Chapter Text
Hawkins, Indiana. 1984.
Harby was jolted awake by the usual—nightmares of being engulfed in flames. His body, alight and surrounded by void-like black. Phantom pain seared his back and face while heat enveloped his arms and legs. He writhed around while the afterimage was still fresh in his mind.
Faded scars on his arms were brought to light as he tore the blanket from his long body—revealing a lightly dye-stained shirt and a band-issued pair of sweatpants—duvet darkening as his sweat soaked into his bed. Explaining this to his mother in the morning hadn’t become easier over the years.
A recent lava lamp malfunction incident made dreams like these happen much more frequently—memories of how it felt to burn alive despite not being touched by fire at all.
Following the advice of his therapist, his mother decided to move back to her hometown—hoping to escape the bad memories their previous dwelling brought. Somewhere deep inside, he felt—no, he knew—that it’s all to align with his mother’s agenda of reopening the bakery that she left behind when he was adopted and moved out into the city.
Sweeping the thoughts aside, Harby reached for the nightstand, grabbing a towel. The fabric’s texture felt much rougher against his hand than he remembered, carrying the familiar scent of his mother’s room; vanilla and soap.
Eyes plastered to the grain of his bed frame, he worked with the towel’s roughness to wipe away the beading, cool sweat on his forehead. Arms and neck sore from the odd angle his head ended up in: one hand leaned against the floral wallpaper while his head lolled to the left.
The alarm clock beside his bed read 4:17. One hand on its button, he recalled how he usually wakes up during these hours to prepare for school. His previous school being an hour away from their San Francisco apartment meant earlier mornings and shorter nights. But despite the dawnlit routine, he remained a night person—appreciating the peace and comfort it brings.
But with a shorter route to school, his mother reworked his schedule to wake up at six, saving more time for rest. This new schedule needed some getting used to—especially with how abrupt they had to move—or more specifically—move back to Hawkins. This nowhere town meant nothing since he retained no memories from before he was adopted.
After getting up and wrestling the clothes off his form, he rummaged through the clothes stuffed in his cedar closet. He pulled out a pair of worn-out jeans, put it on, and grabbed a piece of mint gum on his dresser.
Black denim slingbag on his hip and walkman around his neck, he exited his room half-dressed, tip-toeing through the hallway to keep from rousing his mother, who’s probably already awake and setting up shop.
Towel in hand, he sneakily headed for the living room. Kitchen lights buzzed as he wove past the kitchen’s still-warm appliances and baking implements—sticking close to the wall to avoid catching his mom’s attention, who’s now in the storefront.
The bakery wafted with the scent of fresh bread, adjoined to the back of the house through a sliding glass door. The sunrise met the store’s facade first thing in the morning.
When his mother left the room, he snuck inside, grabbing a steaming piece of garlic bread from the counter display. He took a sip from the cup sitting on the tabletop—just warm water his mother liked to drink in the morning to fight indigestion.
Bun in hand, he slipped into the restroom and relieved himself. Brushed his teeth with the strawberry-lemon toothpaste lying open, washed his face, and grabbed a grey sweatshirt with a blue sleeve from the drying machine.
The quiet of the morning was shattered by a “Harby,” he stiffened, pausing mid-motion. “I thought you were still asleep. Nightmares?” He slumped at the mention of that word.
“Uhm, I had a full bladder… and I’m still getting used to the new sched,” he says, mouth chewing on what’s left of the garlic bread. “And that nightmare? Old news.” He grumbles.
Harlequin Heralds rubs in between her eyebrows, sighing from behind the bathroom door. “You still have two hours to explore the neighborhood if you want, but don’t stray too far from here.”
“And don’t be late for first period,” she adds.
House keys in hand, he headed for the front door, tied the lace of his dark-brown boots, and headed out into the chilly morning air—bleakness assaulted his senses. A sunless morning and pavement wet with rain from the previous night greeted him.
Fumbling around his pockets, looking for his mint gum, he feels something foreign in them—a piece of paper? Taped around in what seems to be pink gauze tape, he observed it idly.
Before he could decide whether he should open it, his muscle memory had him toss it onto the nearby trashcan. It bounced off the lid and landed behind the bin.
Brushing the lint off the gum, he tossed it into his mouth.
Eventually, he let the paper go from his mind and grabbed his keys from his jean pockets. Unlocking his bike’s chain, it made a thudding sound as it dropped to the ground.
He rode into the darkness, headed for Melvald’s as a row of Eastern pine accompanied him into the mist. The trip was plainly shorter than when he used to ride the bus on his way to school. Though this time, he could pass by a store on the way.
When he touched down on his destination, he paid a glance to the decorations littering the stores in Main Street—Halloween was just right around the corner. Not that he cared. It’s not like he had any friends to go trick-or-treating with.
Leaning his bike on the side of the store, a sigh left him. Right across the street, he noticed a movie poster plastered on it.
The Witch. A green lady with a sharp nose and yellow, crooked teeth, burning at the stake.
Right, because it’s Halloween and everything. Though he doesn’t feel too fond of the idea of burning people. A chill crawled up his spine as a temporary frame of flames flashed his mind’s eye.
It felt warmer inside the store. Incandescent lights emitted a certain kind of warmth after a period of prolonged use. He grabbed a can of Coke before checking out, popped its tab and tipped it into his canteen.
He checked his watch—just a little more than an hour left before classes begin—just a little more than an hour left before he meets the people whom he’d be spending the rest of his year with.
Vitriol built up in his throat as the familiar feeling of spite and frustration came to greet him again. Leaving behind the life he knew in the city for small-town America left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Letting his head cool off, he biked around downtown for a while and eventually arrived in Hawkins Middle School just in time for first period—completely avoiding any human contact.
But isolation was cut short when he saw a certain boy huffing and sighing, just three lockers away from him. What a weirdly cute bowl cut.
Will opened his locker and found a piece of paper inside that wasn’t there before. He grabbed it and froze at what he saw.
It was from one of the newspapers that announced he was alive, but someone had written ZOMBIE BOY and drew x’s over his eyes. He looked around for anyone who might’ve been watching him, but didn’t see anyone—except for a boy standing across from him.
Harby, whose locker was three spots away from Will’s, witnessed the whole thing, internally scoffing. “ZOMBIE BOY, huh? That’s so lame,” the taller blond chuckled plainly, face immediately straightening in realization when he saw Will droop at the comment.
He cleared his throat. “As an insult, I mean,” trying to ease the other boy’s discomfort. Shit, I’m so screwed if he cries right here, right now.
“I mean, name-calling tends to start with facts. But you don’t seem so…dead, in contrast to that nickname,” Harby flashed him a grin.
Before he could butcher the conversation any further—“Anyways, see you around.”—he left without letting Will say a single word in the whole exchange, leaving him dumbfounded. This is why hermits should stay as hermits.
The shorter boy stared at his back as he vanished into a corner. “Um… what was… that about?” Will scratched his head. The fact hit him last. “Was that his way of trying to comfort me?” he stared blankly, even more perplexed. “I mean, it worked, but… so weird,” the boy muttered as he continued loading his textbooks into the locker.
In science, Mr. Clarke set down a brain replica with a smile.
“Meet the human brain.” The entire class was basically asleep except for the Party, who looked on with interest. But even Will was distracted.
“I know. It doesn’t look like much, a little gross even, right? But think about this, there are a hundred billion cells inside of this miracle of evolution,” Kids were passing notes around.
“All working as one.”
Harby, still chewing on the stale gum, eyed a certain boy with a bowl cut intently. Bored to hell and back.
So that’s his name—Will Byers. Harby found that out when they first introduced themselves earlier. He hugely regretted not asking his name earlier, but at the same time, he preferred being alone.
The door suddenly opened and every single kid looked over to see who was entering. It was the principal, along with Max who very clearly did not want to be there. Scratch loneliness, some cool-looking girl just entered.
“Ah, this must be our new student.” Mr. Clarke says in amusement.
“Indeed it is, all yours.” The principal left, no more words said.
Max tried to go to a seat, but Mr. Clarke stopped her. “Hold up, you don’t get off that easily. Come on, don’t be shy.” She reluctantly stood in front of the class.
“Dustin, drum roll?”
Dustin complied and lightly tapped his hands on his textbook.
“Class, please welcome all the way from sunny California, Maxine!” Mr. Clarke smiled.
“Max…” She muttered.
Harby fixed his gaze on Maxine–Max. Finally! Another California dude-gal.
The Party’s eyes widened.
“Sorry?” Mr. Clarke frowned, having not heard her, eyes filled with befuddlement.
“Nobody calls me Maxine, it’s just Max.” She explained shortly, hands shifting against that sick skateboard.
“Mad Max.” Lucas whispered to Dustin, who shared his awe.
Mr. Clarke ushered Max to sit down in the corner next to Harby, and the boys in the Party blatantly turned to stare at her.
She stared right back, probably wondering what was wrong with them.
“So,” Harby started. “Where exactly in California did you use to live?” faking coolness and smoothness.
The redhead looked at him flatly and turned her head without answering.
“Geez.” He rolled his eyes. Maxine caught the sass in his voice.
“Yeah, Blondie… I’m not exactly here for a good time.”
“What a bitc—big-headed chick.” Maxine’s head shot to the side in bewilderment. “It’s just… I’m from Cali too. And now I’m stuck here.” Harby gestures around—to Hawkins. Maybe establishing familiarity might ease her up.
Max let her guard down at that. “Stuck here… just like me.” Max stared at him gently, frustration evident in her facial expression. Is it working? Only one way to find out.
“Yup. We should… uhh… stick together? As in, ‘birds of a feather, stick together’,” the blond stumbled in idioms, prompting a smile from the girl.
“You’re never beating the blond allegations.” Max snickered.
Harby feigned offense, clutching his non-existing pearls. “Hey, I can be smart if I want.”
The Party grimaced at that. Lucas, in particular, felt worse than the others. What a natural.
During recess, the boys watched Max skateboard. Harby sat by the landing, his walkman blasting to the point where the sound bled out.
“Creeps. 3 o’clock.” Harby murmured quietly, face devoid of any emotion that would reveal he had spotted the Party’s stalking.
Max’s head nodded slowly, suggesting silent agreement.
“There’s no way that’s Mad Max.” Mike deadpanned.
“Yeah, girls don’t play video games.” Will added.
“Even if they did, they couldn’t get 750,000 points on Dig Dug. It’s impossible.” Mike scoffed.
“Green eyes over there,” he pointed to the blond. “They seem close, must be her boyfriend.”
“Her name is Max.” Lucas protested. “And what does their ‘relationship’ have to do with Dig Dug?”
“Maybe he’s MADMAX! MAD-ly in love with MAX?” Mike retorts.
“Uhm, no. They just met today too.”
“So what?” Mike blurted. “Even if they didn’t know each other, some other Max could be MADMAX!”
“How many Maxes do you know?” Lucas asked, face contorted in inquiry.
Mike shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Zero. That’s how many.”
Max drifted closer to Harby, hand reaching out.
“Do you have something I can write with and on?” She requested.
With that, the boy reached into his backpack and grabbed a piece of parchment that was used to wrap the bread he packed for lunch. She stared flatly.
“What? My mom bakes.” he shoved the pen and parchment into her arms.
“Really? Sourdough?” Max scribbled something quickly and crumpled it up as she gestured to Harby. Time to go.
“She shows up at school the day after someone with her name breaks our top score? I mean, you kidding me?” Dustin urged.
“Exactly. She’s gotta be Mad Max.” Lucas grinned.
“And she skateboards. She’s pretty awesome.” Dustin smiled.
Mike scowled. “Awesome? You haven’t even spoken a word to her!”
“Yeah, but that guy there seemed to connect with her just fine. And though I hate to admit it, he seems awesome too.” Lucas raises an eyebrow, eyes looking at Harby pointingly.
“And hey, I don’t have to, look at her- shit I lost the target.” Dustin froze when he looked back, Max and Harby were out of sight.
“Oh, there.” Will spotted them heading inside, but before they did Max dropped something in the trash.
The boys scrambled over and Dustin dug through the trash while the others tried to look natural. It didn’t work though, girls were giving them looks when they walked by.
“Got it.” Dustin held up the wad of paper and unfolded it.
“The hell was that?” the blond blurted, hand gripping the pen tightly.
STOP SPYING ON ME CREEPS.
“No shit?!” Harby exclaimed out loud when Max revealed it, catching a teacher’s attention. “Sorry, Mrs.… Fieldings.” unsure of what to call her based on her nametag.
“Well shit.” Dustin muttered.
“William Byers?” They turned to see the principal waiting expectantly.
And soon began the humiliating walk through the school as everyone stared at him. After all, it’s not every day someone is escorted by the principal. Except for Will, who had been all year long.
“You guys think he’s okay?” Dustin asked when he left.
“He always gets weird when he has to go in.” Lucas frowned.
Mike and the others were spying around the corner as Will left with his mom. “I dunno, he was quiet today.”
“He’s always quiet.” But Mike didn’t seem satisfied.
Will stared out the window as Joyce drove. The scent of the chocolate-scented air freshener reminded him of that boy's smell. Melancholy—that was one word to describe the feeling.
“You feeling any better?” Joyce hesitated when Will didn’t answer. “Will?”
“Huh?” He snapped out of it. “Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He muttered, hands picking at the leather seat.
“Hey, what did we talk about, huh? You gotta stop with the sorries.” Joyce insisted.
“Sorry.” Will shook his head. “I mean yeah, I know.”
Joyce hesitated.
“Remember, there’s nothing to be nervous about. Just tell them what you saw and felt last night. I’m gonna be there the whole time, so it’s gonna be fine, okay?”
“Okay…” But that didn’t seem to make it any better.
“I feel better today,” Will started. “Some new boy came to comfort me earlier. It felt…refreshing, y’know. I mean when someone other than the Party talks to me.” Will’s lips curled at the thought of another person willing to be nice to him.
“Comfort you? For what?” Joyce’s voice filled with worry.
“Uh… it’s nothing. He prolly heard about…what happened to me,” He tried to avoid the question as much as possible.
Joyce caught on.
“So, what’s his name?” Joyce patted him lightly, one hand still on the wheel.
“Harby, I think,” Will pondered. A new friend, if he could even call him that.
Will’s focus shifted to the puddly reflection on the window, a smile threatened to tug at his otherwise sad lips.
Outside the arcade, Dustin and Lucas were watching for Max with binoculars. Though the lookout was also open for a certain new boy.
“Ugh, my mom’s gonna murder me.” Dustin grumbled when he checked the time.
“So go home, I’ll radio if she comes.” Lucas insisted.
Dustin smirked. “Nice try, you just want me out of here so you can make your move.”
“Oh cause you’re such a threat.” Lucas snorted.
Dustin grinned. “She can’t resist these pearls.” He purred to show off his front teeth.
But that’s when they noticed Billy’s car and quickly looked back to see Max leaving the car, but stopping to shout something.
“They’re arguing.” Lucas realized.
“Oh my God, I see that.” Dustin snapped. “I don’t even know why you need those.”
Max barely had time to shut the door as Billy sped off. She flipped him off before storming inside the arcade.
They slipped into the arcade and watched from a distance as Max played Dig Dug like a pro—alone.
“She’s incredible.” Lucas whispered. He and Dustin sat down against the wall.
Dustin grinned. “She’s…”
“Mad Max.” They breathed in unison.
Now’s their chance.
They padded slowly, ducking behind a stall. But next to Max, was Harby again, now dressed in a black and yellow sweater—eyes focused on the console.
“Him again.” Lucas grumbled.
“You’ve been worrying about me, when that guy was the one actually making moves on her.” Dustin teased.
“Oh, shut up! I’m not here to make…moves,” Lucas barked. “Just… observing.”
The two turned to leave, hoping to maybe get the chance to talk with them the next day.
“So, how’d you end up here?” Max began, eyes probing gently so as not to agitate something personal.
“Some therapist’s fault. She advised we come here for my…rehabilitation.” Harby’s focus on the game is unchanged.
“But mom took that as a chance to return to this nowhere town.”
“Wait, you’re from here?”
“Yep. You?” Harby returns the initial question.
“Nah, pure Californian right here.”
“No. I mean… why are you here?” The boy’s eyes remain on the screen.
“Nothing, we just had to move.” Max’s brows furrowed at the memories from California.
Harby caught how her voice shifted after that question. Something personal? He tried changing the mood by shifting topics.
“So~, what do you think about those guys?” Harby asked, pertaining to the party.
“Dude, seriously?” Max stared at him dumbly.
“I mean, they seem pretty weird. But I’d prefer them over these dumbasses pretending to be cool and everything.”
The blond scoffed deeply. “I seem to be catching strays over here,” he dismounted in a joking manner.
“No. Obviously not you. I mean all these other kids. So pretentious and posh.”
Man, she’d hate meeting Harrington. Harby just nodded in reply to her declaration. Their fingers danced around the console like true professionals—having fun game-after-game.
Heading home emptyhanded, two boys biked down the road, Lucas and Dustin… just getting off a call with Mike. Mike did not care enough to let Max in the group.
“What do we do now?” Lucas frowned.
“We stick to the plan.”
Lucas hesitated. “Mike’s not gonna like it.”
“Last time I checked our party is not a dictatorship, it’s a democracy.”
“And if Max says no?”
Dustin grinned. “How could Max say no to these?” He purred again.
“I told you to stop that.”
“Maybe we could recruit the boy first, Max would come running in no time.” Dustin added.
Lucas deadpanned as they split off to go to their own homes.
Harby, just having finished hanging out with Max, felt like he finally found the best part of being in Hawkins—a friend.
The shadows of his form trailed him as his headlight illuminated the area in front. He hummed a song, one that Max taught him at the arcade.
All was going well when he passed by the theater. He pedaled back to smell the fragrant scent of butter and fresh popcorn, gaze lingering at the title board too long.
“The Witch” Now Premiering.
The same poster he saw this morning. The same movie that he so lacked the fondness to entertain earlier.
Leftover bread in hand, he hopped off his bike and parked it by the alley behind the theater. Small steps were all he needed to close the distance.
Small steps to enter the theater unnoticed. Small steps to avoid the doorman. And small steps to not make any sound on the theater’s posh carpet floor.
The rain’s influence was present as the floor behind him gradually turned darker with the wetness.
His shoes made a squelching noise as he padded across the gloomy and eerie hallway—its energy seemed muffled and matte. The hallway oozed with tepidness—dimly lit due to the bulbs old age and poor maintenance.
But not one bit of those uncomfortable feelings made him turn back.
The distant screams of the audience quickened the beat of his heart as something else arose in his chest—pulling at his heartstrings. Fear of what the movie might contain? Conscience from sneaking and dragging his wet shoes in? Or was it the feeling of his gut tugging him away—out of there, leading him away from something he was not ready to see?
He eyed the arch ahead. Maybe heading home would be a better idea. But he continued.
Standing atop the stairs, the distant screams were now clearer and sharper. Behind the curtain was something macabre and violent—things he could manage to stomach due to years of indulging in horror films.
But the idea of burning people—though he admits he did not have any fondness of—did not faze him so much, even joking when he got the chance to. But the scene in front of him was different.
Too different.
Harby’s hands trembled at his side; the bread he was holding dropped and tumbled down the stairs. His eyes were wet with something of fear, disgust, and pure helplessness. Chest heaved in thick breaths as the air gradually found it harder to enter his lungs.
The sound of thudding reached his ears first. Then came the pain of his knees hitting the ground full-force. But that pain was muffled under something more dominant—excruciating even. Burning.
Fire seemed to envelop him, eliciting a guttural scream. It synced with the witch’s feral hocking on the screen.
The audience’s eyes shot up to find the source of the external sound, locking gazes to the top of the stairs where Harby was supposed to be—but no one was there.
Instead, something on the theater’s floor—beside a piece of sourdough—caught their attention: a boy convulsing as a dense sound of choking escaped him, it shifted and oscillated into screams and back.
IT BURNS!!! MOM!!
The film’s dimming light made him almost invisible in the dark. And as the movie ended, it took his consciousness with it—leaving it to scatter and float away—ashborne.