Donnie Hammond occupied the driver's seat of a leather interior Ford LTD, knees tucked up and supporting a generous stack of schoolbooks and lined paper. She had claimed the seat hours ago, when it was warmer and brighter outside the fast-food joint, promising to the owner inside that she wouldn't drain the battery listening to the radio, this time.

She sat in silence in the car that smelled like pine, clipping down on too-salty fries she got for the free, and half-assing her homework that was due two days ago. Soon, she was too tired and too bored. The autumn chill was beginning to seep in, and the sun was dropping behind a row of buildings. Her painted nails tapped thoughtfully against the air-con dial until she decided it better not to bother. Instead, she closed the men's racer jacket tighter around her frame and hummed herself to sleep, unaware of the horror that awaited her in her dreams.

Darkness. Emptiness. She felt her hand raise in front of her but could see nothing. Her ears rang with how silent the area was, straining to pick up a familiar sound that could help her place where she was. Where was she?

Long minutes went by before a sign of life joined her in the void. Guttural growls, whispering, and scattered red light. She felt an emotion she had not felt in a while bubbling in the pit of her stomach - fear.

The red light was like veins above her, lightning. As she looked around, she recognized shapes and silhouettes. She was in the middle of a road, misshapen houses on either side of her.

The growling was all around her, the loudest source coming from a massive shape right in front of her.

The fear she felt slithered its way up her spine and out her throat in a horrifying scream as the whispering became a clear, direct voice,

"Donnie, wake up!"

And so, she did, just as a pale fist tentatively knocked against the window she rest her head.

"Donnie," a sweet, soft voice called to her, telling her to open the door.

She raised her head slowly, fumbling with the lock before shuffling over to the passenger seat. She was acutely aware of the Ford's owner climbing inside, bringing with him the smell of fried grease and warm deodorant. Her heart was abusing her chest while her stomach was twisting uneasily. She felt nauseous, disoriented. She closed her eyes again, pinching down on the tears that were bubbling forth.

"It's freezing in here, Donnie," her favorite boy exclaimed, fiddling with switches on the dashboard until a gust of warm air pushed out the vents, "why didn't you turn on the heat?"

She audibly took a couple deep breaths of his weeknight smell. This usually brought her a healthy dose of comfort.

Jonathan Byers turned to her then, examining her curled form with careful eyes. There was a sheen of sweat on her face, and long strands of her chocolate brown waves were sticking messily to her skin. Her arms were folded tight around herself, legs crossed. She looked small.

"Hey," he cooed, reaching out for her.

She responded positively to his touch, leaning over and melting in his pale hands. Her schoolwork slid off her lap and hit the floor, but neither paid attention. Neither cared. His thumbs ran across her long lashes, down her pierced nose, before establishing gentle rest on her cheekbones.

"Talk to me, Donnie." He pleaded, "What happened?"

"I'm fine," Donnie answered, and to be more convincing, she opened her eyes and smiled, "I'm fine, baby, I jus' had a weird dream."

He accepted this answer with a nod if only to avoid deepening her state of distress. He hated when she played down her pain and liked it even less when she played it down for him. He didn't want that. He wanted her to be unapologetic with her emotions, honest. She was often very vocal, so why not for things like this? But, instead of rehashing that argument, he kissed her softly.

"Next time," he spoke against her glossed lips, "turn on the heat, silly."

Donnie grinned and circled a hand around his waist. "Why would I do that when I have you to warm me up?"

She tugged him closer and reconnected their lips. She wasn't interested in talking anymore. Her heart was pounding for a whole other reason, and she didn't want to leave room for Jonathan to round back on the topic of her nightmare.

She guided one of his hands to her neck and bit her lip at the pressure. "See," she said between kisses, "Don't I feel warmer?"

Jonathan gave the sweetest kisses. So sweet, she moaned. His mouth fit perfectly to hers, it seemed, always has. And they've been kissing long enough to know just how to make one another happy. In moments like this, she could think of nothing else but making him happy.

"Don," Jonathan chuckled, not putting up much of a fight when she pushed him back and straddled him.

She hushed him with deeper kisses, forking his brunette hair with her fingers. She smiled wide as she felt his arousal growing beneath her. It fueled her desire and her motives. Her hips began to roll in the way she learned he enjoyed, but he stopped her. He'd never stopped her. No matter how early or late in the day. She frowned and made a noise of protest.

"Donnie, no," Jonathan shook his head, his hold on her tightening to claim her full attention. "Not tonight. Let me take you home." The dejected look she gave him twisted his insides unpleasantly, but he didn't let up. "Please. Let me take you home."

She nodded and silently returned to the passenger side. Her head turned to the fogged window. After a long moment, he started the car and drove. Donnie chewed on her pinky nail, ugly thoughts swirling in her head.

When Jonathan spoke again, she found that they were parked outside her house. He placed a hand on her thigh.

"Did you hear me, Don?"

She looked over at him, eyes drooped. "You love me. You had a long shift, and you're tired."

"I do," Jonathan nodded. "I love you, so much. And, believe me, every part of me wants you right now. But I won't be a distraction. That's not what we do."

Donnie clenched her fists and rolled her eyes. "God, I—John . . . It was a fuckin' dream. I'm fine."

"Dreams are not just dreams to you, Don! You fixate. You write them down in your journal and decode them—find meaning in them." He lowered his voice, "So if you had a nightmare you don't want to tell me about," he sighed, and shook his head. "Just promise me to face it lightly."

She scoffed a laugh. "Promise. Like I said—it was just a dream."

Donnie dropped her backpack on her kitchen table, beside a tin foiled plate. The house was dark and quiet, but she knew with this thoughtful gesture that her father was home. By touching a hand to the plate, she felt that it was still warm. She smiled and took it to her room, setting it down on her desk. Soon after swallowing a spoonful of butter chicken, she heard heavy footsteps in the hall.

"Belladonna," her father greeted her.

Benny Hammond was a bald, bulky man with a warm smile and a radiating presence. He was highly loved by his community, known to serve them greasy delights Monday through Saturday, nine to eight. Most importantly, he was adored by his daughter. She was his purpose, his light. Seeing her smile and watching her move towards him with open arms filled him with mirth.

"Baba!" she cheered, hugging him tightly.

He jutted his bearded chin out towards the plate before kissing her hairline, "Hope you found dinner okay. I know it isn't how your mom would make it, but . . ." he trailed off, rubbing her back.

He felt her stiffen. Shit, he thought with a cringe. The topic of her mother was always a sensitive one to navigate. He loved her and loved the family they created. The memories they created. He thought of her often and couldn't help bringing her up in conversation, linking her to the life he led now. But the excruciating truth was that she walked out on them, without notice or reason. Belladonna was ten then and has held a grudge ever since. Shit, shit, dumba-

Benny was pulled from his personal chiding when he felt his daughter tremble. "Hey, now Dimpy," he held her an arm's length away to look at her face. Her big brown eyes were drowning in tears.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring her up—"

Donnie shook her head. "It's not that, baba."

"Then what? Did," he frowned a bit, "did Jonathan say something? Do something?"

She closed her eyes and gave a shuttering sigh. "I had a nightmare. Only . . . I'm not too sure it was a nightmare."

His eyes scrunched, deepening his crowfeet. A similar confession from his wife skittered to the front of his mind. Every now and then she had complained about dreams of a dark place, creatures. She would bring him worries about their daughter inheriting a precognition. A sixth sense. It would start with dreams, she had warned him, and then with hallucinations. Would it then end with Donnie leaving? He fought against the thought. He would not lose her, too.

Donnie was telling him about the dream now, about how real it felt, and how scared she was. His heartbeat was thumping in his ears. He was warned and now he must do something, anything to save her from the troubles of this growing gift.

"We'll figure it out," he whispered, distantly.

It was a promise he intended to keep.