~Sierra~

March 1983.

Hawkins, Indiana.

Dancing in the air were the ashes of her life. She was gone, mingling with the roaring flames. The embers slowly destroyed any proof she was ever here. Her face on the resin coated paper burned along with the memories. Her green eyes, gone. The sound of her shrill laughter as we opened Christmas presents, gone. It was all gone. She had chosen to run, and now, he was ensuring she would never come back. My eyes, identical to hers, drifted up with the floating residue of what was once a vivid memory. Which one, I wasn't sure. Dad wasn't aware that I was watching, and so, he continued in his drunken pursuit to erase any evidence Mom was ever here. She was dead to him, and so, she had to be dead to all of us now. The whiskey - neat, no ice - had numbed him to the warped form of love he felt for her and the anger at losing control. He merely watched as it all burned in the fire. Then, as he turned around, finding me alone behind the conservatory doors in my wool jumper and shorts, he locked eyes with mine. Only then would I realize the fire would keep burning until I, too, would run.

~Billy~

March 1983.

San Diego, California.

I sat at the top of the stairs, bracing myself for Him to discover me eavesdropping at any moment. It had been three days since my shitbird of a stepsister attempted to run away to her dad's in LA. It was my birthday. Yet all He could talk about was what they were going to do about the little shit and her new habit of running away. If she was going to do it, at least do it properly. Hell, despite my own misgivings part of me admired the kid for it. She had the balls to do what I wanted to do. It was only her and Max who had acknowledged my birthday. They made me a cake, watched me blow out the candles and then go back to my room. He had made His excuses earlier. Had to work late. Something about a potential promotion He was aiming to get. It would get Him a nice day, more money to spend on trips out as a family. Maybe it was enough to entice Max to stay. I hoped she kept on running. Get away from the Bastard. I looked at the clock at the bottom of the stairs. Time ticked away, a lost chance to get out of this shithole every passing second. But I had a plan. One day, like Max, I was going to get the hell out of San Diego. Unlike her, I was actually going to succeed.


A/N: Hi! Firstly, thank you for clicking on my story. I hope you've enjoyed it so far. As a disclaimer, I don't own Stranger Things or any of its characters. Only my original characters and change in plot lines are my creation. I'd like place a trigger warning on this story. It will delve into the abuse both Billy and Sierra face from their fathers, including psychological abuse. There will be references to alcoholism and mental health issues. All chapters will be written in first person perspective, so these experiences will be looked into a lot. I also want to add that I do not condone of Billy's treatment of Max and Lucas. This is one of the things I will explore in later chapters and aim to highlight how much of a dick Billy is, and how his behavior, whilst inexcusable, is a product of his father's abuse. However, I also want to give his character the development we had a glimpse of in Season 3. This story will follow the events of Season 2 to 4, but it will be more canon divergent in later chapters. First and foremost, I hope you all enjoy the story and please feel free to leave reviews - whether it be positive or critically constructive. I love writing and learning what others think so I can develop as a writer. Thank you :)