Chapter 1: Tuesday, November 18, 1997
Chapter Text
Tuesday, November 18, 1997
Stephen Strange woke to the sound of his mother’s soft voice carrying through the haze of sleep. “Stevie, sweetheart, time to wake up,” Beverly called, her tone warm and soothing as the faint creak of the old farmhouse’s wooden floors announced her presence. “Happy birthday, darling. Seventeen today.”
Stephen groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow. His mother’s words, meant to comfort and celebrate, only reminded him of the weight that pressed against his chest every waking moment—especially on mornings like this. He didn’t want to be seventeen. Didn’t want to face the milestone without her.
“Stevie, don’t make me come in there. Breakfast is almost ready, and you’ve got chores before school.” Beverly’s voice held a playful tone, though Stephen could hear the tinge of annoyance in her voice.
“I’m up,” he mumbled into the pillow.
“Good,” she replied with a satisfied hum before her footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Stephen sat up reluctantly, the thin morning light filtering through the curtains of his bedroom. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but no amount of effort could dispel the heaviness that lingered. Today was supposed to be a celebration, but all it felt like was a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost.
It had been almost ten years since Donna died. Almost a decade since that bright, laughing girl had been taken from him. His baby sister, his partner-in-crime, the one person who had made this lonely, dusty farm feel like home. Gone, just like that and yet he was still here.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floorboards sent a shiver up his spine. But the shame and guilt that simmered inside wouldn’t be so easily dismissed. He’d been the one who had lived, and every year that passed without her felt like another year stolen from her memory.
Stephen glanced at the framed photograph on his nightstand. Donna, grinning ear to ear, her arm slung around his neck as they both beamed at the camera. They couldn’t have been more than six and seven, their faces smudged with dirt from a day spent exploring the woods behind the farm.
“You should have taken me,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he stared at her frozen smile. “Not her. Me.”
He’d screamed them at the sky so many times, cursed a God he wasn’t sure he believed in. If God was real, then why had He let Donna die? Why had He taken the best part of Stephen and left him with this aching emptiness?
“Stevie, come on!” Beverly’s voice called again, a note of exasperation creeping in.
Stephen forced himself to stand, dragging his feet as he crossed the room to pull on his jeans. He twisted around to throw on an old band t-shirt and flannel shirt. He caught his reflection in the small mirror by the dresser. Haunted eyes stared back at him, too tired for someone so young.
“I should’ve died,” he muttered, the words bitter on his tongue. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, glaring at his reflection. “God, you’re cruel. You took her and left me. Why? What’s the point of this?”
He turned away quickly and was unable to bear the sight himself. As he headed downstairs, the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee wafted through the air. The familiar scents tugged at something inside him, a faint reminder of what he still had, but it wasn’t enough to fill the void. Nothing ever was.
Then the kitchen smelled of butter and toast, a warmth that should have felt comforting but didn’t quite reach Stephen. He stepped into the small, cozy room and was immediately greeted by his mother, who pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Happy birthday, Stevie,” Beverly said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hazel eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a shadow of worry behind them, as there always was these days.
“Thanks, Ma,” he replied, his voice barely above a murmur. He slipped into his usual seat at the table, keeping his eyes downcast.
Eugene Strange sat across from him, his presence as heavy and unmoving as a stone. He nursed a cup of coffee in silence, the lines on his face deepened by years of sorrow and bitterness. He didn’t look up and didn’t acknowledge Stephen’s arrival.
Victor, sitting beside their father, was busy fiddling with a fork, his youthful energy barely contained. At thirteen, he still had the roundness of a child’s face, but his sharp blue eyes seemed to take in everything. When he noticed Stephen sit down, he smiled faintly. “Happy birthday, Stevie.”
Stephen managed to give his brother a small smile, “Thanks, Vic.”
Beverly set a plate of eggs and toast in front of him with a carefulness that felt almost ceremonial. “There you go, sweetheart. Eat up. And happy birthday again. I love you, Stevie,” she said, giving him another kiss on the cheek.
“Love you too, Ma.” Stephen said quietly, staring down at his plate.
The scrape of Eugene’s fork against his plate was sharp in the silence. Stephen’s shoulders tensed, waiting for the usual wave of resentment to come crashing down. His father didn’t speak, but the way his gaze flickered briefly to Stephen—hard, cold, accusing—was enough.
Eugene hadn’t forgiven him. Stephen doubted he ever would.
He remembered the day Donna died as if it were yesterday. The rushing water, his frantic screams, the overwhelming helplessness as he fought to save her and failed. He had done everything he could, but it hadn’t been enough. And Eugene… Eugene saw it as failure.
Beverly moved around the kitchen, humming softly as she worked. She was the glue holding the family together, the only one who still spoke of Donna with warmth instead of blame.
“Don’t forget to pick up the mail after breakfast, Stevie,” Beverly said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “And maybe take Victor with you. It’s a nice day out; you boys should get some fresh air.”
Stephen nodded, though the idea of leaving the house—especially with Victor—felt exhausting.
Victor nudged him under the table with his foot, grinning. “I’ll race you to the mailbox.”
For a brief moment, Stephen let out a small chuckle. “You’ll lose,” he said, trying to match his little brother’s energy.
Eugene’s fork clattered against his plate as he stood, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He didn’t say a word as he left the kitchen, his presence vanishing like a storm cloud.
The silence he left behind was suffocating. Beverly’s hum lowered for a moment before she regained it, her back turned as she tidied the counter.
Victor looked at Stephen again, his smile dimming. “Don’t worry about him,” he said in a low voice.
Stephen forced another smile,\“Yeah, don’t worry about him,” he whispered.
As he picked at his breakfast, Stephen’s thoughts drifted to Donna again. To her laugh, her bright eyes, the way she used to call him Stevie and jump on his back. He missed her so much it hurt, and that hurt only deepened the rift between him and his father.
Beverly sat down beside him, her hand brushing his. “You’re a good boy, Stevie,” she said softly, her voice was full of a mother’s love and an unshakable belief that he did not deserve it.
“Thanks, Ma.” he whispered.
Stephen stood in front of the mirror in his room, the cracked glass reflecting a version of himself he could tolerate—at least when he wasn’t at home. The eyeliner pencil glided over his lower lash line, steady and precise, the black bringing out his striking stormy blue eyes. He leaned back to inspect his work, smirking faintly. He might feel like a mess inside, but out here, he could look exactly how he wanted.
On his desk, a small box of jewelry sat open. Rings, chains, studs, and hoops spilled out in organized chaos. He selected a few favorites—a silver chain to wrap around his neck, a ring for his middle finger, and a pair of silver hoops he carefully slipped through his ears. At home, he usually kept the piercings hidden. His father wouldn’t have had a problem making his disapproval known. But at school? School was his escape.
Grabbing his favorite leather jacket from the back of his chair, Stephen slung it over his shoulder and turned to pack his things. His well-worn black backpack sagged as he stuffed it with notebooks, a couple of beat-up textbooks, and his portable CD player. He flipped through the CDs scattered on his desk, finally settling on The Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana .
Sliding his headphones around his neck, he headed down the hall. Victor’s door was ajar, and Stephen knocked lightly before poking his head in.
“You ready?” he asked, spotting his younger brother crouched over his Game Boy on the bed.
Victor glanced up, grinning at his brother. “Yeah, I just need shoes.” He tossed the handheld onto the bed and scrambled to the closet.
Stephen leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Ma wants us out the door in five, so don’t take forever.”
Victor grabbed his sneakers and hopped on one foot to put them on. “You think Dad will be mad if we’re late again?”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “He’s always mad, so what’s the difference?”
Victor snorted but didn’t say more.
Downstairs, Beverly was waiting in the kitchen with a smile. She handed them each a packed lunch, her hands lingering a little longer on Stephen’s. “Drive safe, Stevie,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
“I will,” Stephen promised, though the keys jingling in his hand made him itch to be out the door.
The old 1970 Ford F-100 Ranger was parked in the gravel driveway, its bright red paint gleaming faintly under the pale morning sun. Stephen had spent the better part of a year restoring it when he was fifteen, his hands black with grease and his knuckles bruised from stubborn bolts. He only had to read through the manual once. It wasn’t perfect—the engine still made a strange clicking noise sometimes—but it was his.
Victor slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut with a grin. “Shotgun!”
Stephen rolled his eyes as he was climbing into the driver’s seat and turning the key. The engine roared to life, and he couldn’t help but smile.
Beverly waved from the front porch, her arms crossed against the morning chill. “Have a good day, boys! Love you!”
“Love you too, Ma,” Stephen and Victor said in unison, though Stephen’s voice was quieter.
As they pulled onto the long dirt road leading to the main highway, Stephen popped his CD player open and slid in The Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. The opening notes filled the cab through the small adapter he’d rigged to the truck’s ancient radio.
Victor bobbed his head along to the music, a grin spreading across his face. “This is way better than Dad’s country tapes.”
Stephen chuckled, the tension in his chest loosening just a little. The music was blasting and the sun was barely rising over the Nebraska fields. Stephen pulled into the school’s front drive, the tires of the old truck crunching against the gravel. The building stood like a blocky fortress, its bricks weathered by decades of Midwestern winters. Students milled around the entrance waiting for the school day to begin.
“Alright, Vic,” Stephen said, glancing at his younger brother. “This is your stop.”
Victor hopped out of the truck, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Later, Stevie!” he called as he jogged toward a cluster of kids his age, already laughing at something one of them said.
Stephen waited for the door to slam shut before pulling away, heading for the student lot at the far end of the school grounds. He parked in his usual spot under the shadow of a big oak tree, the old truck looking a little out of place among the newer sedans and pickup trucks.
He sat there for a moment, collecting his things. His headphones went back around his neck, his CD player safely tucked into his backpack. He grabbed his notebook and the beat-up medical textbook he’d been poring over for the last week—an old hand-me-down from a neighbor down the road who used to be a nurse.
A tap on the driver’s side window startled him, and he turned to see his best friend Corey Lewis grinning at him, his round face practically glowing with energy. Corey was short and stocky, his broad shoulders straining against his football letterman jacket. Despite his reputation as the team’s powerhouse, he always had a big, goofy grin plastered on his face.
Stephen rolled down the window, smiling back. “Hey, Corey.”
“Hey, birthday boy!” Corey said, reaching in to pat Stephen on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, man. Seventeen, huh? One more year and you’re free.”
Stephen chuckled, slinging his backpack over one shoulder as he climbed out of the truck. “Thanks, Corey. Free’s a strong word, though.”
Corey snorted. “Fair point. Hey, you hear back from Columbia yet?”
Stephen shook his head, locking the truck and pocketing the keys. “Not yet. They said I should know by Christmas.”
Corey gave a low whistle, impressed. “You’re gonna get in. No way they say no to you. Graduating early, top of your class—hell, you’re like a genius in disguise, man.” He jabbed Stephen’s arm playfully. “If I didn’t know you, I’d never guess.”
Stephen laughed, his smile a little sheepish. “Yeah, well, I don’t exactly scream ‘future doctor,’ do I?”
“No, you scream ‘guy who listens to Nine Inch Nails in his truck and stares at the stars,’” Corey teased, earning a mock glare from Stephen.
“I do not stare at the stars,” Stephen said, though he couldn’t entirely suppress his grin.
Corey laughed, clapping him on the back. “Alright, maybe– maybe not. But seriously, man, you’re gonna kill it. Columbia won’t know what hit ‘em.”
They started walking toward the school entrance, the crowd thinning as the first bell was to ring soon. Stephen kept his pace even, his outward calm hiding the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind. He was ready to graduate early because he couldn’t stand the thought of wasting more time here. Not when he could be doing something that mattered.
As they stepped inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the familiar sound of lockers slamming greeted them. Stephen adjusted his backpack and let himself fall into the rhythm of the day.
Stephen settled into his seat in the back row of his science class, thankful for a brief reprieve from the usual noise of the hallways. He flipped open his textbook, letting the printed words draw his focus as the teacher fiddled with the old radio perched on the counter.
The morning announcements crackled through the ancient speakers, a mix of school updates and awkward jokes. Stephen barely paid attention—until he heard his name.
“And a big happy birthday to Stephen Strange!” the cheerful voice announced, followed by a chorus of static applause sound effects.
Stephen froze, his eyes snapping up from his book as the class turned toward him. A few students grinned and waved, while others chimed in with scattered “Happy birthdays!”
“Happy birthday, Stephen!” called one of the girls in the front row giving him a wink.
Stephen felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. He waved awkwardly, managing a faint smile before burying his face back in his textbook. He could feel their eyes lingering for a moment longer before the teacher cleared her throat and called the class to order.
The next hour crawled by, though Stephen couldn’t shake the unease of the spotlight being turned on him. Everyone seemed so sure that he was destined for something great, but he wasn’t convinced. Yeah, he had the grades. He had the test scores. His 1597 on the SAT—a single point shy of perfect—was still the talk of the school. He had driven all the way to Omaha to take the test and had aced it on his first try. But none of that erased the restless ache inside him, the feeling that no matter what he achieved, it would never be enough.
When the bell rang, Stephen packed up quickly, hoping to slip out unnoticed. But as he reached the door, a voice over the intercom called him to the guidance office.
The guidance counselor’s office was small and dimly lit, a poster of a mountain peak with the words “Keep Climbing” peeling slightly at the edges. Mr. Caldwell sat behind his desk, a kind but tired-looking man in his forties.
“Stephen, come on in,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Stephen sat down, resting his backpack on the floor beside him. “What’s up, Mr. C?”
The counselor folded his hands on the desk, studying Stephen for a moment before speaking. “I just wanted to check in with you. It’s your birthday, and I know this time of year can be tough for you. How are you doing?”
Stephen hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of the chair. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone even but guarded. “Just... ready to be done with high school.”
Mr. Caldwell nodded, his expression neutral but understanding. “I get that. You’ve had a lot on your plate, Stephen. Between your academics and your personal challenges... it’s okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes.”
“I’m not overwhelmed,” Stephen said quickly, though the words felt a little too sharp. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’m fine, really. I’m just focused on what’s next.”
Mr. Caldwell leaned back in his chair. “I see. I assume the next thing is college. Columbia’s your top pick, right?”
Stephen’s face softened slightly. “Yeah. I should hear back by Christmas.”
“I’m confident you’ll get in,” Mr. Caldwell said, smiling. “The school’s already covered the costs for your trip to visit this past summer, and they were impressed by you. You’re an incredible candidate, Stephen.”
“Thanks,” Stephen said quietly, looking down at his hands.
Mr. Caldwell paused, then leaned forward and looked at Stephen. “You’ve come a long way, Stephen. I know the past few years haven’t been easy, but I need you to know that we’re here for you. If there’s ever anything you need to talk about, my door’s always open.”
Stephen gave him a small nod. “Thanks, Mr. C. I appreciate it.”
As Stephen left the office, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of everyone’s expectations pressing down on him. The whole school seemed convinced he was destined for greatness, but his father made sure to make him feel quite the opposite. He just wanted to be better. He wanted to save lives. All he could do was keep moving forward and hope that wherever he ended up, it was far away from Nebraska.
The rest of the school day dragged, the minutes ticking by as Stephen tried and failed—to keep his mind on his work. Donna’s face kept surfacing in his thoughts, her laughter echoing faintly in his ears. Tomorrow would have been her sweet sixteen.
It hit him all at once in his third-period math class: she would never get that milestone, never blow out candles or open presents. She would never grow up. His chest tightened, and his hands started to shake. He clenched them under the desk, trying to keep steady. By the time the final bell was about to ring, his panic had bubbled to the surface.
Stephen couldn’t take it anymore. He gathered his things quickly, scribbling a note for Corey as he walked out of the building.
Corey—Can you take Vic home? I owe you. Thanks.
He left it on Corey’s windshield in the student lot, then climbed into his truck, his movements quick. He cranked the engine and sped out of the parking lot, heading not toward home, but into the vast, open countryside.
The November air was crisp, the gray skies heavy with clouds that could produce snow. The fields stretched endlessly on either side of the road, barren and brown, mirroring the emptiness in his chest. He drove for what felt like hours, though it was probably only twenty minutes. His mind raced, thoughts of Donna flooding in faster than he could push them away. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
Finally, he pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, the truck’s tires sinking slightly into the muddy ditch. He turned off the engine, the sudden silence deafening.
And then, he broke.
Leaning against the steering wheel, Stephen let out a sob, his body shaking as the grief he’d been holding back poured out of him. Tears streamed down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. He cried for Donna—for the years she didn’t get, for the memories they didn’t make, for the guilt that gnawed at him every single day.
“It should’ve been me,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking.
The words hung in the air, raw and jagged. He had replayed that day a thousand times in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently, how he could have saved her. But no amount of wondering or wishing could change the fact that she was gone.
Stephen leaned back in his seat, staring at the gray sky through the windshield. He felt hollow, like a shell of himself. The tears finally slowed. He didn’t know how long he sat there, the world outside growing dimmer as the afternoon faded into evening. All he knew was that the pain felt as fresh as it had the day Donna died.
When he finally started the truck again, he wasn’t sure where he was going. He just knew he couldn’t go home—not yet.
Stephen pulled into the parking lot of the small florist shop on the edge of town, the bell above the door chiming softly as he stepped inside. The shop was warm and smelled of fresh blooms, a stark contrast to the cold November air outside.
“Can I help you?” the elderly woman behind the counter asked, her kind eyes squinting at him.
Stephen nodded, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket—the last of the birthday money his Aunt Ellie had sent him. “Just... something small,” he said, his voice low. “For a grave.”
The woman nodded knowingly and picked out a simple arrangement of white daisies and baby’s breath. Stephen stared at the flowers as she wrapped them in tissue paper, his mind blank.
After handing her the money and mumbling his thanks, he climbed back into his truck, the flowers resting gently on the passenger seat. The drive to the cemetery was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound as the world outside seemed to grow still.
Donna’s grave was in the corner of the small cemetery, marked by a simple headstone. Her name was etched in clean, careful letters:
Donna Marie Strange
1981–1988
"Forever Loved, Forever Missed"
Stephen knelt down, his breath fogging in the cold air. He placed the flowers at the base of the headstone, his hands trembling.
“Hey, Donnie,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Happy almost-birthday.”
The words caught in his throat, and he wiped at his face, smearing what was left of his eyeliner. “I, uh... I miss you. Every day. God, I wish you were here. You’d be turning sixteen tomorrow. Sweet sixteen. It’s not fair, you know? You should be here.”
He sat back on his heels, the cold from the ground seeping through his jeans, but he didn’t care. “Things are... things are changing. I’m waiting on my college admissions letter. Columbia. I know, crazy, right? Me, at an Ivy League school. You’d probably laugh and call me a nerd. You always loved doing that.”
A sad smile tugged at his lips as memories of Donna teasing him while he explained science facts or recited obscure trivia played in his mind. “You were the only one who actually liked hearing me ramble about stupid stuff. Nobody else gets it like you did.”
His voice cracked, and the smile faded. “Dad still blames me, you know. He won’t say it outright, but I can see it every time he looks at me. I can feel it. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, but... it does. It always will.”
The tears came again, spilling silently down his face as he rested his forehead against the cold stone. “I love you, Donna. I’ll always love you. I just hope—” He paused, his chest heaving. “I just hope I’m making you proud, wherever you are.”
Time slipped away as Stephen talked, his words pouring out in a stream of grief, guilt, and longing. Donna had always been his confidant, his greatest supporter, and now her grave was the only place he could feel close to her. When he finally stood, it had been nearly two hours. His legs were stiff, and the cold bit at his skin. He wiped at his face, his fingers brushing against the smeared eyeliner under his eyes.
Looking up at the sky, Stephen let out a shaky breath. “What kind of joke is this, huh?” he asked bitterly. “What’s the point of keeping me here when you took her? She deserved to live, not me.”
As if in answer, tiny flakes of snow began to fall. The first flurry of the season danced in the air around him, catching in his hair and melting on his skin. For a moment, the world felt quieter, softer. Stephen stared up at the gray sky, his breath clouding in front of him. Maybe there was no answer. Maybe there never would be.
He turned back to the grave one last time, his hand lingering on the headstone. “I’ll see you later, Donnie,” he whispered. As he climbed back into his truck, Stephen started the engine and drove off with the flurries swirling in his rearview mirror.
The sky had darkened by the time Stephen turned his truck onto the long gravel drive leading to the farm. The house glowed softly in the distance, its warm light cutting through the cold night. His stomach twisted as he realized he wasn’t sure if he’d missed dinner—or how much trouble he might be in for disappearing like he had.
Pulling up to the house, he killed the engine and sat in the silence for a moment, the heater clicking as it cooled. With a deep breath, he grabbed his backpack and headed inside, bracing himself for whatever awaited him.
To his surprise, the kitchen was quiet. Beverly sat at the worn wooden table, a plate of food and a small cake set in front of her. She looked up the moment he walked in, her face softening with relief.
“There you are,” she said, standing quickly. She pulled him into a tight hug, the scent of her lavender lotion instantly comforting. “I was getting worried, Stevie.”
“I’m sorry, Ma,” Stephen mumbled into her shoulder.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands resting gently on his arms. “Corey brought Vic home. He left me a note saying he didn’t know where you went, but he was worried. You should give him a call later.” Her eyes softened further as she studied him, noticing the streaks of black smeared across his cheeks.
“Oh, honey,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. “You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?”
Stephen nodded sadly.
Beverly guided him to the table, sitting him down in front of the plate she’d kept warm for him. “Here. Eat something first,” she said softly. “Then we’ll talk.”
Stephen took a few small bites, though his appetite was gone. Beverly sat beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder.
Finally, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Setting down his fork, he leaned into her, burying his face in her shoulder as the tears came again. “I miss her, Ma,” he choked out, his voice muffled. “I miss Donna so much.”
Beverly wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “Oh, Stevie,” she said, her voice warm and soothing to him. “I know you do. We all do. She was such a bright light in our lives, wasn’t she? Always laughing, always making us smile.”
Stephen nodded, his sobs shaking his body. “She should be here,” he said brokenly. “She should’ve had a sweet sixteen tomorrow. She deserved it. Not me. Not me.”
“Stop that,” Beverly said gently but firmly, pulling back just enough to cup his face in her hands. She wiped away the smeared eyeliner and tears with her thumbs, her touch soft, tender, and full of love. “Don’t you ever say that again, Stephen. You deserve to be here just as much as anyone. Donna wouldn’t want you to think like that.”
“But I—”
“No,” she interrupted,“You listen to me. Donna loved you, and she was so proud of her big brother. I know she’d still be proud of you now. You’ve worked so hard, Stevie. She’d want you to live your life, not feel guilty for it.”
Stephen’s tears slowed, though the ache in his chest remained painful. Beverly pressed a kiss to his forehead and smoothed his hair, humming softly as she held him close.
“I love you, Stephen,” she said. “No matter what. And I know Donna loved you too. You’re going to do great things, sweetheart. I can feel it.”
They stayed like that for a while, the small kitchen filled with quiet sniffles. Eventually, Beverly coaxed him into finishing his plate and even lighting the single candle on his cake.
“Happy Birthday…Stevie.” his mother sung to him.
Stephen blew out his candle in hopes of a better future.
Chapter 2: Wednesday, November 19, 1997
Summary:
It's Donna's birthday, and Stephen is still trying to cope with his guilt and heartache even though it has almost been ten years since she passed.
Chapter Text
The faint glow of dawn peeked through the curtains as Stephen heard his mother’s soft knock on his door.
“Stevie,” Beverly called gently. “Time to get up, sweetheart.”
Stephen stirred, his eyes heavy with sleep. He blinked at the ceiling, the weight of the day sinking in. November 19th—Donna’s birthday. They had basically been Irish twins, born just one year and one day apart.
He glanced at the picture hanging on his wall, a small framed photograph he had cherished for years. It was from the day Donna was brought home from the hospital. In the photo, a young Stephen sitting on the couch grinning ear to ear, holding his baby sister close. Her tiny face was scrunched up in her blanket and Stephen’s joy radiated through the image.
A lump formed in his throat as he sat up, staring at the picture a moment longer. “Happy birthday, Donnie,” he whispered.
Stephen dressed quickly, pulling on his jeans and a flannel shirt. He did extra chores around the house that morning, hoping to lighten the load for his mother. He cleaned up the dishes left from the night before, wiped down the counters, and even swept the kitchen floor.
When he finally sat down for breakfast, he ate quickly, shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth as Beverly watched him with a worried expression.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay home today?” she asked, setting a glass of orange juice in front of him.
Stephen shook his head. “I’m fine, Ma. I’ve got stuff to do at school.”
Beverly sighed but didn’t push him. She knew him well enough to know that staying home would only make the day harder.
Eugene rarely came out of the bedroom on this day, preferring to isolate himself from the family. Stephen couldn’t blame him for his grief, but he dreaded the man’s presence all the same. The memory of being punched in the face for simply looking at Eugene on Donna’s birthday a few years ago still haunted him. Beverly had been furious but Eugene had refused to apologize, and nothing ever changed.
Stephen finished his meal, grabbed his backpack and keys, and gave Beverly a quick side hug as he stood by the door.
“Thanks for breakfast, Ma,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.
Beverly brushed a hand through his hair, giving him a sad smile. “Take it easy today, Stevie. And if it gets to be too much, you come straight home, alright?”
He nodded, though he didn’t plan on leaving school early. Victor came bounding down the stairs a moment later, his backpack swinging wildly as he ran to catch up with Stephen.
“Ready!” Victor called, flashing a grin
Stephen gave his mom one last glance. “See you later, Ma.”
“Bye, boys,” she said, watching as they stepped out the door. “Drive safe.”
The morning air was crisp, the sun still low on the horizon as Stephen and Victor climbed into the truck. As they pulled out of the driveway, Stephen couldn’t help but glance at the photo of Donna one last time in his mind, her tiny smile and bright eyes lingering with him as they headed to school.
Stephen pulled into the student parking lot. Corey was waiting for him near the front entrance, leaning against the brick wall with his hands stuffed into his letterman jacket.
When Stephen climbed out of the truck, Corey immediately straightened, his face creased with concern. “Hey, man. You good? You left school early yesterday, and I was told you didn’t look so hot.”
Stephen nodded, offering a small, tired smile. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just... needed some air yesterday. Sorry I meant to call.”
Corey raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. That was one of the things Stephen appreciated most about him—he never pushed too hard. “It’s okay.”
“Thanks for taking Vic home,” Stephen said, pulling the last crumpled five-dollar bill from his pocket. He held it out toward Corey. “Here, for gas or whatever.”
Corey let out a laugh, waving the money away. “Dude, come on. You don’t owe me anything. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t do you a solid once in a while? You’ve done more for me than I can count.”
Stephen hesitated, then tucked the bill back into his pocket with a smile, “You’re too nice, you know that?”
“Yeah, well, don’t spread it around,” Corey said with a grin, slinging an arm around Stephen’s shoulders as they headed into the building.
Stephen slipped his headphones over his ears as he walked beside Corey. The two didn’t share any morning classes, but they always made sure to meet up at lunch.
When lunch rolled around, they grabbed their trays and headed out to the courtyard, where a handful of students roamed about. The crisp November air was chilling, but Stephen didn’t mind. It was better than the stifling noise of the cafeteria.
Corey pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket as they sat on one of the benches. He lit one for himself, the faint smell of tobacco moved through the air.
“You want one?” Corey asked, pulling a stick out of the pack and offered it to Stephen.
Stephen hesitated, staring at the slender white stick in Corey’s hand. He’d never smoked before, but the weight of the day, of Donna’s absence, hung heavy on his shoulders. He thought maybe it would help him just for a moment.
“Sure,” he said quietly, taking the cigarette from Corey.
Corey handed him the lighter, and after a few awkward attempts, Stephen managed to light the cigarette. He coughed on the first inhale, making Corey chuckle.
“First time?” Corey teased and smirked at his friend.
Stephen nodded, his face flushed as he tried again, this time managing a smoother drag. The smoke burned his throat, but the act itself was strangely calming.
They sat in silence for a while, the cigarette dangling loosely between Stephen’s fingers. The stress that had been clawing at him all morning seemed to ease just a bit, the rhythmic act of breathing in and out grounding him.
“Thanks, Corey,” Stephen said suddenly after an exhale from a cigarette
“For what?” Corey asked, flicking ash.
“For being you,” Stephen replied simply.
Corey grinned “Anytime, man.”
As Stephen and Corey sat on the bench in the courtyard, Corey exhaled a cloud of smoke and leaned back casually. “Hey, you coming to the game Friday?” he asked, nudging Stephen’s arm with his elbow.
Stephen smiled faintly and nodded. “Of course. You know I’ll be there. I haven’t missed one yet.”
“Good,” Corey said with a grin. “Wouldn’t feel right playing without my number-one fan in the stands.”
Stephen rolled his eyes but chuckled. “You’d survive, but I’ll take the compliment.”
The two were halfway through their lunch when Holly appeared, her long red scarf trailing behind her as she bounded up to the bench. She stopped abruptly, gasping when she saw the cigarette in Stephen’s hand.
“Stephen Vincent Strange!” she exclaimed, her green eyes wide. “Are you smoking ?”
Stephen chuckled, holding the cigarette up like it was no big deal. “Holls, you’ve known me how long? You should know what today is.”
Holly’s face fell as realization dawned on her. “Oh no... Oh, Stephen. I can’t believe I forgot.” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Stephen said, offering her a small smile. “Really. It’s not like I expect anyone to remember. You’re here now, so it’s all good.”
Holly sat down on the bench beside Corey, who offered her a cigarette. She declined, waving it away as her cheeks flushed pink. She tried to play it cool but couldn’t hide the way her eyes kept flicking toward him.
“So, uh, Corey,” she said, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “Great game last week. You were, like, unstoppable out there.”
“Thanks,” Corey said with a grin, clearly enjoying the attention.
Stephen watched the exchange with an amused smirk, taking another drag from his cigarette. Holly had been crushing on Corey for ages, but she never quite managed to hide it.
After a moment, Holly turned her attention back to Stephen, her face lighting up. “Oh! Happy belated birthday! Did you see the card in your locker?”
Stephen nodded. “Yeah, I saw it this morning. I left early yesterday, but thanks, Holls. It was sweet.”
Holly beamed. “You’re welcome. I mean, I couldn’t not do something for my best friend’s birthday, right?”
Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. Holly had been by his side since kindergarten. They’d always been the academic overachievers, pushing each other to do better in every subject. She’d tried countless times to get him to join band, convinced his knack for picking up instruments would make him a star. But Stephen was too hooked on tennis and his academics to give it up for anything else.
“Anyway,” Holly said, giving him a playful nudge, “you better not skip out on the game Friday. I want to see both of you there. And don’t forget the student council meeting Thursday after school!”
Stephen groaned, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes. “You never let me forget anything, do you?”
“Of course not,” Holly said with a wink. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line.”
The rest of the school day passed in a blur for Stephen. He moved through his classes on autopilot, the weight of Donna’s memory still lingering but not enough to pull him under. He found moments of relief in the routine—scribbling notes, flipping through pages of his textbooks, and even answering a question or two in class.
When Holly peeked into his last class near the end of the day and gave him a cheerful wave, he couldn’t help but smile. Her presence always had a way of grounding him, reminding him he wasn’t alone in the world.
As the final bell rang, Stephen packed his things and headed to the student lot. He found Corey leaning against the side of the truck, chatting with a couple of teammates. Corey waved him over as he approached.
“Vic’s not out yet?” Corey asked, tossing his duffel bag into the truck bed.
Stephen shook his head. “He’s usually a few minutes late. Probably got caught up with his friends.”
They waited together, Corey filling the air with idle chatter about football plays, homework, and the latest drama with his ex-girlfriend. Stephen nodded along, grateful for the distraction. Corey had a knack for making mundane things seem interesting, and his voice kept Stephen from slipping too far into his thoughts.
After a few minutes, Victor appeared, his backpack slung over one shoulder as he jogged toward the truck. He waved to Corey before climbing into the passenger seat.
“See you tomorrow!” Corey called as Stephen started the engine.
“Later, man,” Stephen replied with a small wave before pulling out of the lot.
When they got home, the house was quiet. Beverly had left a note on the counter:
At the store—back soon. There’s leftover casserole in the fridge. Love you boys! —Mom
Victor headed to his room, and Stephen sat down at the dining table, spreading out his homework. The house felt more tense and uneasy without his mom there.
Stephen focused on his work, scribbling equations in his notebook and flipping through pages of his biology textbook. He was so engrossed that he almost didn’t hear the creak of a door opening down the hall. The sound of Eugene’s heavy footsteps made Stephen freeze. His heart pounded in his chest, his hand tightening around his pen that hovered around his homework.
Eugene entered the dining room, his boots thudding against the floor. Stephen kept his head down, his eyes glued to the words on the page in front of him. The tension in the room was palpable. Eugene didn’t say a word as he walked through, his presence a suffocating weight. For a moment, Stephen thought he might stop and say something—or worse—but Eugene continued into the kitchen.
Stephen stayed perfectly still, his shoulders rigid as he listened to his father open the fridge, grab a beer, and close the door. The sound of the bottle cap being popped off was followed by Eugene’s retreating footsteps as he returned to his room.
Only when he heard the bedroom door shut again did Stephen let out the breath he’d been holding. His hand was trembling slightly as he set the pen down, trying to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He glanced at the clock. His mother would be home soon. Until then, he told himself, he just had to focus on his homework and stay quiet.
The sound of Beverly’s car pulling into the driveway brought Stephen a sense of relief. He quickly stood up and walked to the door, opening it just as she stepped onto the porch with several grocery bags in her arms.
“Hey, Ma. Let me help you with those,” he said, reaching out to take a few bags from her hands.
“Thanks, Stevie,” she said, giving him a warm smile.
They carried the bags into the kitchen, where Stephen began unpacking without being asked. Beverly watched him for a moment, noting the neat stacks of books and papers spread out across the dining table.
“You’ve been busy,” she said, nodding toward the pile of schoolwork.
Stephen shrugged. “Yeah, trying to stay ahead.”
“You don’t have to stop for this,” she said gently. “Go on back to your studies, sweetheart. I can handle the groceries.”
Stephen shook his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “It’s fine. I like helping you.”
Beverly’s eyes softened, and she placed a hand on his cheek briefly. “You’ve got such a good heart, Stevie. I hope you know how proud I am of you.”
They finished putting everything away, and Stephen returned to his seat at the table, diving back into his notes. Beverly came over and kissed the top of his head.“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she said softly.
“Night, Ma,” Stephen replied without looking up, his pen already moving across the page.
Beverly disappeared down the hall, and a few minutes later, Victor came downstairs. He plopped into the chair across from Stephen, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“What’re you working on?” Victor asked, grabbing a plate and serving himself some leftover casserole.
“Biology,” Stephen replied, barely glancing up.
Victor nodded, taking a bite of his food. They made casual small talk as they ate—about school, friends, and a movie he wanted to see over the weekend. After they finished eating, Victor headed back to his room, and Stephen cleaned up the table before going upstairs.
Stephen’s room was quiet, the only sounds heard was faint whistling of the wind against the windows. He changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, brushing his teeth and going through his nightly routine. But as he sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes drifted back to the framed photos on his dresser.
There was one of him and Donna, taken when they were kids. He was smiling while holding her hand as she gazed up at him with wide eyes.
Stephen stood and picked up the photo, his heart constricting as he stared at it. The weight he’d managed to hold at bay all day came crashing down, and tears pricked at his eyes.
“I miss you, Donna,” he whispered while his voice was breaking.
He sat down on his bed, clutching the photo to his chest. Memories of her laughter, her curiosity, and the way she’d always encouraged his big dreams flooded his mind. The ache in his chest was almost unbearable. He laid down, still holding the picture, and closed his eyes. The tears eventually slowed, and exhaustion overtook him. Stephen fell asleep like that, clutching the memory of his sister close to his heart.
Chapter 3: Thursday, November 20, 1997 & Friday, November 21, 1997
Summary:
Stephen starts his day as usual but faces an unexpected setback when his truck won't start. The next day, Stephen attends a school football game to support his best friend, Corey. During the game, Corey takes a hard hit but initially shakes it off. However, in the third quarter, he collapses.
Notes:
Enjoy........ :)
Chapter Text
Thursday, November 20, 1997
Stephen woke up early, following his usual morning routine. He swept through his chores quickly and scarfed down his breakfast, his thoughts already on the day ahead. After hugging his mom goodbye, he grabbed his backpack and headed out to start the truck.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Stephen turned the key. The engine sputtered and coughed but wouldn’t start. He groaned, leaning his head against the steering wheel.
“Not today,” he muttered.
After a moment of thinking, he popped the hood and took a look. It didn’t take long for him to pinpoint the issue. “Sparkplugs,” he said to himself with a sigh.
He walked back inside and found Beverly in the kitchen.
“Ma, the truck’s acting up. Can I borrow the car?” Stephen said. “I need to grab some sparkplugs from the parts store. I’ll take Vic to school while I’m out. ”
Beverly frowned but nodded. “Of course, Stevie. Just be careful, okay? And let me know if you need any help.”
“I’ve got it,” he reassured her with a small smile.
After dropping Victor off, Stephen swung by the parts store, using what was left of his birthday money to buy the sparkplugs. When he got back home, he quickly got to work on the truck.
By mid-morning, the truck was running like a dream again, but it meant he’d missed the start of school. He cleaned up, changed his shirt, and drove to school. He pulled into the student lot just as the second period ended.
It was the first time Stephen had been late all year, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his classmates. He brushed off the questioning looks, focusing on catching up on school work.
By lunch, Corey found him in the cafeteria and plopped down at their usual table if they would sit inside.
“What happened this morning?” Corey asked, unwrapping his sandwich.
“Truck wouldn’t start,” Stephen explained, digging into his lunch. “Sparkplugs were shot. Had to fix it before I could get here.”
Corey laughed, shaking his head. “Man, only you would miss school for something like that and still show up. Anybody else would’ve just taken the day off.”
Stephen smirked. “Yeah, well, gotta keep the record clean, right?”
As they ate, Holly joined them, sliding her tray onto the table. She smiled brightly at Stephen. “Hey, Vice Prez. Heard you were late today. That’s gotta be a first.”
Stephen chuckled. “It is. Trust me, I’m not making it a habit.”
“Well, good. We’ve got a lot to cover at the student council meeting after school,” Holly said, pulling a small notebook out of her bag.
Corey groaned. “Do you two ever stop working? It’s lunch!”
“It’s also the only time we can plan,” Holly retorted playfully. She flipped through her notes and passed one to Stephen. “Here’s what I’ve got for today’s agenda. Any thoughts?”
Stephen scanned the list, nodding. “Looks good. We’ll need to make sure we get final approval for the holiday fundraiser, though. We’re cutting it close.”
The two of them went back and forth. They were bouncing ideas off each other as Corey sat back, shaking his head in amusement.
“You guys are something else,” he said with a laugh.
Stephen glanced up, giving Corey a small smile. “Hey, someone’s gotta run this place, right?”
Corey rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide his grin. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t forget to save some time to actually enjoy life, Mr. Vice President.”
The rest of the school day passed quickly for Stephen. He kept himself busy, staying on top of his classes and assignments. By the final bell, he was ready to focus on the student council meeting. He headed to the library, where the council meetings were held, and found Holly already setting up. A few other members trickled in and soon the meeting began.
“Alright,” Holly said, taking charge as President. “We’ve got a lot to cover today. First, the Christmas dance. Decorations, music, food—what’s the plan?”
Stephen chimed in, “We’ve got the budget approved for decorations and refreshments. I can help finalize the music list. Corey mentioned his cousin’s band might be available if we want live music.”
“That’d be amazing,” Holly said, jotting it down. “Let’s follow up on that.”
The conversation shifted to the holiday fundraiser, which involved collecting donations for local families in need. Stephen took notes, offering suggestions on ways to increase participation. By the time the meeting wrapped up, they had a clear plan for both events.
“Good work, everyone,” Holly said as they packed up. She turned to Stephen and smiled. “Thanks for stepping up as always, Vice Prez.”
Stephen shrugged and gave her a smile. “Team effort, Holls.”
After the meeting, Stephen hurried to the student lot to pick up Victor. They drove home, the radio playing softly in the background. When they arrived, Victor hopped out, and Stephen grabbed his work uniform from the backseat before heading out to his part-time job at the local drugstore.
The store was quiet when he arrived. He clocked in and put on his name tag, ready for another shift. Stephen worked the register most shifts, stocking shelves when it was slow. A few classmates came in during his shift, offering quick hellos and small talk as they browsed. He smiled and waved, but mostly kept his head down.
This job was just one piece of the puzzle—saving for college, proving to himself that he could make it out of Nebraska, all while balancing school and home life. When it was time to close up, Stephen counted his drawer, every dollar accounted for. Perfect as always. He’d only been working there for three months, but he prided himself on doing a good job.
The manager gave him a thumbs-up as he clocked out. “Great work, Stephen. See you Saturday.”
“Thanks. See you,” Stephen replied, grabbing his things.
The drive home was quiet. The dark roads of their small town felt almost peaceful, the headlights of the truck cutting through the night. Stephen thought about his goals, his plans, and the long path ahead. He had to work hard—there was no other option. His father counted on him, even if he never said it outright. The man’s expectations were high, unspoken but ever present, like a shadow Stephen could never outrun. After Donna’s death, it felt like nothing he did would ever be enough. No matter how many hours he put in at work, how high his grades were or how much responsibility he shouldered, his father’s approval remained just out of reach.
When he got home, the house was dark except for the kitchen light his mother always left on for him. He sighed and headed to his room, collapsing onto his bed. Another day down, another step closer to the future he was working so hard to build.
Friday, November 21, 1997
Stephen’s morning began like any other. He got ready for school, grabbed a quick breakfast, and checked in with his mom before leaving.
“I’ll pick Victor up after school since you’re staying for the game,” Beverly reminded him.
“Thanks, Ma,” Stephen said, giving her a quick hug before heading out the door.
At lunch, Stephen joined Corey and Holly at their usual table. Corey was buzzing with energy, hyping up the big football game.
“You ready for tonight?” Corey asked, elbowing Stephen.
“I mean, yeah,” Stephen replied, smirking. “I’ve only had you drilling football into my head for years. I might as well be part of the coaching staff at this point.”
Corey laughed, shaking his head. “See, you’re already one of us. You just need a jersey.”
Holly grinned. “Well, I’m excited. Home games always have the best energy.”
Stephen nodded along, but his enthusiasm wasn’t quite there. Football wasn’t really his thing, but supporting Corey was. After the final bell, Stephen stayed behind to help the team get ready for the game. He ran a few errands, carrying water bottles and equipment to the field, all while listening to the players hype themselves up.
By the time the game started, the bleachers were packed with students and families. The energy was infectious, and Stephen found himself cheering when Corey’s name was announced.
The first half of the game was intense. Corey was playing well, leading the defense with his usual determination. Stephen watched intently, his hands gripping the bleachers as if he were part of the team. But then things took a turn.
Corey took a hard hit during the second quarter. He shook it off, waving away the concerned glances from his teammates and coaches. Stephen frowned, his gut telling him something wasn’t right.
By halftime, Corey seemed fine, joking around with the team and brushing off the hit like it was nothing. But shortly after the third quarter began, Stephen’s worst fears were realized.
Corey collapsed.
Stephen’s heart dropped as he saw his best friend crumple to the ground. Without thinking, he jumped the fence separating the bleachers from the field, sprinting toward Corey.
Dropping to his knees beside Corey, Stephen assessed the situation quickly. Corey was conscious but disoriented, his words slurred as he tried to speak.
“Corey..." Stephen whispered, checking his pulse and looking for visible injuries.
“Just dizzy,” Corey mumbled, blinking up at him.
Stephen’s hands trembled slightly as he realized the severity of the situation. Corey had taken a hard hit to the head earlier, and now he was showing clear signs of a serious concussion—maybe worse.
“You need medical attention. Now,” Stephen said urgently.
The coach and paramedics arrived moments later, and Stephen relayed what he’d observed, emphasizing how dangerous the situation could be if left untreated. Corey tried to argue, insisting he was fine, but Stephen wouldn’t back down.
“You could suffer permanent damage, or worse,” Stephen said quietly, his eyes locking with Corey’s. “Don’t be stubborn. Let them help you.”
Corey finally nodded, allowing the paramedics to take over. As they loaded him onto the stretcher, Corey grabbed Stephen’s hand.
“Thanks, man,” Corey said weakly.
Stephen nodded, “I’ve got you, Corey. Always. I’m coming with you.”
Stephen sat in the back of the ambulance beside Corey, his hands gripping his knees to keep from shaking. He kept an eye on Corey, watching his breathing, his color, and any signs that might suggest things were worsening.
When they arrived, Stephen immediately recounted everything that had happened to the attending doctor: the hit Corey had taken during the game, his disorientation, slurred speech, and eventual collapse.
The doctor listened carefully, nodding. “You seem to have a solid understanding of the situation,” the doctor said. “You mentioned a possible concussion and maybe a more severe injury—do you have a medical background?”
Stephen shrugged, his face heating up. “Not yet. I just…read a lot.”
Corey who was lying on the hospital bed, chuckled. “He’s a nerd,” he slurred, grinning. “But he’s my nerd.”
Stephen chuckled to himself, “Yeah, yeah. You’re just jealous I have more brain cells than you.”
Corey laughed softly, though it was painful to do so. “Takes all my brain cells to be this charming.”
After running several tests, the doctors determined Corey had a severe concussion but no life-threatening injuries. He’d need to be monitored overnight to ensure no complications arose. Stephen stayed with him, refusing to leave his side. He planted himself in the hard chair beside Corey’s bed, arms crossed. Every so often a nurse would come in to check Corey’s vitals, shining a small flashlight into his eyes to gauge his responsiveness.
“You’re still here?” Corey mumbled at one point.
“Yeah, and I’m not leaving,” Stephen replied.
Corey smirked, “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”
Stephen huffed and then laughed, “Takes one to know one.”
As the hours dragged on, Stephen dozed off in the uncomfortable chair by Corey’s bedside.
PurrpleDaze on Chapter 3 Sat 19 Apr 2025 02:32PM UTC
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