too old to be on this website. I'm 21+. rogue. she/her. remake of tumblrs. personal, boring blog. formerly ygrittewildthing on ao3. I no longer use that site. author of my mind turns your life into folklore, invisible string, carry on my wayward son, the rubble or our sins?
This is my writing blog for fanfiction. I used to post on a03 as ygrittewildthing. I left after my fic was stolen and I had a disagreement with the admins of a03 about how it was handled.
My fics:
My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore
tagged: #mmtylif
Carry on My Wayward Son
tagged: #comwws
Invisible String
tagged: #invisstring
The Rubble or Our Sins?
tagged: #troos
Emotional Kaleidoscope
tagged: #emotional%20kaleidoscope
Til the End of the Line
tagged: #tteotl
Something Far Stronger than Fear
tagged: #sfstf
Watch Me Make Them Bow
tagged #wmmtb
Totally Pucked
tagged: #totallypucked
I also write plenty of oneshots.
My other blogs:
@ackermanstyle is my fanfic inspiration
@humanitysstrangest is my spam. Most of my reblogs go here.
Actually you SHOULD make problematic content. You SHOULD explore dark or taboo topics. You SHOULD have a space where you can cope with your traumas or explore sensitive topics in a way that doesn't hurt anyone.
non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc
The worst part is that you can try really hard to remember it, run through it multiple times and mentally note everything down, but then you'll still forget that banger of a conversation. No matter how hard you try to engrave it into your memory you'll never remember it once you get to your document.
you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
everyone in the notes we are all holding hands. everyone who hasnt worked on a wip in weeks or months or years, its okay. we are going slow but we are going
as a writer, it’s very important that you know this: whenever you tell yourself “this will only be one-chapter-long” that is a lie. your brain is lying to you. it won’t, in fact, be just a short one-shot
Not sure why it's a new trend among fic readers to assume if the fic has not been posted within the week it's inappropriate to comment on it, like the fic has to be hot out of the oven to give feedback for.
I got a comment on a fic that is less than a year old and it was mostly an apology for being a comment on an "old fic" and how late they were in commenting.
Just comment on the fic. Doesn't matter how old it is.
a character who truly, legitimately goes “but why does that matter?” about their feelings when someone who cares about them asks. and the sudden falling of everyone around them’s faces as they realize that this person doesn’t recognize themself as someone who needs or should be taken care of. i want Everyone to hurt. surprise at the idea, worry for them, horror at not having noticed. do you see this person who doesn’t think of themselves as a person?
If things were normal, you'd be graduating high school and gearing up for college. Instead, you spend your days attempting to read Steve Harrington and the gaggle of kids he seems to keep around. At least you have Robin to help keep you both somewhat afloat. Between stitches and picking up a job at the local radio, you start to think less of all you've lost and focus on your present instead.
masterlist - taglist - playlist
word count: 6.2k
cw: mentions of torture, blood, wounds, medical stuff, this chapter covers a three-month time period, pg-13 content but prefer 18+
it's an old song, it's a sad song, it's a love song — and we're gonna sing it again!
The following morning, Steve was the first to wake. He often was these days.
Ever since the demogorgon, really.
It was routine for him at this point. 6 AM would hit, but he was never fully rested. He tossed around too much in his sleep — nightmares… memories. But that didn’t matter when the party needed him. So he’d get up, splash some cold water on his face, and get dressed.
Robin heard him in the kitchen. She always heard when he’d pace up and down the halls at night. If she ever asked, Steve would excuse it by needing to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. But she knew he was just trying to pass the time until morning. That’s why it didn’t surprise her when she found him already brewing a pot of coffee, notably using the ‘good grounds’ his mother had always bought an extra bag of.
“I don’t think our guest will be joining the land of the living anytime soon,” Robin tried to joke.
Steve huffed as he tugged two mugs down from the cabinet, “I don’t blame her. She looked completely drained when we dropped her here yesterday.”
“Well, I hope you didn’t tell that to her face, dingus,” Robin scoffed on your behalf. Sometimes she forgot that Steve could still be a boy after all.
“Of course, I didn’t,” Steve shot her a look as he poured the coffee, “I just— feel bad, you know? Being abandoned? Dealing with the rift? I mean…”
He set the pot down and rubbed a hand over his face, “She doesn’t know what’s going on, nobody does, and no one can explain—”
“We can explain,” Robin took a half step forward with her tentative suggestion, “We can’t exactly hide the Upside Down from the rest of Hawkins anymore.”
Steve’s stance went rigid at the implication in Robin’s voice. He knew that she meant well, that she just wanted you to be aware of the dangers Hawkins was facing. His brow furrowed as he steeled his expression, “You know we can’t do that.”
“Why? Because the government is gonna get mad?” Robin stood her ground. When Steve turned his attention back towards the coffee, she marched across the kitchen to confront him, “Newflash, Harrington, but we’ve got bigger problems than the government finding out that we opened our mouths to the new girl in the party.”
“She’s not in the party — Wheeler would flip his shit if you said that in front of him,” Steve attempted to steer the argument. He snagged the milk from the fridge to finish making Robin’s cup.
Her hand moved to rest over the rim of the mug, halting his movements, “I don’t care what Mike has to say. The military is already on its way. And she’s here and will be involved by association, no matter what you say or do. Besides, she’d realize that something is going on eventually. We don’t have a plan now, but we will soon. How do we explain that we’re monster hunting in another dimension that caused Hawkins to crack open like an egg?”
“Exactly, how do you explain that, Robin?” Steve looked his best friend square in the eye. He was grateful enough to still have Robin through all the insanity and knew that she was just trying to help him help you. But Robin didn’t consider all the consequences like he had, “Billy, Heather, Chrissy, Eddie — we’ve already lost so many people. Do you want to risk making her a casualty?”
“I— No… but?” Robin looked completely deflated, her concern clear, “I can’t lie to her forever. And we don’t know what dangers will come. And I refuse to let anyone be alone anymore.”
“Okay, okay,” Steve nodded, taking a deep breath. He mulled over her words, attempting to determine an outcome they could compromise on, “We can’t tell her about everything. But if things start happening or if the military reports on it, we will explain what we can. And… she’s not alone, Rob. She’s got you. She’s got us.”
Robin shook her head and lightly punched Steve’s shoulder, the tension easing, “One night and you’re already a sap for this girl.”
Steve’s jaw dropped at the accusation, his hands settling firmly on his hips. “I am a concerned friend… a friend.”
“She’s my friend,” Robin chuckled at his reaction, “You hardly know her. Like, really know her.”
“Well, I am going to know her,” Steve stuck out his tongue.
Overhead, the two of them could hear the patter of your footsteps, signaling that you were finally out of bed. Just like that, they would table the discussion for the future.
Robin yawned as she took her mug from the counter. She sipped on her coffee while toeing back towards the living room, “Right, right. But Steve?”
“Yes?” He hummed.
“Don’t come on too strong.”
— — —
You never expected Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington to be so painfully awkward. In high school, Steve was suave and confident, gliding through the halls of Hawkins High with ease. Yet the first week you spent at the Harrington Home was filled with the painful awkwardness of readjusting to a new normal.
Robin was your only saving grace — God help you both. She eased the mealtime silence with terrible jokes and self-deprecating comments. And though it helped to soothe you, Steve was noticeably on edge. You weren’t sure if it was your presence or if the devastation of Hawkins was finally catching up to him. But Steve hardly spoke to you when he was home. He really just observed you. It was like your conversation that first night never happened.
Two nights passed the same. The three of you had dinner, you’d offer to clean, and Steve would make excuses for why he could do it himself.
When he dismissed you on the fourth night, your shoulders deflated as you left the kitchen. Maybe Steve just didn’t care to know you any better, or maybe you had to accept that he simply didn’t trust you as much as you first presumed.
It had been a full week since the rift had torn through Hawkins. The military had begun setting up blockades, controlling traffic in and out of the town. In downtown, in the main square, the military had just established a Military Access Control Zone and warned citizens to keep their distance.
Robin had quite a bit to say about the military presence in Hawkins, “I just think it’s excessive!?”
“The earth cracked open, Robs. Indiana has never seen this kind of seismic activity.” You twisted the phone cord while keeping your eyes fixed on the TV. Steve was currently in the kitchen, whipping up some dinner from the groceries he could get at the store today.
“So… Has Stevie brought any girlies home?” Robin chuckled at her own snide question.
You pondered it for a moment. For a notorious ladies man, Steve hadn’t brought anyone home since you moved in. You simply assumed on the nights when he got home past curfew that he was out with a rendezvous.
“Um, come to think of it, no,” A commercial break hit, and you shifted your position on the couch. “When are you coming back over? It’s just… quieter here without you.”
“My mom’s not gonna let me leave the house until they give an update about the guy that was mauled in the woods last week,” Robin groaned at the reminder, “Those claw marks were seriously too large for coyotes, and I’m not convinced of the bear theory either.”
“What? You think something crawled out of the rift?” You laughed at the preposterous idea. Robin didn’t seem amused, however, leaving you with silence.
“Listen, I gotta go, because I unfortunately am expecting another call, but I’ll see you and Steve when you pick me up for the town assembly tomorrow, yeah?” Robin cleared her throat, a touch of nerves making her voice tremble.
“Yeah. We’ll catch you then,” you confirmed before exchanging quick farewells. Once you placed the receiver back on the stand, you took a deep breath. Your eyes glanced back in the direction of the kitchen as you contemplated the past two weeks.
Dinner with Steve passed in tense silence again. Multiple times, you had felt his gaze drifting over your frame, but when you tried to catch his eye, he’d cut them away while pink heated his cheeks. Once you finished your meal, you simply placed your plate in the sink, but didn’t offer to assist before heading upstairs for the night.
— — —
It started raining shortly after you had gone to bed. The thunder jolted you awake after another appearance from the gray-skinned creature you encountered a week ago. Every few seconds, lightning flashed across the sky, filling the room with blinding light before submerging it back into darkness. It was the kind of storm that sent children running for their parents. It was the kind of storm you’d learned to brave alone.
Your fingers clutched the comforter as another crack of thunder rattled the windows of the home. You wondered if it was simply a passing thunderstorm or another bad omen in consequence of the rift. It was tornado season, too, which didn’t ease your worry.
If there was a weather emergency, you didn’t really know what to do, or if the Harrington home was equipped to deal with such a disaster. By the next thunderstrike, you were on your feet, making a beeline to Steve’s room. Maybe you were overreacting, but you felt unprepared to handle an actual incident.
As you padded into the hall, you thought about Steve asleep in his bed. You didn’t want to scare him awake, but you also knew that you couldn’t go back to sleep until you felt like there was some set safety plan. One that didn’t include walking back to the high school to seek help… again…
You were brought to a halt when a clipped grunt came from the bathroom near the top of the staircase. One door down, Steve’s bedroom door was ajar, the nightlight illuminating the room. Light poured from the slit beneath the closed door. The sound of running water pulled you from your confused trance.
Without much thought to it, you raised your fist to knock on the bathroom door, “Steve?”
You could’ve sworn you heard him whimper. Was he hurt? Had he been hurt and you just hadn’t known? Guilt wracked your chest as the thought crossed your mind. Neither of you had really mentioned first aid or asked about any injuries, related or unrelated to the rift.
You followed up with another knock, “Steve, are you okay? I just wanted to check in… because of the storm.”
“Y-Yeah,” Steve grunted in reply, clearly attempting to downplay whatever was wrong, “I’ll be… out in a moment. You’re welcome to wait in… my room.”
Your hand fell back to your side while your eyes flicked across the doorframe. You could either wait in his room as he asked or continue talking to him through the door. Before you could consider either option, another large crack of thunder echoed through the house.
The noise made you yelp in shock. Before you could truly steel yourself, Steve pulled the bathroom door open, concern etched into his face, “What happened? Are you okay?”
You couldn’t help it as your eyes drifted from his protective stare down the spat of hair on his chest before landing on the open wounds on either of his sides. Surprise painted your face as you continued to gawk at him, eyes flittering between the wounds and his face, “Oh my god, Steve?! We need to get you to the hospital!”
“No, no hospital,” Steve quickly asserted.
Confused by his refusal, you tried to protest, “Steve, I’m serious. That’s not just a cut you can clean and bandage at home, and– are those stitches?”
“Torn stitches,” Steve answered, but waved his hand to change the subject. It landed on your bicep, heavy and warm, catching your attention, “Don’t worry about that. Are you okay?”
“I— What?” You blinked twice, now confused by the silent panic in his eyes, “I’m fine. Why are you asking that?”
Steve cocked his head, baffled himself, “You… screeched?”
“I didn’t screech.” Your brow furrowed. Thunder snapped again, and Steve watched as your attention snapped upwards. He felt the muscle of your bicep stiffen, and your breath quicken.
He understood immediately, “You’re scared of thunder?”
When you didn’t respond, Steve rested his free hand on your shoulder, attempting to ground you once more. His thumbs rubbed in gentle circles, and your attention drifted from your surroundings to Steve. As your eyes focused on his face, you noted every little freckle and the little constellations they made on his tanned skin. His gaze never wavered, and his eyes held a gentleness you’d never seen from another.
“I’m fine,” You cleared your throat, breaking the moment, “I just… The last storm tore my house in two… so…”
Steve blinked at your confession, arms falling back to his side. A moment later, he released a breathless chuckle, “Hm… yeah, I guess that’s as good a reason as any.”
A smile cracked across your lips at his easy laugh. The sound was a breath of fresh air. But it was gone again when Steve grimaced, clutching his left side, “shit!”
When his knees buckled at the pain, you were quick to stabilize him, guiding him to sit on the closed toilet seat. “Why are you bleeding?!?”
“I’m sorry. I must’ve pulled my stitches hauling the pool furniture into the shed so it didn’t get sucked up in the storm,” His tone was too apologetic for the situation, but you didn’t have time to evaluate that in the current moment. You needed to stop the bleeding and apparently stitch him together again.
You moved in silence, snatching the rag he’d likely been using to clean away the dried blood. You folded it into quarters before pressing it against the wound on his abdomen. Guiding his hand to apply the right amount of pressure, you snagged the only other washcloth to repeat the process on the left side.
Steve tried to stay silent, to grit his teeth and bear it like he had last summer in the basement of Starcourt Mall. As he watched you move with precision, Steve selfishly thought to himself how nice it would’ve been to have you clean him up after the Russians tortured him. He didn’t know you then, but he was grateful to have an angel like you now.
“An angel, hm?” You glanced up at him from the bathroom floor, where you sprawled out the first aid supplies.
“Shit…” Steve hung his head in realization that he was thinking out loud, “I’m sorry… I– Well—”
“I hope whatever bit you didn’t have rabies,” You interrupted, gesturing to the evident teeth marks in his side, “But we can just say the pain made you loopy.”
The joke made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Steve nodded, “Yeah, don’t worry. Robin already ruled out rabies, so you’re safe.”
“That’s like her number one biggest fear,” You continued the easy conversation as you used the alcohol pad to clean around the wound.
Steve’s breath hitched as the alcohol stung against the tear, the muscles of his abdomen tensing under your touch. You observed the pained look on his face, trying not to show just how nervous you were in this moment. You were determined to pull Steve Harrington back together because Robin wouldn’t lose her best friend, and Hawkin’s golden boy could see another day. It was the least you could do.
Peeling your eyes away from his face, you lightly fanned the area; most of the blood was cleaned off by now. And as if he could sense your concern despite your nonchalant expression, Steve could feel the underlying anxiety. So he did what he could do best at that moment: make you smile.
“Rabies is her number one greatest fear,” Steve nodded, his voice raspy between the hour and the toll of the pain, “Direct quote.”
A smile cracked across your lips at his comment. You shuffled up onto your feet, supplies safely tucked beneath your arms, “It’s probably best if you lie down for the stitches part. Are you sure you don’t want to go to Hawkins Memorial?”
Steve shut his eyes, brow furrowed as he seemed to silently assess the situation, “No… No. They’re overcrowded as is—”
“That’s not an excuse to not get care—”
“It’s past military curfew. What if an MP pulls us over?” Steve reasonably asked.
“Then we just explain that it's a medical emergency,” You huffed, not understanding why he was refusing professional help.
Steve looked up at you, hands gripping the sides of the porcelain, “I appreciate your advice, I really do. But I just… I can’t go back to the hospital and get more questions. You can still see where they stitched the first time. If you aren’t comfortable doing this, you don’t have to. I can do it myself…”
His eyes cut back to glance behind you out of shame, “I’ve done it before…”
The way he mumbled the last few words made your stomach churn. Steve’s eyes remained fixated on the wall behind you, his expression steeled like it would keep a lid on the pain and everything he was hiding with it.
You closed your eyes, taking a shallow breath, “Fine. But you have to promise me you won’t tear these stitches too. Can’t have you bleeding out.”
When you opened your eyes again, Steve was now looking at you, even eager to meet your gaze.
“I promise,” He murmured, a soft boyish grin lifting the corner of his mouth, “Everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of you.”
“You better,” You shook your head, sighing in defeat.
Tonight was not the night to argue. Tonight, you just had to make sure Steve Harrington could show up for Robin, Dustin, and his other friends, playing the older brother figure who tries to protect them all. And for the first time, you could understand why they cared for him. Because Steve Harrington could make you see how the world could be, in spite of the way it is.
— — —
By May, Hawkins had been completely shut down. The only poor souls lucky to get in and out were the delivery trucks that had been supplying the town for the last month. Where your graduation day lacked in family, it was more than made up for by your friends. Crossing the stage with Robin, Steve cheering you both on as you knabbed your diplomas. Dustin tagged along, though you all could tell something was weighing on Steve’s younger friend.
If the quarantine and earthquakes weren’t bad enough, the military was also in full control of the town. The police reported to the MPs, the local government rendered useless in the face of devastation. You, like every other citizen in Hawkins, now had to submit yourself to mandated weekly check-ups with the government doctors. No one knew what they were looking for and what symptoms could possibly come from that fallen ash.
Hawkins was a shell of itself, and the townfolks were divided on every issue. Some folks turned to religion, placing all the blame on the “Hellfire Cult”, though the authorities had cleared all club members of being suspects. Others turned to alcohol or any other vice to take what little reprieve they could from the world.
Another thing about how Hawkins had changed was its silence.
Besides government broadcasts and police radios, Hawkins had been stripped of music. Nothing played when you shopped at Melvald’s, or stopped by the medical tents outside the Hawkins High gym. Robin had discovered just why that was.
“Jimmy Fast Hands skipped town,” She slammed her hands down on the kitchen table. The small metal pieces of Steve’s walkie clanged against the wood, causing Dustin to groan as he attempted to repair some recent water damage.
You were putting away some groceries as you called back to her, “Okay? We’ve got bigger issues than former radio dj’s.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed as he helped tidy the kitchen after your return from the market, “Like the fact that they are seriously starting to crack down on rations. You’d think that the military would help keep the shelves a little more stocked.”
“Were they out of Boppers?” Dustin followed up as he finished piecing the walkie back together.
“We managed to grab the last box,” You called back, stashing the treats in Steve’s special hiding spot above the microwave.
Robin crossed into the kitchen, propping herself up on one of the countertops. Her feet swung, eyes darting between you and Steve, “I’m just saying, a radio station makes for a perfect hideout.”
“Hideout?” You paused at the pantry.
“Robin,” Steve stilled, sending a glare in her direction. The two exchanged another look. Luckily, you had gotten accustomed to their silent conversations.
Whatever they were thinking was interrupted by Dustin, who finished inserting the screws for the walkie, “Robin makes a point. The WSQK has a stronger signal than Cerebro, and we don’t have to worry about being close to the MAC-Z.”
You chuckled, “You’re gonna break Steve’s heart if Casa Harrington gets demoted from being the hangout spot.”
Steve put his hands up, playfully defensive of his home, “I don’t get why you two think hanging out in the abandoned station would be cooler than my house.”
And though Steve tried to smile through his words, there was a clear tension between the three of them. Maybe that was your cue to move on or just let them have their space for a moment. You were still a new figure in “the party” as you had come to know all the kids teenagers.
Your arms circled around the remaining paper bag, filled with extra hygiene and household goods, “I’m gonna head upstairs to store this stuff and then probably take a nap.”
You yawned for good measure. Robin simply nodded while Steve tossed you a gentle smile, “Okay. Let me know if you need anything, though.”
“Yeah, Harrington, she’s gonna need all the help to stow away your emergency hair care products,” Dustin snickered from the table.
Steve turned to shoot his younger friend a glare, providing you the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Dustin always had some snarky remark that kept Steve on his feet; that much you had observed of their relationship. You knew Steve felt the need to step up as a role model for Dustin, apparently now more than ever, according to Robin. And you didn’t want to get in the way of whatever that meant.
Once Steve heard his bedroom door open and close, he was quick to shoot both Robin and Dustin a stern look, “Really, guys? Are we trying to be obvious?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dustin huffed, getting to his feet. He made his way to the fridge, snagging a can of soda from the fresh inventory, “We have to discuss our ideas to combat Vecna and the Upside Down. You can’t just expect me to walk on eggshells because you don’t want to scare off the house guest whom you say is just a friend.”
“She is a friend, Henderson,” Steve tried to keep his voice even and not feed into Dustin’s antics. It was clearly one of those days where Henderson just wanted to see how far he could push until someone snapped.
“Dustin has a point, though,” Robin interjected, her honesty making Steve’s broad shoulders deflate. She hopped off the countertop, “Even if we do keep it a secret, she’d start asking questions eventually. I mean, she was absolutely livid that we didn’t tell her about your demobat bites—”
“Robin—”
Dustin’s ears perked up at that tidbit of information, “You didn’t tell her?”
“I had accidentally torn my stitches, and she helped me without question,” Steve attempted to answer coolly, but the conversation with Robin and Dustin was quickly becoming an interrogation.
Concern flashed through Dustin’s eyes, but he hid it with a scoff, “So you just plan on living with this girl until what? They lift the quarantine? No one knows when that will be. We might as well rip the band-aid off!”
“Yeah, that’s a no,” Steve put his foot down.
Robin interjected, hoping to stop any argument before it could start, “And how long do you think we can keep the Upside Down a secret? The rift swallowed her house – she’s lucky to be alive. I get why you’re concerned, but I don’t understand why you refuse to tell—”
“Because I don’t want her to get involved!” Steve snapped, his voice clipped as he tried to keep his volume and frustration at a minimum.
“She’s already involved,” Dustin attempted to counter, “You think not telling her will save her from fate? That’s not how this works, Steve.”
Steve’s stance straightened, neck snapping to meet Dustin’s riled expression, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Robin swooped in, saving the conversation from twisting into a full argument. Her eyes cut between both of the boys, watching as they continued to stare each other down. If they couldn’t agree, then Robin, as your closest friend, would make the decision.
She took a deep breath, the tension in the kitchen slowly dissipating, “You both make valid points, so we meet in the middle. We won’t tell her about Vecna or the Upside Down, at least not yet—”
“Not ever—”
Robin waved a dismissive hand at Steve, “Not yet, because we don’t know what’s gonna happen. Things are already getting weird. It’s obvious that a couple of demodogs slipped through the rift, especially from that body they pulled from the lake last week. But we can’t isolate her. We figure it out, we compromise as we go. Capeesh?”
Steve and Dustin glared at each other a moment longer. Both knew it would be useless to argue further; they had to conserve their energy for future concerns. With a sigh, they nodded, “Capeesh.”
“Great, great,” Robin took a calming breath, “Now back to the radio station. I have an idea.”
— — —
Summer has finally arrived with warm June weather settling in over Hawkins. The longer days made the hard times and dark nights easier to live through. Normality and routine seemed to be returning, slowly but surely. Folks started going back to work, and the military announced that civilian activities could continue during normal daylight hours. One would think that the earthquake never happened if one also looked over the steel plates covering the cracked earth and the large military presence. It was a contradictory way of life.
It turned out that Robin’s idea was genius. The mayor’s office was looking for a group to run and operate the radio, especially since the airwaves currently carried only standard news and military communications. Suddenly, you found yourself employed as the assistant station manager at the Squawk, as so assigned by Nancy Wheeler. There were five of you who worked the station, but the party really chipped in with set-up and technical maintenance.
Robin, or Rockin’ Robin as she insisted, worked as the main host and DJ for the station. Something about it just came to her naturally, and her brain was practically a filing cabinet when it came to music knowledge. Steve was a comparable sidekick, working as the sound board op. Nancy, the lead station manager, took it upon herself to work the late-night shifts and ran a tight ship. Her boyfriend, Jonathan, served as the traffic director and music archivist, though you all made your rounds tidying the catalog.
All that lead you here, to another morning shift at the Squawk while Hawkins attempted to enjoy any tangible sense of normality. You stood outside the door of the radio booth with two fresh cups of coffee for Robin and Steve, who were about to have their first break of the morning.
“Get ready to bust out that sunblock and head to the Hawkins Community pool. This weekend, we are expecting clear skies and high temps, our first ninety-degree day of the year,” Robin pointed back at Steve, queuing his next sound effect, “We’ve got some hot hits coming up, but first, let’s start off with ‘Working for the Weekend’ by Loverboy!”
Robin muted the mic and waited a few moments before signaling that they were clear for a break. Both of them removed their headsets, spotting you through the glass. They emerged from the booth with grateful smiles.
“Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver,” Robin beamed as she accepted the mug, eagerly sipping at the hot coffee.
“Not a problem, heard you had a late night here with Nance. Thought an extra cup might help you both out,” You easily explained as Steve silently thanked you as well.
“And that’s why you’re the best,” Robin complimented, nudging her elbow against Steve’s side, “Isn’t she the best?”
Steve shook his head and chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkled when they settled on you, “Of course, she’s the best.”
You waved your hand dismissively, attempting to remain nonchalant, “Please, it’s just coffee.”
“Just coffee,” Robin playfully mimics before taking another sip. She sets her mug down, checking the watch adorning her left wrist, “We’ve still got three minutes. I’m gonna sneak in a bathroom break!”
The lanky girl skirted her way around the corner towards the breakroom, leaving you alone with Steve. Your eyes followed her, but Steve’s brown eyes remained affectionately on you.
“Robin is letting me pick the first half hour of the afternoon segment. Do you mind pulling these for me?” Steve asked with a gentle grin, passing you a scribbled note that listed his selections. Your fingers briefly brushed as you accepted it from him. His handwriting was surprisingly neat.
“Stevie Nicks, Annie Lennox, Pat Benatar — looks like someone's been listening to my music recs,” You chuckled softly, tossing a warm glance in his direction.
“Hard not to be influenced when you’re always bringing vinyls home for the living room record player,” Steve admitted with a shrug, but the pink dusting his cheeks gave him away. He scratched the back of his neck, “You give music meaning.”
His words left you speechless. Now, equally flustered, you wondered if Steve realized the effect of his words on you, “I– Well, thank you.”
Steve just nodded, not really sure of what to say himself. The tips of his ears were pink, signaling his embarrassment. There had been a number of moments like this recently, where neither of you wanted to end the conversation or be the first to go. You didn’t want to read into it and jinx your luck, because at the end of the day, you were lucky enough to still have a roof over your head.
You thumbed back towards the music library, dismissing yourself, “Let me grab those for ya. Be back in a jif.”
As you turned away, Steve offered you a friendly wave, not trusting himself to oust himself further. Smooth, Steven, real smooth, he internally ridiculed himself.
The Squawk had two levels to it — three if you counted the roof. The first level started with a small office and reception area, before opening up to the full operations that consisted of the broadcasting booth, technical equipment, and the break room. The second level, where you were headed, housed the archive and a couple of offices that the party renovated into bedrooms. They were highly useful on the nights when work ran past curfew, but you’d only used them a couple of times for a mid-morning nap.
At one point, Robin mentioned that the station had a basement. But Nancy corrected her, informing you that the basement had been closed off after a storm came over and flooded the basement, destroying countless vinyls. Needless to say, it was smarter that you kept the archive on the second floor now.
The archive seemed like an endless project because inventory was always going in and out. No one had the full time, nor the dedication, to restore it. Not only was the organization aspect lacking, but there were multiple lights out, and cobwebs seemed to appear the further back you searched.
As you entered through the door, you propped the doorstop, leaving it ajar. With a soft hum, you started your search for Steve’s selections. Your thumb grazed over the note, feeling the idents from the pen. A smile pricked at the corner of your lips, knowing that these were songs you had shared with Steve while going through his mom’s collection that had been left behind.
You paused at the first shelf titled ‘Synth’, combing through the ‘A’ section. Your continued to hum, the melody familiar — Here Comes the Rain Again. You remembered the way Steve laughed when you told him it was so catchy that you could hear the music when you hummed. When you spotted the familiar cover with Annie Lennox, you immediately pulled it out, pausing your humming.
But you could still hear the music…
You whipped your head around, but the archive was still. Silent. There was no one else.
With a sigh, you shook off the eary feeling in your stomach, chopping it up to be alone in the dark. That didn’t settle the hair standing on the back of your neck, but you wouldn’t be in the room for much longer.
Continuing down the aisles and rows, the lingering feeling of being watched remained. Like a looming presence that refused to make itself known. As you paused again in front of the ‘P’ section, you glanced at the door of the archive, just to make sure it was still cracked open. It was. Of course it was. You were being paranoid.
As you criticised yourself for acting so foolish, your fingertips flipped through in search of Pat Benatar. When you couldn’t find the vinyl of your first pass, you moved through them again, even venturing into Paul McCartnery to see if she had gotten mixed in.
That’s when you first heard it. A faint whisper of your name.
You glanced to either side; still silent, still alone. You continued with a huff, continuing on until she appeared – Pat Benatar! Robin usually kept a small box of Stevie, Fleetwood, and others on the first floor, so it was best to return there to find the final selection. You released a heavy breath, turning on the balls of your feet to leave.
Once you stepped into the main aisle, you could easily spot the door again. Except it was shut with no light spilling into the dark, enclosed tomb of the archive. A chill ran down your spine. Your feet went to move, to leave the room and brush of the strange experience entirely. Yet you could hear the distinctly male voice groan your name again.
Your eyes darted through the multiple aisle and small sections, searching for the source of the voice. It continued to beckon you, over and over again.
“Steve? Jonathan?” You marched towards the door, still searching for another person. When you reached for the handle, the metal shocked you, a startled call leaving your throat, “Guys! This isn’t funny!”
The voice came again, louder and far closer. The single lightbulb that illuminated the doorway flicked once… twice… and then darkness.
“You were better of alone,” The man sneered, still yet to make his presence known, “They can’t save you. The fate of Hawkins is sealed.”
It all came rushing back to you. Missing posters, the mall fire, the murders, and even the rift. These images flashed in your mind, forcing you to recall all the horrors that had befallen the town.
Your breathes grew shallower as fear clawed up your chest, just like it had the night your lost your home to the rift. In the darkness, your hands batted against the door, praying that Steve or Robin could hear you, that their next broadcast hasn’t started yet.
Hands gliding over the frame, you found the door knob once more, twisting and yanking it open. Light illuminated your vision once more as you stumbled out into the main area of the second floor. It took a moment for your breathing to settle again, eyes intently focused on the closed door to the archive.
You couldn’t explain what you had seen, what you had heard. And if you couldn’t rationalize it to yourself, how could you ever explain it to Robin and Steve, or Nancy and Jonathan. How would it affect how they see you? They already spoke poorly about the folks who blamed the Hellfire Club and Satanic rituals for all the tragedies that had transpired.
No… you couldn’t tell them. At least, not yet.
You just needed a good night’s rest and to stop watching the scary movies the kids insisted on. Everything would be fine. You had Steve to make sure of it.
