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
It didn't take long for the rest of the party to join them in the entryway, all laughing as they dried themselves off with newly acquired towels. With a timid smile, Nancy passed a dry one to Steve who awkwardly stepped away from him and Barb—looking away to avoid their stares.
"I'm freezing," Carol complained, wrapping her arms around herself.
Tommy smirked at her, slowly backing up towards the staircase. "Hmm . . . well, I hear his mom's room has a fireplace."
"Are you kidding?" Steve said in disbelief.
The boy's implication was clear for everyone in the room, each person sharing an uncomfortable expression as his words settled. The troublesome couple ignored him, running up the steps with bouts of laughter.
Ben scrunched up his nose at their childish behavior and nearly scowled when they slammed an upstairs door behind them. I just hope these walls are thick enough.
"Okay, well, you know, you are cleaning the sheets," the popular boy shouted at them before looking at Nancy, who was shivering from the house's chilly temperature. "You all right?"
"Yeah," she assured him despite the small shake in her voice.
Steve dried off his hair, setting the towel across his shoulders. "Yeah? Come on, let's get you some dry clothes."
With a quick glance at Ben and an embarrassed blush on his face, he quickly bounded up the stair—leaving the three friends alone. Nancy excitedly bit her lip and was ready to follow her boyfriend when Ben called out her name.
"It's getting pretty late," he continued, picking at the loose thread on his sweater—Harrington's touch still lingering on his hand. "We should start heading home now. Our parents are going to kill us if we stay out any longer."
"Okay, yeah," Wheeler said, furrowing her eyebrows. "Let me just get changed a-and then we can all go. I'll see if Steve—"
Barb was staring at their friend in disbelief, seeing through her feeble excuses. "Nancy. Where are you going?"
"Nowhere. Just . . . upstairs," the brunette said, unconvincingly glancing towards the second floor. "To change. I . . . fell in the pool." She chuckled, waving the towel to point out the obvious. she hesitated before speaking, seeing the frustration on their faces. "Why don't you two go ahead and go home. I'll just—I'll get a ride or something."
"Nance . . . " the redhead muttered.
"Come on, Nance," he said. "It's time we go."
The brunette gave them a playful look, making Ben feel like an irksome child being entertained by their mother. "Barb . . . Ben . . . I'm fine."
"This isn't you," Barb said with concern.
"I'm fine," Nancy said, her expression dropping. She seemed to realize they wouldn't budge any time soon. "Just . . . go ahead and go home, okay?"
With that said, she headed up the stairs.
Barb scoffed, turning towards him. "Can you believe her? Who does she think—Why does she—"
"I don't know," Ben uttered, shaking his head. "I don't know."
They both knew something had changed in Nancy the day she first met Steve Harrington. At first, they believed it was just the usual antics of a simple crush (a stutter here, an exaggeration there), but they were quick to notice that the slight changes in her behavior were a lot more than that.
She became more lenient in her morals, regarding them more like a suggestion rather than a principal. Her act with the beer can being one example—seeming to put aside her negative opinions on teen drinking.
It was soon followed by the changes in her appearance; her clothes became more feminine and her makeup was designed for perfection, every article and color assembled to make her look more mature and older than she really was.
Barb tried to deny it at first, thinking it was his paranoia making him see things, but she eventually couldn't deny it once she saw how differently she acted when she was around Steve.
The two tried to convince themselves it was just a phase—that the Nancy they knew would come back to them, that they would return to their everyday lives as nerdy high schoolers.
However, tonight proved them wrong.
Barb sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We can't leave her."
"We won't," Ben assured her. He looked around the room and saw the puddles of water running across the floor, left behind by Steve from their earlier interaction. "Should we head back to the pool?"
• - • - • - •
The two friends found themselves back at the pool, each finding a comfortable spot to sit on—Barb on the diving board and Ben on the pool's edge next to it. They've been sitting in silence for the last few minutes, taking in the cool November breeze as they waited for the brunette's (hopefully) quick return.
"That didn't take long," Barb commented, looking towards the house.
Gently swaying his feet in the water, Ben removed his gaze from the waves and turned his head towards a second-story window that faced the backyard, catching sight of someone's exposed back in front of the translucent glass.
Is that Nancy? Are they going to—
"Oh gosh," he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, too embarrassed to look at anyone. "I feel like a perv now."
The redhead gave out a small laugh. "I'm starting to regret staying after seeing that."
"I'm already searching for a therapist," he joked, chuckling under his breath. "At least, it wasn't Tommy and Carol. Now, that would be a nightmare."
"Oh, God."
For a moment, they let the last of their laughter echo across the suburban atmosphere—the both of them feeling comfortable for the first time that night.
Closing his eyes, Ben leaned back and placed his hands behind him to support his tired frame before taking a deep breath. The feeling of peace ran through him, forcing his mind and body to finally acknowledge his need for sleep. He laid down on the cement floor and let out a small moan when his muscles hesitantly relaxed for the first time in days.
Before he could fall any deeper into the darkness, he heard Barb clear her throat—waking him up from his near slumber. "Something wrong?"
"No, no. I, uh," Barb started, wringing her hands nervously, "I just wanted to let you know that I may have . . . overheard you and Steve talking earlier."
"Oh."
A chill passed through him, her words striking fear and panic in his mind. He worked to maintain a neutral expression, trying to play off her confession as if it was nothing of note. As casually as he could, he held his trembling hands to his chest and felt his heart thudding through his chest; he thought it was going to explode.
She wasn't supposed to know.
Ben scrambled to find a way to disguise their conversation, but it didn't take long to realize that no matter what he said she would know it was a lie. She heard him say the thing he tried to deny for years, the thing that had him cry for hours in the night.
"It was nothing, Barb," he said, wincing at his nervous tone. "It was—He was just spouting out some stupid, useless shit. Y-You know what he's like!"
"Ben," she whispered, giving him an unsure smile. "I-I know everything."
Suddenly, he was a kid again.
He was fourteen years old—hiding away in one of the many stalls in the middle school's locker room—crying as the idea of liking boys truly came to mind. Memories of shame and guilt crashed over him as he tried his best to push them away to the furthest corner of his head, afraid that it could be true.
He was fifteen, screaming his lungs out into his pillow while blades of rejection and humiliation pierced his soul—afraid that he had ruined the one relationship he cared about. He could recall the feeling of horror that had overwhelmed him when he realized that Tommy and Carol were aware of what he was, preparing himself for countless amounts of harassment to follow.
The teen thought he had overcome these emotions, forging and bending his will until he became an impenetrable fortress; but now, his walls began to crumble as he faced his best friend with the very same fears he had suppressed long ago.
Would she think he was a freak, a monster?
An abomination?
"Hey, hey!"
Ben felt his friend's presence behind him as she wrapped her arms around his shaking figure, the embrace tight and assuring. Barb placed her chin on his shoulder while he tried to get his breathing under control. Feeling his sanity tearing at its edges, he grabbed her arms for encouragement, muttering a series of apologies—each word tainted with shame as tears rolled down his face.
"I didn't want to be this," he cried, a sob escaping him. "I'm so sorry."
The redhead shook her head. "No, no, no. You're okay."
Barb didn't say anything as she held him close to her chest—stroking his hair while whispering words of comfort. It took him a couple of minutes to calm down, but he eventually found himself back in the present, his body buzzing from the overwhelming wave of emotions.
"Barb," he croaked, wiping away his tears. "I—"
She shushed him. "We don't have to talk about this right now, but I just want you to know that this doesn't change anything. You're still my best friend, and I will care for you no matter what, okay? This is just another piece of you for me to love."
"Barb—" he tried again.
"Later, okay? Let's just . . . exist for a moment."
He nodded and melted into the warm embrace. "Thank you."
As the last of his panic left his system, he noticed the wrapping around the redhead's hand had been stained red. Drops of her blood were leaking from the cloth and into the pool's steaming depths. The redhead didn't seem to notice, too concentrated on him to care about her injury.
Guilt flooded his chest.
"You're still bleeding," Ben said, removing himself from her arms. He stood up and looked at the house. "I'll see if I can find a first aid kit. That cloth doesn't seem to be doing much."
"Ben, I'm fi—"
"Barbara."
Staring into his stubborn eyes, she gave in and nodded.
Ben made his way into the house, hoping that nobody would bump into him and see his bloodshot eyes. It didn't take him long to find the bathroom before he began rummaging through the cabinets, successfully finding the kit in the bottom drawer.
Satisfied, he stood up and caught his reflection.
His face was flushed, splotches of bright red running across it. Embarrassingly, he noticed that a blend of snot and sweat had run down his face and quickly wiped it away with his sleeves. He could still sense his body trembling from his panic attack, but for once, he noticed something was different about him.
His brown eyes looked softer, and his chest felt lighter for the first time in a year.
Someone knew . . . and he was still wanted.
Ben smiled, a bubble of laughter escaping him. He wanted to jump up and down with excitement at the implications that came with Barb knowing. He could tell her about the boys he had liked over the years, the pressures of having to be 'straight' for so long, and maybe (just maybe) . . . he could tell her of the months of pain caused by his former friend Steve Harrington.
He patted down the stray, raven hairs on his head—ready to leave the bathroom and face the world again—when a sharp pain struck his head.
The pain was strong and relentless, extending to every inch of his brain. He nearly keeled over from the sheer force, saving himself from further injury when he caught himself on the bathroom counter. However, the action only seemed to worsen the agony as a burning sensation spread throughout his palms.
With a hiss, he pushed himself away from the sink and crashed into the wall behind him, sliding down until he was on the floor.
He let out a whimper when a sudden ticking hit his ears, the volume loud and rattling for his sensitive body.
Struggling to traverse his aching thoughts, he managed to locate the noise, narrowing his search to his watch. With every passing second, the ticking would crash into him like an array of extreme explosions echoing in his head.
Ben ripped the watch off his wrist and threw it across the room, hoping that it would lessen the pain; however, it wasn't enough to drown out the chaos it brought.
He let out a cry when his palms flared once more, feeling like something was cutting across them from under his skin. He held his hands to his chest—ready to cry out for help—when a bright light shot out onto the bathroom's flowery wallpaper.
It took him a second to realize what the source was.
It was him.
He looked down at his chest where his hands were firmly clenched, a slight light emanating from his palms. The teen carefully pulled his hands away and gasped at the sight of a glowing six-inch knife. It was in the shape of an isosceles diamond; the bottom half extended to occupy most of his hand.
Ben's hands began to shake as he grasped the unusual object, feeling waves of power emanating from it. He twisted it in his palm and noticed that it barely weighed much, the weight nearly comparable to a baseball, and its surface was smooth and cool to the touch.
Light, he thought. It's made from pure light!
However, he didn't have much time to question the beautiful sight.
Like the night of Will's disappearance, the bathroom lights began to flicker—his head aching at the sudden change in lighting—until the bulbs burst, leaving him in complete darkness; the dagger vanishing from his hands.
Once the pain receded, he scrambled to get up from the floor and out of the bathroom, leaving behind the first aid kit in his haste. He didn't know what was happening to him. All he knew was that he wanted to be home under the protection of his bedsheets.
He reached the loft area and pushed the sliding doors open, nearly falling when he stepped into the backyard. He looked around for the redhead and was surprised to see an empty yard
"Barb," Ben called, approaching the pool's edge. "Barb!"
She was nowhere to be found.
Where was she?
• - • - • - •
He couldn't find her.
Ben had spent the next last few minutes searching the house and the surrounding area for any clues behind his friend's mysterious disappearance, trying to rationalize every step she may have taken after he left the water.
However, there weren't many places for her to go.
They were all still unfamiliar with this part of town, so he doubted she would go any further than the house or the woods behind it. Maybe she had changed her mind and decided to go home? No, it wouldn't make sense for her to leave without saying goodbye to her friends . . . especially not after what happened.
He felt a tinge of sadness at the thought.
What if he was the reason she left? What if when he left the pool, she took it as an opportunity to avoid a very awkward and uncomfortable conversation? Still, that wouldn't make sense. Why would Barb comfort him if she didn't mean what she said?
The teen shook his head. No, she wouldn't do that.
Not wanting to risk walking three blocks and seeing an empty parking space, he was tempted to call her parents to ask if she had arrived home.
Ben immediately scrapped the idea when he realized that her parents would recognize his voice—expecting it to be Nancy's instead after the girls lied to them about their supposed whereabouts. When Barb's parents gave her permission to go out, the Hollands' had placed a strict rule about not having any boys over after certain hours which meant he would be causing more trouble for the redhead if he dialed them. There was also the chance she may still be driving back home or towards the Wheeler's house, planning to call them when she arrived.
Ben paced back and forth across the living room as he tried to process the scenario, hoping it would come true. He looked at his wrist to check the time but stopped himself when he realized he had taken it off moments before in the bathroom.
Regardless of the fact, he could tell by the night sky that he had stayed much longer than he originally planned, and he didn't want to leave Nancy alone in the house after Barb's sudden leave.
My dad is going to kill me.
He heard a thundering of footsteps coming from the stairway, seeing Tommy and Carol shushing each other as they approached the front door. Based off their rash actions and dreamy smiles, they were too infatuated with each other notice him and opened the door before slamming it shut with a hard thud.
A shuffling noise descended from the second floor—quickly followed by an annoyed whisper.
"What the fuck was that?"
A shirtless Steve stepped onto the ground floor, the moonlight highlighting the irritated look on his face. He looked around the entryway before catching sight of Ben. His expression changed from anger into one of confusion as he approached him.
The boy's voice reflected his uncertainty, his tone coming out as staggered surprise. "What are you still doing here?"
"Wow, is that how you treat your guests?" Ben joked, his voice weak from the night's events. He glanced around the room, hoping that it would keep him from looking at the boy's fit body. "I can see why people love your company."
His eyes nearly slipped when a shred of light hit Steve's chest.
Concentrate, he thought. Knowing he couldn't get away with looking at the sofa for long, the teen tried to place his attention on Steve's forehead (and only his forehead) to avoid going any lower than his shoulders.
At least, he's wearing shorts.
"I-I didn't mean—" Harrington stuttered, recovering when he took a closer look at him. He gently reached out to stroke the other boy's face, causing a small gasp to escape from the sophomore's lips. Ben stepped away, his heart pounding from feeling the edges of the other boy's fingertips touching his cheek. "Woah, are you okay?"
"Yeah," he said, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stay this long, but I think Barb left early and—"
"No, you have a . . ." the popular boy continued, his eyebrows furrowing. He gestured to a spot on his own face, waving his finger around in a circle. "Your nose. You're bleeding."
Ben reached up and touched his upper lip. When he pulled back, a mixture of dry and fresh blood lingered on his fingertips. "I-It's nothing. I'm fine. I'm just—I'm just going to walk home. If I leave now, I can probably make it—"
"That's a hard no," Steve stated firmly. "It's late and you're hurt. You're under no conditions to go out, especially on foot. Come on, you can take one of the guest rooms."
"Harrington, I don't—"
The taller boy stubbornly shook his head. "I won't take no for an answer. In fact, I remember hearing a little birdie telling me that you snuck out of your house against your dad's orders to come to a very charming guy's party."
Oh, Nancy, you didn't.
"It would be a shame," Steve trailed off, raising his eyebrows to exaggerate his point, "if the sheriff received a call about his son—"
"Okay, I get it!" Ben interjected. The last thing he needed was another one of his dad's never-ending lectures before bed. "I'll take a guest room, you arrogant asshole."
The other boy smiled like he had won a gold medal. "I'm glad you came to your senses, Benji."
"Yeah, yeah."
They made their way up the wooden stairs and turned towards the left hallway on the upper platform, passing a couple of doors until they reached the final pair of doors—each one facing the other from an opposite wall.
Steve opened the one on the right and revealed a simple room; The guest room was quite large—consisting of a queen-sized bed covered by a greenish-brown comforter, a small nightstand with a dimly lit lamp, and a teak wood dresser stood in front of the furthest wall. The only things that appeared to decorate the room's walls were the array of paintings hanging on the walls, each depicting flower vases full of beautiful and vibrant flowers.
It was nice he supposed.
Ben cautiously entered the bedroom, his paranoia and worry still on an all-time high. His thoughts were stuck between the light dagger he held in his hands moments ago and the weird circumstances behind Barb's departure—his head spinning as he tried to make sense of it all.
"This will be your room for the night," Steve said, leaning on the doorway. Without an ounce of shame, the taller boy inspected Ben's attire, making him feel a little insecure. "You're about my size, right? I think I have some pajamas you can borrow. If you want to shower, there's a bathroom connected to this room. Oh, I'll have to look—"
"For a shirt to wear?"
Steve stopped, startled by the statement, but he was quick to recover with a smirk. "Why? Am I distracting you with my incredible bod?"
"Trust me," Ben muttered, blushing as the other boy began to subtly flex his biceps. The fact that he did have some muscle underneath his lean frame was not helping. "You're no Matt Dillon."
The popular scoffed. "Trust me when I say he wishes he was me."
"Please," he dissented, giving him an incredulous look, "have you seen him in The Outsiders as Dally Winston?"
"He was a jerk in that movie."
"You mean an incredibly attractive jerk."
"So . . . is that your type then?" Harrington said, moving away from the doorway. The popular boy walked closer towards him until he was leaning on the bed's footboard, placing his hands on its edges. "Incredibly attractive jerks?"
"Um," Ben stuttered, looking away when the boy gave him a smile. "I think everyone has a weak spot for the high school bad boy."
"Oh, yeah?" Steve asked, cocking his head to the side. "What makes them so attractive?
Ben let out a shaky breath at the question, his eyes trailing down the boy's body and inspecting every exposed muscle. The urge to touch him returned once more, the feeling more tempting than before.
All it would take one was touch. One touch, and they would—
"I-I think I'm going to take that shower now."
The junior nodded. "I'll get you some clothes and a towel."
Once he was alone, he let himself breathe again—his nerves slightly rattled from Steve's blatant flirting. Years ago, he would have been happy to have caught even a moment of his attention; now, he felt too embarrassed to even enjoy it.
He slid off his converses and walked towards the window, looking out into the neighborhood street. As he glanced around at the pristine houses, he hoped to see Barb walking across the yard towards the house, knocking on the door to drive him home.
It didn't take long for Steve to come back (thankfully with a shirt this time). He showed him where the bathroom was and took out a box of shampoos and other shower supplies before heading out—taking a second to use his reflection to fix his hair before closing the door.
After he took a shower, Ben found himself on the bed in complete darkness. He couldn't sleep. Instead of dreaming, he spent the last of his energy tossing and turning under the sheets until he ultimately gave up, deciding to stare up at the ceiling to pass the time.
He was only glad he didn't have to suffer another nightmare.
A memory flashed across his mind—the dagger.
Although the events with the monster and the knife were quite different, he couldn't help but feel like they were connected—seeing as sources of bright light were significant in both cases.
Ben took his hand out from under his blanket, inspecting it under the moonlight. He closed his eyes and imagined all his energy from his body flowing into his hand . . . Nothing happened.
He set his hand down with a sigh. Great.
Not wanting to think about the idea of having . . . powers(?), his thoughts decided to switch over to Steve—which was just as stressful—and the weird way he was acting earlier.
He was definitely flirting, right? Or was that interaction all in his imagination?
No, it was just in his head.
However, despite him knowing it wasn't real, he could still feel something spark inside him. Even though he knew the dangers rekindling his crush could bring, a small, selfish part of him felt hopeful—
A light shimmered beside him.
Oh