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
After they left Steve's house, Nancy drove him to his trailer home and told him she needed some time alone—the image of the monster appearing to have disrupted her thoughts. The entire ride she had held his hand, painfully digging her nails into him. He didn't dare say anything about it and grasped her hand, regardless of the pain.
They eventually arrived at their destination and awkwardly stared at the building as they gathered enough energy to say their goodbyes. Giving her a reassuring hug, he told her to call him once she got home before stepping out of her car. He was about to close the door but hesitated and looked at her.
"I'll call the police station once I'm inside and tell Mrs. Flo what we know," Ben told her, his fingers tapping on the open door. "Just get home safe, okay?"
She nodded, staring straight ahead. "Yeah, okay."
"Hey," he said in a reassuring tone. "There's still a chance we'll see her again."
"I know. It's just . . . I have this feeling, you know? There's something else going on. Will, Barb. It can't be a coincidence. That masked man at Steve's house—"
Ben didn't say anything when she described the creature as a 'man.' She wasn't one to immediately believe in monsters or demons like the one they had faced earlier. Nancy would logic it out (relying only on the facts and what she believed fit reality), and knowing this, he decided to let her believe in her distorted narrative.
He also knew that Nancy's perception of the world would never allow her to find peace. Although Ben would be forever scarred by the things he witnessed, he would rather his best friend be the one to grieve their loss with rose colored glasses. Especially if Barb didn't—
"Let's not worry about that right now. All we can do now is inform the right people and let the police take care of it."
Nancy gave him another nod. "Okay, I-I'll call you when I get home."
They both said their last goodbyes before each going their respective ways, hearing the car's engine less and less the more he walked towards his porch. With a sigh, Ben entered his house and closed the door—leaning on the wood in exhaustion. The sophomore looked around at the mess that lay before him and saw no sign of anyone there.
Another late night for the chief, Ben assumed as he moved to the nearby landline.
It didn't take long to report their suspicions to the police. Following his report, Mrs. Florence was quick to scold him for going into potential danger without informing anyone of the two's whereabouts; however, he was too overwhelmed by earlier revelations to pay much attention.
Once he hung up, he inspected the chaos that littered the open spaced kitchen and living room before pushing back his sleeves. He needed a distraction, and this would help him focus—even if it was only for a moment. He began lifting beer bottles from a messy pile off the floor while he made his way to the TV, turning it on to add an accompanying buzz to the atmosphere.
However, with every discarded item he threw in the trash, his thoughts could only reel with the image of the creature scurrying across Harrington's yard. The rumbling earth and its labored breath an exact recreation of his dream . . . or would it be a memory?
But how could it be a memory if it didn't reflect the same way in the real world?
His car was perfectly intact and contained all his items. Nothing seemed amiss. Unless the monster had some kind of repairing ability, he doubted it could have had the knowledge to fix his truck, clean his injuries, and place him in his bed all in the same night.
No monster could do that.
And then his powers—
Ben looked down at his hands and inspected the scars that marred his bronze surface. He summoned the light and felt the cool shimmer surround his hand. It danced around his skin like flames of a bonfire, hungrily swallowing every available inch it could. As he followed the trails left behind by the stronger veins of light, he found that it all seeped out of the healed skin.
He released the light and touched the raised skin in consideration.
The marks had always been a part of him,
The memories of how he got it, on the other hand, had been thrown into the darkest abyss in his mind. It was hidden from him, a recollection so terrible that his own mind had decided to forget it all.
Growing up, he was told his birth mother had died in a car accident when he was five years old (his biological dad seemingly not in the picture) before he was placed in the care of his tía Maite and tío Tomás in New York.
From what he could recall, they were kind and loving people. They had given him his own room filled with all sorts of books and toys—fulfilling every childhood dream an eight-year-old would have—and they always made sure he had the tools to be a normal kid, despite the nightmares and fears that prevented him.
He didn't remember much about them or his mother, but he knew he had lived quite happily with them.
However, the life they had forged together quickly ended that year when tragedy struck them once again.
Ben was in his room changing into a jacket with his uncle's help for a trip to the cinema when they heard a knock at the door. His aunt was fully dressed and was already in the living room at the time, so she was the one to get up to answer the door. The two boys didn't really think much about it until she began to demand for their visitor to leave, sending his alarmed uncle running to her aid.
From then on, all he could recall from that fateful day was the screaming and the loud thud of something hitting the floor. Scared, he ran towards his closet, shut his eyes, and tried to block out the disturbing sounds.
The next time he opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed with injured palms staring at the face of a man with short hair and a slight stubble sitting next to him with a grimace.
Detective Jim Hopper
A headache began to form the more he thought about it and decided to place his attention back to cleaning.
Eventually, the area that was once a junk yard was completely different to the one he had entered. It had been a while since the place had seen a broom and a duster, but it was finally returned to a livable state after countless nights of putting it off.
Proudly, Ben brushed the dust off his hands and took in the sight. He grabbed a now filled garbage bag and was about to throw it in the bin outside when a news broadcast suddenly interrupted the show he was watching.
On the screen, an elderly man was speaking into a microphone in front of a taped off area with a pitch-black background. While the scene was quite eerie on its own, the reporter's announcement sent chills down his back:
"Byers' body was found in the water of this quarry by state police earlier this evening. It was discovered by state trooper David O'Bannon, just after dark. The state police are mounting an investigation to determine Byers' cause of death, but an initial inquiry . . ."
The bag slipped from his hands as the words echoed across the room. He fell back into his sofa as the man went into further details given by the troopers, unable to move as the camera swerved around to give viewers a clear shot of two officers waddling out of the water—carrying something between them to the shore.
No.
Will was—
Will was dead.
Ben couldn't believe it. He couldn't be dead. Will was a good kid. He was a sweet and kind kid who loved his family. Someone who would be found playing D&D for hours in his friend's basement. There was no way that someone so innocent would die in a stone, cold pit. He couldn't be—
Getting up from the coach, he walked into his room and slammed the door shut.
• - • - • - •
A couple of hours had passed when he heard the front door open, a small creak interrupting the still playing TV. His dad's familiar steps stopped abruptly to shut off the device before hesitantly heading to the sophomore's room. Ben closed his eyes and prayed that his dad would think he was asleep.
It didn't take long to hear a light knock and the jittering of the doorknob being turned. A few seconds later, he felt his mattress dip next to him as his dad gently shook his arm.
Hopper sighed. "I know you're awake, kiddo."
Ben didn't move.
"Thanks for cleaning up. It's been a while since I've seen the floor," his dad continued, sounding unsure with his words. "You left the TV on . . . I'm sure you heard the news . . . I'm sorry about Will."
"Can we not talk about this right now?" Ben murmured, digging his face deeper into his pillow. "I just want to—I just want to sleep."
"Do you want some hot chocolate?"
"Dad—"
"Come on," the chief said, gently tugging at his sleeve. He got up and took a couple of steps. "When you're ready, it'll be waiting for you on the coffee table."
Ben knew he wouldn't be able to escape this conversation any time soon. Eventually, he would have to speak to his dad about it—or worse, his school counselor. The idea of talking to either was unpleasant, but the teenager knew that (after a certain point) he would eventually cave in.
He let out a defeated breath. "Okay."
Pretty soon, they found themselves sitting beside each other on their small sofa, sipping on hot mugs of rich and creamy chocolate while they waited for the other to give them a sign to speak—each not really wanting to be the one to do so.
Ben eventually placed down the drink and looked at his dad.
Hopper looked pale. The only color that remained on his face was the dark circles under his eyes and the red that tinted the space around them. A slight tremble took place in his posture, but the teen could see the small attempts to hide them as the sheriff shifted to find a comfortable position.
The movement was familiar—sending his mind back to New York, sitting in between his parents as they filled out some paperwork in a stuffy doctor's office. Diane Hopper was playing with his hair, quietly wiping away her tears while her husband wrote down their information on a sheet of paper. He saw the signs of exhaustion in his dad's face when the last signature was written, a haunting look that reflected a million emotions.
It was the day Sara died.
The day they had lost a daughter, a sister.
Ben cleared his throat, no longer appreciative of the silence. "How did the Byers take the news?"
"They're . . ." his dad started, taking another sip of the chocolate, "processing. I think Joyce is suffering from shock. Swears she was talking to him through some Christmas lights earlier today."
Christmas lights?
"And Jonathon?"
"He didn't stick around long enough after the light bit."
Ben nodded, grabbing his mug once again. He prepared himself before asking the heart-retching question. "What do you think happened? To Will."
"We believe," Hopper sighed, rubbing his face, "that after he crashed his bike, he hit head and got disoriented. He must've tried to make his way back home and got turned around in the woods where he . . . eventually fell in the water under the quarry. There were no defensive marks or anything on him, so it couldn't have been foul play. It appears to have been an accident. We will know more after the autopsy."
The teen felt pain at the back of his throat. "Oh my gosh."
Something broke inside, breaking his heart into a million pieces. It was a sort of agony that he knew all too well. Death has haunted him since the day he was born. His parents, his aunt and uncle, his sister, and now . . . Will.
His dad took their cups and set them on the table. "How are you doing?"
"I don't think my feelings need to be psychoanalyzed right now," he uttered. "We should put our efforts into helping Ms. Byers and Jonathon. They are the ones who need comforting right now."
"I remember how you were after Sara," Hopper said, sadness crossing his face. He seemed to realize the tonal shift and decided to switch back to the original topic. "You were close to them at one point, and you were with Will the day he disappeared. It's okay to feel upset about this."
Annoyance flared inside of Ben. "Weren't you the one who told me I was being stupid when I cared enough to check up on them? Why the sudden change of heart?"
"I didn't—" his dad interjected. For a second, he looked lost (almost as if he had forgotten about the interaction), but realization was quick to replace his confusion. "I wasn't in the right space of mind at the time."
"You mean you were high," Ben said bluntly, crossing his arms. "I saw you taking pills before I left. I wouldn't be surprised if you took some beforehand."
"Yes, I was high," Hopper seethed, rubbing his eyes, "but I was also under a lot of pressure to find the kid."
"You forced me out and tried to keep me prisoner in my own house!"
"For your safety!"
The teen scoffed. "We both know how well that went. You were too busy having fun with Sandra to even notice I snuck out. How long did it take you to even realize?"
His dad sighed heavily, suddenly aging a couple of years with a single breath. Ben didn't move as he tried to decipher his dad's reaction. It was nothing like the person he knew would do, and it confused him. James 'Jim' Hopper, the tough and hardened sheriff of a small town, had dropped the façade and left behind a tired man—a man who knew pain all too well.
"You know, your mother," the man began, a bittersweet smile appearing at the mention of his ex-wife, "she had always said we were the same person. I didn't want to believe it, but now . . . it truly is like father, like son."
The teen was a little reluctant to respond, the new conversation disrupting his raging thoughts. "W-What do you mean?"
"Diane would always say that we both were stubborn and hot-headed," he continued. "She would say that an atomic bomb could never match the intensity that we held inside us. She never knew who would survive in an argument."
"How is that relevant to what we're talking about?"
"It means don't be like me," his dad said. "Don't push your feelings aside, so you don't have to deal with them. Especially now that Barb is gone."
Ben stilled, the words tearing at him. He must've gotten the call before he got back home. "H-Have you told her family?"
"We sent an officer to tell them," Hopper said, carefully examining him. "They should be getting the news right about now."
The teen could only nod, his lips slightly trembling as the reality of the world hit him once more. The exhausted sheriff noticed the small signs of grief and placed his arm around his shoulders to pull him into a hug.
For once, Ben let go of the tension in his body and tried to relax into the hug, finally letting go of the tears. "We snuck out for a stupid party. She got hurt, and I was supposed to get Barb a first aid kit. She was only alone for a few minutes. and t-then she was gone. I tried to look for her, b-but—"
"Hey, hey," his dad whispered, tightening his embrace. "Don't worry. We'll find her."
But what if it's too late?
What if the monster already got her?
• - • - • - •
Ben found himself back in the woods.
Despite his dad's protest, the teen managed to convince him to let him travel to the small, homemade shooting range his dad built a year or two ago to teach him how to shoot a gun. It was a bit distant from his house and away from any nearby neighbors—the two not wanting to cause a commotion during practices—but he needed some time to think.
He needed to escape his room; the four walls appeared almost suffocating the longer he was there. He needed to do something that could keep the images of a lifeless Will and Barb off his mind. Every time he thought of them, a flash of light would flare in his hand.
Another reason for his escapade.
He arrived at the open area where two targets were perfectly placed in its center, the painted board torn and chipped from the changing climate.
Ben stood away from the stand, flexing his hands as he prepared himself to summon his power. The light flickered in his palm before coming to life, seeming to take notice of his chaotic thoughts. He rotated his neck to relieve some of his stress and tried to sort through it.
The last few days had made him realize that things were changing in Hawkins. For whatever reason, the world had opened its gates to the dangerous parts of itself and had chosen their town for its introduction.
In return, it gave him something to combat them—a power buried inside of him that would equal in strength to the beast that now roamed their woods.
The first time they encountered each other, he had stopped it with a blast. The second time, the creature's mere presence was enough to trigger his abilities. The next time they crossed paths, he wanted to be ready to fight, no longer willing to let anyone he loved be taken away from him.
He took a deep breath and dug deep into his emotions. He bounced back and forth between a series of memories, hoping to find the right one that would summon the weapon.
Remembering that it reacted with positive or intense emotions, he went through every argument, every source of happiness he experienced over the years.
He skipped over the last four years he spent in the small town, knowing it had been spent in a fog of gray and pain that slowly but surely numbed his heart. He searched his memories in New York and found a couple that uprooted a spike of nostalgia.
Ben could immediately see the reasons behind the feeling and swallowed nervously as he approached its source.
Sara Hopper was his sister, but at first, she was a stranger.
A couple of weeks had passed since he first stepped foot into the Manhattan apartment that would be his new home. He still struggled to adjust to his environment and would spend as much time as he could in his room to avoid it all.
He could tell that his new foster dad was growing frustrated with his attitude, but his wife always seemed to be able to calm him down—reminding him to be patient with their new family member as the circumstances required understanding and delicacy. Ben would sometimes overhear these conversations and enforced his need for solitude.
Exactly twenty-five days after his arrival, he and his foster sister would be placed under the care of a babysitter while the two adults went out for a date night.
He would be lying if he didn't say he was frightened about their outing, the trauma of his aunt's and uncle's death resurging as his foster parents began to dress up for the evening—wrapping themselves in jackets and other winter clothing that only made the situation oh so similar. They had reassured him that nothing bad would happen to them, but he couldn't trust their words.
Before they left, they had given the babysitter (a teenager named Mia who lived in their neighborhood) a list of things she needed to know about them and a few other responsibilities that came with her services. She only nodded and promised to do her best while they were gone. However, once they had left, the girl discarded the piece of paper and flipped on their television.
Ben wouldn't have minded the lack of attention from their caretaker—especially in an already anxious state. However, it also meant that Sara would be spending her evening under questionable and uncaring supervision.
The four-year-old had a fear of the dark, something that had been significantly troubling for her as of late. His foster parents would comfort her by making a show of it (checking dark spaces for monsters and would sometimes even stay in the room for the night) which would lead to a peaceful rest for the blonde girl.
As per her nightly routine, Sara had gone to the sitter scared over a supposed shadow man she swore was in her closet. The teenager only waved her way and continued watching whatever show was on the TV, muttering something about pestering kids. Nearby, Ben was finishing his dinner when the interaction occurred and didn't care much for it as he made his way to his room, leaving the dishes for Mia to clean up.
He was just about to lie on his bed when he saw a tiny figure standing in his doorway, hugging a teddy bear tightly to her chest.
"Go away, Sara," the eight-year-old told her, grabbing his blanket. "You're supposed to be in bed."
"I'm scared," she whispered, reaching for his hand. She began to pull him out of bed and towards the hall—making it clear she wanted him to go to her room
"No," Ben grumbled, pushing her hand off him. "Go bother Mia."
He got back on his bed, tugged his covers over himself, and flipped over to face the wall, hoping that his foster sister would take the hint. He waited, watching the shapes that danced across his walls thanks to a nightlight the Hoppers had gotten him.
After waiting a few minutes, he turned around and saw Sara still staring at him. Seeing her teary eyes and her pouting lips, he sighed and got up from his bed before grabbing her shoulders and guiding the young girl back to her room.
Sara's room was dimly lit when they passed through her doorway, the pink lamp shade shining its delicate coloring onto every surface of her bedroom. Her bed was still tidy and clean—which is quite a contrast to the discarded toys scattered across the carpet floor, something he knew would get her in trouble the next morning.
Once they had made it halfway into the space, he headed towards her closet, opening the door to reveal an array of clothing. "See, there's no one there!"
"Check under the bed!"
After checking the spot and a few other locations, his foster sister was more than willing to hop into her bed—the shadow no longer a concern despite her earlier reaction. Not wanting to stay any longer, Ben quickly tucked her in and was ready to run out of the room when she called him. An unconvinced frown appeared on her face once more.
"Can you stay with me?" Sara asked, her voice filled with worry. "I don't want to be alone."
"Fine," he groaned, climbing onto the bed. He knew fighting was useless, and he was tired. Annoyed, he grabbed one of the many pillows that decorated her bed and harshly laid on it. "I'm just going to wait until you fall asleep. Then, I'm going back to my room."
The blonde girl turned towards him and uttered a small thank you before giving him an awkward hug, turning away to embrace her stuffed animal instead.
As Ben laid down next to her—facing the doorway while she faced the opposite side—he felt a sort of calm wash over him, the feeling unexpected but welcomed in his tense state. The thought of Hopper's and Diane's date no longer in his thoughts.
As he delved into a newly serene state, everything became a sense of comfort. The pillow was cool and soft, the blankets warm and fuzzy. A heater gently whirred in one of the corners of the room. Even the sounds of Mia laughing in the living room TV seemed to have created the perfect ambiance for him to fall asleep in.
"Hey, Ben," Sara whispered, mumbling into her pillow. "Are you awake?"
He groaned, ready for another one of her excuses. "Yeah. What do you want?"
"I'm really happy you're here."
Surprised, he turned around to face her, but she had already drifted away into her dreams—not knowing the impact her words had on him.
Returning his focus back to the present, Ben felt a tear fall down his face as the memory faded away into nothingness. His chest aching painfully as it tore through his walls, stripping him down until he was nothing but a mix of anger and sadness.
He missed his sister.
Sara was just a little girl; a young, beautiful, little girl. She loved her parents, her brother, and her silly little pet rock, but she couldn't stand sharing her toys with them. She loved school and hated broccoli. She was great at reading but had trouble with math. She was so many things, and now . . . she was gone.
They were in the park when everything went to shit—when they had taken her to the hospital, where they did the tests that brought them the news that destroyed everything. It was when they learned that she wouldn't live a full life.
She didn't deserve to be diagnosed with cancer.
She didn't deserve to spend her lasts day in a fucking hospital.
Why was she taken so young? Did some sort of higher power really look down on the world and decide that an innocent life—his sister's life—was worth taking so early? How was that fair? What kind of monster would do that?
Sara should've been here. She should have been here, living and breathing. She should've fucking been here with him in Hawkins, New York, or wherever. She should be spending time with her parents, going to school! She should have been able to grow up!
She didn't deserve to fucking die.
It was too much.
The emotions were too intense, too raw.
The agony and the memories were overloading his system. Each thought brought a surge of pain and violence, his body burning from the memories that he was treasured but are now filled with darkness. Every breath of air hurt his lungs; pain erupted from his scars. He felt like he was going to faint at any moment
No longer able to hold it in, he let out a scream—falling onto his knees when a burst of light protruded from him, extending to the edges of the woods. The trees swayed and shuddered as more waves of energy tore out of him, his agony endlessly fueling his abilities with every passing minute.
He didn't know how long it was until he felt the last of his energy leave him, the light dimming along with it. Exhausted, he threw himself onto the ground and tried to calm his racing heart rate. Once it had slowed down to a reasonable level, he was about to take a deep breath when he caught sight of something shining back at him.
With a relieved smile, he looked down at his hand.
It was a dagger.
