Summary: Benjamin Rosales-Hopper never expected much from the small town of Hawkins. A small group of friends, persistent bullies, and former unrequited crushes were all the classic staples of what he believed would make up the rest of his high school life. However, when Will Byers disappears and strange dreams invade Ben's sleep one November night, he and his friends realize that something dark lays behind its tranquil exterior.
Pairing: Steve Harrington/Male OC
Changes to Character(s): N/A
Spoilers To: Stranger Things (S1-S4)
Type of Story: Chapter-Filled
"Can you get off the phone and help me, please?"
Lying flat on the floor, Benjamín Rosales-Hopper was throwing a crumpled piece of paper into the air—waiting for his friend, who was supposed to be tutoring him in math, to stop twirling her landline's cord around her finger. "Hello?"
Nancy Wheeler had been on a call for the last half hour, ignoring his pleas for help, to speak with their friend Barb and hadn't given him much attention since she picked up the phone. Tired of her lack of response, he turned to rest on his elbow before leaning over to gently tug the bottom hem of her China blue pajama pants.
Nothing.
He huffed and threw the paper into the air once again, muttering a series of curses that would have had him choking on a bar of soap if his mother ever found out. When he tried to get her attention again, she uttered a couple of sentences into the phone and giggled at whatever their friend said to her.
That was when he threw the paper ball at her.
From her bed, Nancy turned towards him with a small frown before whispering that she was almost done. She placed her attention back to the person on the other side of the device and continued her earlier thought. "No, I don't think so . . ."
Ben rolled his eyes, pushing himself up into a sitting position to grab his books.
Why did I decide to take Geometry this year? he thought. He stabbed his notebook with his pencil in frustration, deciding to give up. Should have gone with Algebra II.
When he had asked his friend to help him with his homework, he wasn't expecting to stay at her house so late in the night to hear about Nancy's boyfriend—Steve Harrington, Hawkins High's most beloved king.
Steve. Fucking. Harrington. While Ben may dislike the guy, the boy in question was not making it any easier to find him as anything other than a major nuisance. If the popular boy wasn't being annoying around his crew of tormenting friends, he would be annoying through his girlfriend's ramblings.
Now, all Ben had to prove that he even bothered to work on his homework was a couple of wrong equations and a pounding headache.
To make matters worse, it was the only class he was struggling in, and no matter how much he studied, his grades remained a consistent C+. Nancy was his last hope to improve his skills, but that also appeared to be a dead end.
If he couldn't raise his grade up to at least a B- by the end of the quarter, his dad would take away his driving privileges until he could make it up. By his calculations, he only needed a few homework assignments and a test to be able to manage it.
Of course, Harrington had to screw him over and start dating his straight-A friend and have her gushing over his amazing hair and endearing smile for an hour straight.
He looked at his watch and groaned.
Shit.
"Hey, I got to go," Ben said, stuffing his notebooks into his backpack. "My dad will kill me if I get home past curfew again."
An unfair curfew, he thought. He grabbed his shoes and pulled them on. Out of everyone in the world, he would be the only teenager with a nine o' clock curfew.
Nancy looked up once more, pushing back a brown curl behind her ear. "Oh, sorry. I lost track of time. Um, if you want, you can come over tomorrow night, and we can work on your math homework and prepare for Kaminsky's test. I promise we'll study this time."
"Sounds good," he answered, slipping on his jacket. "By the way, nice pjs."
He laughed when a pillow hit his face.
Just as Ben was ready to exit the room, a small figure approached the opened doorway with a box of pizza. He recognized the mahogany curls and the enthusiastic, toothless smile of Dustin Henderson—a friend of Nancy's younger brother. A look of eagerness and surprise flickered across his face.
He remembered hearing from Mrs. Wheeler about an ongoing Dungeons & Dragons campaign the younger kids (a mix of four pre-teens made up of Mike Wheeler and his friends) were holding in the basement when he entered the residence. When he went down to greet them, he saw the boys yelling at a board filled with tiny figurines—arguing over a detail he couldn't fully understand from their long, complicated storyline.
After a moment of contemplation, he decided it would be best if he didn't bother them, sneaking back up the stairs before they noticed him.
They must've been forced to stop if the boy came up to visit them so soon.
"Hey, kiddo," the older boy greeted, ruffling the other's hair. "How are you doing?"
"I'm great," Dustin answered, swatting his hand away. Although his action showed some annoyance, his sweet face turned red at the brotherly action. "We had some leftover pizza from our campaign and wanted to see if Nancy wanted any. How long have you been here?"
"A few hours. We were supposed to be studying, but . . ." Ben trailed off before glancing behind him and seeing the teenage girl still on the phone. "Hey, Nance, do you want pizza?"
"It's sausage and pepperoni!" Dustin added excitedly, opening the box.
Nancy glanced at them, placing her hand over the receiver. "No!"
Dustin's face dropped at her response, causing a wave of sympathy to flow through Ben. He knew about the pre-teen's crush on his friend and the look of heartbreak was always an upsetting sight to see.
Looking at the slice of pizza, he decided to help with what he could . . . even if his stomach was repulsed by the amount of oil the food contained.
"I, on the other hand," Ben began as he reached for the last slice, wincing when he felt the fat grease slowly run down his hand, "haven't eaten since breakfast, so I will gladly take that off your hands. Thanks, little man."
The smile returned instantaneously.
Closing Nancy's door, the teen guided the two towards the stairs—taking hesitant bites of the pizza as they descended.
When they reached the final step, Ben found Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler on the living room couch, leaning on each other as they watched the news. After a bit of small talk and promising to visit soon, he and Dustin made their way out the front door where two boys were getting on their bikes while Mike Wheeler stood nearby looking terribly upset.
"There's something wrong with your sister," Dustin told Mike, grabbing his bicycle from the ground. Seeing the astonished look on Ben's face, the curly-haired boy let out an amused snort, clearly not seeing anything wrong with his statement.
"Henderson," Ben chastised, but he was immediately interrupted by the Wheeler boy.
"What do you mean?" Mike asked.
"She has a stick up her butt," Dustin answered.
"Yeah," Lucas Sinclair interjected, not looking ashamed in his agreement. He adjusted his brown jacket, pushing back his bike's kickstand. "It's because she's dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington."
Dustin continued, ignoring the teen's disapproving glare. "Yeah, she's turning into a real jerk."
"She's always been a real jerk," Mike continued as the boys turned on their headlights.
Ben tried to interrupt—wanting to defend his friend—but the boys resumed their chat as if he wasn't even there. He was beginning to wonder if he had become a ghost the moment he set foot on the driveway.
"Nu-uh," the toothless boy said, moving towards the street along with Lucas and Will, "she used to be cool. Like that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder tree campaign."
"Four years ago!"
"Guys," Ben said, finally catching their attention. "Be nice to Nancy. She's a sophomore in high school, so she has different priorities now. It may not all be . . . what you want, but it's just the way things go. You'll all understand when you're older."
They gave him a disbelieving look.
He shook his head, making his way to his truck. "Fine, don't believe me. Do you guys want a ride home? I could put your bikes in the back and drop you all off."
"No!" the boys said in unison.
"Are you sure? I really don—"
"We can bike home on our own, thanks. We don't need a babysitter," Dustin said with Lucas nodding in the background. Ben looked down towards Will Byers, the shyest of the group, who had remained silent for the entire conversation.
"Will," the teen said, his voice becoming soft as he addressed him. It was hard to look past his small, frail frame and not feel the need to protect him. He knew the boy wasn't the biggest fan of the dark. "Want a ride home?"
The brown-haired boy took a second to look around at his friends, almost hesitant to answer, before shaking his head no.
Knowing how stubborn the boys were, Ben got inside his vehicle and turned on the engine. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to leave as an odd and uncomfortable sense tugged at the back of his head.
Something was off.
He gave them one last chance to get in the pickup (which they once again said no to) before reluctantly saying his goodbyes to the group and pulling out into the street.
As he got further away from the Wheelers' household, he would glance at his side mirrors to make sure the boys safely entered the streets of Hawkins—losing sight of them once he took a turn at the end of Maple Street.
The teen turned on the radio and let the voice of Amanda Miguel travel through the air, filling the vehicle with comfort. The odd sensation began to dim as he sang along with the lyrics, making Ben believe he was just being paranoid..
Driving down the dark roads, the familiar path home replaced his concern with boredom.
Hawkins had a strange aversion to change.
The roads maintained the same bumps and potholes that haunted drivers since his youth, and he had the same doting neighbors for most of his life—keeping their usual appearance of cleanliness and good faith. Even strangers had become good acquaintances, seeing the same people roam the same places in their small town, and they rarely received visitors from other towns or counties.
There was nothing new here.
It was always the same old, boring thing.
Even throughout the town's long history, Hawkins wasn't known to have any major crime. It was quite clear with how vigorously his adoptive father and their town's Chief of Police Jim Hopper reacted at the scene of any reported incident. It was generally small offenses that kept them occupied: pickpockets, stolen bikes, noise complaints, etc. He once overheard his dad complaining about how the owl incident with Eleanor Gillespie was the most action they've seen in the four years since they returned to the small town.
There was nothing significant about the place, both on its surface and its interior, for the townsfolk to be proud or even be disappointed over.
Hawkins was a safe, untouchable haven.
He slowed down the car before turning into a new road leading into the woods. Just one more mile, and I will be—
Ben didn't get to finish the thought when a burst of movement caught his attention, surprising him enough to force the truck to a stop. With wide eyes, he glanced around to find the source . . . only to find empty space.
Thinking it may be an animal, he searched for pairs of glowing eyes or flashes of fur, but he was only met with the dark shadow of the forest.
Everything seemed to be perfectly in place.
The trees were gently swaying from a slight breeze, leaves falling from their branches. The ominous woods were lit by the night sky, sparkling with an array of bright stars. The only noise coming from them were that of creaking branches, chirping crickets, and the low humming of the pickup's engine.
Nothing was there.
He glanced at his surroundings once more, getting ready to press the gas pedal, when the radio's screen began to flicker. Reaching over to shut it off, the music shifted to a burst of static—sending a shiver down his spine. He turned down the dial and pushed the off button, only for the noise to scream louder at him in return.
As if spreading, his car lights began to blink rapidly and the truck began to shake, making him scramble to gain some sort of control of the vehicle.
No matter what he did, nothing appeared to stop the bizarre activity. Growls and shrieks emitted from the radio in harsh volumes making him scream in horror. He covered his ears as the static noise became louder and louder, pain forming in his head.
Suddenly, his car shut off.
Feeling his blood turn cold, the teen began to beat the dashboard—hoping that something would start back up. After several hits, the engine finally turned on and the world was filled with music once again. Ben tried to get his car to move, but the only thing that seemed to work were the lights.
He heard the engine rev as he pressed the pedal, but the vehicle wouldn't move an inch. It was as if something was holding his truck down.
He looked behind him, hoping to see a car passing by who could help, and spotted a tall figure walking down the middle of the street. He debated with himself on asking for help—knowing that by doing so he would be playing into every horror movie trope—and concluded that he would rather live.
He felt around the car door for the window crank and closed up the opening, making sure to keep his eyes on the mysterious being.
This is some Twilight Zone shit.
The figure stopped moving.
He inspected the person once more and immediately knew that whatever it was . . . it wasn't from this earth. It was too tall and too thin for a human, and its slimy skin shone too brightly against the dim light. The more he looked, the more he noticed the unusual details that made up this creature—his fear growing with each passing minute. Ben rolled his window back up and rummaged around his car for something to protect himself with.
His intuition was right.
Something was wrong, and his instincts were telling him to run.
Afraid that the creature was nearby, Ben looked up and saw . . . no one.
Abruptly, he searched between the seats and managed to fish out his dad's old pocket knife from the middle compartment. He sighed in relief at the sight of it. It may not be much, but it was better than nothing.
The second it took him to flick it open, the car jolted violently when a sudden force hit the top of the truck. The teen looked up and was shocked to see the roof folding into itself from the creature's weight. The car creaked as it rocked and scratched at the pickup, trying endlessly to get to Ben through the metal.
Ben let out a shout when the metal finally gave out under its claws—leaving behind enough space to see its ugly, disfigured head. Horrified, he threw the door open and ran into the woods as fast as he could, nearly tripping on a broken branch along the way.
The monster roared behind him, and Ben knew he didn't have a lot of time.
Adrenaline pumped through him as he sprinted through the wild vegetation and huge rocks that littered the terrain, trying to put as much distance between them as he could. However, no matter how much he ran, he could still hear the terrible growls of the hungry creature catching up to him.
Ben really wished he had listened to his gym teacher and exercised more. He would have had a better chance at surviving this if he did.
To be fair, he didn't expect to be in a situation like this.
As he ran further and further into the forest, Ben didn't dare look back—nearly crying when he felt its hot breath hit the back of his legs.
With some quick thinking, he took a sharp left turn and threw himself behind a nearby tree. He could hear the creature trying to change directions, digging at the ground to prevent itself from sliding away—screeching as it failed to take hold.
Taking advantage of its distraction, he ran into some thick bushes and didn't stop until he reached the base of a tree. To his relief, the tree was surrounded with enough plants that barely any light could penetrate the small sanctuary, aside from a small section he made to peer through.
He could only hope the coverage was enough to save him.
The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath in hopes of slowing down his heart rate. He held on tighter to his pocket knife, afraid his sweaty palms might drop it. After a brief moment, he peered into the peephole.
"Where are you?" he muttered.
Silence.
And then . . .
A snarl erupted next to him.
Without a second thought, Ben jabbed his knife into the side of its head and felt the metal puncture the creature's rubbery skin. Before he could retrieve it, the monster let out a cry of pain and stretched out its long arms towards him.
The next thing he knew, he was flying across the air into the side of a boulder, the air leaving his lungs when he landed on the dirt floor. Holding his head, Ben felt an intense, throbbing agony pierce his head as he desperately tried to regain his breath. Knowing the danger he was in, he looked around for the monster—the woods turning into a blurry mess before his very eyes.
"No, no, no." Pain-filled thoughts went through his mind as he crawled around in search of something to ground him, the world beginning to spin. "Please, not now. Not now."
He felt the earth rumble beneath his fingertips as the creature approached him, sending a wave of dread through him. Tears fell down his face, realizing that every footstep meant his death was fast approaching.
Ben pulled himself up with the boulder and took a step forward. A wave of dizziness washed over him causing him to fall onto the ground once more—the motion taking what was left of his energy.
"Help! Please!"
The teen was too far in the woods for anyone to hear him, and even if there was someone, what would they be able to do against this terrifying beast? It was useless to shout for help, but it was the only thing he could do.
At least, in his last moments, he could say he tried.
It didn't take long for the creature to reach him, its clicking cries increasing with excitement as it approached him. Ben felt it climb over him—crushing him with its weight—and saw it clearly for the first time.
Where a head should've been, a collection of slimy petals slowly opened up to reveal rows of sharp, thin teeth filling every inch of its mouth. He could feel its hot breath burning his skin as it leaned closer to his head, savoring the moment. With a roar of victory, the creature lunged at him.
Suddenly, a flash of white light exploded between them.
The force from the anomaly was enough to send the creature flying deeper into the woods, allowing Ben to take in the cold, bitter air.
The light reformed into a swirling sphere and vibrated with frenzied energy, appearing to be charging itself from a mysterious source. The sphere shot up towards the sky, moving and slithering in itself like a curled-up snake. When it reached the trees' branches, the light burst and dispersed throughout their surroundings, nearly blinding him in the process.
He quickly closed his eyes, hoping his death would be quick.
Then everything went dark.
• - • - • - •
When Ben opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of his bedroom, sunlight peeking through the window and onto the poster-filled walls. He lifted his head and blinked to make sure his brain wasn't deluding him, tightly clutching the soft sheets of his bed to be sure.
He could hear the faint noise of a news reporter's voice coming from the living room, accompanied by the snores of his dad—a reassuring sign in his distraught mind.
He was home.
The teen got up into a sitting position, gently placing his feet onto the shagged carpet floor—feeling sore as he stood up. Taking a step forward, he grabbed onto a nearby bookshelf as his legs gave out at the simple action. He straightened his posture and gave himself a minute to stretch, relaxing his body.
Rubbing his eyes, he was expecting himself to be lying on the forest floor, still staring at the mouth of the horrid monster. It was too good to be true. However, when he opened his eyes, he was still in his room.
With a sigh of relief, he walked out of his room and through the small building to open the front door—seeing his truck parked in the gravel yard without a single scratch or dent.
Ben walked down the porch stairs and made his way to the vehicle.
Getting into his pickup, he inspected every nook and cranny to find any evidence of the previous night, but saw nothing out of place. It was just as messy as he left it before the attack. He even found his dad's pocket knife under an assortment of papers in the middle compartment. The roof was completely untouched.
He shook his head and went back inside.
Ben was back in his lakeside trailer . . . but how did he get here?
"You came home late last night."
Ben turned around to see Jim Hopper, dressed only in his unbuttoned pair of jeans, laying down on the striped sofa; his eyes closed as he spoke. Based on what was on their coffee table, he had gotten either high or drunk while he was off studying last night.
. . . Or both.
He frowned at the sight of the empty containers.
"Sorry, dad," he said, closing the door. "It took longer than I thought."
Too tired to be mad with him, all the sheriff did was change his position and cover his eyes. "Just don't do it again. Get ready for school."
Glancing at the front door, he went back to his room and began to change into a new set of clothes. Entering the small bathroom, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the chaotic mess of his dark, wavy hair.
He quickly brushed his layered hair but winced when it reached a small area on the back of his head. Gingerly, he reached for the spot and felt a sharp pain at the touch. He pulled his hand away and glimpsed something red on his fingertips.
With a small bit of fear, Ben grabbed his handheld mirror from the bathroom counter and placed it behind his head to view the injury through the wall mirror. Using his other hand, he parted his hair to reveal a small incision on his head—a small splatter of blood lining its edges.
Something fell on you, he rationalized. He shuddered as he recalled his dream, dismissing it as quickly as he thought it. Something fell from the shelf above your bed and cut you.
He grabbed a towel and dabbed the spot.
As he continued to make himself presentable, his thoughts warred with one another—trying to convince himself that whatever happened in his dreams was that . . . a dream.
A sharp headache began to form behind his eyes and his eyesight began to blur. He clearly needed some more sleep. Maybe some aspirin to be sure.
Ben shook his head to clear the fuzziness in his brain.
What a dream.
