𝖕𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖓𝖎𝖑𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖓.

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝖕𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖓𝖎𝖑𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖓: 𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

BILL SKARSGARD, CISMALE, HE/HIM who’s that? oh it’s PETER NILSSEN. i hear they’re THIRTY YEARS OLD and are known as THE INTERN around CITY HALL. they’re also an INTERN at INDIANA GOVERNMENT DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY. they’re known to be PROFESSIONAL & METICULOUS and SCATTERBRAINED & UNETHICAL. some people say they remind them of BROKEN PENCILS NEEDING TO BE SHARPENED, STAYING UP UNTIL 6AM TO FINISH A CASE, & USING A CHARMING SMILE TO GET OUT OF TROUBLE. only one way to find out!

who: Jack & open!

where: outside town hall!

It was obvious that Jack had bitten off more than he could chew by coming to Hawkins. He knew before he crossed the border into Nevada that this wouldn’t be easy, because of who Max was. Because they’d always been similar, and he had a tendency to be stubborn and could hold a mean grudge. But after the first night, the big blowup, things had been… evening out. He hesitated to say they were on good terms, Max was still acting like a caged animal some days, but they were getting used to each other again. The hostility was less blatant. 

When Max had mentioned a town hall meeting, Jack had to bite back a groan. Town hall meetings were never for good reasons, that much he knew, and when Max got dodgy about what was going on, Jack knew he had to attend. If only to keep an eye on things with her and this Lucas Charles Sinclair. So, he fished out the singular button-down shirt he’d packed, halfway smoothed out the wrinkles, and taken a seat in the back of the room. If he hadn’t been so goddamn shocked by the mention of an explosion that killed five people, Jack probably would’ve applauded his niece’s thinly-veiled disdain for the boys in blue. 

..

Unsurprisingly, the cops gave little to no information, and Jack could tell that everyone was just as frustrated as him. Still, he was sure Max knew something more about this– why else would she have avoided telling him about it? When the Chief ended the meeting, Jack stood up and scanned the room for his niece. The chair she’d been sitting in was vacant, and he didn’t even see her boyfriend, who easily stood a head above the crowd. Jack pushed through the crowd to get to the street, which was a dead end too. Frustrated, he locked eyes with the first person he saw: “Have you seen Max? Mayfield?” He paused, cast another cursory glance at the crowd milling around them. If he knew Max, she was long gone by now. But, maybe this stranger could help enlighten him on whatever the hell was going on. “What exactly is going on? What’s the explosion all about?” Jack asked, not thinking to clarify that he was new in town and not pulling the stranger’s leg. 

— ☁ —

I hate my job. I hate my job. I hate my job. That’s all Peter could think as he clung to the corner of the wall in town hall. He heard the questions about Homeland Security and about the commune. They were catching on and that just meant that Peter was fucked. The cops tried to deflect as much as they could, but those bozos knew less than Peter. They were covering their own asses and had no information to give. Who was shocked? Certainly not Peter! Of course a couple of clowns dressed as police officers wouldn’t know shit.

He waited for everyone to file outside, sticking to his corner as if it would make him unnoticeable. Throughout the Q&A, he had chuckled a bit at some of the questions, tensed when he heard shitstains like Joanne Foreman ask about people vomiting black goo. Now that wasn’t good for business, was it? With the cool summer air on his face, now officially outside of the stuffy town hall, Peter wasted no time reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes as he walked towards a sidewalk to get back to his car. Having some guy approach him, Peter almost waved him off as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth. Max Mayfield. His temporary neighbor who he hadn’t seen since she tossed a rock through his window. “That ankle biter? No, I haven’t seen her,” he shook his head, lighting his cigarette, then saying, “if you do, tell her there’s still a big gaping hole in my kitchen window.”

Taking a puff, he looked up and down at the guy. Too old to be a boyfriend, Peter deemed that much. Father, maybe, but Peter was sure he had only seen two other people other than Max at that trailer and none of them resembled this guy at all. “Who the fuck are you?”

WHO: gabe diaz & open WHAT: gabe moves in WHERE: cherry street <33

gabe hadn’t taken a government job in well, ever. unless one was counting his service, but who was keeping track really? the indiana state government was really taking care of him, if the fat paycheck and the ability to provide free therapy to residents (from a commune or not), the house they gave him on cherry street was actually quite nice. he’d wasted his first day at the nursery, finding all sorts of trees and plants to bring home to his barren backyard. he was living off of a box as his table and a mattress on the floor while his moving truck sat immobile in the front yard. 

but hey, he had priorities, and his garden was one of them. if he was going to be taking patients, he was going to need a decompressing mechanism. 

today was the dreaded day though. the backyard was fully set up and gorgeous, but as for the rest of his home? well, it was go time. he stood out front, sweating profusely in this summer heat as he transferred boxes from the truck to the front yard. he could really use some help. right when he thought his arms were about to fall off, he shamelessly flagged down the approaching person, “hey! you there!” he smiled as he waved wildly, “yes! you!” safe to say, he had their attention. sitting on one of the boxes, gabe rolled his shoulders out and stretched his legs. “what say you help me get this stuff inside and i’ll give you some cash?” he asked, obviously hoping for a yes, but not expecting much of a response from a stranger. then, with a dry chuckle, he admitted, “my back isn’t what it used to be.” lord only knew how tired his body was these days.

— ☁ —

Peter didn’t get out much. His first couple of weeks in Hawkins, he had decided to learn the town without the help of his map. He found all of the nooks that made Hawkins tick as a town, and from that point on he either stayed content in his little trailer (curse you Indiana government for sticking him in a shack!) or staying in the background, praying that none of those commune kids got up to anything crazy.

He clearly wasn’t doing a great job at that.

Something he could tick off his box was getting Gabe Diaz to town. Turns out, it didn’t take much convincing to get him to Hawkins. Something about those hippie folk always jumping at the opportunity to help others, especially when it just seemed to hit Gabe right in his little heart. The pay and decent house didn’t hurt either. Peter pulled up to Cherry Street to check in on his colleague-but-not-colleague. Walking over to Gabe’s house, it made him sorely think that he should have fought a little bit more to live somewhere that wasn’t a trailer park. “Yeah, and my knees have been fucked since ‘83,” he called out, lying through his teeth. Then, he approached the moving truck, already ready to start carrying in some boxes despite his mini protest. "This place just for you or do you got some little bastards running around?” 

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Peter’s in his shit, shit, shit era

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: The Hospital, sorry :/

Shit, shit, shit. Peter was so fucked. He was so fucking fucked. He didn’t know if this was going to bite him in the ass later. It wasn’t his problem, was it? He was told to just keep the skeletons under control, which... he had totally failed at doing. Maybe he wasn’t as good at his job as he thought. Luckily, none of them had been hurt, but with one of their arrests it only seemed logical that someone at Hawkins P.D. would start piecing together that the rest were involved. He had to make sure that didn’t happen.

So, he went to the hospital. There were a million thoughts in his head. What was his purpose for going to the hospital? To find one of his skeletons? Convince them that the explosion wasn’t their fault? Probe them into giving him some sort of information. With a huff, he leaned against the receptionist’s desk, arms folded as he watched and waited for someone he knew to pass by. And then in a chance of luck, Adam Richards walked right past him. “Oh, Adam,” he sang in an attempt to get Adam’s attention. Once he had it, he used two fingers and waved at him with a come hither motion. “What brings you here?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “You look rather...” he looked the guy up and down,” ...Unscathed.”

coming to / fireworks disaster 

It had happened again. Heather, suddenly standing there, with no idea on how she had gotten there. Sirens were blaring in her ears, screams of disgust, of horror - and yet she was in the middle of it. What the fuck had happened? Her breath felt like her own again, her fingers holding onto a matchbox, red fingernails shaking now because she couldn’t remember even seeing or owning the matches in her hand. Looking around, bodies on the ground, police tackling friends to their knees - what had happened? 

Eyes searched for anyone, anyone at all, to tell her, but she felt herself get thrown over, pushed slightly by the chaos of the crowd and she tried to get up, looking around. “What - what is going on? What happened?” 

— ☁ —

The government hadn’t debriefed him on this. He was told Hawkins was fucked up and that there was a monstrous being that was even more fucked up, and that it had brought the previously deceased back to life. Said deceased had to be acclimated back into society, but what Peter hadn’t expected was for the skeletons to start blowing up family functions. How was he supposed to clean this up? There was no manual on how to convince people they weren’t dead, let alone that they didn’t participate in the carnival blowout of the century. 

Peter pushed his way into the crowd of people that were attempting to file out of the carnival after the explosion. He spotted Heather Holloway. Twenty-Two. Worked as a lifeguard before she died, or whatever other lame ass job teen girls got. Peter wasted no time, approaching the girl, yanking her up by the arm. It took a bit of pushing around, but he managed to get through the crowd and pull Heather behind one of the rides. “Knock it off,” he chided Heather like she was a small child. “There was an explosion,” he had a bit of time to rehearse what he’d say, and this was just the start of it. “It was tragic, people got hurt, but you’re fine. You had nothing to do with it. In fact, you were near the explosion, which is why you’ve lost some of your memory of the night. Maybe you should get that checked out,” he explained.

“You got all that?”

.

      Billy scoffed, a small exhale of a laugh at the thought of the other man trying to kidnap him. The stranger may have been taller but sizing him up, Billy thought he could take him in a fight if it came down to it. “Nobody said you were.” He replied, waiting for the voice to come into view. The fact that this man’s presumption was that he assumed the stranger was here to kidnap him sat strangely. Billy didn’t linger on it long, deciding it was an offhanded comment that meant nothing. 

      His eyes met those of the once disembodied voice. Now, he understood why the man had said he wasn’t there to kidnap Billy. It wasn’t every day you ran into someone who looked exactly like what you would imagine if someone mentioned the word kidnapper. He was a lanky, looming figure with limbs so long it felt like he could reach out and grab Billy from where he stood. “Depends on who mean by ‘mullet kid’.” 

— ☁ —

Peter stepped closer towards Billy, narrowing his eyes. “Hold on, lemme get a good look,” It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust in the dark, but he could definitively say that this was Billy Hargrove. At least, this kid in the dark looked a whole lot like the black and white school photo that was attached to his file. “Why it is you!” He exclaimed, like it was the world’s greatest revelation. “You go by Billy, don’t you?” Peter wasn’t here to be the skeleton’s friend, he was here to do a job which was don’t let them find out they were dead, in layman’s terms. 

“Billy, isn’t it?” He asked, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. “Let me tell you, kid, you’ve got one hell of a file,” Peter told him, sitting down on one of the nearby rocks. He was hoping he could purge some information out of Billy, find out what Billy remembered, and then maybe spin it around. It was all a dream. It was all the drugs you took. That sort of shtick. He pulled a cigarette from the container with his mouth. Patting down his pockets, he realized his lighter wasn’t on him. Shit. Then his eyes directed towards Billy’s own cigarette.

Peter took the cigarette out of his mouth and wiggled it between his thumb and index finger. “I’m assuming you can light this?”

Who: Drew Campbell & anyone Where: Blue Quarry Mall food court

Drew hadn’t had a chance to fully scope-out Hawkins yet since moving in. So far, all he’d accomplished was unpacking and getting a new job, all while avoiding any interactions with his father — he planned to keep it that way, too. He’d lived in so many different places around the world throughout his life, such as Oregon, California, London, New York and, most recently, Texas. Each place had its own unique features, but Hawkins already stood out the most to him. It was such a small town, with a sort of strange aura that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It didn’t scare him off though; he wasn’t planning on getting attached to the town, anyway.

Drew had a tradition to explore any new place they moved to, to familiarize himself with the area quickly before it was time to pack up and leave again. Though he didn’t know if it would be the same this time — whether he’d leave on his own terms, or just decide to stay here alone — he still stuck to that tradition upon arriving to Hawkins. The mall felt like a good place to start, he decided, as it was the perfect place to see what kind of people made up the town. After walking around to see what stores the mall had to offer, he stopped to get a snack from a nearby vending machine, only for the machine to eat his dollar and give nothing in return. “Fuck! Seriously?” He grumbled, giving the machine a hard hit in attempt to nudge the candy bar from its clutches. Noticing a stranger observing close-by, he decided to give them a warning. “Don’t bother wasting your money on this shit, I think it’s broken.”

— ☁ —

Fucking Hawkins, Indiana, man. What a shit hole town it was. It was day three that Peter successfully concluded that. He had been through his fair share of shitty small towns, he was from Ohio, after all! Yet, nothing quite made the list like Hawkins. Maybe it’s because most shitty towns didn’t have full-on hubs in the government designed specifically for when things went to shit. 

Malls weren’t Peter’s thing. He never quite got the appeal, probably because he wasn’t a teenage girl, but what else was he to do in Hawkins when it got quiet? Scope out the dead-not-so-dead-anymore kids, of course, and make sure they were on their best behavior. It was only a matter of time before one caught on or lashed out and he wanted to be around when it happened. Just to put out the flame when it struck. 

He had grown bored of the mall fairly quickly when he realized that no one he knew was roaming around and after picking up a new book from the bookstore inside, he was ready to get the hell out. Until his stomach grumbled. Making his way to the food court, he had to weigh his options. Shitty fast food or... qualm the hunger with something small until he could go home? He chose the latter as walked towards the vending machine. 

“You always gotta wiggle these little shits. Show them who’s boss. Not whatever... that sad attempt was,” brows furrowed, Peter moved to the side, lunging into the vending machine with his right shoulder. Hearing a drop, he gave the guy a smile. “See? Not that hard. And if you...” he hit the vending machine once more with a huff, this time using his elbow. “... Do that, it’s basically a goddamn free for all.” Shoutout to the Ball State dormitory vending machines for that one. 

+++

jo groaned, gave the other a roll of her eyes, skillfully ignoring his questions that obviously meant as insults. dealing with crazies, concerned citizens and cranky old men all day, she’d just about heard it all. another exhale, she blew a raspberry before taking a drag of her cigarette, mimicking the other

“fucking hell, will you drop your big shot government man act already? i don’t give a rat’s ass who you are and what your business is in this town.” since he was very clearly not a local. jo shrugged, placed the cigarette between her lips and grabbed the folder. oh, yeah, she was definitely gonna look now.

“I’ll get it to your man. don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, 007.”, jo mumbled, plucked the cigarette from between her lips and gave the other the fakest, tooth achingly sweet smile she could manage. no, that folder wasn’t going to make it to chuck anytime soon.

“you can go now. buh-bye.”

— ☁ —

Today, Peter would concede. He had no reason to back talk with a toddler for the next hour. He completed his task. He got those fucking papers to The Hawkins Post and it was up to this shit for brains to get it there. Peter’s hands were off it now and he needed another cigarette (and maybe a beer) after speaking to this girl. 

A part of him didn’t trust her. Something in him told him to snatch that folder and run like hell to Chuck Bailey’s office, but he had no reason to believe she would hold onto the folder other than he didn’t trust anyone who still had a shag haircut in 1988. 

He stepped up to the desk and put his cigarette out on the desk, leaving a small singed mark. “If you don’t get it to him, I’ll find out.” Then matching her smile he said, “have a good day.” And he left it at that as he turned on his heel, leaving the Hawkins Post for hopefully the first and final time. 

“Right,” Jack said slowly, unsure why the guy at the front desk was so concerned about the practical term for where he’d been for the past few years. “I kind of prefer community, you know, feels a lot less … cult-y.” He couldn’t even really remember what had gone on there to even think that it might have been a cult, but wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t recall years of his life an indication that it might’ve been? “Yeah, uh … that’s me. How did you know?” Maybe the people at City Hall had been debriefed on all of the people coming back from the commune, but it was still jarring to think that people remembered who he was. 

“I probably should’ve gone there first,” Jack agreed with a sheepish laugh, “but my mom said that I might’ve had a legal death certificate filed? Clearly, I’m not dead, so I kind of need that rescinded if that’s the case. You know, thought I should cover all of my bases. That, and if there are any other records that could have indicated where this communit–commune was, what it was, so if I try to explain to a college where I’ve been, I have some sort of documentation.”

— ☁ —

“But it wasn’t a cult, was it?” Peter asked, feigning any kind of significance of what he would and wouldn’t know. He knew it wasn’t a cult. Fuck, it didn’t even exist, but it was very much in the fine print of his job description that he was not allowed to tell anyone that they had been in the ground or in some hellish dimension a month prior. At his question, Peter turned back and gave him a grin. “I’m the lousy sad sack they’ve stuck you all with,” it was better to keep things vague. If questions weren’t asked, he didn’t have to give them any answers. And it was better to keep everything vague, so stories would line up.

 “Don’t worry about that,” Peter said, waving his hand around about Jack’s mention of a death certificate. “It’s already been nullified,” of course what Peter wasn’t going to say was how Jack’s death certificate had practically disappeared. Anyone who had allegedly been on that commune’s death certificate had vanished. As if it never even existed. “Do you need proof? That whole thing was off the grid anyway so any records you’ll have access to? They don’t exist.” 

“But maybe we can get you a newspaper clipping of some sort.”

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Peter’s driving up to the campsite and hey! that looks like one of the skeletons!!

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: Lover’s Lake, baby. Lover’s Lake.

Peter didn’t know why the fuck he had taken it upon himself to go down to Lover’s Lake. Perhaps it’s because he deserved a night off. A night to just drink some beers, meet some locals, and then sleep in his car at the end of the night. Or perhaps it’s because it was a mass celebration for the group of commune kids who had come back into society. Kill two birds with one stone, he thought. Drink some beers and keep an eye on the former commune residents. Granted, he just hoped they all stayed in one spot for the night. It’s like they kept adding up every night and he was starting to lose track of them all.

As he pulled into Lover’s Lake, he spotted a face. One that looked like it had been attached to his files. Shit, what was her name? Miranda? Marissa? No, Melissa! Melissa. Peter rolled down his window, pulling at the lever as quick as he could. “Hey, hey, you!” He shouted, trying to get her attention. He felt like an idiot, not knowing the place as well as he ought to, but that’s what happened when you were stuck in an unknown town for a summer! “You know your way around here well?”

.

this hadn’t been max’s wisest plan to get out of trouble, but running felt like a stupid an option now that he spotted her. like, admitting her guilt or whatever. you fucking see this? max pouted out her bottom lip and squinted like she couldn’t see it from where she was standing, “is that a rock?” she asked dubiously, “no way!” she sounded more sarcastic than she would’ve preferred, but hey, this guy was a total stranger so maybe he wouldn’t notice. max felt pretty much everything he was saying was a load of garbage. of course she knew not to leave evidence at the scene of a crime, but what was she supposed to do? break into his trailer for a rock? she knew more about crime scenes than he did, she’d bet. logistics weren’t max’s goal in this instance though, she was trying to clear her name with her neighbor before yet another adult in hawkins could have it out for her. part two of her improvised plan included diversion, “i’m max, i live up there.” she said, turning her body to look back at where her trailer sat. remembering she had the slingshot in her hand, she threw it. fuck. there was no way he didn’t see that. acting like nothing happened, max turned back around, flashed the hybrid of a grimace and a smile, then asked, “you’re new to the… here?”

— ☁ —

Max. Max was suspect numero uno in Peter’s eyes. There was no one else around and if it had been someone else, they wouldn’t be able to get away quick enough without him at least spotting a glance. Unless she wasn’t working alone, which in a musty trailer park? He wouldn’t put it past her. “Come on, don’t act like such a little shit,” he gave her a smile, one that didn’t read as a smile that was particularly inviting. “I won’t run and tell your mommy.”

“Peter,” he vaguely introduced. The last thing he wanted to do was tell some teenager his name and what he was doing around Hawkins, but he was sure if Max was smarter than the average hick that she’d piece together that he wasn’t just a new resident. “Just moved in, which is why it’s such a shame my window is now out of commission,” he tsked.

“You gonna offer to help fix it or are you gonna keep claiming innocence?”

+++

the nickname was enough to have jo drop whatever she had in hand dramatically onto her deask, she whipped around, glaring dagger at the intruder. visitor, she tried to remind herself. just a visitor. she raised a brow, looked him up and down disapprovingly, though she straightened up a bit as he slapped his folder on a nearby filing cabinet.

taking a deep, calming  breath, jo pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, trying to hold back the oncoming wave of rage that was threatening to hit her, any moment now. “ok, listen here, 007. first of all, i’m not your secretary - you’re in my office, shitbird, if you want someone to run some errands for you i suggest you take your business to the front desk.”

crossing her arms over her chest, jo gave him a chellenging look, then moved to step closer to the mysterious files he’d just delivered. “second of all, why? what’s in there -oh, let me guess, some wacky little detail about what went down at benny’s. or, even better, the story behind the mysterious commune in the woods, huh?” she wiggled her brows suggestively, then shrugged. 

at his question jo simply pulled out a cigarette of her own, lit it. “knock yourself out.”

— ☁ —

“You do work here, don’t you?” Peter asked, looking around as if to see if anyone else was around to assist him. No one else seemed to be around, so here he was with short stack, trying to get this goddamn folder from Point A to Point B. “Is it not in your job description to assist people? Or let me guess... You got hired because of your shining personality?” 

"Look, let me level with you,” he started, lifting his lighter to light his cigarette. “You’re a shit ass and to be quite frank, I’m a shit ass too. I don’t give a shit about some half assed diner that can’t even serve a decent burger,” he took a puff from his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side. Gentlemanly enough to now blow it towards Jo, despite her smoking too. “And I don’t give a shit about some hippies getting high in the woods and calling it a community.” He did care about said hippie community, but not in the way that Jo probably thought. 

He tapped the folder once more. “I just care that this gets to Chuck Bailey in one piece. Whether or not you shut up and take it to him like a good little egg or harass some prepubescent slimeball to take it to him. I don’t care. Just say it came from Peter, he’ll understand.” His eyes flickered to the girl in front of him, clearly unamused with her antics.

“Am I clear?”

WHO: jack foreman & @nilssen​ WHERE: city hall

After getting his life somewhat together at home, Jack’s mother had insisted he make his way to City Hall to get his affairs in order. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but supposed she was probably right: he had disappeared from society for the past few years, after all. Was he still going to be allowed to drive? He hoped so, even though his car had been sold by his family after a year of his disappearance, which Jack couldn’t really blame them for. He wasn’t sure where his license was, and his passport had long expired; Jack had a headache every time he thought about how stupid decision to run off to join a woods cult, and the logistics were now making it worse. 

He approached the front desk to find someone sitting there who already looked like they knew who Jack was. It was to be expected, now that the entire town knew that he’d come back from as good as dead. “Hi, I’m looking for someone who can help me with my personal records?” he asked, leaning his arms on the counter. “I just came back from, uh, that woods community.” It was the strangest sentence Jack had probably ever uttered in his life, and it was a little embarrassing to admit to a stranger that he’d ditched his whole life to live in the forest with hippies. “I’m Jack Foreman, I’d give you my ID, but … I don’t have one,” he admitted with a laugh. 

— ☁ —

Peter didn’t know how his ass ended up at the front desk. It wasn’t like he worked a standard 9 to 5, but he had happened to stop by City Hall on that particular day and Diane, the lovely little woman who usually hunched over the front desk, wanted to take her lunch break and who was to deny her of that. Naturally, someone had to fill in and Diane promised Peter a ham sandwich when she got back... so here he sat, his back hunched over and shoulders slumped as he typed away on the keyboard in front of him, pretending to do work. Instead, he had Microsoft Word popped up, typing various letters that made no cohesive sentence. 

“Woods community?” Peter scoffed, looking at the guy in front of him. “It’s a commune,” he corrected. The stories had to be straight, right? Sure, woods community wasn’t that far off, but if Jack was to believe he lived in some hippy dippy community for the last three years, then he could at least pretend to be convinced. “Jack Foreman,” he said at the exact same time. “Hawkins High Football?” It sounded like a question, but Peter was stating it as a mere fact as he pushed himself off the chair and made his way around the counter. 

“Come on, big guy,” he made a motion with his fingers that said follow me, making his way down the hallway. “You ever hear of this thing called the DMV?” He asked, attempting to make conversation. “What do you need your personal records for?”

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Peter doesn’t know his way around Hawkins so he approaches Hawkins favorite MILF <333

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: Outside of Hawk

Peter wasn’t stupid. That was an undisputed fact, but even geniuses leave their maps in their car, and event geniuses think that they can navigate themselves around an unfamiliar territory. And that’s how Peter found himself outside of Hawk, Hawkins premiere movie theater. It looked like shit, he noted. Probably could only play two showings at a time. Whatever, he wasn’t here to watch the latest Karate Kid sequel. No, he had been looking for Hawkins Water & Sewer Authority. His latest mission? Make sure Hawkins wasn’t falling apart, literally, and that meant making sure all was well in terms of sewage issues. It didn’t make sense to him, but who knew? Maybe there was some sort of monster hanging out in the drains. 

Or maybe it was just another fucking prank to make Peter look like an idiot.

Spotting a woman, coming out of Hawk, he sauntered towards her. She seemed decent enough looking that she wouldn’t tell him to fuck off. A true suburban woman! “Hi, sorry, uh,” he pulled out his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out already from nerves. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Water & Sewer Authority is, would you?” He asked, offering his cigarette case to her in case she wanted a smoke. “Kinda new here.”

WHO: max mayfield & @nilssen​ WHAT: max destroys government property (peter’s trailer) WHERE: forest hills trailer park baby!!

in retrospect, max mayfield really shouldn’t have been dicking around with a slingshot next to the trailer of forest hills newest resident, but property damage wasn’t exactly on her mind when she set out that morning. she wished she could’ve said it was under the guise of wanting to be prepared to fend off monsters, or so she could show up lucas and his old wrist rocket, but the plain truth was that she was bored and desperate to get out of the house, especially with her step-brother lingering in the living room again. 

the slingshot was nothing fancy and was quite literally made from popsicle sticks and a rubber band. she’d shot it a couple of times into the air successfully and managed to keep both of her eyes in the process, but she made the grave mistake of thinking she could walk around and aim properly. next thing she knew, max heard a window shatter, and she was scrambling for cover. unfortunately for her, she hadn’t been fast enough on her feet and was still in plain sight when the new resident stepped outside his door. awkwardly hiding the slingshot behind her back, max forced herself to greet him with a wave and a stiff– “hey there, neighbor.”

— ☁ —

Peter felt like he was too in over his head as he stared down at the typewriter in front of him. Not only was he supposed to be keeping an eye on these dead brats, but he still had to send in reports about how the public were reacting, how said brats were doing, and all the menial task work that came with his assignment. He reached down for his pack of cigarettes, flipping the tab open, only to see he had none left. “Fucking hell,” he grumbled, tossing the pack to the ground just as the sound of a loud crash came from the next room. 

He went to inspect the damage, thinking his home was finally being broken into. It was only a matter of time, he thought. The trailer park didn’t seem like the safest place around and he figured once word got around that the new resident was just some bachelor that he’d have a target on his back. Instead he just found a measly rock. Kids. 

Peter grabbed the rock and darted outside, tripping out the door as he tried to catch whichever kid had done the damage. “You fucking see this?” He asked, pointing at the window and completely disregarding the girl’s greeting. She couldn’t be older than high school age, maybe a few years older, and she was suspect number one. “Did you do it?” He accused, holding the rock in his hand as if it were some kind of shiny diamond. He threw the rock over to her, not caring if she caught it or let it fall to the ground. “Word of advice? Don’t leave evidence at the scene of the crime.”

WHO: billy hargrove & open​ WHAT: night smoke WHERE: skull rock

      Sitting underneath the tilted rock, Billy leaned his head back, letting the smoke fill his lungs, replacing the oxygen with toxic fumes instead. It made him feel alive, something he hadn’t felt in years. Joining a tree cult hadn’t exactly been an experience he would have picked for himself, or at least he still wasn’t exactly convinced he had picked for himself no matter what anyone said to him. It beat living with his dad, but he was tired of pretending to be a hippie. The ones he had lived with for the past few years hadn’t even been the cool kind from what he could remember. It was all cloudy, misted with a heavy fog he couldn’t quite make it through. The memories he did have felt surreal like something out of a dream though.

       It wasn’t until his lungs began to burn, begging for oxygen, that he released the smoke from them. Using his forefinger and thumb, he pulled the cigarette from between his lips, watching as the smoke dissipated into the cool air around him. A sharp snap broke the silence and Billy’s head turned in the direction it had echoed from, curious to see who was approaching the popular make out spot, he spoke into dark night. “I can hear you, shithead.”

— ☁ —

Peter wasn’t a Hawkins local by any means. In fact, he wanted to get out of Hawkins and back to his research, but here he was, planted in a town he had only heard of in conversations. The trailer park was shit, Melvald’s was shit, surely there had to be some other place to occupy his time that wasn’t an absolute shithole. Hawkins had occasional tourists, there had to be a reason why. 

His head was throbbing, sifting through cases all night. Since his arrival in Hawkins, he had decided to do his proper research. Find out what more was going on other than people rising from the dead. Where did it all come from? How did it start? Peter had been debriefed in Indianapolis, but a few hours wouldn’t cut it to fill him in on Demogorgons, Russians, and Mindflayers (oh my!). Taking a late night walk led him into the forest, then to Skull Rock. A place he was rather unfamiliar about. 

Hearing another voice, he held his hands up as if he had gotten caught stealing candy. “Chill out, I’m not trying to kidnap you,” he said, stomping on another branch for good measure. It was dark and Peter never could see well, but as he walked closer and focused his eyes, he noticed who it was. William Hargrove. AKA Billy. Twenty-Two. Grade-A Asshole. Billy had the most interesting file he had read. “You that mullet kid?”

WHO: Adam Richards & Anyone !

WHAT: Visiting your hometown grocery store as an adult and Hating It

WHERE: Melvald’s 

Once upon a time, going out in public was fine for Adam. A trip to the grocery store probably meant catching up with the his parents’ friends if he ran into them, and going to the diner included getting one or two girls’ phone numbers ( that he never called ). He was used to the attention - it was always positive. 

Sure, the pressure of being Mr. Perfect got to Adam at times, but it was manageable back then. He knew it wouldn’t be something he’d have to deal with forever, because one day, he and Cole would leave for San Francisco and all of this would be left in the rearview mirror. 

That was before he’d died decided to live in a commune for three years. Now, every trip out meant plenty of questions about where he had been, why he had left, what sort of things had happened there. And Adam was sick of it. But that didn’t mean it could go away entirely. 

Pushing a shopping cart through the aisle of Melvald’s, Adam kept his head low, avoiding eye contact. The sooner he could pick stuff up for his mother and get home, the better. But no matter how much he tried to keep a low profile, it didn’t seem to work. Rounding a corner quickly to avoid his sophomore Algebra teacher, Adam accidentally bumped someone with the cart. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” He apologized, hoping he hadn’t hurt the person too badly. 

— ☁ —

There were the small things in life that Peter hated. Laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning. All in that order. Maybe it’s why his job had him posted in a trailer park instead of giving him a half-decent apartment or house. Price aside, Peter would have probably left it in a wreck. He had only been in the Forest Hills Trailer Park for a week and his floors and tables were already covered with papers, old cans of soda, and ramen containers.

Deciding that he needed to eat more than just instant ramen, he trekked out to Melvald’s to get a few things. Bread, milk, eggs, only enough items that would provide him with a small amount of nutrition. He walked along the shelves, finding himself fixated on the selection of sugary drinks in front of him. Coke, Pepsi, A&W, all heavenly placed near each other. He settled on a six pack of Coke, throwing it in his shopping basket. 

As he passed the corner, he felt his side rammed with a shopping cart. “Shit!” He hissed, already thinking of some clever insult to say to whoever had chosen his hip as target practice. Until he looked up and saw Adam. Adam Richards. Twenty-Two. Oldest Richards child. Two younger sisters. Star athlete at time of death. As each skeleton began rising from the dead, Peter was there to assist them. Fill in the details of where they had been this entire time. A mentor, almost. “I’ll just sit in agony for the next three days. It’s fine,” he deadpanned.

Then he gave the kid a smile. Adam was the kind of guy Peter would have hated if they were the same age. Probably the guy who would steal Peter’s glasses and stomp on them, no doubt. “Adam, isn’t it?” He asked. “You, uh, you settling in well?”