Silver Springs | Stranger Things

by blue_2203_artist

Summary:

| STRANGER THINGS |
Steve Harrington x OC
Robin Buckley x OC

In Hawkins, the monsters you can see are never as scary as the ones you can't.

​Alisson Hopper is a girl built on caffeine, sharp wit, and an unhealthy obsession with Stevie Nicks. While her father, Jim, scours the woods for a missing boy, Ali is caught in the middle of high school drama—until she's dragged into a supernatural mystery surrounding her best friend's brother and an old acquaintance's friend.

​Beside her is Natalie Munson, the fiercely loyal "loser" who would do anything for her friends, even if it means stepping into the lion's den of a jock's house party. While Natalie remains in the dark about the shadows creeping into Hawkins for now, her own story is just beginning.

​As the search for Will Byers turns from a missing person case into a nightmare, Ali must decide if she's going to keep her head down or embrace a darkness she apparently can't stay away from.

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘
This work is also in wattpad with the same title by _blue2203_ with additional content (like I made moodboards and a mixtape ;)).

Chapter 1: 01 November Sixth

Notes:

- Season 1 -

"𝑰𝒇 𝒊 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔
𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒘'𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒅
𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒘'𝒔 𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆"

Seven Wonders - Fleetwood Mac

Alisson Hopper hated mornings. It wasn't just the waking up; it was the exhausting ritual that followed. Between the hair, the eyeliner, the forced breakfast, and the drive to pick up her best friend, the day felt like a marathon before she even reached a desk. As a naturally lazy human being, every morning was a losing battle against her instinct to just stay under the covers.

She dragged herself out of bed and into the cramped trailer bathroom. A glance at the clock sent a jolt of caffeine-free adrenaline through her: 7:30. She was late. Great.

The trailer was silent, which meant her dad had already left for work. Jim Hopper didn't do "quiet." If he were home, she would have heard the heavy boots and the rattling coffee pot from a mile away. The man couldn't be subtle if his life depended on it.

Alisson leaned into the mirror. Her face was still puffy from sleep and her hair-a ginormous, wavy mess-defied gravity. Getting ready was a chore, but she had it down to a science.

Minutes later, she climbed into her car looking like a different person. She'd thrown on a beaded asymmetrical top in dark red over a long mesh skirt, finishing the look with knee-high boots and a velvet choker. She had the distinct air of a 70s witch; Stevie Nicks would have been proud.

She shifted her old burgundy Chevelle wagon into gear and sped toward Forest Hills Park. Her best friend, Natalie Munson, was already waiting on the curb.

"You're late," Natalie stated, pulling open the door.

"Yeah, no shit. Sorry," Alisson grunted. She tossed her bag into the backseat to make room. "The alarm and I had a disagreement today."

"You have a disagreement with your alarm every day, though," Nat pointed out. She flipped down the sun visor and began expertly touching up her makeup in the car's mirror. "Let's just hope Jonathan got there before second period. You do know we have a test from Kaminsky's class later this week, right?"

Alisson groaned, keeping her eyes on the road. "I know, I know. We're not going to flunk it, I promise."

"Yeah, that is if Wheeler decides to let us copy her answers again," Nat said, her voice dry as she readjusted her hair in the visor mirror.

Alisson nodded, her mind drifting back to how their trio had actually started. It was strange to think that only two years ago, her life looked completely different. When she'd first moved to Hawkins at thirteen, she'd been attached at the hip to Nancy Wheeler. But as high school loomed, Nancy had leaned into the "perfect" life, while Ali realized she hated the boxes people tried to put her in. She wanted to be authentic-someone who stood out in the neon-soaked crowd of the 80s-even if she secretly still craved the attention that came with being "known."

Then she'd met Natalie Munson. With Nat's sharp edges and "freak" reputation, she was exactly the kind of bad influence Alisson's soul had been craving. Nancy hadn't approved, and slowly, the invitations to the Wheeler house had stopped coming.

They might have ended up in total disaster if it wasn't for Jonathan. Alisson could still remember the adrenaline of junior year: she and Nat huddled behind the gym bleachers with a joint, the smell of weed thick in the air. They'd nearly been caught by a teacher, but Jonathan had stepped in with a perfectly timed distraction and a quiet lie that saved their skins. Ever since, the three of them had been an unremarcable trio.

"I actually studied last night, though," Ali added as the school building came into view. "Mostly. Between records."

Nat let out a skeptical laugh. "Studying doesn't count if you fall asleep on the textbook, Ali."

"Hey, it's called learning by osmosis," Ali retorted, swinging the heavy Chevelle door shut with a metallic thunk. "The knowledge seeps into the brain through the cover. It's very scientific."

They hiked their bags up and joined the stream of students. Entering Hawkins High was always like entering a battlefield of cliques. Ali led the way, her long mesh skirt swishing against her boots, while Nat trailed behind with her combat boots, platinum blonde mullet hair, and black leather jacket. They wove through the 'Preppies' near the trophy case and bypassed the 'Jocks' blocking the water fountain.

"Don't look now," Nat whispered, ducking behind Ali's shoulder, "but your former life is at two o'clock."

Ali glanced over. Nancy Wheeler was standing by the lockers, laughing at something Steve Harrington was saying. Nancy looked like a page out of a Sears catalog-crisp, clean, and perfectly placed. For a split second, Nancy's eyes met Ali's. There was a flicker of a smile, a ghostly "hello" from the girls they used to be, before Steve redirected her attention.

"Still weird?" Nat asked as they reached their lockers.

"Always," Ali muttered, spinning her combination lock. "It's like looking at a version of myself that got Deleted." She swapped her Fleetwood Mac tape for her French textbook, leaning her head against the cool metal of the locker. "Where's Jonathan? Usually, he's here to give us the 'State of the Union' address on how much school sucks."

Nat scanned the hallway, her playful expression faltering. The Munson intuition was sharp. "He's not by the bench. And he's not at his locker."
Ali felt a strange, cold prickle at the back of her neck. It was November 6th. The air inside the school felt just as thin and biting as the air outside. "Maybe he's just late. He's probably in the darkroom."

"Yeah," Ali said, though she didn't sound convinced. "Probably."

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Taking French at Hawkins High wasn't something Ali particularly enjoyed, but compared to the horror of mandatory sports, it was the lesser of two evils. Besides, languages came naturally to her-unlike the boy behind her who, for some undeterminable reason, kept poking her shoulder with his annoying pen.

"What, Steve?" she hissed, not bothering to turn around.

"Um, do you think that if I ask Nancy to come over to my house tomorrow night, she'll actually come?" he asked, leaning so far over his desk he was practically whispering into her hair.

Ali finally shifted, giving him a flat look. "Nancy Wheeler?"

"Yeah."

"Going to your house?"

"Yeah."

"Just the two of you? On a school night?" Ali let out a dry, skeptical laugh. "You're joking."

"No, I'm serious. Do you think she'll come?"

"You're messing with me," she said, watching his face fall into a mask of genuine confusion. "First of all, Nancy would never go to a guy's house alone -especially not yours - and definitely not on a Tuesday, Steve! She's the biggest dork in this entire zip code."

"Yeah, but tomorrow is the only day my parents won't be home," Steve countered, sounding desperate. "It's the best day for her to come over."

Ali leaned back, resting her head near his leaning face. "She's a 'good girl,' Steve. And you're her first boyfriend."

"No, not boyfriend," he corrected quickly. "Not yet, anyway. According to her, we're just 'getting to know each other.'"

"So, boyfriend. My point stands-she wouldn't go to your house alone regardless."

Steve slumped slightly, his confidence taking a hit. "Okay, so what do you suggest then?"

"I don't know," Ali shrugged. "Maybe tell her Barb can come too."

Steve actually shivered. "No. Barb, like, totally hates me."

"I wonder why?" Ali offered him a mocking, wide-eyed look of fake innocence.

​ "Stop that. I'm serious," Steve pleaded, dropping the cool act for a second. "I really like Nancy. Come on, help a guy out? Please?" He made a face-part puppy-dog, part desperate teenager.

Ali didn't really know why he always came to her for advice, or why she always ended up helping him. He could be a total dick with an immense ego, and he'd have flunked French months ago if she didn't let him peek at her notes. But she could tell that behind the "King Steve" stupidity, he was actually a good guy. A dumb guy, sure, but a good one.

"I guess... if it were me, I'd feel much better knowing there were other people at your place," Ali admitted. "I'm not saying she'll say yes, I'm just saying she'd be more comfortable if it weren't just the two of you."

"I mean, I guess I could invite Tommy and Carol..."

Ali spun around in her seat, eyes wide. "Tommy and Carol? Are you serious? They've been doing it since, like, the seventh grade, and Tommy is a condescending asshole!"

"Jeez, okay! You come, then," Steve suggested, throwing his hands up. "Be the 'comfortable whatever' that Nancy needs."

"No way. I have that nightmare test for Kaminsky's on Wednesday."

"Come on, help me out here. If you do this, I'll owe you big time."

"Steve, you already owe me big time."

"Yeah, but I'm your nice friend from French," he said, flashing the dumbest, most charmingly arrogant smile she had ever seen.

Ali sighed, defeated. "Fine. But you owe me. For real this time."

"Am I interrupting, Miss Hopper? Mister Harrington?" A low, sharp voice drifted from the front of the room. Mrs. Click was staring them down over the rim of her glasses.

"No, sorry, Mrs. Click," Ali said quickly, turning back to her textbook. She leaned back slightly to whisper one last thing. "I'm bringing Natalie."

"Then I'm definitely inviting Tommy and Carol," Steve whispered back.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

 

"I'm sorry-Harrington, what?" Natalie asked, slamming her locker shut so hard the metal echoed down the hall.

"He very nicely invited us to a small gathering at his house tomorrow night," Ali said, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.

"Steve Harrington? Why on earth would he invite us to his party?"

"He invited us because we're friends, and I'm helping him get together with Nancy."

"But why?" Nat pressed, stopping in the middle of the crowded hallway.

"Because I'm a nice human being, Nat."

"But why did he invite me?"

"Because I'm going," Ali said, giving her a look that said don't make this harder than it is.

"But why?"

"Because! Anyway..." Ali shifted the subject, her voice dropping an octave. "Did you see Jonathan yet?"

Nat's face instantly went from skeptical to serious. "No. He's MIA. It's almost fifth period and he still hasn't shown."

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"I don't know. He's not the type to skip, like, ever. I think the guy has a perfect attendance record."

"I know. It's weird, right?" Ali felt that cold prickle again. "Something has to be wrong."

"Weird like Steve inviting us to a party weird? No," Nat admitted, shifting her heavy bag. "But yeah, it's strange. Do you want to go to his place after school? See what's up?"

"Yeah."

 

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Jonathan was quiet-different from Nat and Ali. He possessed a natural melancholy that made him comfortable in the shadows; he was good at being a loner. In fact, he'd mastered the art of being invisible until Alisson Hopper barged into his life with a joint, a defiant stare, and an uncanny need to be "authentic."

​Ali was loud. Not because she screamed or made scenes, but because she simply appeared. Whenever she stepped into a room, the atmosphere changed. People looked, maybe it was the 70s-style layers, the clinking beads, or the witchy mannerisms, but she just popped. In a hallway full of grey people, she was the one with saturation. And Jonathan knew that was exactly what she wanted.

She wanted to be different, and she wanted to be seen.

​He, unlike her, truly felt invisible. Even if he tried to stand out, he felt like he'd just stay in the background of the shot. He was okay with that, he thought differently than the others. They couldn't understand the way he saw the world even if they tried. He didn't need to be popular, and he didn't need to "pop." He was an observer, and he made his peace with that.

​ He could still remember the sheer shock of that first day in the cafeteria. He had been perfectly content at his small, isolated table, fading into the wallpaper, when Alisson Hopper and Natalie Munson, the two most polarizing girls in the 9th grade, suddenly sat down and started eating their lunch as if they'd been invited.

Jonathan was definitely confused. The two girls hadn't spoken a single word to him all year-they had existed in a completely different orbit, spinning around the edges of the school's social scene while he stayed firmly in the dark.

And yet, here they were, dropping their trays onto his table with a loud, plastic clatter that felt like a gunshot in the quiet cafeteria. Suddenly, they were talking to him as if they had been best friends since birth.

Natalie was already mid-sentence about some record she'd stolen from her cousin Eddie, and Alisson was looking at him with an intense, curious gaze that made him feel like a subject in one of his own photographs.

​He didn't know how to react. He was used to being the observer, the one behind the lens, safely tucked away where no one bothered to look. But Ali didn't just look-she saw him. And for the first time in his life, Jonathan realized his invisibility had been officially revoked.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

The memory of that first lunch-the plastic clatter of trays and the sudden, warm intrusion of their friendship-flickered in Ali's mind like an old film strip. It felt a lifetime away from the heavy, biting silence of the woods she was driving through now.

"You're driving like a maniac." Nat noted, though she didn't tell Ali to slow down. She was gripped by the same unease, her eyes fixed on the wall of trees passing them by.

"Yeah well I got a bad feeling, I dont know, its just too unlike him." Ali muttered, her knuckles white on the Chevelle's steering wheel.

They pulled into the gravel driveway of the Byers' house. Usually, this place felt like a cosy, safe space. But today, the small house looked lonely, huddled under the gray November sky.

Ali cut the engine. The silence that followed was absolute. No music, no barking dogs-just the wind whistling through the dead leaves.

"Maybe he just has a fever," Nat said, but she stayed in the car for a beat too long, her hand hovering over the door handle. "Maybe he's just sleeping it off."

"Only one way to find out."

Ali climbed out, her boots crunching loudly on the gravel. She walked up to the porch, every step feeling heavier than the last. She reached out and knocked on the wood-three sharp hits.

There was a muffled sound from inside, the heavy slide of a deadbolt, and then the door creaked open.

But it wasn't Jonathan who stood there.

It was Joyce Byers. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wide and rimmed with red, and she was clutching a phone like a lifeline. She looked at Ali and Nat as if she didn't recognize them for a second, her face a mask of pure, vibrating panic.

"Ali?" Joyce's voice was thin, trembling. "Hi honey. Is... is Will with you? Did he stay at your house?"

The "cold prickle" Ali had felt all day turned into a sheet of ice. "No, Mrs. Byers. We haven't seen Will. We came to check on Jonathan. He wasn't at school today."

Joyce's let out a strugled breath. Behind her, the house was a mess-lamps turned over, the phone cord stretched to its limit.
"Jonathan's not home." Joyce said. "He went out... Will never came home last night..

Will is missing."

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Notes:

Hii!!

This is my very first fanfic, so I'm both nervous and excited to share it with you all. I've always been drawn to the atmosphere of Hawkins and the "weirdo" trio of Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve, but I wanted to explore what happens when you throw a hippie Stevie Nicks obsessed and a Munson punk into the mix.

A few things to know before we dive in:

The Timeline that we are starting is right at the beginning, November 6, 1983. While I am sticking to the main plot of Seasons 1 and 2, expect some shifts and changes as my OCs, Alisson and Natalie, influence the world around them. And also I kinda dont love how the show has handled the finalle so Im probably going to change a thing or two.

This is a SLOW BURN, a very SLOW burn. I'm going to make them YEARN. This story will follow 2 main couples, the one that I will be giving more atention is Steve x Alisson, considering that Robin only pops up in season 3. Anyway I love his character growth in the show, and I wanted to see how he handles a girl who sees right through his "King Steve" persona. And in relation to Robin, who doesnt love Robin? And I kinda wanted to give her a more love storyline then what we have on the show, so be prepared for act 3 lol.

English is not my first language! But I am doing my best to capture the 80s slang and the characters' voices, but please be patient with any small errors. I'm always learning..

The Vibe: Think Fleetwood Mac, heavy eyeliner, old Chevelles, and the cold November woods.

I really hope you enjoy meeting Ali and Nat. Comments and feedback are always welcome, they keep me motivated!

Enjoy Chapter 1!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 !

Chapter 2: 02 Surface tension

Jim Hopper was having a bad day. He'd spent the entire night scouring the woods for Will Byers with a group of annoying civilians, a search that ended with no Will and a pounding headache from the constant, frantic calls from Joyce.

​The kid was fine-probably. Nothing bad ever happened in Hawkins, or at least that's what he kept telling himself, but honestly, a cold knot of nerves was starting to tighten in his gut.

​When he finally stumbled into the trailer at the "merry" hour of 4:00 AM, he expected silence. Instead, he found his daughter. Alisson apparently hadn't slept either, and the second he stepped through the door, she was bombarding him with questions.

​Jim was beyond tired. He just wanted a cigarette and a blackout curtain, but Ali was standing there with that stubborn Hopper jaw set tight, looking like she wasn't going to let him move an inch until he gave her an answer.

​"Well?? Did you find anything?" she asked. Her arms were clutched tight across her chest, her hair pulled into a messy, lopsided braid. It was obvious she'd slept on the living room sofa just so she could hear the moment his boots hit the porch.

​Jim didn't look at her. He made a beeline for the kitchen, his movements heavy and stiff. "Shouldn't you be asleep? Don't you have class in a few hours?"

​"I wouldn't need to be awake if you'd let me join the search party," Ali retorted, following him into the kitchen.

​Jim let out a long, ragged sigh as he fumbled with the coffee pot. "We've been over this, Alisson. It's a police matter. It's not for kids to be wandering around the woods in the middle of the night."

​"I'm not a kid, Dad! And Will isn't just some 'police matter,' he's Jonathan's brother," she snapped, her voice rising with a mix of exhaustion and fear. "So, I'm asking you again. Did you find him?"

​Hopper finally turned, his face illuminated by the dim, flickering light of the kitchen. He looked older than he had yesterday. For a second, the "Chief" mask slipped, and Ali saw the raw, jagged worry underneath.

​"No," he said, his voice quiet and gravelly. "No, we didn't find him."

"Shit," she whispered, her arms finally dropping to her sides, god she was tired.

​"Yeah. Shit," Jim muttered. He was lying through his teeth. He was more than worried-he was starting to feel that gnawing, hollow sensation in his chest that told him this wasn't just a kid playing hooky. He wanted a nap-just one hour of oblivion before he had to face Joyce's breaking heart again-but as he stared at the kitchen wall, he knew sleep wasn't coming.

​He grabbed his stained mug and filled it to the brim with black coffee, the steam curling up around his tired face.

​"I'll find him, kid. Don't worry," he said, trying to find his usual gruff confidence. He offered her a small, weary shadow of a smirk. "When did your old man ever mess up a job?"

​Ali didn't smile back. She knew him too well to be fooled by the bravado, but she didn't call him out on it. Not yet. She just watched the way his hand shook slightly as he lifted the mug, realizing for the first time that her father might be just as worried as she was.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Alisson felt like she'd been hit by a truck. After the dawn talk with her dad, she'd managed maybe two hours of fitful, dreamless sleep before the alarm dragged her back to reality.

As she pulled on her boots, her mind kept drifting to Jonathan. Will was everything to him. Ali felt a familiar, sharp ache in her chest at the thought. She knew that kind of devotion. She knew what it was like to have a sibling who was your entire world, and she knew the hollow, world-ending silence that was left behind when they were gone, the thought of Jonathan facing that same emptiness made her feel physically sick.

She was uncharacteristically quiet when she picked up Natalie. Usually, the Chevelle was filled with the sound of cassettes and Nat's sharp commentary, but today the only sound was the low hum of the engine. Natalie didn't push. She just stared out the window, her combat boots tapping a restless rhythm on the floorboard.

When they stepped into Hawkins High, the gossip, the lockers slamming, the laughter, all felt muffled and wrong. They moved like ghosts through the hallway. Jonathan's spot was empty. No Ford in the parking lot. No quiet figure by the darkroom.

​"Wanna ditch and go see John?" Nat whispered, finally breaking the silence as they reached their lockers. Her eyes were darting around the hallway, already looking for the nearest exit.

​Ali hesitated, her fingers twisting one of the silver rings on her right hand. "Just first period. We have that essay for Mrs. Gray's class during second, and if I fail another one, my dad is going to ground me until the nineties."

​Nat nodded, understanding the delicate balance. "First period it is. We check on him, make sure he's breathing, and get back before the bell."

​They didn't even bother putting their bags in their lockers. They turned on their heels and slipped back out the side doors, the cold November air hitting them like a splash of ice water.

​The drive to the Byers' house was fast and tense. When they pulled into the gravel drive, they saw Jonathan's Ford parked at a crooked angle. He was sitting on the porch steps, a thick stack of paper in his lap and a staple gun resting beside him.

​He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot, staring at a black-and-white photo of Will in a ton of 'Have you seen me?' posters.

​"Jonathan," Ali called out softly as she climbed out of the car.

​He looked up, and for a second, the wall he usually kept up around people just... vanished. He looked small. "Hey guys, I'm making flyers," he said, his voice cracking. "I have to do something. I can't just... sit here."

​"We know," Nat said, reaching him first and taking a stack of the papers. "That's why we're here. We're helping."

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Steve was having a great day, actually a great week. Last night's study date with Nancy had been perfect; they'd study; just as she wanted, kissed a few times; just as he wanted, and the vibes were just right. Tonight, she was coming over to his place, and he was already counting down the minutes.

​He was leaning against the lockers, halfway through a conversation with Nancy, when Jonathan Byers appeared. He looked like a walking ghost, moving down the hallway to tape up flyers for his missing brother.

​"Oh my god, look," Carol sneered. God, she was annoying, but she was dating Tommy, so Steve usually just tuned her out.

​"God, that's depressing," Steve muttered. He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it sounded mean, and he felt a small prick of guilt. The guy was clearly going through hell.

​"Should we say something?" Nancy asked quietly. She looked adorable and kind, which was one of the things Steve loved about her.

​"I don't think he speaks," Carol replied with a roll of her eyes.

​"How much do you want to bet he killed him?" Tommy joked, a cruel smirk on his face. Steve frowned; Ali was right, Tommy really was an asshole.

​Just as he thought of her, Ali appeared. She was practically running to catch up to Jonathan, Natalie right by her side. They were huddled together, talking in low, urgent voices-probably about the missing kid. Steve watched them, a familiar sense of confusion bubbling up in his chest. Why did she hang out with them?

​Ali was smart, pretty, and effortlessly cool. He couldn't wrap his head around why she chose to surround herself with 'Jonathan the Creep' and 'Natalie the Freak.' Honestly, if she was going to choose those two over the rest of the school, she didn't really have a right to judge Tommy and Carol.

"Shut up, man," Steve snapped at Tommy, his voice sharper than he intended.

Tommy blinked, his smirk faltering for a split second. "What?"

"I said shut up. Not cool," Steve muttered, though he quickly looked back at Nancy to avoid Tommy's confused stare. He knew it was mean to let the others talk like that, and even if he wasn't ready to be Jonathan's friend, he wasn't a total sociopath.

Nancy didn't just stand there. She clearly didnt like Tommys coment, so she started to make her way over to them.

​Steve shifted on his feet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. It was awkward. He felt bad-he really did-but there was no way he was going over there and talk to them in front of the whole school. He wasn't like that. But Nancy... Nancy was different. She was kind, and pretty, and had this quiet strength that Steve hadn't fully figured out yet. Of course she would go over there and say something.

​He watched as Nancy approached the trio. He saw the way Natalie's shoulders tensed up immediately, the way Jonathan didn't even look up at first, and the way Ali's eyes flickered from Nancy to Steve.

​Ali's gaze was like ice. She looked at him from across the hallway, her eyes moving from his expensive jacket to the "cool" friends standing beside him, and finally to Nancy, who was the only one actually trying to be nice. For a split second, Steve felt like he was under a microscope. She wasn't just looking at him; she was seeing right through the "King Steve" act to the coward underneath who was too afraid of Tommy H. to do the right thing.

​He looked away first.

​"Come on," Steve muttered to Tommy and Carol, his stomach turning. "We're gonna be late for class."

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

The whole interaction with Nancy felt weird. Standing there in the middle of the hallway, Alisson felt like she was an exhibit in a zoo, with Tommy, Carol, Steve, and even Barbara all staring them down. She hated it. She hated the pity in Nancy's eyes and the mockery in the others'.

​Once they'd helped Jonathan finish the last of the flyers, he told them his plan. He was going to find his dad, Lonnie. Ali and Nat exchanged a look; they knew Lonnie was a deadbeat, but they didn't stop him. Jonathan needed to move, to keep searching, or he was going to snap.

​"Great," Nat grumbled as they headed back toward the lockers. "Now he won't be around to be our excuse to skip Harrington's party tonight."

​Ali didn't answer. To be honest, she didn't want to go anymore. She'd spent the morning looking at her father's tired, terrified face and Jonathan's trembling hands, and the thought of drinking cheap beer in a backyard felt hollow. Besides, the look Steve had given her earlier-that confused, judgy stare-stayed with her. He didn't understand why she was there. He didn't understand her.

By the time she slid into her seat in English class, Alisson was running on fumes. She just wanted the day to be over, to crawl back into her bed and disappear.

The essay was due by the end of the hour, but she couldn't bring herself to care about sentence structure or themes. She'd turned in something that was barely passable, a far cry from her usual work, but her mind was stuck in Will and Jonathan.

​Lunch was a blur of noise she couldn't stomach. As soon as the bell rang, she headed for the library. Natalie was at band practice, leaving Ali alone with her thoughts for her free period.

​She sat at a back table in the far corner of the library, staring at the stark, blank page of her notebook. She felt caught in a brutal tug-of-war. Part of her wanted to find Steve and tell him she wasn't coming-that the idea of watching people drink and flirt while Will was out there, alone in the cold, made her stomach turn.

​But then the "prickle" returned, a cold shiver crawling up the back of her neck. If she didn't go to the party, she'd end up back in those woods. She'd be out there with a flashlight, chasing shadows and searching for a boy who might already be....

​She slammed her notebook shut. What if she found something she didn't want to find? What if the "wonders" her dad and Jonathan were looking for were actually nightmares?

​Suddenly, getting drunk at a party and pretending the world was still normal didn't seem like such a terrible idea. At least at a party, the only thing she had to fear was a hangover and Tommy H.'s mouth.

​"You look like you're plotting a murder, Hopper. Or at least a very serious prank."

​The voice broke her trance. Steve was leaning against the bookshelf next to her table, his varsity jacket slung over one shoulder. He wasn't smirking this time; he was looking at her with a genuine, quiet curiosity that caught her off guard.

​"Hey, Steve. What do you want?" Her voice sounded thin and brittle. She was already mentally calculating if she could ditch her last class and pull the Chevelle into the trailer park for a nap before the sun went down.

​"Oh, you know. Just checking in," Steve said. There was a strange caution in his voice, like he was approaching a stray cat that might bolt if he spoke too loud. "Making sure you aren't backing out of the hangout tonight."

​Ali sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I don't know, Steve. I don't really think I'm in the mood to party today. Not with... everything."

​"Come on, Hopper," he said, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. He leaned in, lowering his voice to fit the library's hush. "It'll be a good distraction. Plus, you'll have snacks and the finest cheap beer Hawkins has to offer at your service. My treat."

​He watched her for a second, his playful expression softening just a fraction. "Seriously, Ali. You look like you haven't slept since the seventies. You need to turn your brain off for a few hours. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

Ali looked at him, really looked at him, and saw that he was trying-in his own clumsy, "King Steve" way-to be nice. The thought of her dark bedroom and the silence of the trailer felt heavy, but the thought of a cold beer and some loud music felt like a good distraction.

"Fine," she sighed, finally relenting. "I'll be there. But if Tommy H. says one word to me, I'm pouring that 'great beer' over his head. I mean it, Steve."

Steve grinned, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Deal. I'll even provide the napkins for the cleanup."

He lingered for a second, fidgeting with the strap of his gym bag. He looked like he wanted to say something else, something "cool," but instead he leaned in with a look of pure, desperate confusion. "Hey, since you're basically a girl-expert... does Nancy ever talk about me in class? Like, does she seem... happy? Or is she more of a 'I'm just doing this for the free snacks' kind of date?"

Ali stared at him, a deadpan expression flat on her face. The shift from "cool guy" to "insecure boyfriend" was almost enough to make her laugh.

"I'm her classmate, Steve, not her diary," she replied, packing her notebook into her bag. "Ask Barb. She actually knows Nancy. I just sit three rows back and try not to fall asleep during the lectures."

Steve slumped slightly, looking defeated. "Right. Barb. The Gatekeeper. Awesome."

"Good luck, Romeo," Ali muttered, standing up and heading for the exit. "See you at the party."

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Notes:

Hii!!!

This chapter was a bit hard to write. Its in kind of a limbo between the fun stuff and the plot development of someone who is not in the main Monsters hunting part yet.

I really wanted to explore the parallel between Ali's grief over Sarah and what Jonathan is going through now with Will. It's that shared "sibling" trauma that makes their friendship so strong.

Also, we finally see a little bit of Steve's "softer" (and more confused) side! What do you guys think of the Ali/Steve dynamic so far?

Thanks for reading!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 !

Chapter 3: 03 Teenage Dirtbag

Alisson was the type of person who liked parties; in fact, she usually thrived in them. She had this effortless way of moving through a crowd, a natural ease with social interactions that always seemed to land her right in the spotlight. Natalie, on the other hand, was the exact opposite.

​Actually, Natalie was just pissed.

​She leaned against the passenger door of the Chevelle, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The whole thing felt wrong. Going to some dumb jock's house to drink cheap beer while their best friend was out there falling apart over his missing brother felt like a betrayal. It was stupid, it was shallow, and it was the last place on earth she wanted to be.

​Natalie didn't even try to hide the scowl on her face. She knew her thoughts were practically printed in bold across her forehead, and she knew Ali was watching her.

​​"You're doing it again," Ali stated calmly. She pulled her keys from the ignition and closed the Chevelle's door with a heavy, metallic thump that echoed in the quiet suburban street.

​"Doing what? Having a soul?" Natalie snapped. She knew she was being rude-unfair, even-but the whole situation felt like a sick joke. The manicured lawns and oversized houses of Steve Harrington's neighborhood felt worlds away from the dark woods and the Byers' cramped, grieving home.

​Ali didn't snap back. She just leaned against the car, looking at Natalie with that tired, knowing gaze. "Jonathan isn't even in Hawkins, Nat. He's with Lonnie. He probably won't get home until late, and Joyce is going to want him there when he does. He doesn't need us sitting in his driveway in the dark."

​Ali adjusted the strap of her bag, her rings catching the glow of a nearby streetlight. "I know you don't like it, but I really need a distraction today. Just... one hour. We stay for an hour, we drink a beer, and we leave. Please?"

​Natalie looked from Ali to the house, where music was already thumping behind the front door. She hated that Ali was right about Jonathan, and she hated even more that she couldn't say no when Ali used that quiet, desperate tone.

​"Fine. One hour, one hour then we go home," Natalie stated, pointing a warning finger at Ali. "I don't want to spend another minute than I have to with those mouth breathers, okay?"

​They started walking toward the front porch. Ali actually smiled-a small, genuine thing that made Natalie soften just a bit. Natalie knew exactly why they were here. She knew the situation with Will was taking a heavy toll on Ali, dragging up every ghost of what had happened to Sarah. If Ali needed a house full of idiots to drown out the silence for a while, then Natalie would do it. She would bear a night of annoying pricks for the sake of her best friend.

​They hadn't even finished ringing the doorbell before it swung open. There stood Steve, his massive hair seemingly defying gravity, his face lighting up the second he saw who was on the porch.

​"Alisson! Great to see you. I'm really glad you could make it," he said. He had a wide, almost goofy smile that felt a little too eager-a little freaky, even-on his usually condescending face.

​Then his gaze shifted to Natalie, and the genuine warmth dropped instantly, replaced by a practiced, skeptical mask. "Natalie. Charming as ever."

​"Harrington," Natalie drawled, her voice dripping with enough sarcasm to drown him. "Try not to faint from the excitement."

The house was a show of the most pitch perfect american style rich family bullcrap she had ever seen, Harrington lead them to the backyard and of course there was a massive pool that clearly was to big for a family of 3.

"God, you really are a cliche.." she muttered more to herself than to him, near the pool Nancy Wheeler was sitting on the edge of a lawn chair, as soon as Steve came in she allready had googly eyes toward him, while Barbara Holland sat next to her like a watchful gargoyle, her arms crossed and her eyes scanning the scene with pure judgment, she was clearly having the time of her life. Tommy and Carol were, predictably, tangled together on a lounger, whispering something that made Carol let out a shrill, piercing laugh.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Tommy called out, raising a can of beer. "The Freak and the... well, I don't even know what you're supposed to be today, Hopper. Going to a funeral later?"

Ali didn't even flinch. She just tilted her head, her dark eyeliner making her gaze look even sharper in the firelight. "I don't know, Tommy. Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to realize no one's listening?"

"Keep that atitude up and I'm not sharing my weed with you dumbass." Natalie stated, pulling out of her jacket a small little sack with the worlds gratest tresure.

"Well, let's not make any harsh calls, okay?" Steve jumped in, his hands up in a placating gesture. He looked between Tommy's smirk and Natalie's defiant glare, looking like a man trying to stop a bomb from ticking with nothing but a smile and a prayer.

Tommy's eyes locked onto the small bag in Natalie's hand, his mocking expression shifting into something more predatory and interested. "A Munson with a peace offering? Now that's a plot twist."

"It's not an offering, Hagan," Natalie drawled, tucking the bag back into her leather jacket just enough to tease him. "It's a private collection. And the entry fee is basic human decency, so you're already in the red."

Tommy held up his hands in surrender, laughing. "Alright, alright! I'll be on my best behavior for the 'private collection.' Steve, get the ladies some actual drinks."

They moved to the edge of the pool, the girls claiming a cluster of lawn chairs near the glowing water. While Steve headed inside for the beer, Natalie didn't waste a second; she propped her combat boots up on a lawn chair and started rolling with the precision of a surgeon.

By the time Steve jogged back out with a handful of cold cans, she had a neat row of joints ready for the "circle" - herself, Ali, Tommy, Carol and Steve - but then she held out two more toward the chair where the "good girls" sat.

"For the nerves," Natalie said, offering one each to Nancy and Barb.

Nancy looked at the joint as if it were a live grenade, her eyes darting to the house to see if Steve was watching. Barb, however, didn't even hesitate. She gave a sharp, dry head-shake. "I think I'll stick to the punch, thanks. Someone has to make sure we don't all end up in the ER."

"Suit yourselves," Nat shrugged, lighting one for herself. She just tucked the extras behind her ear like a pro.

Steve handed out the beers, dropping into the chair next to Natalie. He looked more relaxed than he had all day, the "King Steve" mask slipping just enough to show the teenager underneath.

"Harrington, this beer tastes like someone filtered it through a gym sock," Natalie announced after her second long sip, leaning back and blowing a plume of smoke into the November air.

Steve let out a short, dry laugh, nudging her shoulder with his own. "It's a premium import, Munson. Your palate is just used to whatever engine degreaser you and your cousin drink in the trailer park."

"Oh, excuse me, King Steve," Ali chimed in from the lounger next to them. She slid a bowl of pretzels toward Nancy and Barb. "He's very sensitive about his brand choices. It matches the hair."

Nancy giggled—a bright, genuine sound that seemed to surprise even her. She looked at Ali, and for a split second, the two years of silence between them vanished.

"The hair is a structural marvel, Ali. Don't mock the architecture," Nancy joked, reaching for a pretzel.

"Haha, very funny," Steve said, though he was grinning. He pulled a pocket knife from his jeans, expertly cutting a small hole in the side of the can. He hunched over, his face reddening as he shotgunned the beer in a matter of seconds.

With a grunt of triumph, he crushed the can and tossed it onto the concrete. He dropped into the chair next to Nancy, fishing the joint Natalie had rolled for him out of behind his ear and wedging it between his lips.

Natalie and Barb shared a rare moment of solidarity—they both rolled their eyes at the exact same time.

Nancy leaned back, a playful grin tugging at her mouth. "Is that supposed to impress me?"

"You're not?" Steve replied, his voice a bit muffled by the unlit joint. He looked genuinely surprised, like he couldn't imagine a world where shotgunning a beer wasn't the height of romance.

"You are a cliché, Steve. You do realize that?" Nancy said. Beside her, Natalie nodded emphatically, blowing a plume of smoke toward the pool.

"I am not a cliché," Steve countered. He struck a match and lit the joint, taking a long drag before pointing it at her. "What about you? With your... your grades and your band practice."

Nancy let out a bright, airy laugh. "I am so not in band, Steve."

Natalie leaned in close to Ali, her voice a low, dry murmur. "What's wrong with being in band?"

Ali let out a suppressed giggle, nudging Nat with her shoulder. "Nothing, Nat. He's just grasping at straws because he's losing the argument."

"I heard that!" Steve called out, though he didn't look mad. He turned his attention back to Nancy, a playful challenge in his eyes. "Okay, party girl. Why don't you just, uh, show us how it's done, then?"

"Okay," Nancy replied, her voice dropping into a deviant, daring tone Ali hadn't heard in years.

Natalie sat up straight, her eyebrows shooting toward her platinum mullet. This was going to be good. Ali watched with pure entertainment, leaning her head on her hand. Nancy Wheeler, the girl who once cried over a B-plus, was about to shotgun a beer in front of the entire "cool" crowd. It was like watching a glitch in the Matrix.

Steve leaned over, trying to reclaim his role as the expert. "You gotta make a little hole right in—"

"I got it," Nancy cut him off, her voice firm as she took the pocket knife.

"Yeah, she's smart, you douche!" Tommy exclaimed from his lounger, cackling as he watched Steve get shut down.

Steve threw his arms up in defeat, a mock-offended look plastered on his face as he watched her take the knife. Nancy didn't hesitate; she made the cut and tipped the can back.

"Chug, chug, chug, chug!"

The chant started with Tommy and Carol, but soon Steve, Natalie, and even Ali were leaning in, swept up in the ridiculous, loud energy of it. When Nancy finally finished, slamming the empty, crumpled can down on the table with a sharp gasp for air, the patio erupted in cheers.

"Holy shit!" Natalie cheered, actually clapping her hands together. "Wheeler! Who knew you had it in you?"

Ali laughed, feeling a genuine spark of warmth for the girl she used to spend every Saturday with. "I told you, Steve. You're officially losing the argument."

But Nancy's focus shifted. The adrenaline was still pumping through her, making her cheeks flush as she looked over at Barbara. Barb wasn't cheering. She was sitting perfectly still, looking at Nancy with a mix of concern and pure, unadulterated boredom.

"Barb, you wanna try?" Nancy asked, her voice high and breathless.

"What? No." Barb looked incredulous, her eyes darting between Nancy's flushed face and the sticky mess of cans on the table. "No, I don't want to. Thanks."

"Come on," Nancy pushed, her fingers already fumbling with another beer and the pocket knife.

"Yeah..." Ali chimed in, though her voice lacked conviction. She was trying to defuse the sharp tension emanating from Barbara, but it felt like trying to put out a fire with a cup of water.

"Come on. Yeah, Barb. Give it a go," Steve joined in, leaning forward. He wasn't being mean, but he was caught up in the momentum of the night, unaware of how much he was suffocating the girl in the glasses.

"Nance, I don't want to," Barbara pleaded silently.

Natalie watched the exchange, her expression flattening. This was twisted. To her, if someone didn't want to have a good time or interact, you just let them be. Forcing it was a special kind of suburban cruelty she didn't have the patience for. She shared a look with Ali a silent 'this is getting weird' but the momentum was already too fast to stop.

"It's fun! Just give it a—" Nancy said softly, her smile looking a bit strained now.

"Nance..."

"Just... just give it a shot." Nancy practically forced the beer and the cold metal of the knife into Barb's hands.

The silence that followed was heavy. The woods seemed to lean in closer over the fence, the wind whistling through the dead leaves. Barb looked down at the knife, her hand shaking just a fraction.

Natalie watched as Barb finally stood up from her chair, her shoulders hunched. Ali gave Natalie a look that said 'it's too late now'; the peer pressure had already won.

"Okay..." Barb murmured. Her voice was thin. "So you just..."

She slowly pressed the tip of the knife into the side of the aluminum can. But Barb wasn't practiced like Steve, and she wasn't fueled by a point to prove like Nancy. Her hand was shaking. The blade slipped, skidding off the metal and slicing deep into her palm.

Blood started gushing out immediately, dark and stark against the pale light.

Ali made a sharp, worried sound, half-rising from her chair.

"Gnarly," Natalie said before she could help herself. It was an instinctive reaction, the kind of thing she'd say at a show or in a basement, but in the silence of the Harrington backyard, it hung in the air. Tommy let out a short, mean chuckle at the comment, which made Ali shoot them both a look of warning.

"Are you okay?" Nancy asked softly, her face falling as she leaned in to help her friend. The "cool girl" mask was gone in an instant.

"Yeah," Barb said, her voice tight. She was staring at her hand, her fingers trembling. The cold air had to be making that sting like hell.

"Barb, you're bleeding. A lot," Nancy stated, her eyes wide.

"I'm fine," Barb snapped, though she wasn't looking at the cut. She was looking at Nancy, her eyes full of a disappointment that was sharper than the knife. She turned her gaze to Steve, who was looking on with a mix of pity and awkwardness. "Where is your bathroom?"

"Oh, it's... it's, uh, down past the kitchen, to the left," Steve rambled, standing up and pointing toward the sliding glass doors. "First door on the left."

"Okay. Thanks." Barb stepped back, clutching her hand to her chest, and disappeared inside.

The sliding door clicked shut behind Barb, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence on the patio. Nancy stared at the spot where her friend had been standing, the bloody knife still lying on the table like a lead weight. Steve shifted on his feet, looking between the door and Nancy, his usual confidence completely drained.

"Well," Tommy muttered, breaking the quiet. "That was a buzzkill."

"She'll be fine," Steve said, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He looked at Ali, his eyes pleading for a way to fix the vibe. "Right? It was just a scratch."

Ali looked at the blood on the table and then back at the house. She felt that cold prickle again—the sense that they were all playing pretend while something dark watched from the trees.

"Maybe we should—" Ali started, her voice soft.

"You know what this party needs?" Natalie interrupted, standing up abruptly. She saw the worry on Ali's face and decided to kill it with chaos. A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes as she looked toward the pool.

"Natalie, no," Ali warned, recognizing that dangerous, manic look. She started to back away, her mesh skirt snagging on the edge of the lounger. "Don't you dare."

"Natalie, yes!"

Before Ali could turn to run, Natalie lunged. She didn't just push; she tackled Ali with full force, her combat boots skidding on the wet concrete. There was a yelp of pure betrayal from Ali, a scramble of limbs, and then—SPLASH.

The freezing water swallowed them both. A second later, Natalie surfaced first, shaking her platinum mullet like a wet dog and howling with laughter. Ali came up right after her, gasping as the cold hit her lungs, her dark hair plastered over her face like a veil.

"Munson! You're dead! You're actually dead!" Ali sputtered, wiping chlorine from her eyes.

"The water's fine, Hopper! Stop being a baby!" Natalie yelled back, splashing her with a massive wave.

The tension broke like a snapped rubber band. Tommy let out a loud "Whoop!" and grabbed Carol, shoving her toward the deep end before leaping in right after her.

"Oh my god! What the hell, Tommy!" Carol screamed, though she was laughing by the time she hit the surface.

Nancy stood on the edge, looking down at the chaos in the pool with a mix of shock and envy. Steve caught Ali's eye—she was currently trying to dunk Natalie—and he felt a massive weight lift off his chest. Without warning, he gave Nancy a playful shove, sending her shrieking into the water. He kicked off his loafers, flashed that signature arrogant grin, and executed a perfect cannonball into the center of the fray.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Jonathan wasn't supposed to be there.

He wasn't supposed to be lurking in the shadows, and he most definitely wasn't supposed to be taking pictures. He was supposed to be in the woods, looking for his brother. He was supposed to be the reliable son, the one who kept his head down and did the work.

He didn't mean to stay, he wasn't going to, but the light and the noise had acted like a siren song, pulling him toward the property line. Now, crouched behind a thicket of dead brush, he felt like a thief.

He raised the Pentax, the cold metal of the camera body biting into his palms. Through the lens, the world was safe. It was just light and shadow, framed and contained.

Click.

There was Steve, laughing with his head thrown back. The King of Hawkins, untouched by the tragedy only a few miles away. Click.

There was Nancy Wheeler, laughing in a way that didn't match the girl who sat in the front of his English class. Click.

Then the lens shifted, and he found her.

Alisson was in the middle of the pool, her dark hair fanned out on the surface of the water like a velvet spill. She was smiling—not the sharp, guarded smile she gave people in the hallways, but something soft and genuine. She looked... happy. She looked like she belonged there, under the expensive patio lights, surrounded by people who didn't have missing brothers.

Click.

Then the lens drifted to the left, catching the bright, jagged flash of platinum blonde against the dark water.

Natalie. She was howling with laughter, her face scrunched up as she sent a massive wave of water toward Ali. Jonathan felt a strange, jarring disconnect. Usually, Natalie Munson was the first one to throw a middle finger at anyone wearing a varsity jacket. She was the one who taught him that being a "freak" was a badge of honor, something to wear like a suit of armor.

But here, she looked... lighter. The sharp edges she usually kept honed for the Hawkins High hallways had softened. She wasn't fighting anyone; she was just a girl in a pool, having the kind of stupid, careless fun that Jonathan had never been able to afford.

Click.

He caught her mid-splash, the water droplets frozen like diamonds in the air around her.

Seeing the two of them together—Ali and Nat, his only two friends—submerged in Harrington's world, made Jonathan feel like a ghost. He was out here in the damp mulch, his skin crawling with the cold and the guilt of not being on the trails, while they had found a way to let go. He didn't blame them, not exactly, but the sight of their joy felt like a door being slammed in his face.

He was the only one left in the dark.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Ali was freezing. The second her head broke the surface and the night air hit her skin, the "good idea" of jumping into the pool vanished, replaced by a violent, teeth-chattering chill. Her mesh skirt felt like a lead weight around her legs, and her velvet top was soaked through, clinging to her like a cold second skin.

But for some reason, she was still smiling. Maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was the look on Natalie's face—a mixture of triumph and pure, unadulterated chaos. For a few minutes, the "cold prickle" at the back of her neck had gone silent, drowned out by the splashing and the laughter.

Steve was the last one out, looking remarkably less like a "King" and more like a drowned rat with very expensive hair. He slid the glass door shut behind the group, sealing out the damp woods, and immediately started tossing towels at everyone.

"Here—catch," Steve muttered, his voice shaking slightly from the cold. He threw a fluffy white towel at Tommy and Carol, who were already huddled together, and handed one to Natalie, who was busy trying to squeeze a gallon of water out of her mullet.

He draped a towel over Nancy's shoulders first. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice full of that careful, "first-date" sweetness. Nancy nodded, clutching the fabric to her chin, her eyes still darting toward the hallway where Barb had disappeared earlier.

Then, Steve turned to Ali.

He didn't just toss the towel this time. He stepped over and pulled the thick, dry fabric around her shoulders, giving her a brief, grounding squeeze on the arms. It wasn't a flirtatious linger; it was the kind of steadying gesture you give a friend when they're shaking too hard.

Ali pulled the towel tighter around her, the warmth feeling like a miracle against her shivering skin. Steve looked down at her, his expression unusually soft. "You're purple, Hopper," he stated.

"You're the one who did a cannonball, Harrington," Ali teased, though it came out as a shaky breath. "Don't try to play the adult now."

"I'm freezing!" Carol announced, her voice rising to a loud, grating screech that echoed off the kitchen tiles.

"Hmm... well, I hear his mom's room has a fireplace," Tommy replied with a smirk, his tone clearly suggesting he and Carol were finished with the group for the night.

Steve's arms jolted up in mock protest. "Are you kidding? Fine! But you're cleaning the sheets, Tommy. I mean it." He rolled his eyes and turned back to the two girls. "Are you guys going home?"

Natalie looked at Alisson for confirmation. Ali gave a small, weary nod. "Yeah," Natalie said. "We're done for the night."

"Okay. Let's go upstairs, I'll lend you some dry clothes," Steve said. He then turned his attention to Nancy, his voice dropping an octave. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Nancy said softly, though she looked distracted, her eyes fixed on the hallway where Barb had gone.

The group moved upstairs, Natalie and Ali leading the way with Steve following close behind and Nancy trailing at the back. As they passed the upstairs bathroom, Ali heard a muffled exchange between Nancy and Barb — a whispered, tense conversation that made her stomach twist, but Steve was already moving past them to open his bedroom door.

He rummaged through his dresser for a moment before handing Natalie and Ali each a hoodie and a pair of gray sweatpants.

"There's a bathroom down the hall to the left," Steve said, leaning against the doorframe. He looked tired, but he flashed Ali a genuine smile. "You guys can go out through the front if you want, the door is open. Thanks for coming, Hop."

"Don't stress it, Steve," Ali replied, clutching the warm clothes to her chest. She gave his arm a quick, friendly pat as she passed him. "Go and finish you date." she said giving him a wink.

Notes:

Hiii!!!

This has to be my favorite chapter to write so far. Natalie is my spirit animal, I swear!

I really wanted to explore the contrast between the girls and Jonathan in this scene—especially Natalie. In many ways, Nat is an outsider just like Jonathan, but with one big difference: she actually knows how to handle social interactions. She can have fun with the popular crowd; she just usually chooses not to.

Jonathan, on the other hand, feels completely left out because he doesn't have that "off-switch." In a party like this, he identifies much more with Barb's isolation than Natalie's chaos. That's why, in my head, he captures that specific photo of Barb, he recognizes a kindred spirit in her discomfort (even if Nancy just so happens to caught half naked in the background).

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this new chapter!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 !

Chapter 4: 04 Shattered Glass and Glossy Lies

Alisson was drooling when she woke up the next day. Her hair was in a messy, matted braid, and she was lying next to a very much passed-out Natalie, who clearly hadn't heard the last twenty times the alarm had gone off.

"Wake up!" Ali spoke, tugging at Nat's arm. A simple, low groan was the only answer she got. "Wake up!"

Ali grabbed her pillow and started thumping it against the Munson's still-sleepy body.

"What?" Natalie asked, her voice muffled and annoyed under the weight of the pillow.

"It's 7:30. Kaminsky's test is today.

We. are. late."

That did it. Natalie jolted upright, her eyes wide. "Jesus, Nat, your hair looks like an animal slept on top of it."

"Haha, very funny. Like you don't have a matted so-called braid on your head," Natalie snapped back, though she was already scrambling out of the covers.

The alarm belted out again. It was now 7:40. They were so dead.

The two jumped out of bed and sprang over to the cramped bathroom in Ali's trailer. They moved in a blurred routine of splashing cold water on their faces and aggressively brushing their teeth over the same tiny sink. Ali pulled on a pair of jeans, still half-tripping over the legs, while Natalie hunted for her boots.

"Where's my other shoe?" Natalie hissed, tossing a pile of laundry aside.

"Check under the couch!" Ali called out, frantically shoving her notebook into her bag. She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror - pale, tired, but the adrenaline of being late was finally washing away the last of the pool-water chill.

"Found it!" Natalie emerged from the living room, hopping on one foot as she pulled the boot on.

They didn't have time for coffee or a real breakfast. Ali grabbed a piece of toast that her dad had left on a plate and split it in half, handing a piece to Natalie as they sprinted out the front door. The morning air was biting, a sharp reminder that winter was coming, but they didn't stop to feel it. They tumbled into the Chevelle, the engine roaring to life with a protest that matched their own morning moods.

"If we get a speeding ticket, I'm telling my dad it was your fault," Ali muttered, throwing the car into reverse.

"Whatever, just drive!" Natalie urged, checking the clock on the dash.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

"I knew we shouldn't have gone to that stupid party, and now we are screwed!" Natalie complained. They were practically sprinting through the halls, throwing their stuff into their lockers with a loud, metallic clatter.

"Oh please, like you didn't enjoy yourself," Alisson scoffed, slamming her locker shut and leaning against it for a second to catch her breath.

"I didn't. I was just there keeping an eye on you. It was all strictly professional," Natalie countered, her face dead serious despite her messy hair.

"Oh, really? And how is having five joints and eight beers being 'professional'?" Ali asked, her voice dripping with disbelief as a playful grin spread across her face.

"It's called blending in, Ali. Have you never heard of it?" Natalie looked at her with a perfectly comical, "duh" expression.

"Oh, so you're saying you didn't have any fun at all?"

"None. Zero. Not a bit."

"So throwing me in the pool was strictly professional, too?"

Natalie paused, a slow, wicked grin breaking across her face at the memory. "No. That was definitely for fun."

They were just about to sprint toward Kaminsky's room when Ali spotted a familiar slouching figure. Jonathan was standing by his locker, staring blankly at the books inside, his shoulders hunched up to his ears.

The playful grin vanished from Ali's face, replaced by a sharp, cold pang of guilt. Beside her, Natalie's shoulders dropped. The "professional" partying didn't feel so funny anymore now that the guy who was actually suffering was standing ten feet away.

"Jonathan!" Ali called out, slowing her pace as they approached him.

Jonathan blinked, looking up slowly. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. He looked exhausted, but there was something else in his expression—something hard and distant.

"Hey," Ali said softly, stopping in front of him. She reached out as if to touch his arm but hesitated when he didn't move. "How was the trip to Lonnie's? Did he have anything to say?"

Jonathan's gaze flickered to Ali, then over to Natalie. He didn't look at them the way he usually did - like they were his safe harbor. He caught the faint, lingering scent of chlorine on Ali's skin, and his jaw tightened.

"He didn't know anything," Jonathan said, his voice flat and sandpaper-dry. "It was a waste of time."

"Jonathan, I'm so sorry," Natalie added, her usual snark completely gone. "We're gonna head out after school and help with the search party, okay? Whatever you need, we're there."

"I have class," Jonathan muttered, slamming his locker shut with a loud, metallic clang that made them both flinch. He didn't even look at them as he adjusted his camera bag on his shoulder. "You guys should get going. You're gonna be late."

"We'll check in at lunch, okay? We can sit together," Ali pushed, trying to catch his eye, but he was already moving past them.

"I've got stuff to do," he said over his shoulder, his voice disappearing into the noise of the crowded hallway.

Ali stood there for a second, staring at the back of his head. "He seems... really off," she whispered, a worried knot forming in her stomach.

"His brother is missing, Ali. 'Off' is the baseline right now," Natalie reminded her, though she looked unsettled too. She checked her watch and hissed. "Kaminsky! We have sixty seconds or we're failing by default. Let's go!"

They brushed it off, chalking his mood up to the grief and the long drive. They didn't realize that Jonathan was heading to the exact same wing of the school as them, and that he spent the entire period staring at the back of their heads, thinking about the photos waiting to be revealed in his bag.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Nancy was feeling off that day. When she arrived at school, she felt like everyone was staring at her. Did they know? Were they already calling her a slut? Was she just another one of Steve Harrington's trophies? They weren't even dating. What was she thinking?

Maybe Barb was right. Maybe she shouldn't have gone upstairs. Maybe she should have left after changing like Ali did. Maybe she shouldn't have even gone to that party in the first place.

But she'd had fun, and Steve had been sweet. But he hadn't walked her out the door; he hadn't kissed her goodnight. Hell, he hadn't even said goodnight - he was asleep when she left. Was he going to talk to her today? Or was he going to ignore her and pretend nothing happened? Or worse, would he be mean and drop her like Laurie, or Amy, or Becky? Had he made them feel special, too, before dumping them and telling the whole school what happened? She felt like shit. And Barb? Barb was nowhere to be seen. Where was she, anyway?

Her trail of thought was interrupted by the reason for 90% of them. Steve looked at her with a charming smirk on his face.

"Hey!"

"Hey," she said quietly, with a small, nervous laugh.

"Is everything okay?" He looked at her with care—at least, that's what she thought. Maybe he was tricking her like he did Becky.

"Yeah!" she said, placing her books in her locker. "Yeah, totally." She looked at him again. He seemed genuine. Was that a lie? "I just..." Don't say it. "I feel like everyone's... staring at me." She said it. Did Amy also feel like this?

"Oh, I didn't... I didn't tell anyone," he said. She could tell he was telling the truth. Maybe he wasn't the problem; maybe he didn't trick anyone. Maybe someone else spread those rumors.

"I know!" she said quickly. "I know. Of course not." Steve wouldn't. Steve was nice, and kind, and cute. He wouldn't betray her like that.

But you know who would? Goddamn Tommy H. and Carol P. "But what about, like..." Don't say it. "Tommy and Carol and them?" She said it.

"You're being paranoid."

He was right. She was. "I'm sorry." She nodded her head.

"No. No, it's cute." He looked at her with that smile. That damn smile. "Hey, I had a good time."

She felt a weight lift off her shoulders. "Yeah. Yeah. Me, too." She smiled at him—a real smile this time.

He came closer to her, closing the gap between them. A kiss. A sweet and gentle kiss. A warm one, a reassuring one. There he was. Steve knew she wasn't like those other girls. He liked her—like, really liked her. And she liked him, too. Steve was nice. He was safe. She was safe with him.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Going into class, she felt much lighter. Things with Steve were great; the only bummer was Kaminsky's test, but she would do fine. She had studied like crazy on Monday, and her mind was no longer buzzing because of yesterday. Life was finally going her way.

That was until she looked to her side. Barb's chair was empty. Where was she? Kaminsky's tests were absurd as it was; retaking his exams was asking to flunk his class. Barb would never miss this. Not ever. No way. Absolutely something was off.

She was pulled from her thoughts again as two girl-shaped hurricanes called Alisson Hopper and Natalie Munson popped into class. They sat down - Ali behind her, and Natalie next to her.

"Hey... Nance... did you study for this test?" Ali whispered.

Well, Barb would have to wait. She was probably fine; maybe she got an infection from her cut and had to go to the hospital. Yeah, that was probably it. But that thought didn't help; Nancy's stomach twisted.

"Yeah. Yes, I did," Nancy replied.

She could only hope that her friend was okay.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Ali was free. Fucking finally! No more annoying chemistry, not ever - and she owed it all to Nancy "Walking Encyclopedia" Wheeler. Still, as she stepped out of the classroom, she couldn't shake a nervous twitch in her stomach. Was it just the leftovers of the party? Or was it something else?

She glanced over her shoulder at Nancy. If Steve had done something wrong, she swore to God she would murder him.

"Thank God for Wheeler, seriously," Natalie said, leaning back as they fumbled through the crowded hallway. "I didn't know a single answer on that damn test. I swear, I would've flunked so hard." Natalie nudged Ali's shoulder when she didn't get a response. "Hey? Earth to Hopper. Are you even listening?"

Ali blinked, snapping her gaze away from the classroom door. "Did she seem off to you?"

"Who?" Nat asked, shifting her heavy bag to her other shoulder.

"Nancy."

"I don't know. Why?" Nat stopped at her locker, giving Ali a confused look. "Did she seem off to you?"

"I think so," Ali admitted, leaning against the cold metal of the lockers next to Nat. "Do you think Steve did something?"

Natalie scoffed, pulling a crumpled notebook from her bag. "Why do you care? They seemed well enough for me last night."

"I mean-"

"Hey, guys," Nancy's voice cut her off.

Ali straightened up as Nancy caught up to them in the hall. Nancy looked pale, her fingers twisting nervously around the straps of her backpack.

"Did you guys see Barb? Like when you left last night." Nancy asked, her eyes darting between the two of them.

"Um, no? Why?" Nat asked, her confusion growing.

"It's just that..." Nancy trailed off, her voice dropping as a group of basketball players boisterously pushed past them. "I didn't see her in class today. And Kaminsky's tests are really hard... I don't know why she'd miss one, you know?"

"Maybe she just wasn't felling well, and stayed home today." Ali said giving Nancy a sympathetic look.

"Yeah, but she would have called, so that I could have informed Kaminsky, he wasn't aware that she would miss school today as well."

"When we left she was by the pool, we went through the front door so we didn't really talk to her." Ali said softly.

"Well maybe she doesn't really want to talk to you right now." Nat's words make Ali give her a warning look.

"What do you mean?" Asked Nancy.

"Oh, you know, considering that you forced her to play a game she didn't want, then ditched her to go hook up with Harrington of all people." Ali saw as Nancy's face drained of colour at the sight of what Natalie was saying. "I'm just saying, if it was with me I'd be pissed too."

"Natalie!" Ali repreended.

"What?!"

The silence that followed Natalie's "truth bomb" was deafening, even with the roar of the hallway around them.

"I gotta go," Nancy whispered, her voice cracking. She didn't wait for a response; she turned and bolted, weaving through the crowd of students like she was running for her life.

"Jesus! What the hell, Natalie! How could you say that!" Ali rounded on her friend, her voice low but sharp with anger.

"What?! It's not like I'm lying!" Natalie shouted back, throwing her hands up as they started walking again, caught in the flow of students heading toward the cafeteria. "If she actually cared about Barb, she would've tried to make her friend more comfortable. Or, I don't know, not left her bleeding in a bathroom while she went upstairs with King Steve!"

"It's not like she didn't try," Ali argued, her combat boots clunking loudly on the linoleum. "Barbara just wasn't open to having fun with us. She was being a wallflower on purpose, Nat."

"Yeah, but Nancy invited her," Natalie countered, pushing open the heavy double doors to the cafeteria. The smell of mystery meat and floor wax hit them instantly. "If it were us, you would have left with me the second I got hurt. Just saying. She could have at least helped with the bandage instead of ditching her."

Ali sighed, her anger deflating into a heavy knot of worry. She knew Natalie was right, but seeing Nancy that broken had made her stomach flip. They grabbed red plastic trays and joined the lunch line, the usual chaotic noise of the cafeteria feeling overwhelming.

"I just have a bad feeling," Ali murmured, her eyes scanning the room.

"About Nancy's social life? Don't worry, Steve will buy her a new one," Nat joked, though her eyes were soft as she looked at Ali.

"No," Ali said, her voice dropping as they reached the front of the line. "About Barb. She really isn't the type to miss a test. Even if she was pissed at Nancy."

Ali spotted him at the small table near the back exit - the one the "freaks" usually occupied when the library was closed. He was hunched over, his camera bag clutched between his feet like it was filled with gold bars.

"Let's go sit with Jonathan," Ali said, her voice firm. "He looks like he's about to disappear into the floor."

"He always looks like that, Ali," Natalie muttered, though she followed anyway, her tray rattling with the half-eaten mystery meat.

As they wove through the crowded tables, Ali kept her eyes on the back of Jonathan's head. She just wanted to check in, to offer a bit of normalcy. But as they got within ten feet, Jonathan looked up. His eyes locked onto Ali's, and for a split second, she saw a flash of pure, unadulterated panic.

He didn't wave. He didn't wait.

Before they could even reach the table, Jonathan shoved his half-eaten apple into his bag, slung the strap over his shoulder, and bolted.

"Jonathan! Hey!" Ali called out, but he was already pushing through the heavy double doors leading to the gym hallway. He didn't even look back.

Ali stopped in her tracks, her tray tilting dangerously. "Did he just... run away from us?"

"Avoidance level: Expert," Natalie commented, sliding into the chair Jonathan had just vacated. She picked up a stray napkin he'd left behind. "Seriously, what is his deal today? I know the Lonnie thing was bad, but he's acting like we have the plague."

Ali sat down slowly, her eyes fixed on the doors where he'd disappeared. The "cold prickle" was back, sharper than ever. It wasn't just grief. Jonathan was hiding something. She knew that look, it was the look he got when he'd accidentally broken something and didn't know how to fix it.

"He's hiding something." Ali stated, she picked one of the fries from her tray.

"Maybe he just needs space? Or maybe he's actually going to look for Will and doesn't want us following?" Natalie suggested, though she didn't sound convinced.

Ali shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the swinging doors. "No. He looked... guilty. Like he couldn't even stand to look at me."

Her words died in her mouth as a loud, mocking sound erupted from the other side of the cafeteria. Ali turned her head to see Carol letting out a series of exaggerated, fake moans while Tommy H. grunted, both of them leaning over their table to leer at Nancy. They were loud enough for the entire room to hear, clearly weaponizing whatever they'd seen or heard at the party last night.

Ali's gaze flickered to Steve. He was sitting right there, caught in the middle of it. And he was smiling. He was actually fucking smiling.

Ali's hand closed into a white-knuckled fist on top of the plastic table. Needless to say, she was pissed.

"Don't," Natalie said quickly, her hand snapping out to grip Ali's forearm. "Drop it. It's not worth it."

"They shouldn't be doing that. That's cruel," Ali hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of protective fury and disgust. "I mean, look at her."

Across the room, Nancy looked like she was a single breath away from a breakdown, her head bowed over her tray as she tried to disappear. Ali felt a fresh wave of guilt; Natalie shouldn't have said those things about Barb earlier, but Steve? Steve was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to hit Tommy's stupid face instead of laughing along like a coward.

"Ali, sit down," Natalie warned, her grip tightening. "You go over there and you're just giving them what they want."

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

The classes that followed lunch sucked. Ali was not feeling it anymore. By the time the final bell rang, she just wanted to get to her car, drive home, and take a well-deserved nap.

Natalie wouldn't be accompanying her home today; she had something about band or a game or something - Ali wasn't really paying attention. Her mind was too busy looping back to the cafeteria. Tommy, Carol, and Steve had really gotten on her nerves today. Mostly Steve. She was still deep-down, white-hot angry at him.

Imagine her surprise when, on her way to the parking lot, she was met with all three of them -plus some girl whose name she couldn't remember - standing in a semi-circle around a very disturbed-looking Jonathan Byers.

Ali stopped, her keys gripped tight in her hand. She watched the scene for a moment until she met eyes with Nancy, who was approaching from the other side. Without a word, they moved toward the group together. Nancy spoke first, but Ali stood right next to her like a bodyguard, staring Steve down with an icy look that could have frozen the asphalt.

"What's going on?" Nancy asked.

"Here's the starring lady," Tommy said, his voice dripping with condescending grease.

"What?" Ali interjected, her voice sharp. She didn't like the smirk on Tommy's face, and she liked the way Jonathan was looking at the ground even less.

"Your little friend over here decided to take some pictures of us last night," Carol said, her eyes flicking to Jonathan with pure disgust. She stepped toward Ali and shoved a stack of glossy black-and-white photos into her hands.

Ali looked down. Her breath hitched. There was Nancy, caught through the frame of a window. She was taking her shirt off; you could very clearly see her bra. There is no way. Then, she saw the pool. There was Barb, looking small and alone. And there, in the next shot, was Ali herself, mid-laugh, water droplets frozen in the air, completely unaware she was being watched. This is not happening.

The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. She looked at Jonathan, her jaw tightening. "Jonathan... what the fuck is this?" she snapped.

Jonathan didn't answer. He looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"He was stalking us last night," Carol stated, snatching the photo of Nancy back from Ali's hand. "Probably going to save this one for later." She shoved the photo toward Nancy.

"He's a pervert, Ali," Steve said, stepping forward. "Isn't that right, Byers? You like to watch?" He took a photo from Ali's hand and ripped it slowly. "See, you can tell he knows it was wrong, but..." Steve adjusted the flap of his jacket. "Man, that's the thing about perverts... they just can't help themselves."

He reached out and snatched Jonathan's camera bag right off his shoulder. "So... we just have to take away his toy."

Ali just stood there in utter shock. What the fuck? What in the actual fuck.

"Steve..." Nancy whispered, her voice trembling.

"No, please. No, not the camera," Jonathan pleaded, moving forward. Tommy instantly tensed, nearly lunging at him to keep him back.

"No, no, wait... Tommy, Tommy," Steve stopped his friend, a dark amusement in his eyes. "It's okay." Tommy chuckled, stepping back as if he knew exactly what was coming. Steve held the camera out to Byers, a mocking peace offering. "Here you go, man."

Just as Jonathan reached for it, Steve let go.

The camera hit the asphalt with a sickening, heavy crack, the plastic casing shattering and the lens glass splintering into a dozen pieces. Tommy laughed loudly. "Come on, let's go. The game's about to start."

Steve led the way to the gym, walking past Ali and Nancy without a second glance. Tommy booed Jonathan before leaving as Carol and the other girl followed close behind.

Nancy's face was a mess of emotions - pity, anger, and deep embarrassment. She looked at the ground, picked up one of the photos - one of Barb - and walked away toward her boyfriend without saying a word.

Ali stayed still. She didn't move to help, and she didn't move to leave. She just stood there, clutching the photo of herself so tight that the paper crumpled into a ball in her fist.

Ali looked at the photos scattered across the asphalt like discarded trash. Nancy's, hers, Nat's, Barb's. She didn't look at Jonathan. She just bent down and gathered them all up in a rough, messy pile. She wasn't sure what she would do with them yet.

She'd burn them.

She'd burn them all to the ground.

Hell, she might burn Jonathan with them, too.

She stood up, her jaw set, and walked harshly toward her car.

"Ali..." Jonathan whispered, his voice cracking as he stayed on the ground among the shards of his camera.

"Don't." She spun around to face him, her eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't you dare!" She stepped back toward him, pointing a finger directly at his face.

"How could you?" she asked, a heavy lump forming in her throat that made her voice tremble. "How could you do this to Nancy? What did she ever do to you, huh? Taking a picture of someone in such a vulnerable moment?" Her eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. "How could you do that to her? To me? To Nat?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his head hanging low, not daring to look her in the eye.

"Don't you fucking ever talk to me again."

She bolted for her car, the engine roaring to life a second later. As she sped out of the parking lot, the tears finally spilled over. She had been wrong. She didn't know Jonathan the way she thought she did. She had misjudged him. Bad.

Notes:

Heyy!!!

So... how are we feeling after that?

I usually see people take this moment and give Jonathan a pat on the back because, as the audience, we know he's not actually a creep or a pervert in the long run. But I always imagined how betrayed I would feel if a close friend did something like this - not just to me, but to another girl.

In real life, I don't think I'd be able to forgive someone so easily, especially when they were supposed to be my "safe person." We'll have to see how Ali ends up processing this later on, but for now, she's rightfully heartbroken.

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and the extra drama! Thanks for reading!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 !

Chapter 5: 05 Static and Sirens

Nancy was worried. More than worried... She was terrified. Something had happened to Barb; she could feel it in the pit of her stomach. She had called Mrs. Holland during her break, and the unworried voice on the other end of the line confirmed her worst fear: Barbara had never made it home last night. Mrs. Holland had no idea her daughter wasn't at school. No one knew.

Then there was that photo. Nancy couldn't stop seeing it every time she closed her eyes. Barb, sitting by the pool, looking so small and abandoned. Nancy's mind raced through the timeline. When did she leave Steve's? Had she slept in her car? None of it made sense. Barb was the most responsible person she knew. What if something had happened on her way home? What if she'd been so upset that she'd crashed? No - if that had happened, the Chief would have known. Ali would have known.

Unless... The thought made Nancy's blood run cold. Chief Hopper had been so consumed with the search for Will Byers that it would make sense if a car crash on a back road had gone unnoticed. Maybe nobody was even looking for a second missing person.

Nancy stood in the hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs. Steve was sitting on the floor by her leg, leaning back against the lockers. Beside him, Carol was talking about something Nancy's brain was completely tuning out.

She had to go check. If Barb had been in an accident, she must be hurt - so hurt - and no one was there to help her. The thought was like a physical weight in her chest. Nancy turned toward the school exit and started walking fast. She needed to see Barb. Her friend must be so scared. That is, if she wasn't...

God, I have to go now!

"Whoa, Nance, where are you going?"

Shit. She'd forgotten Steve was right there. She stopped, her shoulders tensing as he looked up at her, confused.

"I..." She needed an excuse. Fast. "I totally forgot." Quick, Nancy, say something. "I told my mom I would, um... do something with her."

Do something? Really? She cringed at her own words. It was a terrible lie.

"What do you mean? The game is about to start," Steve said, his brow furrowing.

"I'm sorry," she rushed out, already turning away. She bolted before he had the time to question her further, pushing through the heavy exit doors into the cold afternoon air.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Nancy walked.

The distance from the school to Steve's house felt longer than it ever had before. Her legs ached, but she didn't slow down. She followed the road, her eyes scanning the ditches and the treeline, convinced that at any moment she would see a trail of skid marks or broken glass. Barb's car had to be here somewhere. It had to be.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that only sped up when she finally turned the corner toward the Harrington estate.

She found it.

But there were no skid marks. No shattered headlights. Barb's car wasn't crashed; it was parked. It was sitting in the exact same spot where she had left it before the party the night before.

Nancy approached the driver's side window, her breath hitching. Nancy's sweater was sitting in the back seat, folded and intact, right where Nancy had left it. The car was locked. Everything was exactly as it should be, which made the silence of the woods around her feel ten times louder.

Where was she?

"Barb?" Nancy called out, her voice small and trembling. She looked toward the dark line of trees, the shadows stretching long across the pavement. "Barb?!"

No answer.

The pit of her stomach turned. She felt like she was going to be sick. Desperate for any sign of her friend, she began to wander away from the car and toward the edge of the woods bordering Steve's backyard.

"Barb?!"

Nothing.

If Barb hadn't gone home, and she hadn't been in a car accident, and she wasn't inside Steve's house... then where the hell was she?

A sharp sound cut through the silence - a loud crack from the deep woods. Barb! It had to be her. Nancy moved closer to the treeline, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Barb?"

No answer. Had she imagined it?

Then, the sound came again. A heavy snap of a branch. This time, it was behind her.

Nancy spun around, her breath hitching in her throat. "Barb??"

But it wasn't Barbara. It was a Thing. A dark, distorted shape, shifting within the shadows of the trees. Something that didn't have a fucking face.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Jonathan was out most of the day. He drove all the way to Cartersville and back, the engine of his car humming a low, mournful tune that matched the hollow feeling in his chest. He'd done it. He had finally messed everything up for good. He'd lost a friend, his brother was still missing, a fact that felt more like his fault with every passing hour.

He kept replaying the look on Ali's face in the parking lot. He didn't even want to imagine what Natalie would do to him once she found out. He wanted to go to the trailer, to see Ali, to beg for some kind of forgiveness, but he knew he couldn't. She was too angry. Even if he did show up, she wouldn't even open the door.

By the time he decided to head back, it was night. The woods of Hawkins looked like jagged teeth against the dark sky. He didn't want to go home. The house felt wrong now; the air was thick with his mother's grief and a frantic energy he couldn't understand. Nothing about anything was okay.

He was so tired. He wanted to go to bed and just stay there until the world made sense again. He wanted his brother back. He wanted his friend back. He wanted too many things that the universe seemed determined to keep from him.

As he pulled onto the gravel near his driveway, the headlights cut through the dark to reveal a frantic Joyce Byers running toward the car. What happened? He killed the engine and scrambled out. "Mom?"

She was shaking, her eyes wide and bloodshot, her hands reaching for him before he even closed the door. "Mom, what happened?"

She didn't answer with words; she just broke. She started crying—a jagged, terrifying sound—and Jonathan pulled her into a hug, feeling completely helpless. His mom was right there, but she wasn't okay. She was miles away, lost in a terror he couldn't see.

"Hey... Hey, it's okay, Mom. I'm here... It's okay," he whispered, holding her closer, trying to be the anchor she needed.

Just as her breathing began to even out, just as the world seemed to go still for a single second, he heard it.

High-pitched and screaming in the distance. Police sirens.

Will.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Ali woke up in the dark. Her skin was clammy with sweat, a cold dampness clung to her pillow where she'd drooled, and her face felt tight and squashed from being pressed against the heavy wool blanket. She had apparently cried herself into a deep, dreamless sleep the second she'd walked through the door.

Now, she felt completely lost in time.

She sat up, her head throbbing with a dull, post-nap ache. The trailer was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator. Stumbling into the kitchen, she squinted at the clock on the wall. 21:30.

Fantastic. She was definitely not sleeping tonight.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath her bare feet. The anger from the parking lot was still there, but it had settled into a heavy, leaden weight at the bottom of her stomach. She reached for the faucet to splash some water on her face, but she stopped when she saw the radio sitting on the counter.

It was crackling.

The words didn't register at first. They were just static and syllables—Byers... Found... Body... Quarry...—but they hit her with the force of a physical blow. Her heart, which had been sluggish from her nap, kicked into a frantic, uneven gallop.

Will. This was not happening. Not now.

She needed to see her father. She grabbed her keys off the counter, her mind spinning with a thousand reasons why the radio was wrong. It didn't make sense; her dad had said they'd already checked the quarry. She didn't grab a jacket or even put on proper shoes. She just needed to get to him.

Just as she stepped outside, the glare of headlights hit her. Her father's cruiser pulled up, the engine cutting out with a heavy, final-sounding sigh.

"Dad?"

Hopper climbed out of the car. He looked smaller than usual. His shoulders were slumped, his hat pulled low, his shadow stretching long and tired across the dirt. He looked like a man who had just lost a fight he'd been training his whole life for. He looked exactly like he did when Sarah-

"What happened?" Ali asked, her voice cracking, though she already knew. The boy was dead. Another kid was gone. Jonathan didn't have a brother anymore. Her eyes welled up with tears as the weight of it crashed down on her.

Jim didn't say a word. He just stepped forward, wrapped his arms around his daughter, and held her. He was exhausted. The whole thing felt like hell. It was wrong—parents shouldn't have to bury their children.

When Sarah died, he'd been so out of it. He drank, he was rude; he'd stayed at the pub in New York until they kicked him out every single night. Diane had hated it. She'd been so angry that he was destroying himself when they still had another child to take care of. He hadn't even tried to stop her when she packed Ali's things and left him to go stay with her grandmother.

He knew Joyce wasn't okay right now. She was seeing things, hearing things. Seeing her like that reminded him too much of the ghost he used to be. Back then, he'd thought Diane was heartless, that she was fine with the death of their youngest. Now he knew better. She had been protecting Ali, the same way he should have.

Ali was grieving too, just as much as he was. And the job of a parent was to protect their child, not the other way around. He would be there for her. And he would be there for Jonathan. He would help that family, even if he had to break himself to do it.

Notes:

Heyy!!!

I know this is a significantly shorter chapter than the others, but hear me out—with the finale of Stranger Things being whatever that was, I kind of got stuck. I'm officially rewriting the whole thing, which means I'll be adding POVs for a lot more characters than I had anticipated.

Now, the first two seasons are fairly easy to write, but by the third (which is where the plot holes start to appear), I'll need to add more lore regarding the Upside Down. To do that, I'm redoing my previous plans for this fic.

The story will follow the POVs of the main six teens (which, in my fic, includes Natalie and Alisson). As the story progresses, we will follow 12 main characters (the 6 kids plus the 6 teens) who will face the final fight together. Hopper, Joyce, and Murray will have their own moments by the end as well.

This way, I'll be able to deal with the "overpopulation" of characters the Duffers struggled with. I'm sticking to the one rule the Duffers had for this show: "This is not Game of Thrones." I won't be killing off any main protagonists, but I will be playing with the possibilities—because that's what makes for good storytelling!

The final battle will be significantly bigger, and I'm actually studying physics to make sure it makes sense, so the explanations might take a while. My biggest issue with Stranger Things is the plot holes and the lack of thought put into making the story cohesive without constant retconning.

Anyway, I hope you all have a great day. Bear with me, because I promise I have some great ideas in store!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 !

Chapter 6: 06 Spaceships and Coffins

Steve was... well, he was confused. Nancy was standing there talking about how Barb was missing, how she had seen a "thing," and how she was already talking to the cops about it.

"So, wait a sec. I don't understand—you went back to my house?" He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

"To look for Barb," Nancy replied.

But why? Why would Barbara be back at his house in the middle of the afternoon? "Yeah, okay, but why didn't you just talk to me?" Did she think he was hiding Barbara Holland in his basement or something? "That's crazy."

"I don't know, I... I was scared."

Of him? "You seriously think you saw a guy in a mask just hanging out in my yard?" He was so lost. Why wouldn't she just come to him? Did she not trust him?

"I don't think it was a mask."

"But he had no face?" Great. He was in love with a crazy person. Of course, that would happen to him of all people.

"I... I don't know! I don't know, I just... I have a terrible feeling about this."

My god. His dad was going to murder him.

"Oh, this is bad." He hadn't stopped to think about the logistics until now. "This is really, really bad." He wasn't supposed to be throwing a party. His dad was going to kill him.

"What?"

"The cops..." His dad would not be happy about him having a girl over, especially with Tommy and Carol there. And Hopper would kill him for inviting his daughter. "They're gonna want to talk to all of us now." And if they talked to the kids, they'd want to talk to the parents. Oh, this was so bad. "Tommy, Carol, Ali... everybody who was at the party."

"So??"

"My parents are going to murder me!"

Nancy looked at him with an incredulous face. Was he serious? "Are you serious right now?" she scoffed.

"You don't understand. My dad is a grade-A asshole." Was she not listening to him? He was so screwed.

"Barb is missing! And you are worried about your dad?"

Oh, shit. He was being an asshole, wasn't he? But his dad...

"Okay, just... when you talk to the cops, just..." Don't fuck this up, Harrington. Be as gentle as possible. "Don't mention the beers." She needed to understand—the beer had nothing to do with Barb, so it was fine. "Nor the weed." There was no point in getting on the Chief's bad side. Besides, Barbara didn't even drink or smoke. "It's just gonna get us both in trouble, and Barbara's got nothing to do with it, okay?"

Nancy stared at him. "I can't believe you right now." She looked deep into his eyes, realizing he was being completely serious. My god. What the hell was wrong with him? "I can't believe you."

She turned around and bolted.

"Nancy." That wasn't such an unreasonable request; he was just being rational. "Nancy, wait!"

Well, maybe he wasn't being as "gentle" as he thought.

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Ali was sitting in the back of English class, and she wasn't looking too fresh today. Her face was puffy from the crying and the total lack of sleep. She'd spent the night sleeping in an awkward position against her dad; he'd held her until the tears finally stopped. He had stayed with her until early morning, waking her up only to make her waffles before he headed to the Byers' to accompany them to the morgue.

It felt different. Her dad wasn't really the "care" type. Sure, he tried to have family time with her sometimes after Sarah and the divorce, but usually, he would be late or forget the whole thing entirely, staying at the station until long after dark.

Jim Hopper was never the type to make breakfast or wake her up for school. It was a change—him caring for her like that. She was still unsure if she trusted it, but it was nice. Even if she was already bracing herself for it not to last.

By the time she'd picked up Nat, they both looked like shit. They wanted to go see Jonathan, and Ali didn't have the heart to tell her friend about the pictures. Not today. Plus Natalie had to take a shift at her dad's shop anyway because Eddie wouldn't make it—something about him being stuck in detention again.

So, Ali would be there for Jonathan alone. She decided he had been through enough; even if what he'd done was wrong, his brother dying gave him a pass. She gave him a pass.

Her thoughts were cut short when the principal popped his head into the room and called her name. "Alisson Hopper? May I borrow you for a moment?"

She was confused. What was wrong? Had something happened to her dad? Her blood ran cold at the thought. Please, let everything be fine. She grabbed her bag and followed the Principal down the quiet hallway all the way to the waiting room. Sitting there was Nancy Wheeler, her mother, and Carol. The atmosphere was thick with tension.

Just as Ali sat down next to Nancy, the office door opened and Tommy H. emerged. He had a weird, unreadable look on his face—not his usual smug grin, but something unsettled. As soon as he left, Carol stood up and followed him without a word, leaving Ali and Nancy in the heavy silence of the office.

"What's going on?" she whispered to Nancy. Did this have something to do with the party? Nancy was about to answer her when the office door creaked open.

"Alisson Hopper?" Officer Powell called out from the inner room.

Nancy gave her a quick, reassuring look, but Ali could see the tremor in Nancy's own hands. Ali stood up, her heart hammering against her ribs as she walked inside.

"Yes. Hi... Officer Powell, is everything okay?" she asked, her voice sounding smaller than she liked.

She looked between the two men. Officers Powell and Callahan had worked with her dad since they moved back to Hawkins. They knew her; they were the faces she saw when she dropped off lunch at the precinct or when her dad dragged her along to the station. She expected them to be the friendly, familiar faces they usually were, but today, their expressions were flat and official.

"Please have a seat, Alisson. We are here today because your friend over there," Powell began, gesturing toward the glass window where Nancy sat in the waiting room. "She's worried about Barbara Holland's whereabouts. According to her, you kids had some sort of party and Barbara left early. Is that correct?"

"Yeah, kinda... Barb didn't really leave, she just wasn't really involved with the rest of us." So, this was just about the party? Ali's shoulders relaxed for a moment, the tension draining from her neck. Her dad was fine.

"Wait—what do you mean 'Barb's whereabouts'?" Ali asked, her brow furrowing. "She isn't home?"

Powell leaned forward, his chair creaking under his weight. "Yes. Our working theory is that possibly Barbara ran away. Maybe she mentioned something to you about not wanting to go back home?"

"No, she didn't mention anything like that." Ali's mind raced. "Have you told that theory to Nance? She knew Barb better than me. I just saw her in the halls; I wasn't particularly close..." She felt a sudden pang of guilt. With everything happening to Will, she couldn't imagine what Nancy was going through if Barb was really gone, too.

Callahan leaned in now, his eyes mocking. "Well... according to your friend, Barb wouldn't have run. According to her, she saw some... bear... in the woods. Sounds to us like maybe she is not telling the whole story."

Ali made a face, her eyes narrowing. Was he implying that Nancy was a liar?

"Do you mind walking us through that night, Alisson?" Powell intervened, trying to keep the tone neutral.

"Um... we arrived at the party, and we hung out by the pool... Barb hurt her hand and went inside..."

"How did she hurt her hand?" Powell asked, scribbling on a notepad.

"It was a stupid game. She ended up cutting herself. It was an accident..."

"Okay, then what?" he continued.

"We were joking around and jumped in the pool... later we went back inside. Steve lent me and Nat some clothes, and we went home."

"And you didn't see Barb on the way out?"

"No... I mean, yeah, we did. She was sitting by the pool when we left. That's it."

"And Nancy didn't leave with you?" Callahan asked, a suggestive lilt in his voice.

"No," Ali said, feeling a surge of annoyance. "She stayed upstairs."

"With this... Steve Harrington?" Callahan asked, his tone dripping with a fake sort of curiosity.

"Yeah, with Steve."

"And after you changed your clothes, she was still upstairs with this boy?"

"Yeah. After that, we didn't talk." Ali paused, her eyes darting between Powell's notebook and Callahan's smug expression. A heat was beginning to rise in her chest, a mix of impatience and genuine anger. "I'm sorry, how is that relevant?"

The officers shared a look.

Ali stared at them, stunned into a brief, cold silence. "You think Barb is missing because Nancy had sex?"

"Our working theory is that Barbara ran away because she was jealous about Nancy and this Steve boy," Powell corrected, though he still wouldn't look Ali in the eye.

"This is unbelievable," Ali said, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. "Barb wouldn't just leave. If Nancy says she didn't run, she didn't run. Where is my dad? Does he know you're spending your time talking about Nancy Wheeler's private life instead of looking for a girl who might be hurt?"

"There is no proof that this girl might be hurt. All signs point to her running off," Powell said, looking at her with a condescending expression. "Your dad is a busy man, Alisson. With everything going on with the Byers, you should know better than to act like this."

The implication stung—he was suggesting she was just as unreliable as Nancy, or worse, that she was helping cover for a "runaway."

"No," Ali said, grabbing her bag and heading for the door. "I'm going to go find him. And I'm going to tell him exactly what your 'working theory' is. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know his deputies are so focused on who's sleeping with who."

She slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass in its frame.

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Ali's blood was boiling by the time school ended. She couldn't believe those men could be so fucking clueless. A boy was dead. A little boy's body had been pulled from the quarry, and they were more concerned with Nancy Wheeler's sex life? It was unbelievable.

She wanted to go home and scream into her pillow until her lungs gave out. But she couldn't. Not yet.

She had to go see Jonathan. Even after the pictures, even after the fight in the parking lot—he was still her friend, and his world had just ended. She had to be there.

When her car pulled up at the Byers' house, her palms were sweaty against the steering wheel. She was terrified to see him; they hadn't talked since yesterday afternoon, back when the weight of this grief wasn't yet pounding against their chests.

She walked up to the front door, her heart hammering, and rang the bell. The door swung open with a heavy thump, and Ali nearly jumped out of her skin.

Joyce stood there, looking hollowed out and frantic, clutching a machete.

Ali stared at the blade, her breath hitching. Was she okay? "Hi, Mrs. Byers... is Jonathan home? I was hoping to see him," she said, forcing a small, sympathetic smile despite the weapon between them.

"Oh... hi, Ali, sweety," Joyce said, her voice airy and disconnected. She didn't even seem to realize she was holding the machete. "Jonathan isn't home right now... He's at the... the morgue... today. Making arrangements for... for Will."

"Oh... okay. Um, do you need any help? Maybe cutting some wood?" Ali asked, her eyes darting nervously to the blade. She was trying to find a logical reason for the weapon, a way to make the scene feel less like a horror movie and more like a chore.

"Oh, right! Sorry, I was just... cleaning some things up," Joyce said, finally looking down at her hand as if she'd forgotten it was there. She didn't put it down. "I'm okay, sweety, don't worry. Just... keep an eye on Jonathan for me, okay?"

Joyce gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Okay," Ali whispered, her heart aching for the woman. "Yeah... I will."

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Jonathan was so exhausted. He was sitting there, having to choose a coffin to place his baby brother in. He was supposed to pick one out like it was a washing machine. Or a new TV. It didn't feel like something for his brother; it felt like he was just buying a box to hide a body.

His mom was not okay. She kept insisting on the lights and the faceless monster on the wall, leaving Jonathan to handle the funeral all by himself.

He was all alone.

He felt completely isolated, forced to listen to this man he didn't even know talk about budgets. The man droned on about colors and the difference between copper and bronze, his voice sounding thin and far away. Jonathan just wanted to scream. None of it mattered. No amount of bronze was going to bring Will back.

It was so stupid. How was he supposed to pick? Will would have hated this. He would have found it incredibly boring; he would've said he wanted a spaceship instead of a boring old coffin just like everyone else. The thought made his eyes sting with fresh tears. Will should be drawing spaceships, not lying in one.

Jonathan felt like he was falling.

It was as if a hole had opened up in the ground beneath his feet, pulling him in. Even as he tried to claw at the edges and hold on, the void just kept getting bigger and bigger, expanding until he knew it would eventually swallow him whole. There was no bottom to it, just an endless, suffocating descent into the dark.

He was all alone.

Until he saw her. She was standing by the door, offering a kind, tired smile and a small nod.

"Hey," she said quietly.

He didn't mean for it to happen, but as soon as he heard her voice, the tears began to fall. He felt a sudden, sharp wave of embarrassment—embarrassed for crying, embarrassed for what he'd done to her with those pictures, embarrassed for everything. But Ali didn't wait for an apology. She just walked over and hugged him.

God, he needed that hug. She was quite literally the only person in this town who knew what it was actually like. She knew the feeling of the world collapsing. And she was there—she was there for him. He wasn't alone. At least, not right now.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," she whispered into his shoulder. "Nat would have come, too, but Eddie messed up at school and she had to cover for him—"

"It's okay. Really," Jonathan said, pulling back just enough to give her a sad, weary smile. He wasn't okay—they both knew that—but he felt okay in this moment, and for now, that was enough.

They stood there for a long moment in the quiet of the funeral home, the smell of lilies and old wood pressing in on them. Jonathan was just about to find his voice when the heavy front doors creaked open again.

Nancy Wheeler was standing there. That was... weird. Jonathan looked at Ali, who only shrugged, looking just as confused by the girl's sudden appearance.

"Can you just give me a moment?" Jonathan asked the funeral home director, his voice flat.

He and Ali stepped out into the cool air of the porch to talk to Nancy. She looked exhausted, her eyes rimmed with red, clutching her bag like a shield.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Your mom... she said you'd be here." She looked at Ali like a deer in headlights, momentarily caught off guard by her presence. "Can I talk to you guys for a second?"

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Nancy felt the heat of embarrassment crawling up her neck. She knew it was a bad time—a terrible, selfish time. Jonathan was clearly falling apart, and Ali was... what was she? His girlfriend? Nancy couldn't tell, but Ali was there, acting as his anchor. And here Nancy was, about to talk about something that sounded absolutely insane at the most serious moment of Jonathan's life.

But she had to say something.

Right after she'd returned from that humiliating police interrogation, she had locked herself in her room. She had stared at the photo Jonathan had taken of Barb until her eyes blurred with tears. She had been sobbing until she noticed it. In the background of the grainy, black-and-white shot, there was a man. Or a bear. Or a thing.

It was right behind Barb.

The trio sat down at a small, cramped table in the corner of the lobby. The air was thick with the scent of floor wax and funeral lilies, making the whole situation feel even more surreal.

Nancy reached into her bag, her fingers trembling as she pulled out the pieces of the photo she had taped back together. She didn't look at Ali; she kept her eyes fixed on Jonathan. In her mind, the only person who might have a clue about what had happened was the guy who had been watching the whole scene through a lens.

"I know it's weird," Nancy whispered, her voice cracking as she slid the photo across the table. "And I know you were... you were just taking pictures. But look at this, Jonathan. Look at the woods behind her..."

She handed him the picture, her eyes pleading. She was desperate for an answer—any answer—that wasn't I don't know.

Jonathan took the photo, his hands still unsteady from the grief of the morning. He squinted at the grainy image, his brow furrowing as he tried to analyze it like a professional.

"It... it looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion," Jonathan muttered, though he sounded completely unconvinced. "But I wasn't using the wide angle... it shouldn't look like that."

He hesitated, then showed the picture to Ali before handing it back to Nancy. "I don't know. It's weird."

"You didn't see anyone else out there?" Nancy asked, her voice small and hopeful.

"No... she was there one second and then, um... gone. I figured she bolted," Jonathan admitted, looking down at his hands.

"And you think that this... thing... in the photo could be what you saw in the woods?" Ali asked Nancy.

"I... I don't know. Maybe," Nancy whispered. "The cops think she ran away. But they don't know Barb. They don't know that she would never do that." She looked at the heavy, dark wood of the funeral home lobby and felt a wave of shame. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here today. Not today of all days. I'm so sorry."

Nancy grabbed her bag and started toward the exit, her head down.

"What did he look like?" Jonathan called out.

Nancy stopped, turning around slowly. Her hand gripped the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles were white. "What?"

"The man you saw in the woods," Jonathan said the fog of his exhaustion seemed to clear, replaced by a sharp, dark curiosity. "What did he look like?"

"I... I don't know." Nancy shook her head, her heart racing. It was crazy—why was he asking her? He wouldn't believe her anyway. No one did. Not the police, not her parents... not even Steve. She looked at Ali, then back to Jonathan. "It was almost like he..."

She hesitated. Was she really going to say it? Would they just laugh and tell her she was in shock? "Like he... didn't—"

"Like he didn't have a face?" Jonathan finished for her.

The silence that followed was deafening. Nancy's breath hitched in her throat, her eyes widening in total shock. "How... how did you know that?"

Jonathan didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his hand, then over at Ali. His face was pale, his expression shifting from grief to a terrifying kind of clarity.

"My mom," Jonathan whispered, his voice trembling. "She's been saying the same thing. She said it came out of the wall."

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Ali was, to put it mildly, in shock. Nancy and Jonathan were frantic, talking over each other as if they had just discovered a new color or a secret language.

They piled into Ali's car, and she drove them back toward the school. Jonathan sat in the passenger seat, explaining with frantic gestures how he could enhance the figure in the photo using the school's darkroom. As he talked, he let more of the "Byers madness" slip—he told them Joyce had been talking to the lights, and that she claimed Will was communicating through the electricity. He even mentioned that she'd been told to run because of the "monster in the wall."

Ali remained skeptical, to say the very least. Monsters coming out of the drywall? Dead boys talking through lightbulbs? It sounded like the plot of a B-movie. In her head, she was privately wondering if Joyce Byers needed to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital before she hurt herself.

To Ali, the "man in a mask" theory felt much more plausible. Maybe Nancy had seen someone in the woods at Steve's—a kidnapper, a predator. Maybe that man had taken Barb, and maybe he was the same one who had killed Will and dumped him in the quarry. It was a horrible, dark thought, but it was a realistic one. Things like that happened in New York all the time.

But as she looked at Jonathan's shaking hands and Nancy's wide, terrified eyes, she knew she couldn't leave them. If these two were serious about "monster hunting," Ali wasn't about to let them wander around alone and get themselves killed by a real-life psycho.

The red light of the darkroom cast everything in a bloody, low-contrast hue. It was cramped, and the smell of acetic acid—sharp and vinegary—made Ali's eyes water. She leaned against the counter, her arms crossed, watching Jonathan move with a frantic, practiced speed.

"You're sure no one's going to walk in here?" Nancy whispered, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

"The photography club doesn't meet on Thursdays," Jonathan muttered, sliding the paper into the first chemical tray. "We're fine."

Ali cleared her throat, her voice sounding louder than she intended. "So, let's just say for a second that I'm following the logic. You think a... person, or whatever this is, took Barb? And he just happens to live in the woods behind the most popular kid in school's house?"

Nancy looked at Ali, her face looking ghostly under the red light. "I know how it sounds, Ali. I was at the station today, remember? I heard the way they talked to me."

"I know," Ali said softly, softening her tone. "I was in the room right after you. I almost punched Callahan for the things he was saying. I'm just saying... Jonathan, your mom is grieving. She's been through the worst thing a person can go through. People's brains... they do weird things to protect them from that kind of pain."

Jonathan stopped, his tongs hovering over the tray. He looked at Ali, his expression pained. "Yeah. I know. You think she's crazy. My dad thinks she's crazy. Your dad thinks she's crazy."

"I think she's hurting," Ali corrected firmly. "There's a difference."

"I thought she was too," Jonathan said, turning back to the tray. "Until Nancy said the thing about the face. My mom didn't just say he was a monster. She said he didn't have a face. How do two people who haven't talked to each other make up the exact same detail?"

Ali opened her mouth to argue—maybe it was a local legend? A tall tale? But then she saw it.

In the tray, the white paper was beginning to darken. A shape was blooming under the surface of the liquid like a ghost appearing from a fog.

"It's coming up," Nancy breathed, leaning in so close her shoulder brushed Ali's.

Jonathan used the tongs to gently agitate the paper. The figure in the background was no longer a blur. It was tall. Its arms were unnaturally long, hanging down past its knees. And where the head should have been, there was just a smooth, pale mass. No eyes. No nose. No mask seams.

"That's it. That's what I saw." Nancy spoke.

Ali felt a cold shiver crawl up her spine. She had seen crime scene photos in her dad's office back in the city—terrible things done by terrible men. But those men had faces. This... this looked like something that shouldn't be able to breathe.

"Okay," Ali whispered, her skepticism finally wavering. "That... that is definitely not a bear."

"And it's not a man in a mask, Ali," Nancy said, her voice trembling. "Look at the skin. It looks like... like it's wet. Or peeling."

Jonathan lifted the photo with the tongs, the chemical dripping off the corner like blood. "He was right there. He was right behind her, and I was looking right at him, and I didn't see him."

"Jonathan, you couldn't have known," Ali said, reaching out to touch his arm, but her eyes were still glued to the photo. "If that thing is real... and it's been in the woods this whole time..."

"Then it's still there," Nancy finished for her.

Notes:

Hiiii!!!!

Okay, so I'm back with another chapter for y'all! I am really loving writing this, and adding Ali into this horror setting is so fun—especially because she doesn't have any personal connection to the Upside Down yet. It makes her skepticism feel so real.

I hope some of you are missing Natalie, because I am! However, for now, she will be a bit MIA because I want this beginning of the story to be more Ali-centered. But don't you worry, I haven't forgotten my girl!

I'm so happy that the supernatural stuff is finally here. I loved writing the previous chapters, but I was getting kinda bored lol! The mystery is finally unraveling. Also, for those who care, the "little nuggets" (the kids) will have more space in Act 2, I promise!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 !

Chapter 7: 07 The Gnarled Oak

Ali was tempted to tell her dad. She wanted to tell him everything—about the monster in the photos, about what Joyce had been seeing, and the impossible possibility of Will still being alive.

She had considered it. She really had. She let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, her dad would know what to do. That he would be helpful.

Key word: considered.

By the time she got home that night, it was late—well past eleven. She, Nancy, and Jonathan had spent hours circling possible solutions until Jonathan finally decided to go home and ask his mother exactly what she knew about the thing.

When Ali finally stepped into her house, she found the place a complete mess. Her dad was sprawled on the couch, dead asleep, with empty beer cans and pill bottles scattered around him like debris.

Well, he clearly wasn't doing too well. She realized then that the dad she'd had this morning was not the same dad she had tonight. She felt a sharp sting of disappointment, but she wasn't surprised. She knew the situation with Joyce and Will had taken a toll on him, but seeing the evidence laid out like this still hurt.

What else could she do? She cleaned.

She gathered the empty cans and threw them in the trash, tucked the pills back into their proper spots, and covered her father with a blanket. She went to bed after that, exhausted down to her bones. Tomorrow was Will's funeral, and she didn't want to be late.

The next morning, her dad was still passed out. Ali moved through her routine like a ghost—bathroom, getting dressed, breakfast—and he never stirred. Before she left, she set out some painkillers, an unopened beer, and a short note:

Went to the Byers'. Don't wait up.

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Natalie didn't know what to say. She felt like a strange object in a perfectly organized kitchen. She knew it was weird to feel that way—to feel left out—but she did. Ali and Jonathan now shared a bond she could never truly understand, something so deep and tragic that she could only be thankful nothing like that had ever happened to her.

When Ali picked her up, she was quieter than ever. Nat had no clue how she must be feeling, and she didn't know how to comfort her. Jonathan was no better. Nat felt stuck, as if nothing she could possibly say would make them feel better. And she was right.

They had both lost a sibling—in different but agonizing ways—and that kind of grief wasn't going to go away with a joke or some dumb distraction.

Nat was never the best at comforting people, like never. Once her cousin's pet iguana got accidentally set on fire by a malfunction in the trailer they lived in. It hadn't been a big fire, just a flash of sparks from an old heat lamp, but the poor lizard hadn't made it.

Eddie had been nine, and he was absolutely inconsolable. He was sobbing, cradling the shoebox like it held a fallen king, his face all blotchy and red. Natalie had stood there for five minutes, watching him howl, feeling more and more awkward as the silence stretched. She felt like she had to say something to make the air less heavy.

She'd patted his shoulder—probably too hard—and blurted out, "Well, look on the bright side, Eddie. At least he's already cremated. That saves us a lot of digging time, right?"

The silence that followed had been horrifying. Eddie had looked up at her, eyes wide with fresh betrayal, before letting out a wail so loud it probably shook the neighbors' trailers. He had cried for the rest of the day, refusing to even look at her, while Nat just stood there wishing she could fold herself up and disappear into the linoleum floor.

Now, sitting in the car with Ali and Jonathan, that same "iguana feeling" was back. She looked at the side of Jonathan's face, then at Ali's tight grip on the steering wheel, and she bit her tongue.

She wasn't going to say anything about "bright sides" today. Not today.

If they needed it, she would step back and give them space.

The service was quiet, the kind of silence that felt like it was pressing against your eardrums. Ali stayed close to Natalie, her hand gripping Nat's like a lifeline, while Jonathan stood a few paces away between his mom and his dad.

Natalie was unsure of what to do. She kind of wanted to run for the hills—away from the sea of pitying faces and the heavy scent of damp earth. Joyce looked hollow, like a ghost haunting her own life, and Ali's eyes were fixed on the ground, her face a mask of quiet devastation.

The small coffin carrying Will's body was lowered slowly into the dark square of the earth. It looked impossibly tiny against the backdrop of the massive cemetery, a small, polished box that held a whole world of "what-ifs." To everyone else, it was the end of a tragedy. To Ali, Jonathan, and Nancy, it was the beginning of a haunting.

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When the service ended, the mourners began to drift back toward the funeral home for the reception. Ali turned to Natalie, her voice quiet and strained. She asked for a moment alone, telling her she just needed some space to breathe.

Natalie obliged immediately. She felt terrible leaving Ali there, she really did, but a part of her was relieved to step away from the suffocating grief.

With this whole "monster" theory hanging in the air, Alisson knew it was probably for the best if Nat wasn't involved. She didn't have the stomach for what Ali was getting into.

As soon as Natalie was out of sight, Ali ducked behind a large stone crypt. Nancy and Jonathan were already there, tucked away from prying eyes, waiting for her. The air was cold, and the atmosphere was thick with the kind of focus that only comes from shared desperation.

"So... this is where we know for sure it's been, right?" Jonathan said, his voice a low whisper. He unfolded a small, hand-drawn map on top of the flat stone of the crypt.

"So that's..." Ali started, pointing to one of the messy red X's Jonathan had marked.

"Steve's house," Nancy replied, her eyes fixed on the spot where Barb was last seen.

"And that's the woods where they found Will's bike," Jonathan added, his finger tracing a path through the paper on the stone. "And this is my house."

Nancy leaned in, her brow furrowing as she connected the lines between the marks in her mind. "It's all so close."

"Yeah. Exactly," Jonathan said, his finger hovering over the center of the triangle they'd created. "It's all within a mile of each other. Whatever this thing is... it's not traveling far. It's staying right here."

"You want to go out there," Ali spoke up. She wasn't asking; she could see the grim resolve on Jonathan's face.

"We might not find anything," Jonathan said, looking up at her. He looked like he was trying to give her an out—a way to walk away before things got dangerous.

"I found something," Nancy replied, her voice shaking but her eyes hard. She wasn't the same girl who had been crying in the hallway a few days ago. "And if we do see it..."

"We kill it," Jonathan finished.

The words hung in the cold air, heavier than the grief they had just left behind in the pews. They weren't just looking for Barb or Will anymore. They were going to be the ones to end it.

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Jonathan was determined. Will was still out there—he knew that now with a terrifying certainty. He was going to find his brother, kill whatever the hell this thing was, and put his family back together. Lonnie would crawl back into whatever hole he'd come from, and life would go back to normal. It had to.

He led the two girls toward his father's car. If Lonnie wasn't going to be a parent, the least he could do was provide the supplies for the hunt.

"What are you doing?" Nancy asked, her voice hushed and nervous. She glanced around the cemetery parking lot, uncomfortable watching him casually pick the lock of the glovebox.

"Just give me a second," Jonathan muttered, his jaw set in a hard line.

Ali stood guard, her eyes scanning the mourners who were still drifting toward the funeral home. She didn't share Nancy's hesitations about "rules" or "theft." In her mind, the law was meant to protect people, and since the law was currently busy eating finger foods at a fake funeral, they were on their own.

"Hurry up," Ali whispered, her hand resting on the roof of the car. "If Lonnie sees you, we're going to have a lot more than a monster to deal with."

With a sharp click, the glovebox popped open. Jonathan reached inside, shoving aside a mess of expired traffic fines and crumpled trash until his fingers closed around something heavy and cold.

He pulled out a small pistol and a box of bullets.

"Are you serious?" Nancy snapped, her eyes widening. "Jonathan, put that back."

"What? You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?" Jonathan shot back. He climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut with a loud thud that seemed to echo across the quiet cemetery.

"This is a terrible idea," Nancy whispered, looking at the gun as if it were the monster itself.

Ali looked at the pistol, then at the woods bordering the graveyard. She thought of her father's belt, the weight of the holster he wore every day. She knew that if there was something out there that didn't have a face, a camera wasn't going to stop it.

"It's only a terrible idea if he doesn't know how to use it," Ali said, her voice steadying the group. She looked at Jonathan. "You ever fired one of those?"

Jonathan paused, his grip tightening on the cold metal. He reached back into a memory of a dusty field and his father's impatient voice when he was ten years old. He wasn't exactly familiar with guns, but he knew the basics. He knew how to pull a trigger.

"I have," he lied, though the hesitation in his voice gave him away. "Nothing some practice couldn't help."

"Really?" Ali gave him an incredulous look, her eyebrows shooting up. "You want to kill it with a gun you don't know how to use?"

"This is a terrible idea," Nancy repeated, her voice rising an octave. She looked like she wanted to grab the pistol and throw it into the nearby creek.

"Yeah, well, it's the best one we've got," Jonathan said, cutting her off. He shoved the gun into his waistband, hiding it under his jacket. It felt heavy and wrong against his skin, a cold weight that didn't belong there, but it was the only thing giving him a sense of control.

He looked at them both, his eyes hard. "What? You can tell someone, sure. But they aren't going to believe you. You both know that. My dad? The cops? They'll just think we're as crazy as they think my mom is."

"Your mom would believe us," Nancy said, her arms clutching her sides as if she were trying to hold herself together.

"She has been through enough," Jonathan snapped, his voice cracking slightly.

"She deserves to know, Jonathan," Nancy snapped back, stepping toward him. "If there's even a chance Will is alive, she deserves to know we're looking."

"Yeah, and I will tell her," Jonathan said, his jaw tightening. "I'll tell her everything. Once this thing is dead."

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After the service, the trio dispersed. They agreed to meet just before dawn at the edge of the woods near the quarry.

Nancy was back in her driveway, swinging a baseball bat. The wood sliced through the cold air with a sharp whoosh. If someone had told her a week ago that she would be going monster hunting with Jonathan Byers and Alisson Hopper, she would have laughed in their faces.

She would have said that Jonathan was just a creep with a camera and that Ali was too busy smoking pot behind the bleachers to care about anything. She would have told them they were crazy.

But now? Now she was practicing how to swing a bat with enough force to crack bone. She was visualizing that smooth, pale mass where a head should be, imagining the impact as she aimed for its faceless face. She wasn't just swinging a piece of wood; she was swinging for Barb. She was going to make that faceless demon give her best friend back.

Just as she was about to make another swing—

"Whoa, whoa! Hey, whoa!"

Nancy spun around, the bat still held high. Steve was standing in her driveway, his hands raised in a mock surrender. Why was he here? She had almost cracked his skull open.

"What are you doing here?!" she demanded, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice soft, almost cautious.

"Nothing."

"I hope that's not for me," he said, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

Nancy felt a wave of irritation. He shouldn't be here. Not now. He was part of a world that didn't matter anymore. "What?" she asked, and he gestured vaguely to the bat in her hand. "No. Oh, no. I was just..." She scrambled for an excuse. Think of something, Nancy, quick. "I was just... thinking about joining softball."

Softball? Really?

"Oh... Well, uh... listen. I'm really sorry," he said. Nancy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in his tone. "I mean, even before you threatened me with a baseball bat," he joked, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes.

Nancy lowered the bat slightly. Had she missed something? "Okay?"

"I panicked and..." He trailed off, looking at his feet. Nancy realized he was talking about the last time they spoke—when he'd been more worried about his dad's beer than her missing best friend. "I mean, I was a total dick."

"Yeah," Nancy said flatly. "Yeah, you were. Did you get in trouble with your parents?"

"Totally," Steve said, shrugging as if it were nothing. "But, you know, who cares? Screw 'em."

Nancy cringed slightly. He didn't know what was actually going on—of course he didn't—but his bravado felt so small compared to everything else. She shifted the weight of the bat, wanting him to leave so she could get some more swings in before heading out to the quarry.

"Any news about Barbara?" Steve asked softly.

You wouldn't believe it, she thought. She just shook her head. "Parents heard from her? Or..."

"No," she said, her voice tight, finally meeting his gaze.

"Hey, listen." He stepped closer to her, his tone dropping into something more intimate. "Why don't we, uh... why don't we catch a movie tonight? You know? Just pretend everything is normal for a few hours. All the Right Moves is still playing. You know, with your lover boy from Risky Business."

Nancy felt a faint smile touch her lips. He was being sweet, genuinely trying to comfort her the only way he knew how. For a split second, she wanted to say yes. She wanted to drop the bat, go to the cinema, and forget about the woods and the faceless man.

"Yeah, I know," she chuckled, but the sound felt hollow in her chest. For a second, the image of Tom Cruise dancing in his living room flashed in her mind, a relic of a world that felt years away.

Then she remembered the photo. She remembered the "thing" standing right behind Barb, its long, distorted limbs reaching out from the shadows of the woods.

"You know, Carol thinks I actually kinda look like him. What do you think?" Steve made a goofy face, trying to coax another laugh out of her. "Just take those old records off the shelf! I'll sit and listen to them by myself!" He sang the line, doing a small shoulder shimmy to make her smile again.

Nancy smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Steve was sweet, and he was trying so hard, but she had bigger problems to worry about than movie dates and pop culture.

"I just... I don't think I can," she said, shaking her head. "I've been really busy with this whole funeral thing and... with my brother. It's been really hard on him."

Steve's expression faltered, the lightheartedness draining out of his face. He looked disappointed, but to his credit, he didn't push. "Right. Yeah. Okay. I get it."

"So..." Nancy said, hoping he would take the hint. The sun was beginning to dip, and she still had to meet the others.

"I should go," he said softly, stepping back toward his car.

"Sorry... I'll call you later. Is that okay?"

He nodded, offering a small, half-hearted wave. Nancy leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips—a ghost of a gesture—and watched him walk away. She stayed there on the pavement, watching until his taillights faded into red pinpricks at the end of the street.

As soon as he was gone, she gripped the bat again, her knuckles turning bone-white. There was no movie theater in her future tonight. Only the quarry.

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By the time Nancy reached the meeting spot, the woods were cast in a deep, pre-dawn blue. She found Jonathan alone, standing a few yards away from a row of beer cans he'd lined up on a rotting tree stump.

Bang. The shot echoed through the trees, followed by the sound of a bullet thudding harmlessly into the dirt. The cans didn't even wobble.

"You're supposed to hit the cans, right?" Nancy asked, her voice cutting through the ringing silence.

Jonathan jumped slightly, then lowered the pistol, his shoulders tense. He looked back at her, trying to summon a bit of his usual dry wit. "No... you see the space in between the cans? That's what I'm aiming for. Tight clusters."

Nancy raised an eyebrow, leaning on her baseball bat. "Yeah... right." She looked around the clearing, the shadows of the trees stretching out like long, thin fingers. "Um, where's Ali?"

"I don't know," Jonathan admitted, his bravado fading as he checked the magazine of the gun. "Maybe she's late?"

Nancy checked her watch again, her stomach doing a nervous flip. "She's the one who was worried about us being late. It's not like her to just... not show up."

"I'm sure she'll be here any minute," Jonathan said, his voice dropping into a softer, more reassuring tone. He saw the way she was white-knuckling the bat. "Do you want to try?" He held out the pistol, the metal glinting dully in the morning light.

"Um..." Nancy looked at the weapon as if it might bite her.

"Have you ever shot one before?" Jonathan asked.

Nancy let out a dry, breathy chuckle. "Have you met my parents?"

"Fair point," Jonathan muttered, looking back at the cans. "I don't think a Wheeler has ever done anything more dangerous than overcooking a pot roast."

"Hey," she defended weakly, though she knew he was right. She took a step closer, her eyes fixed on the cold metal in his hand. "Is it... is it hard?"

"The kick is the worst part," Jonathan said, sounding more confident than he actually felt. He carefully handed her the gun, ensuring his finger was far from the trigger. "My dad took me hunting once. It was my birthday."

He stopped, his gaze drifting toward the dark treeline. He didn't know why he was telling her this; he had never said it to anyone, not even his mom. "He made me kill a rabbit. I was nine."

He felt a sudden flush of embarrassment. Was he oversharing? He probably was. But the words kept coming anyway. "I cried for like a week. After that, he called me a sissy for a year. I haven't touched a gun since."

Nancy looked down at the pistol in her hands. It felt heavier now, weighted down by Jonathan's memory. She didn't see it as a "cool" weapon anymore; she saw it as a desperate last resort.

"I don't think you're a sissy," she said softly, her thumb brushing the safety.

"Yeah, well," Jonathan muttered, looking away toward the shadows of the quarry. "My dad would disagree."

"Screw your dad," she said firmly.

She raised the pistol, her grip steady and her eyes narrow. She didn't hesitate. She squeezed the trigger, and the crack of the gunshot echoed through the quarry like a whip. The center can didn't just fall—it flew off the stump, spinning into the dirt with a jagged hole through the middle.

"Holy shit, Wheeler. Nice shot."

The voice came from behind them, making them both jump. They spun around to see Ali walking up toward the clearing at the edge of the woods. She had her arms crossed tightly over a thick denim jacket, her face pale in the grey morning light.

"You're late," Nancy said, slowly lowering the gun, her adrenaline still humming.

"Yeah, sorry. My dad... he busted up the whole house for some reason," Ali said, her voice sounding a little too controlled.

She didn't tell them the details. She didn't mention that when she'd walked through the front door, she hadn't found her father passed out on the couch. Instead, she'd found a disaster zone. The lamps were smashed, the kitchen was a sea of broken glass, and the couch had been ripped to shreds as if by a frantic animal—or a man losing his mind.

She wasn't sure which was worse.

"Is he okay?" Jonathan asked, his concern shifting from the monster to his friend.

"I don't know," Ali admitted, her jaw tightening. "He wasn't there." She looked toward the dark, tangled treeline, the woods looking like a wall of shadows. "Anyway, it doesn't matter right now. We have a job to do."

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a heavy-duty flashlight, clicking it on. The beam was strong, cutting through the mist like a blade. "Let's move before the sun gets any higher. If we're going to find where that thing is hiding, we need to do it now."

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As they stepped past the first row of trees, the sounds of the town—the distant cars and morning birds—faded away, replaced by a heavy, unnatural silence that felt like a warning.

The mist was thicker here, clinging to the damp bark of the oaks and muffling the sound of their boots on the dead leaves. Nancy walked in the middle, her finger resting near the trigger of the pistol. They had swapped back in the clearing; Jonathan admitted he wouldn't be as good with the shots under pressure, and since Ali only had a pocket knife and her instincts, Nancy kept the gun while Jonathan took the bat.

She felt like they had been walking for hours, her legs heavy and her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Ali was a few paces ahead of them, her eyes darting between the shadows as if she were holding the front line, ready to intercept anything that lunged from the brush.

"Did your mom mention anything else?" Nancy asked, her voice hushed, trying to break the suffocating silence. Jonathan looked at her, his expression confused. "About the monster, I mean. Like... where it might have gone?"

"No," Jonathan replied quietly, stepping over a fallen log. "Just that it had come out of the wall. Like the wall was stretching."

The silence fell over them again, heavier than before. Nancy's skin crawled; she couldn't stand the quiet. She needed to hear a human voice, something to remind her they weren't just ghosts in these woods.

"Have you been taking pictures for a while?" she asked, looking at Jonathan.

He blinked, surprised by the shift in subject. "Yeah. Since I was six. My mom bought me an old Kodak at a yard sale. Why?"

"I don't know. I guess you're just really good at it, you know?"

"I mean... I guess I'd rather observe people than, you know..."

"Talk to them?" Nancy finished for him.

"Yeah. I know it's weird," he muttered, shifting the bat to his other hand.

"No. No, it's not weird," Nancy said softly. She looked at Ali's back as the other girl moved silently through the fog ahead of them. "How did, you know... you and Ali become friends? Did you also take her picture and then invite her monster hunting?" she jocked.

Jonathan looked down at his boots, a flash of guilt crossing his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken that... the photo of you. At Steve's. It was stupid."

"Jonathan—"

"No, it was," he insisted, his voice low. "It's just... people don't really say what they're really thinking, you know? But if you capture the right moment... well, it says more."

Nancy looked at him, at the bat resting against his shoulder. The anger she'd felt about the photos was being replaced by a strange curiosity. "What was I saying?" she asked softly. "When you took my picture?"

Jonathan opened his mouth to answer, his eyes searching hers, but the words never came.

Ali suddenly went rigid. She didn't turn around, but she dropped into a low crouch, her hand disappearing into her pocket to grip her knife.

"Guys," Ali whispered, her voice like ice. "Stop talking."

The silence of the woods felt like it was pressing in on them. The distant morning light couldn't penetrate the thick canopy here, leaving them in a grey, hazy gloom. Then, from somewhere just beyond a thicket of dead brambles, came a sound that made the hair on Nancy's neck stand up.

Snap.

The trio moved toward the sound, their footsteps agonizingly slow as they ducked under low-hanging branches. Nancy's finger hovered over the trigger, her breath hitching in her throat.

They pushed past a final wall of ferns and stopped dead.

It wasn't the monster. It was a deer. The poor, innocent animal was collapsed on its side in a bed of crushed ferns, its chest heaving in ragged, wet gasps, blood all over its neck. Its eyes were wide and glazed with pain.

"Oh my god," Nancy whispered, her heart tightening in her chest.

Ali stepped forward, her boots crunching softly on the leaves. She knelt beside the creature, reaching out a trembling hand to stroke its head, smoothing the fur between its ears. "It's been hit by a car," she murmured, her voice thick with a sudden, sharp grief.

Nancy looked at the deer, then down at the heavy metal weight in her hand. The pistol felt cold—deadly.

"We can't just leave it," Nancy said, her voice shaking as she looked at Jonathan.

Jonathan met her gaze, his face pale. He knew what she was asking. He knew that the sound of a gunshot would ring out across the quarry, acting like a flare for whatever was hunting in these woods. But he also looked at the deer's heaving flanks and knew they couldn't walk away.

Nancy stepped closer, her hands trembling as she raised the gun. The weight of it felt impossible now. They would need to sacrifice their position. They would need to sacrifice their silence. And she would have to live with the sound of it.

"I'll do it," Jonathan said suddenly. His voice was steady, grounded by a grim determination.

Nancy looked at him, surprised, the gun still shaking in her grip. "I thought—"

"I'm not nine anymore," he stated, his eyes fixed on the suffering animal.

He reached out and took the pistol from her. His hands didn't shake. He wasn't doing this because a father was yelling at him to be a man; he was doing it because it was the only kind thing left to do.

Ali didn't move. She kept her hand on the deer's head, her eyes squeezed shut, providing the only comfort the creature had left.

Jonathan took a breath, his jaw set. He aimed the pistol, his finger tightening on the trigger—but just as he was about to fire, the world blurred.

There was a wet, heavy thud, and before Jonathan could blink, the deer was gone. It didn't just run; it was yanked backward into the dense thicket with a violent, bone-snapping force. One second Ali was petting its fur, and the next, her hand was hovering over empty, blood-stained leaves.

"What was that?" Ali gasped, scrambling backward on her hands and knees, her breath coming in panicked hitches.

Nancy spun around, the bat held high, her eyes wide as she stared at the wall of dark brambles where the deer had vanished. There was no sound of a struggle. No retreating footsteps. Just a low, rhythmic crackle of breaking branches that seemed to be moving... up.

"It's here," Jonathan whispered, his voice trembling as he pointed the gun into the canopy above. "It's right here."

They stood frozen for a moment, waiting for a scream or a roar, but nothing came. Only the sound of their own frantic breathing. Slowly, they began to follow the trail of dark, heavy blood the creature had left behind before being taken. It looked like someone had dragged a wet mop through the leaves.

"Where'd it go?" Nancy asked, her voice shaking so hard it was barely a whisper. She gripped the bat until her knuckles ached, her eyes darting toward every shadow that looked like a reaching limb.

"I don't know," Ali replied. She was crouched low, her flashlight beam dancing erratically over the forest floor.

"Do you see anymore blood?" Jonathan asked, stepping over a twisted root. He kept the pistol leveled at the darkness ahead, his finger twitching on the trigger.

"No," Nancy said, stopping dead.

Nancy began to wander a few yards away from the other two, her flashlight beam cutting through the thick mist as she searched for any sign of where the deer had been dragged. She pushed through a curtain of low-hanging moss until she saw something that stopped her heart.

She pointed her light at the base of a massive, gnarled oak tree. The blood trail led straight to the trunk—thick, red smears on the bark—and then vanished. It was as if the deer, and whatever had taken it, had simply walked through the wood itself.

But it wasn't just wood.

In the center of the trunk, there was a wide, jagged hollow. But it wasn't filled with rot or shadow; it was filled with a thick, pulsating goo that looked like raw flesh. The edges of the hole were lined with wet, vein-like tendrils that twitched in the light of her torch. The membrane seemed to be breathing—a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction that made the entire tree look like a living lung.

"Jonathan... Ali..." she whispered, her voice failing her.

She stepped closer, drawn in by a morbid curiosity she couldn't control. The air around the tree was freezing, yet the smell of rot was so warm and thick it made her eyes water.

"Hey, guys?" she called again. She wasn't sure if she had actually spoken out loud or if the words had just died in her throat. Behind her, the woods were silent. Jonathan and Ali didn't respond. They felt a million miles away.

She leaned in, her head almost inside the hollow. There was something about the way it glowed—a faint, sickly amber light that pulsed deep within the trunk. It was fascinating. It was beautiful in the most horrific way possible.

She dropped to her knees and began to crawl inside.

The transition was sickening. The walls of the tree were slick and warm, pressing against her shoulders like wet leather. It was a living tunnel, a throat of slime and vines that led deeper than any tree should go.

Where does this lead? she wondered, her heart hammering against her ribs. Maybe where Barb is. Maybe where Will is.

She pushed forward, the sound of the wind in the real woods fading away, replaced by the heavy, wet sound of the tree beating like a heart around her. When she finally tumbled out of the other side, she found herself in a twisted, rotting reflection of the woods she had just left.

It was cold. Bone-chillingly cold, like stepping into a freezer with wet clothes. It didn't help that she was coated in the thick, translucent slime from the tunnel, which was already beginning to turn icy against her skin.

These woods were choked with what looked like grey, pulsating bowels—disgusting vines that snaked around every trunk and dripped with a dark, oily liquid. The air was thick and heavy, filled with floating white particles that looked like ash from a fire that never went out. Everything smelled of rot and stagnant water.

Nancy moved slowly, her breath coming in visible puffs of white. Suddenly, her flashlight began to flicker. Not now, she hissed mentally, tapping the casing twice until the beam stabilized.

She took five or six cautious steps into the gloom before she heard it: a wet, disgusting slurping sound. The sound of something eating with desperate, rhythmic hunger.

She saw it before it saw her. The creature was hunched over the deer, its long, pale limbs bent at unnatural angles. Its head was down, buried in the carcass, and its skin seemed to ripple as it fed.

Her heart sank into her stomach. She began to back away, her boots barely touching the ground, desperate to put distance between herself and the nightmare.

Until... Snap.

She hadn't stepped on a twig.

She had stepped on one of the vines.

The second her weight hit it, the vine shivered, and the creature's head snapped up. It didn't have eyes, but it "saw" her. The creature looked at her, with it's face wide open. Like a flower filled with teeth.

She screamed.

And then she ran.

Notes:

Hellooo!!!!

I’m back with a new chapter for you! I know this one was very Jancy-centered, but hear me out: I really need their POVs for later seasons. To make them work as a couple, I wanted to keep this specific "trauma bond" moment between just the two of them. Adding Ali into this exact scene would have changed their dynamic too much from the show’s original path, if you know what I mean!

So, I'm doing a bit of a Jancy retelling for Season 1, even though the main endgame is Steve x OC and Robin x OC. Please bear with me—I promise Season 2/Act 2 will have a lot more Steve content!

Also, Steve and Nancy’s relationship is so important for his character development later on, so I’m trying to make his feelings for her feel as meaningful as possible now. It might feel like "boring" character building, but it's super important for what's coming next!

Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 !

Chapter 8: 08 The Predator

They heard a scream—a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the silence of the woods like a blade.

"Nancy!" Ali and Jonathan shouted at the same time.

The panic was instant. They bolted toward the sound, their boots skidding over damp leaves and tangling in the thick brush. They reached the spot where they had last seen her, but the clearing was empty.

"Nancy!" Ali screamed, her voice cracking.

"Alisson! Jonathan!" Nancy's voice drifted back to them, but it sounded wrong. It was thin and muffled, as if she were shouting from underwater or from behind a thick stone wall.

"Nancy?! Where are you??" Jonathan yelled, his eyes darting frantically around the grey trunks of the oaks.

"Nancy!"

They scrambled through the mist until Jonathan nearly tripped over something. He looked down. There, lying in the dirt at the base of a massive, gnarled tree, were Nancy's bat and her bag.

Jonathan and Ali shared a look of pure, cold terror. The gear was right here—the bag, the bat, the proof she'd been standing there seconds ago—but the girl was gone.

"Nancy!" they called again, fear rushing through their bones like ice water.

"Alisson! Jonathan! I'm here! I'm right here!"

The two of them spun around, their flashlights cutting erratic arcs through the mist. Right here where? They began to sprint in circles, frantically checking behind trunks and under thickets, but the woods were empty.

"Nancy! Nancy!" Jonathan screamed. He was spiraling, his eyes wide and wild as he searched for any sign of her.

"Jonathan! Jonathan, where are you?" Nancy's screams echoed through the trees, but the sound was distorted, almost as if she were trapped in a deep, hollow void.

"Nancy!" Ali screamed again, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Alisson! I'm here! I'm right here!"

Nancy sounded like she was standing right next to them, yet there was nothing but shadows and the gnarled bark of the trees.

"Nancy! Follow my voice!" Ali yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth to project the sound toward the large oak.

"Follow my voice, Nancy! I'm right here!" Jonathan screamed, following Ali's lead. He was pacing frantically, his flashlight beam shaking in his hand as he scanned the empty air. "Nancy!"

On the other side, Nancy was shaking violently. She was spinning in circles, her boots slipping on the slick, vine-covered ground. She could hear them—their voices were so clear, so close—but she couldn't understand why she couldn't see them. The woods around her were a dark, rotting nightmare, and no matter where she turned, her friends weren't there.

"Alisson?! Jonathan?!" she sobbed, her voice cracking. To her, it felt like they were standing just behind a thin curtain, yet every time she reached out, her hands only met the freezing, ash-filled air.

She ran frantically through the woods, stumbling over the slick, pulsating vines, trying to follow the ghost-like echoes of their voices. She turned a corner past a rotting trunk and stopped dead.

She saw it again.

The creature was standing in a small clearing of ash. It was tall—impossibly thin—with long, pale arms and legs that looked like stretched parchment over bone. Its "face" was closed now, a smooth, featureless mass of skin, but it emitted a low, vibrating growl that Nancy could feel in her own chest.

It didn't strike. It just watched her, tilting its head with a sickening, twitchy curiosity. It was like a predator playing with its food, waiting for her to exhaust herself before it finished the job.

"Nancy!" Jonathan called again, his flashlight beam slicing frantically through the mist.

This time, however, his light caught something impossible. Hidden within the trunk of a massive, gnarled oak was a pulsating, glowing mass. He nearly ran straight into it, skidding to a halt just inches away from the wet, rhythmic membrane.

He couldn't believe it. His breath faltered as he stared at the heaving wood. What the hell was this? Was Nancy inside of that thing? He stood frozen, shining his light directly into the center of the hollow. The light seemed to disappear into the depths of the goo, as if it were being swallowed.

Ali noticed the second he stopped moving. She saw the way his flashlight stayed fixed on a single spot and ran over to join him. "Jonathan? What is it?" she asked, her hand on her knife.

"Look," he said, his voice a terrified whisper.

Ali stepped beside him, her eyes widening as she saw the "breathing" tree. The blood trail they had been following led right into the center of the fleshy opening, leading straight into the dark. It looked less like a tree and more like an open, festering wound in the middle of the forest.

"Nancy?" Ali whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of revulsion and fear. She leaned closer to the hole, the heat and the smell of rot hitting her in a wave.

"Nancy! Follow my voice!" Jonathan screamed.

He didn't stand over the hole; he collapsed, dropping to his knees right next to the pulsing trunk as if his legs had finally given out. He didn't even blink, his eyes fixed on the wet, rhythmic movement of the membrane. He felt like his breath was caught in his throat—a cold, tight knot that made it impossible to pull in air.

His face was ghostly pale in the flashlight's beam as he looked from the opening to Ali. He reached out, his fingers trembling, about to touch the flesh-like surface to try and pry it open.

Suddenly, a hand punched through the goo.

The pale, slim fingers lunged straight at him. Jonathan fell back with a gasp, his heart nearly stopping. It was her. It was Nancy.

"Jonathan!" she shrieked from the other side, her voice finally breaking through the barrier. "Pull me out! Pull me out!"

"Nancy!" Jonathan scrambled forward, grabbing her hand with both of his. Ali snapped out of her shock and dove in to help, grabbing Nancy's arm. All three of them were a tangle of limbs, fighting against the tree as if it were a living mouth trying to swallow its prey. The membrane stretched and tore with a sickening, wet sound as they hauled her through.

When she finally tumbled out onto the forest floor, she was shaking violently. She was drenched in that translucent, icy goo and smelled like she had just been inside the belly of a rotting animal. Without a word, she lunged for Jonathan, holding onto him like he was the only lifeboat in a dark, freezing sea.

Ali stood over them, her flashlight trembling as she watched the "wound" in the tree begin to stitch itself back together, sealing the nightmare away.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

"I just don't understand why we are coming out here. She obviously doesn't want to talk to you." Carol's annoying voice echoed through the car, grating on Steve's nerves.

"That's... that's not it," Steve replied. He didn't expect them to understand; they didn't know Nancy, and they certainly didn't care about her the way he did.

"Oh, really? Because no girl would ever blow off King Steve!" Carol teased, prompting Tommy to let out a loud, obnoxious chuckle.

Jesus, does she ever just shut up? Steve thought, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"I'm telling you, she was acting weird. Something was wrong," he stated, though he knew neither of them were actually listening to his reasoning.

"So what?" Carol scoffed. "Like, you're actually worried about her?"

Steve didn't answer. He knew it was "uncool" to be this concerned, and a part of him felt embarrassed that he was so worried about Nancy Wheeler. But he was. He cared.

"Aww, you are! Aw, look, Steve has a heart," she mocked in an annoying baby voice, reaching over to try and squeeze his cheeks.

"Would you just—stop!" Steve snapped, leaning away from her. "Would you shut up?"

"Stevey is in love," Tommy teased from his side, laughing.

"Just shut up," Steve said again, his voice lower, more dangerous.

"Who knew?" Carol continued, rolling her eyes.

"Shut up!" he finally snapped at her. He was done. These two didn't get it—they didn't see the fear in Nancy's eyes or the way she was white-knuckling that baseball bat.

"Jeez," Tommy muttered, still chuckling.

"Damn, sorry," Carol said condescendingly, while Tommy continued to laugh in the front seat. Steve stared at the road ahead, not in the mood to continue a conversation with those two anymore.

By the time he pulled up to the Wheeler's house, he was a wreck of nerves. Maybe it was the relentless teasing from the drive, or maybe it was the nagging fear that Nancy actually didn't want to see him anymore. He didn't know; he just knew his palms were sweating against the steering wheel.

"So, this is it, huh? The princess's castle?" Tommy teased, leaning forward to peer through the windshield.

"Just... just stay here," Steve ordered, not looking at them. "It'll only be a minute."

He got out of the car, shutting the door on Carol's inevitable follow-up comment. He skirted around the side of the house, heading for the trellises in the backyard—the same ones he'd used to climb up to Nancy's room just a couple of nights ago.

He jumped over a wooden bin, his boots thudding softly on the grass, before pulling himself up onto the roof. He scrambled across the shingles, careful not to slip, until he reached the window sill.

Just as he was about to knock on the glass, hoping for her to let him in and tell him everything was okay, the air was knocked out of his lungs. Through the glass, he saw Nancy sitting on the edge of her bed. She was wrapped in a towel, her hair damp, and Jonathan Byers was standing over her, his hands resting firmly on her shoulders.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him. No—it was more like a bucket of bricks.

The girl he loved was sitting there, half-dressed, alone with another guy. And not just any guy. It was the same one who, only yesterday, had been caught with a roll of film full of photos of her.

Everything Tommy and Carol had said in the car flashed through his mind. He had defended her. He had worried about her. He had almost cracked his skull on this roof just to make sure she was safe, and here she was—seeking comfort from the "creep" with the camera.

Steve felt a hot, sharp sting of betrayal. He didn't see the trauma in her eyes or the way she was shaking from the cold of the Upside Down. All he saw was the towel, the bedroom, and Jonathan Byers.

So he left.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Ali busted into Nancy's room, her hands trembling as she balanced a glass of sugared water and a bar of chocolate. Nancy was still shaking—a deep, rhythmic shivering that wouldn't stop—and to be completely honest, Ali was too. The whole situation felt fundamentally unreal, like a nightmare they hadn't quite woken up from.

Ali still didn't understand what she had seen on the other side of that tree. Nancy hadn't said a single word since they left the woods. She had been catatonic; Ali and Jonathan had to basically lift her into the Red Chevelle like a porcelain doll and drive in a stunned silence to the Wheelers' house.

Ali had walked Nancy through the front door, acting as a shield in case her parents were lurking, while Jonathan had scaled the side of the house to slip through the window. Once inside, Ali had gently guided the other girl into a hot shower to scrub away the smell of rot and the freezing slime. Afterward, Ali had changed into some spare sleeping clothes Nancy had lent her, her own clothes still damp and smelling of the woods.

Now, as she looked at her friends, Ali felt a heavy weight in her chest. Nancy sat on the edge of the bed wrapped in a towel, her eyes staring at nothing, while Jonathan held her shoulders as if he were trying to tether her to the earth.

Ali set the water down on the nightstand with a soft clink. "Drink this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It'll help with the shock."

Nancy took the glass with trembling hands, the water rippling as she raised it to her lips.

"Better?" Jonathan asked softly, his eyes searching hers for any sign of the girl he knew.

Nancy nodded slowly, her movements stiff. "Yeah," she breathed. The word was so faint it was almost a whisper, a ghost of her usual voice.

Ali sat on the edge of the bed next to her, looking at the way the light caught the damp strands of Nancy's hair. The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the sound of Nancy's shallow breathing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ali asked, her voice gentle but steady.

"Not right now," Nancy whispered, her voice trembling. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah... Yeah, totally. Don't worry about it," Ali said quickly, reaching out to squeeze Nancy's hand. She looked over at Jonathan, who was still standing by the bed, looking exhausted and out of place.

"Do you... do you want me to leave?" Jonathan asked softly. He glanced toward the window, his conscience warring with the fact that he didn't want to leave them either.

Nancy looked at the dark window, then back at her friends. The thought of closing her eyes and seeing those grey, pulsating vines again made her blood run cold. She couldn't be alone. Not tonight.

Nancy shook her head immediately, her grip tightening on the towel. "No. Please stay."

The decision was made. They moved with the quiet, heavy efficiency of people in shock. Ali helped Nancy get under the covers, then climbed in beside her, offering the solid, warm presence of a friend. Jonathan grabbed a spare blanket and a pillow, settling himself on the floor right beside the bed.

He stayed close enough that he could reach out if they needed him, but far enough to give them space.

"Do you want the lights off, or—" Jonathan started, the sound of his own voice breaking the suffocating silence of the room.

"On," Nancy snapped before he even had the chance to finish. Her eyes were wide, darting toward the corners of the ceiling as if she expected the shadows to start stretching.

Jonathan nodded quickly, his hand dropping from the lamp switch. "On. Yeah, okay. On it is."

He settled onto the floor, pulling the blanket up to his chest. Beside Nancy, Ali shifted under the covers, trying to find a comfortable position in her borrowed clothes. She could feel the heat radiating off Nancy, who was still as stiff as a board.

"You know, it can't get us in here," Ali said softly, her voice filled with a desperate kind of reassurance. "We're safe in the house, Nance."

Nancy didn't turn to look at her. She just stared at the wallpaper, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the comforter.

"We don't know that," Nancy whispered.

She was right. They didn't know anything. It was a terrifying thought—the idea that at any moment, the very walls around them could peel open like skin, allowing a creature to crawl out and make them disapear like that deer. The thought gave Ali a violent shiver, and she pulled the covers tighter around her shoulders, suddenly feeling exposed even in the bright light of the room.

Jonathan was no better. He lay on the floor, his back against the solid wood of the bed frame, feeling completely trapped. His hand was shoved beneath the pillow, his fingers white-knuckled as they gripped the cold metal of the pistol. He held onto it like a lifeline, the only thing in this house that felt like it might actually stand a chance against the dark.

None of them spoke again. They just stayed there, suspended in the amber glow of the lamp, three survivors waiting for a morning that felt like it might never come.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

The next morning, Alisson woke to the sting of sunlight on her face. It was a sharp contrast to the sickly, grey gloom of the woods, and for a split second, she didn't remember where she was. Then, the weight of the previous night hit her like a physical blow.

She shifted in the bed, her muscles aching. Beside her, Nancy was already sitting up. She wasn't looking at the window or the door; she was staring down at a book in her lap, her fingers mindlessly shuffling through the pages as if she were looking for a secret hidden in the text.

The room was quiet, save for the soft thrip-thrip-thrip of the paper. On the floor, Jonathan was still asleep, his hand still hidden beneath the edge of his pillow, where his weappon was hidden.

"Nancy?" Ali croaked, her throat dry and scratchy.

Nancy didn't look up immediately, her thumb catching on the corner of a double-folded page. "You're awake," she said softly. She looked exhausted—her skin pale and her eyes hollowed out—but the frantic terror of the night before had hardened into a grim, quiet resolve.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ali asked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Her own head felt heavy, and her heart gave a small, anxious thud as she remembered why they were here.

Nancy shook her head, her gaze finally lifting from the book. "Every time I close my eyes, I just... I keep seeing that... thing."

The low murmur of their voices reached Jonathan. He sat up abruptly, his body jerking as if he'd been pulled out of a nightmare—which, considering everything, he probably had. He looked around the sunlit room wildly for a second before his eyes landed on the two girls.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep and panic.

"Yeah," Ali answered, trying to reassure her friend. Even though it wasn't true. None of them were okay, and they wouldn't be until they found a way to end this.

Jonathan rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering dread of his dreams. He looked at Nancy, seeing the way the morning light made her look even more fragile. "Are you sure? You didn't sleep at all, did you?"

Nancy closed her book with a soft, final thud. She looked at Jonathan and then at Ali, her eyes dark with a terrifying realization. The fear from the woods hadn't vanished in the light; it had just transformed into a theory.

"I keep thinking about the trees," Nancy said, her voice steadying as she spoke. "And the air. It was like everything was... rotting. And cold."

She leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly over the cover of the book.

"Wherever I was... that place... I think that's where it lives," she whispered. "It was feeding there. Feeding on that deer." her voice cracked. "That means that if... if Will and Barbara..."

"Hey, hey, my mom said she talked to Will. If he is alive there's a chance that Barbara is too." Jonathan stated.

"That means that she's trapped... In that place." She said with her breath hichting "We have to find it again."

"You wanna go back out there?" Jonathan asked, his voice had some shock, he did not expect Nancy to want to do this again.

Alisson remained quiet, her mind racing. The whole thing felt surreal. What were they actually going to do? If they went to the police, would anyone believe them? Would her dad believe her?

God, her dad. She felt a sick twist of guilt. She hadn't called him, hadn't checked in—he must be worried sick. But before she could spiral into her own panic, Nancy's voice pulled her back.

"Maybe we don't have to go back in there," Nancy said, spreading the book open on the bed between them. "When I saw it, it was feeding on that deer. That means it's... it's a predator, right?"

"Right," Jonathan answered, leaning in closer to look at the pages.

"And it seems to hunt at night, like a..." She fumbled through the pages, her fingers skipping over diagrams of ecosystems. It was an old nature book, the kind they used back in sixth-grade science. "Like a lion or a coyote. But it doesn't hunt in packs. It's always alone, like..."

"A bear," Ali spoke up, the logic clicking into place.

"Exactly," Nancy said, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intensity. "And remember at Steve's? When Barb cut her hand on that can?"

Ali nodded slowly, a chill creeping up her spine as she realized where Nancy was going with this.

"And then, last night, the deer..." Nancy continued, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"It was bleeding, too," Ali finished.

Nancy pulled out another book, dropping it onto the bed. It was opened to a page with a large, detailed drawing of a Great White. "Sharks can detect blood in one part per million," she read, her finger tracing the lines of text. "That's one drop of blood in a million. They can smell it from over a quarter-mile away."

"So you're saying it can detect blood?" Jonathan asked, his brow furrowed as he processed the idea. "Like a shark in the water. You think it's tracking the scent?"

"It's just a theory," Nancy stated, though the look in her eyes suggested she was already certain.

The room fell silent as the implications settled over them. They weren't just guessing anymore; they had a trail. If the creature was a predator, it had a weakness. It had a hunger that could be used against it.

Jonathan looked from the shark diagram to the two girls, his grip tightening on the edge of the mattress. "We could test it."

Nancy nodded, her jaw set tight. The fear was still there, flickering in her eyes, but it was being overruled by a desperate need for justice.

"But if it works..." He trailed off, the weight of the danger hitting him. If the theory was right, they were about to invite a monster into their world on purpose.

"At least we'll know it's coming," Ali finished.

She met Nancy's gaze, her expression solemn. It was a terrifying trade-off: trading the safety of hiding for the chance to strike back. But Ali knew she couldn't keep living in fear of the walls opening up; she needed to be the one holding the weapon when it happened.

Just as Nancy was about to speak, a sharp, loud rapping erupted against the bedroom door. All three of them jumped at the noise, their nerves already frayed to the breaking point. Nancy instinctively reached out, her fingers locking tightly around Jonathan's hand as they all stared at the wooden door.

"Nancy?" Her mother's muffled voice came from the hallway. "Are you girls awake? I heard voices."

Nancy swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. She shot a panicked look at Jonathan and Ali before clearing her throat. "Yeah! Yeah, Mom. We're... we're just getting dressed."

"Oh, okay," Karen replied, sounding relieved. "I made some blueberry pancakes. They're getting cold."

"We'll be down in a second!" Nancy called back, her voice shaking slightly.

They listened to the sound of Karen's footsteps retreating down the hall until the house went quiet again. Nancy let out a long, shaky breath, her lungs finally expanding. She slowly released Jonathan's hand, her face flushing a deep crimson as she realized she'd been gripping it like a lifeline.

Jonathan looked at her, a small, tired smirk playing on his lips. "Your mom doesn't knock?" he teased, his voice low.

Nancy huffed, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear and trying to regain her composure. "Only when she thinks I'm doing exactly what she thinks I'm doing," she muttered, though her heart was still racing for entirely different reasons.

"Well, she's not wrong about us being in here," Ali added, pulling on her shoes. "She just has the wrong reason. I don't think 'planning to hunt a trans-dimensional shark-monster' was on her list of morning activities."

Nancy looked at the door, then back at Jonathan and Ali. The thought of sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to enjoy pancakes while Ted complained about the news and her mom asked about their "sleepover," felt physically impossible.

"We can't," Nancy whispered, her eyes darting toward the door. "We go down there, we're stuck. She'll ask questions. My dad will stare. We don't have time for 'normal' anymore."

Jonathan looked at the two of them, the weight of the day ahead settling on his shoulders. "So, what do you want to do?"

"We need weapons. A plan," Nancy stated, her voice hardening. "We can't be unprepared this time. We aren't just going to stumble into it; we're going to trap it."

Ali nodded, quickly pulling on the practical clothes Nancy had borrowed her—thicker jeans and a sturdy jacket. "There's a shop just outside of town, 'Hunting and Camping.' They have guns, ammo, and heavy-duty traps. We can buy what we need there... you know, to ambush it."

Jonathan moved to the window, keeping his back to the room as the girls finished changing. He stared out at the quiet, sunny street, feeling like a soldier behind enemy lines. The peacefulness of the neighborhood felt like a lie.

"Ambush," Jonathan repeated the word, testing it out. It sounded dangerous, but it was the only way. "Okay. We get the gear, we find a spot, and we draw it out."

Nancy laced up her boots and stood beside him, her face set in a mask of determination. "Let's go before my mom comes back for those plates."

Jonathan went first, sliding out onto the roof with the practiced ease of someone who had done this before. He reached back to help Nancy, who scrambled out behind him, her boots clicking softly on the shingles. Ali followed last, carefully pulling the window shut behind her so it wouldn't look suspicious from the outside.

They moved quickly and quietly across the roof, dropping down onto the wooden bin and then the grass. The morning air was crisp and biting, a sharp reminder of the world they were trying to save. They didn't look back at the house; they stayed low, heading straight for the car parked a block away.

The hunt was officially on.

Notes:

Hiii everyone!!!

I'm back with another chapter for you all! I really hope you're enjoying the ride so far. We are officially almost at the end of Season 1, and I am so excited for what's coming next.

I've been rewatching the show as I write this, and honestly, Season 1 is just so good. It's so nostalgic, and the kids are absolutely adorable. It's wild to think they're all adults now when they were basically babies back then (i'm talking like when the first season came out lol).
Also, thank you so much for leaving kudos, it really helps keeping me motivated!

Anyway, I hope you all have an amazing day. See you in the next chapter!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮!

Chapter 9: 09 Nancy Wheeler's new movie

'Hunting and Camping' was a weathered little shop tucked away at the very end of the main road leading out of town. It was the kind of place that smelled like motor oil and dried cedar, stocked with everything a person needed to survive a week in the deep woods: heavy-duty camping gear, sharp machetes, and big guns.

The guns and ammunition were kept behind the glass counter by the cashier. Alisson felt a sharp sting of frustration when she realized that only eighteen-year-olds were allowed to purchase long guns—a major blow to her plan of getting something with more kick than a handgun.

Still, the trip wasn't a total waste. They were able to find the right caliber to restock the small revolver they had swiped from Lonnie.

Their haul was grim and heavy: a large gallon of gasoline, a crimson-red machete, a silver bear trap, three heavy-duty flashlights, a lighter, a sledgehammer, and a box of long, jagged nails.

As the clerk rang up the boxes of ammo and the heavy metal traps, Ali kept her head down, her heart racing against her ribs. Every beep of the register felt like an alarm. To anyone else, they were just kids heading into the woods, but looking at the pile on the counter, they looked like they were preparing for a war—one she hoped they were actually equipped to win.

"What you kids doing with all of this?" the man behind the counter asked, his eyes moving slowly from the bear trap to the gasoline. He leaned over the counter, his curiosity piqued by the strange combination of items.

"Um... monster hunting," Alisson said flatly. She didn't even look up, her voice devoid of any humor.

The man paused for a second, then let out a rough, wheezing chuckle. He shook his head and shrugged as he handed back their change. He clearly thought she was joking—a sarcastic teenager giving a smart-aleck answer. He probably imagined they were going to play a prank or build a fort in the woods.

Little did he know that as they walked out the door, clutching their bags of weapons and fuel, they were the only thing standing between Hawkins and a nightmare.

"Monster hunting?" Nancy said with a smile as they hauled the heavy bags back to the Chevelle. She hoisted the gallon of gasoline into the trunk, her eyes meeting Ali’s over the open lid. "Really? You couldn't have gone with 'advanced gardening'?"

"He didn't believe me anyway," Ali muttered, though a ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She tossed the heavy bag of nails in next to the sledgehammer.

"You know, last week I was out shopping for a new top I thought Steve might like. It took me and Barb the entire weekend to find the right one," Nancy said, a nostalgic, silly smile drifting across her face. "Back then, it felt like life or death, you know? And now—"

"Now you're shopping for bear traps with Jonathan Byers and Alisson Hopper," Jonathan finished, a rare, genuine smirk tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," Nancy breathed.

She paused to let the thought sink in. It was a bizarre realization, but part of her was actually... excited. She was terrified, sure, but there was an adrenaline rush she’d never felt before. It felt like she was living inside a movie—or like she had finally stepped out of the "perfect princess" role she’d been playing.

She had looked into the eyes—well, the face—of death and come out the other side. She had found companionship in people she would have never dreamed of talking to a month ago. It was a weird feeling, and she wondered if Barb would feel this same way once they finally brought her home.

"What's the weirdest part?" Jonathan asked, leaning against the car as he slammed the trunk shut. "Us? Or the bear trap?"

"You," Nancy said, a genuine smile lighting up her tired face. "It's definitely you."

The moment was light, almost hopeful—until it wasn't. Just as Ali reached for the door handle, a sharp, mocking car horn blasted through the quiet street. A car full of seniors slowed down as it passed, the tires crunching over the gravel.

"Hey, Nance!" one of them yelled, leaning halfway out the passenger window with a predatory grin. "Can't wait to see your movie!"

The car sped off, the sound of raucous laughter trailing behind it like exhaust. Nancy’s smile vanished instantly. Her face went from flushed with adrenaline to deathly pale. Ali froze with her hand on the door, her brow furrowing in deep confusion.

What the hell? Movie?

"What the hell was that?" Ali asked, her voice sharp with irritation. She didn't like the guy's tone, and she liked the way he looked at Nancy even less.

"I don't know," Nancy whispered. Movie? Why would he say movie? Unless... The realization hit her like a physical blow. Nancy turned toward the street, her feet moving before her brain could even process a plan. She walked away from the car, her heart sinking lower with every step.

"Nancy? What? Where are you going?" Jonathan called out, hurrying to catch up with Ali right at his side.

Nancy didn't answer. She didn't even hear him. She just walked, her breath coming in shallow hitches as she turned two streets to the left, heading straight for the center of town. She stopped when she reached the movie theater, the bright afternoon sun illuminating the marquee.

There, in big, jagged red ink across the billboard, someone had defaced the movie title. It didn't say the name of a film anymore. Instead, it read: STARRING NANCY 'THE SLUT' WHEELER.

Nancy stood frozen, the air thinning in her lungs. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the bright afternoon sun suddenly feeling cold and mocking. She wanted to cry, to scream, to simply dissolve into the pavement. She had spent the last twenty-four hours fighting for her life, mourning her best friend, and preparing for a literal war—and this was what the town thought of her.

She had become the town’s latest piece of gossip. Everyone was staring, their whispers trailing behind her like a poisonous fog.

"Jesus," Jonathan breathed, his hands going to his head in a gesture of pure, helpless frustration.

Ali stepped up beside Nancy, her eyes widening as she read the jagged red letters. Her jaw set into a hard, dangerous line, and her hands balled into white-knuckled fists. "Those sons of bitches," she hissed, her protective instincts flaring white-hot.

Ali’s gaze darted around, searching for the source of the rot, and she saw them before Nancy did. Without a word of warning, Ali took off, rounding the corner into the narrow, shadow-filled alleyway behind the theater.

There stood Tommy fucking Hagan, a bright red spray can clutched in his hand and a pretentious, self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. He was in the middle of scrawling something else—another slur, another joke—onto the soot-stained brick wall. Carol stood beside him, looking bored and amused, leaning against a random girl Ali didn't even recognize.

And then there was Steve. The fucking dipshit Harrington himself, just standing there like a statue.

The sight of them—so casual, so incredibly cruel—made Ali’s blood boil. Her vision blurred at the edges with a hot, righteous fury. They were playing petty high school games, laughing at spray paint and reputations, while people were being dragged into the dark to die.

Tommy didn't even notice her at first. He was too busy admiring his "work."

"Having fun there, Tommy?" Ali’s voice cut through the alley like a whip, cold and vibrating with rage.

The group spun around. Tommy’s smirk didn't fade; it just shifted into something uglier and more mocking. Steve’s eyes widened, his posture straightening as he saw the fire in Ali’s expression. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning, but before he could even utter a word, Nancy was there.

She marched straight past Ali, her eyes locked on Steve’s with a terrifying focus.

"Aw, hey there, Princess!" Carol called out in that condescending, nasal tone of hers, crossing her arms.

"Uh-oh, she looks upset," Tommy mocked, his voice a sing-song taunt as he brandished the spray can like a trophy.

Nancy didn't even look at them. To her, they were nothing but background noise—insects buzzing in the wind. She walked right up to Steve, who stood frozen staring at her. For a split second, there was a heavy, suffocating silence in the alley.

Then, Nancy’s arm blurred in the air.

CRACK.

She delivered a full, open-handed slap across Steve’s face. The sound echoed off the narrow alley walls, sharp and sudden as a gunshot. Steve’s head snapped to the side, his cheek instantly blooming into a bright, angry red welt.

Tommy and Carol let out a chorus of shocked, high-pitched noises, immediately shifting to mocking laughter at Steve's expense. Even Ali blinked, her eyebrows shooting up, genuinely surprised by the sheer, raw force Nancy had put into the blow. Nancy stood there, her chest heaving as she sucked in the cold alley air. Her hand was stinging, vibrating from the impact, but she didn't care. She just kept staring at the boy she thought she knew, realizing he was smaller than she ever imagined.

"What is wrong with you?" Nancy snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and heartbreak.

Steve slowly turned his head back to face her, his fingers ghosting over the angry red mark on his cheek. He looked dazed, caught in a tailspin between embarrassment and a defensive heat that was beginning to flare in his eyes. He looked at Nancy, then at the jagged red graffiti on the wall, and finally at Jonathan, who was watching from the shadows with a look of quiet, exhausted disgust.

"What's wrong with me?" Steve shot back, his voice cracking under the weight of his own ego. "What the is wrong with you? I was worried about you." He let out a harsh, bitter scoff, looking away as if he couldn't even stand the sight of her. "I can't believe I was actually worried about you."

"What are you talking about?" Nancy asked, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. She was genuinely confused—her mind was still filled with the smell of rot and the echoes of her own screams from the other side of the tree.

"I wouldn't lie if I were you," Carol chimed in, leaning against the soot-stained brick wall with a smirk. She checked her fingernails, looking utterly delighted by the chaos unfolding. "You don't want to be known as the lying slut now, do you?"

Steve looked back at Nancy, his eyes searching hers for a guilt she didn't feel. Just as she was about to answer—to defend herself against a crime she hadn't committed—Jonathan stepped out of the shadows and approached the group.

"Speak of the devil," Tommy’s voice echoed through the alley. He flicked a lighter, the flame illuminating his arrogant grin as he lit a cigarette. "Hi."

Nancy's eyes darted between Alisson and Jonathan, then returned to Steve's. The pieces finally clicked. "You came by last night," she stated, her voice flat as the realization hit her.

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Does she get a prize?" Carol mocked, clapping her hands together with a sharp, fake enthusiasm.

"Look," Nancy said, taking a step toward him, her hands open in a gesture of desperate honesty. "I don't know what you think you saw, but it wasn't like that. We weren't—"

"What? You just let him into your room to... study?" Steve spat the word with pure, unadulterated despise.

"Or maybe for another one of his pervy photo sessions," Tommy chimed in, blowing a cloud of smoke toward them.

"We were just—"

"You were just what? Go ahead, Nancy. Finish the sentence!" Steve snapped, stepping into her personal space. He was towering over her now, using his height to intimidate her, his face twisted in a mask of wounded pride.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Ali finally exploded, stepping into the space between them and shoving her way into Steve's line of sight. "I was there too, Steve! Are you fucking serious right now?"

The alley went dead silent. Steve blinked, his aggressive stance faltering for a split second as he looked at Ali.

"I was in the room, Steve," Ali continued, her voice low and dangerous. "Jonathan was on the floor, and I was in the bed with Nancy because she was shaking so hard she couldn't breathe. But I guess you didn't stick around long enough to see that part through the window, did you? You were too busy running off to buy spray paint."

The alley went silent for a heartbeat before Tommy let out a loud, bark-like laugh. He looked at Carol, a sleazy grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, I get it now," Tommy sneered, leaning against the brick. "So it was a threeway? Damn, Byers, I didn't know you had it in you. Nice work."

"Yeah, I guess the 'freak' has more game than we thought," Carol chimed in, her voice dripping with mock-admiration. "Two girls, one room. Was it for the camera too, Jonathan? Or just for the 'experience'?"

Jonathan’s jaw tightened so hard it looked like it might snap. He looked at the ground, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged breaths. He didn't want to do this. Not today. Not when Will was still missing.

"What did you just say to me?" Ali asked, her voice dangerously quiet. She looked like she was ready to commit a murder right then and there.

"Let’s just go," Jonathan said, his voice a low, vibrating growl. He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around Ali's arm to pull her away. "They aren't worth it, Ali. Just walk away."

He started to turn, trying to lead them back toward the street, but Steve wasn't finished. The sight of them leaving together only stoked the fire of his embarrassment.

"You know what, Byers? I'm actually kind of impressed," Steve said, stepping forward and giving Jonathan a slight, mocking shove. "I always took you for a queer, but I guess you're just a little screw-up like your father."

Jonathan didn't budge. He kept walking, his eyes fixed on the exit of the alley. But Steve’s voice followed him like a shadow.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. That whole house is just full of screw-ups, isn't it?"

That made Jonathan stop in his tracks. He slowly let go of Ali’s arm, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Steve continued, his voice getting louder. "A bunch of screw-ups in your family. I mean, your mom—"

"You know, Steve, I always knew you were an asshole," Alisson interrupted, turning around to look him dead in the eyes, "but I never thought you were cruel."

Steve didn't even flinch. He looked Ali dead in the eye when he said it, his voice like a poisonous whisper. "I'm not even surprised by what happened to his brother," he spat. "The kid was probably looking for a way out of that—"

He never finished the sentence.

The moment the words left Steve's mouth, Jonathan’s fist connected with his jaw. The impact was a dull, heavy thwack that echoed off the brick walls, sending Steve’s head snapping back. Steven roared, his shock turning into a blind, white-hot rage as he lunged, tackling Jonathan around the waist. They crashed into a stack of empty crates, wood splintering as they hit the pavement. Steve scrambled on top and landed two heavy blows to Jonathan’s ribs.

"Oh! Get him, Steve! Kick his ass, man!" Tommy cheered, dancing on the balls of his feet.

"Get off of him, seriously!" Carol yelled, her voice surprisingly sharp with a flicker of genuine alarm.

"Steve, stop it! Let him go!" Nancy screamed, her hands hovering over them as if she could pull them apart through sheer willpower.

Ali stood frozen for a heartbeat, her ears ringing from the sudden violence. "Get off! Stop!" she barked, but her voice was lost in the scuffle.

Just as Steve landed one more blow, Jonathan surged upward with a guttural heave, throwing Steve off and sending him crashing down. Tommy instinctively launched himself toward Jonathan, fist cocked, but Steve’s voice cracked from the ground. "Hey, hey! Get out! Get out of here!"

Tommy stepped back, blinking in confusion. Jonathan didn't give them a second to breathe. He grabbed Steve by the collar, dragging him back down. They tumbled over the wet asphalt until Jonathan was on top, raining down punches with a rhythmic, terrifying force. All the days of grief, the fear for Will, and the resentment of being the town's punching bag poured out of his knuckles.

"Jonathan! Stop! You’re going to kill him!" Nancy sobbed, trying to get close enough to tugg at his jacket.

"Jonathan, that's enough! Stop it!" Ali yelled, trying to reach for his arm.

Then, the sharp whoop-whoop of a siren bounced off the walls. Blue and red lights strobed against the red brick.

"Cops! Move it! Go, Carol, go!" Tommy hissed. In a rare moment of loyalty, he tried to yank Jonathan off Steve one last time. "Enough, man! Let him go, he’s had enough!"

Officers Powell and Callahan skidded around the corner. "Break it up! Right now!" Powell shouted.

Callahan rushed forward, grabbing Jonathan by the shoulders to haul him off a bloody, dazed Steve. "I said let go, kid!"

Blinded by adrenaline and seeing nothing but red, Jonathan felt hands yank him back. He didn't see the uniform; he just felt an obstacle. He spun around, swinging a wild, desperate hook that caught Callahan flush across the nose.

CRACK.

Callahan stumbled back, clutching his face as blood began to seep through his fingers. "He hit me! The little brat hit me!"

In the chaos, Steve and Tommy scrambled to their feet. Clutching the wall for support, Steve's face a mess of purple bruises and crimson smears, they bolted toward the opposite end of the alley. Before Powell could even reach for his radio, they were gone, vanishing into the maze of Hawkins' side streets.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Alisson sat on the hard wooden bench right next to a handcuffed Jonathan, her head buried in her hands.

The ride over had been a blur of sirens and Callahan’s muffled cursing from the front seat. Before they had even pulled into the station, the radio had crackled to life, announcing that a "fight had broken out involving the Chief's kid and Jonathan Byers."

Ali was scared shitless. Her dad was going to kill her—there was no doubt about it. If he didn't blow a gasket, he’d probably lock her in a cell with the rest of the town’s drunks and thugs just to prove a point. He had always told her, half-joking but mostly serious, that if she ever ended up in jail, he wouldn’t be the one to bail her out.

She tried to tell herself that maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d see that they were only in that alley because Steve Harrington was being a grade-A asshole. But knowing Hopper, all he would see was his daughter in the middle of a street brawl with a kid he already didn't trust.

She was alone with Jonathan for a few minutes, the only sound being the rhythmic hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant, irritating ring of telephones in the front office. Then, Nancy reappeared. She was clutching a plastic bag of ice, her face drained of color and her eyes wide—the look of a deer caught in high beams.

"What is it?" Ali asked, sitting up straight, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Is it my dad? Is he here?"

"No, no... it’s nothing," Nancy replied quickly, though her voice was thin and brittle. She avoided Ali’s eyes and stepped toward Jonathan, gently placing the ice against the dark, angry bruise forming on his cheek.

"Thanks," Jonathan muttered. He was still a bit out of it, the adrenaline fading into a cold, dull ache that throbbed in time with his pulse. He stared down at the silver cuffs biting into his wrists, his stomach twisting into knots. He couldn't believe he was actually arrested. His mom was already going through hell, teetering on the edge of a breakdown every single day, and now she’d have to worry about her son being behind bars. It felt like he was finally going insane.

"Is everything okay?" Jonathan asked, wincing as he looked up at Nancy, finally noticing the way her hands were trembling as she held the ice pack.

"Yeah. Everything is fine," Nancy replied quickly, though her heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the police.

She didn't mention the encounter she’d just had with the station secretary, nor the way the woman had implied—with a knowing, judgmental look—that Jonathan had feelings for her. She certainly didn't mention the traitorous flutter of butterflies she’d felt at the thought of it. And she was definitely not going to mention the immediate wave of guilt that had followed; she was convinced that Jonathan and Ali were probably already an item, and here she was, still technically dating Steve, feeling a spark for a boy who was currently in handcuffs because of her.

Notes:

Hiii!!

Finally! Jonathan got a punch in! I’ve always felt that the "alleyway fight" would be such a fun scene to write, and adding Ali into the mix just made it like 10 times more.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed it, I'm loving writing this!

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮!

Chapter 10: 10 Calculated Insanity

The second Jim Hopper pulled the cruiser into the station lot, he knew he was beyond pissed. He did not have time for this. Not when the government was breathing down his neck, not when he was in the midst of unraveling a conspiracy that felt bigger than the state of Indiana, and certainly not when he still had a missing kid to find.

His own kid getting into suburban street fights was the absolute last thing he needed today.

He slammed the door of the car, the sound echoing through the quiet afternoon, and adjusted his hat with a sharp, impatient tug. He could already feel a headache pulsing behind his eyes. He had spent the morning dealing with secrets and shadows; now he had to walk inside and deal with a bunch of teenagers who seemingly had nothing better to do than beat each other bloody in an alleyway.

He marched toward the station doors, his boots heavy and deliberate on the pavement, with Joyce Byers hurrying to keep pace by his side. He didn't care who started it, and he didn't care who "won." All he knew was that if Alisson was involved, there was going to be hell to pay.

"Hey! Jonathan? Jesus, what happened?" Joyce’s voice echoed through the lobby, cutting through the constant ringing of telephones and the drone of the station.

"You. What the hell were you doing?" Hopper didn't even look at the other two. He pointed a thick finger straight at his kid, who was slumped on the bench with that specific look of 'sorry dad, please forgive me.'

"Dad, I—"

"Chief—" Callahan started, stepping forward to explain the situation as he approached the Chief and the frantic Byers mother.

"I'm fine," Jonathan’s voice came out as a quiet, strained whisper, his eyes fixed on his mother’s worried face, trying to project a strength he didn't feel.

"Why is he wearing handcuffs?" Joyce demanded, her voice rising, shaking with a mix of terror and fury as she stared at the officers. "Take them off him! Right now!"

"Why were you in the middle of a street fight?" Hopper countered, completely ignoring Joyce’s outburst. He loomed over Ali, his shadow stretching across the bench.

"It wasn't like that! Steve was—he was, Dad! He was—" Ali began, her words tumbling out as she tried to defend herself and Jonathan.

"Well, your boy assaulted a police officer. That’s why," Callahan spoke up, his voice sounding thick and wet through the reddening bandage on his face. He looked at Joyce with a smug, pained glare.

"Take them off," Joyce said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that made even Powell look away.

"I am afraid I cannot do that, Mrs. Byers," Callahan said, attempting to sound professional, but only managing to sound condescending. "We have procedures for when civilians decide to use an officer's nose as a punching bag."

Joyce stepped right into Callahan’s space, her eyes blazing with a mother's desperation. "I said... take them off."

"You heard her. Take them off," Jim’s voice boomed, echoing through the station and silencing the ringing phones. He leveled a look at Callahan that clearly said 'don't test my patience today.' Callahan fumbled for his keys, grumbling under his breath as he unlocked Jonathan's wrists. Hopper didn't wait for the click of the metal to turn his fury back on his daughter.

"You," Jim growled, looming over Alisson. "You are going home. Right now. And you will not leave that damn house until I say so. I swear to God, Alisson, if I find out you disobeyed me, you will spend the next night in a jail cell. Do you understand?"

He was looking straight into her soul, his chest heaving with the weight of the day.

"But Dad, I—" Ali began, her voice small but desperate to explain.

"I said, do you understand?" He barked the words, his eyes locked onto hers, refusing to give an inch.

Ali swallowed hard, her eyes stinging with a mix of anger and shame. "Yes, dad. I understand."

"Chief?" Calvin Powell spoke up, his voice low and uncharacteristically grave. He was standing near the back exit, drawing everyone's attention away from the family spat. "I get that everyone is emotional here, but there is something you need to see. Out in the lot."

Hopper’s eyes flickered from Ali to Jonathan, then finally to Nancy. "You three. Stay," he ordered, his voice like gravel. "Do not move from those seats."

He turned on his heel and followed Powell and a limping Callahan out the door.

They led him straight to the red Chevelle. It sat under the harsh parking lot lights, looking out of place among the drab brown police cruisers. Hopper felt a sharp, bitter pang in his chest just looking at it. He had given her that car a year before as a surprise—a desperate apology for missing her birthday party just the day before. He’d been caught up at work, lost in a bottle and a cold case, and had completely lost track of time.

She had been devastated. The next day, he’d shown up with the keys to the Chevelle, hoping to buy back her smile. It had worked. She never left home without it.

"Look at this, Chief," Powell said, gesturing to the open trunk.

Hopper stepped forward, his breath hitching. The trunk wasn't full of school books or gym clothes. It was packed with a grim, calculated armory: the silver teeth of the bear trap, a big red machette, the heavy sledgehammer, the jagged box of nails, the gallon of gasoline and a gun.

He stared at the pile, his jaw tightening until his teeth ached. He hadn't just given her a car; he had unknowingly given her a getaway vehicle for whatever insanity she was wrapped up in. The red paint of the Chevelle, once a symbol of a peace offering, now felt like a mockery.

With a rough, angry grunt, Hopper began grabbing the items. He piled the heavy bear trap, the box of jagged nails, the sledgehammer, and the gallon of gasoline into a large evidence crate. He didn't say a word to Powell or Callahan. He just hoisted the heavy box against his chest and marched back into the station, his boots thundering against the floorboards.

The trio—Ali, Jonathan, and Nancy—looked up as the door swung open. The air in the room vanished the moment Hopper reached the table.

THUD.

He slammed the box down on the wooden surface in front of them. The metal bear trap let out a sharp, hollow ring as it shifted against the wood. Hopper leaned over the table, his hands planted firmly on the edge, looming over the three of them like a mountain about to collapse.

"Explain," he commanded. The word was low, vibrating with a level of authority that demanded nothing but the absolute truth.

Ali looked at the box, then at the pulse jumping in her father’s neck. Beside her, Nancy’s breath hitched, and Jonathan’s eyes went wide. They were staring at the tools of their "movie," but in the harsh, flickering light of the police station, it didn't look like a heroic mission anymore. It looked like a felony.

"What is all this?" Joyce whispered, her voice trembling. She moved around the table, her hands hovering over the box as she peered at the jagged metal of the bear trap and the gallon of gasoline. Her mind was racing, trying to connect these violent objects to the son she knew.

"You went through my car?!" Ali’s voice cracked, her fear momentarily eclipsed by a surge of indignant rage. She couldn't believe this. She knew she was screwed, but the sight of her personal belongings being treated like evidence made her blood boil. "You had no right! That’s my car!"

"I have every right when my daughter is involved in a battery case and hauling enough gasoline to blow up a city block!" Hopper roared back, slamming a heavy hand down on the table. The box rattled, the metal teeth of the bear trap clinking against the nails with a chilling, metallic sound. "You want to talk about rights? Talk about why you have a bear trap and a gun in the trunk of a car I bought you for your birthday!"

The word gun seemed to echo in the small, cramped room, making the air feel even thinner.

"It was my gun," Jonathan spoke up, his voice steady despite the way his hands were shaking under the table. He looked Hopper dead in the eye, trying to shoulder the weight of the accusation to help Ali’s case. "It’s mine. I brought it."

Hopper’s head snapped toward Jonathan, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. He looked at the scrawny kid in the flannel shirt, then back at the box.

"Your gun?" Hopper repeated, his voice dropping to a low, terrifying hum. "You brought a loaded firearm into my daughter’s car? You let her drive around with a weapon she isn't licensed to carry?"

"Jim, wait—" Joyce started, her face ashen as she looked at her son.

"I want to see you in my office." Jim says, his tone was deep, leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

The three of them stood up slowly, the silence of the station pressing in on them. Jonathan’s chair scraped harshly against the floor. He looked at Hopper—not with fear, but with a weary, hollow kind of exhaustion.

"You won't belive me." Jonathan says.

Hopper paused, his hand on the door handle of his office. He turned back, his gaze narrowing as he looked at the boy. "Try me."

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Ali was shaking the entire time, her hands tucked under her thighs to hide the tremors. As Jonathan’s mom and her dad stood under the flickering office light, hunched over the grainy, distorted photo of the thing in the woods, she felt a sickening wave of vertigo.

She was about fifty percent sure that her next stop wouldn't be a jail cell, but the nearest mental facility. She could already imagine the look on her father's face—the pity, the horror, the realization that his daughter had finally cracked under the pressure of the town's tragedies.

The silence in the office was deafening, broken only by the sound of her father’s heavy breathing and the distant, muffled noise of the precinct outside. Ali’s gaze flickered to Joyce. She didn't need her dad to understand right away; she just needed Joyce to believe them. Joyce was the only one who had seen the lights, heard the walls, and felt the presence of something that shouldn't exist.

Hopper squinted at the photograph, his thumb tracing the jagged edge of the paper where it had been torn from the contact sheet. He didn't dismiss it immediately, which felt like a small, desperate victory in itself, but the way his jaw was set—hard and immovable—made Ali’s stomach do a slow, painful somersault.

"You said blood draws this thing?" Hopper asked, his voice low and gravelly, barely louder than the hum of the overhead lights. He looked up from the photo, his eyes moving between Nancy and Jonathan.

"We don't know for sure," Jonathan said, his voice steadying as he realized the Chief wasn't laughing.

"It's just a theory," Nancy added, her voice quiet and unsure, though her eyes remained fixed on Hopper.

Ali let out a long, shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her dad. He believed them. The crushing weight of being labeled "insane" lifted.

Jim’s mind was moving a mile a minute. He looked back at the box on the table—the gasoline, the bear trap, the box of nails. The "felony" was starting to look more like a survival kit. It was calculated. It was desperate. It was exactly the kind of thing he would have done.

"So the bear trap," Hopper gestured toward the box, his gaze finally landing on Ali. His eyes weren't angry anymore; they were filled with a raw, terrifying realization. "That wasn't for Steve. You were going to use yourselves as bait."

Ali nodded slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Oh shit.

The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating. Hopper looked at his daughter—really looked at her—and saw the scratches on her arms and the dirt under her fingernails. He realized she hadn't just been "hanging out" with the Byers kid; she had been staring into the mouth of hell while he was busy chasing shadows at the Lab.

He felt a cold hollow in his chest. He’d been trying to solve a puzzle, but Ali had been trying to survive a war.

"Jonathan. Can I talk to you for a second?" Joyce’s voice broke the silence, surprisingly soft but firm. She was looking at her son with an intensity that ignored everyone else in the room. "Outside."

Jonathan hesitated, his eyes flicking to the box of weapons on the desk, then back to his mother. He stood up slowly, the weight of the last few days making his shoulders slump. Without a word, he followed her out of the office, the door clicking shut behind them.

Inside the office, the air remained heavy. Hopper didn't move. He just stood there, staring at the grainy photo, while Ali and Nancy sat on the edge of their seats, waiting for the axe to fall.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

"I'm sorry, Mom," Jonathan said, his voice pleading, cracking under the weight of her gaze. He had spent his whole life trying to be the "man of the house," the one who didn't cause her extra stress. He never meant for any of this to happen. He never meant for her to find out how close he’d come to the edge.

"What, you're sorry? You're... you're sorry?" Joyce’s voice was high and sharp, vibrating with a frantic, nervous energy. She paced a small circle in the hallway, her hands flying through the air. "That is not good enough, Jonathan. Not even close."

"I know. I just—"

"It's not even in the... in the ballpark!" she cried, stepping closer to him, her face pale.

"I wanted to tell you," Jonathan started, his eyes stinging. "I wanted to, I just—"

"What if this thing took you, too? You risked your life... and Ali's, and Nancy's." Her voice cracked, silent tears streaming down her face.

His eyes fell to his shoes, his vision blurring. He had spent so long trying to hold himself together for her—trying to be the pillar of strength while she was unraveling. How could she ask him not to try and fix it? How could he sit still while his brother was out there in the dark?

"I thought I could save Will," Jonathan whispered, his voice thick with a grief he couldn't hide anymore. "I still think I can."

"This is not yours to fix alone, Jonathan," Joyce said, her voice steadier now, though the tears were still falling. She reached out, cupping his face so he had to look at her. "You act like you're all alone in the world, like it's just you against everything. But you're not. You are not alone."

Her words hit him harder than any of the punches in the alleyway. The wall he’d built around himself finally crumbled, and he felt the first hot tear slide down his cheek. "I know."

"God damnit, Jonathan. God damnit."

Before he could say anything else, Joyce pulled him in. She held him with a desperate, crushing strength, hugging him so tightly it felt like she was trying to pull him back from the edge of the world. Jonathan buried his face in her shoulder, his hands clutching the back of her coat, and for the first time since Will disappeared, he let himself go. He really needed that hug.

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Inside Jim’s office, the air felt thick and pressurized. Alisson was quiet—too quiet. She didn't even dare to look at her father, keeping her gaze fixed on a coffee stain on his desk. Hopper remained standing, still as a statue, his eyes burned into the grainy photo of the creature in his hand.

He took a slow, deep breath, the sound of it raspy in the small room.

"You're not doing this," Hopper said. His voice was dangerously quiet, the kind of tone that made the hair on the back of Ali’s neck stand up. "None of you. Not another step into those woods. Not another trap."

"Dad, I—"

Ali started to protest, her voice small, but she was cut off before she could even finish her sentence. It wasn't her father who stopped her, but a shrill, piercing voice from the other side of the office door.

"I demand an apology! Right now!" a woman’s voice shrieked, echoing through the main lobby and vibrating the frosted glass of Hopper's door.

Hopper’s jaw tightened. He didn't look away from the photo for a beat too long, then shoved it into his pocket as the town's drama came crashing through the walls of his office. He looked like he was about five seconds away from losing his mind.

"An apology for what, exactly?" Callahan’s voice echoed through the station, sounding even more ridiculous with his nasal, muffled tone.

"Where is the Chief? I want to speak to him right now!" the woman shrieked.

Jim let out a long, weary sigh as he opened the door from his office. He turned to the girls inside the office, then glanced at Joyce and Jonathan standing just outside the door. "Stay here," he ordered, his voice flat and uncompromising. "All of you. Do not move."

He stepped out into the lobby, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a definitive thud.

In the center of the station stood a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a country club, her face flushed a deep, indignant red.

"Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down," Callahan said, hovering nearby with his small notepad. He looked pathetic, trying to take a statement while dabbing at his bloodied nose with a stained handkerchief.

"What is your name, Deputy?" the woman asked, her voice dripping with venom. She was clutching a young boy—he couldn't have been older than twelve—who was sitting on the edge of the wooden bench. His arm was wrapped in a fresh white bandage, and he looked terrified, his eyes darting toward the closed office door.

"Well, I’m an officer—" Callahan began, trying to puff out his chest despite the nasal whine in his voice.

"Name and badge number!" the woman screamed, stepping directly into Callahan’s personal space. Her face was inches from his, her voice echoing off the station's high ceilings. "Both of you!" She jabbed a finger at Officer Powell, who was standing nearby, looking uncharacteristically flustered.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Jim interjected, his patience finally snapping.

He didn't realize that behind him, Joyce and the three kids had slowly trickled out of the office area, drawn by the commotion. They stood in a small, tense cluster, watching the scene unfold.

"Chief..." Powell began, stepping forward to explain, his face tight with concern.

"These men are humiliating my son!" the woman cut him off, her eyes wild as she looked at Hopper.

"No, no, no. Okay, that's not true!" Callahan defended himself, dabbing his nose frantically. "We were just trying to get a statement, and she—"

"Yes you wer—"

"There was some kind of fight, Chief— ," Powell interjected, finally raising his voice to command the room.

"A psychotic child broke his arm!" She grabbed the boy's shoulder and shoved him slightly forward so Hopper could see the heavy bandage and the makeshift sling.

"A little girl, Chief," Callahan spoke up, finally finding a gap in the screaming. He moved his hand to chest-level, gesturing the height of a child. "A little one."

"That tone! Do you hear that tone!" The woman was practically shouting at this point, spinning around to look for anyone who would validate her outrage.

"Honestly, I'm just trying to state a fact!" Callahan barked back, throwing his hands up in total exasperation.

"I don't have time for this," Jim sighed, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. "Will you please take a statement?" He looked at Powell and gestured toward the front door, silently mouthing: And get her out.

"Yes, Chief," Powell nodded, his face turning solemn as he refocused. "So, what did this girl look like?" he asked, softening his voice as he turned his attention to the boy.

Hopper didn't wait for the answer. He turned around, his boots heavy on the linoleum as he began to return to his office, ready to lock himself in with Ali and the other two.

"She had no hair," the little boy began to speak, his voice thin and shaky. "And she was... she was bleeding from her nose. Like a freak."

Jim stopped dead.

"What did you just say?" He slowly turned back around, his eyes no longer tired or annoyed. They were sharp and focused. He looked past the screaming mother and stared straight at the boy.

"I said she was a freak!" the little boy repeated, shrinking back slightly into the wooden bench.

"No, her hair. What did you say about her hair?"

"Her head was shaved. She didn't even look like a girl."

Jim was stunned. His mind went straight back to the day Benny Hammond had died—to the reports of a "kid" seen running from the diner. The kid he had been looking for. The one he had originally hoped might be Will.

The silence in the station was absolute now. Even the mother had stopped shouting, sensing the shift in the Chief’s energy from annoyance to something much more focused—and much more dangerous.

"And..." the boy trailed off, his lip trembling as he looked down at his bandaged arm.

"And what?" Hopper asked, his voice thick with impatience.

The boy looked up at his mother, his eyes wide and seeking help. "Go on. Tell the man, Troy," she said, squeezing his shoulder for reassurance, her face set in a hard line of indignation.

"She can... do things," Troy said, his voice barely a whisper.

"What kind of things?" the Chief asked, leaning in closer.

"Like... make you fly. And piss yourself." Troy’s eyes trailed to the floor, his face burning with the memory of the humiliation at the gym.

"What?" Powell spoke up, an incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked at Callahan, as if waiting for someone to point out how ridiculous that sounded.

Jim brushed him off with a sharp wave of his hand before asking, "Was she alone?"

The little boy shook his head. "No. She always hangs out with those losers."

"'Losers'?" Hopper repeated, his brow furrowing as he felt the net tightening. "What losers?"

┗━━━━━•°•°•❈•°•°•━━━━━┛

Steve Harrington sat on the hood of his BMW, the cold metal biting through his jeans. His head was pounding with a rhythmic, dull throb that matched the sting of the cuts on his face, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the noise in his head.

Ali’s words played over and over again like a broken record, cutting through his mind: 'I always knew you were an asshole—but I never thought you were cruel.'

He stared at the gravel beneath his feet, the neon lights of the town reflecting in the polished paint of his car. He had spent so long trying to protect his reputation, trying to keep his friends in line and keep Nancy by his side, but he had managed to blow it all in one afternoon. Being an asshole was just part of the act. But cruel? That word felt heavy. It felt permanent.

Tommy stepped out of the convenience store where they had parked, carrying a Coke and some pills. He walked over and tossed a small packet of Tylenol onto the hood next to Steve.

"Hey. You owe me a dollar-twenty," Tommy said, handing him the drink while checking the battered look on Steve’s face. "Don't worry, he'll need more than aspirin by the time we’re done with him."

The thought made Steve’s stomach turn. He tore open the packet and swallowed two pills dry before pressing the cold Coke can against his swollen eye. The damn thing throbbed and hurt like hell.

He probably deserved it, though. He knew he had gone too far. He should have just dropped it the second Ali said she was there. He should have apologized and cleaned the billboard himself. Most of all, he should have just asked Nancy what happened—why she was so distraught that Alisson and Jonathan had to stay the night.

But he didn't. He had chosen to be an asshole. He’d chosen to be cruel.

"Yeah, if that creep ever gets out," Carol chuckled, stepping up beside Tommy. "The cops should just lock him up forever."

Her voice was like a piercing ring in his ear; it made his head throb a hell of a lot more.

"Did you see the look on his face? Oh!" Carol started to fake-punch Tommy, twisting her features into a mocking, pathetic expression. They both erupted into laughter, Tommy joining in without a second thought. Of course he did. Tommy never cared about the consequences of anything. Like, ever.

To them, it was just a game.

"He probably had the same look when he killed his brother, right?" Tommy gave Steve a playful punch in the arm, oblivious to the way Steve flinched.

The words made Steve’s stomach drop. Was he really like them? Was that how the world saw him? Did Ali think he was just like these two—a hollow bully who joked about dead kids?

"Oh god," Carol groaned, leaning against the car as she laughed. "I just got an image of him making that face while he, Nancy, and Ali are all screwing."

The comment was like a bucket of ice water. Steve looked at Carol, then at Tommy, who was grinning as if that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. These were the people he’d spent his whole life trying to impress. These were the people he had chosen over Nancy’s trust and Ali’s respect.

Hearing them talk about Ali and Nancy like that made the throbbing in his head shift into a sharp, focused heat. He wasn't like them. He didn't want to be like them.

"Carol, for once in your life, shut your damn mouth!" he snapped. He was done. He was done with the jokes, the cruelty, and he was done with both of them.

"What?" Carol asked, her smile dropping instantly, her face twisting into a look of genuine shock.

"Hey, what's your problem, man?" Tommy stepped forward, his tone defensive and challenging.

"You're both assholes. That's my problem," Steve said, sliding down from the hood of the car. His movements were stiff, his body aching, but his mind was clearer than it had been all day.

"Are you serious right now, man?" Tommy asked, looking at Carol as if searching for a punchline that wasn't coming.

"Yeah, I'm serious." Steve pushed Tommy out of the way, a firm shove that forced his former friend to stumble back so he could get to the driver's side door. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?" Tommy yelled after him, his voice cracking with annoyance.

"You know what," Steve said, his voice low and final. He didn't need to list the insults or the graffiti. The weight of it was already sitting heavy in his gut.

"You mean calling her out for what she really is?" Tommy sneered, stepping closer. "Oh, that's funny, because I don't remember you asking me to stop."

Steve stopped with his hand on the car door. He turned back, his gaze cold and sharp enough to cut. "I should have shoved that spray paint right down your throat."

"What the hell, Steve?" Carol said, her voice high and shrill, finally realizing that the "King" was actually turning on them.

"You know, neither one of you ever cared about her," Steve said, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and realization. "You never even liked her, because she’s not miserable like you two. She actually cares about other people."

"Oh, please," Carol scoffed, rolling her eyes. "A slut with a heart of gold."

"I told you to watch your mouth!" Steve roared.

"Hey!" Tommy snapped, stepping in and shoving Steve hard against the side of the BMW. The metal groaned under the impact. "I don't know what has gotten into you, man, but you don't talk to her that way!" He snarled, stabbing a finger inches from Steve’s face.

Steve didn't flinch. He looked at Tommy and saw a pathetic guy who took pleasure in making others feel like shit.

"Get out of my face," Steve said, his voice low and dangerous. He reached out and shoved Tommy back with twice the force, sending him stumbling across the gravel.

"Or what?"

Tommy surged back, pinning Steve against his own car again. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper as he looked deep into his former friend’s eyes. "Or what? You're gonna fight me now too? Huh? You gonna fight me now?"

Tommy’s gaze fell to Steve’s swollen, busted lip, and a cruel smirk tugged at his mouth. "Because you couldn't even take Jonathan Byers... so I wouldn't recommend that."

The insult hung in the air, cold and sharp. Tommy was betting that Steve’s bruised ego would make him back down. He was waiting for the "King" to realize he was alone and crumble.

And he did.

He didn't swing. He didn't shout back. He just turned away from Tommy’s mocking grin and stumbled toward the driver's side of his car. His movements were clumsy, his vision blurred by a mix of pain and the sheer, stinging shame of it all.

He climbed in, the engine roaring to life as he pulled away from the curb. He drove fast, leaving Tommy and Carol behind in the convenience store parking lot. As he stared at the dark road ahead, his grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

He ran away, like the fucking coward he was.

Notes:

Hey you guys!!

I hope I managed to convey the chaos of the beginning of the chapter. It was a hard one, but I really wanted it to feel like everyone was talking over each other in that scene (if you found it confusing I am very sorry).

So, as you can tell, some of the dialogue in this chapter was basically ripped from the show. The reason for that is that we’re getting close to the finale and I’m honestly kind of tired, lol! I really wanted to focus on bringing out what I thought the characters were feeling in these specific moments rather than reinventing the wheel.

Also, I saw someone on TikTok post that Tommy was in love with Steve, and Carol was his lavender girlfriend, and I absolutely loved that. So, I’ve decided to make it canon for this story! From now on, Tommy is queer and Carol is his bestie, and they are just evil together—because that’s way more fun.

XOXO, 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮!