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werdlewrites · 7 months ago

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masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: “Do you do that a lot?” Dr. Owens questions, briefly resting his chin in a curled fist. “Do what?” She says with the click of her tongue. Her stubborn attitude keeps a grin on the man's face. A look of genuine entertainment no matter the softened glare in her eye or bitterness in the tone. She knows what he’s asking, yet dives out of fire and deflects with sarcasm. A behavior Jim Hopper had warned him of. “Avoid a challenging situation with humor. We all know why you’re here–why you came back for another session. But you,” he takes a pause as his fingers flick through the air in gesture. “dance around the topic.” wc: 2,672 warnings: therapy, hallucination, denial

It’s December twenty-first, and the air has grown colder. The snowfall was heavier - collecting on the ground and piling up against the windows. There’s laughter in the air. It’s heard throughout the small town of Hawkins as she passes them by in the early morning. There’s a lack of empathy - but more so, envy. The teenage girl expects to find her burden lifted - space given up and freed for more joy, rather than sorrow. Yet, despite last night's confessions, there’s a shocking lack of relief. A soul that aches and pleas beneath the ticking of the clock. The race of an anxious heart as she stares out at the white expanse, searching for what she longed for.

A moment of peace.

His voice is buried by her thoughts. Muffled questions eventually come to a halt as he takes notice of her attention elsewhere. He even spares a glance toward that same window, finding nothing of importance. The doctor is patient and kind. Holding out a hand to stall the officer at the other end of the room, who was prepared to break the spell. Dr. Owens simply lets her be. Let her wallow in it until she’s ready to come out from hiding all on her own.

Like a wounded dog reaching out to a hand of kindness. It’s frightened expression finally fades as it pokes its head out from the comforting shadows. Timidly accepting the gift of love when trust was hard to find.

Or, a lost child. Standing on two weak legs with only the company of tall trees. Finding safety in their shade but moving further into nothingness as they wander in hopes of discovering someone to guide them home. Dr. Owens would act as her guide, should she need him.

The girl's statuesque form slowly melts in the passing seconds. A deep breath was seen with the rise of her chest as though she had been suffocating. A sudden blink of her eyes in sudden awareness before they fall on her therapist. “D’you say something?”

He could become frustrated by her drifting attention span, yet all he can do is smile kindly. “I was asking about the beginning.”

It's with those few words that her demeanor changes. She’s slumped in the seat with arms crossed over her chest, chewing at her bottom lip with a leg swaying back and forth. It’s a topic of discomfort - hell, this entire session and the ones to follow were nothing short of fearful. Addressing the already known and digging at the roots, hoping to bring light to an unknown darkness.“The beginning?”

He only nods in reply, still wearing that same grin while her focus veers off in thought. Her answer does nothing to sway him. Instead, the look of amusement grows. “Roughly four billion years ago. But, who’s t’say there was nothin’ before dinosaurs? Everyone has different opinions.”

The sheriff’s disappointed sigh is painfully audible as all falls into silence. Even without his presence, you could envision fingers pressed deep into tired eyes out of frustration. Teenagers - especially stubborn ones, were a challenge on an entirely new level. One neither man had experience with.

“Do you do that a lot?” Dr. Owens questions, briefly resting his chin in a curled fist.

“Do what?” She says with the click of her tongue.

Her stubborn attitude keeps a grin on the man's face. A look of genuine entertainment no matter the softened glare in her eye or bitterness in the tone. She knows what he’s asking, yet dives out of fire and deflects with sarcasm. A behavior Jim Hopper had warned him of. “Avoid a challenging situation with humor. We all know why you’re here–why you came back for another session. But you,” he takes a pause as his fingers flick through the air in gesture. “dance around the topic.”

Her gaze flickers between an opened notepad with its pen resting at the hinge, to the recorder just at the corner of his desk. She wonders about the emptiness. The long spans of silence she allows and if you could picture a cold stare matched with the response. “I don’t know when it really began. It’s all I’ve known.”

Blue eyes cast up toward the ceiling in thought. Lips pursed as a hum rattles within his chest. He’s thinking of where to go next - what to ask. How to keep her on this path without detour. And maybe, for a moment, she finds some sympathy for the man. Autumn had come here willingly, yet refused to chip away at her walls. Ignored the weak spots with purpose - to remain ignorant despite a yearning to know.

“Someone was in the mirror. In the walls.” Her admission is softened and almost shameful. Looking down at her bouncing knees as she feels his focus shift back toward her. “Every mirror. Every wall. I could hear them-”

“Them?” He interrupts. His arms now fallen to tangle together as his torso leans inward, invested. “Multiple voices?”

Again, dull eyes fall on the frosted glass and the snow carried by a gust of wind. “I don’t know,” the teen replies with a heavy sigh. “I can’t remember what it all sounded like. I just–I just remember-”

The faucet was left running. Steam building and rising to ghost along the surface of her reflection. She had lost track of time - gaining a lack of direction when so many fingers pointed back at her. Autumn had never been the ‘new girl’ until now. Unaware of childish behaviors and fears as they dodged her in the hallways. Or the opposite eagerness to steal the open seat at her side, like Steve had, ready to make a new friend.

Autumn simply went elsewhere. Entrapped in old familiarities of her home and the kind words her father gave, all left on repeat to give comfort. It isn’t until the scalding water splashes against her wrist that she’s pulled into the present, hastily turning the nozzle back until the water ceases.

At first, it’s soft. Murmurs that almost seemed like a hushed conversation at her back, hidden behind stall doors. When she looks, there are no small feet in the misty glass. No bookbags to suggest she wasn’t alone.

Then, a fingerprint. A young girl can see every ridge until it fully flattens. The spot is now clear of steam, leaving beads of water to drip and clear the way. There’s no more voice. Only the achingly loud beat of a racing heart echoed in her ears. It carves out a message at a slow pace. Line by tedious line until it reads a simple, “Hello.”

Figures of classmates fill her vision - small and talking with excitement as they enter the bathroom together. One takes notice of Autumn and the look of fright in her eyes, asking if she is okay in a sweet tone. The girl points to the mirror, talking excitedly about something unnatural. And while she sees every letter so clearly, they only see the dampened surface.

That’s when the fear began.

The fear of Autumn Reid.

“What happened?” The Doctor questions. His icy eyes cast downward to his paper, writing every small detail down of a girl's pitiful story as she spirals into psychosis. The way those few girls ran from the bathroom, terror in their eyes. How they confided in some random teacher, who then reported it to higher-ups, dragging the girl to the office so she could wait for her father and address concerns.

A doctor visits their home, though Autumn can’t recall him giving any attention to her ailments, speaking with Ian instead. What’s the worth of a child's word, anyway? Drowned out and small as they stand beneath the shadow of giants.

“I think my medication was increased. Things…sort of fizzled out, after. But never really stayed gone.” Her eyes look beyond the man - to the organized clutter spread out along the table just behind him. The still Newton’s Cradle, stacks of various books on mental health, and the sticky notes that spilled out between pages. And the tall plant that stood in the sunlight. Its plastic leaves shine but never need the life nature gives. For a moment, she sees her father's ugly-colored walls and dark furniture. The file cabinets and cases that lined the walls just before she destroyed it.

Ripped her home apart piece by piece to escape the monster wearing human flesh. Picturing the dirt beneath her nails as she climbed the steps, finding her room and beloved plants flipped and tattered with purpose. It brings about a sudden ache. A strike of lighting to the base of her skull radiates and burns through every nerve as it dances. Autumn suddenly feels too heavy. She allows her body to collapse forward with her palms opened for her head to rest.

“What’s happening?” the doctor questions. His face twisted with concern though it goes unnoticed by the girl as she rubs at her eyes. A pitiful attempt to wipe away the images stained within them. “Nothing,” she nearly spits out. Forcefully prying her head away to meet his eyes, while her arms hang loose between parted knees. Even without seeing the exhaustion in her eyes, by her mere tone he can tell it was a lie. The girl was haunted. You could feel the chill of ghosts that followed her wherever she went. Stuck to her ankles by shackles she had no strength to break free from.

“Are you sleeping well?”

She can’t help the genuine, huff of a laugh that escapes. Not at him - more, the reality of her life. Kids her age sleep soundly, tucked in their beds. Or maybe their insomnia takes hold and keeps them up for late hours - something easily explained. Unlike the horrors that crept through her nightmares. Unlike the demon that wore Steve’s face. A vessel used to incite fear and confusion. “I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.”

Dr. Owens's chin rests in his palm. Pen tilts upward and dangerously close to marking his skin. But he seems entranced by this new path the pair have wandered down. “Is it because you can’t? Or don’t want to?” Her heavy sigh is all he needs to confirm what he already knows. Not bothering to make small notes as he holds their connection. Full of sincerity. “What are you avoiding? Is it…this feeling of vulnerability? Something you see, perhaps.”

Tired eyes narrow into a glare as she puts her guard back up. Her posture slouched as her back rests against the chair, arms crossed along with a once bouncing leg now laid out over the other. His assumption leaves the teen uncomfortable as it effortlessly hits all of the right notes. As if can see right through her. As if he knows her. “Nightmares?”

“They don’t feel like nightmares. Before, I could just wake up and leave it behind. Whatever I saw. But, I could be here. I could be right here,” her gaze moves down toward her lap. Counting every thread of denim for fear his face will begin to morph into something else, or someone. Her entire life a mere hallucination as reality breaks apart before her. “And then, I’m not. I’m somewhere else. I’m with someone else.”

Dr. Owens remains silent just across from her. Fingers now curled and pressed to his lips as he watches that wall finally crumble bit by bit. In every word, he can hear her dread. The anxiety of simply acknowledging her madness out loud, and what it did to her. What it did to others. He wants to reach for her and offer some comfort but fights back the impulse to stay seated out of fear she may close back up.

“It’s all so real, but at the same time, it isn’t. I–I can’t always tell if I’m really awake. But, the fear-”

“The fear you feel is real,” he interjects. Watching as his words slowly sink in and the way she hesitantly nods in agreement. The subtle movement of her finger as it pulls the sleeve aside to reveal clean skin, before concealing herself once more. He doesn’t question it but makes a quick note with frantic movement.

The clock ticks on and he finds himself taking fewer and fewer notes. Keeping his focus on the girl as she hesitantly carves out every demon to set free. But they linger. Stuck to her like glue and the moment she describes what she’s seen in the night or the light of day, they crawl back into their shell. Forever part of her and unwilling to let go.

Autumn brings up her father's behavior in their final days together. Irritable, and filled with lies. Confrontational and desperate to get a grip on something he was losing. How she doesn’t remember the words spoken in their fight, only of what came after. Almost as if she woke up in the parking lot of that grocery store. The girl says she knows what he was like. How he listened to her troubles with an openmindedness, giving the only advice he felt appropriate.

“Let them in.”

Or the way he pushed and guided her through these changes in her mind. Ways to cope and accept it, rather than shy away from the unfamiliar. He wanted this. So, why did he leave her in the end? When he saw what she could do? Why did he favor his project, while his daughter was achieving the unimaginable?

The session lasts for over an hour - it’s evident in the change of light and the purposeful cough from the officer just outside of the office, in the hallway. Hopper wants it all to move slowly. No pressure, and no overextended visits so her mental health could recover. And she caves to his call as her bag is slung across her shoulder.

“One moment,” Owens states, quick to stand from his seat behind the desk, leaving Autumn frozen in place, watching as he digs through a duffle bag. What emerges is a large box neatly concealed in wrapping paper. The closer it gets, the more she can make out Candy Canes and Christmas Stockings with kittens stuffed inside. And as she holds it, she can’t help but give him a puzzled look.

“I’m sorry about the paper,” he says with a sheepish laugh. “I couldn’t find anything else.” The girl remains quiet. Fingers locked around the smooth edges with a brow raised in his direction, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Tomorrow is your birthday, isn’t it?”

“W–well, yeah. But, this can’t be appropriate, right? You’re my therapist.” Her words seem to ignite something in the bored officer. The rustle of his pants is heard in the silence as he rounds the corner, standing just after the doorway to fully understand what was happening. The doctor merely offers up a hand of peace, smiling.

“It’s really nothing. Please, I insist. Take it as a sign of…trust? Friendship?”

Autumn casts a quick look over her shoulder for reassurance from her guardian, and he gives it with a small shrug of his shoulders. He’d inspect it first, most likely. Deem it safe enough to remain in her possession. No wires or ticks–just a simple gift.

“It’s a game,” he confesses. As if the secret had been bubbling up and he could no longer withstand the pressure of it. “All about strategy. A useful thing to practice, as everything here…can apply to your life. Be aware of your surroundings. Trust in your gut, and make the move. Don’t be held back by your fears.”

Confused, her focus shifts from the heavy box to his face multiple times. Unsure of what to do or say while he seemed so passionate about a gift to a girl he hardly knew. She forces a weary smile as the distance between them grows. His hands clasped before him with a prideful look in his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Ms. Reid.”

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werdlewrites · 5 months ago

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masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: “Not real. It’s not real-” “I’ve got you; you’re okay.” Locked in a tight hold, they sway together, back and forth. Ignoring the burn of ice against their legs or the ache in their lungs. “It’s okay.” He whispers into the girl's hair. His words of assurance fought against her repeated mumbles, questioning the world around her and working to pull her back from the ledge and into a place of security. Eventually, the tremble in her body lessens, and her mantra fades out, carried away by the wind and leaving her exhausted in his hold. She’s slumped against him, cheeks wet, and eyes nearly closed from the drop of adrenaline. warnings: smoking, therapy, christmas/holidays, autumn has mENTAL ILLNESS OKAY she's spiraling wc: 3,402

Time is a lost concept as a young girl stares out over the cliff of Lover’s Lake. Hours had passed since she had first forced her way through that building hidden away in the woods. The only telling sign is the shift in light. The brilliance of morning had faded, now sometime in the afternoon as she smoked a stolen cigarette. How long had she been sitting before him? Spilling her guts unwillingly. A knife hesitantly carving out her nightmares and leaving them on the floor for him to carry. The tears shed had been long dried up. Stuck to her skin and leaving her feeling dirty and empty.

How long had she been out to face the wrath of winter? Arms bundled up inside of layers of fabric, eyes red, and lips cracked from frantically licking at the salt that cascades from her eyes. Autumn wondered if, by chance, there was anyone else out there in the world having a Christmas just like this one. Dread and silence as they ponder over another session completed—or rather, had it only just begun?

“His name is Martin Brenner,” Owens begins. “Director of—or, he was the Director of Operations, here.”

Her face contorts to something more confused. He had worked here—in this place his victim now was. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. And for a moment, she questions her judgment and if she should turn her back on the doctor. “So, he’s gone, now? He’s not here?”

“No,” he states rather quickly. “No. He’s long gone. He hasn’t been seen since that night in your home.”

The girl’s eyes narrow in his direction. Arms crossed in defense with a slouched posture. “And, what? You took over his job?”

Shaking his head, he waves away the accusation. A disgruntled look on his face at the idea of being compared to a man like him. “No. I’m simply cleaning up the mess he left behind. Making things better than they were. He had some…unorthodox practices.”

With aching eyes narrowed in his direction, the wall she built crashes down with arms now hung loose in her lap. The girl is hunched forward, attempting to lure out the secrets he keeps hidden away. “You mean the monsters?”

The question is startling, and it’s visible in the way his eyes widen. His body nearly jolts back as an uneasy chuckle vibrates within his chest. He had heard of her experience in the Byers home. How she was found unconscious not long after and cared for by the officer. But it’s not a question he’s prepared for. “Monsters?”

Without another word spared, Autumn’s position shifts. Her fingers tangle at the sleeve of her sweater, pulling it back far enough to reveal old scars from the attack in the woods. The creature that broke through the universe to leave a permanent mark on her skin. Forever a reminder of the demons that walked beneath them.

His face has visibly paled. Fingers fidgeting and flipping the pen back and forth as the nerves wound tighter. “Yes. The monsters. He was…in a way, involved in that particular situation.”

“And Will?”

His heart breaks at the thought of the young boy. Dragged through time and space. Abandoned in the darkness without hope of seeing the light. He tries not to think of his suffering—his fear. But the task is difficult when he thinks of the effect it had on the people who loved the boy. Including the girl sitting just across from him. “And Will, yes.”

She sits back, then. Chewing at her lips with an unfocused gaze locked on the dark wood of his desk. Her mind is a muddled mess of questions. All fumbling to escape at once while she delicately plucks out one by one. “So, what was a man like that doing hanging around my dad?”

Autumn takes another drag. The toxin burned down into nearly nothing. She’d be scolded for sure if he happened to be home on time. But the punishment was far from her mind, as something far more disturbing had been pushed to the forefront. Dr. Owens explains that he was a constant figure in her life from a very young age. A bad man who only viewed her gifts as a means to achieve what he wanted. What he needed.

He had always been there. Waiting in the shadows for a moment to strike. But how they knew each other, or why, isn’t discussed. Owens closes up his notebook with a saddened smile on his face, saying that those stories are for another time—another session. She nearly fights him on the topic, but he’s unshaken.

“You have to trust me,” he states in a bold tone, now standing from the desk. “There are some things meant to be taken in slowly. You’ve gone through a lot. I don’t want to add to the pile until we’re both ready.”

She’s reached the filter. The little death whittled down into nothing. It’s almost shameful to see what she’s done to herself. The poison she willingly soaks in when the pressure of life becomes too much to handle. It eases the bouncing knee and trembles in her hands. And with that relief, she can’t find herself to care about the harm. Not until it’s over. Not until she flicked it into the snow and stomped out any remaining embers.

But it’s only temporary, right?

She’ll feel the calm after an exhausting day. Emotional threads pulled without mercy until she was spent. The ghost of Autumn working her way through Hawkins until the fire starts up again. The beasts inside are not yet finished with her as every fiber is stitched back together. Just to tear it away.

Autumn moves on autopilot once she’s back inside the warmed Jeep. Temple pressed into her palm as she sluggishly moved through traffic, then vanishing into the woods. A carved path was already laid out for her in the snow. And as expected, the cabin remains dark and empty. Not another soul in sight. She can’t tell if she’s grateful. Pieces of her wanting to sit with Hopper and tell him everything—though he seems to already know. Then in other moments, she finds herself tired of speaking and is unwilling to relive her morning.

The girl pries away her heavy layers coated in a fine dusting of snow, already melting away once they are kissed by the cabin’s warmth. She’s tying the strands of a secondhand apron, fitting it snug against her form before throwing herself into work. The music plays, successfully drowning out the venomous thoughts plaguing her mind. Her hands move with purpose, not sparing a second to fiddle or pull at the loose threads of her sweater in anxiety. Autumn gives herself purpose. A beneficial distraction in the form of cooking a small dinner for the two of them, with leftovers to spare.

The turkey is defrosted, just as she had asked. Ingredients are purchased and set out for her before he departs for another long day. She spares a moment to call him over the walkie, saying she’s home safe and he’s overly grateful. Filled to the brim with guilt for not being with her and relief in knowing she was back in a protected space. Traps were set out along the perimeter to keep her secure.

Beads of sweat collect along her forehead, with hair sticking easily to her skin. Time is passing. The light of a sleepy afternoon faded until the sun was no longer high above, but easing down for rest. Luring children in from playing in the snow to instead join their family for dinner or to begin holiday traditions. Autumn boils, cuts, and roasts in preparation for his return. Eyeing the clock now and then gain a better understanding of just how late he would be. The only promise he made was that he would be home. When, exactly, was entirely different.

She doesn’t call to ask. Not wanting to interrupt anything more important or cause suspicion. Autumn waits for a call that never comes. Yet still, she cooks, just like she always had.

The turkey is still in the oven when she sees his headlights beam through the closed curtains. It’s almost alarming after being left in her own world for so long. Dirtied hands dust along the fabric of her apron, setting out plates in preparation for eager hands to start grabbing at hot food. Hopper had most likely eaten poorly. Too distracted to eat what was readily prepared for him, and opted to eat something less healthy at the last minute out of desperation.

His car door slams a little harder, showing aggravation. Frustration. Heavy feet bound up the steps, thunderous and uncaring if he slips or crashes into her as he nearly barges through the door. Hopper’s chest is heaving, eyes blown wide, and he zeroed in on the teenager with two empty glasses in hand.

“Merry Christmas,” she announces with a weak smile. The man seems out of place and in panic. The tension around him never settled despite being in a familiar and safe place. It was almost as if he was running from something. Or to something. Autumn contemplates for a moment that the worst has happened and that her second life, although small, is about to be packed up once more. With confidence wavering, she carries on to not mirror his state and send the pair into a spiral. “Not bad timing. I’m a little impressed.”

Her soothing words remain unmatched. The fear in his eyes continues to burn straight through her as he closes the distance between them. “Autumn, I need to-”

“I hope you saved some room for an actual meal,” she teases. “Not just coffee and donuts.”

Hopper reaches for her. Hands gripping at her shoulders to force her to meet his cold stare. The rush of his gesture sends the girl into momentary shock; she limps, freezing up on the spot with a dancing heart buried beneath her ribs. “Autumn, you need t’listen t’me.”

And then it all plummets. Any hope of a normal holiday, though far from it, is gone. His tone is low, and his teeth nearly grind together as he forces out the words. She can already hear what’s yet to be said. A dangerous threat loomed with only a few minutes spared to grab what was needed. Maybe he had seen her father. A once-missing man was now strolling through Hawkins. “There’s something I have t’tell you. Please. Just-”

There’s a creak in the floorboards far in the distance, paired with the small scuffle of shoes as they dragged along the wood. She doesn’t notice the way his grip tightens on her or the way the world around them seems to come to a crashing halt. Hopper acts as a shield to the intruder, only granting Autumn sight when he turns to meet…her.

The girl with sickly skin was dusted with dirt. Innocent eyes were full of wonder as they took in new surroundings, paying the other pair no mind as fingers glide along abandoned jackets. Warmth has soaked into every fiber, while her fingers run cold and dig a little deeper into the material. Her nose and cheeks are red from long hours spent outside in the falling snow. Boots soaked and knees scraped from low branches and small tumbles.

The hem of her pink dress pokes out from an oversized jacket, tattered and torn through an unknown life or time. A speck of blood here and there, only noticeable if you really look. And Autumn is looking—staring. Taking in this image of a ghost that once danced through the darkness of her mind. A place of mystery. The place where they truly saw one another before all faded into nothing.

The glass shatters at Autumn’s feet, and doe-like eyes find hers once more. An unseen thread twists through the universe to bind them together. Lacing through stilled blood and slipping around a racing heart like a cage. Constricting, with the pain leaving her breathless and unshakeable in the small kitchen, unable to fight for her life.

Her mind fills with static. Her ears ring out a sharp tune as she slips from this plane to the next. That place where they meet as strangers. Both were uncertain of what was real as they locked eyes in fright. Then their gaze shifts to study that blue car, left abandoned in a field. The world was so vivid and bright, no longer an echoing shadow.

Then she’s gone.

Yet here she stands.

“This is the kid that’s been missing.”

His voice blends in with the ting in her ear. Muffled and hardly there. Something unseen blocks him out—a wall too big for even her to fathom. Stretching to the skies to protect her from the officer and his words, and the girl meant to be a lost soul. A dead soul. A figment of the imagination, though now pulled into reality. This blockade calls itself denial—something she’s far too familiar with.

“She’s like…you.”

“There’s a girl.”

Eyes look up to him through fallen strands, waiting patiently for him to move forward with his thoughts.

“I don’t know how t’explain it. She-she saw Will, too.”

Brows begin to furrow as Autumn straightens her posture, zeroing in on his words as they stumble out. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, she saw Will. Barb, too. She knows where they are like she knows that place. She called it ‘The Upside Down’, or something.”

The tides of madness pull out from the shore, revealing the bare bones beneath it all. A lingering threat of what was building over the horizon. A weapon of destruction preparing to wipe the world away. Her breath remains stolen out of fear. Unable to find the strength to fill and run. To escape certain death. Autumn looks to Hopper for comfort—for reassurance. Maybe this had all been just another nightmare. Another trick of the mind to cast her over the edge. But she can feel the pressure of his grip that remains and nearly hear the sound of his racing heart in the eerie silence.

“We-we lost her that night. The night you were at the Byers.”

“Aut?” He calls in a softened tone, worries now brewing as he watches her spin on heels to stare at nothing. But when she looks back at Steve, there’s fear in her eyes. A finger raises to point out into the void, where only broken picture frames lay scattered across the ground. Words are caught on the girl's tongue, jabbing at thin air with a silent plea for someone to help her—to see what she’s seen.

There’s no rejoicing as he closes the distance, only more unease as the heartache turns to agony. A fist tightly wound around her heart and squeezed until it burst. Her skin becomes red from the pressure, fingers tightening around her sweater and pulling on it, trying to rip away this unseen grip so that she may breathe again.

“Hey, hey!” Steve shouts, hands held out in fear, seeking to touch her, to pull her into safety, but they linger just over her arms. She had become so delicate the more her insides twisted. “Autumn, hey!”

“No more.”

Autumn had tortured herself over the idea of Will being within reach of her. Hands reaching out to touch in the blackness before he crumbles away into nothing. He had seen her. The same way this child had. She couldn’t rescue him then, though she had no idea how. She had hoped to pluck him from the devil's grasp and carry him home. He suffered instead. And yet, this girl…

“She’s been out there, Autumn. All on her own. She has nowhere t’go, okay? She needs help.”

The teenager has slipped into a comatose state, though eyes wide open and drinking in her surroundings. She’s rendered paralyzed and forced to endure what’s forced upon her—down her throat. Cramming this dizzying reality down her throat until she’s choking on it. She’s so lost in it all that she barely notices the small steps the girl has taken forward. Another cursed creature with an unbreakable stare.

This girl looks up to Autumn with big, brown eyes, filled with an unknown horror. Tales of sorrow and wonder. The thread turns to the wire. A shapeshifter as it tangles and works through her body. Rising into her throat and scratching at the walls, leaving her too pained to cry out, though fingers tremble at her side from the ache.

“Look, kid,” he’s suddenly closing the space between them, towering above someone so frail and lost, looking for some sort of guidance through the haze. “I’m not afraid. Not of you, or whatever happens tomorrow. Hell, even a year from now. But I think there are times when… you’re afraid of yourself.”

Afraid of her mind. Afraid of what she’s done and what she could do. Afraid of what was so deeply buried within her and unwillingly giving it the freedom to crawl through the cracks. She was afraid of the truth, and it was staring her in the face.

Within seconds, the pair are locked in a place of shadows, where Hopper no longer exists. There’s no warmth on her back from freshly cooked food or the gentle tick of a timer as she waits for the final dish. No sharp kiss against her cheeks as the winter wind comes barreling through the opened doorway. Only a frightened beat of her heart fills the void, reaching out for relief.

The girl is a barricade. She’s a weapon used against Autumn. She’s the finger on a trigger of overwhelming panic, and she pulls with a single word falling from her lips, echoing out into the nothingness. “Blue.”

Life finally flows through her. Lungs filling with ragged breath—shaken and unsteady. Wires ripped from within, pulling her out that same doorway the girl once stood in. She follows without question, letting them guide her in a dizzying state. Autumn clumsily moved past the girl with haste, arm knocking into her shoulder and retreating like it had been stung. She doesn’t look back, not even as he calls her name. Not even as her world shifts to a vision of darkness, with the moon high above casting an eerie glow against the snow.

The trees stand tall above her. Leaves long dead and in the shadows, they look like monsters—like people. Are they the same? Men in suits hidden within the shadows, watching her run out into the nothingness. Evil smiles bright and haunting, watching as she spirals out of control.

The worry of how far she’s run doesn’t seem to dawn on her in the moment. Simply letting her body fly until there was freedom—some peace and relief. It never comes, no matter how far she believes she’s gone. It all seems to happen so fast that she’s tumbling down into the piles of snow. The shock of its chill drowned out the sound of heavy footsteps and the call of her name.

Warmth soon finds Autumn. Her smaller frame is wrapped in his embrace as he comes to a crashing stop just at her back, pulling her in for comfort. She doesn’t fight away his hold, instead collapsing within it. Her body is wracked by heaving sobs as her mind races and contemplates her sanity. What was real, and what was all an illusion?

“Not real. It’s not real-”

“I’ve got you; you’re okay.” Locked in a tight hold, they sway together, back and forth. Ignoring the burn of ice against their legs or the ache in their lungs. “It’s okay.” He whispers into the girl's hair. His words of assurance fought against her repeated mumbles, questioning the world around her and working to pull her back from the ledge and into a place of security. Eventually, the tremble in her body lessens, and her mantra fades out, carried away by the wind and leaving her exhausted in his hold. She’s slumped against him, cheeks wet, and eyes nearly closed from the drop of adrenaline.

Autumn is hardly present—a mere shell of herself. She doesn’t fight or budge as her body is plucked from the ground, snow stuck to her clothes. Hopper acts as her savior once more. Carted through the night and back toward that cabin, where the girl named Eleven waits.

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