. 

You do not remember falling back asleep.

Morning brings reprieve, the sun seemingly washing away your migraine and replacing it with a feeling of rejuvenation. Your parents check in on you before setting off for the local store, needing to pick up actual groceries, and you offer to accompany and help them but they insist you go out, experience what the town that calls itself Hawkins has to offer. 

The skates feel natural on your feet, and the streets in Hawkins are near ideal for them. You roll past an arcade that looks fun enough, the spinning sign outside catching your attention along with a theater and the highschool you assume you would end up attending within the next week. The people within the town are interesting enough, ranging from children on bikes and inside of the arcade to teenagers in leather jackets with mullets playing board games in the park. The adults, for the most part, seem to be in their 30s or 40s, the rare elderly person mowing their lawn or reading their papers on their porches as you roll through town with Zeppelin playing through your headphones. 

It’s almost jarring when a car pulls up beside you, dark and pretty with California plates and a young driver in the front. He signals for you to take off your headphones when you come to a stop, the street empty save for the two of you and the group of misfits sitting at the park playing D&D.

“Can I help you?” You ask the driver, eyeing him up from where he sits, smoke on his lips and aviators adorning his face. 

“You’re new,” he smirks.

“And you know this how?” 

“The Colorado sweater,” he shrugs.

“You’re new, too,” you counter, rolling your eyes. 

“What gave it away?” He smiles, pushing his aviators up and settling them into his hair so you see his hazel eyes.

“The plate,” you answer.

“Observant,” he laughs, “you a senior?” 

“Junior.” 

“Ah, nice. You’ll be going to Hawkins High, yeah?” 

“I would assume so, parents haven’t really given me the rundown.” 

“Well I’ll see you at school…” he trails off, expectant.

“Y/N.” You tell him, eyeing him down. His self-assuredness was hopefully a Cali thing.

“See you at school, Y/N,” he grins, catlike, “Billy, by the way,” he points to himself. “I dig the skates.” And then he’s gone, peeling down the street like a madman. 

“You okay?” A voice calls. You look towards the benches, eyeing the stranger with the dark hair and black pants, his leather jacket hanging on the bench behind him. His friends eye him warily, all wearing the same white shirt with a pattern on it you can’t make out from the distance. 

You shrug and wave him off, “I’m all good, thanks.” And then you turn on your skates, decidedly going the opposite direction of the Billy character you’d just met to get home.

“I made lasagna,” your mom tells you when you get home, “should be just about cool enough to eat now.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” you smile, “Dad tell you when I’m going to school yet?” 

“Sounds like Monday’s the day,” she replies, dishing you up a plate and settling into the chair across from you at the dinner table. “Taste good?”

“It’s pretty good, Mom,” you nod approvingly. “Where’s Dad?” 

“He got called in, sounds like this place is going to be busier for him than Durango,” she frowns, “but we have each other, right?” 

You nod, taking another bite of your lasagna. “Mom,” you start, but you don’t know how to word what it is you want to say. Was your mom experiencing the things you were experiencing? Did she feel isolated like you did? “Never mind. The dinner’s really good.” 

“Thank you sweetie,” she blushes, “it’s kind of a family tradition now, huh? Lasagna when we move.” 

“We have weird traditions, don’t we?” You laugh. She smiles, but the smile doesn’t meet her eyes the way it usually does. It’s silent for a moment, and your mom looks like she might cry.

“Listen, Y/N, I know we don’t usually have talks when we move,” she starts, “but the work your dad is doing here, it’s got to do with disappearances. Your father and I need you to be careful.” 

You raise a brow, “What do you mean?” 

“It’s just, until your dad and the Bureau figure out what it is they need to figure out, we just need you to be cautious. Bad things happen to good people, to good kids. Just don’t stay out late, don’t go to parties and make bad decisions, that sort of thing…” she trails off. 

“I’ll be careful, Mom. Promise.” 

She nods, teary-eyed, and takes your empty dish to the sink. 

Monday comes soon enough, along with the embarrassment of being the new kid. Everybody stares at you, like you’re some sort of alien that just crawled out of a crater in the Earth. It’s unsettling, but this is your fifteenth move. You keep your head low, get your locker number and combo, and go through the motions. Your teachers introduce you every period, leaving you feeling exposed and displayed. The California boy, Billy, is in at least two of your classes, and you sit next to him in one. He mostly pays attention to you, tossing wadded-up paper at you when he’s bored and kicking at your chair when you refuse to look his way. The majority of your other classes without Billy are enjoyable, at least. 

You sit next to a girl named Nancy in two of them, appreciating her notes she shares with you from the last week of classes you weren’t in school for. It doesn’t take long for the Hawkins gossip to spread to you either, hearing whispers of Barb’s name through parted lips in the hall, accusations against Nancy and her boyfriend Steve thrown into a handful of them. 

“It’s not a Satanic thing, shithead,” a boy with dark hair says to his friends at a locker across from yours. It takes you a minute to recognize him as the boy who’d checked on you after Billy drove off days before. 

“It’s weird that she just vanished, Eddie,” another argues. 

“Listen, you’re starting to sound like the people that talk shit about us and D&D, Gareth. It’s not Satanic.” 

You close your locker, having heard enough of the conversation that surely doesn’t concern you, and head for your last class. You’re pleased to see Nancy in this one, too, and grow even happier when she points out the empty seat next to her. You take it gratefully and thank her again for the notes she shares with you. 

“It’s really no problem,” she smiles. “You’re new, it’s rough.” 

“Very,” you agree, noting down a few highlighted bullet points from her paper onto your own, “but I’m used to it.”

“Do you move around often?” 

“At least once a year since I was like, 5?” You think, “yeah, I think that’s right.” 

“That sounds miserable,” she replies, then looks to you worriedly, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to be so-” 

“Honest?” You finish for her, and she laughs a bit. “Don’t be sorry, it sucks.” 

“Well, I’m sorry.” 

“It is what it is. My dad has a crazy job.” 

“What does he do?” 

“He’s in the Bureau,” you answer, handing her back her notes. 

“Like THE Bureau?” 

“That exact one,” you nod. “Doesn’t really keep us in place for long. But my parents say we’ll be here for a while, so at least there’s that.” 

Nancy nods, lost in thought, and then grimaces towards the door. You look in that direction, not thrilled to see Billy standing in the doorway, looking at the two of you. 

“Wheeler,” he greets her. She scrunches her nose at him and goes back to revising her notes, “Y/N! It’s nice seeing you guys both around these parts,” he smiles, settling into the seat on the opposite side of you. 

“Wish I could say the same,” Nancy mumbles. 

“Good afternoon, class,” the teacher states, “looks like we have a new student in our graces today!” 

Billy laughs from next to you, and you groan, sinking further into your seat. 

It’s raining when the final bell rings, and you grind your teeth. Your ticket home was your roller skates nestled into your backpack. You huff, ripping the skates out of their home and swapping them with your Converse. Your flannel would protect you enough from the downpour, you supposed, the jean shorts would not.

Skating in the rain can be fun, but skating in this particular rain was not fun. What was a drizzle had quickly turned into sheets of rain falling directly onto your shoulders, and the first roll of thunder sent you crashing to the pavement. You curse at yourself rather loudly, resting your head in your hands. You needed a car. Desperately. 

Of course, the last one you wanted would pull up to the curb.

“Go away, Billy,” you growl as soon as the window rolls down.

“C’mon, I’m not that bad,” he quips, looking down at you from the window. “You’re bleeding,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you exhale, “anything else?” 

“Get in,” he laughs. 

“What?” 

“I’ll give you a ride home, it’s a shitstorm outside right now, get in.” 

“I can skate, I’m good,” you huff, trying to pull yourself up but wincing at the ache in your knee that’s dripping blood onto the pavement.

“You’re bleeding and the storm is only going to get worse,” he sings, “just get in. It’s a ride, not a blowy.” 

“How eloquent,” you roll your eyes. 

“I’m not leaving you alone until you get in, Y/N. And I can be pretty annoying…” 

“Don’t we all know… Listen, if I let you give me a ride, will you leave me alone?” 

“I’ll consider it, which is more than I do for most.” It’s his turn to roll his eyes, “Just hop in-- carefully. Don’t need you biting the curb again.” 

There’s a loud whir of an engine, and you turn to see a van, beaten up but running, headed over the hill. 

“The offer will expire, you know,” Billy chirps. 

You recognize the driver’s hair as it rolls past you, Eddie looking from you to Billy in quick succession. You think he might continue on his way until the Iron Maiden that’s playing at an overwhelming volume decreases and the van pulls to the curb. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks, hopping out of the van and into the rain. 

“She’s fine,” Billy answers for you, picking at his thumbnail. “Right, Y/N?” 

“She’s bleeding,” Eddie replies, “and she can answer for herself.” 

You inwardly grin, “m’fine, just a little scratched up.” 

“What happened?” He asks, eyeing Billy skeptically. 

“I bit the curb. Thunder got me,” you answer. 

Eddie looks doubtful, but nods his head, “do you need a ride?” 

“She has one,” Billy replies. 

“Again, I asked the lady.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Billy groans, “I’m outta here.” 

He disappears as fast as he’d appeared, Cali plates dipping out of view around the bend in the road. 

“I’m going to ask again, are you ok?” Eddie pipes up, looking to your knee and back at your face. “He do that to you?” 

“You know, that would make for a more interesting story. The truth is I fell on my ass when the thunder clapped and Billy showed up to make my day worse.” 

“In that case, I’ll ask my other question again… do you need a ride?” 

You debate it for a minute, but there’s comfort in the fact that Eddie plays D&D and listens to Iron Maiden, both things you enjoy. 

“That’d be nice,” you answer. “I don’t live too far away,” you reason.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

Okay, maybe getting in a car with Eddie wasn’t the best idea. It smells so strongly of weed you think you’ll get a secondhand high and his driving isn’t what you’d deem close to perfect-- or safe. But he’s nice and he called Billy out on his bullshit, and that counts for something surely, right?

“I’m Eddie by the way…” he makes small talk, tapping his fingers along with Iron Maiden that plays faintly in the background. “Eddie Munson. Well, I guess I really didn’t need to add the last name, did I? That was weird. Dunno why I did that.” He’s shaking his head, laughing at himself.

“Y/N L/N,” you tell him.

“Huh?”

“Tell me yours I’ll tell you mine,” you answer matter of factly. “It is weird to formally introduce yourself to someone like that, though. Just for, uh, future reference.”

“God I really hope I don’t need to refer to it,” he shivers. “Embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. Weird shit adds character,” you shrug, “makes you more memorable.”

“My sense of style and good looks not enough?”

You grimace at him, making a point of eyeing the shirt he’s worn for at least two days straight.

“Hey, I have an ARSENAL of these things,” he plucks the fabric and flaps it, “it’s my D&D club.”

“I like it,” you tell him honestly, missing the pink flush that appears on the tips of his ears and dusts his cheeks, “the design’s cool.. Hey, why does your van smell like a weed farm?”

“That, madam, is because of my lovely side hustle that will remain off the record for legal reasons...”

“So you sell weed to the sad local youth? Charming.”

“Hey, it pays the bills… mostly.”

“Just weed?”

“Shit no, I do have a reputation to uphold you know.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” you nod, “it’s a left up here,” you direct him.

“So, Hargrove’s taken a liking to you,” Eddie sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

You laugh at that, “is he always so…?" You trail off.

“He’s an ass,” Eddie nods, “thinks he’s the king of Hawkins or some shit since he showed up with his sister a few months back.”

“He has a sister? Poor girl.”

Eddie laughs at that, tapping his ringed fingers against the steering wheel.

“Yeah, she’s a kid,” he shrugs after a moment, “what about you? Siblings?”

“Nah, only kid. You?”

“I think I absorbed my twin in the womb if that counts,” he taps his chin, “other than that? Nope.”

“Poor twin,” you laugh.

“The fact that you just laughed at that morbid thought shows how fucked up you are,” Eddie grins, “I like that, shows your character.”

“I’ve got a lot of it,” you tell him, “left again, by the way. So, you like Iron Maiden?”

“Like? They’re gods to a mere mortal like myself. I pray at their altar. I love them.”

“I like them,” you nod.

“No shit?”

“Absolute shit.”

“Careful, you might make a friend,” he winks.

“Well, seeing as so far Billy is my only option,” you wince.

“Fuck, you’re funny,” Eddie smiles, “okay, I’ll extend an offer of a possible friendship with some strings attached.”

“What are the strings?” You ask, “it’s the last house on the right.”

“Metalheads greeting you in the hall, loud music when we hang out, obligation to come to my band’s shows…”

“I like what I’m hearing so far…” You feign deep thought, leaning backwards into the passenger seat further. “You might have a deal, Munson. But I need to sleep on it. See if Billy makes a counteroffer and all that jazz.”

“If Hargrove comes to you with a palatable offer, I will chew my own arms off.”

You giggle, eyeing Eddie out of the corner of your eye. He’s smiling a half-smile that has his eyes crinkling in half-moons, laughlines on full display. The car slows in front of your home, and Eddie very visibly gawks at it.

“You and your folks moved in here?”

“Yeah, why?”

“House has been empty for about as long as I can remember…” he trails off, meeting your eyes. “It’s a nice one,” he adds, almost convincingly.

“You’re not going to tell me it’s haunted or some shit, are you?”

Eddie stiffens a bit, lets out a nervous laugh that leaves you feeling a little too uneasy for your liking. “Not necessarily, just has a bad track record from what I’ve heard.”

“Comforting…” you roll your eyes, “will I be exempt from the haunting since I’m living in the grandmother’s cabin?”

“Didn’t know there was one, honestly,” Eddie shrugs, “you’ll be fine. You seem tough enough.” He smiles at you, wolfish grin covering his features that had seemed almost reminiscent moments earlier. “Listen, no one’s died here, so it can’t be too bad.”

“You have such a way with words, Munson,” you smile.

“Probably from the lit class repeats.”

“Repeats?”

“I’ve been held back once,” he shrugs, “adds character, right?”

His smile is light, teasing even, but his eyes can’t hide the layer of disappointment lurking within the muddy brown irises.

“Seems you have an overabundance of it, Munson,” you nod, “save some for the rest of us, yeah?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he breathes, looking at his hands on the steering wheel. “Well, I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“We have no classes together,” you point out.

“There are these really cool inventions, L/N, they’re called hallways.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of them, they seem a bit overrated,” you tell him, slipping your shoes on your feet and shoving your skates back into your backpack.

“Supposed to rain tomorrow, too.” Eddie adds as you open the van door, “you know, if you want a ride to school?”

You look at him, the bangs that curl against his forehead, his brown eyes and all of his leather.

“I think my mom’s giving me a ride,” you lie, “maybe some other day?”

Eddie looks a bit crestfallen, but he nods. “Some other day,” he agrees, “see you around, friend.”

He’s off as soon as you close the door and turn towards your house, Metallica blasting through the speakers as he tears down the road.

“Who was that?” Your mom asks, not wasting a breath when you open the front door. Somewhere down the hall you can hear the sink running and smell pasta.

“Kid from school, he offered to give me a ride,” you explain, “I need to go shower, I banged up my knee skating home.”

“Are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah, mom,” you answer, already making your way towards the sliding door and out to your mini-home.

Most of the blood on your knee is scabbed over already, and the water running hot against the new wound doesn’t feel all too pleasant, your broken flesh aching at the contact and flushing a brilliant red while the water chases the clotted blood down the drain. Somewhere in the back of your mind your conversation with Eddie plays over and over again. There was something sad in his eyes when he mentioned being held back, which you supposed made sense, but his eyes were so big and bright when he joked with you, and the stark contrast made your stomach tighten concernedly.

What he had said about your house concerned you, too, though you were partially embarrassed to admit it. You never felt uncomfortable in any of the homes that your dad and mom had dragged you to, but something about this house, something about this town left your hair standing on edge and your sense of comfort something to be desired.

You hop out of your shower, smelling freshly of lilac shampoo and drag a hairbrush through your hair. Your yellow towel pools at your feet as you get dressed, knee screaming in protest when you shimmy into your old gray sweats that bunch at your feet. You worry that you reopened the wound, but push the thought from your mind when blood doesn’t stain your sweats after a few minutes of tedious outfit planning for the following day.

The creeping feeling you had the day before in your father’s car is returning slowly as you lay in your bed on your stomach, doodling absentmindedly on a homework packet assigned to you in history class, and it keeps you so distracted and honestly scared that you eventually shove your homework back into your backpack and force yourself to fall asleep.

“Y/N…” A voice chimes, almost in tune with a clock somewhere deep in the void. “Y/N, you came back, do you know why that is?”

The voice is low, almost too low to be audible, but there’s familiarity in it that leaves your dream-self almost medicated, and you don’t know how you know you’re dreaming but you’re dreaming and there’s something poking hard at the base of your spine, trailing it’s long nails up your skeleton even though you’re made of flesh and blood.

“I wanted you to come home,” it tells you, talons coming to rest at the nape of your neck, tickling at the hair there. “Your parents could not hide you forever,” it explains, “not from where you belong. Not from your destiny. Not from me.”

It clicks its tongue, and the clock chimes once more.

“It’s too early, you see,” it sighs, “but we have time. For this, we have all of the time in the world…”

Your breathing is so labored you’re seeing white and black spots when you wake up, fists clenched in your sweat-drenched sheets. “S’just a dream…” you whisper to yourself, eyeing the clock on your nightstand that tells you it’s only 4:30 in the morning.

You shake the sleep from your eyes and pull your homework out from where it pokes out of your backpack because sleep would not return to you now.

The rest of the week passes by much the same. You don’t see Eddie much, but he keeps to his word and waves at you in the hallways or on lunch, and you appreciate it. But the lack of sleep you’re getting nightly is leaving you exhausted and a bit grouchy.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Nancy whispers, leaning towards your desk, “but you look exhausted. Were you up late studying?”

“Something like that,” you mutter, stifling a yawn into the fabric of your favorite sweatshirt.

“We don’t have tests for months, Y/N,” Nancy smiles sympathetically, “don’t run yourself into the ground studying yet.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Guess I just get ahead of myself,” you chuckle dryly.

“You sure you’re all good?” Nancy asks, eyes narrowing, “is Billy bothering you?”

“M’fine, Billy is annoying, yes, but I can handle him,” she eyes you doubtfully, “hey, I’m a strong girl, I really can handle him, Nancy.”

“Okay,” she smiles, “well, do you want to hang out during lunch?”

You lift your eyebrows at that, surprised at the offer, “yeah, that’d be nice.”

You both decide on grabbing a few snacks from the cafeteria and heading to the library, not wanting to listen to everyone making Halloween party plans loudly in the cafeteria, though Nancy does invite you to one that her and Steve would be attending together. You can’t bring yourself to say no, either, though Nancy doesn’t really give you much of an option.

“Listen, I need to have at least one friend there,” Nancy pleads, “I’m always with Steve, and I enjoy that but I need friends, too.”

Your mind flips to Barb automatically, the whispers shared between classmates behind Nancy’s back in the hallways. “I’ll go,” you agree, nodding your head, “but I’ll need a ride.”

“Done. Don’t worry about it, Steve and I will pick you up on our way and you can even stay at my place after the party,” she offers. You feel like you should reject the latter offer, but something about the way Nancy smiles at you expectantly, excitement in her eyes and painting her features, you just can’t say no.

So you have your weekend planned out for you without any of it really being your idea. The 24 hour Halloween countdown had started and despite it being your favorite holiday, you don’t feel festive. Your costume for the party was simple, a light pink eyelet tank top and a white cowboy hat paired with jeans. Lori Singer would be proud.

“It’ll be fun,” Nancy smiles, “way more fun than if I was going with Steve alone,” she sighs.

“Please tell me there will be alcohol,” you shake your head, “please…”

Nancy laughs but nods, “we’re in high school, and it’s a party. There will be alcohol.”

You clap your hands together laughing at Nancy’s shocked expression, “what?” You ask her, “liquid courage is a necessity.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nancy chuckles.

“I am honest,” you reply, looking up when the chair across from you scrapes against the floor.

“Ladies,” Eddie smiles, “what’s this I hear about liquid courage?”

You roll your eyes at the metalhead, but you’re secretly happy to see him. Nancy is completely shellshocked, looking from Eddie to you and back so quickly you fear her retinas will detach.

“What’s it to you?” You ask him, raising your brows.

“This about the party tomorrow night at the house near lover’s lake?”

“Maybe,” you deadpan.

“Just so happens yours truly will be there,” he smirks, “more for business than pleasure,” he adds.

“You’re insufferable, Munson,” you smile.

“And proud of it,” he quips back. “You going too, Wheeler?”

“Yeah,” she answers hesitantly, looking at you, “I’m the one making Y/N go.”

Eddie laughs, tapping his rings against the table, “well, I’ll see you ladies there,” he winks.

“What the hell was that?” Nancy asks, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Eddie never talks to me, when did you guys get close?”

“We didn’t, honestly,” you chew at your lip. “He just gave me a ride home when I fell on my ass the other day roller-skating home.”

“Eddie Munson drove you home?”

“Come on, he’s not a pariah.”

“But he is! That’s just the thing! That is exactly what Eddie Munson is, Y/N.”

“Well it was either him or get in Billy Hargrove’s car,” you shrug, “I decided on the far lesser evil.”

Nancy is at a loss for words, but her eyes look as though they might pop out of her head. Thankfully the bell saves you, and you’re both on your way to class before talk of Billy can ruin your day further.

You almost decide against going to the party, and you nearly have the main house’s landline in your hands when the doorbell rings. “Shit,” you grumble.

Nancy looks amazing, per usual, her hair perfect and her Risky Business ensemble looking overall great paired with Steve’s.

“Nice to actually meet you,” Steve smiles, shades covering his eyes.

“Likewise,” you reply. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Ahw,” Steve coos, looking at Nancy next to him and nudging her shoulder.

You don’t miss the slightly irritated glance Nancy shoots him, but Steve seems oblivious, which somehow suits his personality so much it makes you laugh. He seems a bit confused at your outburst but shrugs, kicking the car into drive and tapping along to the music that plays over the radio.

Your costume earns you quite a few compliments, the fashionably late time of arrival serving as a nice compliment cushion when you finally do arrive. You follow Nancy and Steve’s leads, walking into the ridiculously packed house and tucking into a beer on the counter immediately. Nancy looks at you wide eyed again, “ahw, c’mon, it’s a party,” you shrug.

“Just let loose, Nance,” Steve encourages, waving to a friend across the room before departing from the two of you.

“Just let loose, Nance,” she mimics, rolling her eyes. You laugh at that, but regain your composure when Nancy starts pouring a pink concoction from a punch bowl into a set of cups.

“Want one?” She asks you.

“Sure,” you nod, gulping down the bitter mixture before you can tell yourself no. Nancy matches your stride, quickly refilling your cups before you can even ask.

You jump when Kenny Loggins starts blasting, immediately pulling Nancy onto the dancefloor with you in a drunken fit of confidence. Nancy is immediately dancing with you, a mess of limbs and poorly executed dance moves matching your own that leaves you both breathlessly laughing with each other, leaning against each other so you don’t completely collapse to the floor.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Steve asks, taking his shades off for the first time of the night, looking at the solo cups in your hands. “Nancy, come on, I think you’ve had enough,” he chastises her, reaching for the cup. It happens seemingly in slow motion, the battle for the cup and the following disaster that is the alcohol spilling all over Nancy.

Steve’s apologies fall on deaf ears as he follows your friend to the bathroom. You have half-a-drunk-mind to follow them both but there’s a leather clad individual eyeing you from across the room with a smirk on his face and you can barely contain the irritation rising in your chest when Billy makes his way towards you, hair slicked back and leather pants clinging to his thighs.

“I’m good,” you tell him immediately, setting back for the kitchen and the alcohol that aids you.

“How’s your knee?” He smiles softly, and you hate the somersault your stomach does at the sight of it.

“It’s fine, Billy.”

“It was bleeding quite a bit,” he reminds you.

“Not anymore,” you snap, “what do you want, Billy?”

“I just wanna talk,” he answers, as if that were the truth.

“Cool, well it was SO wonderful seeing you, but I’ve actually got to go, so,” you shrug and attempt to move around him.

“Listen,” he blocks your pathing, “I really don’t get why you can’t be friendly with me. I’m friendly with you,” he points out, but there’s unspoken words that are in his eyes and you can feel a blush rising in your cheeks.

“You’re probably friendly with every lady in Hawkins,” you point out.

Billy laughs at that, looking you up and down. “Is that such a bad thing? Come on, we can be friends, can’t we?”

“Physical attraction and beauty fades, Billy,” you spit at him, filling up another red solo cup and taking a deep swig. “You won’t be pretty forever. And then what will you be? Alone. Bank some of your energy into being a person other people actually want to be around,” you spit, setting your now empty cup down and looking across the room.

The bathroom door had just flung open and Steve leaves it, looking absolutely heartbroken and defeated. You watch confusedly as he leaves the house, Nancy nowhere by his side. You ignore Billy’s protests, heading for the bathroom yourself, surprised to see another figure doing the same thing.

Nancy is sitting cross-legged on the toilet, scrubbing at her shirt with a wet hand towel, the purple smudge only growing in size at her attempts.

“What happened?” You ask her, words slurred slightly.

“Bullshit,” Nancy answers you, shrugging. Something behind you catches her eyes and you nearly jump out of your skin when you realize the figure that had been headed towards the bathroom much like yourself had done the same exact thing. “Jonathan?”

“Hey, Nance,” he mumbles. “You doing ok?”

“Just wanna go home,” she sighs. “S’all bullshit.”

You narrow your eyes, looking at the stranger in the doorway. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jonathan,” he answers hesitantly, “who’re you?”

“Y/N,” you answer him.

“She’s my friend,” Nancy smiles, “I got a new friend, Jonathan.”

Jonathan smiles sadly at Nancy, helping her to her feet. “Do you guys need a ride home?”

“Steve was giving us one,” you answer.

“Well Steve left,” Jonathan shrugs, “so it’s me or Billy Hargrove might beg you to let him give you guys a ride.”

“Just take us home, Jonathan,” Nancy pouts, “please.”

You’re a bit hesitant to leave, and though you’re embarrassed to admit it, you think it might have to do with a metalhead who was noticeably absent from the night’s activities.

“You coming?” Jonathan asks you, keeping a hand around Nancy’s waist as he helps her walk towards the door.

“Yeah,” you answer, following the two of them out into the cold Halloween night air.

Jonathan’s car is parked a bit down the street and it’s difficult for you to keep your footing perfect on the uneven pavement. You almost fall multiple times into the bushes lining the sidewalks, laughing when you have to repeatedly catch your balance.

Nancy’s mumbling about how everything is bullshit and she just wants to go to bed and you’re settling deeper into the rear seat as soon as you clamber into Jonathan’s car, trying not to feel completely sick to your stomach when you finally sit still.

“Am I taking you both to the Wheelers’?” Jonathan asks you, and you giggle at the tiny snores emitting from Nancy’s nose as she leans against the car window.

“Yeah,” you answer, “thanks again, Jonathan,” you tell him.

“It’s no problem,” he answers, pulling on to the road and trying to avoid the random teenager that runs across the road at random intervals.

Nancy’s house is significantly larger than yours, and it takes both you and Jonathan to carry Nancy inside, surprised at how she wakes up only when you lay her in her bed. “Y/N?” She calls out, reaching her arms out and making grabbing motions with her hands.

“Right here,” you giggle, grabbing one of her hands.

“OOMPH-” the breath is nearly sucked out of you when Nancy pulls you into her bed and across her chest.

“Thank you for going with me tonight,” she mumbles, hugging you tight against her.

“No need to thank me, Nancy,” you giggle, “you’re strong for being so tiny,” you cough, trying to wriggle out of her grasp.

“Sleep in my bed with me,” Nancy pouts, “don’t wanna be alone.”

“Okay,” you nod, freeing yourself from Nancy’s vice-like grip only to fall into the covers next to her.

“Do you ever get scared?” Nancy asks the empty air, “not of school or work or getting into college, but scared like when you were a kid. Scared of monsters…”

“All of the time,” you answer her honestly, burrowing further into the blanket when you hear Nancy’s snores start up again.

[turtle-love-waist-beads]

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[yesitiswritten]

[yesitiswritten]

Porque o que é verdadeiro, permanece. ¡Vondy Hasta la Muerte!