Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- prologue -

Hawkins, Indiana, 1st November, 1982,

It was like looking through a mirror—through the looking glass. Through the metaphorical looking glass, the girl stumbled through the woods in the dead of night, the tragedy of her footing increasing tenfold. He watched through the looking glass as she staggered over a lonesome twig on the ground, almost falling over. Was that what humans did with their time—drink until they could not walk properly? The girl, whose name he still did not know, found a tree to lean against, coughing and heaving until sick came out of her mouth, falling to the ground in a swift spurt. Slurred curses left her mouth as she wiped away the remnants around her mouth and slumped down against the tree next to the pile of sick, sobbing.

How weak.

Pathetically weak.

He could feel her pain; the hurt she felt whenever he found these looking glasses—mirrors to another reality—pained by her very existence. Truly pitiful. The pain radiated from her, feeding him in small increments, and making him feel more powerful. Her pain was his fortune. However, it was not enough to truly thrive off. That was why, each time he saw her, he would try to reach out and take her through the looking glass to potentially feed off her misfortune entirely.

And, each time, he would fail.

His jagged breaths resounded through the cold blue sky as he reached out his extensive, fleshy fingers, closing his eyes to focus. Vibrations echoed in the air in his attempt to break through the looking glass, pulling her into the cold depths of his reality. 

Once more, when he opened his eyes, he was met with the steel atmosphere. The pain that he fed off had disappeared entirely. It was just him and his precious creations.

Chapter Text

- the night on mirkwood, the figure in the woods -

Hawkins, Indiana, 6th November, 1983,

"Mornin', kid," Wayne greeted as his niece lugged herself from the bedroom she shared with her twin, still in her pyjamas. It was only five in the morning, certainly not the time she liked to be awake. She flashed him a small smile, reaching into the kitchen cupboard for the box of chocolate Pop Tarts. "I'm hoping you've slept?"

He watched her nod profusely, her smile growing bigger. "No nightmares and a full night's sleep," she told him, placing the Pop Tarts into the toaster and pouring herself a glass of water. "Looks like things are on the up, Wayne."

Finishing a mouthful of porridge, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, getting up from the chair he usually sat on. "No headaches either?" His niece shook her head. "Voices?"

"I haven't had any of that shit for about a month," she said. "Well, I have had headaches. But it's just your run-of-the-mill headache—nothing like what I used to get." Wayne grabbed a plate for her Pop Tarts, passing it to her. "Joyce asked me to babysit last night, by the way. She said something about how Jonathan picked up a shift 'n she's got work too."

"I thought you were gonna go out with your friends?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Will's got a campaign at ten. We aren't going out until two, anyways." She placed the Pop Tarts onto the plate and glanced over to her and Eddie's bedroom. "Do you think he'll wake up before I get back?"

Wayne scoffed, placing the bowl of porridge into the sink and filling it with hot water. "Nope.

After a rushed breakfast and a quick wardrobe change, she said goodbye to Wayne—who had to work at six-thirty and was running on fumes of sleep—and set off to the Byers' house, blasting ABBA's 'Dancing Queen' that had come on the radio, singing it at the top of her lungs in hopes that it would wake her up. She was more of a rock fan—metal too, thanks to Eddie—but ABBA, Cyndi Lauper, and even the Bee Gees invigorated some sort of joy in her that was rare to come across after the year she'd had.

Another song came on and she sang along before making a quick stop at a gas station to grab snacks for Will to bring to his campaign. What did the little suckers like? Probably something high in sugar—something that could give them diabetes if they ate too much of it too fast. She grabbed a few chocolate bars, some packets of chips, and some candy that was for herself. A treat for the efforts she made for the children. She went over to the counter, flashing an awkward smile to the guy behind it—Keith. 

Keith was in the year above, making him a senior. He was also extremely odd, and creepy, and always tried scoring a date with Nancy Wheeler, who was in her sophomore year. The only good trait that Keith had was his exceptional taste in movies. "Hey," he said with his slow, turtle-like pace of saying words. He scanned them and stared at the total for a moment. "Seven dollars and thirty-two cents, dude."

She pulled out a ten dollar note and contained the urge to yawn as Keith put the junk food into a plastic bag and gave her the change. "Enjoy your day," she said with a forced smile.

She arrived at the Byers' house near six a.m. and got out of the red, dusty wagon that she'd purchased for a cheap price back in January. It was a pile of shit and she had taken it to get fixed a bajillion times but she loved it. Although, a better car wouldn't necessarily kill anyone. She knocked on the door. A few moments passed before Joyce opened the door with a tired look in her eyes, greeting her with the offer of coffee. "Will's still sleeping," she told Rebecca as she boiled some water. "Have him up for eight, please. Jonathan's in the shower, so don't go into the bathroom. Uh, what else? I told you about his campaign at Mike's house, right? It starts at ten."

Rebecca got out two mugs and passed them to Joyce, nodding along to everything she said. "Don't worry, you told me about the campaign. I'll have him up for eight and out of the house by nine-thirty."

"Thank you, sweetie," Joyce hummed. "I really do appreciate all of this."

"I know, Mrs. Byers. You say this every single time."

"Because it's the truth."

At eight, Rebecca knocked on Will's door, asking if he was already awake as a precaution. The last thing she wanted was to go in without a warning and end up seeing something she'd end up bleaching her eyes over. There was no reply. She opened the door and went over to the curtains, separating them and letting the sun shine through the windows. There was never much sun in November. The sun rose late and went down early. Eddie loved it. She used to love it until she came to Hawkins. Now, stuff like the dark unsettled her to the core. Mostly when she was alone. Admittedly, she slept with a nightlight on her wall to illuminate some of the room—enough for her to feel safe while Eddie could get comfortable.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" she called out from the window. She looked over to a half-asleep Will. "Will the Wise has his campaign in two hours. He needs to start his day now if he wants to be prepared."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up."

The kid pulled himself out of bed and made it as Rebecca cleared out the empty glass on his nightstand.

"What do you want for breakfast?" she asked once he'd finished getting dressed. "Cereal? Toast? Waffles? Do you have waffles?"

"We don't have waffles," Will answered. "We do have Lucky Charms."

Rebecca reached into the cereal cupboard, muttering, "Lucky Charms it is." 

She poured a bowl of Lucky Charms, filling it with the amount of milk that Will liked before placing it in front of him on the table. Her eyes flickered over to the drawing on the wall—one that she had not seen before. It was a drawing of his D&D character, Will the Wise, holding up his staff. The kid had talent. He was a much more advanced artist than Rebecca was at his age. Even now, at the age of sixteen—almost seventeen—she still could not draw a human without majorly fucking it up. 

"Someone tell Picasso that he's got competition," she complimented, pointing at the drawing and wiggling her eyebrows with a smile. Will looked up from his bowl of Lucky Charms as he ate a mouthful of them, smiling meekly. 

Finishing his mouthful, he shrugged and replied, "I've done better."

"Everything you do is better than my stuff. Where do you get your talents from?"

"Jonathan."

She sat down across from Will, slumping back in the chair. "I've seen some of his stuff. That guy can't draw for shi—" She paused and decided on a better term to use that was more PG. "—if his life depended on it. No offense to your brother but his talent lies purely in the camera."

Giggling, Will nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

She dropped Will off at the Wheeler's house for ten, grabbing his bike out of the trunk of her wagon so that he did not have to hike home. Then, she passed him the bag of treats with a grin, taking the candy out of the bag. "That's for me," she said. "Now, have fun! Good luck to Will the Wise on his journey." She did a theatrical bow. "And don't stay out too late!"

"I won't, mom."

"I only do it because I care about you," she hummed, messing up his hair as she pulled him in for a hug. "And also because your mom will go bonkers if she doesn't see you in the morning. You know what she's like." Rebecca closed the trunk. "See ya, kiddo."

"Eddie!" Rebecca called out as she entered the door of their trailer, munching on the candy. There were still a couple of hours until she had to go back out. The rest of her morning would be dedicated to showering and getting dressed into something that was not an outfit she decided on in the half-asleep, groggy state she was in. "Eddie, wake up! I'm home!"

"I'm awake!" Eddie strains from the bedroom with a resounding sigh. 

Rebecca moved through the hallway and toward the bedroom, giving him a teasing smile as she restrains from laughing at the annoyed look on his face. Eddie slept late, woke up late, and slept through most of his alarms, leaving it to his twin sister and uncle to make sure he did not sleep in until a ridiculous time. Big sister duties. She was born two minutes and eleven seconds before her mother shoved him out afterwards and she loved to remind him of it whenever he acted too big for his boots. 

"Where've you been?" he asked, rolling out of bed and tying back his mane of curls. Rebecca shared the same hair as him, except hers was longer and slightly less dark with a few auburn strands. She also refused to cut bangs when he did it at the ripe age of twelve—a decision he never went back from. At thirteen, he cried about having excess acne underneath the fringe, which she teased him for. 

"Joyce's. I was babysitting." She patted the pocket of her jeans. "I got ten bucks. Do you want a fiver?"

"Nah." Eddie watched his sister rifle through the drawers for an outfit as he mentally debated himself over what to have for breakfast. "I'm thinking of getting a job soon—another one."

"Didn't you get fired for smoking weed outside the supermarket on your break? I don't think Mr. Rippley is the type to cover that shit up."

Eddie shook his head. Finally, he concluded that he wanted Cap'n Crunch. "He was surprisingly understanding. He did it as a teen too. So, we came to a mutual understanding that he'd cover it up if I willingly leave." He shrugged. "On a technicality, I wasn't fired."

"Please promise me you won't go trying to sneak anything in during a shift wherever you next work. I think Wayne will genuinely have an aneurysm if you come home jobless again."

Guiltily, his eyes move down to the carpet, nodding. "Yeah."

After half an hour, Rebecca ended up in the shower, lukewarm water running down her back as she scrubbed at her forearms, humming some melody that could work for the song Corroded Coffin was working on. Not that they were able to perform these songs. The number of gigs they performed at continued to dwindle. They always had the Hideout—the gay bar that was half an hour out from Hawkins—but they did not perform much at other places. There were several reasons for this. The main reasons were that Eddie was trying to get a job, Rebecca was usually babysitting or studying for upcoming tests, and they couldn't meet as often because they no longer lived close. Ever since the Munson twins had run off, it was difficult to arrange practices, so they usually dedicated a Saturday every fortnight to rehearsing and creating music. 

Not that it was enough.

Eddie was always practising though. She was pretty sure that he would crumble to pieces if he didn't have his guitar. It was practically sentient. He called it 'sweetheart', making Rebecca snort each time. 

Continuing to hum, she dragged the sponge over her body, the smell of coconut shower gel hovering in the air. She inhaled it with a sweet smile. The feeling of the water trickling down her body had always soothed her. As a kid, whenever something would happen, she would end up in the bath or the shower, water moving over her skin that would end up with fresh bruises in places the kids at school would not see. Meanwhile, Eddie would be in their bedroom. He would be safe—as safe as she could make sure of.

Shaking the memory away, she ignored the cold that haunted her body. It was a usual side effect of thinking about a shitty childhood, right? Nothing to worry about. Nothing relating to the fact that the random cold shivers were always associated with something much worse. Shivering, she turned to the dial, turning the heat of the shower up and ignoring the consequences of the higher bill than usual. Her skin burned, but the cold within her stayed.

"Fuck!" she cursed, pulling away from the stream of water and turning it off. She reached for the towel and wrapped it around herself, shaking. The mirror was fogged up. She reached for the handle, tears threatening to build up in her hazel eyes. It took a moment to budge—that door had been janky ever since the voices had started. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

She pulled on it harder, her muscles becoming more defined, and it finally pulled open. She rushed into the hallway and looked over at her brother, who was on the chair that Wayne usually sat on, arms crossed as he watched whatever was on TV. He was already halfway back to the bliss of sleep. The coldness dissipated in her.

Shaking it off, she told herself it was not worth bothering her brother. He and Wayne were always concerned about her wellbeing—no point in adding to it. They had enough to worry about between bills, money, and saving for college. The last thing they needed was to worry about scheduling an appointment with Dr. Gao. 

Rebecca shut her door and relaxed against the alabaster door, closing her eyes. 

Count in sets of three, she reminded herself. It was what Dr. Gao had told her—when she would find herself slipping into an 'episode', she should fight against it and ground herself in reality. Deep breaths. Wiggle your fingers.

It was the same advice that Ms. Kelley had given her back when they originally thought it was simply just panic attacks. That was before the voices. The voices were what led her to the hospital, waiting for Dr. Gao.

She reached forty-two by the time she had calmed down. 

Rebecca Munson had never been good at arcade games. She had learned that on her first 'date' with Steve Harrington at this exact arcade in Hawkins, failing miserably at almost every game while he upstaged her. Typical of the 'King of Hawkins High'. Her skills had not improved since. As she played Dig Dug and tuned out the sound of Nancy and Barb talking about some guy, she could already tell that she was going to come out of the game with a low score. Screw you, poor hand-eye coordination!

It had been over a few hours since her run-in with the potential episode and this was a much-needed unwind—spending time with her precious friends. The tip of her tongue stuck out as she focused on the game of Dig Dug, the taste of her cherry balm fizzling on her taste buds. It was a trait she shared with Eddie. A twin thing.

She had met Barbara Holland in her sophomore year back when she was still the new girl. It was early October and she'd taken notice of the bright-eyed, ginger-haired, bespeckled freshman who sat to her left, scribbling down notes with as much determination as she did. Taking a liking to her, she introduced herself. Through Barb, she met Nancy. Nancy Wheeler, despite her mild-mannered exterior, was pretty badass. Hardworking. Determined. Passionate about her future. She knew what she wanted and she was going to get it no matter what. Even though she spent more time hanging out with the band of misfits she had found herself part of back when she first came to Hawkins, she was still extremely grateful to have friends like Nance and Barb—friends who grounded her in the dwindling flame of normalcy.

"Seriously, Nance? You invited him here?" Barb questioned. 

Rebecca, still tuning them out, hummed along to the song on the radio.

Nancy finished the mouthful of the snacks that they had all purchased. Rebecca had picked both of them up, making a quick stop at a store as her stomach growled. "He really wants to see me. Besides, the quicker you all get along, the quicker we can get past that awkward phase where it feels like you're third-wheeling."

"It'll always feel like we're third-wheeling," Barb replied. She looked over at her friend. "Won't it, Becca?"

The game of Dig Dug ended, bringing her back into the real world. "What did you say?"

"About Steve and Nancy," Barb explained. In turn, Rebecca felt her heart sink into her stomach. "She invited him here because her loverboy wanted to see her. I swear, Nance, it's like watching a rom-com."

Awkwardly, Rebecca moved past the two girls, muttering something about needing to go to the toilet. She headed over to the girls' bathroom and found an empty stall to stay in for a moment—mind racing at a dizzyingly fast pace. Steve 'The Hair' Harrington was difficult enough to avoid at school once he'd weaseled his way into Nancy's life. However, Rebecca would always manage to come up with an excuse to slip away. She could not do that at the arcade. That would just make it awkward. What was she supposed to do? Say, "Oh, sorry, something came up just as your boyfriend-slash-not-boyfriend shows up, even though I already agreed to hang out with you guys"?

No.

That would not work.

She left the bathroom with a heavy sigh and a headache that was slowly creeping up on her. That pain subsided slightly at the sight of Steve Harrington at the Dig Dug machine, laughing at something Nancy said as he stared at the screen. The radio hummed ABBA quietly in the background, but the side of it reverberated in her skull, echoing in her mind.

'If you change your mind, I'm the first in line'

'Honey, I'm still free, take a chance on me'

Forcing a smile, she moved over to her friends—and Steve—and stood at Barb's side, silently observing the game and withholding the withering stare she wanted to give Steve. Nancy turned to her, smiling and saying, "You know, I just realised that we've ran out of snacks already. I guess a couple of chocolate bars wasn't enough after all. Barb and I don't mind walking to the store to get some more, do we?"

She flicked her eyes over to Barb, who nodded. "Yeah. We'll be back in ten minutes."

"Wait—" Rebecca began. She found herself being interrupted as the pair of teenagers began to walk off.

"Fifteen, maximum."

"You can't just leave me here alone."

Nancy nodded at her loverboy, still smiling. "You have Steve. Mingle."

Scrunching up her nose, she turned around to face Mr. Farrah Fawcett himself. He stood there with crossed arms, leaning against the machine and giving her a satisfied smile. "Hey."

Of course, this is his doing, her mind hummed.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Blow me, Harrington."

"What?"

"Are you seriously weaselling your way into alone time with me so you can butter me up?" she interrogated. "Putting on the Nice Guy act isn't going to make me forgive you."

Steve did his signature frown—the same frown she had seen all those months ago. The corners of his lips drooped down, his pretty brown eyes glowing with a certain emotion. This time, it was pleading. He moved away from the Dig Dug machine, making his way over to the machine that was full of teddies. One big claw hung from the top of it. "I don't want your forgiveness. I just want you to not...hate me."

"That's not gonna happen."

"Not even for Nance?"

Low blow, she thought to herself. The claw dropped from the top at the press of a button, grabbing at the head of a teddy bear and dropping it almost immediately. She cleared her throat and shuffled in place. "I try to be as nice to you as possible for her sake. That's the best you're gonna get."

"The nicest you can be is to constantly rush off whenever I come near you?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Well, isn't that just great?"

Sarcasm oozes through his voice as he attempted again. Another fail. He cursed quietly and tried again. Rebecca withheld the words that lay on the tip of her tongue, hoping that the silence between them would linger until Nancy and Barb returned from the scheme they had concocted. Steve, in his usual fashion, fucked up the silence by clarifying, "You know...I think that we can build a bridge and work through all that shit."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "The last time it was just me and you—alone—you said some pretty hurtful shit, Harrington. Excuse me if I don't want to waste my breath on you, considering that you've already made it pretty clear I'm...What was it again?" She feigned having to think. "Oh, that's right. I'm a money-hungry, two-faced, heartless traitor." Digging her nails into her palm, she sighed. "Keep cosying up to Nancy. That's fine. Just make her happy. And if things suddenly go to shit, don't pull the same stunt you did with me."

Before he had the chance to say something back, she walked over to the Pac-Man machine, ignoring Steve until her friends returned exactly fifteen minutes after they had left. Disappointment laced Nancy's face as she stood between the two of them, watching them stand at opposite ends of the arcade.

Bitter cold pinched at Rebecca's exposed skin, making her wish that she hadn't worn the Sonic the Hedgehog graphic tee she'd stolen from Eddie. It was a little after eight and she was standing at the Wheeler's doorstep, beaming as she called out, "Thank you for having me over, Mrs. Wheeler! Dinner was delicious!"

A mature voice called out from the kitchen, "You're welcome, sweetie! I'm glad you enjoyed it!"

Nancy, who stood in the doorway, forced a dramatic eye roll. “I’m pretty sure that she’d kick me out on the street if it meant she could snatch you up all for herself.”

"Please," Rebecca replied with a scoff. "She loves you."

After the disaster of a hangout at the arcade, Rebecca had dropped Barb back at home and Nancy had invited her into the house once they'd arrived at the Wheeler's. The two of them had watched a few movies and ate with Karen, Ted, and the adorable Holly who Rebecca had considered stealing a few times. Seriously, no kid should be so cute. Now, she stood in the cold, hugging herself as she prepared to set off. Her eyes moved over to the group of boys that had abruptly halted their D&D game, watching as they grabbed their bikes. 

"Rebecca?"

She turned her attention back to Nancy. "Mm?"

"Why do you hate Steve so much?"

The question had been hanging in the air ever since the arcade. Gritting her teeth, she lied, "I don't hate him." Nancy raised her eyebrows with a meek smile. "Okay, maybe I don't exactly approve of him." Technically not a lie. "We all know the rumours."

Word spread fast in Hawkins. Almost every teenager had heard the rumours of his infamous line of ladies whose hearts he broke. Or, they assumed that he was a preening asshole. That assumption was grounded in the fact that he was crowned the King of Hawkins High and hung out with the jerkoffs of the school—Carol Perkins, Tommy. H, and the worst of them all, Liam Westbrook. 

Nancy looked at the ground. "I appreciate you looking out for me," she prefaced. "But I want you two to get along. Can you at least try not to run off if he comes up to us while you're there?"

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything," she teased. "See you tomorrow, Nance."

Nancy hummed goodbye and shut the door, leaving Rebecca to make a beeline for the garage. Mike Wheeler made a face of disgust. She had boiled his awkwardness around women down to the fact that he was a dorky tween who had never touched a girl in his life. Eddie used to be like him with the girls in their old middle school; he ended up being gay. No surprise there.

"What do you want?" he questioned, standing at Will's side.

"Can't I come say hi to my favourite party of dorks?" Rebecca said, flashing a smile at the four of them. Lucas, Dustin and Will returned the favour. Mike stood there and crossed his arms with a dramatic sigh. "Kidding, of course. My brother takes the first spot. You guys are a close second if it makes you feel better."

"Seriously, what do you want?"

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes to match his dramatic flair. "Sheesh. I was just coming over to ask if Dustin and Will wanted a ride?"

Dustin shook his head. "No thanks. I like riding my bike. Gets me in shape for the ladies."

The urge to cringe bubbled inside and she shuddered at his words. "You're, like, twelve. Never say that again."

"Sorry," the younger boy replied, looking at the ground.

She looked away from him and raised her eyebrows at Will. "What about you, Will the Wise? Want to get escorted by Hawkins' most prized chauffeur?"

"I also like the ride," he said quietly. "Thank you, though."

"You live in the middle of nowhere."

"It's okay. I bike a lot. Don't waste your gas on me. It's not worth it."

A frown plastered itself on Rebecca's face as she observed the way Will shuffled in place. There was no self-esteem left inside of him—if it was ever there in the first place. She cleared her throat. "Have a safe ride, kids. Mike, tell your mom I said thank you."

"You just thanked her."

"So? Thank her again."

She waited for the boys to be fully on their bikes before driving off, keeping at a slow pace so that she could keep an eye on Dustin and Will. Through the open window, she heard them make a bet—something to do with a nerdy comic book. Eddie liked that shit but she had never paid much interest in it. However, she was a large fan of Raven. She seemed cool. 

As they drove down near Kerley, going down the road that the boys loved to deem 'Mirkwood', Dustin split off, annoyed at the fact that he had lost to Will. Her attention was brought to the radio as it began to play 'Killer Queen' at a low volume. She looked at it for what felt like only a split second. Then, her eyes flicked back to the rearview mirror. Squinting, she looked for the young boy on his bike. 

He was not there.

"Shit," she hissed.

She pulled the car over in a rush and climbed out, slamming the door. The pain from the arcade had come back with a seething vengeance as she called out, "Will! Will! Where are you?" Squeezing her eyes shut, she yelled, "Have you gone off ahead into the fog, or something?"

Her stomach began to crawl with the same unease that she felt in the shower as she moved to the trunk of her car, staring at where Will should be. Darkness surrounded her—a darkness that seemed to be different to the one that usually blanketed the town of Hawkins. Slowly, her gaze wandered to the woods.

"Will?" she called out, a knot forming in her throat. "If this is a prank, it's not funny! You were just...I look away for, like, one second and you're gone!"

Tears clouded her vision. She blinked through them and they spilt down her pale face, the saltiness settling in her agape mouth as she stared at the woods. Something about it invited her. It lulled her into a momentary trance as her headache turned into a roaring migraine. Meekly, she whispered, "Will?"

Staring out into the depths of the woods, she shuddered at the sight in front of her. Deep within the trees and shadows and the overwhelming darkness stood a gangly, long-legged, and eerily nimble figure, racing off into the distance like a predator in the jungle. Gasping, Rebecca tried to contain the screech that wished to escape from her lips, making a move for the driver's seat. Buckling in, she put pressure onto the accelerator and sped off down onto Kerley road, drying her eyes with her free hand. Her head pounded, her stomach ached with an anxious feeling, and she could already hear low, erratic breathing in the distance that began to reverberate through her skull. 

Her mind whispered, 'It watches."

Chapter Text

- play that funky music -

Shallow breathing echoed through the car.

'It watches.'

"Fuck off!" she screeched, applying even more pressure on the accelerator as continued to wipe away the tears. It had been a month of pure, blissful peace. And now all of that would be ruined. Her eyes zoomed around the street ahead of her, hands gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. She was alone entirely—just like the first time it had happened. 

'You have to believe me,' it whispered in her mind. 'It's watching you right now. Look behind you.'

Rebecca brought her glossy eyes to the rearview mirror, her erratic breathing spiking as the shadows in the road congregated together, forming a demonic spider that towered over the car. She swallowed a knot in her throat. Now she was seeing things? Great. That was exactly what she needed! Just another thing to add to the list of things wrong with 'Bex the Basketcase'. She wiped away her tears for the final time and muttered, "It's not going to hurt me."

'Couldn't see what I see?'

Cursing, she turned up the volume on the radio, hoping to drown out the relentless stream of unnerving words that played in her mind. The man on the radio had a nasal voice, calling out enthusiastically, "And next up, we're playing some Wild Cherry for ya. Get ready to play that funky music and boogie!"

Her breathing settled a little bit as she managed to smile at the sound of 'Play That Funky Music'. Her hand reached for the volume dial, increasing it until it was at its fullest, heading down Kerley road with her heart pounding against her chest, singing along to the lyrics and forcing a so-called 'boogie'. If the voice would not leave her alone, then she would make it.

'Playing music won't save you.' She gritted her teeth, continuing to dance. She would always listen to music after an episode—it felt soothing, like it was reaching into the depths of her mind, right where that graining voice rested, and stopped the effects of what would accompany it. Her migraines would stop and she could finally rest afterwards. Although, the nightmares and night terrors were never guaranteed to go away. 

Singing along, she kept her eyes on the road. 'Play all the music you want. Sing and dance all you want. It won't save you. Not in the end.'

"Will you just shut the fuck up!" she screamed, banging her fist on the dashboard. "What happened to the days when you would just say a few vague warnings? This shit is just...even more tiring."

'Sing and dance all you want. It won't save you. Not in the end,' it repeated in her head. A moment passed. 'It's stopped watching.'

The hum in her head went radio silent, leaving her with her real, frantic thoughts rather than an entity that warned her on a loop. The man on the radio laughed, going on and on about how much love he had for the song. 

"Okay, unfortunately, I'm gonna have to halt the songs. In the booth with me, I have DJ Lovin'."

"Hey DJ Groove..."

Rebecca turned the volume down, rolling her eyes at the choice of aliases. She spent the rest of the drive in silence, only turning up the radio whenever something would pique her interest—such as a song or a topic that the two bozos did not sound completely braindead talking about. Her fingernails constantly tapped against the steering wheel the entire time.

The keys jingled as she took them out of the engine and gripped them between her fingers, eyes wide while she stalked over to the front door of the trailer. Without the lights emitting from the wagon, the sky seemed darker than it was back on Mirkwood. The small spread of stars above her did not even offer a glow. Her mind wandered back to the figure in the forest. Was it the same as what had happened when she looked in the rearview mirror—a vision her sick mind had created to scare the ever-living shit out of her?

Or was it real?

She did not realise that she was still crying until she tasted the salt from the tear that dropped down into her mouth as she sighed. She did not bother to wipe them. There was no point—they just kept on coming back. She staggered up the few steps and reached the front door, twisting the key in the keyhole before realising it was unlocked and moving through the front door, immediately being met with pure darkness. It was not even nine o'clock. Eddie was usually in the main area, watching TV and falling asleep as he rushed to do whatever homework he had due on a Monday. However, he was not there. Wayne was still at work. Eddie had no reason not to be in his usual spot. 

An unlocked door. No light. No Eddie.

Steadily, she called out his name, hoping he would be in the bedroom.

There was no reply.

"Eddie?" she called out again, placing the keys between her fingers. If it came down to fighting, a mean right hook mixed with the jagged end of keys would make for a pretty decent knockout. Calling out his name teleported her back to Mirkwood, a pang of guilt resounding through her. What if there was someone on the loose? "Look, I've had a pretty shitty night, and—"

"Are you talking to yourself?"

She whipped around and pulled the younger twin in for a hug. It was the type of hug that made Eddie feel like he would end up with crushed, broken bones at any moment, but he still hugged her back, mumbling something about how the power had gone out, telling her that he was checking the generator. Once she finally let him go, he observed her for a moment. Wet face, crazy eyes, and an unsettled posture. Sweat beaded across her shiny forehead. Not to mention the fact that her mascara was running down her face, and her eyeliner was smudged. 

"I'd ask you if you're okay," he began, forcefully inflicting a playfulness to his tone, "but the answer is clearly a big, fat, resounding 'nope'." He gestured toward the front door and guided her through. Rebecca immediately threw herself onto the couch and stared at the blank screen on the TV, playing with a loose curl. "Drink?"

"Does Wayne still have that alcohol in the bottom cabinet?" she hummed, pulling a cushion to her chest and hugging it. "The six-pack?"

After rifling through Wayne's stash of alcohol and Marlboros that he had for whenever he felt stressed, Eddie pulled out two beers from the six-pack, worrying about explaining it to Wayne later. He unscrewed the lids and passed one to his sister. The two of them clanked their bottles together before taking their first sip. Well, Rebecca took a large swig of hers. Far from a light sip.

She stared at the TV screen again. "When did the power go out?"

Her brother furrowed his brow, taking another sip of alcohol. "Not long after eight."

"Mm," she muttered. Visions of the gangly creature in the forest flashed through her mind and she shuddered slightly. The dull ache in her brain had been replaced by a heavy feeling like she was ready to sleep at any given moment. Slumping down, she took a large gulp of beer. Not long after eight, Will had vanished from her sight. Not long after eight, she had seen that creature. Her thoughts drifted to how she had rushed away, wondering if Will was at home. Her eyes darted over to the phone. She couldn't even call to make sure that he was safe. 

Eddie cocked his head. "Talk to me, Bex."

She shook her head. "I don't want to talk."

"You've been crying. You look like complete whack—no offence." He placed the bottle of beer on the side and crossed his arms. "Be honest with me, have you had another episode?"

Lying through her gritted teeth was like second nature to Rebecca Darlene Munson—the middle name was from her precious great-grandma. Thankfully, the skill had been adapted over many years of protecting Eddie from whatever she possibly could, lying about every little thing from how he hadn't broken a precious decorative, even though he did by accident, to his sexuality. Unfortunately, it was difficult to cover up that lie when her father ended up becoming a hawk over her and Eddie's life. Turns out she could not hide her brother's true identity—or her own. Her father could not decide who was more of a freak; his son for liking men, or his daughter for being 'confused'. That was what he liked to call it.

To circle back to the point, she was always a clever liar. It was just when things became overt that she could no longer hide it, which was why her brother called bullshit on her attempt to lie about not having an episode.

"Tell me, Bex. Tell me what happened."

"It's nothing, honestly," she lied, tipping her head back as she took a large gulp of beer. She wiped her mouth. "It just happens sometimes." That was the truth. Her episodes would come and go randomly—most of the time. Sometimes, they would happen because she had a difficult day, or something had happened with their dad. She assumed that the overwhelming stress made her mind go on overdrive, causing the voice to come back out. She thought back to earlier in the day, remembering the shower incident. "I must've just been on edge because it was super dark. You know what I'm like."

"We'll call Dr. Gao in the morning."

As Eddie stared at the TV screen, Rebecca's lips went down into a frown. "Seriously? It's just one episode, man."

"Yeah. One episode that can just spiral into a bunch more until you go back to being paranoid twenty-four-seven. Talking to a professional will do you good." There was a beat of silence. "It helped you last time."

"It's just a temporary solution. I'm still gonna be 'Bex the Basketcase' until it all fucks off for good." She finished off the bottle of beer, staring at the TV again. "Can we light a candle? Something to make this place less..."

"Creepy?" Eddie finished off her sentence, earning a nod from his sister. "Yeah. Even I hate it." He stood up and looked around before eyeing the vanilla candle Rebecca had bought months ago. He grabbed a lighter and held it to the wick, the tip of his tongue peeking through his lips.

The fire that emitted from the candle provided a soft glow, calming some of the nerves that clung to Rebecca. "What time does Wayne get back?"

"Midnight."

"Hm," she muttered, placing the empty beer bottle on the side. Eddie placed the candle on the coffee table and sat beside her, leaning back and yawning. "Have you done your History homework?"

Eddie smiled. "Yeah. I did it when you left to go to the arcade. How was it, by the way?"

"Ass." Rebecca tied her hair back. "Steve ended up ambushing us there. Well, Nance invited him. It was a 'spur of the moment' type of thing." Before Eddie could get a word in, she continued her rant, "And—to make it worse—Nance and Barb left me there, alone, with Steve 'The Hair' Harrington so that we could 'get over the awkwardness'! Then, he ended up trying to put on the Nice Guy act, talking about how he doesn't want me to hate him, and we can 'build a bridge', or some shit like that." She took a deep breath. "I made sure that he knew that there's no chance of fixing what he broke."

Her brother snorted. "You have a lotta spunk to ya, Bex. I'll give you that."

"I don't know where we get it from."

"Dad has spunk," he joked. "Just too much of it."

That managed to drag a wry laugh out of Rebecca's mouth. "Funny."

"Thanks, sis. Maybe at our next gig at the Hideout, we can do some stand-up."

"And get booed at by our crowd of drunken gays? You of all people should know how creative gay—especially drunk gay—people can be with their insults."

Chortling, Eddie nodded. "What can I say? I'm a master at the craft of insults."

"Yeah. I probably passed it down to you."

"Just because you were born—"

"—'Two minutes and eleven seconds before me, doesn't give you the title of being the eldest. We're twins. We share the same birthday. Therefore, we're the same age'." she mocked, repeating his usual words. "Doesn't matter. I still have the gloating rights of being older by exactly one hundred and thirty-one seconds before you."

"Well done. You can do math," he deadpanned with a sarcastic grin. 

Rebecca yawned and stretched out her crossed legs, staring at the flame. "Can we take that into the bedroom? My night light isn't gonna work if we have no power, and I can't sleep in the dark after that shit." She swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. "If I manage to sleep at all."

Nodding, her brother stood up and grabbed the candle, inhaling the soothing scent of vanilla. 

Thirty minutes passed until she was ready for bed, the fresh taste of mint coating her mouth. She sipped on the cold water that Eddie had got her while she was changing into her pyjamas as her brother chucked out the empty beer bottles. Then, she buried herself underneath her black cover and closed her eyes, listening to her brother trudge into the bathroom. 

She did not sleep that night.

Chapter Text

- lost -

Wayne, in his barely awake state, put the phone down. Thankfully, the power had been restored in the middle of the night, meaning he could call Dr. Gao. His nephew had immediately told him of Rebecca's perturbed state once he'd walked through the door before going off to bed. Pulling out a pack of Marlboros, he lit the cigarette and inhaled, opening up the windows to stop the trailer from ending up in a fog.

At six forty-five, his niece wandered through to the main area and yawned, running a hand through her hair and pulling apart a knot at the end of her curls. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a cup, boiling the water. Wayne looked over at her, giving her one of his infamous soft smiles that said a thousand words.

With anyone else, it was rare for Wayne Munson to show any sign of softness. His rugged exterior translated to his interactions with most people. He was often silent, speaking only in small sentences. 

However, with the Munson twins, it was entirely different.

They had both grown up without soft smiles and gazes from the two influential figures in their lives. Rebecca was the one who took on the brunt of it. Still, to both of them, Wayne's visits were like putting camomile lotion on a sunburn. Effective but not a permanent solution. Still, it eased the pain. 

"Things weren't on the up after all, eh?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Rebecca stared at the water as she watched it boil. "I heard you and Eddie last night. And...I heard you this morning." She wiped the sleep out of the corner of her eyes, her vision blurring from rarely wearing her glasses. Not that she needed them all the time. She had adjusted over the years, rendering them as a once-every-few-weeks type of deal. "You said something about Wednesday afternoon?"

"Wednesday. Five p.m."

Nodding, she put two teaspoons of sugar into the cup, hoping the sugar would keep her awake. "Right," she muttered. Her tone was dry as she jokingly added, "I'll clear my schedule."

"Hey, kid?"

She turned around to look at Wayne, raising her eyebrows. "Hm?"

"You know you can talk to me, right?" her uncle reminded her, his tired eyes softening for a moment. "If anything is bothering you...I'm here."

She debated telling him the truth for a moment. However, it already sounded like clinic insanity to her, let alone anyone else. So, she simply just offered him a smile and replied, "Thank you."

"Has he lost his mind? Can he see or is he blind? Can he move at all? Or if he moves, will he fall?" Eddie sang along at the top of his lungs as they turned the corner, arriving at Hawkins High. Rebecca reached out for the volume button, turning the sound down since Eddie, of course, had put it at a high volume, meaning that it blasted through the car. The last thing she needed was for another headache to kick her ass. She gave her brother an apologetic smile. 

"Just for precaution."

The corner of his lips perked up. "Yeah, I get it." 

Her eyes focused as she drove down the path, watching out for people. She saw groups gathering at the entrance—probably talking about their exciting weekend. She, however, had a far-from-exciting weekend. One that she would much rather not talk about. Slowly, her mind drifted to the previous night, remembering the gnarly figure in the woods, followed by the voices and that awful shadow-spider that her mind had crafted to freak her out. Cold shivers started to run through her. 

"What's King Steve still doing with those hicks?" 

The sound of Eddie's question pulled her away from the spiral of her thoughts. Still, an unsettling pit stayed at the bottom of her stomach as her eyes briefly flicked over to the group of people her brother gestured at. Looking out for an empty parking space, she rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Because he's also a hick. They're all hicks."

"I thought he was 'distancing' himself from them? Especially that snake." Eddie eyed up Liam Westbrook like he was ready to throw hands, slumping in his seat. "What happened to that?"

"That was when he and I still spoke," she clarified. "Things went haywire n' all of a sudden they're all back to bumming off each other."

"What a prick. I thought he'd at least try and ditch Westbrook."

Shaking her head, she shrugged. "They magically made up after I left their lives." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, staring at Steve with narrowed eyes. "I don't get how Nancy is already so snug with him. I mean, I swear he and his band of jerkoffs have become more irritating."

Rebecca fixed her eyes on the empty parking space.

"Speaking of Wheeler, can you tell her to lay off the PDA with Harrington? I don't wanna see them flirting in the hall on my way to History ever again."

Her brother dramatically feigned a shudder, drawing out a small smile from Rebecca. "You think that's bad?" She parked the car. "On Friday, Peter and I walked into the canteen and I almost saw them kiss with my own two eyes."

"Technically four," Eddie teased, gesturing at the rectangular glasses that balanced on the bridge of her nose.

Rolling her eyes, she batted his hand away and reached for the door handle. They exchanged goodbyes before walking off to opposite ends of the school. Eddie disappeared amongst the crowd of people outside, most likely to look for his small group of friends. Rebecca, however, made a beeline for the school entrance. With gritted teeth, she attempted to trudge past the group of jerkoffs that her brother had pointed out, realising that Steve had disappeared.

Probably making out with Nancy, she thought as she readjusted her glasses, eyes laser-focused on the ground. Please don't notice me. Please don't notice me. Please don't-

"Hey, Rebecca," a raucous voice that was etched into her mind called out as she made it past them. She could already hear the snickers from Carol Perkins and Tommy. H before she turned around.

Fists clenched, she slowly turned to face him—Liam Westbrook.

Liam Westbrook was merely one inch shorter than her, standing at six feet with his lean, but muscular, build, and his arms crossed. His light brown curls that did not complement his milky complexion were already in need of being re-dyed, considering that the ash blond roots were already showing, creating a large contrast. His serpentine eyes were fixed on her, making her feel small.

Typical.

He moved closer, putting distance between him and the rest of the twits. His thin lips twisted up into a crooked smile, teeth flashing. She'd always liked the way his canines seemed almost vampire-like. Now, they were another reminder of all the bad times that came along with him.

"What do you want?" she questioned, her voice turning taut. 

Liam cocked his head, still stepping closer. "I just wanted to say hi." 

Bullshit, she thought. 

"I also wanted to ask if we could meet up later?"

There we go.

Grimacing, she shook her head. "Nope." Her dull nails dug into her palm. "I'd rather not."

"Please, Rebecca. I just want to talk things out. We never really got a chance to." He paused for a moment. "Not after everything that happened with Steve."

Maybe it was the way that Liam flashed her those infamous, pleading eyes—the same ones that convinced her to sleep with him in the first place—that made her consider it. Maybe it was the way his face screwed up into an almost sincere expression like he was capable of having good intentions that she bit down on her lip hard enough to cause pain that made her slowly nod and say, "Fine. Meet me at 7 Miles at six p.m. sharp. You'll pay."

"Okay. It's a date."

"It's really not," she muttered, turning around and heading into the building. 

Ayan Dahir rambled incessantly about the horror movie he had watched last night after he abandoned his History homework for the third time, deciding that maybe procrastination was not such a bad thing after all. Charlotte Rigby listened intently with a kind smile etched onto her olive features, a slender finger twirling her—recently permed—honey-blonde hair. Peter Ellis, however, zoned out as he picked away at the sandwich he'd rushed to make in the morning, thinking about whether or not he'd managed to finish his Math homework. He checked his bag as Ayan delved into a scene where a topless girl was killed, drawing out a long sigh from Charlotte.

"I swear," she began, "these pervs need to stop making movies."

"It was a good movie." Charlotte furrowed her brow at the comment. "...If you ignore the topless women."

"Women?"

"Yeah..." Ayan shrugged. "The other girls weren't killed!"

Peter's Math homework sat in his folder, completed. The Senior was tunnel-visioned on getting top grades before the end of the year, which had been his goal since he was a kid. Each year, he would settle for no less than a B at most. His mother and father were the same, always encouraging him to stay on top of his grades. He'd already sent in his letter to Purdue as an early applicant. 

Finley St. James appeared at the table, his pale, bony fingers gripping his tray. He looked at Charlotte with a light pink tint on his pale cheeks. He passed her a brownie, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Sorry, babe," he said. "I have to go sit with the team."

"I get it," she assured, breaking off half of the brownie and passing it back to him, ignoring his protests. "You have a big game next week. I'll be there, cheering you on from band section!" 

She mimed banging the air with her fists on two different sides, pretending it was a drum. Finley cocked his head slightly, grinning.

After a quick exchange of love, her boyfriend walked away to sit with the basketball team. Five minutes later, Rebecca arrived at the table, sitting down next to Charlotte. "Sorry I'm late," she said. "Eddie roped me into his friends' conversation. Turns out he's got a Virgins and Dragons campaign tonight."

Absentmindedly, the corner of Ayan's lips quirked up to form a small smile as Peter raised an eyebrow, rushing to clarify, "Non-virgins play D&D too."

His friend was quick to retort, "Sorry, can you repeat that?" She held a hand to her ear. "I don't speak Virgin."

Snorting, Peter held up his russet middle finger. Meanwhile, Charlotte turned to face the only other girl at the table, furrowing her brow. "I saw you talking to Liam this morning..." Rebecca pursed her lips and nodded. The girl with honey-blonde hair turned to look over at the table with Liam, Carol, and Tommy H. on it, casting a look of disgust in his direction, not bothered whether or not he saw. She then turned to Rebecca, raising a brow. "And?"

"And he wants to meet up tonight." 

Ayan leaned forward from across the table, his hazel eyes narrowing. "To do what?"

"He said he wants to talk about everything," she explained. "I said no at first. But then he did that whole thing where he gave me that sincere look and those pleading eyes...I would back out, but I'm scared to talk to him."

"I'll talk to him," the three of her friends offered simultaneously, sounding like a choir.

Shaking her head, she said, "Do not do that on my behalf. The last thing I need is for you guys to be terrorised by him." 

"If he says or does anything," Charlotte began, "promise me you'll be out of there quicker than you can say 'abracadabra'?" Glancing back over in his direction, she rolled her eyes. "Is he at least taking you somewhere nice?"

"We're going 7 Miles."

It was the fast-food restaurant in the town centre. Cheap but cosy. She'd been there a few times with Liam in early 1983, sharing food and barely talking because they only ever seemed to make out or argue at that point. Then, she went there with Steve. That was a whole other story. Luckily, her memories were mainly full of going there with her friends, or Eddie. She always had the same order. The bacon cheeseburger with a vanilla milkshake and fries, accompanied by a ketchup dip. Sure, it was a grease-fest. And, yes, if she wanted to keep her build then she should make better diet choices. However, she worked hard to burn the calories. She made good use of Hawkins' gym. 

Peter nodded approvingly. "Not too shabby."

"Is he paying?" Charlotte asked like some sort of detective.

"What is this? Twenty questions?" Rebecca teased, nudging her with her elbow. "Yes, he's paying."

Ayan muttered, "I bet he didn't offer to."

"Nope. But that was because I kinda just told him the details." Cringing, she added, "And then he said that it's a date."

"Fucking hell," Peter scoffed, finishing his sandwich. "He's trying to get into your pants, Becca. That's far from just 'talking'."

Charlotte pulled out her Vaseline from the pocket of her denim skirt, applying it to her lips before giving her friend a gentle smile. "Look, you do you. Talk to him and get your feelings out in the open. Just...don't do anything I wouldn't do, okay?"

"Yes, mother!" Rebecca said with a teeth-bearing grin. 

Chemistry.

It was her favourite lesson by a long shot. 

That was not because she had an interest in it. Sure, she liked it—she knew almost all of the content that they had to learn. However, her interests lay more with Geography and Latin. Although, her grades in Latin were the lowest across her entire report. 

It was also not because of Mr. Kaminski. Not that she didn't like him. She thought he was a good balance between strict and relaxed. He was the type of teacher who cared more about getting the job done than using his authority over the students.

The main reason that it took the highly appraised title of being her favourite class was because she got an A on every test. Looking at the results of Friday's test, nothing had changed. She stared at the big, bold A that had been written in red, failing to stop herself from smiling. 

However, her smile dropped as she heard a shuffle coming from the left, a low voice stating, "Well done."

Steve Harrington sat to her left, his free hand drumming against the desk as he held his graded test in the other, looking at her with an uncertain look in his eye. In the same big, bold, red handwriting was a B+. Unwillingly, she almost smiled at the sight. Wanting to congratulate him was a reflex. It was what happens when you tutor someone and the hard work pays off.

Sighing, she flipped the test over, mumbling, "Same goes for you."

It felt like divine intervention when Steve opened his mouth and was interrupted by the classroom door opening to reveal the Vice Principal. She cast a smile over at Mr. Kaminski before asking for Rebecca Munson, eyes travelling over the classroom before landing on the brunette, waiting for her to gather her stuff. Rebecca piled everything into her backpack and awkwardly walked through the row of desks. Everyone's eyes burned into her back as she left the room.

All she was told was that the Chief had asked for her. 

A cold shiver ran through her and her stomach twisted as she thought about the implications. The memory of last night rang in her mind, echoing like a bell in an empty hallway, and she found that her hands trembled while she straightened out the leather skirt. The crisp air that hit her as they stepped outside did not manage to help. Eventually, she found herself at a bench. Hopper was alone.

The Vice Principal sent a polite nod in the Chief's direction before walking off back inside. The first thing to come out of Rebecca's mouth was, "Where are your cronies?"

"In the car," he replied. "I thought it would be better if we could talk without anyone else."

There was something unspoken in the air: 'In case you have a breakdown.'

Hopper could read her like an open book. It was one of the many skills he possessed to take the role of Chief of Police—an irritating skill at that. Her lies did not—always—work on him, making it difficult for her to deny that she was drunk, or that she had stolen a pack of pads because she'd run out of money and it was a matter of paying for the food or the pads, or that she was high. Each time that he caught her, he would let her go. The same went for Eddie.

Sighing, she took a seat across from him, drumming her fingers against the bench in a rhythmic fashion. Her heart rose and fell at a bizarre pace as she asked, "Why are you here?"

Not that she needed to be told. She could already predict what he was about to say.

"Listen, Rebecca..." A beat of silence. "I know this might be difficult to hear, but Will Byers didn't come home last night."

She tuned out the rest of his words as her ears began to ring, her stomach gnawing away at her insides while her head went heavy. She put her head in her hands; her glasses were pushed up her face. She wasn't quite sure if she was crying. It was difficult to tell when everything was numb. The only words she managed to pick out were: unfortunate, clues, Mirkwood, and something about a search. She pulled her head up, feeling the eyebags underneath her eyes for tears. She wiped them away, sniffling. 

Her voice was shaky as she confessed, "I couldn't hear much of that. My ears did that whole ringing thing." A pitiful laugh followed her own words and she adjusted her glasses. "You said something about Mirkwood?"

"Yeah. That's the last time that Dustin saw Will. He said that you were there, right in front of Byers, when Dustin reached his house. So—" Hopper tilted his head. "—when was the last time you saw him?"

Rebecca took a deep breath, wondering if she should be honest with Hopper. She had a choice: tell him the whole story, including the figure in the woods, or say that Will disappeared with no further explanation. She absentmindedly picked at the skin around her nails, answering, "When he and Dustin split off, I looked away for one second. Then, he was gone." She took another deep breath, trying to steady the shallow breathing that was beginning to plague her. "And...I got out of my car, called for him a few times, and saw something."

"Did you see what they looked like?"

Shaking her head, she stared at the words etched into the wood of the benches. Most of them were unkind—written by wannabe edgy teenagers. She debated being honest, but it was Jim Hopper. "They were in the woods, so I couldn't see their face. But they were tall and...had a big build. Broad shoulders." He nodded along to her words. "By the way, you said something about a search? When?"

"Six."

"I'm guessing it's at Mirkwood?"

"Right on the money, Munson."

"Am I allowed to go?"

"Yes. Bring a flashlight and an umbrella. It's supposed to rain."

Chapter Text

- alis volat propriis  -

Hawkins, Indiana, 1st November, 1982,

She had promised her uncle that she would be back before he woke up, most likely around midnight, beaming as she slipped into Liam's car and waved goodbye, shouting something about making sure that she would not get 'shitfaced'. Liam had promised her uncle that he would give her a ride back, eventually winning him over with kind words through his cold smile and gritted teeth—something that she had not picked up on until she thought about the event as she tried to navigate her way back home.

Leaves with hints of red, green and brown are the only thing she can properly focus on as she stumbled over a twig on the ground, somehow managing to keep herself upright.

How long had she been walking?

In her inebriated state, she stumbled through the woods in the dead of night, the ink sky hanging over her with a burst of stars that seemed to sway in the night whenever she looked up, only worsening her sight. 

Have I seen these trees before? she thought to herself, already knowing the answer. 

Despite the levels of intoxication, she knew many things. She knew that she had been walking around in circles, still unable to reach Forest Hills Trailer Park. She knew that it was far past midnight. She also knew that if she kept this up, she would still be trying to find the trailer park when Wayne woke up.

Another thing that she knew: she wished Liam had kept his promise.

The only reason he had expeditiously revoked the promise he'd made was because of what had happened in the bathroom. She was still able to recall the way his thin lips contorted into a snarl after she'd slurred out the words that she did not want to go further, his voice becoming low as he hissed into her ear that it was unfair of her to be such a tease when all he wanted was to 'fuck her brains out', forcefully pushing her further up against Tina's sink, moving in closer. She froze at first. Her mind went blank, eyes fixing on the shower head. Then, she rushed to push him away once more, opening the bathroom door and rushing downstairs. He called after her, "Don't come crawling back to me when you need a ride, you slut!"

After one extra drink to try to numb the nausea in her stomach, she'd slipped away from the party, wiping the tears and wandering in the direction she thought she had come from. That was how she'd found herself in the woods. Everything was a whirlwind and her head pounded. It was like a pre-hangover headache, punishing her for the fact that she had, in fact, gotten 'shitfaced'—something that Wayne would have a lot to say about in the morning if she made it back in time. The odds of that looked low. 

The nausea that she had tried to numb was returning with a vengeance. She found a tree—one that looked way too familiar to the one she had seen on one of her many laps of the woods—and put out her arm to lean against it, bare hands gripping the wood. Heaving, she tried not to cry as she wished that she was in her trailer, away from the bitter cold of November. The heaving made her ears weird; she could no longer hear her surroundings, making the nausea worse. The coughing and heaving began to feel like it was happening in an endless cycle until she eventually watched the sick spurt out of her, falling onto the ground in a pile on top of the leaves and soil. 

"Fuck my life," she slurred, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I can't catch a fucking..."

She lost her train of thought, turning around to let her body slump down against the tree, her exposed back being scraped by the wood. It was a stupid decision to dress like Pam from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Did she look and feel hot as fuck when she was sober? Yes. However, the mix of inebriation, tears, and physical throwing up had now led her to feel disgusted by her appearance. 

There was also the fact that Liam was trying to fuck her in the bathroom, degrading her and touching her like she was fresh meat and he was a butcher, chopping up the tiniest remains of self-love that she had left.

A sob escaped her mouth, her head falling into her hands. She gripped strands of her straightened hair with her fingers, pulling on it as she continued to sob, wishing that she could find it in herself to get up and find the way back to the trailer. A cold shiver ran down her spine, the headache worsening. Her ears began to ring. 

Just her luck.

Ever since she had chased after Eddie and uprooted their life back in Madison to go to Hawkins, she'd found herself slowly slipping into paranoia. It did not happen often—the fear, the headaches, and the cold shivers only occurred once every few weeks when she was already slipping into the memories, or when she was struggling. It made everything worse.

Shaking, she continued to cry. The cold ran through her and her eyes squeezed shut as she felt that rare pulling feeling; the feeling that made her feel like she was bordering on the edge of reality. It was a magnetic force acting upon her, disorientating her even more. 

A twig snapped, the sound echoing in her mind. The pulling feeling stopped. Instantly, she looked up. There was a bright light shining in her misty eyes. She wiped away the pool of tears, squinting to try and make out who it was behind the flashlight. The light moved down to the ground, revealing the man dressed like Travis Bickle. Despite never having a single conversation with him, she would recognise the soft, well-styled hair with incredible volume anywhere. It was his calling card. 

Concern was etched onto his features. "Hey," he said, crouching to come face-to-face with the girl. His voice was soft, like he worried that speaking to her in any other tone would break her. Maybe it would. "I've been looking for you."

Slurring her 's', she stared at him with a blank face, replying, "Stalker."

He did not say anything about the state that she was in, or about the sick on the ground next to her. Instead, he turned his flashlight off and helped her up, gently placing his arm around her shoulder as he guided her through the woods. She somewhat recognised the road. It was Kerley. Smiling, she joked about how she was not far from home after all, and that she might have made it back by morning if she'd kept on trying. However, Steve did not understand what she was talking about, and he did not know where she lived. He opened up the door to the passenger seat and placed her inside, grabbing the bottle of water he'd stolen from Tina's fridge off the dashboard and passing it to her, telling her to take small sips in the hopes that it would sober her up.

They sat in the car for ten minutes before he decided to start the engine. They spent the ten minutes in silence, Steve watching as she recycled through the motions of sipping the cold water, observing the way that she eventually sat up straight and started to seem more aware. When he started the engine, ABBA's 'SOS' played quietly on the radio. He drove on ahead, not even sure where he was going. Before he could ask, she said, "Travis...You're the guy from Taxi Driver."

"Yeah," he said with a small smile, his eyes set on the road ahead. "And you're Pam."

"I'm surprised you could..." She frowned out of annoyance that she'd lost her train of thought. After a second, she found it. "Tell. I'm surprised you could tell, Harrington. I...I love that movie."

"Liam was seriously trying to sleep with you when you're this shitfaced?" he muttered to himself.

It took Rebecca a moment to process what he had said. The question was slightly sobering as she reflected on it, taking another sip of water. 

"He told you about that?"

Her voice was timid; a complete contrast to what he heard when they were in their classes together, where her voice was confident. Certain. He turned to look at her, watching the mortification on her face before she looked away, staring out of the window. The sight was enough to make him shake his head profusely, rushing to say, "No! Well, he did. But, like, it's nothing for you to be ashamed of. If anything, he should be ashamed." Rebecca finally looked at him. "You'd only just slipped out of the party when he told me about it. Don't worry, he only told me—as far as I'm aware. He ended up fucking off back home after I called him an asshat. That's when I came looking for you. I drove around a bunch of times, checked the woods, drove around again, and did a few more laps of the woods. I would've gone to your house, or something, but I don't know where you live. I gotta say, Munson, you're pretty hard to find."

"How long have you been driving around for?"

"A couple of hours...give or take."

Steve shrugged haphazardly, acting as though it was no big deal. Rebecca, on the other hand, snorted before bursting out into laughter. It was the type of laughter that bordered on a cackle, but Steve absentmindedly smiled at the sound. "Fucking hell! You don't even know me, Harrington. Why waste your night on me?"

"I'm not wasting my night," he said. The radio began to play 'Daydream Believer'. "Besides, you could've ended up passed out, or worse. And if Liam isn't going to be a stand-up guy and drive you home, then I will take that role."

"My hero," she teased, playfully batting her eyelashes before taking another sip of water. "I live at Forest Hills Trailer Park, by the way. It's down past Kerley, but we drove the other way. Sorry."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I'll just drive back 'round."

Rebecca stared out the front of the car, watching the road ahead. Silence hung over them. It was comfortable, somehow. She found it strange that silence with Steve was more comfortable than it was with the guy that she was dating. Well, they weren't 'dating'—it was unlabelled. That was another thing she found strange. They had been an item in everybody else's eyes for almost two months, and yet he still didn't want to label anything.

"What are you doing with that guy?"

"I don't know."

"You're better than that asshat."

Rebecca snorted. "And how would you know? You probably didn't even know who I was until...until Liam told you about me." She paused before adding, "And he still hasn't met—no—introduced me to any of his friends."

"Please," he scoffed. "I knew about you from the moment you became the new girl in Mr. Kaminski's class, talking about fractional distillation like you'd invented it, impressing him with your knowledge. And in English, too. You're a lot smarter than me, and therefore ten times more smart than Liam." Heat began to rise in his cheeks and he ignored the sensation, putting it down to the fact that he was simply getting worked up. "And he treats you like shit. I've seen it. I might not know you personally, but I have eyes."

She didn't know why she desperately avoided the subject, asking, "So...which girl do you think is hotter—from The...The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?"

"Pam, duh. That woman has legs for days." His answer was immediate. Rebecca retained the urge to say that she agreed. Despite the kindness that he showed, it was Hawkins, and she did not feel like getting reamed out for swinging both ways. "What about you? Who's the hottest guy?"

"None of them," she answered, loosening the white cap on the bottle. "I never found any of those knuckleheads..." She searched for the word. "...I never found any of those knuckleheads attractive."

"Hey, you got there in the end." There was the faint sound of the radio hosts talking, but Rebecca's attention was focused on him, rolling her eyes at his sarcasm. He wore a shit-eating grin. "Maybe you'll be able to form coherent sentences for more than five minutes by the time we get to your home."

"Hey!" Rebecca pantomimed being hurt, both of her hands flying towards her chest, on the wrong side to where her heart was. The sight of it was enough to make Steve giggle. Not laugh, or scoff; giggle. The sound was a lot more soothing to her ears than the old-fashioned love song that had begun to play. "It's a marathon, King Steve, not a race."

"Yeah, let's hope it's not a race," Steve mumbled with the same shit-eating, wicked grin, keeping his eyes on the road.

He could still feel the heat that came from her eyes boring into the side of his face, hearing her mumble a good-hearted, "Shut up."

They spent the rest of the drive in silence until they reached the trailer park. For reasons she could not understand, she felt embarrassed knowing that Steve could see the unkept trailers, the trash on the ground that her neighbours had tossed out, leaving it until the trash collectors came to sort it out, and he could also see the state of the trailer that Wayne had stayed in for God knows how long. It was slowly wearing out. Then again, Steve did not seem to care, and he'd found her when she was sat next to her own sick, crying her eyes out while she was deep in the depths of inebriation. That was the truly embarrassing thing—not her poverty.

Rebecca thought back to all of the rumours she'd heard of 'King Steve', remembering how people had called him an 'insufferable asshole, or a 'total heartbreaker'. She remembered how he would sometimes come in late to Mr. Kaminski's class, and how he never seemed to know the answer to the more complex questions in English and Chemistry, always knowing the basics. She originally thought those rumours were true, deciding that he was a jerkoff who didn't care about school—or women. 

However, as they sat in his BMW, she looked at him, her eyes meeting the thick, rich, decadent chocolate pools that looked at her, too. She took a breath, trying to think of her words, hoping that she would say something without taking forever to think of the next word. 

"Steve?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you," she began. "Thank you for looking out for me when my asshole of a boyfriend-slash-not-boyfriend can't do it himself. You're a lot kinder than what people make you out to be. Maybe I was wrong to believe the rumours about you being a pretentious douchebag."

His eyebrows perked up. "Thanks for the compliment?"

"Anytime," she responded with an honest smile, too far gone into the depths of alcohol to hear the uncertainty in his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Steve Harrington waited in his car, watching as she went up to her doorstep and pulled out her keys from the pocket of her shorts. He chuckled lightly at how she missed the keyhole the first time. Then, she turned around and gave him a small wave before stumbling inside. Another minute passed until he drove away.

Chapter Text

- detective bex -

Hawkins, Indiana, 7th November, 1983,

Red, green and brown leaves were scattered across the ground, covering the wet soil that Steve trudged through, keeping his space from Rebecca. She had her flashlight aimed at the ground, staring at the leaves as she walked on ahead, not bothering to speak. The entire search had been silent ever since the two of them were paired up by Hopper. At first, he'd attempted to make conversation, but she had brushed him off, murmuring something and walking away. He was surprised that she hadn't laughed at the neon-yellow raincoat he wore. Hers was a saturated red. She carried an umbrella that matched, not bothering to let him walk underneath it.

She paused for a moment, stopping in her tracks. He quickened his pace to catch up to her—to see what she had found. Yet, she still stared at the red, green and brown leaves, pouted lips twisting down into a frown that reminded him of the night they had—formally—met. This time, there were no tears; no slurred 'thank you', or a smile. When was the last time she had smiled at him? 

He stepped on a twig, hearing the familiar crack that gave him a sense of déjà vu. His search partner whipped around, flashlight shining in his eyes and momentarily blinding him. She stared at him with widened eyes like a deer in the headlights and dropped the flashlight down to her side, still wearing that frown. 

"You okay, Bex?"

"Don't call me that," she spat, ignoring his question and walking off ahead. 

Rebecca Munson despised most of her memories. The bad memories were merely triggers for the headaches, the voices, and the nightmares. There was rarely a time when she would remember her life back in Madison without breaking down. There were the good memories; memories of her friends, her brother, and her uncle. Those were soothing. Those were what she would think of whenever she found herself slipping. However, it was difficult to think of the good times without thinking of Steve. And, unfortunately, too many things reminded her of him.

Those memories were once like a glass of cold water on a hot summer's day. Now, they felt rotten right from the core. 

Steve appeared at her side, keeping a few centimetres between them. "Please, Rebecca, I'm trying here." She ignored him, but he pressed on. "I'm here, whether you like it or not. I'm trying to help find Will."

"That's only because you couldn't get into Nancy's pants," she muttered, thinking of how Nancy had told her about her and Steve's 'study date' over the phone, sighing as she complained that her mom wouldn't let her go out. Steve pursed his lips, embarrassment etching across his face. "I'm surprised you didn't try and climb through her window."

"I considered it," he admitted. "But then I heard about this when she called to say that she can't go out. This is more important, so I'm here."

Scoffing, she moved her flashlight around, squinting as she tried to see something through the rain. "Are you not worried that this will affect your street cred? We can't have the public thinking that you care about anything other than your image, parties, your pretty hair, and the hot chicks, can we now?"

People involved in the search walked ahead of them in a group of three. A part of her wished that she was with them instead of being one of the select few who ended up in a pair. She was almost entirely sure that Hopper was doing this to screw with her deliberately. 

Steve's mind caught itself getting hung up on the compliment about his hair, wondering if she meant it. There was a big chance that she was merely teasing him; trying to mock him for his vanity. However, she had once run her hands through his hair, smiling as she looked into his eyes, murmuring that he had pretty hair. The ghost of her touch made him dismiss the memory. He was trying to be with Nancy. Beautiful, intelligent, and dedicated Nancy Wheeler. Thinking of the past was suicide.

"Well, I do care," he reasoned. "You know I care, Bex—Rebecca—because we used to be friends. Heck, we used to be more than that. Even if you never wanted to call it what it was." The final sentence was said in a whisper. Judging by the way Rebecca sighed softly, she'd heard it. "I just...I want to move past your hatred."

Anger boiled inside her body, brewing in her veins as she gritted her teeth, snapping, "My hatred?" Her grip on the contents in her hand tightened. "God, Harrington, do you ever think before you speak? You're the one who hated me first. You're the one who tossed me aside and acted like I'm some sort of evil bitch for fucking up when I was just confused! I know that's not an excuse, but I would've happily tried to work through things if you hadn't..." She sighed, stopping herself from going any further. There was no need to lay her heart out on the line. "I may have fucked things up first, but the way you spoke to me is enough to warrant hate. Like I said the other day, I'll be nice to you in front of Nancy, but we'll never be friends, or even civil." She forced out the words, "I hate you, Steve."

That was what she told herself—she hated him. She hated how he wanted to move on and bury the hatchet. She hated how he laid his eyes on Nancy and went after her. Did he know that she knew Nancy? Was this some sick scheme to try and do one big 'fuck you'? 

It certainly felt like it.

"Whatever," Steve mumbled after a moment, his voice tremulous. 

Rebecca used her flashlight to gesture at the group ahead of them, right where Hopper was, "Go with them?" She intended to demand it—take charge. However, it was more of a plea than a statement. "I don't think we're going to find anything with this..." She waved the flashlight between them. "This bickering."

He bit back the comment about it being beyond bickering, nodding. "If Chief reams me out, I'll make sure to tell him it was your idea."

"Be my guest."

Rain poured down from the sky, making her grateful for Hopper's warning. She held the umbrella tightly, not wanting it to get lost in the wind, cursing the sound of thunder. Loud sounds were something that she had never been good at dealing with. All they did was make her jump—remind her of things. The day that she would hear the door slam without thinking of her past was something she heavily looked forward to. 

There was still no sign of Will. They had been searching for almost two hours, and she—and, hopefully, everyone else—would spend the night searching if it meant they found something. She had heard the news that they'd found Will's bike in the day, meaning that Will could still be here. Maybe not in the woods. But somewhere.

She also knew that it could mean he was running from something.

Running from that figure.

Momentarily squeezing her eyes shut, she dismissed the idea, trying to ignore the reminders of last night. It was not the time to remember her breakdown—the voices, or the visions. Maybe that gangly creature was a vision, too. Something that her mind had created to mess with her. It seemed like that was all her mind ever wanted to do: betray her and keep her in a state of torment that was on constant repeat. A peaceful month of freedom from her breakdowns had ended faster than she could say, "Are those the kids?"

Wait, what? 

Her eyes landed on the three small, recognisable humans that lugged their bikes at their side, bickering as Dustin complained about the thunder. She could hear Lucas calling him a wussy. Trying not to shout, she called out their names. No reply.

So, she tried to swiftly walk over to them, finding it difficult to walk fast on the wet leaves and soil. There was already a scolding prepared in her head. Why were they out when it was getting late? They had school tomorrow. And Mike wasn't supposed to be out! Rebecca already knew that the Wheeler's children were under a strict lockdown until everything got sorted. Judging by the other two boys' parents, it would be the same for them.

"Excuse me!" she called out in the form of a hiss, aiming her flashlight in their direction. The so-called 'leader' of their party turned around, flashing her one of his infamous looks of pure annoyance.

"Don't tell my parents," he said with nonchalance.

Raising her eyebrows, she shook her head. "Don't tell me what to do. All three of you are going to be in big trouble if the Chief sees you wandering about." 

"What were we supposed to do? Will is missing!" Lucas interfered.

Dustin and Mike nodded in agreement. Part of her understood why they wanted to take matters into their own hands—she would do the same if it was Nancy, Barb, Charlotte, or her other friends. However, she was almost seventeen. Those boys weren't even thirteen. Just kids. 

"Please don't tell anyone," Dustin said, giving her the puppy eyes that made refusing him difficult. "You can stick with us if you want. Just...let us find Will."

"Dude!" Lucas rolled his eyes. "She isn't even in the party."

Mike put a hand on Lucas' shoulder, his face twisting into one of deep thought. "Actually, I think Rebecca should stick with us. I mean, if we find something bad, then she could protect us. She's probably a lot better at fighting than we are."

"Who is 'she'—the cat's mother?" Rebecca questioned with a tiny smile, immediately regretting using the saying when all three boys gave her a confused look. "Look, Dweeb Number One is right." Mike rolled his eyes. "I work out, and I can throw I pretty mean right hook if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, yeah, stop flexing," Dustin said. "You can come with us."

Rebecca moved over to walk with them, joining Lucas at his side and muttering, "Not that I needed your permission."

"Has your search party found anything?" Mike asked, ignoring the boom of thunder overhead. Dustin, however, stared at the sky, a look of momentary panic fleeting across his face. 

She shook her head. "Not yet, I don't think."

The party—and Rebecca—resorted to calling out for Will. She already knew that nothing fruitful would come from it, but the boys were eager to find their friend, and if this would help them feel like they were doing something, then she would call out Will's name. 

"Byers!" Dustin called out, his head darting from side to side as he looked around. "I've got your X-Men 134!"

Mike's voice was laced with desperation as he called out for Will. Lucas was visibly growing more concerned as their plan failed. They moved further forward, trying their luck even more. Eventually, Dustin said, "I think we should just go back. We haven't found anything."

"Seriously?" Mike questioned, adding something about not being a baby. 

Rebecca stopped listening as she gazed out across the woods, surveying the land around them. A strange feeling crawled through her body. It was not the same feeling that usually haunted her. Instead of being cold and scared, she simply felt a sense of impending doom—like they were hurtling forward into a state where they would be unable to turn back and forget about it. 

Mike and Dustin continued to bicker about being sissies while Lucas joined Rebecca in her inspection of the woods. Dustin spat, "Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, Will went missing because he ran into something bad?" Rebecca did. The memory of that creature flashed through her mind. "And we're going into the exact same spot where he was last seen with no weapons or anything?"

Zoning them out, she listened intently, hoping to hear something. Mike told Dustin to shut up, which only made Dustin continue to berate him. However, it all stopped when Mike said, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Rebecca asked, wondering what she had failed to hear.

A twig snapped, causing the four to whip around. Lightning flashed and their flashlights began to flicker, almost like it was responding to the disturbance. Rebecca's throat began to knot at the realization that nobody was there. 

Where had they gone? Or worse, where had it gone?

There was another twig that snapped, making them turn around once more.

A girl stood before them, her doe eyes squinting as their flashlights beamed in her direction, face twisting up in fear at the fact that they had managed to see her. Her hair was shaved off, leaving only a faint buzz. The only thing she wore was an oversized Benny's shirt, shaking from the rain. The boys gaped at the girl, and all Rebecca could manage to do was join in, murmuring, "Fuck."

Chapter Text

- detective bex and the pennhurst escapee -

Gulping down the hesitation, she stepped forward, putting a hand out to signal to the girl that she was not dangerous—that she could be trusted. In response, the girl stepped back like she was ready to bolt at any given time. 

The gentle tone in Mike's voice caught the eldest of the group off-guard: "No. Don't be afraid. We can help you."

Lucas, in his typical fashion, questioned, "We can?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes, nodding as she moved closer, placing the umbrella over her and the girl. She crouched down in front of her, plastering a gentle smile across her face. If babysitting Will had taught her one thing, it was how to calm a frightened child. She could still remember when she and Joyce had taken him to watch Poltergeist. When Joyce went to work afterwards, she'd stayed the night, waking up to a shaking Will asking if he could stay up a bit longer.

With a soft voice, she hummed, "Yes, we can help you. Come on, let's go and take you somewhere where it's less...wet."

She guided the children back to the wagon and urged the three boys to pile into the back after tossing their bikes into the trunk, navigating the small, frightened stranger to the passenger seat and doing her seatbelt. Quickly, she rid herself of the raincoat, placing it over the girl as a cover, even if it was damp. "There you go," she whispered. "I'll turn the heating on."

They drove down Mirkwood, an unspoken question lingering in the air.

That was until Lucas asked, "So, I don't know about you guys, but I'm just wondering where we're supposed to stash this person?"

"Stash?" Dustin repeated, rolling his eyes at his friend's wording. "Dude, you got to work on your social skills."

"It's a fair question! We can't exactly show anyone what we found! She's a random kid in the woods. Now, I'm not exactly a genius, but we weren't supposed to be in the woods—or anywhere for that matter."

Rebecca waved a hand dismissively, shrugging. "Mike has a basement. We'll go there."

"And risk my mom catching us?" the boy asked. 

The eldest looked at him in the rearview mirror, feigning a smile. "That won't happen," she said, trying to convince all of them—including her—of her words. "We'll be sneaky. Like ninjas."

Thankfully, they had managed to make it into the Wheeler's basement without being caught by Mike's parents, or Nancy. The boys crowded around the girl while Rebecca trifled through the hamper of clothes, trying to find something that was more suitable and comfortable than the Benny's Burgers shirt. 

"Is there a number that we can call?" Mike asked. "For your parents?"

"Where's your hair? Do you have cancer?"

Of course Dustin Henderson was the one to ask that. 

Lucas joined in on the line of questioning: "Did you run away?"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

At least Mike was asking sensible, thought-out questions that needed an answer. The other boys, however, did not follow his lead. Especially Lucas, who asked, "Is that blood?"

Rebecca looked up from her search for clothes, watching Lucas reach his hand out before Mike slapped it away, glaring daggers at him. "Stop it, man! You're freaking her out!"

"She's freaking me out!"

"Stop raising your voices," Rebecca ordered, keeping a low tone. "There's no need to start bickering. However, she does need nice, clean clothes." She grabbed the clothes that looked the most likely to fit the girl, walking back over and pushing past the boys, crouching down and smiling. "I'm sorry that you had to put up with them. They're just scared—like you, I imagine."

The girl nodded in response.

"You're safe now," she hummed, not asking why she was scared, or why she was running. Those questions were not needed. What was needed was for the girl to feel safe. She handed her the clothes. "Here you go."

The girl stared at the clothes for a moment before taking off the raincoat that she had draped over herself when they had gotten out of the car. Then, she grabbed the bottom of the yellow, oversized shirt, readying herself to pull it up. Rebecca rushed to pull it back down, feeling bad for the girl. Did she truly not know the concept of privacy? Dustin and Lucas dramatically shielded their eyes, the latter exclaiming a string of, "No, no, no, no!"

"Oh my God!" Dustin yelled. 

Mike rolled his eyes at their antics, shaking his head and going over to the girl. "See over there?" He pointed out a finger to the small room in the basement. "That's the bathroom, okay? Privacy."

The girl looked confused, still holding her clothes as Mike went to guide her over to the room. He went to shut the door, but the girl must have protested because he asked, "Do you not want the door closed?"

"No."

"She speaks?" Dustin whispered, earning a glare from the eldest.

"Okay. How about we leave it open a little?" Mike encouraged, slowly closing the door to the point that there was a gap. 

"Yes."

Mike rejoined the group. "Hey, she can talk."

Doubt laced Lucas' voice, "She said 'no' and 'yes'. Your three-year-old sister says more than that!"

"She tried to get naked," Dustin added, seemingly talking to nobody but himself.

"Look—" Rebecca chimed in. 

She was immediately cut off by Lucas, "There's something seriously wrong with her. Like, wrong in the head."

Dustin's eyes were wide as he pantomimed the girl lifting up her clothes. "She just went like—"

Throwing him another glare, Rebecca dismissed his words. "We need to see if she has any family. If there's any information."

"I bet she escaped from Pennhurst," Lucas suggested, voice turning deadly serious.

Mike raised his eyebrows. "From where?"

"The nuthouse in Kerley County," Rebecca answered. She drove past it on the way home, watching from afar as people wandered on the grass—lost in their own world. From what she knew, they kept Victor Creel locked up in there. That fact was enough to make her shake her head at Lucas' suggestion. The girl was far from being on Victor's level of deranged. She was simply just young and afraid. "Look, she's not insane. She's a kid, and she needs help."

"She's an escapee, Rebecca!" Lucas argued. "And she's probably a psycho too!"

"Like Michael Myers," the curly-haired boy said.

"Both of you shut up," she demanded, growing tired of their behaviour.

She loved all the boys and often found their childlike behaviour endearing. But this was not the time and place to be acting ridiculous or suggesting that a frightened girl was psychotic. 

"No, Rebecca, I won't shut up!" Lucas snapped back, crossing his arms. "We never should've brought her here!"

"I agree," Dustin hummed.

Mike approached Rebecca's side, giving the others his infamous disgusted face. "You wanted to leave her out in the storm, alone?"

"Yes!" the two boys said in unison. 

"We went out to find Will, not another problem."

Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose, putting a hand on her hip. "Look, there's no use arguing about this. The best thing to do is to wait it out until morning and then Mike can tell his mom—who will then get in touch with, like, a more responsible adult."

"See?" Mike agreed. "We have a plan now."

With a smirk, Lucas whispered, "And the responsible adults will take her back to Pennhurst."

"They won't," Rebecca insisted with a furrowed brow. "Get her to call CPS."

"Yeah." Mike nodded, his eyes flickering back over to the bathroom. "I'll make her a pillow fort for tonight, and in the morning, she can sneak to the front door, knock on, and I'll make sure that my mom calls CPS. It'll be like she was never here."

Dustin snorted, commenting that Mike was letting a girl sleep at his house. The comment earned a laugh from Lucas and an eye roll from Mike. Rebecca ignored the comment, staring at the bathroom. Her heart ached as she wondered if the girl heard the boys' comments about her being psychotic. She knew the feeling of being pictured as the basket case all too well. Maybe that was why she was defensive when it came to the girl.

Picking up the discarded raincoat, she looked at Lucas and Dustin, who were talking about going to find Will tomorrow. 

"You're not going back out," she told them. "Any more mentions of it, and I'll tell your moms." Before they could protest, she pulled out her car keys and dangled them in front of Dustin's face. "I'm taking you home. Mike, I'll get your bike out. Stay with the girl."

"Okay, okay," Mike muttered.

"And if I find out that any of you—any of you—have been looking for Will again," she began, sternly pointing her finger, "then we'll have a problem, okay?"

"Fine," the three boys sighed in unison with a dejected stare. 

The two boys she was taking home continued to whisper about the mysterious girl from the woods as they walked to Rebecca's car, mentioning Pennhurst again and talking about the shaved hair while Rebecca got out Mike's bike, parking it where it would usually go before handing Lucas his bike, wishing him a goodnight. Dustin got in the passenger seat, rushing to turn up the volume of the radio, immediately turning it back down at the realisation that it was a song he did not know.

"So, what made you and the rest of the dweebs decide to look for Will?"

Dustin gave her a side eye, slumping back in the seat. "We were worried about him, duh."

The way he said it made Rebecca frown slightly. The air of nonchalance juxtaposed the slight tremor as he said the word 'duh'. From what she knew of Dustin, he was always the self-proclaimed clown of the group, making jokes and laughing at Lucas. However, he was also smart—a genius. Yet, underneath all of that, he was just a kid. All of them were just kids who were concerned for their friend.

"The cops will find him."

"And what if they don't?" Dustin asked. "Where on Earth could Will be if he isn't in Hawkins?"

"He might still be—"

"—We found a lost, bald, creepy girl who is clearly a nutter! That's not who we were supposed to find!"

Tears were welling in his eyes. Rebecca briefly glanced at him, keeping an assuring tone as she said, "The cops will find him, okay? They found his bike. That's a start. That shows that he didn't just vanish into thin air."

Or that he abandoned the bike to run.

Rebecca bit that part back, though. It would only cause even more concern. Concern that Dustin did not need.

"If it makes you feel any better, the next time I'm invited to a search, I'll be right there." She offered him a grin. "You've got someone from the party looking for him."

Snorting, Dustin denied, "You're not in the party. You don't even play Dungeons and Dragons."

"I'm an honorary member. Who knows? Maybe I'll get invited to the next campaign."

"Do you even know how to play?"

She nodded, turning a corner and driving down Mirkwood, ignoring the uneasy feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach. "Eddie used to force me to join in when I was younger. I even had my own character. Her name was Bex the Destroyer."

"Is Eddie your brother?" Rebecca nodded, parking the car outside of Dustin's house. "Tell him I think he's cool for playing D&D."

"Nah, that'll just boost his ego."

Dustin chuckled, getting out of the car and feeling Rebecca's watchful gaze burn into his back as he walked over to his front door, sneakily sliding into the house. For a moment, Rebecca stayed there. She simply sat in the car and stared at the steering wheel, reminders of last night flashing in her mind. Will's smile as he biked down the road, laughing at something Dustin had said, the same smile she had watched in the rearview mirror, was the final thing that flashed in her mind. How could such a sweet boy go missing?

She pushed away the nauseating ache in her stomach, getting ready to drive off and turning up the volume of the radio. It was some rock song that she, surprisingly, didn't know. 

The only thing that illuminated Kerley was the headlights of her car. Her head began to throb and her body started to experience that familiar, heart-stopping sensation of being cold, shivering as the radio played 'California Dreamin'. She reached for the volume button, hoping that if she turned it up then the moment would not happen—that she would not hear the graining voice in her head. A sense of comfort crept in when the cold feeling stopped. 

But that feeling was a false sense of security.

The bitter cold returned with a vengeance. 

Shaking violently, she turned up the radio again. However, her mind hissed, 'What have I said before? Playing music isn't going to save you. Certainly not from the hounds.'

"The hounds?" she repeated with a shaky breath. "Hounds?"

'Mhm.'

"What..."

'Outside.'

Chapter Text

- the hounds, the past and the man at the trailer -

The grass tickles her exposed legs. She's wearing an oversized shirt, staring at the night sky with cloudy eyes, unable to see the stars. Her arms are wrapped around her torso. A pitiful hug that she's receiving from nobody other than herself. Eddie is inside the trailer; he's eating away at the leftover chicken tenders they had made for their attempt at a Christmas dinner. Meanwhile, she's outside their trailer, alone, waiting for Wayne to get back from work. He was supposed to spend the day with them, but then he got called into a sudden shift, one that he'd been working all day. He'll be home for ten—spending the last two hours of Christmas with his beloved niece and nephew. 

To Rebecca, Christmas has always been one big, cruel joke.

There is no escape from her parents. The memory of them haunts her, reminders of her mother's final Christmas ringing clear in her head. December 1979. She can still remember the smell of alcohol as her mom slurs the words, "Things will be different next year. Your dad's...working. Next year, we'll make Christmas Dinner, sit at the table, and you'll have presents too."

It was the same promise that they had been giving in 1978, and the year before that, and the years before that. Every year was the same. Their father spent the day doing God knows what while their mom promised a better Christmas.

From what she knows now; it was better not to know about her father's 'work'.

Tears roll down her cold cheek, her head aching. She tells herself to go inside and take something that will rid the pain. She still sits outside, not taking her own advice. Her mind begins to wander, thinking about how life would be if Eddie had not tried to run away, rushing to pack his bags and telling her to go with him. They would still be alone on Christmas, spending the holiday without an adult to celebrate with. At least Wayne bought them presents. That was something worth smiling about. Still, she cries, mind circling back to her dad. What is he doing? Is he still out? Does he even think about them?

A shaky hand moves up to wipe away the tears, her body running cold. She goes to move. But before she can go inside, a voice stirs inside her head, coming from the innermost depths of her mind. It's graining, tinny, and almost otherworldly, spilling out the ambiguous phrase, 'It watches.'

A vague statement. That was all the voice ever said—vague statements that played on her mind, puppeteering every aspect of her life.

At the vague statement, her eyes flicked over to the rearview mirror. A shaky gasp escaped her parted dry lips. She blinked again and again, hoping that by the time she opened her eyes, the vision would be gone. Her attempts were futile; the vision stayed.

Scattered behind the car was an army of half-shadow, half-'real' creatures. Some of them were tiny. Others were grown to the size of your average dog. All of them, however, shared the trait of being nimble. They chased after the car—after her—repeatedly snapping their mouth that splayed open, revealing thousands of tiny, sharp, flesh-ripping teeth. She tried to put pressure down on the acceleration, but her body stayed stiff, causing the panic that was already ruminating inside of her to increase tenfold. 

'Can you see what I see?' the voice whispered. 'Do you finally understand the danger that Hawkins faces?'

"Danger?" she muttered, trying to regain control of her body. She had never frozen up before during an episode. Her eyes flickered between the road ahead and the rearview mirror, trying to decide if they were real. Despite their shadow-like appearance, their teeth were not shadows. They were pure white. Sharp. Swallowing the build-up of saliva, she repeated, "Danger?"

There was no reply.

Finally, she managed to apply pressure to the acceleration, speeding down Kerley. She focused on the sight of the so-called 'hounds' that rushed after her, watching as they slowly faded, disintegrating. Still, her heartbeat thundered in her ears and took priority over any other sound. The radio became obsolete, being drowned out by the erratic badum badum badum sound. She no longer cared to hear, only wanting to find her way back to the trailer. She would crawl into bed, and fade into sleep, and the only thing that would manage to plague her would be the potential nightmares. 

Once again, her eyes moved over to the rearview mirror. The remaining creatures were now closing in, focused on reaching her car. One of them faded into the night. The others continued with their path of destruction. She turned her attention back to the road ahead. The closer she got to the trailer, the more that the creatures began to disappear.

When she reached the trailer, the 'hounds' had gone, leaving her with the radio that blasted at the highest volume. Still unable to breathe properly, she reached out a shaky hand and turned the volume down, mumbling something that she did not fully understand herself.

Three visions had plagued her over the past twenty-four hours: a gangly creature, a shadow-spider, and the 'hounds'. Her skin crawled at the thought of the gangly creature seeming real, thinking of how it seemed less shadow-like, and more similar to being covered in the darkness of the woods. Shaking the thought away, she looked up from the steering wheel, eyes landing on the guy standing in front of her trailer.

The way he kisses her makes her nauseous, stomach fluttering with moths as he moves his lips away from hers, moving down to her exposed chest. She never agreed to this in the first place, humming that she simply wanted to cuddle, but he took her shirt off anyway, murmuring that this is exactly what he wanted ever since they met. 

It's been a month since Tina's party. In comparison to that night, things between them had been going smoothly. The only bump in the road was that Steve Harrington was in her life now. When Liam found out, he immediately rushed to warn her that he'd be watching, claiming that it was simply just to 'protect their relationship'. He still hasn't made anything official, and all he ever calls her is Rebecca. There are no loving nicknames. Still, she stays quiet whenever the topic of Steve is mentioned in the hopes that it won't turn into something bigger. Just like she stays quiet when his hand snakes down.

"I've been wanting this for so long, Rebecca." Her eyes squeeze shut and she stays silent, giving up on her attempts to stop the situation. Maybe it won't be so bad. After all, he's attractive; he wants her. She should want him. She does want him, she thinks. "After Tina's party, I thought I was going to have to chase after you and make you mine. But here you are...giving in to my requests."

Feigning a smile, she continues to stay quiet. Her eyes open, fixing on the wall ahead, staring at the posters of the movies he likes. Ellen Ripley from Aliens is in the centre, and it's the only thing that manages to make her feel anything. 

Liam shifts on top of her, blocking her view of the woman. "I thought you were gonna ditch me for Steve." She stares at him with a blank expression, a knot forming in her stomach as he says, "But you're all mine." Rebecca loses herself in her own mind for a moment. When she doesn't respond, he lightly slaps her face. Nothing painful. Yet, her skin crawls anyway. "You're all mine, aren't you?

Nodding, she feigns another smile. "Yes. I'm all yours."

Slamming the car door, she stumbled away from the car. "Liam? What...What are you doing here?"

He simply sneered at her, venom in his eyes as he crossed his arms. He was soaked from the rain, just like her. "I've been here for the past hour, now. I was waiting at 7 Miles for you, and when you didn't show up, I came looking for you. Your car wasn't here. Where were you, Rebecca?" Liam paused, taking her dishevelled state, his sneer growing tenfold. "Were you with someone else?"

November moves into December. The bitter chill makes her nose runny; a cold. A nuisance, but nothing that she's never dealt with before. She's at Steve's house, waiting for Liam to pick her up as she tutors the brunette boy who sits at his desk, hunched over a textbook as he copies down her explanation of fractional distillation. She's on the corner of his bed, flicking through her notes from Mr. Kaminski's class, reciting them with additional commentary. Halfway through a sentence, she coughs for what Steve believes to be the fifth time in the last half an hour. 

"I think we should ditch the studying," he begins, making Rebecca furrow her brow, "and I'll make you a hot chocolate. Warms up the system."

Rebecca begins to protest, saying that she's only here to tutor him. For a moment, she watches Steve's lips pull down into a frown. However, the sight is gone in less than a second. Maybe it was not the kindest way to put it—they're friends, after all—but it is the truth. Her parents had paid her to tutor him, not sip hot chocolates and ignore his work.

Despite her protests, Steve leaves the room, calling her down a few minutes later. It's not long before they're on his couch and she's smiling at his attempt to make a snowman. She looks down at the pile of half-melted marshmallows that are lumped together to form a lopsided snowman. As she mocks him, he dramatically twists his face into shock, questioning, "What are you trying to say about my talent, Rebecca Munson?"

"That you lack artistic integrity," she quips.

The boy places his mug on the coffee table, mockingly murmuring, "Blah blah blah."

Over the rim of her mug, she narrows her eyes, holding back a smile. "Shut up. You're just butthurt that your attempts at hot chocolate art have failed. Please tell me you're not planning to go to art school."

Scoffing, he sits back. "That's if I even manage to graduate."

"Hey, it's only your sophomore year," she hums. "You still have plenty of time to improve your grades. I think you'll graduate, get into some fancy-schmancy college, and live the life you want to live."

He slowly nods, unsure if he believes what she says. He found himself wanting to believe her words. Not because they're reassuring, but because of the way she looks at him—chocolate eyes softening—and the way she says it like she's certain that he can do well for himself. So, he says, "I think with—"

A knock echoes from the front door, interrupting Steve. They both already know who it is, and Rebecca rushes to drink more of her hot chocolate, burning her tongue in the process. Wincing, she overhears the two men talking. They leave ten minutes later after Liam sneered at her, prompting her to gulp down the rest of her drink, rushing off without a goodbye to Steve.

"I thought you were studying? How do you end up watching TV and drinking hot chocolate if you're tutoring him?" Liam questions later as he takes off his shirt. She goes to explain, but he continues, "And I didn't see any textbooks. Have you been in his room?"

"Yeah," she mumbles. "That's where we always study. H-he has a desk in there."

He remarks about her being the Whore of Hawkins, placing a kiss on her lips that she can't bring herself to return. The next ten minutes are spent with him inside of her while she wonders if she'll end up like her mother; miserable and married to a man who is unable to respect her.

"I wasn't out with anybody else," she denied as she walked over to him, slipping past to get to her front door. "There was a search for Will. I went."

Liam snorted. "Seriously? You're prioritising some little freak over me?"

The comment buried itself in her bones, filling her with blinding rage as she hissed, "Freak?"

"Yeah," Liam continued. "He's the little brother of that weirdo Jonathan. Everyone knows the Byers are a bunch of screw-ups."

Rebecca stared down at him, teeth biting into her bottom lip until she felt the sting. The thunder returned, lightning flashing down in the distance. The rain poured down with a vengeance, soaking the both of them. Despite the torrential downpour, she stayed still, watching as his face twisted into confusion, and then into realisation. He would give her a ride to Joyce's from his house, or pick her up to take her back to his, refusing to give her a ride if she wasn't either at his or going to his. Most of the time, she would end up walking. Clearly, the memory of who she babysat had disappeared from his mind until he'd said his cruel words. Those words made her pull out her keys. There was no point in debating anything with him. 

"Look," he began, taking on a kinder tone; an uncanny tone for him. "I know you care for him, but I missed you." Rebecca placed the key in the door without a response. Not taking the hint, he continued, "I loved you with all of my heart." Rebecca did not return the sentiment. "We had something special, Rebecca. Until you and Steve went and screwed it up."

"We never even fucking dated," she spat. "You never called me your girlfriend. So don't preach that shit about love." Moments like these were rare. Going against Liam was something she found the courage to do far and between, meaning that all of her feelings began to stack on top of each other, threatening to give out at any moment. In the dead of night, she was scared, worried, and on the verge of another breakdown. Seeing Liam was the rotten cherry on top of a bitter sundae. "I admit that I liked Steve, okay? But that was after you fucked off out of my life. He and I didn't screw anything up. Your jealousy did." Unlocking the door, she ignored his eye roll. "I'm sorry for forgetting about tonight. That's all I will ever be sorry for."

Slamming the door shut behind her, she sunk to the ground, shaking. 

It was a start. 

Not everything was off her chest, but it was still something. 

Her gaze moved around the room, locking onto the windows. The curtains were pulled apart and she pulled herself off the ground, rushing to close the curtains, hoping it would take the edge off. Unfortunately, her attempt to remedy the overwhelming paranoia was useless. She moved through the trailer, closing all of the curtains and shutting the window Eddie had left open before leaving earlier. Thunder boomed overhead and she found herself walking over to the phone, unsure of why she was going there. It was ten o'clock on a Monday night. Who would be up?

Eddie, probably.

Sighing, she flipped through the phonebook and hoped to find the number of whoever's house he was staying at. From what she remembered, it was Gareth. Gareth Emerson. Frantically, her eyes scrolled through the phonebook before finally finding the number and getting ready to dial it. However, she hesitated, wondering if it would be fair for her to impose on his time.

Let him have fun, she told herself. Call someone else.

So, she went through number after number, none of them picking up. A sigh of defeat strung along in the air as she stared at the phone, debating on calling the only other person who would, as much as she hated to admit it, be there for her in a heartbeat if he picked up: Steve Harrington. 

December rolls into January and New Year's Day arrives.

She went into 1982 in Madison, spending the New Year at some party, nursing her sorrows with alcohol. Eddie did the same. Now, she went into 1983 in Hawkins. Eddie went out drinking and she stayed inside, watching movies and waiting for Liam to call.

His parents have fucked off to Italy for a 'business' trip. A week ago, they had offered her twenty bucks to spend the day tutoring him, hoping that his next English assignment would result in a better grade than a mere C-. She swallowed her guilt and took the money, showing up at one in the afternoon, already planning to spend the day giving him company rather than forcing knowledge down his throat. Knocking on the door, she straightens out her leather skirt and waits for him to answer. 

"There's my favourite friend," Steve greets with a hint of jest, arm stretching out as he holds on to the door. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be celebrating the New Year."

A small smile appears on her face as she crosses her arms. "With who? Wayne's working and Eddie has a hangover." Shrugging, she meets his gaze. "Besides, I thought you would want to see me, considering that I'm your favourite friend."

He mocks a bow, moving out of the way so that she can enter his house. "Thank you for gracing me with your presence."

She found that she was beginning to spend more time here than she did at home. Partially due to tutoring responsibilities, but also because Liam doesn't ask her to come over as often as he used to. The sex was mediocre; that's what he told her. The two of them walk through to his living room, sitting out on the couch next to each other. Steve turns to her, tilting his head and teasing, "I thought you'd be spending the New Year with your amazing boyfriend."

Rolling her eyes, she picks up the remote. "Nope," she answers. "He's still deciding if he wants anything to do with 'Bex the Basketcase'."

The words do not fall out as smoothly as she had hoped. The wit she wanted to have fell flat, her words stumbling out with a hint of a break in her timid voice. Christmas Day had left her rattled. She spent the next day curled up in bed, unable to say anything. The day after that, she confessed to Liam that she had heard something, wanting comfort. Instead, he spat the nickname out like it was the name she deserved since birth and laughed at her concern. Later on, she confessed her problems to Steve over the phone, briefly mentioning Liam's nickname. His voice was soft when he asked: "Do you want me to come over?"

She had denied the offer, saving it for a later date.

Steve is silent. Pink lips pursing as he watches her flick through the channels. Multiple boring shows appear on the screen in small flashes. He realises that she's only looking through because it's better than sitting still. Then, he shrugs. "Screw him, Bex." She pulls her knees up to her chest, no longer wanting to defend him. "If it's any consolation—" He nudges her shoulder. "—'Bex the Basketcase' doesn't phase me." Before she can process what he said, he snatches the remote off her and places it on the couch, standing up. "I'm hungry. Do you want to make the best New Year's meal of all time with me? I even have fancy wine to go with it."

"You, Steve Harrington—" She points an accusing finger as she stands up, only a mere few inches away from him. "—can't cook to save your life."

They stand there for a moment in silence. She waits for Steve to walk into the kitchen so that she can follow, completely missing the way his eyes dart away from her outstretched finger and land on her face. He soaks in how her nose scrunched up impatiently, bringing a smile to his lips. "Come on," he says. His hand reaches out for a second before he pulls it back in, regretting his split-second decision. "I'll prove you wrong."

Staring at the phone, she blinked away the memory.

Maybe there was a time when she could rely on him to show up. However, any care he had vanished the day that he kicked her out, locking the door on their friendship and throwing away the key. When he had tried to find the key—tried to act like it was capable of fixing what had been smashed into pieces—she had told him that she hated him, stomping on the broken pieces until they were nothing but smithereens. If he picked up, he would slam the phone down. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deposit the blame on him when all she ever did was fuck things up. That was what they were both good at: fucking everything up.

And they hated each other now. He hated her, so she hated him. He tried to fix things, and she continued to hate him. Now, they would return to the mutual feeling of pure contempt. 

Chapter Text

- decide -

Finally ready, Rebecca walked out of her bedroom. Her mind was already focused on the lost girl in the woods, and she wondered if the plan had gone smoothly. By now, she should be in protective care—right where she should be—and would hopefully be safer than she was in the woods. She was under the right care. Not Pennhurst. Not Mike Wheeler. And not her. She was safe.

Ring, ring, ring!

The phone rang out as Rebecca collected her keys off the kitchen counter. Wayne was fast asleep on the couch, having a well-earned rest on his day off. Smiling at the sight, she picked up the phone, already knowing who it would be before Eddie's half-asleep voice could greet her: "Hey there, whoever's answered."

"Hey, son," she mocked using her best impression of Wayne's southern accent. It managed to pry out a snort from her brother. "Nah, it's just me—your favourite sibling."

"My only sibling."

Swaying her body from side to side, she hummed, "Yeah, yeah. I'm still your favourite." The breezy attitude came from her rest. Thankfully, she conked out on her bed after she gave up on trying to call somebody. There were no dreams; no nightmares, either—just rest. "I'm assuming you're calling to tell me you're skipping?"

"...Yes. How did you know?"

"Twin telepathy." Rebecca smiled at nobody other than herself. She could already visualize the typical eye roll that he would give in response. Wayne snored softly on the couch, reminding her to add, "If you get back in the day, be quiet. Wayne's sleeping."

The two of them exchanged their goodbyes before hanging up, leaving the girl to her own devices. Quietly, she grabbed her backpack and left the trailer, staring at the dusty wagon that waited for her. In a moment of weakness, her stomach flipped. Reminders of the creatures flashed through her mind. Part of her wanted to check behind the car to see if they would magically be there, waiting to torment her. However, rational thinking told her otherwise. With a sigh, she got into the car, cursing at the fact that the wet patches had not dried. 

The ride to school was quiet; the radio hosts mingled about life, played music, and talked about the charts. Eddie had always been the less studious one, skipping school at random times to hang out with his friends or do things that were far off from studying, meaning that his grades fell behind. Admittedly, she would be surprised if he managed to graduate next year. She would never tell him that.

Avoiding the group of jerkoffs—and Liam's glowering gaze—she slipped into the building, actively trying to find Nancy and Barb. She found the girls standing near Barb's locker, looking through revision cards. Smiling, she peered over Nancy's shoulder. "Oh, fractional distillation," she said. "You'll never be forgotten."

"Oh, hey!" Nancy greeted, still looking through her cards. "How'd the search for Will go? Did you find anything?"

Disheartened, she shook her head. "No, unfortunately." She crossed her arms, looking down at the ground. "Your boyfriend showed up, though."

"He's not my boyfriend," the girl denied with a timid smile.

Barb rolled her eyes, snorting. "Keep telling yourself that, Nance."

Moving past the incoming conversation about the dynamics of whatever Steve and Nancy had, Rebecca took the notes off Nancy, saying, "Let me test you two."

She flicked through to the back, furrowing her brow in concentration and her tongue peeking out. Before she could ask the question, she saw a forest green sleeve appear in the corner of her eye, a hand swiftly grabbing the cards before she could bat them away. Scowling, she whipped around. Steve and his cronies—besides Liam—stood together. Tommy grinned wickedly as Steve said, "I think Nance has studied enough."

Carol agreed with a nod, smacking her lips together as she chewed her gum. The sound of it made Rebecca twist her face up in momentary disgust. Nancy smiled and rolled her eyes, lost in the mix of being endeared and annoyed. "Give me those."

Nancy reached out to grab them and Steve swiftly put them in his back pocket, reassuring her that she would do fine. "Now," he began, "on to more important matters. My dad's left town to go to some conference, and my mom's gone with him because, you know...she doesn't trust him."

A false laugh trailed after his words as Tommy added, "Good call."

Rebecca stared at him in silence, frowning. In the time that she and Steve spoke, she'd grown to learn almost everything there was to know about the Harrington family. Of Mr. Harrington's disappointment in his son. His prioritization of business over family. The way that he would ogle younger women, mysteriously having an influx in business meetings. She knew of Mrs Harrington and the way she would defend her husband like it was her purpose in life. How she would follow her husband anywhere she could. How she never argued back. She also knew that King Steve—Mr. Carefree—cared. He cared enough to let these stories slip in late-night talks, or over the phone, or if he could not focus because he was wrapped up in the concern that he'll never have the picture-perfect family that everyone thinks the Harringtons are. Nobody in Hawkins knew that he cared. Except for Rebecca—the one person that his visage had crumbled away in front of.

"So—" Steve focused his gaze on Nancy. "—are you in?"

"In for what?"

Carol chimed in, spelling it out like she was teaching a child, "No parents? Big house?"

"A party?"

"Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!" Tommy jested, laughing. 

The sound of his laughter made her stomach twist. It sounded familiar to when he would mock her, calling her names like it was all just 'good fun'. Nancy ignored the taunting laugh and said, "It's a Tuesday."

"It's Tuesday. Oh my God—" 

Tommy chuckled and Steve ignored him, continuing to try and reason with Nancy, "Come on, Nance. It'll be low-key. Just me, you, Tommy, Carol and a couple of beers. Are you in or out?"

She watched the cogs in Nancy's mind turn. Before she could answer, Carol gestured her head forward. "Oh God. Look".

Nancy and Barb turned while Rebecca looked over to a lonesome Jonathan Byers. His posture was dejected, shoulders slumped down as he placed a poster on the bulletin board. Everyone knew what that poster was for. Gulping, her heart began to ache, lips pulling down as she thought of how the Byers were handling it. Joyce was probably reeling and desperate to find her son. Jonathan was probably watching his mom slowly lose herself while he lost himself too—unable to fully express it. 

"Well, that's depressing," Steve said with a tone she could not quite understand. Indifference? Masked concern? Either way, the phrase made her narrow her eyes, turning to look at him through the lens of her glasses. He looked on, not returning the attention. Maybe it was a sign that last night was the end of him trying to make amends. 

"Should we say something?" Nancy asked. 

"I don't think he speaks."

"How much do you wanna bet that he killed him?"

In the corner of her eyes, she watched Steve open his mouth, going to say something. Instead of speaking, his mouth closed and he simply rolled his eyes. Scowling, Rebecca turned around to glare at the egotistical boy. "Disgusting."

"What?"

"You. Have some shame," she mumbled, spinning back around. She quietly added, "Fucking prick."

Rebecca was unsure if her words had even been heard. However, she did not get the chance to as Nancy stepped away from the group, walking over to the meek Jonathan Byers. All five of them watched as she exchanged words with the boy. She turned to her left, observing the look of pity on Steve's face as he stared past Jonathan, eyes landing on the poster of Will. His look of pity dissipated when the bell rang and Nancy came back over, asking Barb, "Are you ready for Chem?"

Scoffing, the ginger girl replied, "Never."

"Oh, come on," Rebecca said. "You guys are gonna do great."

"Make sure to come to the party," Carol said with her typical teasing tone. "Stevie here won't be able to cope without his princess."

The comment made Rebecca consider gagging, but she settled for a look of repugnance instead. Nancy looked over at Steve, smiling. "Only if Barb and Rebecca come." Before Rebecca could protest, Nancy gave her a pleading look, begging, "Please."

For a moment, Rebecca thought about what she had been asked, trying to decide how to phrase her words. However, Barb saved her, taking Nancy's hand and smiling. "Come on, Nance, we don't want to be late."

"Yeah! Good luck!" Rebecca exclaimed, immediately walking away after she no longer needed to be around Steve Harrington and his imbecile duo of cronies. She rushed over to catch up with Jonathan, who was making his way out of school. A fleeting thought told her that it was strange for Jonathan to leave. He had big aspirations—wanted to go to NYU. His attendance was not superb, but he was not the type to skip for no reason. "Hey, Jonathan!"

The boy stopped in his tracks, forcing a meek smile onto his face. "Hi, Rebecca."

"I'm not gonna ask if you're okay," she started, pausing immediately and awkwardly scoffing. "That sounded rude, sorry. I just meant...you're probably getting asked if you're okay every five seconds." He nodded. "I was going to ask where you're going?"

"Lonnie's."

"Your dad's?" 

Jonathan looked down at the ground, nodding. "Yeah...I dunno. I just have this hunch, you know? And I want to look for Will rather than wasting around in this place."

"I'll come with you." Her eyes flicked over to the door. "If you want?"

In response, he gently shook his head. "No, but thanks anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Another small smile. The whirlpool of agony circled in his eyes as he turned around, murmuring a goodbye. 

Peter Ellis read through his textbook, slimming down the paragraphs into condensed notes as Rebecca worked on her English essay, tongue peeking out with a concentrated frown. The library was mostly empty at lunch. Charlotte was with Finley and Ayan was with some other friends from the Film Club. Her gaze faded away from the essay and landed on the door, seeing a desperate Nancy Wheeler walking through; Barb in tow. The two girls sat at their table, Barb peeping over at Peter's textbook as Nancy whispered, "Hey. I need a favour."

Already knowing what she was about to ask, Rebecca shook her head. "I'm not going to Steve's lame party."

"Please?"

"No."

"Becca, I agreed to go," Barb whispered, earning a strict glance from the librarian. Her cheeks became red as she lowered her voice even further, adding, "And I don't want to be the fifth wheel."

Peter snorted. The sound was enough for the librarian to shush the table. Sighing, Rebecca bit down on her bottom lip, unsure on what to say. The sight of a pleading Barb was pitiful, and she already knew that the girl was correct in thinking that she would end up fifth wheeling the orgy at Steve's house. Well, party. But with Carol and Tommy there, it might as well be a big, giant orgy. The thought of Tommy and Carol made her question, "Will Liam be there?"

"No," Nancy clarified. "I'll check with Steve just in case. I wouldn't ask if I thought he was going."

Still thinking, she looked back over at Barb. She fiddled with her glasses and it was glaringly obvious that she would revoke her place at the party if she had to go without anyone else, leaving Nancy with the jerkoffs. A small, false smile appeared on her lips and she nodded. "Fine. But only because I love you."

"I love you too, Becca," she replied with a hushed tone, smiling. "Be there for seven. I'll see you there."

"Do you need a ride?"

Barb shook her head, pursing her lips. "Don't worry 'bout it. I'm taking her."

A few minutes passed as the girls spoke about the Chemistry test, Peter chiming in to tell them that they shouldn't worry too much. Then, they left. Now it was just Peter and Rebecca. She stared at her English essay, regretting her decision to go. She could already envision it; Steve flirting with Nancy, Carol and Tommy making snide remarks to the girls, and she and Barb being the only two there who weren't flirting. Unless she flirted with Barb. But something about Tommy H. radiated homophobia. Carol too. She ended up outside of the library when Peter suggested that they leave, immediately asking, "So, what's the deal with you and Steve? Are you friends again?"

With a dismissive wave of the hand, she shut the idea down. Peter was not convinced. He raised his eyebrows, carefully placing his textbook into the locker. "I thought you were never gonna talk to him again? What happened to that?"

"He and Nancy happened. It's kind of hard to have no contact when he's actively trying to get with my friend."

The boy chuckled in response. "How'd things go with Liam last night?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. "Don't remind me." Her tone was full of grit. "I forgot to cancel. Well, I forgot about it completely the moment I went to search for Will. I got back to my trailer, and...he was stood right outside." Peter's eyes widened in suspense—a look of disgust following his action. "On the bright side, I managed to muster up the courage to tell him off—sorta."

"Hey, that's good." Peter pulled out his English textbook. "It's all about baby steps, Bex." The bell rang, signalling the final period. "See ya."

"Bye, nerd."

With a look of mock annoyance, Peter did a small wave and headed off to his next lesson, leaving Rebecca in the middle of the hallway, watching everyone pass her by as her mind drifted to the party, already wondering if she was going to regret it.

Chapter Text

- the vanishing of rebecca munson and barbara holland -

Dressing up had always been something that Rebecca Munson enjoyed. Picking out clothes, envisioning a look, and slipping into something that made her feel confident; it was a wonderful feeling and something she considered herself to be skilled at. If there was one thing she would give herself, it was that she dressed well. However, as she stood in front of the mirror in a black vest with a leather jacket and shorts that had more than just a few deliberate rips, accompanied by fishnets, she did not feel confident. Sure, the outfit was good enough for a casual party. Still, she felt uncomfortable. She felt uncomfortable in all five outfits she'd tried on. The makeup on her face felt heavy and it was the same stuff she'd put on for school, not bothering to add or take anything away. Standing in the mirror, she faintly considered taking it off. She knew she looked good. That did not translate to how she felt.

Wayne and Eddie looked at her as she paced back and forth, biting on her fingernails. The two men shared a knowing look. Wayne twisted his lips as he thought of what to say. He knew the basics of the past with Steve Harrington—the things Rebecca had opened up about in her frustrated vent, tears running down her face as he hugged her. "Kid, are you sure you want to go to this thing?"

"I don't want to, but Barb won't go if I'm not there," she confessed, toying with the rings on her fingers. "And if Barb's not there, then who's gonna make sure that Nancy isn't being bullied by Carol and Tommy, or, like, being dragged into a massive orgy?" She watched her twin's face twist up into disgust, his eyes squinting as he pretended to gag. "Sorry, man. I mean, I don't think Steve's gonna do that. Not the orgy thing, anyway." 

Wayne scratched away at his stubble, unsure whether or not she was joking for the sake of it or to cover up her nerves. The last time she had been in Steve's house, it was not exactly daisies and roses. Eddie simply snickered, standing up, putting his arm around her shoulder, and guiding her to the couch. "Oh, Bex. Caring, protective Bex."

"What?"

"I just think you should stop putting everyone else first, sis," he suggested with a shrug. "Your precious Wheeler is a big girl. She can handle herself."

"I know."

"So," Wayne chimed in, "do what would make you happy."

The sentiment was true. Growing up, Rebecca had appointed herself the responsibility of protecting Eddie. She would entertain him in his room, telling jokes and stories that she made up in her head as her parents argued. Whenever their dad got violent, she would take the harshest parts of it. Their mom's harshest, most spiteful words would be directed at her because she would chime in if Eddie was the centre of it, making her mom switch gears. Even in school, everyone who bullied Eddie—who called him names and slurs—would end up with her on top of them, her fist pummeling down into their face. The main reason she began going on runs and exercising until her muscles ached was because she wanted to defend him. 

She had never grown out of the habit. Putting others before herself was what she was used to. Trying to stop was like trying to teach an old dog new tricks.

"I appreciate the pep talk, but I think I'm just gonna go."

She pulled herself up off the sofa, running a hand through her hair. Wayne cocked his head to the side, watching his niece fiddle with her car key. "Be careful, kid."

"Careful?"

Nodding, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "Will's missing. Don't go getting drunk and making yourself vulnerable."

"Got it, dad."

The faint smile on his face was not missed. He forced a lighthearted eye roll. "See you, kid."

"You too." She gestured at Eddie. "Have fun being bored out of your skull without me."

"Same goes for you," her brother replied with a wicked grin.

The Harringtons were known for their money. Everyone knew that the Harringtons were sitting on more money than most of Hawkins could ever wish for. Their house was proof of that fact. As Rebecca Munson sat in her car, staring ahead, she thought back to her home—the trailer. The differences between the buildings were shockingly drastic. Sighing, she slumped back in her seat, unsure what to do. There was no other car here besides Steve's BMW—the same car she had been escorted home in over one year ago. Sometimes she wished that night had never happened. That night had led to months of build-up, of stolen glances, nights under the stars, and kisses that tasted like the bliss she'd only experienced with him, only for it to shatter in a split second of impetuous betrayal.

Sighing, she exited the warmth of her car, immediately regretting her decision to wear shorts. The fishnet tights she had chosen did not help to shield her from the bitter November chill. Meandering slowly to the front of Steve's house, she took notice of the freshly mowed spots of grass. The path had been swept, leaving no leaves in its wake. Autumn was slowly slipping into winter—a season that left Rebecca uneasy. She held her leather jacket close to her, hugging herself to the point that it almost felt pathetic. A part of her wondered if she was simply trying to warm her body up or comfort the nerves. 

The last time she had visited Steve's house was back in the middle of April. The thought of it alone was enough to make her stop walking—make her turn around and go home. However, she continued, ignoring the alarm bells that went off in her mind. Was this a bad idea? 

You promised them you'd go, she reminded herself. It'd be unfair to drop out now. 

Digging her nails into the palm of her hands was not helpful. She winced at the feeling, balling up her hand into a fist as she held it up to his front door, gathering the courage to knock. No other cars in sight felt like a bad sign. She could already predict it: Steve Harrington awkwardly greeting her, inviting her inside and telling her that nobody was there yet. 

And that exact situation played out when Steve finally answered the door a mere moment later, eyes widening as he pursed his lips. She watched the cogs in his mind twist and turn before he said, "...Hi." 

"Hi."

He moved out of the way, gesturing for her to come in. Bitter nostalgia wormed its way through her body as she realised that they had a new painting on the wall—one that she could already tell was selected by Mrs Harrington. Almost everything in this house was selected by her. Steve closed the door, thinking of what to say. Eventually, he said, "Um, nobody's here yet. I said seven, but Nancy's running late, and Carol and Tommy are...they're...distracted. But they should be here soon."

"Lovely."

Clasping his hands together, he walked behind her, already getting flashbacks to how he'd awkwardly waddled behind her in the woods last night. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Water," she said. "I'm driving."

Nodding, he excused himself into the kitchen. This time, she was the one following him around, examining the surrounding area, flashbacks ruminating in her mind. The marble countertops brought her back to the time he'd made her soup when Liam had ended things completely, leaving her on Steve's doorstep.

Her eyes linger on the path, envisioning Liam walking away. He'd left five minutes ago and yet his words still sound like they're being spoken right in front of her, echoing again and again in some repetitive chant. She's a cheater. A liar. She's the freak of Hawkins who can't go one day without breaking down. He's embarrassed to be seen with her. Only three of those things are true. 

Steve is at her side, asking her if she's okay as the tears in her eyes spill over, rushing down her cheeks. The salty taste is bitter in her throat. Finally, she turns to him, sniffling. He envelops her in a hug, scared that if he doesn't hold her tight she might slip away. She buries her head in the nook of his shoulder, her tears slipping down onto his exposed skin. He smells like cinnamon—something sweet that contrasts the agony inside of her. His hand hovers over her head, wondering if he should run his hands through her hair. However, he stops himself. 

They end up in the kitchen. She sits on the counter, completely silent as he watches the soup in the pan—remarking about how he hated the taste of tomato soup. There was a lack of animation in her actions as she stuck her tongue out, feigning a small smile and saying, "Not everyone can have good taste, Farrah Fawcett."

Overdramatically, he held his hand to his chest. "Well, well, well, look who's talking."

The raise of his brow immediately vanishes as he realises what he's said. He goes to correct himself, but she dismissively waves her hand. "Nah, it's true. My taste in men isn't exactly top-notch." With a hopeless sigh, she kicks her feet. "I don't even know why I went along with it all. I mean, he talks to other girls all the time, and I swear he's always ogling them. But I have a few male friends and all of a sudden I'm a 'cheating skank'."

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before he quietly tuts, stirring the pot with focus. "That man is blind if he's ogling other women." The comment goes over Rebecca's head, and he's grateful for that. "And you're not a cheating skank. You're not any of the shit he's said."

I am a liar, she thinks. I'm lying to you, Steve.

She doesn't say what she thinks. Instead, she tilts her head to the side. "I am a freak. It's okay to say it, Steve. I can't go a day without panicking, and I hear that stupid voice at least once a week—if not more."

Shrugging, he continues to stir. "So what? It makes you more interesting than everyone in Hawkins. I swear, a lot of people in this town try to be picture-perfect. You're real, Bex. You're real and you're cool as fuck, even with your voices."

"You think so?"

The way he looks at her invites a sense of authenticity, like his words aren't merely being spoken to comfort her. A gentle smile appears across his soft features, but she's too busy staring at the floor to notice any of this. "Yes," he confirms. "I'm being honest."

He lifts up the ladle of soup, putting a hand underneath it as he carries it through the air, bringing her attention to him. For a moment, he pauses, and he's not quite sure why. Then, he says, "Come on, be my personal taste tester."

"What's the rate of pay?" 

He playfully tuts, rolling his eyes and gesturing the ladle. The sight of his pretend frustration is enough to make her smile, giggling. The sound echoes in his mind, playing on repeat like a lullaby. He lifts the ladle up to her mouth, watching as she blows away the fumes, soft lips verging on the edge of the ladle as she glances at him. Her eyes are still slightly puffed from the previous crying. Delicate—like she could break at any moment. And he will be there to pick up the pieces and put her back together; something they both know. The sound of her slurping on the soup breaks him away from his thoughts, and she licks her lips to get rid of the remnants. His eyes linger for a moment and she takes the ladle from him, dipping it back into the pan. "Thanks for this, chef."

The memory shattered and she emerged out of the past, being pulled back into the present as Steve handed her a glass of water, standing there with his hands on his hips, not exactly sure if he should speak. It never got him anywhere. He asked himself why she was here if she hated him so much before remembering Nancy. That made her reasons clear. She stared at the calendar on the wall, scrunching her nose up in confusion. "Holiday to Greece? In November?"

"Oh." He scoffed, awkwardly shuffling in place. "That's for my dad. He's going on vacation with some friends from college."

"In November?" she repeated with raised eyebrows, eyes widening in the process.

Laughing quietly, he nodded. "Yeah. End of the month—as you can see. He's coming back around...early December, but he's going off on holiday with my mom before Christmas."

"And you're...?"

"Staying here," he answered, shrugging. "I never really got asked. I think they planned it for themselves."

Something about this felt normal. The tense air between them was waning away. At least, in Steve's head it was. The conversation between them felt similar to how they used to talk, even if it was not as close, or as friendly. It was short and awkward. Still, it was something. Rebecca sipped her water, nodding. "Of fucking course," she whispered, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Typical."

He glanced at the ground, hand moving to the back of his neck as he scratched at it. A part of him wanted to ask her something. Something that would probably end up leading to a conversation that he did not know if he wanted. He asked it anyway, hope tinting his tone as he spoke, "Does...Does this conversation mean that you don't hate me after all? I mean, we're talking—normally. And..."

His voice trailed off, leaving the room completely silent as Rebecca took another sip of water, unable to meet his eyes. Eyes that were so full of desperation that she considered saying yes just to make it go away. However, she bit down on her lip instead, unsure why she had to think about it. The answer should be obvious, right? 

"Do you hate me?"

The question made Steve purse his lips, thinking intently at how to word how he felt. Saying a simple 'no' or 'yes' did not portray exactly how he felt when it came to everything. He hated the way things ended. He hated the lies, the betrayal, and how she'd adamantly defended herself without taking responsibility. He also hated how he acted too, leaving him in a state of understanding. It was difficult to act like it did not make sense to him why she supposedly despised him. After all, he was not proud of himself either. 

"Never mind," she scoffed, shaking her head. "What a stupid question."

"It's not—"

The clamorous knock at the door interrupted him. He walked away, leaving her in the kitchen to stare at the water, moving her glass around and watching the way the water flowed with the movements. Steve directed Carol to his backyard and she commented on how she should've brought her swimsuit, Steve replied, "Yeah, I bet Tommy would've liked that." 

There it was—King Steve. His beloved persona that everyone else either hated or adored. It was difficult to hate it when she understood why he acted the way he did. It was difficult to hate him the more he involved himself in her life again, and that was the thing she loathed. 

Steve stood in the doorway of the kitchen, Tommy at his side, and beckoned for Rebecca to follow him. She trailed behind the two men, finding herself on the lounge chair near the pool, refusing to remember any of the memories that fizzed in her brain like a shaken can of Coke. Steve was inside, grabbing beers from his dad's cabinet of alcohol, already knowing that he would not notice if some beers went missing. They had enough alcohol in this house. Carol and Tommy stood around, staring at Rebecca as she sipped on her water, staring at the pool water. 

"No alcohol, huh?" Carol asked with her typical smirk. When Rebecca shook her head, she chuckled. "Why?"

"Is it because it makes your head go all loopy?" Tommy grinned at the girl, arms crossed. His voice was low like he did not want to be caught out for what he asked next, "Does it trigger your voices?"

"No," Rebecca answered bluntly, continuing to stare at the pool. For some strange reason, it made nausea appear in the depths of her stomach, so she finally turned away, directing her attention to the couple who were smirking at her. "Does pissing me off inflate your ego, Tommy?"

"I don't have an ego."

"Spare me the lies." Rebecca shuffled in her spot, sliding down into a relaxed position, and crossing her legs. "You and Carol fit perfectly together, you know? Two asswipes who can't tell left from right."

Narrowing his eyes, Tommy's smirk changed to a grimace, while his girlfriend simply exaggerated an eye roll, looking over at the door to see if Steve was coming out. He wasn't, leaving the three of them alone. "Look at Bex The Basketcase acting all tough. Last time I checked, she couldn't even stand up to her boyfriend."

The mention of Liam formed a knot in her throat. "Shut up."

"Liam always told us you were a freak in bed," Carol cooed, sitting down on the lounge chair next to her. "Is that because you're insane?"

"Crazy chicks fuck better, right?"

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she gritted her teeth, trying not to display the confusion sprawling through her. Sex with Liam was never anything inventive—nothing outlandish. It was more fun for him than it was for her, so maybe she was biased. But she was no 'freak in the sheets' with Liam. With Liam, everything seemed to be monotonous; everything was for him. Dragging herself out of her thoughts, she looked up at Tommy, cocking her head to the side and feigning a venomous smile. "Why do you wanna know, Tommy? Getting tired of Carol?" She clicked her tongue. "How upsetting."

Tommy opened his mouth as Carol whipped her head toward the back door. Before he could begin his tirade, she cooed his name, murmuring something about Steve, directing the boy's attention to the three people who walked over. Nancy and Barb had finally shown up, relief washing over her. The former girl apologised to her for being late, a meek smile boring onto her features. Shaking her head, she smiled back, ignoring the simmering tension between her and Steve's goons. 

"It's fine."

The night faded into exactly what Rebecca had expected. She watched as the two pairings went off into their own bubbles, ignoring how Steve's eyes would fall on her whenever he looked away from Nancy. Turning to Barb, she groaned, quietly asking, "How much do you wanna bet that this is all just to get in her pants?"

"That's exactly what I told her," the ginger-haired girl replied with a righteous smile. "She told me I can stop her from doing anything dumb."

"But...?"

"But I don't think I have a chance of that. Look at her." Barb subtly gestured in Nancy's direction, observing the way Steve shotgunned the beer before sitting down and pulling out a cigarette, shamelessly lighting it. Nancy feigned a lack of impression, an obvious smile blossoming onto her features. "She's smitten. He's hot. The story tells itself."

If there was one thing Barbara Holland was, it was observational. It was something that all three of the girls had bonded over, sharing theories on whatever gossip they had discovered without trying, just like any other teenage girl. The three of them were sleuths at heart—desperate to get to the bottom of anything they possibly could. That also meant that they would often pick up on the smaller details, stringing together a story. Thankfully, her friends were never observational enough to realise that their friend had spent more time with Steve Harrington than she was willing to admit. That she knew him beyond the rumours. Having to admit the past would throw a boulder between Steve and Nancy; one that she wasn't sure Nancy would be thrilled with.

"You're such a cliché. You do realise that?" Nancy teased. Her brown hair flipped over her shoulder as she directed her attention to her stranded friends, involving them as she asked, "Isn't he such a cliché?"

Barb nodded and Rebecca took that as a cue to stay silent, not wanting to involve herself with this excruciatingly obvious flirting. The boy scoffed, teasing, "You are a cliché. What, with your grades, and your band practice."

"I am so not in band."

Painful. That was one word to describe how it felt to witness Nancy act like the priss she was painted as by everyone else. The real Nancy Wheeler was cunning, witty, and sure of herself. Yet, here she was, losing herself to Steve Harrington and his charm. Not that Rebecca could blame the girl. Everyone had that one person who made them act like something they weren't just to impress them. Liam, for instance.

"Okay, party girl." Steve handed her the knife. "Why don't you show us how it's done then?"

Taking the knife, she stared at the beer in silence. Barbara muttered something that could not be heard over Steve attempting to help her, only to be cut off by her dismissive, "I got it."

There was the real Nancy Wheeler. The comment managed to draw out a proud grin from the girl on the lounge chair, sipping on her third glass of water. Sticking to sobriety was becoming increasingly difficult throughout the night, but she would rather die than get charged with a DUI, and then also get hit with a charge of underage drinking. Double whammy.

"Yeah," Tommy jeered. "She's smart, you douche!"

Nancy dug a hole into the can, chugging down the beer as everyone began to chant, "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Forcing herself to cheer, Rebecca watched Nancy toss aside the empty can before looking at her friends in triumph, holding out the knife. "Hey, Barb, do you wanna try?"

"What? No." Nancy ignored her and grabbed a can of beer. "Seriously, Nance. I don't want to."

"Come on!" the girl encouraged, approaching her with the can. 

Rebecca waved a hand around. "Nance, leave it be."

"It's fun!" Nancy persisted. "You said you wanted to have fun, Barb. I promised you it'll be fun. So, let's have fun."

Everyone stared at the girl, drawing out an unenthusiastic, "Okay."

She took the knife from Nancy, rolling her eyes as she began to move it toward the fresh can, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Rebecca hummed her name, but she simply ignored it, continuing to try and pierce through the can with the knife, waiting for the moment to pass. The haze of embarrassment and irritation culminated in the knife slipping past the can, gashing her thumb. Dark red blood spilt out, and Nancy's face immediately twisted up in guilt. Maybe the situation had sobered her up—made her realise that she was slipping away from her real self. Tommy made some ridiculous snort, saying something that went ignored. She reached out, puppy dog eyes activating when her friend stepped away. "Barb, you're bleeding."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine," Rebecca denied, instinctively wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "I'll help patch this up."

"Barb—"

"Nance, honestly, it's fine," she lied, letting Rebecca whisk her away to the inside of Steve Harrington's house. 

They found themselves in his bathroom. Right past the kitchen, to the left—she knew his house like the back of her hand. She rifled through the mirror cabinet, ignoring the bottles of pills and the fact that Mrs Harrington had more antidepressants in there than the last time she'd looked for the bandages. She tutted, turning to Barb. "Stay here," she said. "I'll go look in the bathroom upstairs."

Ignoring the sound of the excited, shrill screams that came from outside, she went upstairs, hand gripping the railing. Even a plaster would do—anything that would stop the blood from spilling out. The gash was disgusting, to say the least; a sight that Rebecca would have in her mind until she went to sleep, and she had experience with nasty wounds. She opened the cabinet, being met with even more bottles of pills. They belong to Mr. Harrington, from what she could recall. Things to help with his headaches, to help him sleep, or even just pills that disconnected him from reality so that he did not have to be present when he wasn't working.

Rich people and their pills, her mind hummed. I wonder if Mr. Harrington still has any of the good stuff.

The good stuff: pills that made her mind go woozy—made her unable to think about the bad shit.

It's Valentine's Day.

It's Valentine's Day and she's sprawled out in the woods that are right behind Steve Harrington's backyard, too zoned out to care that there are leaves in her hair or care about the stain of dirt on the left side of the cheek from when she'd turned to look at her best friend. Their hands are dangerously close, pinkies linking together, unsure if they should hold hands or keep it this way. Something about it felt normal. Right. Everything about Steve feels right and she isn't sure why. Being in his presence is like breathing—natural and needed. 

Grinning, she turns her head to him again. He's looking at her with eyes that are lost in their own world, prompting her to ask, "Whatcha thinking about?"

"You?"

"Me?"

"Yes, idiot," he says with a laugh.

The sound is something she chases after, trapping it in her mind and saving it for later. He doesn't move, but something inside him shifts and the change in his eyes is obvious. Inhale. Exhale. His breathing cuts through the spring air, and she's suddenly more aware of her breathing. The past two weeks have been spent in limbo, waiting to see how life after Liam will go. In school, Tommy, Carol and Liam spend their time staring at her with a look of disgust in their eyes while Steve spends his break and lunch off doing God knows what. She's constantly with her friends. Outside of school, she's studying with Steve, or hanging out with him; doing anything with him.

Life after Liam is something that she is fine with. The disgusted stares don't matter to her as much as she thought they would. 

His eyes flicker down to their intertwined pinkies, absentmindedly smiling. Rebecca asks, "So, you're thinking about me?"

"Well done, Einstein."

Teasingly, she jerks her hand away. "That was my way of asking what it is about me that you're thinking about, smartass. Nice thoughts?"

"Nice thoughts." The silence is encouraging, so he continues, "I was thinking about how my 'friends'—" He uses quotation marks, scoffing at his own words. "—don't matter to me anymore. Tommy H...Carol...Liam." The name stumbles out of his mouth like it's poisonous. "Tommy and I grew up together, and then Carol came along. And then...Liam showed up one day, flashing his stupid fucking grin and managing to worm his way into my head. I realised he was a dick before you even came to Hawkins. Everyone I befriend is a dick, to be honest." There's a long pause. "Except from you, really."

Silence.

Still, he continues, "All of them treat you like shit, and I never really did much to help."

"You don't—"

"—I do." Neither of them are thinking properly. Even Steve, the only one with a thought in his head, isn't thinking properly—isn't thinking about what's right or wrong. "The point is...I don't think I want to be their friend anymore. I think I'm going to distance myself."

His words come out slowly, giving Rebecca the time to soak them up. "Because of me?"

"Because of you," he confirms, hand sliding into hers without thinking. A spark crackles in the space between their hands as he rubs his thumb over her knuckles. "Because of everything, really."

So much for that, her mind hummed bitterly as she stared at the pill bottles, finally dragging herself from the depths of the memory. Valentine's Day with Steve Harrington was a fever dream now—something she would never have in the way she once imagined she would. She reached past the bottles, grabbed the first aid kit, and turned around to see Steve at the door, soaking wet. His eyes went wide at the realisation that he had been staring at her for the past moment and he cleared his throat. A fleeting thought that maybe he was thinking of the same memory raced through her mind. 

He confirmed her suspicions: "Do you remember when—"

"—Nope." Rebecca threw her hand up like it was a stop sign. "We're not going there, Harrington." 

"Right." Stepping forward, he took the towels off the rail. "Uhm...I'm just...grabbing some towels for me and Nance. We fell into the pool."

All of the normalcy that was in the air had disintegrated, boiling over into fumes of tension that neither of them could place their finger on. Anger, probably. Steve saw it in her eyes—the spite. "Of course," she scoffed. "I knew this shit was gonna happen." Leaning against the sink counter, she fiddled with the first aid kit. "Lemme guess, you're hoping that she'll end up doing a little strip-tease—" Rebecca slightly lifted the bottom of her vest top, flashing her toned lower stomach for only a fleeting second with a wicked grin. "—for you while your friends fuck in the other room?" 

Steve shuffled awkwardly, eyes flicking over to the floor. "They're already in my parent's room," he said miserably. "And no, I'm really not hoping for anything." He placed the towels over his shoulder, frowning, putting his hands on his hip. "What's your problem, Bex?"

"It's Rebecca," she snapped. "And the only problem here is that you come in here, acting all nostalgic like we're old friends." She pushed herself away from the counter and walked over to him, still fiddling with the first aid kit. The only thing it aided was her nerves as she gathered the courage to ask, "Why did you go back to them?"

The question spilt out from her mouth like a knocked bowl of cereal—fragile, easy to break. Her voice wobbled as she questioned him. The look in her eyes threatened to make him reach out to her and hold her like he used to. But she was too far out, stranded. Silence wavered in the air. There was a time when the silence between them was inviting. It was a hug after being hurt. Comforting and positively enveloping. Now, the silence between them was hollow. Cold. Thick and waiting to be cut with a knife.

"Steve?" she probed, growing impatient as she raised her brow. He simply stood there, throat bobbing as he stared into her eyes, searching for something that no longer was there—kindness. Kindness reserved for him.

A resentful sound spilt out from her lips, tongue clicking as she moved past him, leaving him in the bathroom. She refused to look back, fed up with the night. Even a party had turned sour. She found herself at the top of the stairs, watching as Barb and Nancy reasoned with each other; the conversation came to an end before she could even watch it. Nancy moved past Rebecca, humming a passing greeting. 

"Let's go and get you patched up, eh?" she said, waving around the first aid kit with false enthusiasm.

Pool lights flickered in the corner of Rebecca's eye as she unwrapped the small cleaning wipes, examining the blood that slowly began to ooze out from her friend's cut. It had only been a few moments, yet everything was moving at a terrifyingly slow pace for Rebecca, and her eyes were slowly going blurry. Still, she pushed past it and focused on Barb. 

"Sorry I took so long," she murmured, reaching out to dab the cut. 

Barb gave her a knowing smile. "Funnily enough," Barb began, "I think Steve went into the bathroom too. Am I right in thinking that?" Her friend giggled as Rebecca's eyes widened, rushing to clarify that they hadn't done anything. "Don't worry, Becca, I know that. I'm just saying that you're not as slick as you think. I've noticed you slip away whenever Steve came over last week, and how you tense up whenever his name gets mentioned." Observational. "So...? What's the story there?"

Rebecca swallowed the uneasy feeling that bubbled within her as Barb spoke, hoping it would not amount to anything. She took a deep breath and shrugged. "Nothing," she lied. "Just...we were friends. Then we weren't friends. Simple."

She placed the blood-covered wipes in her pocket, reminding herself to throw them in the trash later. Turning away, she sorted through the kit, sighing at the realisation that there were no bandages. Barb ignored the matter, continuing to press on, "Bullshit."

"It's not bullshit." 

It was bullshit. It was the shortened notes of a longer story. And nothing about how she felt for Steve was 'simple'. Rebecca pulled out another packet of small cleaning wipes, fingers moving to the small lettering that spelt out 'tear'. Nausea made itself known within her. "Does Nancy know?"

Struggling to open it, she groaned. Barb held her hand over the pool and shook her head. "No, but she will eventually. It's obvious that he's not just trying to be your friend because of her."

"Please," she exaggeratedly scoffed, watching as blood dripped out from Barb's hand, tainting the pool. Something twisted in her like a knife, and she let out a shaky breath, ignoring the growing nausea. "I think it's exactly because of her. I'm the one person in her life who openly despises him, and it doesn't make him look like Mr. Right when I'm acting like he's Mr. Wrong."

Another droplet of blood oozed out and she tore at the packet, finally opening it. A victorious grin appeared on her face despite the bubbling anxiety as she took Barb's hand in her own, wiping away the blood as her mind began to pound, a bone-chilling sound creeping from behind them. Barb jerked her hand away, whipping around. Her friend mimicked her actions. 

Primal terror appeared on her face as she glanced up at the creature looming over them. Gangly, ominous, and petal-faced like the 'hounds' she had seen, teeth flashing and yet not snapping. It hovered above them, watching. It waited like it was some form of mind game. Maybe it was waiting for its prey to move, but its prey was overcome with sudden shock, making both of them immobile. Something within her stirred. Realisation. Fear akin to the feeling that she'd experienced the first time her father's fist had contacted her face. Her friend shook, lip quivering as she tried to scream out. 

The noise never came.

They plunged into the depths of the murky, blood-riddled water, sinking until everything faded into nothing.

Chapter Text

- hypnotic state -

There was a spinning motion in her head, thoughts rotating swiftly. She chased after them, wishing to regain some sense of what had happened, where she was, and what to do next. She lost the thoughts before she could reach them—left stranded in her confusing reality.

Where was she?

A dull ache manifested itself in her back, her eyes seeing nothing as she kept them squeezed shut, wincing at the pain. The only sound she could hear was the blood that coursed throughout her body, a pumping sound repeating in her ears, drowning out the sounds around her. A guttural cough spilt out from her lips and cleared the water from her lungs, allowing her to take a sharp breath. Stuttering, she called out for Barb, finally opening her eyes. Her head lolled to the left, landing on the sight of her friend, surrounded by thick vines that were pumped with unsettling life. She was sprawled out on the ground with lidded eyes and a vacant stare on her face. Rebecca gripped the wipe in her hand from before to ground her.

Visions flashed through her, granting her the details of the night. That was when her eyes shot to the creature in the corner of Steve Harrington's pool—if you could call it that—watching it watch them. It was at a standstill. As any true predator would, it enjoyed the thrill of the chase, devouring the panic from its victims as well as its flesh. Barb was still trapped in the confusing lull between then and now. That left her with the gnarly creature. Chills travelled down her spine as she swallowed the primal instinct to scream out for help before it was too late. Something told her that nobody was there to save them.

She was somewhere different. 

Maybe Will was here waiting in the shadows for somebody to save him. Maybe he was still alive. Maybe he was dead. Nothing was certain. She had lived her life knowing such. The only thing guaranteed was death, and the sickening stir inside her told her that it was near. Testing her luck, she slowly tried to pull herself up, keeping her eyes on the creature. The slightest move could mean that she was done for. Her back continued to ache, accompanied by her arms as they stretched out as she sat up straight, debating her next move. When would it leap? Would it kill her before Barb woke up? Would it truly stay waiting?

Groaning, she tried to apply pressure onto her feet, hoping that she could stand and pull Barb out of the pool, holding her as she ran. The running plan seemed impossible. Tenderness plagued her ankles, threatening to give out at any moment. Still, she rested against the pool wall, eyes flicking between the creature and her friend. Both of them were completely still—a different air to each of them. Barb was experiencing her final moments of peace; the sight was enough to trigger a crack in Rebecca's heart. The creature had an air of eeriness. It was unholy, and she half-expected it to eat them in their moments of vulnerability, but it waited. It could eat her right there and then, yet it waited.

Why did it wait for Barb?

A sharp gasp interrupted her thoughts and she gawked at the opened, frightened eyes of her friend, who immediately coughed out the water from her lungs. The creature immediately stalked closer, still keeping a distance. The pain was immeasurable as Rebecca tried to move out to a frantic, now standing, Barb, who immediately looked between her and the otherworldly being, screaming out Nancy's name. She was catatonic and unable to think straight, telling Rebecca to run. 

With a wince, Rebecca pulled herself up the pool ladder, already making a mental plan. 

Pull Barb up. Try to run. Get something to fight with. Find Will.

The sight of the demonic, petal-faced creature burned itself into her mind as she turned to Barb, who was already at the bottom of the pool ladder, screaming out for help from Nancy. She reached her hand out and tried to ignore how the creature stalked closer, not bothering to run. It knew it was going to win. "Grab my hand, Barb! My hand!"

It was more of a cry than a demand. Desperation was all she could hear in her voice, eyes focused on Barb's blood-stained thumb as she reached out. Rebecca dashed to wrap her hand around hers.

But then the hand disappeared in an instant.

All she could hear was her name being screamed by Barb, splurting out straight from the gut. Everything in Rebecca fell to pieces at the sight of the creature's claws sinking into Barb's ankle and dragging her back down into the pits of its own Hell, tossing her onto the free space. It stepped over the vines, falling to its elongated knees before it moved its twisted flower-like head to her torso. Jagged teeth dug down and ripped out a chunk of her body, feasting on it. All Rebecca could do was watch. She could not find it in her to move, scream, or even breathe. She had spent her entire life protecting the people she loved. Yet, here she was, mindlessly watching as her friend's flesh was being swallowed. Emptiness was the only thing she could feel.

There was a hole where Barb's stomach was—a hole that showcased her insides with a twisted sense of pride. The creature stood up, igniting a sense of unfathomable fear inside of her body as it whipped around to her. Her body was frozen. She could not move as it stalked toward her, gangly arms going limp at its side as it stared at her with its unbloomed mouth. Small bits of mangled flesh sat around its face and she momentarily wondered if they would be eaten later. Trembling, she stared back at it, stomach twisting. 

Memories played in her mind like a theatre production. Each played out in a millisecond, stringing together to become a movie in her mind. All she could think of were the people in her life. Eddie, her friends, Wayne. Steve, too. She pictured their faces and clung to the vision of her family and friends, and Steve, at her funeral—if there would even be a body. Would they cry? What would they say? Who would be there? The vision was enough to make her sneer at the creature, shuffling backwards as she searched for the willpower to pull herself up. 

Something breaks, crashing. She can hear it from upstairs—hear the constant slurred insults from her mom as her dad continues to argue back. She continues to ask him where he's been. He replies with muffled yelling. It's been two weeks since their last fight, and Rebecca was starting to have some flicker of hope. Then it crashed and burned the moment her father came back from his three-day 'business trip'. Neither of the twins knows what their dad does to earn money. Eddie plays with his action figures, somberly moving them toward each other. The nine-year-old lacks soul as he pretends to make them fight. Meanwhile, Rebecca is under her covers, listening intently. There's another crash. Another plate breaks. Eddie leans against her bed, sighing.

"I'm glad I have you, Bex," he states, looking up to meet his sister's glossy-eyed gaze. "Never go anywhere."

A weak smile appears on her face. She reaches out to pat the nest of uncut hair on his head. "You don't have to worry about that. You'll be stuck with me for life."

The creature continued to stand there, swaying slightly like it was lost in a daze. Her sharp and shallow breaths sounded in the air as she applied pressure to her feet, restraining the cry that wished to break free. Her eyes flicked over to Barb and a knot formed in her stomach at the way the bushes rustled. Her intuition told her that it was this place's fucked up version of animals coming to take its grab at her body. The thought of that made her stalk closer toward the pool, unsure what to do. Run or fight. Fight for Barb. Fight to keep whatever remained of her body. How could she fight? All she had was her body. Despite the muscle and her base-level knowledge of how to fight, she was not a monster fighter. The only monsters she fought were humans with no understanding of people who weren't like them. But this was no mere human.

She half-expected it to lunge for her while it had the chance. Instead, it continued to stand. Continued to sway. Through shuddered breaths, she hobbled over to a lounge chair, tongue peeking out between her lips as she focused on what to do next. She picked it up, bringing it over her head. Her back cried out in agony, and her feet were slowly weakening, but she tried her best to ignore it. She moved over to the pool as fast as she could. That was when she hauled it at the creature, hissing at the shooting pain in her back. 

The lounge chair hit the creature in its elongated torso, making it stagger backwards. Yet, it still did not move. She narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and teetering on the edge of the pool, testing her limits—playing with death. Still, it would not move. The rustling from the bushes began to increase in volume, making her regret her decision not to run when she could. The bushes ahead moved. Everything intensified, including the ache in her feet. 

Then, everything stopped.

The rustling stopped momentarily before continuing, getting quieter. Whatever it was had moved far away. The creature in front of her stopped staring at her—stopped swaying in its hypnotic state—and turned around, climbing out of the pool from the other end, following whatever rustled in the distance. It walked slowly. Stiffly. Irs robotic movements contrasted the demonic, crazed way it moved as it ate Barb. Finally, it disappeared into the woods.

After a beat of silence, she let out a piercing gasp, relief flooding her. That was until another feeling coursed through her veins. A haunting realisation. Barb's body lay on the floor of the pool, twitching slightly like she was fighting for her final moments. The blood in her stomach pooled out, staining her clothes. She immediately rushed down the ladder, moving over to sit at her friend's side, fingers interlacing with hers. Tears spilt down her face as Barb's throat croaked. She was trying to speak, or at least make some form of noise. All she could manage was to stutter the 'b' sound. Rebecca felt her squeeze her hand weakly, and she reached out to move the ginger strands of hair away from Barb's pale face. 

"It's okay," she lied, hoping to soothe her in her final moments. Watching the light dim in her eyes was horrifically similar to when she had seen her mom's body in the examination room. There was no light in her eyes. No cruel emotion to sneer down on her. "It's going to be okay, alright? You're going to a good place now."

Rebecca had never believed in the afterlife. She was simply rambling the words that distant relatives had spoken at the funeral. She placed her hand on Barb's cheek, feigning a difficult smile. There was no response from the girl. The light had dimmed completely, her breathing no longer coming out in shuddered gasps. Her heart sunk down to her stomach as she whispered, "Barb?"

She sat by Barb's side for no more than five minutes, tears falling down and coating the dead girl's lifeless face. It was only when she realised that she was still stuck in this dark place that she decided that it was safer to leave Barb. Wanting to give her some sort of dignity, she shrugged off the leather jacket, placing it over Barb and covering the tear in her stomach. It was then that she realised how cold her body was, shivering at the temperature in whatever place she was in. Quietly, she whispered goodbye to Barb, walking away with her vision clouded by tears that had not yet fallen from her eyes.

She still had a plan: get something to fight with, find Will, and escape. 

Chapter Text

- the bite -

Steve Harrington's house was littered with vines. Black, thick, and almost alive. The image triggered a set of shivers that ran down her spine. She stepped over them, afraid that if she dared to touch them, they would wake and kill her off. She had, somehow, escaped near death, even when she wasn't sure if she truly wanted to fight it. It was difficult not to mull over the entire situation. Watching Barb die. Fighting something that refused to fight her. The recent memory clung to her, making her stomach flip as she wobbled over to the kitchen. Thankfully, the cutlery drawer was not covered in vines, bringing a small, fleeting, grateful smile to her face. The ache in her body was starting to worsen as she sobered up from the experience, causing her to almost lose her footing. She held herself up by gripping the marble counter, pulling open the cutlery drawer. 

Her eyes scanned over the different knives, nose scrunching up in thought. Which one would be the best? You had the run-of-the-mill knife that you would use to cut into your steak. That knife seemed minuscule in comparison to the cleaver knife. She grabbed it without much more thought, taking it with her as she stalked upstairs, treading carefully. The vines pulsed slightly, leaving a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Gross," she muttered to nobody other than herself. In a different lifetime, she would've been looking for supplies with Barb, sharing insults about the vines and ugly creatures to try and humour each other. In another lifetime, she wouldn't be here at all. Instead, she would probably still be waiting for Nancy to come back down, and she would be forced to listen to whatever details there were to share about Steve's skills in bed. That thought made her repeat, "Gross." 

A part of her mind wondered if they had finished by now. It was weird to her that the thought had even appeared in her brain in the first place, but it was there. The thought led her down the path of wondering if Nancy had gone outside to see if they were still there, only to be hit by the dreadful realisation that they had disappeared. Would she think much of it? After all, they never said they would stay. Would anyone even look for them? 

Her haze of thoughts was interrupted by the sight of a thick, pulsing vine on the top step, blocking her way. Gulping, she stared at it, her grip on the cleaver knife tightening, muscles in her arm flexing as her jaw tensed. A shaky breath escaped her chapped lips as she squeezed her eyes closed, bringing down the knife with whatever force she could muster through the pain, trying to keep her place on the steps steady. The knife barely sliced through the vine. The pulsing increased, causing her to send down the cleaver knife once more with a restrained howl, dragging it through and going back and forth until it separated. She, hesitantly, used the knife to push it to the side. A satisfied smile appeared on her face. A flicker of hope.

As she made her way down the hall, she paused at Steve's bedroom, opening the door and stepping inside the room. She half-expected to see Steve and Nancy. It would be the first time in a long time that seeing the doe-eyed boy that she wanted to hate with her whole heart would bring a genuine smile to her face. However, nobody was there. Only her. Her eyes trailed over the walls, taking note that he still had not changed the wallpaper. A new poster decorated the wall. She peered at the bed, shoving away the mental image of what could possibly be occurring back in the real Hawkins. The sheets were still the same as the last time she was in his bedroom. The memory of her in his arms hit her like a truck. They were so soft with each other. Now, she was afraid that if she was kind to him, he would become a part of her life again, and she would fuck him over once more.

Not again.

A heavy sigh left her lips as she moved toward the closet, hoping that Steve would have something to help. The memory of his anecdote slipped through her mind. It was whispered in the night underneath the trees. His hand was laced with hers, staring at the stars as he recalled the time his father had taken a young, starry-eyed, twelve-year-old Steve Harrington into the woods, looming over him as he waited for his son to pull the trigger at the target he'd set up on the tree stump—an empty bottle of wine that his mother had used the night before. Trembling, he'd pulled it, missing on his first try. His father let out a noise of disappointment. It led to Steve trying again and again until he managed to aim correctly. After that, it was just a matter of hitting a real target. He was taken to a work retreat—hunting with the 'fellows', as his father called it. There was a small, baby deer that roamed the forest. Steve, in his hunting gear, trembled with the gun in his hands, trying to aim while his father's business partners crowded around him, his father leaning down by his side, staring at him with his typical, expectant look. It was all just expectations with that man. When Steve missed, his father said that he would someday become a real man.

The story led her back to the question: did he still have that gun?

The answer was no. In hindsight, it felt a little stupid to think he would have a gun in the two storage boxes that were stashed in his closet. Nobody kept a gun there. They kept guns in their drawers, or somewhere more secluded.

A pained groan echoed in the empty air as a shooting pain travelled up her back. Moving was becoming increasingly difficult. Still, she was determined, snatching Steve's backpack from the corner of his bedroom with her blood-stained hands. 

That was when a soft, quiet, unbearably familiar voice whispered, "Do you see that?" A beat of silence. "The lights...they keep flickering."

The voice itself was not what bothered her. Instead, it was how the voice sounded—light, airy, and on a dreamy post-sex high that she had never particularly experienced herself with Liam. She pushed past the fact that her heart ached slightly, questions rising in her mind. Why could she hear Steve? Could Steve hear her? Could anybody hear her?

Pursing her lips together, she tested her theory, raising her voice and calling out into the void, "Steve!"

She waited for a moment, her right foot tapping incessantly against the wooden floor, chewing on her bottom lip. There was no reply. If he'd heard her, she would not know. So, she repeated his name. 

"Can you hear that?" 

There was a faint flicker of hope in that moment. She called out his name, repeating it until she realised that the faint flicker of hope was only a misdirect. Nobody answered her calls. Disheartened, she put the bag on her back and gripped the cleaver, moving out into the hallway.

She was not entirely sure how long had passed between when she had started her mission to stock up on supplies and when she zipped up the backpack, trying her hardest to wipe away the tears that pooled in her chocolate eyes from the splicing pain. "Great going," she hummed sarcastically into the air. Finding Will in her state would be a tricky job. So, with the revolver she had found in Mrs Harrington's drawer stashed in her back pocket, cleaver in her right hand, she made her way upstairs, grunting at each step. 

Walking down the hallway, she avoided the thick black vine that blocked some of her path before entering the bathroom. How long ago was it that she was snapping away at Steve? It was only moments before she had been dragged into this pit of hell, and yet it seemed like a lifetime had passed since. She grabbed some pill bottles from the cabinet—ones that would help soothe the pain—and popped the lid open, placing one onto the back of her tongue. As she swallowed it, she stared into the mirror; she could not recognise the person before her. Her curls were slowly turning into pure frizz. Her bottom lip had a dent mark from where her teeth had viciously gnawed on it. Her black tank top now had splashes of blood; Barb's blood. Absentmindedly, she popped another pill into her mouth and grabbed her knife off the sink counter, hobbling out of the bathroom.

She patted her back pocket, feeling for the gun. That was when she remembered that her keys were in the leather jacket that she'd placed over Barb. She knew that she could not drive a car through the thick vines without damaging the wheels, or simply just getting stuck—her path was obstructed. Still, she needed her keys if she managed to make it back to the real world. So, she went to the backdoor, peering through the glass to see if anything was there. It was eerily silent, and nothing seemed to move or rustle. 

Making her way over to the pool, her jaw tensed at the sight of Barb. She could not tell if it was the blue tint from this otherworldly place, or the fact that Barb was now a corpse on the ground, but she was an unsettling shade of blue. Her eyes were still open—rolled into the back of her head. The sight of it tugged at her stomach, and suddenly she was thankful that she had taken the pills. 

Something in the corner caught her eye; something that her mind must have ignored in the life-or-death situation that plagued her previously. It was a small, closing tear in the pool. A crack that glowed red, sticky goo surrounding the slither. It was tiny, but something suggested that it had once been greater, considering that the goo spread out and enveloped the crack. It was like a wound trying to scab over. 

There was a knot in her throat that she swallowed before climbing down the ladder and making her way over to Barb's body, crouching down and closing her eyelids. "Maybe in another life, we would've made it out together," she whispered to the corpse as she gently reached over her body to fish out the set of keys. "I'm sorry."

The keys were now in her back pocket. Turning away from Barb, she looked over at the closing tear, surveying it from afar. It was not long before she was on her knees, narrowed eyes flicking back and forth between the tiny, glowing slither and the goo-like texture that surrounded it. Natural instincts told her that it connected to what had brought them here—a portal. The placement of the crack supported her theory. The tear was only a centimetre wide, causing her to chew on the rough patch on her bottom lip as she placed the tips of her fingers at the edges, grunting as she tried to pull it apart. 

But it did not budge.

That did not stop her. She continued to try, squeezing her eyes shut while she pulled. The outcome was the same—nothing.

She picked up the discarded cleaver and pulled herself out of the pool, throwing one final glance over at Barb. It was time to leave. Time to find Will, get him out, and escape this awful place. And now she knew something; a useful piece of information. Whatever had brought her here would get her out, she just needed to find something bigger, rather than a tiny slither that was already moments away from closing. She added that to the mental checklist in her hazy mind as she turned on her heel and walked back through the Harrington house.

The ache in her body had kicked back in as she set off to the Byer's house. That was her first point of destination. Every few steps would elicit a small grunt from her. She was not even a quarter of the way there, and yet she felt like a lifetime had passed since she left the house, stepping out into a world of danger. Something flew overhead—bats. From the look of them, they were not normal. Nothing here was normal. 

The first time she had seen the bats, she was ready to face off with them. However, they avoided her like the creature did in the pool. She was both thankful and curious. Why Barb and not her? 

Grunting, she began to walk up the long slope in the road. Her body shivered from the cold, and her stomach was an intricate maze of knots. As for her head, she felt the familiar daunting ache. It had been going on for an unreasonable amount of time, worsening with each step. She considered grabbing the pills out of her bag and stuffing them down her throat until it all went away, but she was saving them for if something worse happened. What if Will was dying? What if they were stuck here for weeks? Or months? She could not waste the supply.

So, she did what she usually did, and tried her best to ignore it, counting down to ground herself in reality. 

Reaching the top of the slope, she took a moment to breathe in and breathe out, each exhale dissipating into the air. The bats flew overhead, their noises polluting her ears. This time, they circled the air above her like a twisted version of ring around the rosie. Her head lulled back as she looked up at them.

As her eyes landed on them, they stopped circling, shooting down in a swarm. The sudden movement triggered her innate fight-or-flight response. She chose flight, shifting her body into motion. A sharp pain shot down her spine and her feet, but she tried to push through it, thinking of Will. Poor, innocent, frightened Will. The thought of him was enough to make her quicken her step, applying twice the pressure on her foot.

A big mistake.

Rebecca stumbled down, falling to the road, grazing her knee. Thankfully, that was all she hurt. Slightly disoriented, she rushed to pull herself back up, but her foot gave out, leaving her discarded on the road with bats rushing toward her in a terrifying swarm. All she could do was watch as they circled her, nipping away like they were preparing for their full meal. A test bite. She reached out to her back pockets, pulling out the cleaver and attempting to bat the creatures away with it. They were relentless. The cleaver fell from her grasp, landing too far away for her to reach. She then reached for the revolver, but one of the bats clawed at her arm. A pained groan echoed in the air. 

Each nip bit away a chunk of her hope, and she was slowly becoming convinced that this would be her death. She had been lucky enough to have the creature in the pool walk away. Lucky enough to push through the pain for this long. Lucky enough to find the portal and plan an escape. Everything seemed to be on the up, and yet she was here, the demonic bats swarming her with their cacophony of sounds, drawing blood from her skin with each bite and clawing.

Suddenly, the biting and clawing stopped—along with the noises. She listened to the sound of their wings flapping away, turning into a distant sound. Her vision was foggy, clouded with her tears and the effects of unbearable pain. A trembling hand reached up to wipe her eyes, but her vision stayed the same—only slightly clearer. She stared at the road ahead, blinking rapidly as she attempted to push herself off the ground, collapsing again. Panting and desperate to reclaim any sense of hope, she stared ahead, a part of her praying that she would magically end up surrounded by ambulances; anything that could help her. 

Through her foggy vision, she saw something dark, wispy, shadow-like, and something akin to a small, stranded creature. It had a small body, but large legs that shot outward. Four of them. Her stomach began to flood with nausea, and the sound of her blood pumping through her body echoed in her ears as she tried once more to push herself up, immediately falling to the ground. There was a part of her that believed it would do her no harm—that it would disappear just like her visions did. The other part of her believed otherwise.

It slowly crawled past her, surveying her. She watched as it escaped her view, thankful that it did not eat her alive there and then. 

That was until teeth pierced through the back of her calf, sinking into her flesh and tearing a chunk out, causing a vicious, searing pain to shoot through her body. Spots blocked her vision. All she could think about was her family—Wayne and Eddie. The two people who were probably waiting for her to return home, or hoping for a call. Will flashed through her hazy mind, but she could no longer fight for him. She thought of her friends, and then of Steve, and then of Will again before her head went blank. The last thing she felt was the eery feeling that something was digging into the open wound. Then, her head hit the grain of the road, blacking out entirely.

Chapter Text

- the paradox -

Her eyes fluttered open, her vision still clouded from disorientation. She was met with complete darkness with no light in sight—almost void-like. An eery sensation washed over her at the realisation that there were no bites, claw marks, or blood on her body, and she was standing with no difficulty. Her focus switched to what she wore: a white gown that reached her lower calf with no shoes. Hesitantly, she pulled the end of the dress up, surveying the back of her calf. No bite. Her feet felt numb against the dark ground. Her pale face was scrunched up in confusion as she put her index and thumb against the skin on her forearm, digging into it to see if she would feel anything. 

Nothing.

She was entirely numb, incapable of feeling anything except her emotions, those of which consisted of pure confusion, fear, and consuming panic. Where was she? Was this some vivid dream she was stuck in until she woke up? 

Testing her theory, she tried to think of somewhere fun to be, hoping to find herself somewhere less hollow than this senseless void. Nothing came of it. She stayed still, fists clenched at her side, fingers digging through the flesh of her palm, unable to feel the effects. The mark closed up as soon as she removed her fingers, and she watched it happen with widened eyes. 

"What the..."

Her voice echoed within the darkness. She walked forward with wonder, the white dress swaying slightly with the motion, eyes flitting from left and right, waiting for something to come of this. Her arms were limp at her side, and she stopped in her steps, watching as the black void around her transformed into a memorable room: Mr. Harrington's study. It was like watching a sketch come to life, lines of black and white bursting into colour. Despite the knot that bobbed in her throat, she found it mesmerising. She reached out to touch the mahogany desk but was still incapable of feeling the things around her—completely numb.

She watched as a slightly younger version of herself walked into the room, the two older figures being sketched before her eyes. It was like she was being strapped to a chair and forced to watch an event in her life play out:

The November rain hammers down from the night sky, a 'pitter-patter' sound coming from above her. Steve is upstairs in the shower, washing away the remnants of the day, and his mom has beckoned her into her husband's study, telling her to take a seat. Mr. Harrington gazes at her with a stern, untelling face, observing the way the young girl picks at the loose strand on her black jeans. The smell of wood burning wafts from the fireplace. 

She doesn't know much about the couple—only the odd few details that Steve has let slip in the past few weeks of their sudden friendship. They're distant, and they give him money in replacement for their time. This is the first time she's been at his house, and the first time she's truly speaking to his parents, but she can't help but judge them. Narrow eyes gaze back at the older male as she manages to say, "May I ask why I've been called in?"

Mr. Harrington clasps his hands together, clearing his throat. "My son isn't doing the best with his grades."

His wife nods in agreement and purses her lips. Rebecca knows the statement is true. Steve has confessed that the highest he's managed to acquire is a C+. What he lacks in grades, he makes up for by showing off and pretending that his life is perfect. The act of 'King Steve' is something she's witnessed through the past couple of months at Hawkins High. Still, the sentiment is odd—it has nothing to do with her. 

She absentmindedly pulls out a loose stray on her jeans. "No offence, Mr. Harrington, but I don't understand what that has to do with me."

"Steve's told us of your grades in Chemistry, and English too," Mrs Harrington speaks up. "Apparently, you do well in all of your subjects."

She brushes aside the warm feeling in her cheeks, jotting it down as typical modesty. She already knows where this is going. "And, I do not mean to offend, but we have heard of where you live; it is not exactly a nice cul de sac." Rebecca grits her teeth, but the man continues. "We would like to offer you some money to tutor our son. Let's say..." Mr. Harrington despondently gestures with his hand, waving it about in the awkward air. "...fifty dollars a month?" Rebecca goes to cut him off, but he quickly adds, "I'm willing to increase the price."

"I don't want your money," she says—a total lie. The Munsons need money. It's known in this town that they're not exactly comfortable with their living. "I don't need your employment, thank you. Steve doesn't need his friend turning into his tutor."

Mrs Harrington shakes her head in disagreement. "He needs better grades."

"If things go well, my son will one day take my spot in the company. The last thing my business needs is a man who couldn't manage at least a B in one of his subjects." He leans forward. She can practically feel herself shrinking in her seat underneath his gaze. "I know you might think that you're being kind to him by denying this role, but, ultimately, he'll end up failing, or not doing his best, and you'll end up regretting it." A beat of silence. "So, what do you think?"

Her eyes dart between him and his wife, her throat turning dry as she ruminates over the offer. A minimum of fifty dollars a month is a hefty sum for the Munson household. She thinks of Wayne, who is slaving away at his job to bring home enough money to support the three of them. Then, she thinks of their trailer, wondering if they could end up somewhere better—somewhere where Wayne doesn't have to sleep on the couch. Her mind switches to Steve, who could end up doing something more than what his father expects of him if he has the grades or the passion. Although, will he be happy knowing that she's been hired by his parents?

Hesitantly, she reaches out her hand for the man in front of her to shake, a small, awkward smile painting her features. He reciprocates the gesture with a firm grasp on her hand. A businessman at heart, she thinks. "Fifty dollars a month. Once a week sessions." 

Guilt settles in the pit of her stomach and makes a home inside her as she leaves the room with a final goodbye.

The room faded away, leaving her in the void once more. She was beginning to believe that this was not just a typical blackout. That it was something more sinister or confusing than her first guess. Vivid memories, a void, rooms being sketched before her eyes...It was like being trapped in a prison of her mind, and she was not sure whether or not there was an exit. Her sigh reverberated in the void, bouncing off imaginary walls. 

Something ghosted the white fabric on her shoulder—a hand. 

Rebecca whipped around in an instant, being met with a human. A girl. Pale skin, light brown curls that were slick with wet, reaching down to her breasts, and chocolate eyes devoid of emotion. She was covered by black fabric that formed a dress similar to the one Rebecca wore. However, that too was wet. Her entire body was drenched. 

It was her.

The girl in front of her cocked her head to the side, smiling. It was the type of smile that did not reach her eyes. Something pulled at her stomach and she was not sure if she should run or stay. Both trust and suspicion formed in her body as she stared at the smiling being, a shaky breath spilling out from her chapped lips. She swiped the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip in an attempt to hydrate it, doing the same for the other. An eery silence washed over the void.

That was broken when the drenched version of her spoke, "Guilt. You experience this often, yes?

Her voice was tinny, unearthly, and something that Rebecca knew all too well: the voice that had been plaguing her for almost a year. Even now, it spoke in equivocation. All along, it had been her whispering words inside of her head, warning herself of something Rebecca could not fully understand. Stuttering, she replied, "Yes?"

"All of this space..." The drenched girl looked around, and Rebecca did the same. "...And yet you choose to remember a negative feeling."

"I didn't choose to remember that."

That was true. Rebecca always pushed the memory away whenever it would begin to bubble and fizz in the corners of her mind, threatening to envelop her. It was the end of the beginning for her and Steve, and nothing had ever truly begun—except friendship. Pure, wonderful, and comforting friendship that, at the time, she believed she was both helping and hindering. That was why she kept it secret, pretending that the offer was out of genuine kindness. Maybe she would have tutored him without being asked by his parents. But she didn't. 

The girl lost her smile, shaking her head. "You did."

The way she said it was full of an authoritative, sure attitude that Rebecca wanted to counter. However, it was futile. So, she simply just looked around the void, wondering if anything else would form. It stayed the same, leaving the two girls with each other.

"You care for Steve." 

She did not deny the sentiment: "We care for Steve."

"I am both you and not you," the girl hummed, reaching out for Rebecca's hand. "I have your form—yes. But we are not the same."

Rebecca let her take her hand, joining her at her side as they walked forward through the void. She could not feel the soaked hand in her own, but she could certainly hear the squelching sound it made as their hands laced together. She furrowed her brow. "Who are you?"

"Intuition is an important thing..." There was a beat of silence between her words. It gave time Rebecca to reflect on them, further questions forming in her mind. Would this thing ever be direct? "You need it to stay alive. It is innate."

"So, you are my intuition?"

"In similar ways, yes. I warn you. You hear me, and you know to be aware. Just like I am aware."

"Is this where you live?" She used her free hand to gesture at the void around them. "Is this...my head?"

The apparent 'intuition' laughed hollowly. There was no emotion in the sound—no joy. It was inhumane like the rest of it. "Yes and no."

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she looked down at the obsidian ground, a grimace plastering itself on her face. She did not reply, assuming that her 'intuition' would take it as a sign to continue. Silence plagued them, and she waited for something to happen. 

"You will end up in here between life and death. Unless you learn to take sanctity in your maze between now and then." She did not have an opportunity to question the being on what 'then' was because it immediately added, "You are in danger. And, if you do not fight, you might end up here for longer than you would hope."

"Obviously," she scoffed. "The last time I checked, I had a gaping hole in my leg, claw marks on my body, and some of my flesh bitten off. I'm surprised I'm still between life and death. I should be knocking on Hell's gate right now."

The being stopped walking. "Physically, you are both fine and not fine." Rebecca did not notice that the being had stopped holding her hand until she saw her 'intuition' standing in front of her. It tapped the side of her head. "Here...That is another story."

"I'm mentally unstable—" She grabbed the being's wrist, guiding it back down to their side. "—because of you and your vague, cryptic messages. You tell me things about something watching, or about how the 'music isn't going to save me', but it is not helpful. Just frightening."

The being's lips thinned. It turned around and began to walk. She followed in its footsteps, hoping for an answer, or something useful. Although, this conversation was entirely productive and unproductive, leaving her with more questions than answers. She joined its side once more. "What is watching? Is it bad?"

"It is no longer watching. Rather, it waits. And you too will wait...Wait to reclaim ownership of your body." A lengthy pause passed as concern etched itself across Rebecca's face. "For now, you will either stay here or wake up."

"Which one is it?"

The being stopped walking, turning to Rebecca and taking both hands in its own, staring into her soul with hollow eyes. It was like looking into a mirror. A twisted, tainted, uncanny mirror that portrayed a version of Rebecca that she was not quite sure she liked. Finally, it answered with a question, something Rebecca was slowly becoming fed up with, asking, "Which one do you think it is?"

"I don't fucking know!" she exclaimed with exasperation laced in her tone, pulling her hands away from its touch. "You're confusing me!" She could not tell that tears were beginning to well up in her eyes, but they were there, and so were the marks in her palms as she dug her nails into them, clenching her fists. It was like watching a toddler when they could not get their way. "I want to wake up, okay?"

"I see."

Almost as if it took Rebecca's frustrated words as a cue, the 'intuition' began to fade away, its body disintegrating into the void. Desperately, Rebecca leapt forward, trying to grab its hand. But it was gone in an instant. A strangled cry climbed from her throat, spilling out into the air. Here she was—alone and confused, unsure of how to escape. 

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut, tapping impatiently on the ground as she waited for something to happen, foolishly hoping that if she imagined waking up, it would come true. That was not the case. 

All of this space, and yet you choose to remember a negative feeling.

The words rang in her ears, hope stirring inside her. She clung to the feeling and held it in her heart, searching for something to look back on fondly. In response, she watched the void transform once more, scribbling the sight of the trailer. She stepped inside, watching Wayne's birthday unfold. He sat on the couch, beer in hand as he told her and Eddie that them two being here was the best thing that happened in his life. When she went to apologise for how sudden everything was, her uncle shook his head. 

"You two are my life," he admits before another sip of his beer. His southern accent is heavy with emotion, and if she didn't know any better, she'd think that he's about to cry. There's a glisten in his eyes. "I'd gladly work a ridiculous amount of hours if it means that you guys are here rather than there."

Despite the jovial look on his face, Eddie raises a brow, teasingly asking, "Are you sure you wouldn't trade us for less hours?"

"Absolutely sure of it."

The sight disappeared, leaving her by herself. Continuing to ride the high, she thought once more, drifting through the memories. It landed her on her first sleepover with Barb and Nancy in late December—now a bittersweet reminder of the past. Laughter echoed in the air, and her nails were being painted with a soft pink; the pink that the other two wore on their nails. Nancy spoke about her recent report, damning Mr. Kaminksy for her B- in Chemistry. Nancy Wheeler was the type of girl to aspire for all As, something she couldn't help but look at with fondness. Barb flicked through the book she was reading, speaking of how some guy complimented her earlier. 

For the first time in forever, she was just a normal teenage girl, talking about grades, gossiping about boys, and having her nails painted by her friends.

The memory crumbled, and she the void began to follow the memory's leading, the black, empty area slowly fizzing out, white spots covering her vision as she found herself in an unfamiliar room. A couch, the perfect spot of the street ahead, a children's play area in the distance. She watched a creature scurry past on the pavement—a creature similar to the shadowed ones that chased after her in her deluded visions previously. She tried to stand, but instead she stayed on the couch. Then, her body swiveled to face the coffee table that displayed her items. Questions raced through her mind, wondering how she got here. Had someone rescued her? Why did it feel as though she was not controlling her actions? 

A hand—her hand—reached out for the revolver, the other hand sliding across the cold metal. It was an out of body experience, except she was trapped in her mind, being offered no escape. 

It waits. And you too will wait...Wait to reclaim ownership of your body.

Chapter Text

- rescue me before i fall into despair -

Rebecca Munson had always been a fighter.

At first, it was the typical hair-pulling, or scratching with the jagged ends of her nails because punching felt too extreme; all because they'd done something to her, or her brother—usually the latter. As she got older, she began to throw her punches, taking them for herself. Blood would drip out of her sore nose because they had punched back, of course, and she would barrel into them, knocking them to the ground, eager cheers coming from the other kids. Her track record was not exactly the best. It was a miracle she hadn't been banned from any school in the area entirely. She fought in other ways too. She fought to shield Eddie from whatever she possibly could. 

Always a fighter.

However, there was no way throwing her punches and standing her ground would help her fight against whatever possessed her body. She was stranded in the haze of her mind, observing the way her head tilted down to stare at her blood-riddled hands. Her body was still painted with the horrific bites, marks, and the gaping hole in her leg, but they did not bleed—or ache in any way. She could sense things, could feel her feet against the ground and taste the toxic air that surrounded her, but she could not feel the pain. 

Her body was no longer her own. A horrifying thought that she never believed she would have. Yet, she had it anyway, and it scraped away at the pit of her stomach, causing a graining ache inside. She reflected on the words of her 'intuition', wondering if the person inhabiting her body was the vaguely described 'it' that had been waiting. 

A dejected sigh escaped her, but it was not from her lips. Instead, she heard it echo around her, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach; a realisation dawned on her. She was still there—still trapped in the supposed 'void'. Testing her theory, she attempted to walk backwards, pulling away from the sight of her hands that she had no control over. Once again, she became surrounded by a harrowing, yet oddly comforting, void. It was better than watching her body move without being in control of it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she whispered into the void, pacing back and forth as she tried to think of a way out of this. Panic splurted within her and she wiggled her fingers, unable to feel the calming sensation that it usually offered. Completely numb once more. Frantically, she cried out, "Hey!"

She partially expected—hoped—the mirrored version of herself to show up and give her some more vague words of wisdom, maybe guide her to take control. Nothing came of her cry for help. She was still alone. The knowledge of that made her want to ask more questions, hoping that the 'intuition' she had would appear and give her something—anything—that would help her reclaim her body. So, she called out, "My body isn't mine! Why?"

Again, nothing.

It became her routine: slipping in and out of the void to peer in on what was happening.

It was a difficult process at first. There were periods of time where she spent it trapped in the void, attempting to will herself into view of her possessed body. She would find herself in the same house each time—each time in a different room or position, still trying to figure out a way to escape and take control of her body. Horrified and trapped, she would call out to her 'intuition' each time she ended up in the void, gaining no response. She had been left high and dry.

The final time she returned to the void, she wandered through the complete darkness. "Please!"

For a moment, she thought she heard its tinny voice replying, but when she looked around, listening intently, there was nothing. Red-hot rage seared through her, defeat tangling with her emotions.

She clenched her fists, stomping like a child. "Hello? Can you hear me?" A lengthy pause. She chewed on her lip, unable to feel the sting that would have appeared if she was not entirely numb, ruminating on the previous talk with the equivocating being. 

And, if you do not fight, you might end up here for longer than you would hope.

Fight. 

How could she fight against it? Was it simply just a matter of not letting her body be taken entirely? Was it connected to her thoughts like the memories were? A thousand questions raced through her mind at an unsteadily fast rate, but none of the questions sprung inspiration. Instead, they led her further down her spiral. Her tone was anguished, begging, "Please! If you can hear me, just talk to me!"

The lack of response hit her like a truck. She knew she was crying when she reached a shaky hand up to her face and wiped away the residue of tears, a glistening wet coating the back of her hand. Sniffling, she let herself fall to the ground, crossing her legs as she stared at the void, taking in every shade of black. Ink. Raven. Jade. Sable. Obsidian. Being afraid of the dark was not exactly helping her. She was pretty sure that if it weren't for the fact that this was her haven away from everything else, she would've broken down entirely in the first few seconds of being there.

Eddie's bright, yet sarcastic, smile flashed in her thoughts, a saddening pang appearing in her heart as she wondered if he would wear that same smile after realising she was not coming back. How long had passed since she had been dragged down into this awful dimension? Was anyone looking for her? A stupid question—she knew her family and friends would. A small group of people dedicating themselves to finding her. 

And what about Barb? 

Would Nancy be investigating just as she did with everything, finding clues, getting into danger, just for them? That could not happen. Sweet, innocent, and enjoying her teenage years—those were things Nancy could not lose.

Wayne would probably be wasting away at his job, spreading the word that his niece was gone. His sleep schedule would be unravelling into an even more catastrophic pattern because he would refuse to sleep. Eddie would waste his nights waiting with Wayne. The thought of it made her nauseated. Her precious friends—the people who'd helped her feel less like an outsider looking in—would rally for a search; the same thing the kids had done.

Rage burned inside her like a fire that refused to be put out, the embers glowering as she thought of the kids. She would never hear Dustin's laughter again, see Mike's overdramatic eye roll again, or get to laugh at another one of Lucas' childish jokes. As for Will, she hadn't experienced his sickeningly sweet smile in what felt like a lifetime. 

"That's right," a tinny voice hummed quietly from behind. 

Rebecca did not turn around to look at the 'intuition'. She used its words as encouragement, a flicker of hope battling with the burning rage that was consuming her. It was not fair. Nothing about this was fair. She wanted her body back. Her thoughts flashed with people's faces, but there was one particular face that stood out from the rest. Kind eyes, soft hair that was sickeningly perfect, and a sweet but cocky smile. Beauty marks and freckles dotted his soft skin.

Steve Harrington. 

The name was bittersweet. He was the guy who had spent his night searching for her because she was too drunk to find her way home. Would he do that now—search for her? To her, that seemed unlikely. The care that he had for her should be long gone after the way she'd constantly dismissed him. She would never get the chance to apologise and offer the agreement to be civil. They would never return to being able to smile at each other, or laugh along at something stupid, or even just say 'hi' without an awkward air enveloping them. She was the one who refused to bury the hatchet. Now, she would never get the chance.

The cacophony of emotions exploded within her, breaking away the void. It disintegrated around her and faded away, being replaced by a familiar stretch of a road. It was Mirkwood—different, but still Mirkwood nonetheless. 

Her breath was shaky as she gulped down the nerves that bobbed in her throat. 

Inhale, she told herself. Exhale.

Determined to figure out if it was her who inhabited her body, she attempted to move her hands into view. 

It worked.

A relieved smile danced across her features as she wiggled her fingers. Then, she pushed her tired body forward, surveying herself with each step, the shadows of the night following her; something that her hazy mind did not register. The marks on her body did not bleed out. They did not hurt either. They were simply there for show; like one big reminder of her brush with death. 

Despite the relief, she was also confused—unsure of where the thing that was puppeteering her body had disappeared to. As she wandered into the woods, she thought of the shadow-like creature that had sunk its teeth into her before she felt that sinking feeling. Maybe that was what had possessed her: the creature. Perhaps it wanted to use her for whatever evil itinerary it had. A darker thought appeared in her head—had something created it? 

Something flipped in the pit of her stomach as she reflected on the large gap in her memory. All she knew was that she'd been attacked, woken up in that house, and then ended up on Mirkwood. It felt like only moments had passed between everything, yet she knew that it was not the case. Cautiously, she slipped between the trees, hoping to find herself outside the Byers' house—to find Will—before whatever had taken over her body would come back for more.

She could feel her heart rattling in her ribcage at the sound of a twig snapping. 

Blood coursed through her veins, the sound reverberating in her ears as she slowly turned around.

Her throat became dry at the sight.

A creature—the one that had killed Barb and taken away one of her most cherished friends—circled the trees behind her. The horrifying sight was not what Rebecca focused on. Instead, she focused on the sight of a body that stood frozen in fear; a body that stared at her with her big eyes, mouth pinched shut to contain her breath. 

Nancy.

The Wheeler girl's jaw twitched as her face expressed numerous emotions. The two that Rebecca picked up on were confusion and fear; she was debating whether or not she was seeing her friend or if it was a hallucination. Gulping, Rebecca crept forward, watching the ground to make sure she didn't step on anything that would go crack or snap, afraid that the monster would decide that it was time to stop staring at her and finally do what it wanted. 

The sound of Nancy's sudden gasp made her body run cold.

Her head snapped up, scanning the premises for the creature. 

Nothing was there—nothing she could see.

A moment passed. The moment was full of a tentative smile from both of them. Nancy, still awfully horrified, clung to the tree like it was a lifeline, her shaky breath becoming subdued as she closed her mouth again. Rebecca stepped forward, trying to speak up and tell her to go—to get out before whatever gate had brought her here closed. But nothing came out. 

She could not speak. 

Shouting came from the distance—distorted and not from this realm. She recognised the voice: Jonathan's. He was screaming out for Nancy with desperation in his voice. Questions danced around in Rebecca's head. How did they get into this situation?

Still attempting, she tried to communicate, but no sound came from her opened mouth except from her shallow breathing. She watched as Nancy pushed herself away from the tree, reaching out for her friend with trembling hands and a pleading face, whispering, "Come with me."

Rebecca opened her mouth to try to force a response, but her face contorted into a look of pure fear as she witnessed a gangly, inhumane hand reaching around the tree. That managed to coax something from her throat: a stammering, desperate cry, "No!"

Something seared through her body. It was a blinding level of fear mixed with the whirring, low-hum frequency she could hear in the air, all of which meshed with the surge of an indescribable feeling bubbling beneath the surface of her very being, bleeding through her like spilt ink on thin paper. Her blood-stained hands tingled with unfamiliar senses. 

It was innate—the way she shot out her right hand, fingers gripping around the air. Tears pooled in her eyes as she thought of what could happen if that hand grabbed Nancy. She would be snatched away from her just like Barb had been. The thought of that made her eyes narrow. Nancy watched in a state of frenzy, fear and confusion as a thin veil of shadow rose from the ground, being puppeteered by her friend. It shot out towards the creature's hand, pushing it away. 

Nancy jolted over to Rebecca's side, staring agape at the sight of the creature staggering back. It moved from behind the tree and stared at the two girls. Rebecca was not thinking as she gritted her teeth, trying to repeat the events in the hope that it would run away with its—metaphorical—tail between its legs. But she did not have to. As it did before, it stood still, faceless head staring ahead, almost like it was looking past them, before turning around and stalking away into the distance.

Rebecca felt something running from her nose. She wiped away blood with the back of her hand before it went limp at her side. A realisation dawned on her.

Shadows.

She'd made them move?

She had bent them to her will?

There was no time to think as Nancy grabbed her hand, a sentence falling from her mouth that Rebecca could not pick up on. There was a fleeting attempt to protest, but the noises did not come out from her parted lips. Nancy lugged her friend's body, which was slowly getting heavier as it began to shut down, with her, scrambling to find the gate.

No. No, she thought to herself. I need to find Will. I need to get Will.

Rebecca's eyelids became heavy, fluttering open and shut as Nancy pushed her through the gate that pulsed with life. People repeated her name—Jonathan and Nancy—but she could not reply. She felt them throw her arms around their shoulders, Jonathan repeatedly asking what had happened and Nancy asking her to stay awake because she couldn't lose her. Rebecca fought against the fatigue, still attempting to mutter a single word. They both asked where the marks came from.

There was an unspoken question in the air—one that she could hear in every single word Nancy spoke. 

Where was Barb?

"We need to get her to my house," she heard Nancy say. "She needs cleaning up—bandaging up, too. Just in case."

"What she needs is professional help."

Nancy scoffed bitterly. Rebecca could envision the raised eyebrows that Nancy always wore whenever she had a point to make. "She's just been trapped in that...God-awful place, Jonathan. The last thing she needs is doctors swarming her and asking her questions."

"What? Like we're doing right now?"

If she could, Rebecca would've laughed in agreeance with the guy.

Silence loomed over the three of them.

"She's coming back with me," Nancy said after the silence dissolved. "You can stay too...if you want?"

Rebecca ended up in Jonathan's car, sprawled out in the backseat with Nancy at her side, gripping onto her hands like she thought Rebecca would disappear once more if she let go. The hum of the radio was all that kept her from giving in to her fatigue. She stared at the black-matted floor of the car.

"Something's happened to her, Jonathan." She felt her friend's grip tighten. "She's not...the same."

Jonathan huffed. "Yeah, Nance. Nobody's the same after they end up like that."

"That's my point! Her wounds aren't bleeding out. She was walking perfectly fine when I saw her." There was a pensive pause. "Jonathan, she managed to fight the monster." Jonathan mumbled something that Rebecca couldn't hear over the hummingbird-like rhythm of her heart. Nancy, however, heard him loud and clear, replying, "Yes, she fought it. Not with a weapon, or even her bare hands, but...she reached out and commanded a shadow to repel it back."

"I wanna say that's not possible, but with everything we've been dealing with..."

"Exactly."

"What do you think happened?"

Another pause. Nancy unlaced a hand from Rebecca's, moving it up to brush away a loose strand of hair that was stuck to Rebecca's sweaty forehead. She had always been intelligent—keen to discover secrets—and yet she sighed, mumbling, "I don't know."

Chapter Text

- wednesday, thursday, friday - the days of which rebecca munson was missing -

Hawkins, Indiana, 9th September, 1983,

Birds tweeted from the leafless branches of the trees behind Steve's house, his alarm sounding at an alarmingly high volume, causing him to lazily whack the top of it with his hand, groaning as he forced his hand open. The warmth of Nancy was no longer there and a frown tugged at his pouted lips as he remembered how he'd let her leave without a simple 'goodbye' or offer to take her home. Guilt nested in his stomach.

Nancy Wheeler was the spitting image of the girl his mother and father hoped he would have. White picket fence, perfect grades, and a wealthy family. It also helped that she was beautiful. That was why he'd spoken to Nancy in the first place, moving in on her at the last basketball game, telling her that she was a pretty face in the crowd. She was the very idea of perfect.

But last night was far from the idea of perfect. 

It started out amazing. She slipped off her shirt, presenting herself to him, allowing him to fall on top of her during their kisses, tugging at his shirt and discarding it on the floor. There was something there. It was not fiery or passionate, or raw need, but it was certainly something. Then, as soon as the kissing ended and they moved on to everything else, he failed at what he thought he did best: making her feel good. He was on cloud nine while she was still halfway there. When he offered to go down on her, she smiled meekly and shook her head, saying that she was tired, resting her head on top of his chest. That part was nice.

Until the lights began to flicker and he heard his name being called in an oddly distorted voice from somewhere he could not quite gage. 

Luckily, as soon as it started, it had stopped, leaving him and Nancy in peace. They fell asleep on separate sides of the bed and she left with nothing from him except from a few grumbles. 

Maybe Rebecca was right to be concerned about the blossoming relationship between him and Nancy. After all, something was not working—no matter how determined he was. This was the first time he'd felt anything real for a girl since Rebecca and he refused to toss it to the side. He refused to fuck up and do something he would regret; exactly how he'd done with Rebecca.

In his half-asleep state, he stumbled out of the house with toast in his mouth, not fully taking in the fact that Rebecca's red wagon was parked next to his BMW, wiping the sleep from his eyes and forcing himself to wake up before pulling out of the driveway.

By the time he arrived at school, he was already swarmed by three people he didn't particularly want to see after Rebecca had—once again—questioned him about his life decisions: Tommy H. Carol and Liam. The third man snaked an arm around him, pulling him in and ruffling up his hair, which Steve rushed to fix. "Those two told me you got some last night!" He lifted his free hand, wiggling his brows. "Up top, Harrington."

Steve pulled himself away, forcing a smile on his face and reciprocating the gesture before turning to Tommy, who was grinning. "You haven't told everyone, right?"

Tommy shook his head. "No. But if the people heard, then the people heard."

Steve furrowed his brow, staring ahead through the halls, checking to see if there were anyone's eyes on him. Thankfully, there were none. Carol smacked her lips together and chewed on her gum, pulling Tommy off into the Janitor's closet to make out, leaving Steve and the one guy he hated with his whole soul alone. The only reason they were still 'friends' was because of their deal, and he desperately hoped Liam was sticking to his side of the bargain. "So..." Liam tugged at the sleeves of his denim jacket. "Was she good?"

"Nance?" The boy replied with a nod. "Yeah...she was...good."

"Better than Rebecca?"

Steve's eyes widened with disgust, lips curling into a scowl as he shook his head, clarifying, "Okay, dude. First of all, we never did anything like that. And second of all, don't talk about her like that, or at all."

The man snickered and walked through the halls alongside Steve, who was searching for Nancy before class started. Chemistry first. "My bad, man. I forgot you were so protective over her."

"I'm not."

"Right. Remind me, Harrington, why is it that you and I are still friends? Oh, that's right. You don't want me talking to your precious friend."

Steve bit back a remark, not wanting to stir the pot. "Yeah, yeah."

"See you around, Harrington."

And with that, Liam faded into the crowd of students, leaving Steve on his own to wander down the hall, eyes flicking back and forth between every person until he found Nancy at her locker. Her eyes were glazed over, almost like she wasn't grounded in her reality. He moved in for a kiss but she quickly jumped back, clashing into the lockers behind her. "Sorry!"

"Don't apologise," she mumbled. "I'm sorry for jumping back. I'm just...—" There was a thoughtful pause. "—tired. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"Hm, I wonder why."

At the sound of his teasing tone, Nancy's eyes skitted around the hallway, seemingly shrinking in response. "Yeah..."

"I'm sure nobody knows about it, by the way."

"Right...I'm gonna go to class."

"The bell hasn't even gone yet."

Nancy swiftly leaned in, kissing him on his cheek before wandering down the hall, looking from side to side like she was searching for something. He stood by her locker and sighed, already fed up with the day. That was when the bell rang and he made his way over to Chemistry.

Rebecca was always the first one out of the both of them to arrive. Whenever he walked in, she would be sat down with a hateful glare plastered across her face, scoffing whenever he would show up late. She was not there. Something similar to worry built inside of his body, but he quickly dismissed it, telling himself she might just be busy getting something from her locker or talking to friends. However, ignoring the concern became difficult when she did not show up at all. Chemistry was her favourite lesson—the one thing she always accomplished As is. But she never showed up. 

Swallowing his nerves, he stepped outside of the classroom and made his way over to his locker, stuffing his Chemistry book into there. That was when he felt a finger tap his shoulder twice. He swirled around, being greeted by Eddie Munson. Neither of them had spoken since before everything went down between Rebecca and Steve. Ever since then, they had simply exchanged awkward glances whenever they walked past each other. The boy had an apprehensive look on his face as he said, "Steve 'The Hair' Harrington."

"Eddie 'The Freak' Munson," Steve replied, using his given name.

There was only a spoonful of people who did not believe Eddie was part of a satanic cult, or that he wasn't terrifyingly mean, or an outlier in Hawkins. The boy stomped around, only speaking to his group of friends in Hellfire—outside of Rebecca—and constantly denounced things like cliques, sports, and parties that were thrown by anyone involved in sports. Steve thought it was ironic that he denounced cliques, considering that he actively participated in the idea of them by hating anyone popular. To be fair, almost everyone popular constantly pushed him around and called him names like they were still in middle school. So maybe it wasn't dramatic for him to despise the popular kids.

Steve watched as Eddie buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, eyes darting down to the ground. Concern exuded from him, making the knot in Steve's stomach increase tenfold. Then, he removed his hands from his pockets, wiping at his mouth. 

"Have you seen Bex?"

He was biting the jagged ends of his fingernails, almost digging into his nail bed with his teeth. His right leg bounced in a continuous loop, the bottom of his black combat boots beating against the floor frantically as he waited for Steve to respond, frenzied eyes staring into his soul.

A slight tremble laced Steve's tone as he replied, "No." It was followed by a dejected sigh. "I was wondering where she was."

"Well that's just fucking great," Eddie sighed, pouting his lips in a manner that was shockingly similar to his twin. "She usually calls...or at least makes sure to let me and Wayne know beforehand if she's gone out somewhere else."

"She might be with Barb. They went off when me and Nancy..." Steve cut himself out, eyes darting down to the floor, lowering his voice so that it was only a mumble as he said, "...had sex."

With a snort, Eddie rolled his eyes. "Don't get all coy about your sex life, Harrington, because I really don't care. There are bigger fish to fry."

"Bex."

"Bex." An affirmative nod followed and Eddie nodded over in Nancy's direction, watching as she walked alone down the hall. "Doesn't Wheeler usually have Barb by her side?"

Steve muttered a sorrowful curse, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of panic gnawing away at his insides. The Munson twin was right; Barb was always with Nancy. From what he could remember, the two had been friends since middle school at the earliest, and it was bizarre to imagine a world where they weren't together. His lips pulled down at the sides and Eddie stepped forward, cocking his head to the side. "Don't worry, man. We'll find her."

"You're not...giving me the cold shoulder? You don't hate my guts and want me to die like Bex?"

In response, Eddie snorted bitterly, still fretting over the fact that his sister was nowhere to be found—understandable—and placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Look, dude. Do I like the shit that you said to my sister? No. I was this—" He made a gesture with his hands to show the amount. "—close to beating your ass, but then she reminded me that I'm not the fighter." 

"Does this have a point?"

"Yeah, dude, I was just getting there." Eddie crossed his arms. "My point is that she's just—to put it nicely—pretty shit at handling her emotions. She doesn't hate your guts, or want you to die, and the only reason she's giving you the cold shoulder is because she's pretty damn stubborn." There was a shared scoff between them. "I don't want you to die either. What I want is for you to make sure to keep an eye out for Bex."

Steve promised that he would, nodding enthusiastically but not feeling the same emotions inside. A bottomless pit was forming inside of him as he walked to his next class, eyes looking from left to right and hoping she would show up. 

The day faded into lunch—a harrowing time for Steve because he was forced to put up with the over-the-top, forced, mocking moans from Carol, accompanied by Tommy H. and his childlike behaviour, Liam laughing along as his serpentine eyes swept over the room. Nancy looked around too, most likely finding the watchful gazes of the people who cared to look their way but also looking for Barb. He knew the feeling—wanting to see someone who didn't seem to show. Either of them couldn't pry their eyes away from the open doors of the canteen. 

Nancy despised the feelings that haunted her. 

Anxiety, growing nausea, and a mind-numbing headache that left her ready to break down at any given moment. That was how she felt as she moved through the hallway of Hawkins High, trying to find the nearest exit. She needed to call someone. An adult, preferably. She needed to make sure that her two friends were okay.

"Nancy," she heard someone say.

Then another voice: "Nancy!"

She paused, turning around to reveal a group of four familiar faces. Her memory told her that they were friends of Rebecca—the people who had taken her in shortly before Nancy and Barb had truly made her a friend. Charlotte Rigby stood at the front of the group, arms crossed and pink lips pouted. Behind her stood her boyfriend, who had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his cargo pants, huddled closely to Peter and Ayan. The three boys showed the same level of concern as Charlotte. 

"I'm guessing you haven't seen Becca either?" Charlotte enquired with a raise of her brow. When the other girl shook her head, her arms fell to her side, and Finley stepped forward to lace his hand with hers. "Did she call—after the party? Did she leave?"

"I...I don't know." Nancy fiddled with her sleeves, awkwardly tugging at them in the hopes that her outfit would stop feeling like it was choking her neck. "I was going to see if Wayne was home."

Ayan went to open his mouth, but was stopped by the familiar sound of someone calling out, "Hey!"

His cheeks reddened as he turned to see Eddie Munson walking forward. "Where's Wheeler?"

"She's—"

"—I'm over here," Nancy clarified, moving to the side so that Eddie could see her past the small crowd of people. "Uhm, do you know if Rebecca—"

"—That was exactly why I was looking for you. Have you seen her?"

"None of us have," Peter muttered. 

Eddie's groan was overdramatic, possibly covering up the nervous tick that he had where he messed with the oversized rings that he had taped to his fingers. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

"Look, man," Finley said, "are you sure she isn't just taking the day off?"

"I didn't see her this morning, dude, and I don't know where else she would've spent the night. So, that's a no."

"Maybe she went back with Barb?" Ayan offered quietly. 

Eddie shrugged. "I doubt those two goodie-two-shoes would skip school together."

"Yeah."

"Why don't we just call the house?" Nancy suggested, her tone of voice coated with the bitter sound of nerves. "I was going to do that, but..." She gestured to the group of people standing in front of her. Dismissively, she sighed and waved a hand, muttering, "Just...come on."

Everyone followed in her steps, walking toward the double doors of Hawkins High. Finley pulled his girlfriend in close as she whispered her concerns. Peter adjusted his baggy band shirt, looking over at Ayan as the boy awkwardly shuffled along next to Eddie, who had hesitantly followed Nancy's orders. 

They found themselves huddled around the phonebox that was stuffed away near the car park, cars ordered in rows that slightly calmed the shooting nerves that soared in Eddie. A shaky hand reached out for the phone, Nancy's slender fingers pushing into the numbers before she heard the phone try to reach out for the Hollands, hoping and begging the God that her parents believed in to be there and make sure she was going to get the answer she wished for—that both girls were there and safe. 

Finally, a soft voice spoke from the other end of the line, "Hello?"

"H-Hi, Mrs Holland," Nancy said, trying to push away the anxiety in her voice. "Um, do you know if Barb and Rebecca came home last night? After the...assembly." Nobody else heard what the other lady said, but they watched the girl's face quickly twist into an urgent one, lines appearing on her forehead. "Yeah, she did...I meant, um, this morning, sorry. She said she needed to get some...textbooks. Rebecca said she'd go with her." Nancy nodded along with her eyes glued to the ground. "You know what?" A bitter laugh followed. "I just remembered that they were going to the library! Sorry, my mind has been scrambled with the whole Will situation."

There was a beat of silence, everyone's shallow breathing haunting the air as they waited for what seemed like forever. Nancy hummed in agreement to something Mrs Holland had said before putting the phone back, slumping against the wall as she buried her head in her hands.

A low whistle came from Ayan as he stepped forward, dialling a number while Charlotte went over to the girl, trying her hardest to comfort the worry. Eddie followed the boy over to the phone, peering in as he said, "Let me call her, please."

Ayan passed the phone over to the metalhead, standing by as he watched Eddie's tongue poke out from his slightly parted lips, waiting to watch a hopeful smile appear on his face. 

But it never did.

Nobody answered.

"Fuck!" Eddie swore, letting the phone drop down, hanging by the cord. As he stomped off, still muttering curses, Peter moved over to pick up the phone, placing it back where it belonged and wiping at his eyes. Nobody had a chance to say anything to him because he'd already disappeared when they looked back. 

The last time Steve had experienced a headache was during his most recent hangover. That hangover happened when he'd first seen Rebecca Munson after a summer of her avoiding him—quickly dashing away whenever they'd seen each other in public and making sure to look away whenever he so much as glanced in her direction. So, when he'd returned to Hawkins High and saw her face for longer than a brief second, he'd spent the night housing beers while his parents were on another business trip. Embarrassingly, he'd sang along to the cheesy breakup songs that were amongst his parents' record collection. And, admittedly, he'd teared up at Bob Dylan's 'If You See Her, Say Hello'. 

The morning after, he'd woken up with a mind-numbing headache, unable to form a single thought besides what was for breakfast. The headache had almost made him believe that he was being plagued by some sort of rapid, sudden tumour that would torment him forever, even if the thought was entirely dramatic.

However, this headache was on a whole other level of pain, pulsing in his head like a fresh wound exposed to anything and everything. School had finally finished, and now it was just a matter of waiting around for an extra couple of hours before the baseball game. A part of him wanted to go home. Maybe he would explore Hawkins and find Rebecca in a music shop, looking for cassettes to pop on the radio or shopping for the weekly groceries. 

Stumbling out to the car park, he walked over to his three 'friends', watching as they spoke in hushed whispers to Nicole. 

"No way. I knew he was a freak, but..." Tommy tutted, crossing his arms with arrogance. 

Snickering, Carol added, "Yeah, but this is, like, insane. I guess we should've known. He looked ready to pop a boner when she spoke to him the other day."

"I guess that freak never gets much action," Liam whispered. His eyes darted up, seeing a cross-armed Steve standing behind them. "Hey, man."

"What's going on?"

Nicole moved around to the front, cocking her head to the side as she explained what she had found when she was in the dark room, recalling how a skittish Jonathan had quickly tried to cover up his perverted photos of the party last night. The information made his stomach crawl, rage seeping into his veins and resting there, ready to blow over at any moment. 

It wasn't like he was thinking straight when he saw Jonathan walking through the car park.

He certainly wasn't thinking when he said, "Hey, man."

Jonathan looked at the group, his bag hanging off only one shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Nicole here was, uh, telling us about your work."

"We've heard great things," Carol mused as Tommy added, "Yeah, sounds cool."

"And we'd love to take a look. You know, as...connoisseurs of art."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Steve knew it was a lie, but he didn't go to intervene as Jonathan went to walk away. Not because he wanted to let Jonathan go. In fact, it was the opposite. But Steve did not have to stop Jonathan. Tommy was already reaching out, Liam holding Jonathan back as the former boy pulled off the backpack and carelessly tossed it over to Steve. "Man, he is totally trembling. He must have something to hide."

He unzipped it and rifled through until he found the images, flipping through them without properly taking in the contents. All he could see were him and the others, standing around, jumping into the pool, and another one with Nancy. There wasn't much in his mind except for a raging headache and confusion. Jonathan Byers was an outcast. A guy who didn't bother with others. But he'd never considered that the idea of him being a 'perverted loser' could be anything more than petty high school bullying. 

But maybe it was.

He wasn't thinking when he handed some of them over to the group of people he associated with.

"Yeah, this totally isn't creepy at all," Carol said, furrowing her brow. 

"I was looking for my brother."

"No." Steve rolled up the image in his hand, waving it toward the image in Carol's hands. "No, this is called stalking."

He saw Nancy appear, her dainty features twisting into confusion and sympathy—sympathy for Jonathan. 

"What's going on?" Nancy asked.

"Here's the starring lady," the brunette-haired boy teased with a snicker, making Steve shoot Tommy a sharp look. His mind antagonised him as the pain began to nest behind his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"This creep was spying on us last night. He was probably saving this one for later."

Carol handed her a photo. It was grainy, slightly ruined by the fact that Jonathan hadn't developed them fully, and shrouded by the night. However, there was one thing that she managed to spot immediately: herself, in a bra, positioned in front of the bedroom window. 

The photo disappeared from her sight as Steve grabbed it, collecting the rest from the others.

"See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but that's the thing about perverts, man." He adjusted the collar of Jonathan's jacket, clinging to the 'King Steve' persona. "It's hard-wired into them. So, we'll just have to take away his toy."

The words spilt out before he had time to think. Before he knew it, he was tearing the photos apart and letting the early November breeze scatter them against the ground, digging into Jonathan's backpack once more, pulling out the so-called 'toy'.

"Steve," Nancy pleaded.

"No, please, not the camera," Jonathan begged, moving forward.

He was immediately stopped by Tommy and Liam, who forced him away. Steve watched them push him back, saying, "No, no, wait, wait...Tommy and Liam." The former guy chuckled. "It's okay."

He offered the camera out, a cruel part of him letting the camera drop as soon as Jonathan went to grab it. Nancy stared at the ground, taking in the shattered camera and the jagged edges of the torn pictures, arms crossed as she hugged herself. Jonathan swayed from side to side as he joined in on the staring. Steve, however, looked into the distance, his eyes glistening as he momentarily zoned out, shame eating away at him. 

"Come on. The game's about to start."

It wasn't long before he was sat by Nancy's side, rubbing at his temple as she zoned out in the hallway as they waited for the game. It also wasn't long before Nancy was walking away, leaving him with the others as he debated whether or not to stay or go. The deciding factor was Tommy suggesting that she'd been spooked by Steve going 'psycho on the psycho'. 

"Oh, give me a break."

The phrase was haphazardly uttered, his mind telling him that he knew he wasn't in the place to deserve a break. In a matter of moments, he'd shattered Jonathan's camera. Jonathan Byers—famously known for his lack of money and opportunity. No amount of anxiety over Rebecca could justify his actions. No amount of rage at the way he'd taken pictures of them from his backyard could justify how he went about things, taunting the boy rather than confronting him how he should've.

The King Steve persona chipped away at anything good in his life.

Ayan Dahir had never been the type to fear much. He feared things such as his romantic feelings towards a certain someone, the fact that he was gay in a small-minded community, and whether or not he had finished doing his homework. Mostly normal teenage things. He'd never been the type to fear horror. It was quite the opposite. He would always rent out the latest horror movie, writing reviews to recount to his friends. Rebecca had once suggested he should become a movie critic when they first met, and he was slowly becoming fonder of the idea.

However, not fearing horror was becoming increasingly difficult as he sat on his couch, watching some forgettable horror movie that was, in all honesty, quite shit. 

The only reason he was horrified was because he wondered if it had happened to Rebecca. A girl...a party...going home and getting chased, trying to survive. He was thankful for the sudden ring ring ring of the phone, pausing the movie and quickly getting up to answer. "Hello. This is the Dahir residence. I'm Dahir. Who's speaking?"

A familiar chuckle came from down the line, a blush springing onto Ayan's coloured cheeks. "Awh, you have a little introduction message." There was a pause as Dahir fiddled with the phone wire, trying to figure out what to say in response. "...It's Eddie, by the way—Bex's brother."

"No, no, no, I know who you are!"

"Stalker..."

There was a teasing edge in the boy's voice, but Ayan was too focused on the adrenaline coursing through him to notice. "No! I just meant..."

"Yeah, yeah, don't you worry, Ayan. I know what you meant." There was a mumbled string of sentences in the background from the other end of the line, and a worried sigh could be heard spilling from Eddie's lips. "Look, as fun as this whole greeting has been, I have another reason to call you. All of your other friends are, well, busy with stuff."

That was true. Charlotte had to be with the band for the baseball game. Finley was most likely at said baseball game, supporting his girlfriend. And Peter always spent his Wednesday nights in the library, putting in work for his upcoming SATs.

Ayan, however, spent most of his nights at home, meaning that he was the only one in the group to hear Eddie explain, "Wheeler here has tracked me down because she wants to go exploring for Rebecca. I've been enlisted. And, because you care about my sister, I'm enlisting you."

"To go on the hunt for Rebecca?"

"Yes."

"I'm in."

A meeting point was arranged and the three of them quickly met up on the road Nancy remembered Barb parking her car on, walking down the side in painfully awkward silence. Nancy was in front of the two, her arm grasping the strap of her bag as she found her way over to Barb's car, a sickening feeling eating away at her. She stared at the window of the car, looking at her reflection. The way she presented herself was well-adjusted to her lifestyle as a Wheeler, and yet on the inside, she could feel it eating away at her. That was not who she was. She was not the perfect daughter. She was the girl who'd had sex with a guy who she wasn't dating. If she hadn't done that, she would know where her two friends were.

"Are you okay?" Eddie questioned, joining her side. "Is this Barb's car."

"No, and yes."

Standing up straight, she called out, "Barb? Becca?"

No answer.

Ayan and Eddie followed her lead, yet nothing came from their attempts.

An idea sprung in Nancy's head as she moved away from the car. She turned to the two boys. "Stay here, please. I'm gonna go and check out Steve's backyard."

"Why can't we come?" Ayan questioned quietly.

"Because it's less weird if I'm the one searching his backyard."

"Only because you've slept with him," Eddie added with a shit-eating grin.

"Just...stay here and look out for if Barb comes back to her car."

He watched as Nancy walked away, hesitantly leaning against Barb's car and pulling out a packet of cigarettes—stolen from Wayne's stash. It was an unhealthy habit that his sister had told him to cut out many times, despite never really bothering to stick to healthy habits herself, smoking weed and popping pills with Steve. That turned into smoking weed by herself as she mourned the loss of whatever she'd had with him. Eddie, however, smoked weed for fun, only smoking cigarettes when he was on the brink of losing his shit. And, as he stood next to a quiet Ayan, waiting for Wheeler to return with her findings, wondering where his sister had fucked off to and desperately wishing she hadn't been unfortunate like the Byers boy, he certainly was on the edge of losing his shit.

Ayan simply just resorted to staring at Eddie, hands dropped at his side because he didn't know what to do with himself. He stumbled over his words a few times as he randomly thought to ask, "So, you're in a band?"

"Uh-huh." Eddie lit the end of his cigarette, taking a long drag. "Corroded Coffin. Bex sings. I play the guitar."

In response, he faked a small sign of surprise, raising his eyebrows as he nodded along. "Cool. I bet the, uh, ladies love that."

Eddie looked down at the ground, chuckling. Most women at The Hideout were lesbians ogling potential hookups or ignoring the music on stage. The few that did swing that way didn't matter to him. As for the ladies of Hawkins High, a very small portion paid interest in him, and even then he would simply just pretend not to notice their advances. "Nah, they don't care."

"Well..." Ayan fidgeted with the cuffs of his long-sleeved graphic shirt, refusing to make eye contact with the guy. "Uh, if it's any consolation, I'm a fan."

"A fan?" 

A nervous laugh sounded from Ayan's lips as Eddie raised his eyebrows, an obvious smirk forming on his face. "Yeah."

"Well, who knows? Maybe someday you'll get to see me play."

The conversation fizzled out after that because neither of them could think of anything else to say. Both of them were, admittedly, cursing themselves for their inability to go with the flow of the conversation. Eddie was usually fine with talking to people, only tripping over his words when it came to answering questions in class. This was a blip. 

They waited for Nancy in awkward silence.

At first, Eddie welcomed the Wheeler girl with a crooked grin. But that grin faded at the sight of her hugging herself, widened eyes full of unreadable emotions as she hurried over to the two boys, mumbling that she was going home without an explanation and ignoring Eddie's attempt at getting her attention.

Hawkins, Indiana, 10th November, 1983,

Will Byers was dead.

Everyone knew that information. News spread fast in Hawkins. The funeral was tomorrow, and Jonathan was left to sort everything out as a tired Joyce Byers refused to believe that the body found in the quarry was the body of the son. The only reason Eddie knew this news was because of last night, having watched a broken Mike Wheeler burst through the door halfway through the joint Munson-Holland discussion of their missing daughters—hosted by a solemn Karen Wheeler. The news had made Eddie's mind stir with the thoughts of what had happened to his sister, wondering if she had met a similar fate. Maybe even a more sinister one.

Neither of the Munsons had slept properly. It showed. Their faces were wrought with fatigue, their eyes sunken and their skin paler than usual. Wayne had been sent home because his boss had—uncharacteristically—decided to be kind, letting him go at the widespread news of 'Bex the Basketcase's' disappearance.

That was what most people were calling it. Eddie had heard speculations in the school halls. Some people thought that Rebecca had run away during an 'episode'. Others thought worse, suggesting that she'd decided that enough was enough, finding a quiet place after Steve's party to end it all. The sickos who viewed the subject as nothing more than gossip had thrown in the idea of her roping Barb into some sort of twisted suicide pact.

Eddie believed in none of their sick rumours. The only thing he did believe in was the fact that something terrible had happened. Whether or not it was just an accidental death, or maybe a more sinister fate. He'd seen Nancy's demeanour the previous evening, watching as she shifted uncomfortably during the discussion, tiptoeing around her words like she was walking on eggshells. Something had happened at the Harrington house, spooking her.

And now he sat across from Powell and Callahan, his uncle at his side as they enquired about how Rebecca was acting before the party. Nancy and her mom sat on two additional chairs, the older woman looking at her daughter as Nancy rolled her eyes, already knowing where they were going with this. What they were implying was obvious: Rebecca might've been in a bad state, she found herself at a party, alone with Barb, and the rest was history.

"Do you wanna go or should I?" Wayne asked quietly, messing with his facial hair.

"I'll go."

Eddie leaned forward, trying to stop the fact that his leg was bouncing at an alarming speed. He absentmindedly flicked the bottom of his lip with his tongue as he tried to think of what to say. Not many people knew that Steve and Rebecca were something, let alone just friends, so he would be outing their past to an already bothered Nancy, possibly causing some confusion or an argument. 

Oh well.

"Well...she was nervous."

"Nervous?" Callahan asked. "Why?"

"Was she having an episode?" Powell enquired, raising a brow.

Eddie was quick to shake his head, clarifying, "No, it was nothing to do with that." His eyes flitted over to Nancy before he took a deep breath. "...See, she and King Steve had a...thing. They were friends, and then they were more than friends if you catch my drift."

"They dated?" Nancy asked quietly.

"No, just...they weren't exactly platonic." He rubbed his hands together, fingers tracing over the rings on his other hand. "Long story short, he's not happy because she's been taking money from his parents to tutor him and she's constantly pulling away, and she's not happy because he's mad and she secretly hates how she acted; she'd never tell you that. They stop speaking. And then boom: Steve and Nancy are happening and she's going to his party—to his house. So, she was nervous."

Powell and Callahan exchanged a look before the former began to turn his focus on Nancy, asking about Barb—about the events of the party. It was a painfully awkward thing to witness the way Karen Wheeler looked at her 'perfect' daughter as she heard how she and Steve had gone upstairs and how Barb had wanted to leave. They questioned her on the bear that she mentioned seeing the day after and she quickly confirmed that it wasn't a bear. Eddie thought back to her contorted face and how it showed visceral fear. 

No, it certainly could not be a bear. She was too secretive the day before for it to be a bear.

"You need to check behind Steve's house..." she pleaded.

"We did. There's nothing there." 

And that was enough for them to rule out her theory that something more sinister than a bear had been at play. Nancy was quick to question the way that they said there was no bear. No car. The two teenagers looked at each other knowingly. There had been a car. 

Then, they turned their attention back to the Munsons. "Wayne..." Powell began, his gaze steely. "Has Rebecca ever thought of...exiting this world?"

"Not that I've heard of."

His reply was rough, sounding like the edges of tree bark. It was certain and yet also full of disbelief, almost as though he was shocked that they could suggest such a thing. 

"Eddie?"

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "My sister and I had a rough childhood, officer." He cocked his head. "I'll admit that she's thought about it a few times—not that she'd ever say it out loud. But she would never kill herself." When he saw their furrowed brows, he added, "She's always been there for me, and she'd continue being there for me for the rest of her life if she could. Suicide is not an option for her."

"How can you be sure?" Callahan asked, earning a look from his fellow officer.

He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching. The officer was quick to clarify that he meant no harm, only wanting the necessary facts to handle the case. Wayne put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, speaking for him, "He's sure because they've been through hell and back with each other. Those two know each other like the back of their hand. And I know my niece. She'd never do that." He moved his hand away from his nephew's shoulder and sat back in the uncomfortable cafeteria chair. "And she'd certainly never rope Barb into doing that."

There were a few more questions to be asked before they were allowed to leave, but Eddie did not fail to notice the way Nancy's face dropped as they said that they would still keep the idea of Rebecca Munson roping Barb into suicide as an option, not fully exploring it. Both of the high schoolers saw it as a bunch of bullshit. 

It did not take long for the two of them to settle down on a bench outside of the building, avoiding eye contact as the girl asked, "How come I never knew about this?"

He knew what she was referring to. Admittedly, she seemed less bothered about the fact that it had happened and more bothered about the fact that she had never been told about it. Eddie rubbed at his temple, ignoring the gnawing anxiety pulsing inside of him 

"It's not like they spoke in public. I mean, they had a few hangouts, but nobody ever really saw them." He shrugged. "The only people that know about the fact that they weren't just associates are me, of course, Tommy, Liam, Carol...Anyone who was in Steve's shitty group, so to speak. Oh, and Bex's little group."

Nancy fiddled with her thumbs. "Oh."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Eddie said calmly, attempting to soothe the Wheeler girl. "I don't think she was trying to hide anything from you at the time. She's not the type to talk about her love life or her friends. I only knew about you and Barb—" The name was sour on his tongue. "—when you guys had your little sleepover."

"I guess it doesn't really matter now."

Eddie nodded in agreement. There was a moment of thoughtful silence as he looked at the girl, his memory reminding him of the meeting with the police. A question placed itself on the tip of his tongue. 

"Nancy?"

"Hm?"

"The police said something about a bear...You said it wasn't a bear? Did you see something?"

Nancy thought about his question for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she should tell Eddie about the faceless monster she saw in Steve's yard. She knew it would cause more panic, possibly pushing him into even more anxiety over the situation, but he was Rebecca's brother—he deserved to know.

But she also knew that if he got himself involved, it might end up making things worse for the Munsons. So, with a disheartened look in her eyes, she forced an awkward laugh, saying, "I don't know what I saw. Probably just an animal." A lie. "I just don't think it was a bear."

She hugged herself, eyes fluttering over to Steve's parents as they, begrudgingly, exited their fancy car, walking towards the entry doors. They were recognisable faces given that she'd made sure to look at the concerningly few pictures of Steve's family that were dotted around his house. Most of the few pictures were of the couple on vacation or of the three of them at the time when Steve was younger. 

Neither of them looked pleased. Maybe Steve was right to panic at the mention of the police after all. 

When Steve had arrived home after the game—after trashing Jonathan's camera—he was not given a greeting by his father, who sat in his study, and his mother simply smiled and said that dinner wouldn't be too long, asking him if he'd had a nice day. His choked 'fine' didn't have much rebuttal, even if his face and body language screamed 'anything but fine'. He'd mulled over his actions in his room as he struggled through his English homework, secretly wishing that he could phone Rebecca and ask for help. But even if she was home, he knew she'd slam the phone down as soon as she heard his voice.

Then, he'd driven to school, still in sleep debt from Tuesday night, and had been forced to listen to Tommy and Carol talk about the rumours that Rebecca had finally lost her marbles and decided to end it all, roping her friend into it. He'd walked away halfway through the story, going to find Nancy. That was when she'd dragged him away to a private area in the school, talking to him about the police and the fact that she was being interviewed. That was when it dawned on him that he'd have to do it too, leading him to beg her not to mention the alcohol, even if it made him look like an ass. He could already picture the disappointed glares and the way his father would immediately rush to mutter the word that Steve hated the most: disappointed.

And that was exactly what he had said. Trapped in the dining room, stuck in the middle of the table, he watched as his father picked apart the steak with his knife and fork, looking over at his son with contempt. The silence was thick and suffocated the room. Meanwhile, his mother was sat opposite her husband, not bothering to look at Steve.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Harrington finished his bite. "Do you know how disappointed I am in you right now?"

Steve pursed his lips together to stop himself from biting back some remark that would only make the discussion spiral. Instead of saying anything, he nodded.

"Good." Another bite. Another agonising minute of silence. "You hosted a party. You drank alcohol. You had sex while this Nancy girl had her friends downstairs, probably waiting for you to finish with her. Because of your party, Steven, you have now ended up being involved in a potential double suicide!"

Mrs. Harrington mumbled a warning to her husband, telling him not to bring that up.

"Why shouldn't I? He's irresponsible!"

"Rebecca didn't kill herself," Steve said with certainty. "She wouldn't—"

"—That girl is reckless too! Sabotaging her money for a quick fling with you." The man took a sip of his whiskey. "I'm surprised it didn't work out between you two, considering you both like to be impulsive." A calculated pause, and then; "You should be ashamed of yourself, Steven. If you hadn't thrown your party, those two girls might be here, eating dinner with their families like you're doing now."

Holding back tears, Steve excused himself and left his nearly-finished plate on the table, not thinking as he rushed off upstairs and lay on top of his bed, staring at the ceiling as his vision became clouded by his crying. The meeting went awfully. They mentioned suicide, spoke of Rebecca's nerves before the party, and asked if Steve had noticed any off behaviour. His father's words repeated itself in his head and he was slowly falling apart as he began to believe it more and more. It was supposed to be a way to invite Nancy into his world, and, if he was lucky, make amends with Rebecca. Maybe he would've gotten to know Barb. But none of that happened. Nancy was in her own world, Rebecca hated his soul and was missing, and Barb remained elusive, disappearing with his old friend.

Hawkins, Indiana, 11th November, 1983,

The morning of Will's funeral, none of the party cried.

Not even Mike, who had spent his entire night on the night Will's body was found trying not to break down again, felt any sadness. It was impossible. Will was alive. It sprung a sense of hope in all three of the boys, and Eleven, that their friend was still out there. He was in the Upside Down. 

And if Will was in the Upside Down, then Rebecca would be too. They'd both gone missing. They were both thought to be dead. But none of them truly believed that. After all, Will was still out there, singing his favourite song. And Rebecca...

Eleven switches the channel, her eyes squeezing shut as she picks up on the signal.

A static noise...and then a breath. Shuffling footsteps. Floorboards creaking. Something flying overhead.

"Is that...?"

She responds with a nod.

"She's with Will?"

"No, not with him. In the same place as him."

Watching the funeral unfold wasn't exactly rough for any of the boys as they cracked jokes about the girl crying at Will's funeral. Some adults looked over at them, trying to hide their unapproving stares with the pity that they had, probably thinking it was a coping mechanism.

"I bet Rebecca's gonna freak when she finds out about our little secret," Lucas whispered.

"Oh, for sure," Dustin joined in. "She's gonna be all like 'Why didn't you listen to me? What happened to the plan?'."

A quiet giggle came from Lucas' mouth, making his mother warn, "Be quiet."

"Sorry."

All three of them returned to faking their solemn stares. Nancy eyed up her brother, watching as his expression swiftly changed from a smile to a frown.

Yesterday, she'd put together the torn photo of her in a bra, seeing her two friends sitting on the pool's edge together, Rebecca leaning over, probably helping Barb with her cut. Something was lurking behind them. It was that sight that had sent her over to the place where Jonathan was picking out something for Will to be buried in, proposing the idea that there was something more than a boy dying in a quarry at stake here.

Today was the day that they would investigate further.

The funeral settled down, everyone dispersing to go to the wake or offer kind words to Joyce and Lonnie. Nobody wanted that guy to be in Hawkins. But he was. He was there and he looked distraught. Jonathan didn't exactly like how easy it was for his absent dad to play the sorrowed father role, considering that it was only a few days ago that he was talking down to his son.

The game on Friday had been cancelled, along with school, leaving everyone free to do their own thing—leaving Nancy and Jonathan to hide away from everyone as they discussed the monster.

"So..." Nancy began, settling beside him on the ground near the cemetery. "How are you doing?"

Forcing a chuckle, he shrugged, pulling out a marked map. "As good as I can be after finding out my mom might've been right all along and I was just making her think she was crazy." A bitter smile followed his words. "I made this, by the way." He gestured to his marks on the map, explaining, "This is where we know for sure it's been, right?"

"So that's..."

"Steve's house." He pointed a finger at his other mark, his voice trembling as he recalled how that was the place they found Will's bike before moving his finger along. "That's my house."

"It's all so close."

"Yeah. Exactly. I mean, it's all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is...it's not travelling far."

Jonathan looked at Nancy, allowing her soft gaze to embrace him. The scent of vanilla that radiated from her was the only thing keeping him sane as he thought about what could've potentially killed his brother. Knowing that his death wasn't accidental, that some evil creature had harmed him, made his stomach do flips. Nothing about the past week had been good. Hearing that the police had found Will's body created hope for the Byers until they realised that the body found was not breathing. There was no pulse. 

He had spent his entire life protecting Will from the shouting and the arguments, teaching him to be his own person—to use music to halt the negativity in his life. Now that Will was gone, what else did he have? He'd be stuck taking care of his mom. Maybe Lonnie would be there, but that seemed unlikely. It was just him and his mom now.

Nancy nodded, pulling him out of his thoughts. "You want to go out there."

"We might not find anything."

"I found something." Memories of the monster flashed through her mind. "And if we do see it...then what?"

Silence.

"We kill it."

He took her to the car, trying to undo the lock with a pocket knife. She asked him what he was doing, most likely because she was confused about why he was frantically digging the sharp end of the knife into the slit of the lock. Finally, he managed to pull the compartment down. He rifled through the belongings until he managed to find the gun, checking its ammo. Then, he picked up a box.

"Are you serious?" Nancy questioned.

"What? You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?"

As he left the car, Nancy adamantly stated, "This is a terrible idea."

"Yeah, well, it's the best we've got." His newfound friend looked away. "What? You can tell someone, but they're not gonna believe you. You know that."

She did know that. The police hadn't believed her when she'd told them it wasn't a bear that she'd seen in Steve's backyard. The only person who believed her was Jonathan, and he was suggesting that they should shoot the monster. Which, if she was being completely honest, seemed like their best shot at taking down the thing that had snatched her two best friends.

There was one person that would believe her.

"Your mom would."

"She's been through enough."

"She deserves to know."

Frustrated, he said, "Yeah, and I'll tell her...when this thing is dead."

Eddie Munson filled up his plate with the food that had been brought by the people invited to the funeral. Not everyone was invited, thankfully. There were some people—people in his classes or the hallways of Hawkins High—who pretended to panic over Will after spending their time mocking Jonathan. He thought Jonathan was a pretty cool guy until the rumours got out that he took perverted photos of Nancy Wheeler. That was something Nancy had constantly ignored, trying to avoid the questions like it was the plague.

It shocked Eddie that the two of them seemed so cosy after the funeral. He'd seen them sitting next to each other, talking and looking at something that he couldn't quite see. 

Admittedly, he was only thinking about them because it was easier than thinking about the fact that maybe he would end up in the same shitty suit he was wearing right now, saying his goodbyes to his sister as she was buried six feet under. Wayne's silent stare told him that his uncle was thinking the same thing.

The two of them watched as the kids gathered around a table with their Chemistry teacher.

The silence was broken by Wayne: "Uh, the police called this mornin'."

"Yeah?"

That wasn't unusual. At the end of their meeting yesterday, they'd promised to keep the Munson's updated. Wayne had checked with Barb's parents—they'd been interviewed towards the end of the school day—and they'd given them the same schtick, ringing in the morning with the same news.

"Yeah..." He scratched the back of his head, sighing. "They still haven't found anything."

The chuckle that Eddie did was not a happy one. It sounded sad. Dejected. "I doubt they're even trying."

"Eddie..."

"Well, it's true. Everyone thinks she's offed herself and dragged Barb into it like some sort of demented nutter."

"They'll find something soon, son."

Neither of them truly believed in those words. It was starting to feel like the two girls had disappeared off the planet. Rebecca's car, along with her friend's, was nowhere to be seen. 

It was like they had vanished into thin air.

Steve spent his entire morning in bed that day.

Not because he had nothing to do. His parents had asked him to clean his room before they'd left to do their daily activities. However, ever since his alarm had gone off, he'd found it impossible to find the motivation to drag himself from the comfort of his bed. He'd spent his entire morning staring at the ceiling, waiting for the phone to ring with good news. 

It was Will's funeral. His family hadn't received an invitation. That didn't surprise him, considering that they were only members of the community through donations to buildings. His mother also attended the rare town meetings. 

The gnawing in the pit of his stomach told him that soon he'd be receiving an invitation to Rebecca's funeral. 

In the early afternoon, he managed to roll out of bed, forcing himself under the showerhead, making sure that the temperature was freezing cold so he could shake off the grogginess. He lounged around in his towel, drying off his hair as he made sure to put all of his needed products into it. Once he was finally into some clothes that weren't his pyjamas, he cleaned his room, dusting around. Cleaning his room often felt like a nightmare until he would do it, getting into the groove with a tape of all of his favourite songs playing on his Walkman. Queen's 'Somebody To Love' played as he finished emptying the bin in his room out into the bins outside. 

Then, he found himself sitting at the island counters, forcing himself to do his History homework.

The simplicity of the day was the only thing to soothe him. Although, he would much rather be out than be crouched over his homework, writing until there was a cramp in his hand. As he shook his hand to stop the ache, the phone rang. 

He quickly jogged over to it, picking it up and greeting, "Hello, this is Steve."

"Hey, man."

"Eddie?"

"Yes, yes, it is I."

Steve hadn't been called by the Munson residence since he and Rebecca stopped talking. And, when he really thought about it, he realised that Eddie had never called him up. 

"Has something happened?" he asked, paranoia growing. "Did the police find—"

"—The police have found nothing. I just thought I'd call you with their updates."

"Right..." Steve looked down at the ground as his heart sank into his stomach. "Thank you for keeping me updated."

"Are you doing alright?"

"I feel like I should be asking you that. She's your sister, after all."

"Eh, everyone knows I feel like shit that's been left on the ground for days on end, melting away in the sun." Steve grimaced at his specific description before laughing down the line. "I've been asked how I'm doing more times than I can count, but I don't think anyone's gonna ask you that. So, how is King Steve doing?"

"Shit." There was a moment of silence as Steve debated what to say, ignoring the sting of the tears that built up in his eyes, pooling on his waterline. He didn't want to break down on the phone, but he was getting pretty damn close. His voice was shaky as he admitted, "I miss her."

"Me too."

Steve bit down on his lip to feel the sting. "I've missed her since we stopped being friends, to be honest. And as soon as she came back into my life she disappeared because of my stupid party."

"Steve, it's not your fault."

"It sure feels like it."

No wonder Steve and Rebecca used to get on like a house on fire. Just like his twin sister, Steve Harrington—the man who everyone either admired or despised—blamed himself for what went wrong around him. Eddie could still remember how his sister had acted when he confessed how he'd been bullied for months on end by some random guy in their first year of high school back in Madison, pulling him in for a hug and apologising for not protecting him. The two of them were both protectors.

Wayne mumbled a goodbye in the background as he left for work, most likely not coming back until the early hours of the morning. "Look, man, you need to get out. You can't just lay around all day and blame shit on yourself." That was hypocritical. As soon as Eddie returned from the wake, he'd changed into his pyjamas and lay in bed. Now that Wayne was gone, he planned on sitting on the couch until there was a dent in his name. He'd probably get high enough to forget about his problems while watching something that would make him laugh so that he could avoid the fact that he was on the verge of breaking down at any given second. "Find Wheeler and ask her out on a date."

He left out the part about how Nancy had befriended Jonathan, not wanting to let jealousy mesh with Steve's guilt. That would spell disaster. 

Steve looked over at his History homework before nodding. "Right," he said. "Bye, man."

So, after finishing off his homework and shooshing up his hair so that it looked less like a nest on the top of his head and more appealing, he slid on his favourite pair of Nikes and headed out of the door, making his way down the roads of Hawkins as ABBA played from the mixtape he'd made back when he and Rebecca were still close. 

It's the end of February and the bitter cold has only just gone away, leaving them with a much more tolerable cold. The two of them are sat in front of Steve's fireplace, watching the embers of the flames because the movie on the TV has finished and they don't want to acknowledge how close they are. She's so close that he can smell every hint of her shampoo. A part of him feels weird for taking in the scent of her. They are friends. Friends don't smell each other. Friends don't steal glances when the other isn't looking. Friends don't shift in closer like Rebecca does when Steve turns away from her.

The silence turns into a discussion of the film. She focuses on the clothing, talking about how it displays their growth as characters. Steve, however, focuses on the colour scheme. He isn't into movies as much as her, but he notices the little details—something Rebecca seems to admire as she compliments him for his 'attention to detail'. That's when the conversation shifts into the soundtrack.

"I love ABBA," she hums. "Eddie always laughs because he and I are both into metal and shit like that, but I swear I've seen him grooving along to 'Dancing Queen' back when I used to play it all the time in the car."

"I like 'Fernando'."

"What other music do you like?"

The question makes Steve realise that, despite the vast knowledge they have of each other's personal lives, they don't know basic facts about each other. It's weird. You'd think that spending so much time around someone would mean that you know their favourite colour, yet Steve can't recall her ever spilling such a basic fact, and he's pretty sure she can't answer the question of his favourite meal. He doesn't know her favourite song and yet he notices every small detail about her. Like the way she always

Steve pulls himself off the couch and she follows him up to his room without asking where she's going. He leads her over to a few mixtapes he's made for his Walkman. They're laid across his dresser in a messy order. After a few moments of flicking through each song on the one he hands to her, she nods approvingly.

"Now...I might be getting this wrong," she begins with a sarcastic grin already laced on her face, "but are you a Queen fan?"

"How'd you guess?" 

She removes the mixtape from the Walkman and passes it back to him before moving over to his bed and practically throwing herself on it, a soft look on her face as she asks, "What's your favourite song?"

"Probably 'Somebody To Love', or anything from Jim Croce." Steve joins her on his bed, turning on his side to look at her. "You?"

Her face twists up for a moment to think, her tongue darting out from her lips; something he'll never tire of seeing. "Honestly, I don't have a clue. Maybe something from Black Sabbath or...Scorpions...ABBA..."

"Is it 'Dancing Queen'?"

"No. You'd be surprised to hear that my favourite ABBA song is not 'Dancing Queen', but 'Slipping Through My Fingers'." Steve makes some sarcastic quip about the total shock of her reveal, earning an eye roll from Rebecca as she says, "Yeah, yeah. I'm a woman of many parts, Steve."

"Multifaceted. How intriguing."

The two of them stare at his ceiling in silence, their hands eventually lacing together as he talks about how he desperately needs a tutoring session for his next Maths test because of his position as co-captain of both the swim team and the basketball team. His grades are slipping and she's already making a slotted appointment for a 'study date' in the school library. 

"Study date, hm?" he repeats, nudging her playfully as he ignores the slight flutter in his heart. "What happened to calling them tutoring sessions?"

Snorting, she tries to play it off, saying, "I was trying to find a less formal term."

"Oh really? Because I seem to recall the word 'date' being used."

He watches as her pale cheeks are tinted with a warm colour that blossoms like a flower in spring—a beautiful sight. "Shut up," she mumbles sheepishly, reminding him of one of those girls in the romcoms they watch from time to time. He sticks his tongue out at her and she pulls her hand away from his to swat his shoulder lightly. "You're so annoying."

This is not what friends do.

Steve Harrington might be tragic when it comes to maintaining relationships, earning him his playboy status, but he isn't tragic at understanding the Art of Flirting. It's a skill that he has perfected ever since his first 'relationship' with Jenna Reeski in elementary school. He's flirted with what feels like a million chicks, taking a lot of them out on dates or inviting them to his house so that he could get them in his pool. However, as he swats her back and she rolls away from him, he feels...nervous. Butterflies flutter in his stomach and he wonders if she feels the same. 

It's almost childish.

Entirely childish.

He swallows his nerves and forces a smug smile onto his face, tapping her on her shoulder to get her attention. She looks at him with those big brown eyes that are buried under her heavy eye makeup and he swears that she bats her eyelashes momentarily. "What?"

"So...on this 'date', are we gonna get food?"

"No, Steve. We will be studying for your Maths test."

"But after...?"

"I mean, I wouldn't object to food."

"I'll pay."

"We'll split the bill." She turns on her side to face him, holding her head up with her hand. "Where will we go?"

Steve pretends to contemplate before settling on a teasing grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "Enzo's."

"That's too expensive for me."

"That's why I offered to pay."

"We're not going Enzo's. We can hit some cheap burger joint because, as I said, this is just a friendly study date."

"I don't remember you specifying that it's 'friendly'."

"We are friends."

"Yeah, best friends," he says with an element of certainty. When she nods, not seeming to disagree with the high-status label of their friendship, victory settles over his face. "See! And, as your best friend, I think it'd be pretty damn nice of me to treat you to such a nice, expensive meal for being so helpful."

Rebecca groans in defeat. "You act like I'm a saviour. All I do is tutor you."

"Exactly." He takes her free hand and rubs his thumb over her skin, offering her a gentle look. "You're always offering to help me. Like, always. I don't know why you do it, but it means a lot."

For a moment, her gaze falters. She shuffles closer to him, letting him wrap her in some form of spooning. Nothing about this seems platonic to either of them, but he ignores that thought as she hums, "Just think of it as my way of thanking you for being there for me after that Liam shit on Halloween."

It's risky how he moves in, watching as she does the same. But then, as his eyes flutter shut, he hears the sound of his cover rustling. He watches as she gets up and awkwardly murmurs an excuse on why she has to go.

"Do you want a ride?"

He follows her down the steps as she shakes her head, snorting. "No, no. I've got my brilliant new car."

Sarcasm. Her car is some cheap thing that she's bought recently. It's dusty red and in need of an upgrade.

"Oh." He follows behind her as she walks over to the front door, asking, "The Byers are paying you well, huh?"

"The pay is...pretty good."

Rebecca's confided in him before about the low pay rate that sometimes she can't accept because Joyce is in desperate need of money and she feels bad for keeping it. So he looks at her with narrow eyes for a brief second before deciding that maybe Joyce has more money to give.

They stand at the door for a moment. "So... we'll meet at the library on Saturday," he recalls her scheduled meeting with a lopsided grin, ignoring the fact that she's dashing away when he thought they were going to kiss. "Unless you want picking up?"

"Picking me up sounds so romantic," she swoons, clearly exaggerating her movements as she sways from side to side with her clasped hands, her muscles flexing underneath her skin-tight Black Sabbath shirt. Then, she laughs. "I have a car, Steve."

"Yeah, and?"

"And, thanks for the offer, but I don't need picking up."

Steve sighs heavily, prompting an eye roll from Rebecca. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mm, see ya," she murmurs softly before going down the front yard until she got to her car, offering him a wave. 

After that day, he'd made that tape to listen to music that reminded him of her. It seemed cheesy after they'd stopped talking and he'd ended up burying it away. But now she was missing. So, he had been playing it for the past few days. Steve had always been afraid to be bold with her. Every other girl would receive his charm and he'd find no difficulty in doing so. But Rebecca was a different story. It was only on that day that he dared to test the line drawn in place of their relationship, setting foot on the romantic side and hoping to stay there. He could still remember the way his body had been swarming with nerves. 

Sighing, he stopped thinking about the bittersweet memory, not wanting to go further down the rabbit hole of his time with Rebecca. He parked his car in the Wheeler's driveway.

The sight of Nancy made him smile. For a moment, the frustrated discussion they'd had yesterday seemed nonexistent. 

He walked over to the open garage, planning out in his head how their conversation would go. He would ask her to the movies and offer to pick her up, and she would smile and say yes and they would have a normal night free of worry. 

Midway through his thoughts, he saw the bat swing in his direction as Nancy turned it around, not looking where she was going. He jerked back, saying, "Woah, woah, hey, woah, woah."

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing?" 

"Nothing."

"I hope that's not meant for me."

He intended the words to be flirty, looking up from the bat in her hand to meet her gaze. But Nancy was quick to defend herself, saying, "What? No. I was just..." There was a pause. "...thinking about joining softball."

"Well, uh, listen, I'm really sorry." Steve thought back to yesterday—how he had freaked out over the news of the police questioning them. His was like a livewire, nerves within him exploding and making him panic about every little thing. "I mean, even before you threatened me with the baseball bat."He moved over to the car as Nancy mumbled something that encouraged him to continue. "I panicked and...I mean, I was a total dick."

Nancy nodded along with a knowing smile. "Yeah, you were. Did you get in trouble with your parents?"

Not wanting to convey the full story, he tried to play it cool: "Totally, but, you know, who cares? Screw 'em."

In front of him, he watched Nancy's face twist into something he couldn't put his finger on. "Steve?" He nodded encouragingly. "Yesterday, Eddie told me about you and Becca."

"Oh?" His eyes widened and he quickly added, "I'm over—"

"—That's not the reason I brought it up. I just wanted to check if you're doing well."

"I'm fine," he lied. 

It slipped out before he had much chance to think about it. He'd already almost broken down to Eddie. He did not need to go through that again. So, he'd lied. It was easier than letting himself feel something. That was why he'd come here, after all.

Judging by Nancy's furrowed brow, she wasn't sold on it. "Right..."

"Hey, listen." He stepped closer, digging his hands into his pockets. "Why don't we, uh, why don't we catch a movie tonight, you know? Just kinda pretend everything's normal for a few hours. All The Right Movies is still playing." He could see the hesitation in Nancy's eyes, leading him to add, "You know, with your lover boy from Risky Business?"

Nancy's smile was something he couldn't place. "Yeah, I know."

"You know, Carol thinks I actually kinda look like him." Steve moved his head from side to side, vaguely pointing at his face. "What do you think? Huh?" Steve took the bat from her hand, lifting it to his mouth like it was his own personal microphone. "Just take those old records off the shelf." Wanting to make her laugh, he started to add more enthusiasm to his performance, moving his head around in a dramatic manner. "I'll sit and listen to them by myself!"

"I just, I...I don't think I can. I've been really busy with this whole funeral thing and with my brother. It's been really hard on him."

Admittedly, he was disappointed that his plan hadn't worked out. So much for forgetting the whole thing—for having a normal time that wasn't consisting of his head being plagued with thoughts of Rebecca. But he knew that he couldn't expect her to be free. She had her own life. And he knew that the Wheelers were close with the Byers. Rebecca had told him about the campaign she'd interrupted. She had laughed when she recalled how they practically shooed her out, asking for ten more minutes so they could finish off the moment. So, holding back a sigh, he said, "Yeah, sure. Sure, yeah, yeah."

"So..."

Nancy gently took back the bat, awkwardly looking around like she didn't know how to say what she wanted to say. He got the hint, saying, "I should go."

"Sorry. I'll call you later. Is that okay?"

He nodded and she swiftly leaned in and kissed him. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Dejected, he began to sing 'Old Time Rock & Roll', walking off as his stomach ate away at him. What was he going to do now? There was Eddie, but his advice made it sound like he might have made plans to distract himself and Steve didn't feel like imposing on anyone else's time. Maybe he would end up back in his empty house. 

Although, he knew who would always be free on a Friday night.

"Man," Liam began, drumming his fingers against the table in 7 Miles as they all waited for their food, "how long has it been since we last hung out? All of us?"

Carol shrugged, snuggling up against her boyfriend with a grin on her face. "Way before Stevie here ditched." 

Rolling his eyes, he feigned a smile, not wanting to defend himself. There was no point in trying to pretend like he didn't ditch them. Evading your 'friends' and never showing up to any group plans wasn't exactly a subtle way of leaving them behind. It wasn't subtle when he crawled back to Tommy and Carol, making a package deal when Liam showed up, asking for them to be friends. On that day, a bargain was made—as long as Liam didn't spread rumours about Rebecca, as long as he didn't try and talk to her, then he would talk to Liam. He would invite him to the parties that 'King Steve' was always being invited to. Everything in this stupid place seemed like a popularity game. The freaks were hated while he was crowned for simply existing. And, if he was being totally honest, he didn't want to lose that crown. It made up for his shitty grades.

"So, what's encouraged you to hang out with us?" Tommy asked, digging into his burger as the waitress placed it down. Steve smiled and mumbled a polite thank you as Carol took a fry from her boyfriend's plate and placed it into the pot of ketchup, swirling it around.

Steve shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "Nothing much. Nance wasn't free so I thought it'd be nice to get out with you guys, considering that we haven't done much as a group in forever."

Not that Steve cared about that. As rude as it sounded, they were only a part of his life because, without them, he had nobody. It felt stupid to say, but outside of the group of people he'd grown up spending his time with—the group of assholes who pestered the nerds and freaks and didn't bother to care about their grades—there was nobody else but Rebecca. 

God, he needed more friends.

Liam snorted as he finished his mouthful of food. "Lil' ol' lonely Harrington."

"I'm not lonely," he deflected.

"Yeah," Tommy agreed with his stupidly wide grin. "He's got us."

"We should totally have a party with everyone else next time your parents are out of town, Steve," Carol suggested. "Actually, I'm pretty sure Tina has a free house tomorrow."

"I'm not really in the mood for partying."

Tommy rolled his eyes, tutting. "Is this about Bex the Basketcase?"

"She's not—" He cut himself off, not wanting to start an argument in the middle of 7 Miles. "...I mean, uh, yeah."

Liam shovelled fries into his mouth, rolling his eyes as he swallowed them alarmingly fast. Nothing about his demeanour seemed to care that she was missing, and he knew Rebecca long before Steve had finally spoken to her on that fateful Halloween night. "She's probably ran away," Liam speculated. "She's always been a bit—" He made a gesture to portray what he meant—that she was crazy. 

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Tommy cut in, "Yeah, dude, she's fucking insane. I bet that the rumours are true."

"The ones about her offing herself?" Carol asked, earning nods. "Oh, for sure. She definitely got that Barb girl in on it too."

"I bet they did it while Steve here was getting his freak on," Liam joined in.

Guilt placed itself in his heart as he listened to their speculations, his mouth zipped shut as he bit back the urge to tell them off. Instead of saying anything, he stared at his half-eaten burger, his hands moving forward to grab it and take a bite. The last time he was here, it was with Rebecca. The two of them sat in the booth placed in the corner, right next to the jukebox, smiling as she stared at the lines in his hand, pretending to be a fortune teller. He missed the friendship that they'd built, even if he'd once hoped for more. But, more importantly, right now, he simply missed her. 

Frank Sinatra's 'I've Got You Under My Skin' plays quietly as she moves her finger to a faint line on Steve's palm. "You see this one?" He nods, looking at her tenderly. She's wearing his jacket because it's cold outside, her Rush shirt tucked underneath with its pasty outlined words. He can tell it's old just by the way it looks. "Well, my source tells me it stands for...for your future success."

Entertaining the thought, he enquires, "What success?"

She closes her eyes, whispering to herself as she makes a big deal of having to think of the specifics. Then, she smiles and meets his gaze. "My source has told me that your success will come in the form of your next basketball game."

"Hm," he hums, lacing his hand with hers. "And may I ask what this 'source' is?"

"My intuition, duh."

They break out into a childish fit of laughter as she continues to pretend to predict his future, his cheeks becoming warmer each time she brushes her finger against his palm.

That was two weeks before his game. It was nothing big—nothing that truly mattered. A few days after that conversation, everything had shattered into pieces, leaving him without his best friend. She had never shown up to his game, which didn't surprise him. But they had won. And, amongst the crowd of cheering supporters, there was a spot where she would've been.

They ended up staying in 7 Miles a couple of miles longer. Eventually, once they'd moved past Rebecca, things were...better. It was normal. Familiar. Then, they ended up in his BMW, the same one he'd picked them up in only mere hours ago, driving to Nancy's house because he had decided to check up on her, remembering how she'd been swinging that bat around like a maniac—how she had wanted him to leave but didn't know how to say it. Liam was sat in the passenger seat, the other two grossly kissing in the back. 

"Where are we going?" Liam asked.

"Nancy's."

Carol scoffed, leaning forward and going, "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

He watched in the rearview mirror as she rolled her eyes. "I just don't understand why we're coming out here. She obviously doesn't wanna talk to you."

When he was eating his vanilla ice cream, Steve had relayed the details of his visit to the Wheeler's house, earning some doubts from all of them. They all thought that Nancy was trying to get rid of him, which was a part of the reason why he'd decided to check up on her, wondering if she was hiding something—her emotions. Maybe she was struggling and wanted to keep it all to herself.

"That's...that's not it."

"Oh, really? Because no girl would ever blow off King Steve."

Tommy snickered and Liam added, "Yeah, totally. Except, the last time I checked, his precious Bex has been blowing him off for ages."

"That's not..." Steve drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "That's a complicated story, man. Besides, Nancy was acting weird. I mean, something was wrong."

Carol scoffed. "So what? Like, you're worried about her?"

"What?"

"Aw, you are!" She moved forward to tap him on the chest where his heart was, cooing, "Steve has a heart!"

He pried her off his chest. "Would you just—"

"Oh, Stevie's in love!" Tommy joined in.

"Would you just shut up?"

"Who knew?" Liam taunted.

"Shut up!"

His voice resounded in the car, creating an awkward atmosphere as the rest of them sank back into their seats. All they did was taunt him for experiencing any true feelings. He didn't understand why. Sure, he was a player back in the day. But it wasn't like he was the type to ghost a girl. It just never worked out for him. 

The car stopped outside Nancy's house and Tommy teasingly said, "So this is it, huh? Princess' castle."

"I'll just be a minute."

He legged it across the Wheeler's lawn and climbed up the pipe to Nancy's bedroom window, trying to figure out what he would say to her. Why are you being so evasive? I miss Bex too, and Barb—she was nice. Do you want to talk about it? I'm here if you need me.

But then all of his thoughts stopped.

Nancy was on the edge of her bed next to Jonathan, their backs facing the window, away from Steve's sorrowed eyes. He felt his heart contract in a familiar, yet less sickly, pain. There was something familiar—betrayal. He watched as he moved something around her, his hand placement creating a sense of familiarity and trust. It was like he was watching something far more tender than whatever he and Nancy had and his heart loathed the sight.

He loathed the sight.

Loathed it.

God, he hated looking at it. While he was out wondering if she was suffering in silence, she was trying to get close to another guy. So much for wanting to be there for Mike.

They had found solace in each other, leaving Steve on the side. He climbed back down the pipe, scoffing before racing across the lawn and slipping into his car, anxiously drumming his fingers against the wheel as Carol asked, "Did she tell you to fuck off?"

"No."

"Then what's got your panties in a twist?" Tommy asked.

"Nothing."

It was a clear lie, and none of them were backing down. Liam was the next to pester him: "Come on, man. Don't be shy. Tell us."

He sighed, staring at Nancy's house before starting the car back up and driving down the road. The knot in his throat disappeared as he swallowed his pride, quietly admitting, "She was with Byers."

"Byers?" they all repeated, with Liam adding, "Cheating slut."

"What were they doing?" Carol asked.

He heard Tommy whisper into the air, "Probably fucking."

Steve shook his head defiantly. "No, but they were...they were close. He had his hand on her back."

"I can't believe Princess Wheeler would be stupid enough to screw the loner freak," Carol said as they drove towards the main area of Hawkins. The shops were all dimly lit, and the movies were displayed in bold letters—All The Right Movies. "How low of her."

He watched as the freckle-faced Tommy shook his head with the same wicked grin that he always wore. "Did you see the way she was looking at him when Stevie here broke his camera?" He mimicked the expression, cackling. "She's probably inviting him over to make it up to him if you know what I mean."

Steve did, in fact, know what he meant, a grimace forming on his face. "No way."

"Look, Steve, she stormed off the other day," Liam said.

"Yeah? And I apologised."

"While you're apologising, she's screwing Byers behind your back."

There was a pause. Then, Tommy snickered, interrupting the silence. He nodded his head at the craft shop across the street from where they were driving and Steve pulled over. "What?"

The craft shop belonged to an old couple named Saul and Rory Hatchet. They had opened it back when Steve's parents were in their final years of high school, and the business thrived. There was a small corner amongst the shelves that had fresh easels to paint on, often being used up by art students. But Steve had once gone there with Rebecca to browse the paints, trying to find something to give Will for his birthday. She'd ended up going with a watercolour palette, thanking Steve with a delicate touch of the lips on his cheek on the drive back to his. That was the middle of March. 

"Doesn't that shop have, like, spraypaint?" Carol questioned with a knowing look on her face.

Liam wiggled his brows. "I feel like we're all thinking the same thing."

Steve was not.

"We'll be back in a second, man," Liam said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "We've got the sweetest form of vengeance against Nancy."

And with that, all three of them slipped away into the dimly lit street before entering the store, leaving Steve in his car, staring at the road ahead, a slow realisation dawning on him.