"I don't understand how you know all of this," she sighs, trudging through the fallen leaves. Amongst the oranges and browns, Steve's deep green sweater paints her in the shades of Autumn. Booklet in hand, Filly notes down every bit of the lesson. In the absence of a printing press, she can at least replace books with notes.

"What, you wanna keep on the way you are? Just be thankful I'm even taking the time." Shaking his head, Hopper continues to explain the knot he's tying. He doesn't need to explain himself to a kid. "Listen. Next, you're gonna take your working end and put it through both loops. Not one, both. You got it?"

"Yes. But won't it be unsafe to eat by the time I find it?" she wonders. Hopper shows her the trapper's knot again, liberally dispersing leaves around the area. "And anything could come and eat it."

"That's why we're using snares. If something else comes along and steals your dinner, you'll have a different one waiting. You come out here, check on them multiple times daily, you won't have that problem." The man turns back to the snare, propped up by a y-shaped twig and a long stake they'd fashioned. "You cover your tracks after, use dirt or leaves to make sure your scent doesn't stick around."

Hopper struggles up off his knees, putting some weight on the tree's rough bark to assist himself. There are dark spots on his pants, soiled by the dirt and rotting leaves below. Dusting them with his hands, he looks at the young girl that follows him. Her straight, inky locks had lengthened, softening with the additions to her food stores.

He'd supplemented the carnivorous diet with boxes of protein bars and oatmeal. They're cheap, they're nutritious, and they don't require any cooking, which is hard to come by on a policeman's salary, even for the chief. He was sure those kids that hung around her were only bringing her junk food. She needed something hearty. Filling.

She picked up easily on most menial tasks, sharp enough to remember most everything he told her. Cooking was an issue, however, and a big one. She'd been letting her small grill collect dust, preferring the path of least resistance from spear to stomach. He'd once witnessed the thin teen peel the hide right off a beaver with her teeth. She'd been so proud of her first hit with the throwing spear that she'd wanted to eat it right there. The only thing stopping her was Hopper's hand pushing it down.

Hopper was not squeamish by any means, but he couldn't watch her eat that nor could he watch her get sick from it. All kinds of things can hide in its flesh, be they illness, insect, parasite or plague.

It was in the Summer. The animal hadn't yet put on the extra weight for the colder months, making it tough to get an angle on. Rather than throwing knives, he convinced her to try throwing something else. A javelin from a branch has so many more benefits, as he'd explained. They can be made on the fly. The puncture they create is much more likely to bring an animal of substantial size down for good. They're flexible and can be multipurpose tools.

She hadn't made much of an argument after that.

Now he was sure she'd have a steady supply through the winter, enough to keep her alive while he was taking care of her sister.

He never thought he'd be living a double life nor did he think he'd take care of two sisters residing in two worlds. One is isolated by choice, the other by coercion.

He can't tell her about El. On the off chance that she decides not to go with him, then he's only put El at higher risk by speaking of her whereabouts.

"You know..." He begins, the same as always. He tries phrasing it like a suggestion, hoping it would make her more amenable to the idea, but she knew it would never work. "You wouldn't have to worry about all that if you took me up on my offer. It's still on the table."

Filly was adamant that she wouldn't go anywhere. She was terrified of being found, or worse yet, being found with other people. She did not want a repeat of her parents. She would give up her comfort to keep it from happening, but she wouldn't witness another death. She'd decided it, and so it will be.

She has nightmares about the different ways she could lose them. Their murders are different every time and yet each night they replay, following a different path.

Dustin in a plane crash.

Steve impaled.

Hopper frozen stiff.

Lucas stoned.

Jonathan burned at the stake.

Hopper drawn and quartered.

Mike biking into traffic.

Will taken again.

Dustin mauled by a bear.

Joyce drowned.

Will severed into bits.

Jonathan beaten with a blunt object.

Lucas bled for all he's worth.

Mike buried alive.

Joyce strangled.

Steve trampled.

Her parents... always, always shot. It's the death that she knew, the only one that never changed in its many iterations.

There had been so many, she could barely keep track of them all. The lab was not known for its mercy and yet her brain tortured her nightly in even worse ways. She wouldn't allow them the chance to show them how cruel they could be. She wouldn't let them find her or her friends.

"No, thank you."

"You there? Fil?"

She hadn't fallen asleep yet. The moon was old, hanging above for the past several hours. She was looking at it through the bus's roof, turning her sight to the new figure outdoors. An old line through his left femur is what identifies him, jaggedly tracing a diagonal fracture from the outside in. There is a much more recent break on the proximal phalange of his right hand.

Steve has come to visit, but there is something that strikes her as odd.

"I'm coming in!" Tucked under his arm is a bucket of bones, something thick rippling over their exterior. Filly releases the power, looking forward with her naked eyes. His voluminous head of hair breaks over the top of the first seat.

"Steve. Welcome."

"Hey. Are you doing okay out here?" He sits by her side, falling on top of the comforter that once kept him warm all through the night. Now it serves a different master. "Cold? Hungry?"

Filly's charmingly timid eyes sparkle at him. It's odd, there is a stark absence of light under the metal roof, but her eyes seem to glow with the appreciation of his presence. It heats something in the pit of his stomach, prompting it to tumble inside him like a weasel ball.

Nancy doesn't look at him like that anymore.

The late October air is chilling, but she produces a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature. The fire she usually has going is dim and low, close to burning out entirely. A thick hooded sweatshirt conceals her tousled hair.

"No, but I could be enticed to eat, depending on what's in that bucket." Filly peers down at it. Sitting in Steve's lap is a cardboard bucket, a clear top blurring the vision of three deep, golden brown morsels of something that smells to die for.

"Oh, my God. You've never had KFC?" He looks down at the teen, a scandalized expression overtaking him. "It's finger-licking good. You have to try some."

"It smells very tempting." She eyes the fried legs and breasts once he's uncapped the bucket, its aroma wafting into the air around them. "What is it?"

"Kentucky fried chicken. Try some."

Reaching in and extracting a thigh, she gives it a small nibble. The pleasant crunch pairs well with the juicy white meat inside.

She can't speak while she's noshing on the treat, a dribble of juice glistening in ambient light. The leg is gone in record time, Filly wiping her face absentmindedly with her sleeve. "You don't want-?"

"No, no. Me and Nancy went to see Barb's parents for dinner," he explains, patting his tummy while he exaggerates its swell. "I couldn't eat another bite, really." He sends her a smile, willing her to eat all of his offerings. They're still lukewarm, but they've cooled off a lot. He's glad Barb's mom pushed the bucket into his arms. If anything, it's an excuse to see the girl once more.

He feels guilty, almost, having a girl he goes to see that isn't Nancy. He reminds himself that Nancy did it with Jonathan first and pushes the thought away. He shouldn't have to feel bad about this.

"Why do you look sad when you talk about her?"

It jerks him from his introspection, turning him to her in a snap. "Who, Barb?"

She pushes the leg bone, stripped of its meat, back and forth on the warped flooring. "No. Nancy."

He doesn't answer for a long moment, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish.

"I-I don't, I don't know. I guess I-I feel differently than I used to?" he says finally. Filly remains silent, giving him time to collect his thoughts. "I feel... kind of unwanted. Like I'm not important. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes. But it doesn't matter, I'd still listen."

She keeps her word. She doesn't make a sound when he pours out his grievances. He could tell her about the bothersome things in his life. Not just Nancy, but his parents, Tommy, Billy, all of it. She would listen even when she didn't understand.

Steve feels a little bit better when he leaves.

The car that pulls up isn't one Filly knows. It scares her until she spots the little skeleton riding in the passenger's seat. She's already outside, laying in the sun over the rusted old hood of a scrapped DeVille. Will shoots out through the side door, his small feet prying through the dirt and pushing him to her side.

"Hello, Will," she says, sitting up from the hood and ruffling the boy's light brown bowl cut. In turn, he closes his thin arms around her middle and pulls her into a tight hug. "I have missed you."

He must be stopping by before school. The sun had risen an hour ago. Filly knows school doesn't end until the afternoon.

"Yeah. Everyone misses you, too," He mumbles into her side. "We want you to come trick-or-treating with us tomorrow. Will you come?"

A frown blooms on her pink lips. "Will..."

"It's the one day a night that everyone wears masks! No one will know it's you, you just need a costume."

"A what?" Filly doesn't know what it means to trick or treat, but each time they try and pull her out of her shell, she gets just a touch closer to saying yes. "I don't know, it sounds somewhat familiar. What is trick-or-treating?"

"It's fun!" he persists, beaming at her vividly. "On Halloween, everyone dresses up like something else and goes around to people's homes where they get free candy. All you have to do is say "trick or treat" and they'll give you some!"

"I don't have a costume."

"Don't worry, we have something in mind." He pulls off his backpack, snaking out a white cloth from under the zipper. He pushes the cotton bundle into her arms. "It's tomorrow night. We're meeting at 7 pm, but Jonathan and I can come to get you. He'll be... supervising."

The delicate boy withers, his energetic smile fading.

"You doing okay, big guy?" A light voice calls out, its source standing off by where the car is parked.

Filly doesn't recognize him, but she trusts Will not to bring an enemy into her home. "Is this a friend of yours, Will?"

"Not just a friend." He's smiling again, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. A rotund man is extricating himself from his red car, clapping imaginary dust off his hands after shutting the door. His Toyota is pristine, not a thing out of place on the bright Camry. "This is Bob, he's my mom's boyfriend. Bob, this is Filly."

"Good to meet you, Filly. What a wonderful name for a wonderful... young filly, haha!" His smile is earnest, his eyes squinting into crescent shapes with the rise of his cheeks. His teeth are bright and his posture accommodating, a gentle hand reaching out for a shake.

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Bob." She lays her palm in his, unsure of how to proceed after that. She's glad when he shakes her hand and drops it. At least she hadn't made a fool of herself. Yet.

"Oh, don't!" His belly heaves with the force of his throaty chuckle. "It's just Bob to you, missy."

"Of course, Bob."

The scenery passes in a blur. Amber stalks of grain speed past the window in Filly's peripheral, eyes focused on the brothers in front. She has to turn her head whenever she looks at something, the eyeholes in the sheet obstructing her vision.

"I just don't get what she sees in him," Jonathan breathes, tapping a finger on the wheel.

"What?" the smaller one asks, turning to watch the older.

"Bob."

"He is a very nice man." Filly thinks Joyce has chosen well. Whatever "boyfriend" means, it must be an important role for them to worry so much about the person she's picked.

"At least he doesn't treat me different." The diminutive brunette melts into his seat, sinking down glumly. "I mean, I can't even go trick-or-treating on my own. It's lame."

"I'm sorry," Filly says genuinely. She had only come because she was asked, not to make Will feel insulted. "I thought you wanted me to come..."

Will turns around in his seat. "No! No, I do want you to come, Filly. I want you to enjoy Halloween with us."

His brother smirks, giving him a sideways glance. "So you just think I'm lame?"

"No, but it's not like Nancy's coming to watch over Mike, you know?"

The air changes. It becomes heavy, stifling the breath of all the car's occupants. It's silent until Jonathan's car pulls up to a two-story house at the end of a street.

Three of her favorite people approach from the yard, strolling up the small hill. Their voices don't carry through the metal but their mouths are moving.

"Filly." Her pale blues meet Jonathan's dark browns in the rearview mirror. "Can you give us a sec?"

"Sure."

"I meant, like, alone?"

"Oh. Apologies." Filly unclasps her seatbelt, climbing from the vehicle posthaste.

"Hey, hey! It's Fill-ey!" Dustin's voice cracks at her ghostly debut. They all are dressed just like Will, the same beige coveralls donning their frames, a patch of red and white sewn to the shoulder.

"Hello, my friends." Covered from head to toe in a sheet made her feel like an attraction, like some odd sort of sideshow. "I'm surprised you recognized me in this ridiculous costume. What are you supposed to be?" She's just glad that she hadn't had to ruin one of Steve's blankets for it.

"The Ghostbusters!" Dustin exclaims, a bright smile overtaking his face, even at her raised eyebrow. She wonders if he can even see it under the cloth. "You haven't seen it, trust me."

"We all decided your costume had to match ours, but also cover your face," Mike supplies, a cream pillowcase slung over his left shoulder.

"Right. We're the Ghostbusters and you're the ghost." Lucas has his arms crossed, covering the small black patch they all have sewn on their breast.

"I feel sort of... obvious." The teen lifts the corner of the sheet, pinching it in her fingers. She clarifies, "Conspicuous."

This time it's Dustin that's tripped up. "Con-conspicuous?"

Mike scoffs but doesn't go to answer.

"Conspicuous, adjective. Very noticeable or attracting attention, often in a way that is not wanted."

"Christ, sometimes I forget you can just do that." "Do you know what presumptuous means?" It makes Lucas roll his eyes.

"Presumptuous, adjective. Of a person or their behavior, showing little respect for others by doing things they have no right to do."

"Ah, shit."

"Trick or treat!"

Filly feels ridiculous, standing here with a sheet over her head with a pillowcase held open. She doesn't remember ever doing this before. Had she forgotten? Or had it never happened at all?

Will holds a large camcorder on his shoulder, capturing the night for later reminiscing.

"Oh, well aren't you cute!" coos the middle-aged woman in the open door. "The little exterminators!"

The boys share a glance but ultimately reach into the proffered bowl of candy. Filly doesn't see the problem, as the woman has been entirely kind to them.

Lucas sighs, dejectedly storming down to the street. "If I get another 3 Muskateers, I'm gonna kill myself."

Filly hopes he's being facetious.

"What's wrong with 3 Muskateers?" Dustin asks, affronted. Filly peeks over the curly-haired boy's shoulder.

"What's a 3 Muskateers?" She asks, curious as to what she'd collected from the last house. One bar sits in her palm, three little blue men staring up at her from the cream-colored wrapper.

""What's wrong with 3 Muskateers?"" Lucas repeats mockingly.

Mike speaks up in defense of Lucas. "No one likes 3 Muskateers."

Will adds, "Yeah, it's just nougat."

"What is nougat?" she asks, still not sure what the disparity's source is.

"Filly." She turns to the boy missing bones, his deadpan catching her attention. "Eat one and you'll find out. Also, "just nougat"?"

The plastic comes away with ease, displaying a small, chocolate-covered treat. The bite she takes is chewy, creamy, and overall quite sweet. It's delicious, like everything the boys had given her.

The boys continue to swing their rapidly-filling pillowcases, leading Filly back down to the asphalt.

"Just nougat? It is top three for me."

"Top three?" Lucas dubiously wonders. Filly had no idea candy could become so controversial.

"Top three!"

"Oh, God. Gimme a break." Mike, annoyed, grunts out his displeasure.

"Seriously, I can just eat a whole bowl of nougat. Straight up. Aaah!" Dustin descends into a scream of fear.

Lucas shrieks, his nasally cry ringing in her ears. Jumping at the noise, Filly's vision sets in. No bigger than her companions, the petite skeletal figure holds a long knife at the ready, a pumpkin in their off hand. The weapon doesn't share the bright white of bone and metal, distinctly made of soft plastic. An imitation.

"It's okay," she tries, wishing to reassure her boys. "It's not a real machete."

The young person had a multitude of injuries, as she could tell. Many old snaps and hairlines have been calcified over time, but the scars left behind are easy to pick out. None are more than a decade old, littered over the figure's slim extremities.

A thick mask lifts off their head, revealing a face, laughing aloud. "Holy shit! You should have seen the look on your faces." Bright red strands cover the swell of the young girl's shoulders, waves of fire framing her in its heat. "And you? Who screams like that? You sound like a little girl!"

Filly has no idea who she is. If this is a regular occurrence on Halloween night, she wouldn't know. The redhead starts to walk away but turns back as no one follows.

"You guys coming or not? Oh, I heard we should hit up Loch Nora. That's where the rich people live, right?"

While Dustin and Lucas let out peals of laughter, Mike is despondent. Three of them follow the young girl, leaving Mike to stare at the asphalt with Filly at his side.

"Are you feeling ill, Mike?" She asks when he sighs, the two of them following after their friends.

"No." He's gloomy, frustration furrowing his brow and creasing his frown, his glare focused on the newest addition. "I'm pissed."

Filly doesn't get it. The boy had immediately withdrawn as soon as the young girl had shown up. Mike shifts his bag from one shoulder to the other, leading them after the rest of their group.

"Who is she?"

"Just some girl from school. Her name's Max."

"Another full-size. Like, seriously, rich people are such suckers," Dustin rejoices, stuffing his procurements into his bag. "Wait, you're not rich, right?"

"No," Max answers, the mask resting on the top of her head. "I live up Old Cherry Road."

"Oh."

"No, it's fine. I mean, the street's good for skating."

"What do you mean? Skating what?"

Max looks at Filly upon her unexpected question. The name had thrown her off at their meeting, not to mention her way of speaking. What kind of name is "Filly" anyway?

A white sheet obscures the older girl's visage, remaining to Max as simply a pair of cool blue eyes resting above dotted cheeks. She's only known her for a half hour and already she can sense how strange the teen is.

"I skateboard. The street is nice and smooth, not a lot of gravel."

"Hmm. Yeah. Totally tubular," Dustin says between bites. "What? Did I say that right? Or is it, like, tubular?"

"It's like totally tubular," Lucas parrots but with a drawn-out accent. "What a gnarly wave, dude."

"Totally brodacious, bro!"

It's not a conversation that Filly can follow. Will's camera picks up the whole thing, trailing behind the rest with her and Mike.

"Did you agree to this?" Mike spits, facing the lens that was trained on him.

She and Will ask in sync, "What?"

He points his gaze back down, but his scowl remains in place. "To her joining our party."

Will shrinks. He's not keen on arguing with his friend so he phrases it as inoffensively as he can. "It's just for Halloween."

"You should've checked with me."

"Well, they were excited. I guess I thought you'd be okay with it."

"She's ruining the best night of the year." Mike's voice was monotonous and yet clearly upset.

Will doesn't try to stop him when he walks away. Filly stays by him, not amused by the way his friend had spoken. The arm holding the camera is limp at his side, his mirth gone.

"Why is he so upset?"

"I guess he just wanted to hang out with you and the party," he says, but it isn't a guess. Will knows him well enough to be sure. "Now Lucas and Dustin are paying attention to her."

"He should not say such awful things to you for it. He is not being awesome." Filly hopes she isn't imagining the minuscule upwards turn of his lips. "But don't let me keep you. If you are ready, lead the way, Will."

Acquiescing, he proceeds to the next house, swirling his hand around his pillowcase. He doesn't even make it to the driveway, jumped upon by three older teens.

"Watch it, Zombie Boy!" one screeches, flitting by too close for comfort.

"Trick or treat, freak!"

"Boo!"

They swoop by in quick succession, scaring the boy enough to plant him on his rear. They leave little time for Filly to get in their way but somehow she manages to do just that. Filly rushes in between them, her hands creating a barrier in front of her.

"Do not do that." Two of them sweep by her, making her flinch in anticipation. She doesn't strike any fear in them, her voice tight and warbling. "Leave him alone."

The last ducks his head into her face, snatching her threadbare costume like he's debuting a town statue. "Goodbye, ghostie!"

The area has become too busy for her to keep track of them. The masks in the crowd start to blend together, not a scrap of fabric left to hide her face. Something is gripping her stomach, making her tense.

"Will, I have to l- Will?" He isn't where she left him. Her head darts back and forth, but she doesn't catch sight of that mousey brown hair or that cherubic face. "Will? Will!?"

She can't find him, not even when she looks. None of them have the right breaks. None of them are the right size. None of them are Will. Skeletal figures pass around her and they all look the same, but not one of them is-

A hand gripping hers draws her back up for air. Dustin stares into her eyes, blue piercing blue.

"Filly! Where's Will?" Mike is screaming at her. Filly tries to analyze the bodies swarming in every direction, but there are too many.

"I-I don't know! He w-was, he was here, and th-they scared him but then-"

A strangled shout cuts her short. "Mike!" Will's voice peals out amidst the white noise, prompting Mike to shoot off toward the sound.

There. The glowing white structure is in the fetal position, the break in his forearm nearly hidden behind it. Will is fine. Frightened, but safe. Lucas and Max follow, but Dustin's hand is still in mine. I grasp it harder, forcing him to wait.

"Filly? What's-" He stops at the desperation in her eyes, even as they stay bloodshot and wide.

"Dustin. I can't be here." She bears into him, leaning over the boy and peering over his head with constricted pupils. "I was seen. Please tell the others I'm sorry."

"Wait!" the partial skeleton calls after her, but she doesn't. She hates to go like this.

Swallowed up by a crowd, she descends into darkness as fast as she can. Anxiety spikes when a pair of heads follow her path, but she prays it is imagined. It has to be or Filly will not have a second chance.

She doesn't like leaving, but she can't afford to stay.

He doesn't know what he's doing here. He can't go home, not yet, but he should have gone somewhere else. She surely has enough on her plate without his "bullshit" as Nancy called it.

"Trespassers will be shot" proclaims the metal sign dangling from the chainlink. It glints under the cone of his headlights, going dim when he turns the key. There won't be any firearms on the premises, he's positive, but he may be impaled if he sneaks up on the resident. Years of isolation don't make forgiving hosts, he's heard.

Why can't he stay away from the nutjob in the junkyard? She was an escapee from a lab that just fell into his lap one day. Or did he fall into hers?

Filly was wholly unlike any girl he'd met before. He'd only known so many people well enough to call them friends, and that hurt him in the long run. He was unprepared for isolation. When he needed an outlet before, he would go to Tommy.

Bertie is nice, but he's just a teammate. Like many others, they see each other at school and parties and not much else. He doesn't know Steve like Filly does. He's probably still at Tina's, downing his own sorrows in the bottom of the punch bowl.

Secluded as she is, he doesn't see her much. Each time she proves that there is more to her than a starving feral teen.

A chill has begun to creep through the sedan's body, stealing away his body heat in a wave. He was here now and he'd have to calm down somewhere anyway.

The door clunks behind him, shutting harder with the force of the late-night breeze. Choking back a sound of frustration, he embarks.

It's now or never.

"Filly?" He stalls at the entrance, opening the corroded folding door but not stepping through just yet. "Are you awake?"

She doesn't need sight to know who intrudes on her rest. Or at least, she would be resting if the memory from earlier didn't keep replaying behind her eyes. It doesn't stop her from watching the surrounding area, though, just to be certain that he isn't followed by any unsavory characters.

Filly raises her head from where she lay. Pushing the overgrown black threads of hair from her eyes, she calls out, "Steve?"

"Yeah, it's… It's me," he sighs, a hand falling from where it rubs the back of his neck. He clunks down the dark passageway, his countenance hidden beneath his hair, flatter and more dull than usual. "Happy Halloween."

Her eyes narrow. "Steve, tell me what is wrong." This is not a social call, Filly knows. It's in the bow of his head, the curve of his shoulders. It's in the tear stains and red eyes. Her orderlies were not fond of speaking honestly to her. She'd learned long ago to read the body language of man.

"What are you talking about? I thought you'd be happier to see me." He's deflecting, they both know.

She doesn't say a thing, staring him down. He feels like her clear stare is shining a light on his every insecurity, his every flaw.

She waved him closer. His voice is low and rough with emotion. Two steps bring him nearer, bending his knees and crouching low at her insistence.

"Fil…" Steve finally collapses in her nest, his head dropping to her shoulder. "I... Nancy, we-" He strangles a sob, trying to smother deep the proof of how affected he was. He doesn't even have the words to convey his inner discord. "Urgh."

She softens, his arm clenching around her upper back and cementing her in place. She allows it, linking her own limbs around him and letting her hands trail along his shoulder blades. The cold clinging to his coat makes her wonder how long he spent outside her bus.

This usually prideful man had been gutted. Under the put-together facade was a wounded soul, reaching out for some kind of salvation. If no higher power would answer, then Filly would heed his call. Filly would move mountains for the sake of it. If she could, she would save him as he had done for her, Nancy, and Jonathan.

"Take your time. Take as long as you need."

She brings the cover over them both, wrapping their hind sides in the deep blue of its bulk. He wrenches out ugly cries into the fabric of her jumper. The old knit fabric was once his, the same as the dressings of the den they reside in. The residual heat of her body on the quilt helps to take the chill off.

She has no idea what Steve was up to that evening. He hadn't been trick-or-treating by the look of it. He wasn't costumed nor did he bring along a sack filled with candy.

It's a while before he speaks, sniffling in the absence of smothered cries.

He pulls back but doesn't let go, wrist and arm still curled around her. He leans back, letting the emergency exit support his back. His fingernails catch on the knit of the sweater he used to own.

"Nancy said that we killed Barb. That I'm just pretending everything's okay." He laughs. It's a mirthless, dry squall, echoing off the metal walls keenly. "She said I'm bullshit. That what we have is just bullshit."

"You are not bullshit." Her hair dances around her head when she shakes it, the lengths brushing over the curve of her breast. No one has the right to say that to sweet Steve. "Nancy is wrong."

"She was drunk. God, she was sloshed and I left her there. Jonathan probably took her home." He combs his hair away from his face with his digits, a pathetic smile gracing his handsome features. "She doesn't lo-love me." He once more starts to tremble, quick shallow breaths heating the air.

"But Steve, you are wonderful. You're astoundingly lovable." She lowers his hand from his face, taking the appendage in her smaller, more delicate palm. Smoothing her fingertips over his wrist, she brings her other hand to cup his knuckles and asks, "Why would you think she doesn't love you?"

"Nance..." He begins, a sour taste wandering into his mouth at her name. "She doesn't get it. I have to pretend everything is okay, at least sometimes. It can't always be the end of the world. She thinks I don't give a damn about anything, though."

The bizarre teen holding him is mum, accepting all he has to offer. She accepts his words as he says them. Filly understands that in a sense, all things said are impermanent. It is in their nature, only able to capture the moment as it is then and not offer insight long after they've been said.

Steve realizes that Filly is so much more honest than Nancy. In her expressions, in her speech, in her intonation, she is forthcoming. She tells all because she can, not because she has no other choice.

Nancy lies with her smile, with her dismissals, with her feigned ignorance. She is unpredictable whereas Filly is stable. She is the slow, cascading stream whereas Nancy is the erratic, raging river.

One is the product of their environment, or so he's heard.

His rage can't burn as hot in her presence, nor his resentment as cold. His rapid heart slows, his mind clearing.

"She said she didn't love you?"

Filly leans back, coaxing him gently to place his spine on the cushions below. Their surface cradles the teens, enveloping them in a steadily rising heat. Steve, his eyes back to the color of soil in shade.

"She said we're acting like we're in love." He grants her the attention of his soft gaze, his droopy eyes still glazed with old tears. "Said it's bullshit. I walked out, left the party. Couldn't go home, so I came here."

The covers bunch as Filly turns to face him, laying on her side with her hand propping up her chin. "Why can't you go home? Is it dangerous?"

"My parents are there. Dad loves picking fights with me when I'm... "emotional". It... won't be great if I go home right now." His fingers dance in the space above, clenching in a kind of air quotes. It doesn't go unnoticed that he hadn't answered her second question. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be blubbering all over you, Fil. I shouldn't have bothered y-"

"You are always welcome in my home, Steve." She stares at him, taking in his bewildered expression. He is easier to read than most others, she thinks, the ones who school their expression and let no feeling see the light of day. Steve isn't like that, allowing his haphazard walls to be diminished as soon as she comes knocking on them. "You are not a bother. I am sure that tomorrow, Nancy will regret her outburst. She will meet with you and profess her love."

There's something so sure about Filly that it almost convinces him. She flops back down, seemingly wiping her hands of the debate. It's as if, suddenly, the topic is not up for discussion.

He turns to face her, rising briefly only to cast the disheveled blanket back over their feet. Once he's settled in again, he croaks, "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Her big doe eyes pop open, reflecting as much of the moon's light as he'd ever seen.

He bends his arm, billowing it under his head as he chews over the phrasing. "You're so, I don't know, optimistic?"

"Hopeful and confident about the future?"

He chuckles. "Right. How do you do that? With all the bad you've seen?" She had alluded to it in the past, her tortured life within the confines of Hawkins Lab. He wasn't offered any specifics and he doubted she had any to give.

She waits, percolating. "There is a book." She rises, saying no more and wrestling a hardcover from a canvas hobo bag. The bag was something simple, a length of cloth Hopper used to ferry multiple daggers to her abode. "I have mentioned Dr. Brenner to you in the past."

"You have."

"He never hit me. He had others to do that. Instead, he would be the one to give me gifts to make me love him, make me want to please him." The novel opens in her hands, the face of a horse staring out from the cover. Filly lowers herself again, scooting closer to show Steve the pages. "He gave me informational texts like encyclopedias and dictionaries. He gave me narrative fiction as well, but this book is different."

"What do you mean?" he presses, itching for more. She holds it in front of him, allowing him to touch but not to take. Uncurling his arm to prop himself up, he barely realizes that he's placed his arm behind her head with the movement. His eyes are on her shockingly well-cared-for novel. "Different how?"

"It's special. It is hope." She leans into his shoulder, turning to the first page. "It's about a horse named Black Beauty. His humble beginnings lead him on many journeys throughout his life. When he's old enough, he moves to Birtwick Park. It's green expanses house many friendly colts and fillies. There is fresh, cool water and plenty of space to gallop."

She smiles widely, her eyes tracing word after word, as though caught up in a fit of affection for a living thing and not just paper and ink.

"It is a fitting home to a beast as well-bred and as smart as Beauty. He sees many hardships, both for himself and his equine fellows, moved from vicious master to vicious master. Before his end comes to him in the gloom of a cruel and unusual stable house, he is found by someone that used to know him when he was in his prime. He keeps Beauty and finds him some work, hard but distinguished work for a horse. The last lines are about Birtwick Park, the place where he felt the most optimistic."

Steve was following the story, but not seeing the connection. "I don't get it." He watches the pages flip until she snaps it shut.

"At the end of all things, Black Beauty doesn't relive his worst moments, but his best. We living things can get to just about the end of our rope, and a familiar face can drag us up for air as long as we've not let go already." Her fingers slither across the cover, peppering it with supple fingertip kisses around its front and spine. "Beauty was restrained, whipped, beaten, and mistreated, but he never gave up hope. He would work. He would face each challenge with his head high because as long as he made it in one piece, there was a chance for happiness. He held out hope, and in the end, it came to him as a new master, a good master."

"I get it. Your "hope", was it? I'll have to find myself one of those." He lets a timid grin play on his lips, feeling lighter now. He taps a fingertip on the center of the dark expanse of its green front. "You know where I can pick up a copy?"

Filly lets out a tittering laugh, her nose scrunching up at him in surprise. "No, Steve! You're being silly."

"Am I?"

"Yes!" she titters, but not before reverently replacing her possession into a safe place. It's carefully slipped into the back of a bench seat as she retires once more.

She looks more at ease than ever. Her smile makes her look like a normal teenager, one without such mysterious baggage. Like a girl that belongs in one of Steve's classes, or the captain of the cheerleading team. She's not some crazy bum living in a junkyard. She's a product of her environment, too.

"You don't need this book. You don't need- No, I should say... You already have your hope somewhere. It doesn't have to be a tangible thing." She nods decisively, as though deciding now. "As long as you hold onto it, it will lift you up."

Her voice is like a bell, its bright tenor rushing pleasingly into his ears as musical notes would.

Steve radiates warmth. The old duvet keeps it all in, warming her body to the core. She breathes slower, noticing his fragrance for the first time. It's smothered by overtones of acetone, but it belies something musky and woody in its roots.

"I'll try, Fil."

His chest rumbles softly with the vibrations of his voice. Filly had inched closer, head on his shoulder. His heat was like a lamp to a moth, drawing her in unwittingly.

The bundle of blue stills reluctantly, its occupants falling into a well-deserved slumber. Two young people lean on each other overnight, taking comfort in companionship, and not leaving their cocoon until the dawn breaks.

A/N: If anyone's curious, Bertie is the name I gave to a character that plays basketball with Steve. He can be seen telling Nancy the punch bowl is filled with "pure fuel" and interrupting Steve and Nancy's argument at school the day after Tina's party.

To the guest that reviewed chapter 6, thank you so much! I really appreciate your kind words. I hope to keep Filly as this kind of oddball character that just wants to be in on the joke, so to speak. There will definitely be more tender moments, as well, for Steve and for some other characters. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

To Noel23 who reviewed chapter 7, thank you! With this story, I really wanted to make Filly an isolated character. She struggles with being near people again, stuck on the fence between wanting to be alone and wanting to have company. She will mostly be doing her own thing, only brought in by those involved or by her hopes of aiding the people of Hawkins. Thanks so much for the review! I hope the things I come up with in between the plot points will continue to be interesting!