Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC?)
Chapter Nine: Freak
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UPDATED 7/21/24
Summary: It’s when he takes a step forward that she finds the smallest amount of strength to run - her bag held in an iron grip as she shoves through a cluster of shoulders, ignoring Steve’s words that follow after and cutting him off entirely as the bathroom door slams shut, locking it for good measure. Warnings: Assault, Tommy being a dick. Panic/anxiety attack. Steve just doing his best. Word count: 3,281 - long boy Do not repost without credit or permission.
They were echoing all around her—the laughter and ignorance of a world they would never come to know. Blissfully unaware, uncaring, and lost in their own lives. Moving forward while some seemed to stand still, watching with envy, confusion, and pain. How could the world continue to spin, leaving aching hearts frozen in time, only to catch up once they’ve thawed and healed from the damage done? How did her classmates walk down the halls with brilliant smiles, hand in hand, so absorbed in mundane things?
They spoke about their relationships, plans from the weekend that had since passed, and homework. Their voices all twisted together into a hurricane, forcing her feet to move faster through the hallways until she could find shelter from the storm, hiding away in the girl's bathroom.
Her grip tightens around the edges of the sink, wondering why classes hadn’t been canceled. Why haven't more people been sent away to look for a lost boy, as if they wouldn’t expect the same if it had been their child? Her father had even pushed her out the door, saying, “I will come get you as soon as I hear anything.” Leaving her on edge in wonder and wait, not knowing when his car would pull in to guide her home, those heavy words repeated themselves on a loop in her mind in anticipation. It left her unfocused, pieces of her scattered throughout infinity, unreachable. It wasn’t until she had gotten to the parking lot that she realized a few of her books had been left behind, and some hastily finished parts of her homework were still resting on her desk. There had been no point in coming to school when she was so clearly needed elsewhere.
Autumn allows the cold water to run for a moment, biding her time, knowing class will eventually begin and teachers will ultimately question their missing student. The water is collected into her palms, splashed over tired eyes, and across her neck, pressing deep into aching muscles that have yet to find comfort from the building pressure.
With the voices now fading and moving on deeper into the school, she finds the smallest ounce of bravery to take a step back out into the hallway, taking care not to meet any eyes that still lingered. The questions she assumed everyone wanted to ask went on repeat in her mind. She didn’t feel quite ready to find her voice with them or accept words of sympathy from peers, knowing her cracked foundation may break at any moment. So, with a gaze locked down to her feet, she moves with ease on autopilot to her locker, her pace quickening with every step as if someone were just on her heel, chasing.
The moment the cold lock met her hand, there was a relieving breath falling past her lips, shaken fingers putting in the combination just to rip the door open. An empty stare lingers on, unfocused on anything in particular, as she begins to debate if this was ever a good idea. It wouldn’t be too late to drop teenage responsibilities and head back home. She could already envision the looks of pity from her peers as they offered forgiveness for late assignments.
“Autumn?”
The voice catches the girl off guard, her own name taking its sweet time to sink in as if she wasn't fully trusting if she had heard anything at all. But with an aching curiosity, she begins to lean back with wide eyes, searching for that familiar boy just beyond the metal door. He’s drained and weak. Shoulders slouched with his bag seemingly heavy, dragging him down lower into the ground. There’s an odd mixture of comfort and uneasiness as she takes in the sight of Jonathan, happy to be with a friend but unsettled as a piece of his world is missing. As if he were only a shadow of himself—not entirely whole. “
What are you doing here?” she asks softly, now painfully aware of the attention that seemed to shift their way, curious and assuming. Their whispered words crept through the wall she built like pests through tiny cracks, irritating and unwelcome to their private moment together. Jonathan would look beyond her, acknowledging the looks they got and hushed words behind stilled hands; it had his fist clenching just a little harder at the bag to his side.
He doesn’t respond. Not in words, at least. The teenager meekly holds up his poster, and for just a moment, Autumn’s heart flutters at the sight of a toothy smile before plummeting into the pit of an empty stomach as she reads over the words that describe him on his last day seen. Her fingers are careful to take it from his grasp, like a delicate piece of work no one dared to bend or fold.
“I’ll put one in my neighborhood,” she says before tucking it between the pages of a book, keeping it safe until the end of the day. He only nods in acknowledgment. There is no ‘thank you'; there isn’t a mumbled mess lazily pouring out to update her on what’s happened so far, but he doesn’t leave her either. Uncertain words sit on his tongue, and without enough strength, he’s unable to bring them forward.
“What is it, Jonathan?”
His posture shifts, eyes meeting her own as he finds some unsteady confidence to speak what he’s been holding onto for some time now. “Can you come out to Castle Byers?”
There’s almost a pressure forcing her back with the question—an unseen weight thinking about the abandoned fortress left to rot in the wilderness. “Of course I can. Why-?”
Her question is cut short and left unheard as he shares a small, crooked smile. “Thank you. I'll meet you at your place after school. I’ve just got…y’know, some things t’do,” he finishes with the shrug of his bag. His friend could only nod in a solemn response. “See you...tonight, then?”
“Yeah, see you later.” Autumn can’t hold back the heavy sigh that falls past her lips. Her tired body leaned against the lockers to watch her friend disappear into the wave of bodies, all moving towards their classes or otherwise. The denim of his jacket finally vanishes, blending into them all, and there’s an ever-rolling ball of regret growing larger by the second, wishing she had followed after him.
Instead, things were gathered with fumbling hands and irritation, slamming the locker door behind her before moving onward in an attempt to survive school like any other day. She would shrink away in her seat, feeling the pressure of classmates from out of view bury her alive. The unwanted attention leaves her palms clammy. A single knee bounced to the point where it had nearly hit the desk, and this anxiety-filled bubble she had created seemed to keep teachers at bay.
Not once had she been tested before the other students—a direct question about anything they had been reading in class when her eyes were only locked on the numbers ticking away overhead. Time moved painfully slowly, and there was no relief in sight from her father. No principal burst through the door to pull her from the class so she could find proper mourning. And was it fair of her to think in such a way? To find only sadness when she thinks of his smile and less hope.
Hazy eyes fall to the same hand that reached out for his bicycle, studying it as though it were a detached member of her body, only finding sensation as the nerves twitch. She thinks back to that moment, her brows knitting together as she can almost feel that same pain reignite within her. A snake wrapping its form around a wounded rodent with fangs punctured through tender skin. Or thorned vines growing with haste, scraping along every inch of the surface, tearing the world beneath them apart. It was blinding and breathtaking, and it seemed like a certain death. The two things couldn't be related in some way—this horrific feeling that kept the girl awake at night and Will’s disappearance. Yet, the clock continued to tick, and there had been no news to wipe away her poisonous thoughts.
“Ms. Reid,”
The name falls heavy on already weighed-down shoulders. A name to only be spoken and heard when there is trouble just over the horizon, alarming enough to lure the girl from the trance she had fallen into. Her eyes were now wet from gathered tears, struggling to focus on the teacher who stood just behind the desk near the head of the room. It’s eerily silent, and though the world is blended, she can make out that, back in reality, the room has emptied. The unread book remained open before her, dampened by her pain.
“‘M’sorry,” Autumn says in a mumbled tone, wiping the sleeves across her face frantically before clumsily gathering her things into a mess bundled up against her pounding chest. The saddened eyes of her peer are burning into her back as she races out of the class and into the hallway.
She’s disoriented and lost, desperate for sanctuary to rest, which she finds at the nearest unoccupied water fountain. Her belongings fall to the tile without care, her fingers pressing the button until it produces an icy stream of water for her to drink from. Like a flower suddenly revived with life, she feels a sense of ease sinking back into her with every passing second. Assaulted lips are soothed by the moisture, a scorched throat is no longer crying out in pain, and a heaving chest is now forced to settle.
This peace is short-lasting. Fingers dig into her skin without warning, embedding into her collarbones to pull her back with blinding speed. Before she could fully register what was happening, her back was to the cement wall with a dazed look, focused on someone she hadn’t expected.
“Tommy-” He was within inches of her—so close that she could smell the mixture of gum and cigarette smoke; even remnants of last night's beer wafted past her nose. So close that she could uncomfortably memorize every freckle on his face—and each one on his two large hands as they tightened around her clothes. The collar of her sweater was locked in both of his fists, keeping her secure in his grip and pinned between his stocky build and the wall. He had never touched her; he never came close to it. Merely throwing rolled-up balls of paper her way in attempts to irritate her, and she had always been very good at fending him off.
"I always knew you were a freak, but man," Autumn was rapidly slipping into something one would describe as comatose and unfeeling. Unable to process her surroundings or her thoughts, fear overwhelmed her, reaching the edge and threatening to spill over like a waterfall from a broken dam. She was frozen and at his mercy before the entire school, though she couldn’t see them gathering like a pack of hyenas—the girl's only focus being his venomous eyes that sunk away as a smile lifted, joyful from the torment he provided. "Where'd you dump the kid, huh?"
The question is a sharp stab to her chest, digging and twisting deeper. It pulls down her torso and into her belly, where it burns and leaves Autumn suddenly ill at what he was implying. “N-no, I-”
“I wonder how many other kids are gone because of your weird, voodoo shit.” Pleas are resting on her tongue, the ache burning at the back of her throat as the sadness builds. Her pain goes unheard but is so visibly seen as her skin becomes flushed, fresh tears cascading over puffy cheeks and down his paled knuckles. “Poor Byer’s doesn’t even know. Unless,” he says with a sudden gasp, a spark glimmering in the darkness of his eyes. “Unless the two freaks of Hawkin’s did it together. Now that’s a twist,” he says with a chuckle, clicking his tongue along the roof of his mouth, eyeing her with such intensity as he waits for the break. But it never comes.
As her lips part to speak, there is a whirlwind of force that has her knees buckling from surprise, her palms pressed firmly into the wall for support as he is no longer there to hold her up. The boy is far gone now—far enough that she can no longer taste his breath or feel his chest pushing against her own. He’s stumbling backward into a parted sea of people, his firm hands gripping the back of his jacket to more or less toss him a few feet away, looking bewildered—a deer caught in the headlights. Tommy’s eyes would glance between Autumn and the taller figure standing between the two, wearing a look of confusion.
“That’s enough,” the student says firmly. “Come on, man. Just havin’ some fun,'' he explains, not seeming to understand the situation as he continues to smile. However, it falters with another warning.
“I said that’s enough, Tommy. Jesus Christ.”
The boy turns to Autumn, revealing himself to not be just any passerby but someone from a previous life; Steve. His chocolate eyes are filled with worry, scanning over her from head to toe for anything that could be out of place from Tommy’s actions. Brows knit together, visibly distressed by what he had stumbled into and, if he was honest with himself, unsure of how to make things right. No matter if every molecule that holds him there wants to ease the hurt, “Autumn,” he speaks her name softly like he once did from a time before. Like he cared enough that she might shatter at his feet with the wrong tone.
“Autumn,” he says again, trying to gain her focus as her mind spins through the wreckage of emotional torment. His hands reach forward just enough to offer a sign of peace and surrender, though her back is sinking deeper away into the wall, waiting for it to give way and swallow her whole so the school can stop staring at the two of them.
It’s when he takes a step forward that she finds the smallest amount of strength to run. Her things are plucked from their place on the floor, held in an iron grip as she shoves through a cluster of shoulders, ignoring Steve’s words that follow. Ultimately, he, along with everyone else, is silenced as the bathroom door slams shut, locked with haste for good measure. Weakened knees finally give way, and she’s down on the cold floor. The opened pack is now scattered across the floor as she searches for that little pack of death that calls to her. In the carton, there is only one cigarette, and her shaken hands place it between her lips, rapidly growing dry as her chest heaves with panicked breaths. Her hands frantically dig through the mess before her, spreading it outward in search of the lighter, soon patting down her sides.
“Fuck, fuck,” she mumbles, digging into spare pockets as the frustration grows along with the anxiety.
Suddenly, a flicker of light pulls her attention forward—a flame dancing gently in wait, lit by the only other person Autumn seemed to have missed in the rush, Heather Hunter. From the few times they’d met together, it was obvious the other teen carried a good yet fiery soul. She was kind to those kind to her, unafraid to defend those needing it, and full of passion as she scribbled away in her notepad with new ideas for a game. The same one Will talked about with the happiest of smiles. In class, she could be seen sketching out various costumes to go along with a world Autumn didn’t understand. Right now, it was something she wanted to forget.
“Need a light?” Wordlessly and with eyes locked on the girl, Autumn leans in until the stick ignites, filling her lungs and setting her nerves at ease. Once tightly wound coils were now so loose that she nearly melted into the floor with a heavy sigh, the smoke residing in her lungs now flowing freely and dancing into the air. The troubles just beyond those walls were now a distant memory, a forgotten problem for another time, as the ache was soothed by the toxins and nicotine.
The two wait together in silence as the smoke continues to fill the space between them, Heather now standing at the opposite end of the room with her back to the wall and foot crossed over the other. The girl wasn’t oblivious to Autumn’s situation. Having seen Jonathan by her side throughout their time at Hawkin’s High, it was easy to put it all together, though missing pieces to a larger picture she’s unsure of how to talk about. Instead, she sits in silence to muddle over her thoughts until Autumn seems more settled.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, letting the cigarette hang loose from her dried lips, her eyes hesitantly wandering from her figure and the mess on the floor. “D’you usually wait for girls in distress? Or is this a special occasion?” the girl states behind a genuine smile, finding comfort in having someone near who could be called a friend when it felt like the world had been against her so suddenly. There’s a quirk just at the corner of her mouth, raising into a crooked smile, clearly amused despite the tense moment.
“I usually wait from eleven t’one,” she retorts with ease, the smirk remaining steady as she moves close enough to squat down to the opened books, collecting them with care. Heather looks at the girl with softened eyes, offering out a neatly stacked set of loose papers to be sorted through later. Her eyes are filled with lingering questions, her lips parting to seek out the answers, with nothing falling through from fear of tugging on the frail strings of her heart. Autumn notices and is grateful when Heather opts to simply shuffle the papers back into the bag without asking for more information.
Autumn flicks the ashes out onto the tiled floor, smearing them along the surface with the heel of her boot before taking another long drag. Heather could only provide what she knew best at this moment: sit and wait. Only waiting to see what the girl on the floor needed, if anything at all. And pieces of her wondered if she had any right to be here, watching her at her most vulnerable.
While friends, their relationship was more based within the school; they seemed to have different interests that kept them busy and apart from one another. They didn’t know each other, really. Not deep down.
“You want t’get out of here?”
Autumn’s eyes are wide from surprise, uncertain if she heard correctly as the words are slow to sink in. “What?”
“Y’know, play hooky. Skip class.” A chuckle falls from Autumn’s lips, pressing the butt of the cigarette into the floor to diminish the brightly burning flame.
“You’re crazy. My dad would kill me.”
Heather doesn’t seem bothered by this, shrugging it off before standing to straighten out her clothes and take a quick look in the dirtied mirror. “Maybe, maybe not. But if you want t’stay here and deal with whatever that is out there, feel free.” The bell rang off in the distance, announcing the beginning of the next class and that the two of them were already late. In the reflection, Heather’s eyes are looking back at the girl, still seated on the floor, unmoving and still surrounded by the now-organized clutter.
“Is manipulation an inherited or acquired trait?”
