Hello, person who's clicked on this. Maybe you're bored. Maybe you're stuck in lockdown and have nothing better to do. Maybe you're an avid fanfic reader, checking for updates daily. Whatever it is, I appreciate you giving this a read! And even the weird author bit at the beginning- I see you! I don't know if anyone even reads ST fanfics anymore… But I've been sitting on this idea for a while, and finally feel ready to post, so… yay. Basically this is an alternative season 3, and an idea I've had in my head since I saw season 2. Am I late to the party? Yes. But that won't stop me from posting! Because I really believe in the characters here- and I've tried to include every flipping one, so no favourites get skipped! I've included songs I imagine would work as a backdrop/ have written them into the story, because you can't write about the 80's without THE MUSIC!

Disclaimer: obviously I own nothing, this is a creative exercise, not aiming to overthrow Netflix. Also, I've tried to make this story suitable for all ages, but will include references to domestic abuse (and minor references to assault in later chapters), as well as references to PTSD, depression, and of course murder… so maybe not… all ages… but will include warnings and disclaimers at the beginning of every chapter, so there's no one being caught off guard.

If you read all that… I'm impressed, but the story's down there \/

St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion) by John Parr

"…does look like it's going to be getting heavier over the next few days…" Dustin grabbed the remote and turned the volume up on the TV. When the woman with the pulled back permed hair and the pink shoulder padded blazer half smiled. It was like she could see through the screen, every kid in Hawkins doing the exact same thing. She spoke in a silky voice,

"school closures have been issued-" that was all Dustin needed to hear before he jumped up and yelled 'yes!', slightly knocking his tray of microwave dinner, orange juice sloshing and spilling over the rim of the glass. He didn't care, and for a while, he danced around the coffee table. Snatching up his radio, he pulled up the antenna, pressed the button and yelled at the intercom,

"What did I tell you?" Dustin laughed, collapsing on the sofa and started on his microwave leftovers. When an achingly familiar bell rang through the hallways.

Everyday. Six o'clock.

It rang again. Again. And again.

"Son of a-" Dustin slammed his tray on the coffee table making a loud, clattering sound- all accumulating to the general noise; the television, Dustin's screaming "all right, all right, all right" and now the doorbell. Steve pressed his finger on the button unremittingly.

"Yeah! I got it! Jeez-"

Ever since Dustin's mom's promotion, the same thing happened every week on Tuesdays and Wednesdays at six o'clock for the past two months. Not that either of them were counting.

Dustin opened the door to see him tightening his duffel coat that was zipped up to his mouth, doing a strange bounce, "Hey little boy, it's cold!" He walked through the mist of condensation he'd made with his breath, tracking snow in the first two footsteps. He shivered, making such a deal out of it, you'd have thought he'd been out there for hours, "how 'bout next time don't take a thousand years to answer the door!" He was uncharacteristically cranky when he was cold, so Dustin let it slide, and rolled his eyes, shuffling back to the living room to poke the fire, reinvigorating it like Steve taught him last time he was here.

They'd fallen into a comfortable routine after the news of Dustin's mother's promotion. After the snowball, it wasn't a week before Steve became prey to Mrs Henderson's cautious way of asking for favours. More specifically, the weekday 'house sitting' while she was working late (she called it house sitting for his pride, Steve and Dustin liked that term better, too). Steve let her believe it was all a job to him. He didn't mind her thinking that. After his mom found out, Steve thought her reaction alone would garner some sort of 'son of the year' branded mug, or t-shirt. Maybe a placemat. He was getting paid $20 an hour, so there was that. And Nancy… her opinion factored into it as well. But the truth of it was: he didn't feel put out.

"Seriously, I don't need a babysitter," Dustin threw another log on the pile, "you don't have to keep coming."

Steve said nothing. That was the catch: Dustin didn't necessarily know that this was a 'paid' gig, as such. He didn't need to know, Steve justified to himself. That didn't stop him from worrying that one day he might find out.

Steve swallowed uncomfortably, not that Dustin saw. He was filling the kettle passed its maximum limit, something Steve knew Dustin hated, and flicked it on, still bouncing like a four year old.

"I'm actually here for the cat… you know, after what happened to the last one…" It was a wise crack, Dustin knew. A bad one. Dustin made a 'very funny' face, returning to his, now lukewarm, microwave mash potato and sausages.

Steve didn't stop bouncing for the next ten minutes, then finally quit complaining when he warmed his hands over the steam of his hot cocoa while they watched repeats of three's company. Dustin ate his dinner, and argued with Steve's choice comments about the things he'd like to do to Suzanne Somers.

"What? I can't help it, she's hot." Steve held out a hand to the T.V set. Steve had done well to put an end to all the rumours around Hawkins that he was still hung up on the Wheeler's daughter. He'd done that thoroughly, and effectively with a little trick he called 'sleeping with half the girls his age in Hawkins'. It wasn't quite half, but the number didn't matter. It was enough to dull his senses. As with everything lacking substance, it lost it's novelty pretty quickly. If he wasn't sleeping in someone else's bed, or making out with some Brittany or Angela in his car outside the park, he was playing basketball with a bunch of douchebags he had nothing in common with anymore. If he wasn't doing those things- that only meant he was working for his dad, which… sucked. How had hanging out with this kid become the only thing he was good at? The only thing he actually looked forward to anymore?

When the hell had that happened? Steve didn't know.

"She's 'hot'?" Dustin said with his mouth full.

"You're saying you don't think she's hot?"

"No- I think she's stupid, Steve."

"They've just… written her that way for comedic effect! She's probably not like that in real life." Canned laughter sounded in the background, marking a witty line they'd both missed. This was pretty normal. They never got through an episode without some sort of debate.

"You think you'd have a chance with her in real life?" Dustin laughed. Steve stuttered a small response at that, expressing the affirmative with absolutely no confidence at all.

When the lights flickered. For a second. The image of Suzanne Somers collapsing in on itself. Steve tutted, knowing he'd have to endure fifty thousand electric shocks while he checked the wiring. But Dustin shot up. He scrambled to his feet so quickly, he shook the coffee table. The remote rattled, but Steve's half-full mug of hot chocolate was knocked over with a porcelain-to-glass thud.

"Dustin!" He picked up the handle, throwing a towel over the brown puddle before it spread to the edge and stained Mrs Henderson's new carpet. "What the hell, man?" Steve spun round, but all he saw was the open front door.

'And just like that', Steve mused, 'the central heating was made redundant'.

A trail of footprints spread a line from the front porch to the middle of the driveway. Steve shuffled outside with his sneakers half-on, ready to grab Henderson by the shirt and drag him inside. When he stopped to peer over at whatever it was Dustin was gawping at.

There was a black van, parked on the other side of the street. The vehicle had blacked out windows and logo that was too small to see from here. The van started up, and lit the snowy road with white headlights as it pulled out, dring down the street.

Dustin swallowed.

"Steve… I think they're back," he panted with a stiff jaw, "don't ask me how-"

"-Woah, woah woah, take it easy, alright? Just breathe." Dustin nodded, creating a longer line of condensation with his next breath.

"S'good… Okay, come on, we're going inside, it's freezing-"

"It's not safe to talk inside." Dustin shook his head, a look of mature solemnity that would have made Steve smirk… if he didn't know how real this stuff was.

From his casual questions, Steve had managed to extract information about the others from Dustin over the last couple of weeks. How they were doing since… what happened… happened. Partly just to make conversation, but partly to know how they did it. He wasn't immune. There were times he flinched when someone tapped his shoulder in the line at big boy. When shadows in the dark moved with the sound of a passing car, but still managed to freak the hell out of him at one in the morning. These guys. Well, they were just kids. He thought about that a lot.

Mike and the girl with powers had formed an 'unhealthy codependency'- Dustin's words- since the night she came back. Steve wasn't surprised. Lucas, he was different in that he didn't talk about it, going so far as to change the subject every time Dustin brought it up, distracting himself with school, and his growing side business of lawn mowing, and Max. Steve didn't mention Max. He didn't know that much about the kid, and it seemed a saw subject with Dustin. Driving Dustin home from school, he saw Will, and they exchanged awkward small talk about homework and Mrs Buyers'… health… he couldn't really remember. Only, it stuck with him, because when Dustin shut the car door, he exclaimed that that was the most Will had spoken all day. So that was it. Will clammed up more than usual.

Dustin- of course- worked slightly differently than the rest of them.

He threw all of his attentions into spotting the next conspiracy, and his paranoid behaviours had been getting him into trouble at school, and at home. The lights flickering was just electricity, Steve had seen that van parked outside of the care home down by park gate. But telling Dustin this only made things worse.

"-no, think I'm crazy, Steve, I don't care-"

"-I don't think you're crazy-"

"-no, seriously, that's fine, I know what I saw! That van has been parked there all day, I've seen it at school!"

"At school?" Steve raised an eyebrow, and Dustin faltered.

"Well, not at school, but sometimes it drives passed me when I'm walking home."

"That van? Same registration number?"

"I DON'T KNOW- I don't memorise registration numbers, STEVE!"

"Then how do you know it's the same one?"

"B-because…" Dustin threw his arm out, and let it fall with a slap on his flannel pyjama trousers, "… Because it's… black!"

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, "Dustin, buddy, you've got to stop with this, okay? I get it, I do, but… it's over."

Putting a hand on Dustin's shoulder, "You've got to move on."

Steve felt a bit like his dad when he was trying to talk to him about his grades. That is- unwelcome and unheeded. Not that it didn't help Dustin feel a bit better. I mean, the pep talk would have held more weight if it hadn't been punctuated by Steve shuffling back to the front door with his shoes half on. But Dustin looked at the fluttering specs of snow, temporarily lit by the orange street lamp, and frowned.

It didn't matter that Steve didn't believe him. Nothing was 'over' yet.

So that's it! I've decided to post this story until I can get some good constructive criticism- this is a writing exercise I'm trying out, after all

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Keep safe, guys!