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philophxbicrxmantic · 2 years ago

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Change of Heart

Chapter 06/?? Click HERE for this fics masterlist!

Reader is a troubled pediatrician at Hawkins lab when she crosses paths with this lovely orderly. Nothing will stand between Peter and his revenge. Not even really pretty distractions.

Pairing: Peter Ballard x f!reader

Word count: 1728

Ratings & warnings: SPOILERS, period typical sexism, violence, blood, torture, NSFW, swearing, no (Y/N), no described defining features for reader. Ratings may change as chapters are being added.

A/N: they’re so confused! They have so many feelings! I gobble it up like it’s the last supper. If being a swiftie since 2008 has taught me anything it’s the art of YEARNING

As adamant as he is, Peter sticks to the promise he made himself. He cannot afford any distractions, and he refuses to lose sight of what is most important; getting out of the constrictive makeshift prison Brenner locked him up in. Once he regains his mental and physical autonomy, the white haired man and his staff will pay for robbing him of his freedom. He is dead set on revenge, and despite his ongoing lapse of judgement when it comes to the pediatrician, she still answers to the man who is shaped after all of Peter’s demons.

It is hard to admit that the pediatrician pains him from the inside out, that she ruthlessly squeezes what is left of his humanity in the palm of her hand, yet remains so blissfully unaware of the turmoil she causes within him. She does not realize that her presence in Hawkins laboratory throws the blond off balance. His brain never fails to diligently remind him of her delicate beauty and the softness in her tone of voice when speaking with him. When the familiar subtlety of pomegranate and lemongrass seems to gain mastery over him, so elusive and fleeting amongst the intensity of the wonted chemical stench, Peter wonders if he could be losing his mind. Worst of all is the candor that sparks within her eyes when their gazes cross, threatening to overthrow his carefully constructed constitution.

And yet, the one thing he cannot see past is that she works for the man who stole Peter’s freedom from him and mentally imprisoned him in the name of control. The day Soteria was implanted in his neck was the day Peter vowed to take revenge on Martin Brenner and his team. When the older scientist created the nugatory copies, Peter vowed that they would meet their demise just as swiftly.

Rage has become his default, the burning need for revenge simmers strongly within the depths of his constitution. Losing the one thing that’s familiar to him could prove to be fatal to who he has become throughout the years. The pediatrician is nothing but a temporary hindrance in the great scheme of things, an obstruction that provokes scorching within his chest all the same, albeit so different from his familiar rage.

Had they met at another time and place, perhaps something could grow between them, luscious and thriving like climbing hedera. Something honest and true, a thing that the poets would refer to as love. They could be two lovers, so close that no room for any reservations between them would remain.

Fueled by his hunger for revenge, Peter blindly squashes the seedlings of possibility under the heel of his shoe as carelessly as he would a cigarette butt. The scientist is right about one thing; Peter Ballard is indeed number 001.

And so, he shuts the pediatrician out so sudden it gives her whiplash. Peter, who has been sending her kind smiles since the day she arrived, doesn’t give her the time of day now. His demeanor has shifted, from kind and caring to… radio silence. Nothing at all.

Before, the young orderly would take an extended route to the rainbow room; from his quarters past her office on the other side of the building, and then to his final destination. He never stopped to strike up a conversation with her, but he would smile so sweetly at her that the tips of her ears would turn crimson and an involuntary beam of a smile would be sent his way.

Despite her earlier decision to not let her feelings get in the way of Peter’s treatment, his sudden withdrawal tugs painfully at her insides. She wonders if it’s somehow her fault that he has begun to distance himself, if unbeknownst to herself she pushed him away. Perhaps she completely misread this between them, whatever this is, and it is all in her head. She can’t decide which is worse.

An even greater fear settles like a heavy stone at the base of her stomach. Could it be that he uncovered the skeletons in her closet, that he has learned who she really is? A misplaced sense of guilt wraps itself around her like a wet blanket that she can’t seem to shake off. Yes, she lies to him, but only for his own best interest.

In the years between Henry’s initial captivity and her arrival, Martin Brenner has attempted to help his captive in the best way he saw fit, capitulating Henry to half-assed attempts of healing his disturbed mind. If her time spent at university has taught her anything, it’s that psychological treatment never helps unless the patient wants to get better. When Dr. Brenner’s efforts inevitably proved to be futile, 001 was once again submitted to electroshock therapy to keep him docile. The pediatrician thinks highly of Dr. Brenner’s accomplishments, but why he still uses these barbaric tactics that have been sworn off by most doctors is beyond her.

It wasn’t long after Brenner’s failed attempts that the boy once named Henry Creel was now a man, going by the name of Peter Ballard. At an attempt to keep the young man busy and distracted, he got instated as an orderly, his sole job looking after the copies Brenner created. When his behavior wasn’t in tune with the rules the white haired man set for him, electroshock therapy would be used to keep him in line.

And then she came along. Since Henry has mostly been under her care, and Dr. Brenner has been promoted to overseer, electroshock therapy hasn’t been part of Henry’s treatment anymore for the past 6 months. If the blond man has questioned this drastic change in his daily life, he must’ve, she scolds herself, he doesn’t let it show.

Reminded of the positive change she has already made for Henry, her resolve strengthens. The pediatrician would not let him shut her out so easily.

“Peter,” Her voice bounces around the empty kitchen shrilly, even to her own ears. Just as she suspected, Peter is up bright and early, hours before his shift begins.

When he turns around to face her, his expression remains neutral, seemingy unsurprised by her out of place presence. She can’t decide if his indifference bothers her or not.

“Hello,” he politely greets her. “You’re here quite early.”

“Yes,” she audibly swallows, anxiety rising in her chest. Now that she is here, there is so much she wants to say to him that she threatens to burst at the seams. Instead, the words that leave her mouth sound foreign and distant. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“We’re talking,” he replies, the tone of his voice so flat it is hard for her to figure out what he is thinking. His long frame is propped up against the countertop, arms crossed over his chest. He seems quite relaxed, the exact opposite of how she feels.

“Yes,” she dumbly repeats herself. God, why does he insist on making this so difficult for her? Wondering how she is supposed to convey her emotional distress without sounding like a love struck teenager, a deep sigh wrestles it’s way out of her chest.

The sea of space between the two of them shrinks as the pediatrician takes a step towards him, distancing herself from the white door behind her.

“How have you been?” Deciding to refrain from an approach that may make him feel cornered, she settles for a neutral question.

“I’ve been well, doctor. How about yourself?” His counter-question is a simple one, one occurring out of simple politeness and good manners.

Instead of offering him an equally polite reply, she shoots another question at him.

“Then… Are you angry with me, Peter?”

“Angry?” This time, it is his turn to repeat her words back to her. To her surprise, his expression shifts from confused to amused and a cold laugh follows soon after.

“What could you have possibly done to upset me?” He says once his laughter has seized. Though the words falling from his mouth could be considered sweet in another situation, they are now tainted with a stinging venom.

“I…” her words rarely fail her, but now they seem frozen cold on her tongue. What power does this man hold over her? “I don’t know. You’ve been distant.”

The aftertaste of her accusation feels bitter, but Peter hardly seems to notice as his slender body moves towards the kitchenette at the rightside of the room, creating more space between them.

“Mmh. Is that so?”

Fucking fuck. His lackluster replies are responsible for the boiling within her veins, so she draws a breath to try and calm herself down.

“I thought we were…” something. More than… “Friends. What changed?”

“We are not friends,” Peter says, as he turns to her. Her blood runs cold. Does he know?

“We’re just colleagues. We share passion for our shared field of work, but we are not friends,” both the tone of voice as well as his face are so calm and indifferent, but his words slash angrily at her. The pediatrician tries to keep her cool while his statement gives her a whiplash.

“But you have been so kind to me,” she cannot stand the sound of her own voice, overcome by chagrin. She isn’t like this, this is not who she is.

“Don’t take it personally, doctor. I simply prefer to keep my personal life separated from my work and vice versa,” he says, his face a blank canvas, even upon seeing her own.

A blatant lie. The man who is the sole reason for her presence at Hawkin’s laboratory is lying right to her face and there is nothing she can say about it without exposing herself.

“Right,” is all she manages, unspoken words clawing at the base of her throat, begging to be released.

His cerulean eyes search her face, but even if he finds whatever he is looking for, he does not comment on it.

“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it actually is,” he concludes, cold and stern. He doesn’t spare her a second glance before leaving her behind in the empty kitchen.

And so, Peter sticks to the promise he made himself; no distractions, no matter how lovely they may seem. So why does leaving her behind to lick her wounds over his words pain him, too?

A/N: damn she got colleague zoned and this chapter sucks. But at least updates will be weekly again from now on!

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philophxbicrxmantic · 3 years ago

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the man next door (henry creel/reader) oneshot

*a/n: here's an idea i had after watching vol. 2. i needed something to write while thinking about wtf im gonna do with my highschool AU story of henry. we are gonna pretend this takes place in 1983, and el is 11 years old, and the massacre happened just months earlier. also we are gonna pretend steve and robin are friends too in 1983 lol, ignoring canon like usual. also i know henry's name is not peter, but im just letting him assume that name because him & el are essentially lying low and assuming new names after escaping the lab. also no beta we die like men, i didn’t proofread this

*warnings: traumatic flashbacks, kidnapping, strong language, blood, manipulating behaviors, stalking, choking

comments are always welcome! i hope you enjoy !

Hawkins was a strange, strange town. Some say it’s almost cursed. You’d have to agree, the odd disappearances, the claims of sights of weird alien-like creatures, the odd governmental facility that hid itself amongst the shroud of woods, almost like something out of some cheesy sci-fi horror film. However, the strangest thing you could find about all of Hawkins, was its people.

One of those people happened to be your new neighbor.

Mr. Peter Ballard, you’ve only spoken in passing, introducing himself when you went to your mailbox and just happened to catch him pulling up in his driveway. He was quite a friendly man, from what you could tell, quite attractive too, if you could admit. He’d only been living in the small house for maybe about 2 months, and you didn’t even know anyone new was moving in. There were no moving trucks, no clothes, no furniture, no belongings… nothing. Just him, and a small girl with very short hair, who you’d assume was his daughter, coming in and out of the house.

Even now, as you sit on your porch, watching him pull in his driveway with his odd black car that looked like a government vehicle, you were still quite intrigued. As he stepped out of the vehicle, he caught you staring, he simply smiled and waved at you, and you only offered a small hand, much to your embarrassment.

“Shit..” Muttering under your breath, “He caught me staring.” You got up quickly out of your rocking chair and ran into your house quickly, slamming the door, putting one hand on your temples.

“Way to be a creep, huh, (Name)?” You looked back to the window leading out to the front yard, where his car was in view, “He probably thinks I’m some nosy ass weirdo..”

Walking back to the window you peered through the blinds again, seeing the back of his blonde hair as he was pulling bags out of the back seat of the car.

“Groceries..” You whispered to yourself, then seeing the young girl leaning over in the trunk, getting out a jug of milk, walking back as her frilled dress bounced with her movements, “I guess they are pretty normal people, after all, huh?”

You couldn’t help but be intrigued. You barely had neighbors, you lived in a more isolated part of town, preferring to be away from much of the strange activities much of the townsfolk talked about. Much of your backyard stretched into woods carrying, hopefully, nothingness, and you stayed in your small shack-like home. New to the small town life, moving to Hawkins only a year ago, nothing bothered you, the quietness of it all never made you uneasy. The only time you would go out is to work your part time job at Family Video, grocery shop, and maybe, when you're feeling a little spicy, go out to eat, by yourself of course. You led a simple life, no one knew who you were, of course, being slightly new to the town. However, there was a small stretch that bothered you.

You had started receiving strange notes in the mail. Not just any kind of note, but love letters. At first, it was funny, childish, even. The first note you ever received was in a yellow card, with a cute bunny rabbit holding a heart, on the inside saying some cute cheesy romantic line, and there was your name under it, surrounded by red hearts. You laughed it off, maybe they had the wrong (Name), there had to be another in Hawkins, right? The letters began to escalate slightly, the most recent you received a week ago, talking of how they wanted to, “take you out to dinner, I know your favorite place.” You simply threw it in the trash, thinking nothing of it, somebody silly was just playing a game, maybe it was even one of your coworkers. It was becoming quite a nuisance, really.

You up at the tiny clock over your stove, “2:15 already..” grumbling, getting up lazily to go get ready for your mundane part-time job. Throwing on your green vest, “Family Video,” proudly etched on the right side of the chest, and your bright orange name tag, blaring, “(Name).” Throwing your keys around your index finger, sighing as you exited the house, locking the door, and getting in your, starting in it, praying today would go decent.

Thursdays were terribly boring, unfortunately. It was the quiet before the storm of the weekend, and you lazily lounged behind the counter, doodling on the notepad used to write down names for customers.

“God, I’m bored, Robin.” You grumbled, rolling your head back in the chair and staring at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

“Well, you COULD be helping me organize these returned movies,” She sarcastically retorted back, organizing her pile in alphabetical order on the small cart used to maneuver movies around.

“I could also be doing so much more with my life right now,” You leaned your head back at her and smiled, “But I’m working at Family Video in Hawkins,Indiana, right?”

“It’s not bad…” She trailed off looking to the side, “for a highschooler, like me, I guess.” Nervous laughter followed.

“Right,” You then swiveled the chair you were sitting in around, “By the way, Robbie, I’ve got a question for you.”

Robin opened her eyes in curiosity, and you put your hands on your chin as if you were in deep, meaningful thought.

“Riddle me this,” You began, “What would you do if you had a secret admirer?”

“Well, really, that’s not a question for me, that’s more for Steve-” She babbled, but you interrupted her.

“Who sent you letters in the mail.”

She looked a little shocked, “(Name), that sounds like a stalker! Do you even know who this is? I mean, seriously, I swear, if something happens to you-” The door chimed, interrupting her, signaling someone walked in.

You turned around quickly, seeing who in God’s name was renting a movie on a Thursday night, when your mouth almost fell agape.

Peter Ballard. Peter Ballard and his daughter to be exact.

His eyes recognized yours immediately, his blonde hair haloed by the fluorescent light, he offered his slightly friendly smile as usual. Bending down slightly to whisper something in the young girl’s ear, he let her hand go as she went to roam freely about in the store. He strided up to the desk, feeling like a million ages to you, his hands clasped around the front of his body.

“Hey, (Name),” Peter made direct eye contact with you, your name rolling off his tongue smooth as honey, “I was wondering if you had a certain movie to rent for us.”

“Yeah.. yeah, uh, what movie?” God, you were stuttering, and you’re sure he could sense the nervousness from you, as he laughed slightly after you said that.

“It might sound a bit weird, if you would excuse me,” He looked slightly over in the direction of his daughter, as if grasping at straws in his head to remember the movie’s name, “I believe it’s called, Cujo?”

“Ah! Cujo.” You were a little shocked, “The movie about the killer dog, right? You want to watch that, Mr. Peter?” You were trying to tease him a little, wanting to see how he would react.

He took the bait, laughing a little nervously, “It’s really for her,” pointing to where his daughter was, her standing a little tense as Robin was now fawning over how cute she was.

“Ah…” You said sarcastically, “And how old is she?”

“She’s eleven,” You shot him a look, he just shrugged his shoulders slightly, “Maybe a little eccentric, different.”

“Maybe so,” You smiled, “We have it available to rent, I’ll go get it for you.” You headed to the back, turning around, putting your hands on your face and screaming silently into your hands, you were so embarrassed.

You huffed loudly as you got to the back, trying to ease the butterflies now alive and well in your stomach, looking for the sacred Cujo movie.

“Pull it together, (Name)!” Giving yourself a pep talk as you found the movie, preparing to walk back out into the shop, “Yes, he’s your neighbor, he’s hot! But you can’t let him undermine your social skills!”

Feeling satisfied with yourself, you patted your stomach, as if telling the wiggly feelings to go away, and marched back into the shop.

“Okay… Mr. Peter,” You sat the movie tape on the counter, “Here’s Cujo, hopefully little… um, what is her name, I’m sorry..” You trailed off awkwardly, trying to make a cute personal comment to him, only to realize you didn’t even know his daughter’s name.

“Oh, her name is El.” Peter said almost in a plain fashion, you almost wanted to ask if it was short for something, but he seemed to be serious, his daughter’s name was two letters.

“El! Hopefully little El is happy with her movie,” You continued the check out process, registering his name in the catalog, “It’s a little gruesome, I heard.”

“Ah..” He leered, “She’s seen worse, believe me.”

You tried to let the comment off your shoulder, as you shot him a quick look, and noticing his smile, you took the comment as a joke, just smiling back.

“Come on, El,” He called to her, “Thank you so much, (Name), you’ve appeased us both for the night, really.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” You exclaimed, a bit too excitedly, “Have a good night!”

Peter nodded back, taking his daughter’s hand again and walking out of the shop, bell chiming as they walked out, you still thought about the comment he made.

Hawkins has some strange people, you thought.

“That…” Robin began after a small moment of silence, “That was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Coming from me, (Name), you know it’s serious.” You just laughed, knowing you were thinking the same as her when you finally got to see him up close. He was beautiful, alright, he had the look of an angel almost. His hair was all fluffy, not neat like it usually was, as if something had tossed it out of its usual look. His blue eyes, which pierced into your soul if you were to talk to him, and his beautiful cheekbones, like they were sculpted by the divine gods themselves. Everything was just perfect, you couldn’t lie, you had a little crush, maybe that’s why you were so nosy about him whenever he moved in.

“That beautiful man is my neighbor.” You bragged proudly, hands on your hips as you stared at the door where he walked out of.

The next morning you were awoken by the sounds of loud birds singing in a chorus. Sitting up you held your head in your hands, the huge headaches you usually had every morning coming on. You reached and grabbed for the bottle of tylenol on the nightstand next to your bed, when you noticed something falling on your palm.

Blood.

“What…?” You murmured, rushing out of bed to the bathroom to see just what was the source of the bleeding. Looking into the mirror, your nose was gushing slowly with blood, worrying setting over you. You’ve had the headaches, but nosebleeds now, too? You went to the doctor about headaches, as they’d been going on for about a month now. Wiping the blood out of your nostrils, praying you wouldn’t have to go back to the doctor risking the medical bills you could barely afford to pay.

Ah, it’s alright, (Name). You’ll be fine. You thought, going back and taking the Tylenol you originally had plans for. Going into the kitchen, you slipped your house slippers on, and threw on a baggy black jacket to go check the mail for today.

As you opened the door bracing for the cool November breeze to hit you, you heard a small crumble under your feet. Looking down, you saw a bouquet of flowers. They were beautiful, roses, yellow lilies, a few sunflowers, and one odd white jasmine flower standing out to you. Picking up the bouquet, you noticed a small white index card tucked in between the wrapping and the flower, you picked it up, reading to yourself:

“I’m sorry that it’s hurting so bad, it will all be over soon, my (Name). Just relax, wait for me.”

Behind the note, you took notice of a Polaroid picture, of your house. It was taken from an angle, almost as if it was behind the woods.

Your stomach dropped to your knees, and you started to shake slightly, the note still in hand.

Looking around your mostly empty neighborhood, for the sign of an odd car, a person, anything out of place. Who could know this? You barely spoke to anyone else other than Robin, your literal coworker, she doesn’t even know your address! Peter, you only knew in passing, you two barely spoke. Last night was the most interaction you had!

Then, it felt like the world fell on your head, Robin was right,

You did have a stalker.

Quickly, you retreated back into the house, slamming the door shut and locking it, going over to all the windows in your house and making sure they were locked, too. Throwing the bouquet in the garbage, you paced around your small kitchen, wondering what you could possibly do. The police of course, but who’d know if they took you seriously? It was “just” a little bouquet, a little note to them, no physical harm done to you… yet. You then thought back to the note, digging in the garbage to find it, pulling it out. Studying its handwriting, you notice how neat and perfect it was. Almost like the person who wrote it… studied the art of the alphabet, there was not a single erase mark, no misspelling, nothing. All T’s crossed, I’s dotted. It was perfect. Sighing deeply, you retreated to your couch, covering up with a blanket, and turning on the television to hopefully distract you from your everbuilding anxiety.

Hours passed, and your mind was still racing, zooming with thoughts, eyes and mind wide open.

“Dammit..” You cursed to yourself, “I can’t do this, I can’t..” Stomping back to your room, you went under your bed and pulled out a small tin lunch box, opening it, the smell hitting you immediately. You held the joint in your hands, remembering how you promised your mom before you moved off you would stop your bad habits, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There was still daylight outside, you just needed some fresh air to clear your mind and think.

Walking out to your car, and cranking it up, you noticed Peter’s car was still in his driveway, almost as if he never left his house. Brushing it off, you pulled out of the driveway, and drove over to the playground of one of the neighborhoods a street over from yours.

Sitting on the swing and lighting the joint, you inhaled deeply, then exhaled. You felt slight relief waver over you, though keeping aware of your surroundings, holding onto your keys tightly just in case of an emergency. However, this neighborhood was nearly empty, or abandoned, atleast. It was beautiful, however, many old houses donned the street, abandoned, some still lived in. It made you wonder what life used to live in the houses, the families that inhabited them.

One in particular stood out to you, the old Creel house. The people of Hawkins talked of the “creepy Creels,” as if they were a cursed family. They had told you, stay away from that house, it’s cursed, the father, they said, was cursed by a demon, some say he was just batshit crazy.

You agreed with the second opinion. He murdered his entire family, a “demon” doesn’t do that.

Drawing another hit, you watched the trees blow with the breeze of life, as the big blue house stood frozen in time almost. Although the windows were mostly boarded up, the stained glass window still stood in the door, beautiful in its vintage fashion.

Then, you noticed it moving back, a tall figure stepping out of the doorway into view onto the porch. Your breath stopped in your throat, holding the joint inches away from your lips, you squint your eyes to get a better view of the figure. It began to walk closer to your field of vision, and you murmured to yourself,

….Peter?

Surely you aren't already high enough to be hallucinating, and hopefully you weren’t so infatuated with Peter that you started hallucinating him. Thankfully, you weren’t, it was him, in the flesh. You just wondered what the hell he was doing in the Creel house.

He began walking towards you, and you prepared yourself to talk, stuffing the joint in your coat pocket, trying to act as normal as possible, like you didn’t see him come out of an abandoned house, and like he almost didn’t catch you smoking a joint.

“(Name)?” He called over to you, as he walked closer, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same, Mr. Peter,” You let it slip, “Why were you in that creepy old house?”

Peter just looked off slightly, then he smiled, “I was revisiting some old family memories, that’s all.”

“You’re related to the ‘creepy’ Creels?!” You exclaimed, then realized how childish and insensitive you probably sounded.

Peter gave you a small smile at your exclamation, walked over to the swing beside yours, and sat down, “Not exactly directly. Henry was my second cousin.” He didn’t seem to be bothered by your reaction, turning his head to look you in the eye, as if he was waiting to see your reaction.

“Ah…” You looked back to the house, avoiding his eye contact, “The boy that died in the coma? I wonder what the father did to him, to make him succumb to such an… unfortunate circumstance…” You tried not to sound too insensitive, again.

“Yeah,” Peter began, looking at the house, too, “It really is unfortunate isn’t it?”

His tone sounded a bit off, much like the comment he made at the video shop last night, but you brushed it off, allowing silence to overtake the conversation as you got lost in your thoughts.

“(Name),” Peter cut through, “Are you alright?” You shot your head up to look at him, meeting eyes that pierced you deeply, as if he could see every thought or feeling that circulated in your brain.

“Um, yeah,” You started, “Yeah, Peter, I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” He played with his hands a little, “You just seemed like you were worrying about something.”

You thought back to the note and bouquet this morning, your headaches, newly found nosebleeds, everything that has happened in the past month or so, noticing his body language, paying attention to your tension. Oh, what the hell could you lose telling him?

So you did, partially.

“Well..” You stammered slightly, “I’ve been getting these weird notes in the mail. Like, I have a stalker, kind of.. I guess.” Staring at the ground, you waited for his response, but he just wanted you to talk more.

“And… I’m scared. I’m scared, Peter. One of the notes today, described something only I should know.” You fidgeted with the fabric of your pants, when he turned his body towards you.

“Do you want me to watch your house?” Peter questioned suddenly, “I can stay up through the night, to see if someone peeks through windows, leaves notes, anything like that, you know.” You looked up at him, the thought of even suggesting someone other than you near your home, startled you, now you were scared to even go back. You’d been gone, what if somebody snuck in?

Almost as if he had read your mind, he answered back, “How about you stay with me and El for the night? You seem a little too shaken up to go back home alone. We’re right next door, so if you needed anything from your home you could walk over there. I’d watch you, of course.”

God this man is too nice, you thought, it's killing me.

You thought about his offer, knowing for sure if you went back home, you wouldn’t be able to sleep, you’d be too worried about if someone was being a peeping Tom outside your house.

Peter then added, “Of course, I’d provide food. Also, El and I haven’t watched Cujo yet, so, you’re invited, if you would like.”

You furrowed your brows a little, thinking of the possibilities. You didn’t want to be alone, but also the thought of staying in a stranger’s house made you feel uneasy.However… Peter seemed to be a caring, thoughtful man, though, and from what you could see, he took care of El okay.

“Um, sure, I would like that. Thank you.” You met his eyes, now crinkled up from his sweet smile, happy at your response.

Hopefully he didn’t notice the reluctance in your voice.

The house was cute, small, and comfortable for a single father and his daughter. You noticed upon walking in the lack of furniture, or any home decorations. There were no family pictures, no plants, just a small couch in the living room, sitting across from the small television box that was set inside a small entertainment center. The kitchen was connected to the living room, much like your house, with a wall, nestled in between, a sliding window sitting separating contact between the people in front and behind it. You were sitting on the couch with El, watching her play with the red Etch-a-Sketch, her turning the knob in focus, as if what she was drawing had lots and lots of meaning.

“Let me guess,” You started, seeing a few legs being drawn out of the creature, “This is.. A butterfly?”

El smiled a little, “Kind of close. It is a spider.”

You looked back down, an odd spider indeed, it was big, black, and it’s legs were really, really long, with an oblong head, and you noticed it towered over a few houses.

“Right..” You chuckled nervously, not wanting to say it looked like something out of a horror movie, fearing it would hurt the girl’s feelings.

“They are H… Peter’s favorites,” El stuttered cautiously, almost as if she made a grave slip up.

What did she almost call him? Thinking to yourself, she didn’t even call him “dad,” however the thought slipped when El quickly changed the conversation before you could question her.

“What is this?” She pointed to one of your many, many ear piercings, this one being the long piece of jewelry going through the top part of your ear.

“Ah!” You got excited, ready to tell the story of your brave and daring industrial piercing, the one that your mom found so disapproving she almost kicked you out of the house for the sixth time, when Peter opened the sliding window separating the kitchen and the living room.

“Dinner is ready.” He stated, you almost forgot he was cooking, until you smelled the savory flavors coming from the kitchen.

You and El situated yourselves at the small kitchen table, nestled with three seats, perfectly fit for your trio.

Peter went around carrying the pot, with a huge spoon, dumping servings on your plates, “It’s spaghetti, (Name), a little basic, but it’s the only thing I could think that everyone would like.”

You stared down at your plate, you were hungry nonetheless, the stress of the day making you forget to eat, “Are you crazy, Peter? This looks amazing, I’m starving, anyways.” He chuckled, watching you as if you almost forgot your manners picking up the utensils.

You dug into the spaghetti, trying not to eat like a wolf devouring prey, but upon tasting the first bite, you were amazed. It was really, really, really, REALLY good. You almost saw stars.

He can cook too, what a man… your thoughts making you smile through your fork in your mouth.

“How is it, (Name)?” He inquired, seeing that you were smiling.

“It’s amazing!” You exclaimed, rather childishly, earning a smile from El as she ate quietly.

After finishing your meals, the three of you nestled on the small couch to watch Cujo, it was getting quite late, and you felt your eyes getting heavy. You looked to El, who was sitting between the both of you, fast asleep, her head lay on Peter’s shoulder.

“Wow,” You joked, “She didn’t even make it through the first 40 minutes.”

Peter turned his head down to look at her, El now drooling on his white sweatshirt, “Such a sleepyhead, she is.” He mocked, joking with you.

“You look a little sleepy too, (Name).” He turned his attention to you, noticing your half-lidded eyes. It was true, you got your stomach full, and now you wanted nothing else than to rest, the stress of the day had worn you out.

“Maybe…” You gave him a sleepy smile, then he interjected,

“You can sleep in my bed,” Your face grew hot, did he mean, in his bed, with him? Is that why he brought you over here, to make a move on you while little El was asleep? Surely, you didn’t think Peter was the type of man to move so fast.

“I’ll take El to her room, and I’ll sleep on the couch,” He continued, your unspoken thoughts leaving your head after.

“Oh, are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the couch? It’d be more comfortable for you-”

“I’m keeping a watch out, remember?” Peter interrupted you as he got up to pick up El, cradling her small body in his arms, then disappearing to the back of the home to take her to her room.

It made sense, and you would feel more protected if Peter stayed in the living room, in case a threat made its way inside the house.

Coming back, Peter walked to the door nestled beside the television, beckoning you to follow him with his finger.

Getting up, you came over to the door, opening it, he stated, “Here. If you need any extra pillows or blankets, I can get some for you out of the closet.”

The room, like everything else in the house, was barren, the only thing that lay in the room was the bed, and a small wooden vanity with a mirror, nothing donned the desk of the vanity, no pictures, nothing.

You walked over to the bed, sitting down, jumping slightly to test the comfortableness. It was soft enough, after all, you were staying in a stranger’s house who had cooked you food, and allowed you to sleep in his bed, gratefulness should be your first thought.

“Thank you, Peter,” You looked at him directly now, his smile looking back at you, “Seriously, thank you, you don’t know what this means to me.”

“I do,” He replied back, turning to leave out of the door, “Now, if you need me, I will be right out here on this couch, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

You nodded, surprised at his sudden praises of protection, he turned the light off as he watched you nestled into bed, and shut the door, leaving you to yourself.

Nodding off to sleep rather quickly, you felt happy with the sudden security and peace that overtook you, nothing would hurt you, just as he stated.

Peter sat back down on the couch, the movie’s credits rolling as he stared down at the floor, relaxing his hands in his lap. He smirked, thinking of his plan rolling into action.

The outside world wouldn’t taint you anymore, not as long as he had you.

Waking up out of your slumber, you turned your head to the curtains, noticing sunlight beaming through the window. Morning, already? You thought to yourself, I must have slept a lot better than I thought.

You heard a knock beckon at your door, getting up to go unlock and letting whoever wanted in, until you heard a voice.

A feminine voice. One you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“(Name)? (Name)?” It was your mother, surely you had to be dreaming, you were at Peter’s house, right? “(Name), open the door honey, I need to talk to you.”

“Mom.. hold on..” You stammered, petrified a little, why did this feel so real?

“I can’t wait any longer honey, please, open the door, it’s imperative.” Getting up, you slowly walked over to the door, when the knocking turned into aggressive banging, her beginning to shake the lock furiously.

“Open the fucking door, (Name)!” She roared, “I know what you were doing last night! You came home, through the window, out being a whore, huh? You think you can hide that from me?!”

Tears began to pierce your eyes, putting your hands over your ear, pleading for her to stop. You moved to Hawkins exactly for this reason, to escape restraint, to leave that past of yours behind.

But it followed you, like it traced your footsteps, it was stalking you.

“Open the door!” Your mother screamed again, now beating the door handle with a bat, coming off with a small “clunk,” your stomach dropping as you heard the noise.

The door slowly opened, you were now cornered beside the bed, your knees pressed to your chest, hands over your ears, shutting your eyes, hoping you would wake up soon.

Your mother stomped in suddenly, her tall figure looming over you, her face eerily distorted, her skin looked wet, burned, as if she had been in some type of accident.

“I have a failure as a child! Do you know what they will say about me now?! Think about that, (Name), think about it! I should’ve given you away a long time ago!” She started to point your finger at you, and you began screaming, crying, pleading for help, rocking your fetal position back and forth.

She came closer, “No!” You screamed pushing her away, however instead of your mother’s figure, your hands were met with the white sweatshirt of the man who offered to let you stay in his house.

You had pushed him away, as he was trying to help.

“(Name)! Please, are you okay?” Peter crawled back over to you, putting his hand around your outstretched arm, preventing you from hitting him back again.

“I… I… Peter..” Eyes stained with tears, you looked over to El, who was behind Peter, her face an expression filled with horror. However, she wasn’t looking at you, she was looking at him.

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry, I had a nightmare, I-” You were interrupted by him cradling you suddenly, whispering in your ear, “It’s all okay now, it’s over right?”

You looked up at him, around the room, you’d only hope this was real.

You noticed El stomping off suddenly, as if she was upset, Peter looking at her with a leering expression.

The next few days, you did not go outside. Not even for work, calling and stating you had caught the flu, hoping it wouldn’t steer Steve and Robin into worry. Your headaches became increasingly worse, and the nosebleeds persisted, but you didn’t go to the doctor, fearing it would provoke an anxiety attack, just thinking about talking to others petrified you. The nightmares persisted, however, they weren’t as traumatizing as the first one, and you barely slept. Huge purple bags formed quickly under your eyes. A note of your waning sanity.

You were officially losing your mind.

After the incident at Peter’s house, you stopped interacting with him, fearing he would think of you as “mental,” after you had pushed him in his own home after the nightmare. That, and you were also embarrassed of what happened. You had noticed one time while peering out of your blinds, El sitting outside with her head resting on her knees, as if she was crying. You wanted to check on her, but you feared crossing paths with Peter.

The beds of your nails were bloody, after you began a habit of biting them out of anxious tendencies. Today, you were practicing that particular habit, when a feeling of courage to go check your mail finally came over you. Putting on your familiar baggy jacket, you let the hood over your head, preventing others from seeing you, and you seeing others.

Stepping onto the porch, you noticed, sitting on the highest step, was a pink teddy bear, holding a heart. Your stomach dropped, the taunting started again, just as you had begun building courage to take your life back in your hands. Cautiously, you walked over to the porch steps, picking up the bear, as if a bomb was hidden inside it, you wouldn’t be suprised if there was, at this point.

Noticing a folded card in between its arm and the heart, you took it out and opened it.

“I know you’re scared, love. Please don’t fear me, I only want to help you. I can fix you, you just have to trust me. If you resist, it doesn’t matter. I will have you. I will have you. I will have you. I will have you.

I will have you. I will have you.

I will have you. I will have you. ..”

Behind the note fell, once again, another Polaroid picture, this time through your bedroom window, you were sleeping, a rare moment for you at this point.

Your throat dried in horror, the note went on just like that, as if it was taunting you, chanting at you. You then noticed a black spider crawling onto your arm, as if it had come from the note, you tried to smack it, but it went away. Then other spiders came crawling out of the bear’s arm where you had gotten the card, you screamed, dropping the bear and the card, shaking your arm as you felt they were there. Looking down, they were gone. You looked around to see if anyone saw you have your little moment, however no one was there, except Peter pulling up in his car.

You watched as El and him got out of the car, him holding a cake and balloons, she held a jug of red fruit punch juice.

“Hey, (Name).” He called to you, you repositioned yourself to act normal, walking off the porch haphazardly.

He smiled as he saw you, it excited him. To see you so ruined, so vulnerable, you looked like you hadn’t slept in days, you barely were taking care of yourself, he loved to see this side of you. You were coming to him, knowing you would crawl and succumb to him eventually.

He loved to see how you needed him.

“Peter…” You looked over to the small girl who wore concern on her face, “El… Hey, what are you guys doing?”

“Today is El’s birthday,” He watched the shock form on your face, “We are having a little celebration, did you want to join us?”

You looked down, he offered quickly, but you hadn’t had social interaction in over a week. You were afraid you would act out again, but then again, it was the poor girl’s birthday, as far as you had seen, she didn’t play with other kids, she wasn’t even in school for as far as you could recall.

Why not?

“Sure…” You replied, looking back up at him, “Let me go clean myself up first, though.”

You, El, and Peter sat around the table as you ate the meal he cooked up for her birthday. It was apparently one of her favorites: waffles, Peter added bacon and eggs as a side, noting that waffles were not too filling for him. It was oddly quiet, with you and Peter joking here and there, you noticed he would look down at your drink you never touched, the fruit juice, but you opted for water instead, juice you had outgrown years ago. El, however, looked solemn for her birthday, as if she’d rather be doing anything else, you would have to talk with her later. Suddenly you got up from your seat, “Hey, Peter, where’s the toilet? I’ve got to use it.”

He pointed down the hallway to the back of the kitchen, “Down there, and to the left.”

“Thank you,” Walking down the hallway, you looked for the door to the left, however something more peculiar took your eye.

You noticed a door slightly ajar, with red lighting coming from it, peering over your shoulder, you noticed Peter and El still eating, not paying attention to whatever you were doing. Promising yourself it would be quick, curiosity got the best of you, and you quietly slipped in the door.

However, what you found threatened you to become nauseous.

Pictures, so many pictures, hanging up on the wall. There were pictures of your house, mostly at night, and some during the day when you weren’t at home. There were pictures of you through the side window of the house. Even pictures of you working at Family Video. You noticed little notes under the picture, noting what you were doing, or the date of which the picture was taken.

The handwriting looked eerily familiar. The same as the notes that had been harassing your consciousness for almost 2 months now.

You stumbled back, mouth agape, when you bumped into something hard.

Turning around quickly, you noticed it was Peter, however his expression wore something more ragged, almost feral.

“I thought you were going to the bathroom..” He hissed deeply, his voice changing from the usual sweet tone to something more sinister.

“Peter, what the fuck is this?!” You cried, the man who'd you allowed to protect you that night was the culprit behind these harassments. Anger began to seethe through you, he was the reason why you were mentally breaking down, why you couldn’t leave the house, why you were literally going insane.

“You weren’t supposed to see this, (Name),” He sighed, then grabbed your arm rather aggressively, “I suppose it was going to happen sooner or later..”

“Let go of me, you fucking psycho!” You wrestled against his rough embrace, fighting back, feeling your throat suddenly become constricted.

You began to choke, noticing he kept his free outstretched arm, tightening his grip with his finger in an almost close fist, a pressure building, threatening to crush your throat, the telekinetic pressure becoming tighter and tighter.

“Let’s not do this the hard way, (Name), okay?” You struggled against the constriction, face turning red as you began to lose air, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just listen to me, hm?”

An idea popped into your head, noticing a crowbar leaning on the wall beside where you stood. You nodded, hoping he would take note of your “subordination” to him.

He slowly started to ease up, “Good..” murmuring to himself as he released his grip slowly, bringing his arm down to the side. Seeing as he was off guard, you took it as your chance, grabbing the long crowbar and quickly hitting him upside the head, he growled, falling to the floor and holding his head.

You ran out of the room, headed to the front door, when you noticed El, passed out on the floor with the red solo cup filled with fruit juice beside her, spilled on the floor. Stopping in horror at the girl’s form, you quickly regained your senses running to the opened front door when it closed suddenly.

“No! Fuck…” You screamed, trying to turn the knob to open aggressively, but it wouldn’t budge, “Somebody! Help me, please.. Somebody.” Voice trailing off, you knew it was hopeless, nobody was around to even take notice of you.

You heard footsteps behind you, and you turned around slowly, tears forming in your eyes, seeing Peter’s blurry form.

He walked closer towards you, stepping over El’s unconscious body, his expression like a wild animal closing in on their prey. His hair was deranged, partly from where you had smacked him with the crowbar, noticing blood running down his temple.

“Oh, (Name),” He started, voice low, he was now inches away from your face, bending down slightly to accustom himself to your height, “You’re scared, aren’t you? Don’t be afraid of me, I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help you.”

“Help me? How the fuck is this helping me?” You whimpered, feeling defeated at how weak you sounded, he took the crook of index finger and wiped the tears coming down your cheek.

“Yes, help you, I did this all for a reason. You needed someone. All alone, in that small house, weak, pathetic, running from your issues, your past. You’re different, like me.” He smiled slightly down at you, “I was once weak like you, pathetic, not knowing my own power, but now… I know. I know who I am. I know what I’ve become. I’m going to use that to fix you. I just had to break you first.” He trailed his thumb over your chin, you were speechless, at a loss for words, anger and defeat taking over you at the same time. It felt like ridiculing the way he looked down at you, as if he was the savior and you were a sinner in need of saving. To him, you were.

“Fuck you. I don’t need your help.” You spat at him in the face, him taking his arm tucked behind his back and putting the chloroform rag over your nose, you began resisting again as he put his other arm around your neck, holding you in a chokehold while he intertwined his legs with yours amidst the struggle. Your vision began to falter, arms falling as you became lightheaded, slowly slipping out of his grip, him catching you by the back of your head and your back, easing your fall.

. He stroked your cheek lightly as he bent down with his knees tucked into his chest. This was okay, he thought, you’ll accept him eventually, and then, he would reshape you how he saw fit for himself.

You awoke to your head smashing around in complete darkness, jolting out of your sleep, wondering where you were. It was completely dark, however, you were being jolted around, as if…. You were in a trunk. You began thrashing your bound legs against the roof of the trunk, screaming at the top of your lungs, causing ruckus, maybe hopefully bringing some attention to the drivers in other cars. You felt the vehicle slow to a stop, possibly pulling over. You heard a door open, and shoes clacking against the ground, then you saw the light. The trunk opened to Peter, him looking down on you, grimacing slightly, “Why are you making all this noise?”

“You have me in a dark trunk you asshole,” You sneered at him, spitting at his feet. Again, with the spitting, he became angry and pulled you out of the trunk by your arms, dropping you, allowing your face to slam into the pavement, you groaned in pain.

He then crouched down to your level, pulling your hair up to look at him, “How many times do I have to tell you this, (Name)? We don’t have to do this the hard way.”

You felt pressure constricting your throat again, you began to cough, choking as you gasped for air. Looking up, you saw his hand constricting to a fist again, as he tightened his grip, the pressure would become harder.

“Peter..” You gasped, barely being able to speak syllables, “Please..Sorry..” you pleaded with the energy you had left.

Peter’s face bore a neutral expression, as if he was studying your reaction, but not that it was enough to satisfy him. He kept going.

You pleaded again, cut off by hearing the sound of a car coming up. Peter snatched you up by your arms, closed the trunk and quickly shuffled you to the passenger side of the car, shoving you into the passenger seat. Gasping for your air back, your eyes bugged out of your mind, you turned your attention to the back seat, where El was silently crying while her hand lay over her mouth to keep her sobs from squeaking out.

She took her hand away from her mouth, mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and turned her head away from the window where Peter couldn’t see her crying as he got into the driver’s seat.

He buckled you in your seatbelt, as your hands were bound, and buckled himself too, silently starting the car and pulling off into the road again.

You stared out the window as you took notice of nothing but rows of trees, your short Hawkins life far behind you.

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