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
There were very few things Ben found embarrassing in his entire teen life (having endured so much for so long) but being driven to school in the back of his dad's patrol car like a common criminal was one of them.
Despite the small understanding the two Hopper boys came to the night before, his dad was still firm in keeping his punishment for sneaking out—a fair reason, the teen supposed. Until he felt satisfied, Jim Hopper would personally take him to school every morning, embarrassing his one and only son for all eternity.
"Is there no way I can get my truck back?" Ben asked, pulling his hood up in embarrassment as they passed a group of walking teens.
"No," his dad said sternly, leaving no room for discussion. He let out a sigh. "I'm going to work late tonight. I already talked to Mrs. Wheeler. She will give you a ride after school, and you will be staying at their house for the day. I'll pick you up when I'm done."
"I have to tutor after school today," Ben reminded him. "I doubt she wants to wait any longer than necessary. If I had my keys . . ."
"Karen is aware and is fine with picking you up."
Before he could retaliate, the car stopped in front of the school where a crowd of students were curiously inspecting the patrol car. Blood rushed into his cheeks as they whispered to one another, probably already aware of who had just arrived.
Hopper turned to face him, his eyes glinting with sympathy. "Callahan and Powell will be coming over to interview Nancy about Barb's last whereabouts, but . . . they might pull you in to gather more details."
"Okay," Ben said, feeling a pit forming in his stomach. "Good to know."
He looked towards the glass doors, hoping to catch a flash of red hair or the shine from a pair of glasses, but he knew that none of those were going to occur. She was gone, and he had to move on with life until she was not.
"Hey," his dad uttered, "it'll be okay. One step at a time."
Ben sighed and nodded, opening the door and stepping out into the campus. The teen looked down at the ground as he made his way inside, not really interested in facing the crowd's stares. As far as he knew, no one had heard the news that Barb had gone missing and figured they were more entertained by his unusual arrival. And yet, it didn't stop his paranoia from distorting the whispers and giggles in his mind.
He's such a weirdo. I wouldn't be surprised if he killed Barb.
He obviously did it. He was the only one there with her.
Didn't you hear? He's the son of a murderer. Samantha told me his real dad came back and killed his aunt and uncle in a drunken rage. It must run in the family.
Ben held his breath until he reached his locker, opening it to place his head inside the small space to hide his panic. He didn't move until he felt a presence next to him, silent anger emitting from them.
"I talked to Steve," Nancy said, her tone forcing him to look at her. Her grip was tight on the strap of her purse. Ben felt a twinge of curiosity at the motion but remained silent as she spoke. "He was only worried about the cops and that his parents would find out we were drinking."
"Seriously?"
She nodded. "He wasn't concerned about her disappearance."
"Of course, he wasn't," he said, taking out his books and putting them in his backpack. "He never cared about Barb. The only thing he cares about is his image."
She didn't comment on his response, probably aware that his statement was true to an extent; although, that didn't stop a small frown from forming on her face.
Ben closed his locker, feeling a little guilty. Things were already tense, and he wasn't helping the situation. "Sorry. I'm just on edge today."
"No. It's okay," she said, suddenly appearing tired. "It's weird being here without Barb."
He nodded in agreement, unsure of what to say to that. "I don't want to scare you or anything, but . . . they're going to interview you later today. They want an official statement about that night."
Nancy sighed, her shoulders tensing at his words.
"Hey," Ben said softly, carefully grabbing her hand in assurance, "just tell them the truth, okay? Fuck what Harrington says."
"What did your dad say?"
"Not much," he admitted. "Barb's parents talked to an officer last night, and they'll be investigating Steve's backyard soon. Besides that, things have been tightlipped. They're hoping you can provide more information."
"I don't think I'll be much help," Nancy said, sadly. She tightened her hold on her bag as she began making her way down the hall. "I'll have to call my mom and let her know. I'll see you later."
Ben watched her for a second, unsure if she should be left alone. He considered joining her for a minute, but he relented—too tired to be any proper source of support. Once again placing his head inside his locker, he let out a sigh.
It was rough knowing the truth and hiding it from Nancy, one of the last people he could call his friend. Even if it was for the best . . .
After taking a couple of deep breaths, he closed the door and made his way to his English class—hoping there wouldn't be anyone there at this time.
He entered Mr. Hauser's classroom and stopped when he saw Robin Buckley sitting at a desk with a pair of headphones, her cassette player playing language tapes like the last time they met. She looked up, looking a little startled at the sight of him.
"Oh, hey, Robin," Ben greeted awkwardly. He gestured toward his assigned seat which was coincidently next to her. "Mind if I sit?"
"Of course," she sputtered, her eyes widening when she realized what she said. "I mean, of course not. It's a free country—well, not free since the government is constantly squashing any form of progressive ideology. I mean the prison system alone still allows—"
"It's okay," Ben interrupted, seeing red creep up her neck. It seemed her thoughts were scattered at his surprise appearance. Not that different from mine, he thought. "And you're right. It's not truly free."
"Oh."
He headed to his seat and began to lay everything on his desk, pulling his binders out of his bag. Ben glanced at Robin in thought. She and Barb were friends once. How would she react if he told her the truth of what happened, that she didn't disappear? Would she blame him? Would she even care?
He was about to pull out his books when the freshman girl spoke again.
"You have a sub, by the way," Robin said, tapping her Walkman nervously. "That's why I'm here. Needed the quiet, and she wasn't here yet so . . . yeah."
"Oh, cool."
• - • - • - •
By the time the final bell rang, Ben found himself sitting at one of the school library's wooden tables—patiently waiting for a student to ask for his help. As a member of the National Honor Society, his club leader required a few hours of tutoring from each of her members before the end of the quarter, and seeing that he had delayed completing them for too long, he decided to stay to finish his last couple of hours.
It usually wasn't bad.
Usually, the issues other students had consisted of simple mistakes that could be fixed or adjusted with a couple minutes of explanation. The most difficult person he ever had to tutor was Eddie Munson; his usual antics being a series of sighs and complaints before saying "Fuck it" and leaving. Though, it didn't prevent the guy from coming back for another session, claiming he would make it his year.
Ben was thinking about leaving early when he heard the chair scrape along the carpet floor. Immediately, his blood began to boil as Steve Harrington sat down next to him with an innocent smile.
"What are you doing here, Steve?" the sophomore asked. "The only people who can be here are the ones who need—"
"Your help?" the junior interjected, sliding a piece of paper across the table. "Mr. Hauser said he'll give me an eighty if I fix my essay by Friday."
"He's not even here. We had a sub."
"He told me on Monday."
"So, you waited until the day before to do the assignment?" Ben asked, feeling annoyed. He picked up the paper and nearly cringed at the number of notes scribbled on its edges.
"Yep," Steve answered, smirking as he said his next words, "and it also gives me an excuse to talk to you, Benji."
The sheriff's son shoved the paper towards him. "I could refuse."
"You can, but . . ." Steve said, sliding it back, "the leader of the NHS will definitely find it interesting that one of her members refused to help one of their fellow students."
Ben frowned, biting his lips as he tried to think of a comeback. However, he knew the junior had a point. Whether or not it was from Harrington himself, word would reach Mrs. Mastrano about his behavior, and it would most likely require some sort of reprimand.
"Fine," Ben muttered, taking the essay off the table. "If it makes you leave faster, then fine."
He started skimming through the lines of text, noticing the weird grammar and sentence structure that enveloped the page. He tried ignoring the glances that Steve would give him, trying to focus his attention on the words that basically resembled chicken scratch; he read the teacher's notes and reworded the assignment in his head.
Finally, Steve gave in. "I'm sorry."
Ben looked up from the essay. "Apology not accepted."
"Please," Steve begged, grabbing his wrist—his grip firm enough to hold him still, but not enough to hurt him. "Can we talk? Like really talk."
The sophomore was ready to say no, his patience already running thin. He was tired of the same fight, tired of Steve and his meaningless attempts. He wanted to be left alone. Ben just wanted peace. Was that too much to ask?
He turned his head to reject him once more, but he stopped.
There was something in the other boy's eyes. Remorse? Sadness? A sprinkle of hope? He wasn't sure what it was, but he could sense something there. The teen could begin to see an image, a vision forming in front of him. He could almost see them hanging out again, laughing and messing around like the good friends they once were. If he could only look a little longer—
"Okay," Ben found himself saying, nodding towards the back of the library. "Just not here."
Steve nodded, letting him go.
Ben led the way to the back of the library and entered a small room that contained a single table and bookshelves full of books and binders. When they were both settled inside, he closed the door and shut the blinds that peered into their section of the rooms were normally reserved for private studying, but now, it would become an interview room—making him a cop waiting for a confession.
Ben leaned on the door, staring at the junior. "You have five minutes. No more bullshit. Just get straight to the point."
"Okay." Harrington nodded,nervously placing his hands into his jean pockets. He cleared his throat and looked into the other boy's eyes. "I'm trying to protect you."
"Protect me?" Ben scoffed, letting out a hollow laugh. "If anything, you've done the exact opposite of protecting me."
"I know it doesn't appear like that, but I am," Steve insisted. He shuffled his weight between his two feet, looking at the floor. "Tommy and Carol would have done a lot worse if I hadn't intervened."
"Oh, so I should be thanking you then?" the sophomore spat. "They have been harassing me for a year. Calling me slurs and shoving me around! They fucking burned me with a cigarette, Steve!"
"I know, I know. I should have stopped them, but—"
"There shouldn't have to be a but."
"Please, Ben," Steve pleaded, closing his eyes tight as if to stop tears, "you have to understand that it wasn't easy. I didn't want to hurt you."
Ben curled his hand into a fist, beginning to sense the light shining through. "Then, why did you?"
"They were going to out you!" the junior exclaimed, his eyes wide as he looked at Ben. "They were going to tell the whole school, and you know how this town works. Once people get word, they would've made some calls and had you taken you from your dad . . . away from me."
Ben was stunned. He had heard many stories about kids being taken away just for being gay. Last year, Kei Traver was forced out of his home and sent to conversion camp in hopes of "fixing" him. Not long after that, Farai Windsor's parents (who were very loving and supportive parents) were reported for abuse and lost their only daughter to the hands of social workers, never to see her again.
He shook his head. "Y-You don't know that for sure. They could've been bluffing."
"They don't bluff," Steve muttered, exhaustion clear in his voice. "They've done it before."
"How did you keep them quiet then?" Ben uttered with shaky breath.
"I've been paying them off," the junior answered, "My parents are always away on trips, so they leave behind a good amount of money for me to use. I gave them enough to keep them from saying anything, but they kept demanding more to back off. I can barely live off on what's left of it before the next trip. I even had to dig into my savings."
The sophomore felt unnerved by the information, his body trembling at the thought of being outed to the entire student body, the whole town. He stared at Steve and could see the shame and disgust he held inside—whether it was for Carol and Tommy or himself, he didn't know. A boy with good intentions and shitty deals, all to protect him.
However, it didn't take away the hurt that was now embedded in his bones, scars so familiar that he couldn't see himself without them. He couldn't look at the boy in front of him without seeing the lighter that haunted him, the one that told him he was alone.
"Ben, I'm sorry." Steve whispered, bringing his attention back to the present. "I really am. Please . . . say something."
The sheriff's son shook his head. "I need more than pretty words, Steve."
"What can I do?" the junior asked, his tone pleading. "Tell me how I can gain your trust."
"I don't know," Ben replied honestly, looking down at his feet. "I won't say that your situation was easy, and I really appreciate that you tried your best with what you could. But . . ." He paused, unsure. "It doesn't wash away everything that they've done. It doesn't change that you stood there and did nothing as they tormented me."
Steve didn't say anything, his crestfallen expression saying everything he couldn't.
"Leave them, Steve," the sophomore begged. "We can deal with the aftermath together. Just leave them."
The junior shook his head. "I'm not going to risk it. I'm not going to risk you."
Ben felt his heart break, another fracture in the cracked glass that made it. He let out a sigh. The conversation had no way to continue; at least, not in the way the other would like.
"Time's up. Goodbye, Steve."
"Ben—"
He left the study room without another word.
• - • - • - •
"Why do I feel like this isn't a quick stop to the store?"
Ben was waiting for Mrs. Wheeler to pick him up from school when Nancy had pulled up to the entrance, sitting in the driver's seat instead of the older woman. She had claimed that her mom wanted her to get some groceries, but when they passed several stores, he knew something was off.
She had a determined look on her face, occasionally eyeing the bag that lay between the two seats. The sophomore boy almost threw the bag into the back seat when she nearly crashed into a passing car.
"We're not," Nancy answered, turning a corner. "We are going to see Jonathon."
"Jonathon?" Ben asked, surprised. After the situation with the photographs, he would have expected the teen girl to keep her distance from the guy. "As in Jonathon Byers?"
"He was there when Barb went missing," she continued, driving towards the town square, "and I think he might've seen what happened to her."
"What would he have—" he stopped, remembering the shattered camera. "You think he captured what happened."
Nancy parked the car in front of a shop, grabbing her purse. "I know he did."
"We don't even know where he is!" the sophomore boy pointed out, nervous of what she may have discovered. "It's a small town, but not that small."
"I called his mom," she said, opening the door and stepping out of the car. She pointed at a nearby store. "She told me I could find him here."
"Nance, if he's in there then we shouldn't—!"
He scrambled to take off his seatbelt, seeing the girl already heading towards the door of a coffin shop. He barely managed to catch the swinging door when she had made it down the hallway, pausing at one of many rooms that displayed a variety of coffin options.
He winced as he passed them. After his sister's death, he tried his best to stay away from anything that would remind of her funeral. While others found comfort in the ceremony, it only served as a reminder that she was no longer with them. Despite the years, he still felt the familiar ache and absence of his sister in his heart.
Looking back at his best friend, Ben could see her speaking to someone as he approached her. Oh, Nance, what are we going to do with you?
"Your mom, um. . . she said you'd be here. I just . . . Can we talk for a second?"
The oldest of the Byers boys was in front of her, sadness encompassing his frame. He looked exhausted as he took in the teenagers, their faces expressing two distinct emotions. "W-what's going on?"
"Jonathon," Ben interrupted, seeing the beginnings of tears appear on his face. "I am so sorry. I was just telling Nance that now isn't the right time to—"
"The pictures you took," Nancy interjected, pulling out said object out of her bag. The ripped, black and white image appeared to be pieced together with tape "I saw one of Barb and I noticed something strange."
"You don't have to if now's not okay," the sheriff's son assured, giving an exasperated look at the girl next to him. Whatever was in the picture was already sending waves of fear through him. "We know it's a difficult time."
Jonathon looked around the room, the sight of the coffins causing a flash of grief to appear in his eyes. He shook his head and gestured at the bench in the hallway. "No, no, it's fine. Let's just take a seat."
Nance nodded and made her way to the seat.
Before the other boy could take a step, Ben stopped him. "Jon, are you sure you're in a good place right now?"
"Yeah," he said, letting out a sigh. "I just . . . need a break from all this."
Ben nodded in understanding, following the Byers' boy towards the hallway.
Wheeler was already sitting down when they neared her, scooting over to let the taller boy take a seat. Ben remained standing, placing himself beside Jonathon, and prepared himself for whatever discovery his friend had made.
Nancy gave the mourning teen the picture, the captured moment being that of Barb back on the Harringtons' diving board—her feet swaying in the water. Ben felt a lump form in his throat, guilt returning as he examined the snapshot. He wasn't sure why Nancy was so concerned about the scene until the girl pointed at the space behind the redhead.
"What does this look like to you?" Nancy asked Jonathon, her voice low and sorrowful. "Does that look like a person to you?"
A hidden figure could be seen standing in the shadows, the image too grainy and dark to make it out, but Ben had an inkling of what it was. He felt his palm flicker with light, biting his lip to help distract himself enough to extinguish it.
Jonathan looked at the spot before returning Nancy's gaze. "It looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion, but I wasn't using the wide angle. I don't know. It's weird."
"And you're sure you didn't see anyone else out there?" she questioned.
"No," he confirmed, "and she was there one second and then, um . . . gone. I figured she bolted."
"The cops think that she ran away," Nancy told him with a faraway look in her eyes. "But they don't know Barb. And Ben and I went back to Steve's . . . and we thought we . . . saw something. Some . . . weird man or . . . I don't know what it was." She shook her head, seeming to realize how silly it sounded. She bent down to grab her purse. "I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have come here today. I'm—I'm so sorry."
She stood up and reached for Ben's arm, gently pulling on his arms to lead them towards the front door. They had only taken a couple steps when they heard Jonathon speak, making them turn in shock.
"What'd he look like?"
"What?" Ben and Nancy asked in unison, surprise clear in both their voices.
"This man you saw in the woods," the Byers boy clarified. "What'd he look like?"
Nancy was the first to speak, always the first to act. "I don't know. It was almost like he . . . he didn't have—"
"Didn't have a face?" Jonathon finished.
"How did you know that?"
• - • - • - •
The three teens soon found themselves in the school's darkroom, a place only the yearbook club could use to develop their film. Ben walked around the dimly lit space, curiously examining the pictures and machinery that bathed in the room's red light. It reminded him of a horror movie, the atmosphere giving him the same sinister and macabre sensation of one.
"Are you sure nobody was murdered here, Jon?" he asked, turning his attention towards the corner where the two teens were standing in front of a peculiar machine.
The Byers boys let out a small chuckle. "I'm sure."
"If you say so," Ben said unconvinced, looking around once more. "Maybe we found the gate to Hell then."
Giving him a quick unamused stare, Nancy looked back at the contraption Jonathon was messing with. "And you're . . ."
"Brightening," Jonathon muttered, pulling out a microscope-like object as he twisted a knob to focus the machine. "Enlarging."
"Hmm. Did your mom say anything else?" she asked. "Like, um, where it might have gone to, or . . ."
"No, just that it came out of the wall."
It wasn't long before the machine finally let out a small ding, letting them know the print was done. Jonathan sighed in relief and retrieved a blank sheet from under the easel before taking it to a container full of clear liquid, carefully submerging it in its waters.
Ben felt a prickle of nerves. What would they really see once it was finished processing? Would it be the monster that had been haunting him, or would the image turn out to be a figment of his imagination—an amalgamation of his fears? Either way, the result would be the same. Barb would still be missing, and they would have no way to find her.
Nancy looked at the tub. "How long does this take?"
"Not long," Jonathon muttered, rocking the container back and forth.
"Have you been . . . doing this a while?"
"What?"
"Photography?"
Ben tuned himself out from the conversation, feeling a combination of emotions rolling inside him. Sensing his turmoil, he could feel his power become desperate to release the light—his palm stinging with every second. He closed his fist and took a deep breath.
He was about to let out a sigh when he saw something forming on the page.
"Oh, fuck."
It was the creature from his dreams, the creature from Steve's backyard. Its long and abnormal limbs were all too familiar to Ben. He could feel its weight pressing down on his chest, its hot breath washing over him. It was there the night of the party, a predator stalking its prey.
It was there with Barb.
"That's it," Nancy exclaimed, looking at the picture. "That's what I saw."
"My mom—" Jonathan gasped. "I thought she was crazy 'cause she said . . . that's not Will's body. That he's alive."
"And if he's alive—"
"Then Barbara—"
A flash of white light overtook the room, sending Nancy and Jonathon into a surprised frenzy. Ben let out a cry of pain, not expecting the amount of agony that overtook his hand. He fought through the affliction and called back the light, forcing it back in until all he felt was a throbbing sensation. He cradled his hand, ignoring the river of blood that trickled down his nose.
Once he could regain his senses, Ben looked up only to see that look of shock and fear on his friend's faces.
"Oh, fuck."