Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s dark and his skin is tinted blue. He can feel his teeth chattering, and his fingers tremble around bunched damp clothing. His shirt has long since been soaked through, and the hem lining of his hand-me-down jeans are soaked black with an unearthly substance. He had wade past protruding branches and avoided each black tendril vine slithering across the ground, until he found himself here.

Here. Finally, shelter could keep him safe. But for how long?

Distantly, the guttural rumbling snarl stalked around the small space, covered in old thinning blankets with ripped tassel edges. The colour faded as he brought the hem to his lips, rubbing underneath his nose to rid the crust from his nose bleed since passed. The monster outside groaned, and sniffed the air in its hunt. It’s hunt for /him/.

The creature thudded the ground with each heavy step, sending shocks through his tiny body, stomp after stomp.

The monster stopped, and it seemed to pad away. The distant thudding became more bearable in his chest as it faded away.

He stayed very still for a moment, as still as he could keep his shuddering body. The blanket drew up to his face, as he gently lowered himself to his side. As his heartbeat slowed, although it hadn’t kept a steady rhythm since being here, he felt the dull wave of throbbing pain reach his leg. Shooting up from his ankle, shocking his system with each deep pounding of his heart. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t stop his leg from twitching with each passing second.

It was the fall that must have done it. He landed awkwardly, and had no chance to realise his pain as he was chased by the tall monster with long slender claws. It reached out for him, nearly nicking at his wet shirt, as he jumped from his last hiding place high in the sky, and nearly broke his ankle during his escape.

Softly, as his shaking hands reached down to grip his swelling ankle, a gentle voice rumbled out between his lips, cracking from disuse and his previous screaming.

Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go there will be trouble
If I stay it will be double
So you’ve gotta let me know
Should I stay or should I go?

And as the world around him started to drift away, and the pain in his ankle drew tighter and his wet clothes hung heavier, Steve noticed that the voice escaping his lips wasn’t his own.

Chapter Text

With a groan, Benny popped out his back as he sat on the edge of his worn mattress. In his messy and tiny room, with the windows left open from the summer heat to welcome a much needed breeze from the day before, Benny followed the same routine life had curated him twenty odd years ago.

Wake up, shower, and get ready for yet another day at the diner. Putting on his grease-stained clothes each day, he felt his joints pop on the way to his truck. The drive to the diner was the same as always, and Benny turned on each light, fired on the boiler and set up the rattling old fan to face towards his kitchen in the same routine he had been doing for twenty years.

Another day passed swiftly. He was nearing the end of the day when Rick came in, a slim teenager trailing behind him. The younger man sported a black eye and bruised lip, and Rick’s annoyed face told Benny that the beating wasn’t Rick’s doing.

“How’ya doing, Rick?” Benny threw the towel over his shoulder, glancing between the teenager dressed in all black. Rick shrugged to Benny, and ushered the teenager to sit in his usual table.

“I’ve been better, Ben.” Rick sighed, glancing over his shoulder to the boy sat with his fist propping his face up, looking equally dejected and annoyed. Benny had to squint at the unspoken recognition of the boys face. He looked similar, in the eyes and nose. Maybe the chin. Yeah, he knew that face, but Benny couldn’t quite decide who. “Found this kid throwing punches with a bigger group. They got away before I could see who they were, but they had Eddie here pinned down. Thought I’d treat him to some lunch for his troubles. He’s skin and bones.”

Benny glanced back to the kid, who stared him down now that he had been mentioned. Rick, or Reefer Rick as the kids called him, wasn’t known for his good deeds. Being the only plug in Hawkins, Benny himself having bought from him a few times in the past, Reefer Rick wasn’t the towns ‘hero’, so to speak.

But Benny knew Rick, had since high-school, and he knew how generous Rick could be. Especially to those being beat whilst they’re down. And, glancing back to the kid who fiddled with the salt packets on the table, Benny understood why of all people, he’d take in this kid.

“Always a people’s person, Rick.” Benny jokes, as Rick shook his head and waved Benny away. “The usual?”

Rick nodded, leaning off the counter and making his way towards the familiar-looking kid at the table. Eddie, he was told. “Yeah, and a burger for the kid, Benny. Thanks.”

And Benny got to work, as he normally did when a customer came in. Mid-flip of the burger, a few other familiar faces entered, and Benny greeted them as usual.

These people, he recognised. Taking a glance towards Rick and the mysterious kid with the black eye, another face came to mind, before their name fled his memory once again. Benny shook his head, and went back to the kids burger.

What he found, made him stop in his tracks.

Or, more, it was who he found.

A completely unfamiliar face, covered in dirt and hardened blood down his top lip: a dangerously thin, bald-headed teenage boy stood wolfing down the fresh fries laid in the red basket to be sent to Rick’s table. His skin was tinged blue and near white with a pale completion. The clothes he wore hung off him uncomfortably, equally filthy and soaked through. In his haste to stuff his mouth with the stolen fries, he failed to notice Benny staring him down from the doorway.

“Hey!” But Benny’s scream startled him to snap his head up. And in a flash, with Brady terrified eyes, he grabbed the red basket half filled, mouth still stuffed, and took off. He ran, presumably, the way he came; out towards the back down, and Benny didn’t take a seconds hesitation to run after him.

Watching the boy hobble in front of him made it easy to catch the teen by his arms, making him gasp in fear. Benny spun him around quickly, gripping his arms twice as tight, and feeling the hard bone under his fingers. There was no fat on him, just hard edges. As Benny got right up into his face, staring the thief down with anger, he could see the groves of the boys bone structure, his sunken eyes, the dried blood and dirt. He felt the damp clothes emitting a strange scent, and a freezing sensation across his palms.

“You think you can steal from me, boy?!” He snapped, shaking the teen by his arms. His eyes stayed wide, his mouth glued shut. He had dropped the food in his haste to run faster than his limp would let him, and now gripped the front of the massive and damp shirt he wore. His eyes searched Benny’s angry face, his fingers clenching and gripping his clothes in fear.

And Benny stared at him for a moment. Looked deep into the teenage thief’s eyes.

Benny had terrified him. Wherever this boy came from, it hadn’t been good by his condition. Maybe he was lost, maybe he was being abused, he very obviously hadn’t eaten in days.

And Benny had scared him shitless.

“When the hell…” He mumbled, glancing over the poor boys pale complexion, the terrified way he held himself, the way he looked as if he could slip through Benny’s fingers.

“Ah, shit…” Benny mumbled, letting go of the poor boy, because he wasn’t too sure what else to do.

——

He expected the boy to run, the limp out the back door as fast as he could and go back to wherever he had come from. But when he stayed very still, barely breathing as to not make any sort of movement, Benny knew he had somehow got himself involved into something a lot bigger than himself.

Instead of leaving the kid, shooing him away and letting him fend for himself, Benny decided with a heavy heart to shut the diner early, making to-go orders for everyone who had already ordered their food. which, appeared only to be Rick and his new ward Eddie.

So much for an ordinary day.

“This isn’t like you to close early, Benny.” Rick checks his watch as he takes his bag, and Eddie copies with a raised eyebrow. Benny knows that face, one hundred percent, but he feels a lot more distracted now than he did before now that he has the malnourished boy round the back. He hasn’t got time to figure out who Eddie belongs to in Hawkins. “It’s only four.”

“Yeah, well, family issue in the city. Duty calls.” He can feel the beads of sweat on his forehead pooling. He had never been a good liar.

“Mhmm.” Rick only nods, a slight smirk to his features. He turns to Eddie. “Well me and Munson are glad for the food nonetheless. You take care of your family now.”

“Cheers, Benny.” Eddie finally perks up, the chat between Rick obviously having cheered him up a bit. His eyes still swollen, and his lip has seemed to stop bleeding as much now, but he still looks beat. Glancing down to his knuckles around the bag, Benny can’t help the smirk at his equally bruised knuckles. At least the kid put up a fight.

And it hits Benny then. He snaps his fingers in a point to Eddie. Eddie Munson. “You’re Alan’s son, aren’t you?” Benny felt his face drop.

Eddie’s seemed to drop too. He looked down, then back up at Benny with his lips parted, as if he were about to explain.

But his eyes caught something off of Benny’s shoulder, and he watched the boys brows furrow.

Benny snapped back around, expecting to see the teenager stood plainly in the kitchen. But when he turned, he found nothing. His eyes searched the back over the counter, trying to see what Eddie saw. If Eddie saw the poor kid. Then, he’d have to explain to the pair of them, and Benny knew that if the kid was in danger; it was best if as little people knew about him as possible. Incase it turned out Benny needed to keep him safe from a parent or guardian.

Turning back to the two of them, he noticed Eddie shake his head dully.

“I thought I saw... I-… I’m sorry. All I can do is apologise. My dad’s an asshole, I hate him as much as you, believe me. If that makes you feel any better.” Eddie’s face turned red, and suddenly Benny had no qualms with the two-hundred dollars he owed Alan Munson. Wherever that man had ended up.

“Right, water under the bridge. Thanks for coming, gentleman. I’ve got to get going soon.” He ushered the two of them towards the door, Eddie seeming to release a breath as he stepped out the front door first, and turned to watch Rick who lingered in the doorway, looking equally concerned.

“Benny, are you okay?” Rick went to continue, but the second Rick was out the door, Benny grabbed the door handle.

“Peachy.” He quickly spoke before Rick could finish, and rudely slammed the door closed in Rick’s confused face. Twisting the open sign to read closed from the outside, he rushed back to round the back of the diner, into the kitchen, and searched frantically for the kid Eddie had nearly caught wind of.

“Kid!” Benny whisper yelled, as if there were anyone else in the diner to hear them. “Where are you?”

Rounding the corner to the door, which Benny had locked as he kicked the first customers out, he found the kid picking up the dropped fries off the floor, and stuffing them in his mouth, barely stopping as he snapped his head up to Benny as he entered the back room. It looked as if his hands worked on autopilot to eat as much food as possible.

God. Benny wiped a hand over his face. Had he been starved? Where did he come from? Why was he so filthy, and covered in blood. Was that limp a harmless injury, or a sign of abuse from a parent or family member? Benny put his hand over his mouth, watching as the kid finished the last of the fries off the floor. Watching the pathetic silence rendered Benny silent to tell the kid to stop.

Benny tried to talk, but was suddenly lost for words. Having never seen such a sad, pathetic sight before, all Benny could do was stare for a moment.

Before he took a deep breath, and put his hand away from his face to hold out to the teenager knelt on the floor. “You still hungry?”

Benny wasn’t sure how he could help this poor kid, wasn’t sure who to call, wasn’t sure what the fuck to do. But if there was one thing he could do; it was make sure the kid was goddamn fed.

He didn’t expect the day to go the way it had been, and he didn’t expect the kid to take his burlier hand with his boney fingers. But Benny thought that it might be the first step in the right direction.

He ended up frying another burger, and making a large batch of fries for the poor kid. This time, he wouldn’t have to eat food off the floor.

Placing the basket in front of him, Benny wasn’t surprised to see the boy grab at the burger and fill his mouth with as big of a bite as he could manage. The grease spilled across his dirty face, and Benny couldn’t help the grimace that he pulled.

“Don’t eat too quickly, your stomach will start to hurt.” The gentle reprimand fell on deaf ears, as the kid seemed to take another mouthful before he had finished the first. “Hey.” Benny pulled the basket away from the kid, placing it in the middle of the table. /That/ had the kid stopping to listen, finally.

“Look, I guess that you’re hungry. But you need to answer me a few questions, and then you can have your fill afterwards. Does that seem fair?” Benny asked, trying to find a compromise so he could finally found out who this kid /was/.

A gentle nod came from the teen, as his mouth slowly started to chew again. He waited for Benny’s questions with wide eyes.

“Uhh…” Now that he had the kids attention, it seemed his mind blanked, and suddenly he couldn’t think of one question to ask this random kid, let alone the ten thousand he seemed to have upon first seeing him earlier. “Right. Uh… we’ll start easy. What’s your name?”

The kid blinked, then blinked again. He swallowed his food, and Benny watched his eyes turn downcast to his dirt-covered wrist.

“Steve.” Cracking from misuse, or maybe the kid had been yelling in fear, his voice- /Steve’s voice/, spoke quietly, like a whisper. Benny strained to hear him, waiting for him to explain the rest of his story, but no sound followed his name.

Well, at least he now /had/ a name to put to Steve’s blood covered face.

“Steve.” Benny repeated, his brow furrowing. “Steve?” There was one other Steve in Hawkins, who worked down the garage in down and cost a fortune to change your tires. Benny had known the older Steve for years, and knew for sure that the divorced old bastard had never had a kid, and definitely didn’t name them after himself. “Are you new here, Steve? Can’t say I’ve recognised you in the past years, how old are you, son?”

A shrug came in response, and Benny felt his heartbeat quicken dangerously. “You don’t know how old you are, son?” He spoke gently, thinking maybe Steve was slower than others. In which case, made his abused state even more worrying.

Another shrug followed, much tenser. Steve gripped the burger between his hands even tighter, his shoulders becoming rigid. Benny backed away, pushing the red basket back in Steve’s direction.

“Okay kid,” Benny could barely make up a response. “Okay.” He watched Steve eat more fries, at a more leisurely pace. Whether the kid had eaten in days, Benny was unsure. He certainly looked starved, and that limp… god. Had someone hurt this kid? Had he been beat, and got so scared he ran away so far he ended up here?

“What about your leg?” Benny felt himself pale just by asking the dreaded question. “You were limping pretty bad back there.”

Again, Steve stilled, and he seemed to peer under the table down to his leg. Benny followed, leaning under the table to notice how Steve’s leg sat awkwardly bent at the ankle, his foot turned inwards unnaturally.

Benny winced, feeling nauseous at the sight. He had seen worse in the war, had watched men die in front of his eyes, held the hands of dying men begging to see their families one last time, asking Benny why this had to happen to them: And he hadn’t bat an eye then.

This, somehow, maybe because of Steve’s filthy and malnourished state; made Benny’s stomach turn.

Looking back to Steve, whose face was flushed red behind caked mud and blood across his lips, he caught the boys dejected sigh.

“Fell over.” Steve replied, and Benny knew all-too-well what that really meant. “Down.”

“You fell down?” Benny asked, not waiting for Steve to answer. He did nod, very solemnly. “Nobody, pushed you, or anything?”

“No.” Steve’s answer was immediate. “I fell down.” His sentences sounded broken, as if the kid had never been taught to say more than five words in a sentence. Looking at the state of him, Benny wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.

“Right.” Benny nodded, tapping at the red plastic basket of food still left for the boy to finish. “Eat up, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Steve didn’t have to be told twice, as soon as Benny had stood, Steve was chowing down again at his burger, further spoiling his face with grease among dirt and blood. Benny reminded himself to grab a wet rag and a few tissues on his way to the phone round the back.

It was obvious what situation the kid was in. Social services were much better suited for an abused, runaway kid than he was. Finding last week’s newspaper by the grill sported him in the right direction to make the call. Bringing it over to the phone on the way for public use, he smiled to Steve as the boy shot his eyes up to watch Benny pick up the phone, and start to dial the number laid out in-front of him.

“Just gonna make a call, hopefully these people can come help you. Maybe get you someplace safe for a bit. Hang tight.” Benny smiled, missing the panicked quickening behind Steve’s eyes as Benny dialled the last few digits to Social Services’ help line.

——

Steve can’t say he thinks before he does it. He knows his exhaustion runs deep: Forming the portal to get out of the upside down had already made his body ache, and his body seemed to take all his energy to keep his mind away from the excruciating throbbing pain coming from his twisted ankle. But he couldn’t have Benny get stuck in this too.

He had been so nice, even after Steve was caught stealing food. Which, he knew was against the rules, but he was so hungry. The ‘dine-r’ as Steve had struggled to spell out, had been the first place he saw after coming out of the woods, reaching a road and following the scent of something cooking. He hadn’t meant to get in Benny’s way, for him to kick the other people out early.

Benny had been so nice to him already, Steve wouldn’t let him get into any trouble for his own sake.

So, without thinking about the exhaustion coating his bones, or the throbbing pain radiating up his leg from his hurt ankle, Steve lifted his hand up towards the phone and stained to snap apart the wires inside, causing the thing to crackle and pop by Benny’s ear.

He watched the man startle, yelling as he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the burnt ends of the bow-destroyed phone. Steve placed his hand back down against the table before Benny could notice his influence. He picked up another few fries, stuffing his face and looking anywhere but Benny, less he looks suspicious.

“What the…” The man grumbled, slamming the phone onto the receiver and picking it up again. Obviously, that didn’t fix it, and he groaned. “Damn.” He turned to Steve, who tried not to tense or sit up suspiciously. He stayed very, very still.

“I have a phone back at my place. I can take you there once you’ve finished eating, and then we can call. Sorry, kid.” Benny turned back to the phone for a second, his brow furrowed.

Before Steve had a chance to sigh, realising he’d have to break another piece of Benny’s property (to keep him safe, however guilty Steve felt), the building started to rumble by an incoming force coming closer, and closer.

Steve panicked, gripping at the table that shook under the quaking nearing quickly. Benny seemed unaffected, and he had the full idea to rush to Benny’s side to find solace in the man’s calm demeanour.

As the feeling came closer, Steve stared out the window facing the road. As the rumbling came to its closest, in quick succession, Steve watched five black trucks drive past the diner, each making the building shake with their massive tires speeding across the pavement. Steve’s eyes counted each truck speeding past, their size and look identical to the ones that chased him and Hopper as the man promised him safety.

Hopper, who Steve had watched die because of the bad men flipping the truck over and lighting it aflame. Steve felt his chest tighten, his skin turning pale.

The bad men were back.

They must have found him in his travel through the Upside Down. Maybe they had been tracking him all along. Maybe breaking the phone was useless. Maybe he was doomed to go back to the lab. Maybe Hopper had died for nothing-

Benny turned back to him, his mouth open as if to speak. Before he could get a word out though, Steve pointed out to the window as more cars flew by in succession.

“The cars.” The demanded, trying to get his words out his scared and jumbled mind. Forming sentences had never been Papa’s main priority for Seven, he was only designed to hurt others. “The cars?” He rephrased, jabbing towards the windows as if to reinforce his question.

“The trucks? Don’t worry about those,” Thankfully, Benny seemed to be able to both understand Steve, and seem nice enough to try and calm him down. “They’ve been driving in and out of Hawkins since a big crash that happened just outside of town. It’s been months, though, so I’d guess they’re almost done here.”

And Steve felt himself pale further.

Obviously, he hadn’t gone as far as he guessed he had through the upside down. He had guessed, when he mustered enough strength to open the portal into this world, that he was days away from Hawkins, so he could safely leave the Upside Down and not hurt anyone else that he had already brought into danger.

But no, this dine-r, wasn’t as far out of Hawkins as Steve had thought.

“Hawkins?” Steve tried asking with hope, maybe he had heard wrong. Maybe the dine-r was away from the children and Joyce and the other people in Hawkins whose lives Steve had almost destroyed.

“Yeah, son. We’re a five minute drive out. Odd place for a diner, am I right?” Benny chuckled, leaving the phone on its receiver and coming to sit in his previous seat in front of Steve. He snuck a fry off of Steve’s basket, and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I’ll take you to mine tonight, you can sleep the night there and then we’ll start figuring out where you can home.” Benny smiled happily, revealing wonky teeth and bright eyes. “And maybe we can get you in the shower.”

Steve glanced over Benny’s shoulder, back at the road that would lead him only five minutes into Hawkins. So much for distance.

So much for keeping everyone safe…

——

Eddie poked at his bruised cheekbone, wincing as he looked at the steady growing yellow and purple bruise in the side-view mirror.

“If you keep poking at that, it won’t get any better.” Rick, or Reefer Rick as he claimed to prefer, scolded Eddie and slapped at his poking fingers.

“Sorry, sir.” Eddie mumbled, instead turning to look over his busted knuckles. A few wounds still bled over the bone, and Eddie could only dream how fun it’d be to play guitar with his hands rendered useless. At least he had an excuse to do homework for the next week at least.

‘Kind of hard to write an essay on Charles Dickens when I can’t hold a pencil, Mr. Hauser!’ Maybe Jason ‘Asshole’ Carver and his pet minions had done him a service for once.

“What are you getting into fights for anyway, sonny?” Reefer Rick asked, for the third time since the man had pulled Jason Carver off his sorry ass down the cinema alley.

“Nothing, Rick.” Eddie mumbled, for the third time answering. He slumps down into his seat, embarrassed to say he was being ‘bullied’ by kids much younger than him for being a ‘satanist’. All he did was play a silly game about monsters. How was that ‘satanic’?!

However, Eddie reflected on what he saw months ago after coming out of work that night… maybe he was batshit crazy, or marked for death by a monster cult. How else could he explain what he saw that night. That was surely a monster, surely something evil and otherworldly. Maybe he had been playing too many campaigns…

Maybe he deserved to be beat, at least then the people of Hawkins would get their frustration for the things Eddie’s dad had done, and Eddie wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of people recognising his likeness and thinking he was anything like his dad. Which, he wasn’t: His dad drove truck loads of weed through Hawkins, and Eddie only dabbled in the stuff. Eddie didn’t have multiple people owning him money.

He was nothing like his scumbag dad, thank you very much.

“Don’t get yourself beat too often now, boy.” Rick reprimanded in a tone that made Eddie respect him. In a tone that his dad could never achieve. “You’ll lose those brains of yours and you’ll never get out of this hellhole.”

“Right.” Eddie mumbled, knowing full well at the first chance he got he was running like hell out of this damned place.

He envied anyone who didn’t live in a small town. Not living in a place where everybody knew everybody, where gossip didn’t spread like wildfire within two hours of something mildly scandalous being spoken. Eddie would love to live in a place where nobody knew him, or who his dad was. He envied the kid he met last year, Steve, Eddie had remembered his name well.

He was a bit odd, a bit quiet and sullen. And that buzzed head, yeesh, Eddie had been there but god did it not flatter that poor guys face. At least he didn’t have people whispering behind his back every day, living in the city out of town.

Eddie had sworn he saw the guy round the back of Benny’s though. That face, those big eyes, although caked in dirt and crusted blood: Eddie had blinked and the image was gone.

Maybe the guy was some teleporting super-freak, or maybe Eddie was going insane and seeing things. He’d ask Jonathan, when he got the chance.

He knew the oldest Byers was recently working at Benny’s diner since his brother was found. God, how awful must’ve that been. Eddie was lucky not to have siblings, at least none that he knew of. He didn’t have to worry if they suddenly went missing for a few weeks.

Yeah, he’s ask Jonathan, see if his cousin was still in town. Maybe warn him about that giant monster he saw walking down the streets of Hawkins.

He wouldn’t sound crazy at all.

“God, would they just leave our town alone, already?!” Reefer Rick blasted his horn at the oncoming, now regular, black trucks driving past them on the other side of the road. Starling Eddie out of his inner monologue of self disparity, Eddie watched the trucks zoom past, double the size of Reefer Rick’s busted old Ford Pinto.

“Are they still here for that car crash?” Eddie asked, with no response. Reefer Rick people couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own horn. “Didn’t they patch the road up weeks ago?”

“My bet’s they’re looking for someone, probably the person who caused it. Not sure what they’re expecting to find though, there’s nothing in Hawkins and they should know it by now.” Rick complained, as Eddie looked through the back window at the descending trucks making their way to main Hawkins.

Whatever they were doing, Eddie hoped it didn’t have to do with that monster he saw after his shift. Which Eddie knew sounded insane, because most people would want a terrifying monster in their home town to be captured and killed. But, if they found the damn thing, it meant Eddie wasn’t insane, and that monsters /were/ real. And he sure knew who would get the blame for summoning otherworldly monsters to Hawkins.

Eddie hoped that whatever they were doing, wherever these people came from, and whoever these people were, they left before the blame could somehow be put onto him.

Chapter Text

School was boring, like every other day. Jonathan felt his mind wandering during Mrs. Click’s history class. The woman rambled on, jabbing her cracking chalk against the black board with emphasis on each date and important name that would most likely appear in next week’s pop quiz. Like everyone else in the class, Jonathan’s mind drifted to the window he was lucky enough to sit by, watching the equally boring landscape outside. The parking lot, mostly obstructed by a tree bare of leaves, that now lay tinted orange and yellow hues against the grass. He could just about see his beat up Ford amongst the nicer, newer cars.

His mind drifted further, to an ever present topic that had Jonathan’s heart racing since Summer.

Steve.

Jonathan’s mind played tricks on him, asking himself ‘What car would Steve have liked, if he had a normal life? If he weren’t plagued with dimension monsters and evil laboratories.’ Jonathan felt a sigh escape his lips,

Steve’s sad face appearing in his memory. He had been missing for months, Hopper having explained mother when he came back into town, empty handed and his arm wrapped in a sling. He had a haunted look behind his eyes, the look turning blank and void of emotion as Jonathan watched his mom demand what had happened. Watching her hit his chest and ask ‘where the hell have you left him? What the hell happened, Hopper?!’

And he hadn’t said a word.

Jonathan hadn’t seen Hopper since that night.

And with the black trucks driving around Hawkins, not so subtly watching their house for months, staying parked down the road that lead in and out of town. The bad man, Jonathan was sure it was them.

All of that, must mean something bad had happened. And Jonathan’s guess was that Steve had gone missing, by Hopper’s doing or someone else’s.

And that scared Jonathan.

He hadn’t known the guy for long, but Jonathan could see that childish naivety in Steve’s look, his inability to form sentences at Jonathan’s age making him a heart wrenching sight. Jonathan saw him like he saw Will, innocent, and when in danger, terrified. Steve looked scared of his own shadow, somehow skinnier than Jonathan, somehow more fearful than Will. And now, he was missing, maybe stuck in that hellhole again. Maybe kidnapped, taken back to that lab for ‘punishment.’ Maybe worse.

Jonathan felt his heart start to pound, his throat tightened, his palms turned sweaty. He felt-

“Mr. Byers!” Mrs. Click’s voice rang through his head, piercing the impending doom that left a hole in Jonathan’s chest. He watched Mrs. Click’s expectant look, her tapping foot. She was waiting for an answer, to something or other.

“W-what?” Jonathan’s voice cracked, making the rest of his class laugh in mockery, looking over their shoulders and snickering at his demise. Was there anything worse than being the schools known loser?

“It’ll do you some good to /listen/ to what I’m saying, Mr. Byers. This will all be on the pop-quiz remember.” Mrs. Click sighed, turning back to the blackboard to continue her mind-numbing teaching. People still snickered at him, still glanced to him with a disgusted look. Jonathan felt his cheeks become hot at their unwanted attention.

He went to turn back to the window, and burrow his face into his arms and wallow in embarrassment, he felt softer eyes lay on him, and in instinct, he looked over to Nancy’s desk that lay a person between them.

Duke Morrison, who always had his head down and drooled into his notebooks, this meant he could see Nancy’s wonderful fave looking back at him, meant he could see the way her brow quivered as she mouthed a question.

“You okay?” No sound fell from her lips. Jonathan nodded, on demand, used to the question and even more familiar to the answer.

“I’m fine.” He mouthed back. Looking to Mrs. Click, to see if he was about to get Nancy into trouble also, he turned back to her once he noticed the woman had her back turned. “Steve.” He mouthed, and Nancy only nodded.

Her face turned sadder as she turned away, her brow furrowing deeper in thought. She must have had the same question as he did. Where had Steve ended up, and most importantly, was he safe?

After everything he had done, saved the kids, tried saving Barb before it was too late. He had tried so hard to open that gate, to get the kids out, he killed that damn monster thing- the Demogorgon, the kids had decided on the name, to save his and Nancy’s life. Even after he was so exhausted, so tired.

Jonathan felt his throat well up, his eyes fill with tears. Steve had nearly sacrificed his life for them, for people he had only known for a few weeks. He had only known comfort for that long…

Jonathan wiped his tear, unless anyone saw him crying in class.

A determined feeling fell across his chest. If Hopper was going to be secretive about what happened to Steve, where he was left, if he was taken, if he was stuck in the other dimension, Jonathan was determined to find him.

No matter the cost.

He tells Nancy this at lunch, very quietly, as there were three black trucks parked down the road near the school this morning, and Jonathan wouldn’t put it past these government fucks to be scouring the hallways in search for Steve. Because Jonathan isn’t an idiot, he knows what these guys are after. And he tells Nancy, “I wanna get to him before… these guys do.”

She stays silent for a moment, chewing on her bitten apple. She swallows, and nods, leaning in slightly across the table between them.

“I want to also. But… how? Hopper won’t talk, I haven’t seen him since…” Nancy wasn’t there when Hopper came back empty handed. He had come to Jonathan’s house for some reason, maybe because Jane had been staying there since they came back from the upside down. But he had stayed, for a few hours. Saying… absolutely nothing about that night. “How do we know he isn’t days outs of Hawkins by now?”

“We don’t.” Jonathan shakes his head, sighing. “But I know we need to find him. Before the wrong people do.” Jonathan feels his hands grip up into fists. “Just think about what he went through in that lab. Think of the punishment they’d give if they found him after he escaped like he did.”

Nancy took a deep breath, looking away for a moment. “I get that.” He emphasised, “but this isn’t going to be easy.” She explained.

“It doesn’t have to be. Because we’re going to get him back here. /We’re/ going to keep him safe.” Jonathan felt his hands shake on the lunch bench, and he soon felt Nancy’s soft fingers on top of his own. He felt his cheeks turn red, for the second time in that hour, and he glanced to Nancy through his eyelashes.

“We’ll find him.” Nancy smiled. “I like your ambition, Jonathan Byers.” Nancy grinned, and Jonathan felt his heart flutter.

They’d find him. They’d bring Steve back to safety, where he belonged: wherever he was.

——

Hopper had been searching.

Each morning, and each night after his shift at the precinct, where he got numerous calls each day about black trucks driving around Hawkins and parking on double yellows. Annoying message relays from Flo about ‘black cars blocking driveways.’ As if Hopper, as chief of police, could come into town and just move the car out of the way with his bare hands. He had better things to worry about.

Waffles were his first choice, thinking they’d last wrapped in plastic wrap. But each time he’d come home, all he’d find was mice or rats or birds bobbling through the plastic to get to the food. Instead, he tried unopened bags of chips, but they got lost under the leaves falling in preparation for winter.

Winter, that Steve would face alone, in the dark, in the upside down or in this world. Either being as deadly as the other without warmth.

It had been months, and Hopper was starting to panic. Whilst his arm was starting to fix itself, no longer caught up in the sling those ‘medics’ from the lab wrapped him into, moving his fingers now only left a dull ache shooting up his arm. He was fit to continue life as normal; as normal as he could, knowing he had failed yet another child, knowing Steve was out there alone, being hunted like a wild animal.

Hopper entered the precinct, having left out a tin of jerky that opened at the top in the small hatch he created not too far from the cabin. He walked through the office, taking his coffee from Flo and making his way into his office with heavy steps. He had no desire to talk to anyone this morning, much like everyday, and ignored Flo’s yapping questions.

Stepping into his office, however, proved to shopper that he should have listened to the woman. Because, as he was sure Flo tried to explain, there was a man sat at his desk, a briefcase by the chair leg and the suit he wore clean of muck.

Hopper stilled in the doorway as the man turned in his seat to where Hopper kept the scalding coffee in his mouth for a moment. He swallowed, and felt the roof of his mouth burn, as he slowly started walking to his desk.

“Hello?” Hopper asked the greeting like a question, stepping around the man he had never seen before with his coffee in hand. “Can I… help you?”

“Hello Jim Hopper,” The man spoke without urgency, yet without hesitation. Hopper was further confused. “My name is Sam Owens. Sorry to push back your busy schedule, I’m sure.” Hopper sat down with a huff, propping his feet up against his desk. He took another sip of his drink, staring down the plump man. “I was wondering if I could talk to you before your shift officially started today.”

“About what?” Hopper mumbled, taking another sip. Was this a distraction from the government, a way to get him talking? Or was this man new to town, stupid enough to annoy him on his ‘very busy schedule’ for something trivial. If it was about those black trucks, Jim felt his eyes roll-

“About this previous summer.” The man’s voice turned knowingly, his face watching Hopper, who stayed very still. “And a certain someone you might have met during the events that took place.”

Hopper stayed very, very still.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mumbled, his voice betraying him. Hopper had never been a liar, had never snatched as a child or told on his school bullies. He much liked getting his own payback, enjoyed making people regret trying him. Nobody messes with Jim.

And he wasn’t going to ever divulge in Steve’s whereabouts, especially with the government.

Because that’s what this man was, undoubtedly. The suit, the way he held him, sitting in /Jim’s office/ so confidently.

Hopper only hoped that wherever Steve was, that he was far enough from here that these government cronies wouldn’t find him again. Because if they had found Jim, and knew he was connected to last summers… events, they were one step closer to finding Steve.

“I’m not government.” Sam Owen’s continued, as if he can read Hopper’s mind. He takes his feet down from the desk, slamming his coffee down on the table and thinking back to the drive into the parking lot, if he noticed any black cars or anything unfamiliar parked outside the precinct.

So he knows how many he’ll need to defend himself against when Jim breaks this guys nose.

“Who are you then?” Hopper spits, sitting up in his seat and dragging his chair closer. He’s leaning over his desk, ready to punch this ‘Sam Owens’ square in the face. “If you’re ‘not government’?”

“I may have lied,” the man as the audacity to play a smile on his face. He throws his hands up haphazardly, in a joking manner. Hopper doesn’t trust him. “I am associated with the government, but not through Hawkins lab. Not anymore.”

“Anymore?” Hopper glanced across the man’s body, tried to see for a weapon. He had a gun by his left hip, Hopper can see the way his shirt sticks out unevenly. They brought protection, then, before coming to see him. Good.

“No. See, I’ve heard you had a run-in with a doctor named Martin Brenner during Summer this year, is that correct?” Sam Owens doesn’t let Hopper reply, he continued his speech without answer. “Well, I’ll admit, me and him had an agreement a few years ago. I won’t get into the details, as that’s not what I’m here for. We had this agreement, and discussions were had during this time, which soon turned to arguments.

“Martin Brenner is a… strong-willed man, I believe you know. We were looking into nuclear weapons for the war, I believe you fought in this, yes?” This time, there is a pause for answer, and Hopper’s brow furrow.

“Every man did.” Hopper replies, giving this Sam Owens no inkling into Hopper’s life. The more they find out about him, the more they’ll learn about Steve. Hopper had never been susceptible to mind games, and had never revealed a secret. He wasn’t a snitch.

“Right. We all contributed. Well, as we were making these weapons… to make a long story short, we ended up revealing more about this world than we aimed to find out.” Sam Owens blinked for a second, watching Hopper’s face stay the same. There was no change is his expression, Hopper was sure to make that clear. He revealed nothing to this Sam Owns sat rambling at his desk.

“Does this story have a point?” Hopper asked, still leaning over the table and staring the bugger man down.

“Yes, actually. I was wondering if anyone involved in this summer-incident has come out of it with some… unusual side effects. Nausea, dizziness, chest pains.” Hopper only shakes his head, blowing air from his lips as he leans back in his seat and opens his mouth to answer something rhetorical, something that gives no answers.

But apparently his rumours are true, because Sam Owens face turns irritated, and his answer sounds further more annoyed before he can even answer.

“I’ll stop beating around the bush, Jim. I know what you know. I know more than you know. I know about the kids in the upside down, and I know about William being there longest. That’s who I’m most worried about. William Byers.” Sam Owens face turns serious, the presentable and friendly demeanour gone. He has turned more serious, an urgency in his tone that makes Hopper blink.

Hopper fells his shoulders relax, and then instantly tense up again when he realises /what/ Sam Owens is saying. Will? Was there something wrong with Will?

“I’m not.. sure.” Hopper shakes his head, looking back to Owen’s with a raised brow. “Why? Could there be something wrong with him?”

“I don’t know for sure. This is a rare case, being in that place for so long.” Owens continues, and Hopper has so many more questions. He wants to ask them all, to interrogate this man in a much more direct manner that Owens has tried on him. He wants to ask about this other place, about the monsters that came out of the wall, about /Steve/. About his powers, his number tattoo’d on his wrist and what ‘nuclear weapons research’ truly meant. What had they done to that boy, and were there others? And why didn’t Owens stop it sooner.

But those are questions he cannot ask. Because he knows Owens won’t answer, not truthfully.

“If you could ask the boys mother if she had noticed a change, and get back to me on this number,” A white business card appears from his suit’s inner pocket by the man’s chest. Hopper takes it and studies the number, learning it by heart in three seconds. Just in case. He pockets the card though, just to be sure nobody else starts meddling. “I would appreciate it. I only want to help, Hopper.”

“Right.” Hopper only nods, left with nothing else to say, but having a million questions at the same time.

“Rufht.” Owens repeats, clapping his hands together. “I’ll take my leave then, please do remember to call if you ask. I only want to help, Jim. I promise you.” He stands, taking his useless briefcase in hand and nodding with a smile as he makes his way to the doorway.

Hopper watches, and glares as the man stops with his hand on the doorknob.

“Chief, I know Brenner did unspeakable things to that boy. Believe you me, I had tried to save him multiple times. But you can’t through to a man like Martin Brenner so easily. I hope that you do call me if you find him, Hopper, or if you even find a lead. I-… I want to him save him too.” Owens doesn’t look Hopper in the eye when he speaks, his face downcast as his voice sounds lower. There is a true remorse in his tone, and Hopper knows now that the man isn’t lying.

Owens continues out the door, as Hopper speaks again.

“If?” It’s a stupid question to ask. He knows he’s now revealed himself. Owens now knows, from Hopper’s one worded sentence, of Steve’s existence in his life. But, he has to ask. He can’t help but ask. Apart of him deep down says to trust Owens, and in that moment, that side of him speaks for him.

“You and I both know how quickly a scared child can hide from others.” Owens nods in departure, and leaves Hopper with a closed office door.

And Hopper can only stare at it, until the phone rings for a petty ‘emergency’ of three black cars parked by Benny’s diner, blocking the way in.

Chapter Text

Steve watched Benny thump a white flattened pillow into shape, the feathers flowing out of a small rip in the corner. He watched Benny place the pillow back into place on the double bed, and turned to Benny as he presented it with a smile.

“Done. You’ll sleep here until I can get you some help, and I’ll take up the sofa.” He looked down at his hard work, the blanket folded on the end of the bed with the freshly-smoothed out covers adorning a brown checkered pattern. There was one matching pillow cover in the same pattern, and the other was left uncovered.

“Thank you.” Steve had never slept in a bed so big, the bed that he was given at the Byers small home was half the size of Benny’s.

“You do talk.” Benny smiled, letting out a breathless chuckle before following with a cough. “Thought you went mute on me for a moment.” Steve’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t spoken to Benny since they left the diner in his truck, scared the bad men would be listening on the radio. Or, that those black trucks would drive past and notice Steve with Benny. He didn’t want Benny in trouble too, he had already risked the lives of so many. Jane, Dustin, Jonathan… Hopper.

He couldn’t get too close. He’d need to escape in the middle of the night. Thankfully, Steve noticed Benny’s bedroom had a window. So, maybe, he could escape through that and get as far away from Benny as possible.

But… a small part of Steve told him not to leave. His original plan was to get as far away from Hawkins as possible, but… something inside him called him to this place. Like, something, or someone, was calling his name, urging him to go somewhere, to save someone.

But Steve had never saved anyone, before. He had only risked the kids lives. Steve was no hero. All he did was endanger others with his presence. He truly was, a monster-

“-Steve? Buddy?” Benny’s voice rang through his thoughts, startling Steve with a jolt. He limped back a step, leaning against the bedpost when he stood on his bent ankle and felt a jolt of pain ring up his leg muscles.

White spots enveloped his vision, making Steve tumble in place until warm arms were holding him steady. Steve went very still at the touch, his ankle still throbbing shooting pains down his muscles. He clenched his eyes shut, his face stuck on a wince from the pain as the gentle hands held him tight, keeping him from crumbling to the floor, landing on his busted ankle and damaging it further.

“Jeez…” Benny mumbled, the hands never leaving. At the lack of pain, no hitting or nails digging into the frail skin adorning his arms, Steve opened his big eyes to catch Benny looking down at him with a sad look across his face. “Let’s bandage that leg up first.”

And that’s how Steve finds himself sat at a cluttered little dining table in an equally cluttered, equally tint kitchen attached to the worn living room. Benny drags over a chair and helps Steve lift his leg onto the wooden chairs seat so Benny, kneeling before his injury and looking at in with a wince across his face, can inspect it.

“You said you fell on it?” Benny asks, she he opens the green little box with a black cross printed on the top. Steve can’t read the words beneath, as much as he strained to read it through the pain and dizzy feeling in his head since his stumble. His leg is staring to really, really hurt now.

Steve nods slightly, looking down at the way his ankle juts out at the wrong angle, showing the bone it should be neatly connected to. His sweats are covered in upside-down muck and blood, as is his sock. There is an open gash on the top of his foot, trailing from his ankle to his toe. The blood and goo from the upside down has coated it so it no longer bleeds, but the wound itself hasn’t been closed. Steve’s fully aware there is still dried blood on his top lip, and dirt caking his face as much as it does his clothes.

And Benny had still taken him in.

“Right.” Benny sighs, unravelling a white cloth that had been rolled up to fit neatly in the little box. Leaning over, Steve notices other bandages, and band-aids, and other things Steve believes he has distantly seen before. Maybe in the lab, maybe at the Byers. The white spots are invading his brain now, making him tired and dizzy and feel sick in his stomach.

He leans away from the open box on the floor, ignoring the memories mixing and piling together in his head.

“I’m not much of a doctor. But I’ve been around long enough to know that a bandage will do you some good, for now.” Benny holds the bandage up to Steve’s foot, who goes very still incase the bandage is used as a means to hurt him further. But before Benny wraps the injury, he glances down to it and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “You need a wash, first.” Benny turns to him, probably taking in Steve’s dirty face, the blood coating his nostrils. “Let me get a cloth.” And then he’s up again, groaning as he stands and making his way to the bathroom.

He pulls the door closed behind him, Steve watches his every move. Whilst he’s gone, he starts to survey the little house.

It’s smaller than the Byers, only needing to inhabit one person. There is only one bedroom, which Steve knows is incredibly small with the double bed placed in it. The living room one has one arm chair, and a little table in front of the big box with a massive back. It looks like a screen. The kitchen Steve has been left in has dishes and cups loaded near the sink, and there is a toaster. Steve knows what those are because of the Byers, when he fixed Joyce’s’ when it didn’t give her the toast she wanted. The table Steve leans his elbow on, and thus leans his head in his hand with a tired sigh, has copious amounts of paper with lots and lots of writing adorning the pages. Steve’s eyes cross at the writing, black ink spelling out words Steve can barely understand. It makes his vision blurry, and he wipes his eyes as there is a wet cough sounding from the bathroom, and the door opens again.

Benny’s face is wet, and puffy. His eyes have turned red, around blue colour surrounding the black. He looks upset, and avoids Steve’s gaze as he games back to his side, and kneels with a groan, and then another wet cough, and finally presents Steve with the cloth.

“I’m going to wipe down your fit a little so I can put the bandage on. It might sting, okay? Just, you grab me if I hurt you too much, or tell me to stop. I can’t wrap it up unless it’s clean though, okay?” Benny explains with a gentle voice, with a harsh gravel noise not in his tone before.

Steve nods, his mouth opening. “Okay.” He whispers, scared to make noise. Steve knows what people look like after they cry, because he’d seen himself a few times in the reflection of fake mirrors in the lab. He always hated how stupid he looked, crying with a red face and wires attached to his head. “Kill this cat,” they’d ask, “find this man,” and Steve never wanted to.

Steve knows that Benny’s been crying, because he knows what a sad person looks like. And he’s not very good with people, but he also knows what sad people want.

So when Benny brings the damp cloth to his wounded foot, and the pain only stings a little as the crusted dirt and blood comes away with the water, Steve takes the opportunity to hold onto Benny’s arm to comfort him.

He doesn’t even grab Benny, his dirty hand just rests against Benny’s short sleeve, his thumb stroking gently over the stained material, to comfort Benny. The damp cloth against his wound barely hurts a little, it only feels like a small bruise being pressed on, the type of pain that almost feels nice. But, Benny doesn’t need to know that.

And Steve must have made the right decision to be sneaky, because Benny’s hand comes up to reach his own, and holds onto his fingers with as much gentleness as he wipes away the blood coating Steve’s foot.

Benny lets put a sniffle, and before long the dried coating of dirt and blood is gone, his foot so clean his skin starts to bleed again now that the wound is open. Quickly, and without malice, Benny let’s go of Steve’s hand to grab at the bandage wrapping again, and start placing it around Steve’s foot, starting to coat his wound and then making his way up to Steve’s ankle, where the pain really starts to hurt, and Benny’s hand turn incredibly gentle as the white swaddling bandage simply rests around the twitched part of his ankle, barely touching his skin the wrapping feels so loose.

Benny ties the bandage up to SteveMs calf, tighter than the middle where his inwards-twisted ankle is not squeezed or confined. The tie is down up, and his sweats are pulled back into place.

Benny leans back in his seat, and Steve subtly wipes away the tears that fell during the whole ordeal. At least, his ankle was now wrapped up. Surely that meant his ankle would heal in no time now.

“Mid, I think I should take you to a hospital.”

Apparently not.

Steve feels his heart sink, his skin turning pale and his eyes blowing wide. No. No, he can’t go back there.

“No.”

He can’t go to any hospital, because /they/ will be there. They’ll see him and Benny together, and kill Benny, and take Steve back and break his ankle themselves as punishment. He doesn’t want to kill cats, or find men in the void. He doesn’t want to be put in the bathtubs again. He doesn’t want to blow a man’s brains out again.

He doesn’t want to be treated like a monster, no matter how much of a monster he truly is.

He wants to be selfish, he wants to be called Steve instead of a number. He wants to be normal.

“No.” Steve repeats himself, cutting into the background rambling of Benny gently trying to explain why it’s best he go to a hospital. “No.”

“I- kid look at that! ‘Fell over’ my ass, you need to get that set back into place!” Benny yells, but Steve doesn’t feel threatened. He trusts Benny, now at least, and thinks he knows this man. He wouldn’t yell in malice, Steve thinks, he’s only trying to help.

Just like the others. Just like Hopper…

“You do.” Steve gestures to Benny, sitting up as if preparing Benny to do just that. He helped wrap it, he can definitely ‘set it back into place’, whatever that meant.

“Me?! No- no! I can’t, I- look, I don’t know where you’ve come from. You won’t tell me your full name, you don’t know your age, you’re ankle is going inwards and is cut up, and you’re telling me it’s because ‘you fell’- I can’t just pop your ankle into place! You need a hospital, you need the damn child services, buddy-“

“No hospital.” Steve shakes his head, crossing his arms and looking down at his ankle. “I’m fine.”

“‘You’re fine’, you-“ Benny suddenly takes a breath, and Steve watches through the side of his eye as he closes his eyes, breathing out deeply, and opens them again. “Fine. I’ll call someone else who can help tomorrow. Just… I’ll help you to bed. And we can get you out of those clothes, and… it’ll be fine.” He mumbles to himself as he stands with a groan again, as if his body hurts with the action. “It’ll be fine.” He repeats, again to himself, and Steve pretends not to notice.

Going quiet again, he lets Benny gently wrap an arm under his own, and bring him to stand. Together, Benny leads him back into the bedroom, letting Steve settle on top of the bed as he digs around a chest of drawers. He takes out some pyjamas that definitely look too big for Steve, but Benny shows him how to pull a string at the waist of the pants to tighten them to fit.

“Sorry it’s not much, buddy.” Benny says in solum tone, as Steve holds up the pyjamas mismatching set. He places them down onto the bed and looks up to Benny again. “I know it’s not much, but I’ll do my hardest to get you some help. Hospital, or no hospital.” He smiles, although it appears more like a grimace, and Benny leaves the room and closes the door slightly as he mentions something about ‘privacy.’

Steve watches the door close completely, and starts to feel his chest pound at the thought of being stuck in this bedroom. So, he flicks his hand out to move the door open about an inch or two, and feels the effect instantly. His vision swims, and Steve wants to punch himself for using his powers so blasé, especially when he’s so tired. He can’t exhaust himself again, not if he’s going to run away from here eventually.

To keep Benny safe.

With ease, he takes off his dirty shirt and tries folding it, it comes out more like a triangle than a square, but Steve is too worried Benny will see the scars on his body so he quickly puts on the new top.

Instantly, he feels better now he’s not covered in the hardened black goo of the upside down. Taking off his sweats becomes a problem, when he has to lift his foot to take off the sweats without catching the tie around his leg. He manages, but his entire leg seems to throb in pain by the time they’re off. Steve throws them to the side, disappearing into the room, as he flops down onto his back for a moment, breathing deep with a wince adorning his face as the pain of his leg makes his stomach feel sick.

Lying in Benny’s top and his underwear, Steve clenches his eyes shut for a moment, trying to push the pain of his leg down. Now that he had a moment to relax, no longer running from the monsters in the upside down, the pain and exhaustion and fear catches up to him. Steve has to open his eyes with a gasp, scared of the dark his own eyelids create.

The pain is still strong when he puts the too-large pyjama pants on with more ease than taking his sweats off. The large fabric envelopes him, and Steve has to hold up the waist by the band to tie the thing in place. It still hangs low around his hips, the weight from the weak knot making the fabric sag across his crotch and legs.

But they’re comfortable, not covered in his own blood or the demogorgan’s, and Steve can’t help the sigh that escapes him. He’s one step closer to feeling cleaner.

He takes the freshly rinsed and squeezed damp cloth that Benny left him to clean his face, and does just that. Without a mirror, although there is one in the room; Steve can’t reach it with his ankle, he’s not sure he does a good job, but he feels for any caked blood dried to his face and scrubs at those spots until his skin is surely red and sore.

But he has never felt cleaner.

He tries wiping down his neck, and his arms, but by his forearms the cloth is far from helpful anymore, now drying and dirtied.

He folds it as nearly as he can, not nearly as neat as Benny left it on the bedside table, and finally gets into the comfiest bed he has ever laid I.

The pillows envelope him, covering the sides of his vision with fluff and a few ruffled feathers escaping. The blanket at the end of the bed, folded on top of the covers, given his ankle an extra warm place to heal, as he brings the brown covers up to his face and breaths them in deeply. They smell fresh, and clean, and soft and comfy. Like nothing he has ever experienced before. He doesn’t want to get Benny’s pillows wet with his tears, so he used the corner of the covers and daps at his streaming tears.

Even with the throbbing coming from his ankle, he had never been comfier.

He falls asleep easily, with the pain still radiating, and a tear sat in the corner of his eyes.

But his mind doesn’t stay too peaceful.

As he closes his eyes, his black vision starts to swim. The green spots that invade his sight, and swarm into something intelligible. There is a white porcelain sink before him, and Steve looks down at the empty basic with concern. He feels his body, his body? start to choke, as something rises up his throat. And Steve isn’t in bed anymore, he’s in someone’s bathroom, before a mirror and the door to his right. He knows the bathtub if behind him, with the toilet to his left. He knows this without having to look. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, and a black chunk of goo and red veins spews out from his mouth, sliding down his tongue and making it hard to breath before the thing has escaped his lips, and makes a splat against the sink.

He looks down at it, spit hanging from his lips and his eyes stinging. A lump forms in his throat, and he’s almost afraid he’ll throw another up another… thing. He watches it crawl down the drain, and he turns on the hot water to melt the thing as it goes down. As the water from the tap spewing starts to steam, he rubs at the back of his neck with a wince. The pain is gone before he can register it.

He turns the tap off, and someone tells his name from outside the bathroom.

“Will!” And Will snaps his head to the door with a gasp, waiting for his mom to barge in and see what he has been hiding from her since he escaped the upside down.

“Y-yeah?” His little voice breaks, as he hears another familiar voice, unsure if he’s hearing the right person. Because why is Jane here? On such a late evening? He hears Hopper voice mumble after her, and his brow furrows deeper.

“Come here, please, sweetie.” Mom beckons him, and looking down the sink one more time, to make sure that /thing/ is gone, Will opens the bathroom room and joins his mom and Jane with Hopper at the front door taking their shoes off.

And Steve is enveloped.

“Jane?” His tone is confused but no less happy to see her. They hug, as tight as they always do, and maybe even a bit tighter since the event. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve left something in your room.” Jane says, in a tone that Will knows she’s lying. And he knew she was lying in the first place, because they never hand out here. If she had left anything anywhere, it would’ve been Mike’s basement. “We have to go to your room to get it. Together.” Jane takes his hand, not letting Will talk, as she guided him to his bedroom, and slams the door closed behind them.

All the while, Will had many questions resting on his lips. All of which, Jane sits on his bed to answer without being asked.

“Okay, that was all bullshit. I haven’t left shit, we’re never round here. But, look, Hopper needs to talk to your mom about something serious. Like, really serious. So serious, that I can’t even tell you what it’s about. Because he won’t tell me!” She groans in annoyance, and Will’s mind words overtime to comprehend what Jane’s telling him.

“If he won’t tell you, and it’s so important this couldn’t have been a phone call…” Both of their backs go ramrod straight at the same exact time. “It’s upside-down business.”

Will nods, turning to his bedroom door slammed shut. “It has to be.” He mumbles, rushing to his door and opening it very slowly, as he reaches the lock, Jane coughed loudly into her elbow to muffle the dull clicking noise of the doorknob. Will shoves his thump up at her, as he works on opening the door just open enough that their parents won’t notice, but they can still hear the conversation that takes place down the hall in the kitchen.

Jane comes barrelling closer, the two sat on the carpet just meters away from the door slightly pushed open, their knees bumping and their faces close as they lean as far as they can go to spy.

“-you haven’t noticed anything strange?” Hopper starts talking first, and Joyce quickly follows.

“‘Strange’, well no. He’s acting… different. But that’s normal, right? He’s, afraid. To put it one way.” His mom takes a break in her sentence, and Will knows she’s smoking. He can picture her sat at the dining table with the cigarette between her fingers, can see her stressed shoulders and tense face. He can hear her worry, like she always sounds. “He went through a lot, Hop. They all did. You can’t expect them to bounce back so quickly.”

“I’m not talking emotions. Of course, they’re scared. Jane’s scared of the dark now, I can’t close a door on her without her panicking. I mean has he… has he been acting weird. Maybe angry? Is he lashing out at you or his brother-“ Hopper can’t finish his sentence.

He feels Jane recluse from staying so close to Will, but her face shows she’s still listening, looking away in embarrassment. Will takes her hand and holds it gently, because he understands. He can’t sleep without a light now, like a baby again. It’s embarrassing.

“Of course not! My son is a sweet boy, he would never even try!” Will can hear his mother’s shaking breath as she exhales her cigarette smoke.

“Of course. I’m not saying-“

“Do I ask you that about your daughter? Do I ask about her behaviour? Do you think I need mom-shaming here, Hopper? Do you think that’ll help me at the moment-

“A man came and asked about Will today!” Hopper yells, and Will and Jane stare at each other with wide eyes.

“Bad men?” Jane mouths after a long moment of silence between them and their parents, no words escaping her lips. Will gulps audibly, and they turn back to the source of their fear once the sound travels down the corridor.

“What?” Joyce mumbles, however loud enough for her to be heard in the small house.

“He said his name was Sam Owens. He asked about the kids. Especially about Will. He’s definitely government, with how much he knows I wouldn’t be surprised if they had my place and yours bugged, or have been listening to our phone calls, or something. He knew our names, he knew Will’s name. He knew… he mentioned Steve.”

Will’s mouth dropped as Jane’s hands flew to her face, she looked as if she was about to stand and run down the hall to demand her dad what he knew about Steve, because none of them knew what had happened to him, because Hopper wouldn’t say. Will grabbed her hand again, this time tighter, as if to keep her grounded and stuck in Will’s bedroom. The more they listened, the more they’d learn.

Will knew Jane understood this, but her nervous yet excited bouncing was contagious.

“Steve- is he… did they say if he was okay? Do they have him, is he gone?” Joyce rambled, the leg of a wooden chair scraping against the kitchen floor.

“He didn’t say… where he was. I don’t think they have him. But, he knows about Steve. He must know about him being from the lab, and that you hit him with your car, and that he saves our kids.”

“I didn’t hit him intentionally. But how? How can they know that we know? What ddi you say?”

“I played it off. Made him sound crazy. Until… he told me to call if I heard anything about Steve.”

“‘If’? He said ‘if’ you find him?” There was a pause, and Joyce’s voice turned into a lecture. “Hop?”

“He knows I know. And probably knows then that you know.” Hopper’s voice sounded defeated.

“Hopper!” There was a dull slapping sound against clothing. “You told him you knew?!”

“It wasn’t intentional. I think… I don’t think this Sam Owens was the ‘bad men’ Steve was afraid of.”

“How? What makes you think that?”

“He… Owens said he had tried to help Steve. That he knew Brenner, and seemed to dislike him as much as we do.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Maybe not as much, but they’re definitely not friends. At least not anymore.”

“So how do you know we can trust him? He /knew/ Brenner, and surely if he knew him that means he worked with him. What if he did… /that/ to Steve too.”

“I don’t know.” Hopper paused. “But whether you trust him or not, I know for a fact they don’t have Steve. So that must mean he’s safe.”

“And where is that, Hopper? Where is Steve safe, since you won’t tell anyone what happened.”

There was a longer pause then, and before Jane and Will could notice, there were footsteps coming closer to the door.

As the door opened, Hopper was greeted with the door swinging open, and Jane laying on her stomach digging under Will’s bed, with the boy sat beside her holding a flashlight under the bedframe.

“Right, let’s go.” Hopper groaned, and Will turned to see his face. He looked exhausted.

“Aha!” Jane played up the act, holding up a half broken blue writing pencil with a huge soccer-ball shaped eraser attached to the end. “Found it! Thanks Will!” She hugged him quickly, gripping his hand in between them and squeezing it twice in quick succession. Will understood. The party had devised a plan, years ago, that acted as a signal for the group to meet, incase there were people around who could not become privy to this pre-planned meeting.

‘People’ being Hopper, who rubbed at his temples and took Jane under his arm as she waved Will goodbye.

He saw them to the door with his mom, Joyce reminding Will to be quiet if he was going to stay up later tonight, as his brother was asleep next door. He waved Jane and Hopper away, everyone actually unnecessarily chipper for such a late evening visit.

And Will couldn’t help but feel rage rise up into his chest as Hopper drove the truck away. He didn’t like being questioned, didn’t enjoy being asked about, what did it matter to Hopper if Will was ‘acting strange,’ how dare he even accuse-

“Will, honey. Are you alright.” His mom stroked over his hair, taking it out of his face for a moment.

He turned to her with wide eyes, his previous anger fizzing away from his body. “Yeah.” He smiled, not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. I’m always here if you need me, though. Okay?” Joyce repeated, and Will batted her hands away, his rage returning.

“I’m fine, mom. Please.” He walked away, his fists clenching as he entered his bedroom and shut the door a little too loudly.

He flopped onto his bed with a groan, feeling the anger wash out of him again, leaving him confused. Why was he so mad? Neither of the adults had done anything wrong. Had he started to change?

Will went to bed feeling off, like there was a guilty weight on his chest that pulled him into strange dreams.

And as Will went to bed, Steve felt his body jolt awake.

The dreams of puking up black goo left his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.

He risked getting out of bed, hobbling over to the bathroom as Benny asked if he was alright. Steve nodded in reply, and entered the bathroom with a gentle click of the door behind him.

Looking down at the sink, he noticed how it was a different one from his dream, which felt like a memory, only it was happening just in that moment. He thought he was himself throwing up those black ink sacks, but maybe, maybe, maybe he was… someone else?

His brain started to hurt, his eyes tensing and making his vision blur. Hobbling back to bed after wiping his face, Benny once asked if he was okay. This time, Steve answered with a verbal reply.

“Okay. Thank you.” And he made Benny smile, and he tried to focus on that as he got comfy again, and fell asleep into dreamless slumber.