Chapter Text
January 1983
"This place should work out well," was the first thing your dad said as the two of you walked into the copy-pasted house at the end of the street. The three-digit number read 2-8-8-6 with the second two barely hanging onto the brick. Just another thing that your dad would have to fix up.
Nothing valid as an answer escaped your lips as you stepped over the door frame and into the opening walkway. The box in your hand threatened to spill its contents all over the floor if you weren't careful enough. Your eyes looked around, feet still frozen on the tiled floor. The floor plan was . . . nice; it wasn't like you expected everything to be straight out of a magazine.
Your dad sensed your hesitation. "You'll have your own room; you can take the one upstairs or downstairs."
A hum resonated from your chest. "Downstairs?"
"Sounds good."
Your feet dragged you from cool to fuzzy; footsteps now swallowed by the tan carpet that spanned the rest of the house. With a bump of your hip, the door to the downstairs bedroom creaked open and revealed a blank canvas of a bedroom. The bed was positioned in the farthest corner across from a deep closet. A singular window jutted from the long wall that stood across from the door. Everything but a small, wooden bedside table would have to be purchased or hopefully make it through the move to fill the room with furniture.
The open box bounced just a bit when you set it on mattress. You knew that this could be the fresh start you and your dad needed. After a failed job search ended abruptly in New York, your dad had decided that enough was enough, packed everything that the two of you owned, and move back to his childhood town of Hawkins, Indiana: population of 12,830—plus two. This was the town that your dad had met your mother and settled for a few years. This town could have been your childhood as well, but with the untimely death of your mother, your dad had fled the moment the funeral was over.
Or, well, that's what he had told you anyway. The conversations about your mother always ended with sharp words or dead silence.
You jumped when the light flicked on; eyes immediately glued to where your dad was standing with a finger still under the switch. His other had held a stack of what looked like sheets and blankets.
"I like it," you tried to offer. "There's enough space for all my stuff."
Your dad's smile crooked under his mustache as he handed you the bedding. "I'm glad. The movers should be here in the morning, so don't stay up too late."
You smiled softly in return. "I won't."
The conversation ended with your dad retreating into the house.
Your hands reached for the box's contents, fingers quickly finding the familiar rectangular shape of your Walkman. Checking that the tape was still in, you put the headphones over your ears and pushed play. The clear voice of Freddy Mercury and deep vibrations of electric guitar filled the empty spaces of your mind as you started to make your bed.
A singular lamp was able to fit in the box you brought and was quickly plugged in and set on the bedside table. It flickered a moment before fully illuminating the room.
Staying true to your word, you quickly got changed and sprawled on the bed. Everything was dark until a knock sounded on your door. You rolled over from under the covers.
"M-up," you muttered, feet swinging over the side of your bed.
The door creaked open, and your dad's face peered between the crack.
"I need to go to the general store before the movers get here. Want to come?" His voice uptilted in a hope that you'd say yes.
You rubbed your eyes. "Sure. There's nothing else to do anyway."
"We'll leave in 15?"
You were ready in 10 and waiting in the car when your dad finally sauntered out the front door. The morning air was cool as your dad's truck sputtered to life and rolled onto the road. Your cheek smushed against the window as you watched houses roll on by to make way for a smaller downtown. Your eyes widened in delight as the truck passed a music store and bookstore.
"You think I could check those out?" you asked as your dad parked the truck.
"We can head over once we're done. Shouldn't take long."
The two of you climbed out of the truck. Indiana's wind was about the same as New York's: biting and cold. You shoved your hands into your pockets and stepped behind your dad.
A small ding sounded, notifying everyone in the store of your arrival. Thankfully, the store seemed empty besides the lady behind the counter, who's eyes widened at the sight of you and your dad.
"Todd?"
Your dad's head snapped up at the voice. "Joyce?"
Sensing either a horrifically bad past between the two or a joyous reunification of the two, you kept your head down as you looked at the counter.
"How are you?" Joyce asked as she rounded from behind the counter, coming to stand in front of your dad.
The two made small talk before your name was brought up. When you finally tore your eyes away, you were met with big brown eyes as Joyce looked from your dad to you. Your dad's warm hand settled on your shoulder.
"Yep, this is Y/n, all grown up."
She looked at you with a big smile. "I remember when you were a baby! You should be around my son's age. Sixteen, yes?"
"Yes, ma'am. But I'm turning 17 in June," you answered politely, eyes still struggling to meet hers.
Your dad pulled out his wallet and handed you a ten-dollar bill. "I'm going to catch up with Joyce. How about you go over to the bookstore?"
You nodded your head and turned your heel to head out the door.
Joyce watched with kind eyes as you turned left and out of sight. "She's quiet."
A sigh left your dad's lips. "Yeah. She listens to music more than she talks to people."
"Sounds like Jonathan."
Thankfully the bookstore's door didn't include a bell as you walked through. Your nose was immediately filled with old stationary and bitter coffee. Your hand dug through the small shoulder bag and tugged out your headphones and Walkman. Nothing was better than looking around a bookstore with music blasting out your eardrums. (It was also a person deterrent.)
Your eyes flitted around the endless rows of hardbacks and soft covers. By the time your tape needed to be flipped, you had a good stack of books to buy. The noise from the store finally made it past the orange cushions around your ears. Before you could press play, a kid's voice near the entrance sounded rather loudly.
You slightly leaned sideways to look around a bookshelf. A kid with short curls was on his tiptoes as he argued with the person at the register.
"Son of a bitch! These pieces were half the price two weeks ago!" The kid's voice cracked halfway through his second sentence. The lisp wasn't helping his cause to sound big and scary either.
The cashier looked bored as he tried to explain. "And like I said, the prices needed to go up. Kid, you're holding up the line."
Both looked over at you, now standing a few feet behind the kid "in line."
The kid huffed and stood back on flat feet. "I hope you know that you are keeping a child's mind from many scenarios of important imagination."
You gingerly stepped forward with your books as you watched him leave the store. You glanced toward the left-behind pieces and then towards the now empty outside.
"These will be three-fifty—"
"I'll take the pieces he left. Please."
Now nine dollars and fifty cents poorer, you rushed out the door. Head now on a swivel, you tried to look for the kid that ran out. To your luck, he was just getting a bike undone from a lock.
"Hey, kid!" you called out, causing his eyes to widen as you started to stalk toward him. The unnamed kid gulped as you got closer. When you were right in front of him, you held out the three monster-looking pieces in your palm. The kid looked at your face before gently taking them from you.
You smiled. "Sounded like your imagination is very important."
The kid was tracing his fingers over the small figurines before he looked up at you.
"Dustin."
Your head did a little jerk. "Come again?"
"I'm Dustin—Dustin Henderson."
You nodded slowly. "Nice to meet you, Dustin. I'm Y/n."
"We will put a statue up in your honor."
"Huh?"
The now-named Dustin carefully reached for his backpack to put the figures in. "Me and my friends play D&D—Dungeons and Dragons—and because of your noble sacrifice, we will build a statue in your honor."
"Um," you were a bit speechless. "Thanks?"
"Say," Dustin slung his backpack back on, "I don't think I've seen you around."
You shrugged. "We used to live here right when I was born but then moved away. My dad and I got into town just last night. I think the street is Cornwallis?"
He then started to stare at you with everything but stars in his eyes. "Does your house have a moving truck in front of it?"
You scratched your head. "It should."
Dustin held out his head. "Nice to meet you neighbor."
You stuck yours out as well and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you too."
A honk sounded from behind you. You both turned to see your dad sitting in the truck. You turned back to Dustin.
"Do you want a ride?" you asked with a thumb hooked over your shoulder.
Dustin shrugged. "Sure."
You helped him put his bike in the bed of the truck and then rounded to the front. As you climbed in, your dad looked at you and then back at Dustin.
You were quick to explain. "Dad, this is Dustin. Dustin, this is my dad, Todd."
Dustin leaned up behind your chair. "Sir, your daughter is a savior."
Your dad chucked as he started the truck. "Good to know."
Now comfortable, Dustin babbled about Hawkins on the way to your house. You put a thought in from time to time but ideally let him fill most of the conversation.
The tires screeched as your dad finally pulled into the driveway.
"And then Nancy—that's Mike's sister—dressed up as an elf for our campaign. Maybe you could come by and watch. I can teach you the basics, and then you can join in if you want."
"Sure, Dustin. You can teach me your boardgame."
"It's more than a boardgame!" His voice cracked again.
You laughed and ruffled his hair. "Do you wanna help set up my room? I think I have enough nerdy things in there to keep you entertained."
Dustin trailed after you as you walked into the house. "Which means you're also a nerd, by the way."
Your dad just chuckled as he watched the two of you disappear into the house. Of course, one of the first people you'd open to would be a middle schooler.
The curly-haired kid was quick to start digging through your collection vinyl records as you hung up your clothes.
"Queen, Queen, Beetles, Queen, Bowie, Queen. Do you have any other music besides Queen?"
You took the records from his hands and put them in the record box under the player.
"Why listen to other music besides the best."
The kid had the audacity to scoff. "Queen isn't the best."
"Then what is?"
You took his silence as a win.
He moved onto another box. "Ya know, I think you'd like Will's brother, Jonathan. He likes the same genre you do."
Dustin's nose scrunched at your stuffed animals before placing them on your bed.
"Sure, Dustin," you muttered, trying to get the needle to land correctly. Instantly the room was filling with the opening notes of "Another one Bites the Dust."
You stood and opened your arms. "See, Dustin? The best."
Your arms flopped at your sides as you sat next to Dustin on your bed. Thankfully, your room was taking shape to be what you'd dream. The clock on your nightstand flashed 4:30 pm, making you glance at Dustin.
"Hey, isn't your DMD game starting soon?"
Dustin jumped from your bed and looked at the time. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."
You stood and helped him gather his stuff.
"And it's D-and-D," he explained as he toddled out the door with you behind him.
You giggled. "Right, right. You sure you don't need a ride? My dad wouldn't mind me taking the truck."
Dustin grabbed his bike and yanked it from the bed.
"Nope! I've made it to Mike's in under thirty before."
"Ride safely!"
Dustin bowed to you. "Thanks again for the figures, Queen!"
"Huh?" you shouted after him.
He turned back. "You heard me!"
Your brows scrunched as you watched him pedal away. The name ran over your teeth as you pursed it out softly.
"Huh. Not bad, Henderson. Not bad."