#minor

On your way home, you ask," Mr. Whatisit?" Your brother nodded."Mhm. He's nice. Though I don't really talk to him much. He just lingers and waves. He's always there when you come to pick me up, though."

You hum, trying not to act slightly concerned. You were. Was that the man's name? It was clearly a reference to A Wrinkle in Time and possibly a fake name.

Even so, you felt drawn to him somehow. It was strange; there was a sense of familiarity. 

You couldn't explain it, and your mother would get you locked up if you even brought it up. So you kept your mouth shut.

As for the party, things seemed to be going decently for them. Dustin, though, wasn't. Like you, he was grieving Eddie. It wasn't like you could. Everyone believed he was responsible. 

Consistently, there were moments that were called 'the crawl', and that was the times they'd check if Vecna was there. Though the spots never were places he'd be. He was hiding in a spot that couldn't be found. 

But here was, appearing to you, in your nightmares.

You were talking to a therapist about your trauma. But you obviously hold back, since they can't know the truth about the upside-down, eleven, and everything. 

But it helped anyway. You barely mention Eddie because there's a bias against him. The therapist, too. It's not hard to tell.  Hawkins hadn't been the same since Vecna came around. Now the world was shifting, and not in a good way.

You worked alongside Steve and Robin. It was a fun job and you always wanted to work in radio, so it worked out.

except lately, it was clear you hadn't been getting the best of sleep.

"y/n, are you okay?" Steve asked.

"I'm fine," You insist."I just didn't get much sleep last night, but it's nothing."

it wasn't nothing.

But you didn't want to worry them with your nightmares, although that seemed stupid to hide it, you just didn't want to say anything, or start something.

"I think we're all on edge," Robin said."Vecna hasn't been found, and the Military loves keeping us in the dark." You weren't a fan of the military anyway, but especially now.

It was always the same.

you enjoyed the routine for the most part, but still, you wanted something to happen in your life. maybe not vecna, but something new.

Or maybe you liked the thrill that you got from fighting and action.

Vecna liked to torment you, in the worst place possible, your dreams. You were the most vunlerable during that time. and you couldn't do anything about it.

On one of your free days, you were at a park. You didn't know why you went, but you needed time.

You saw 'Mr. Whatsit' again, standing over near you. You decide to go up to him.

He seemed, weird, but you wanted to be nice.

"Hi," You said.

"Hello," He replied. "Are you following me? You bluntly asked. "I was just observing," He smiles."I'm Mr. Whatsit."

You nod, giving him your name.

"I want to help you."

You can't trust him. You can't. But his voice, the way he speaks to you, makes you want to.

"How?" You ask, wondering what he would want from you. If he wants to help, he probably wants something in return, whoever he is.

He smiles."Come with me. Let's walk." You nod, taking his hand. Yeah, it was probably the stupidest thing you've ever done in your life. But, at this point in your life, you're desperate, and in a terrible mindset.

"There's danger in Hawkins," He tells you. You turn."I know. Monsters, right?"

He nodded as a response.

You realized then, where you knew him from.

When you got a better look at him, you freeze. how could you be so stupid? Was it just because he was hot? Probably, but that wasn't the point.

"I'm going to go, sir," You said."I hope you have a lovely day." He stops you. "Let me talk, hm?" He says. You let him.

"I've got a home not far from here. This world isn't safe at all, and is dangerous. There's monsters," He said."Come with me, and I'll protect you. I'll even protect the children."

You felt tempted by it, since he'd be helping everyone else too. But when you looked at him fully, you know who he is. You shake your head quickly and you bolt, but don't see his smile drop as you do so. Hell, you don't look back.

Your brother mentioned later that night, that Mr. Whatsit was going to save them. Realizing Vecna had some sinister plan for the children, you decide it's a good enough time to tell the crew. They had to know.

But you had no time.

"The Party, Code red, I repeat, code red, over."

"HELP!"

You place it on the ground and rush to your brother. "Y/n!" Your brother frowned. A demogorgon was in his bedroom. A demogorgon. "Run!" You insist.

"Leave my brother alone," you scream, grabbing anything in your room, dodging a few more attacks. But it was stronger. You had nothing really, and you feel it grab your leg, pulling you up.

You grib on the end of the bed frame, gripping as hard as you could. But it was no use.

you thought that since it wasn't after you, it'd let go. it only pulled you in closer, though.

You screamed one last time, as your arms let go.

The demogorgon had taken you.

You don't remember what happened next after that. Next thing you knew, you were in a home. A beautiful one. The Creel house. You remembered it.

You stand up, taking a look. You were in a bedroom. You saw a dress laid out for you, like it wanted you to wear it.

"I hope it's all to your liking."

You were startled by his voice. And he remained in human form. "I wasn't given much of a choice here," you frown."you just... ambushed me. were you even intending to take my brother?"

He remains smiling."Perhaps, perhaps not. It doesn't matter, you're staying here now. Away from the rest of the world."

And I'm stuck with a monster, You thought.

You stare at the dress, deciding your best option for now, was to comply.

Compliace was going to be your survival.

And if he starts kidnapping kids, then maybe you'd have a better way of stopping the monster.

You didn’t mean to end up here.

The here being stuck on your childhood bedroom floor, Polaroids and copies of pictures scattered around your room. If someone assumed a cyclone blew through your room without knowing what happened, you wouldn’t be surprised - probably even agree with the idea. It was the opposite of how your room was supposed to be.

You were visiting home after coming back for the holidays. And for your parents, that means bugging you on decluttering your room so they have less stuff to help move when you finally get an apartment. So you rolled your eyes (adding “joking” before your mom hit you on the back of your head) and made your way upstairs.

You know when you clean your room and you get too deep that you find things you forgot about? Or wanted to?

Well that’s what happened.

It was a silly shoebox you had painted freshman year of school. Everyone was doing it and you decided to join in, hoping to add memories of high school to remember. It did turn into a memory box, and one about high school, but more about a specific boy.

You’d grabbed it, wanting to see what was in it and if it was worth keeping. You remember decorating the box, but you’d forgotten what was inside until you opened and memories came flooding back.

Late nights and early mornings, sleepovers and camping trips, playlists blasting through your car that probably permanently damaged your ears, hockey games and jerseys that were now in the back of your closet. And each memory was you and Macklin.

Macklin Celebrini.

You know the one. Hockey sensation, greatest teenage hockey player since Gretzky and Crosby. You lived under a rock if you didn’t know. And you’d tried. You tried to find a rock big enough, but still attending the university you went to together, it was hard not to. His name was everywhere: TV’s, people’s mouths, shirts, it didn’t matter.

It was also in your phone, a contact you’d have to scroll for a bit to find in your messages. It didn’t used to be like that. The two of you used to be glued at the hip, your name not being without his. Now? That’s a different story.

You went and sat on the carpet in your room, shifting through photos and memorabilia from your years of friendship.

A hockey puck he stole from his first goal on his high school team. (He had signed it, saying that it’ll be worth a lot more when you were older. He was joking, but he was right). Wristbands from concerts and trailer parks you stayed at with Aiden, tabs from your first beer cans you’d chugged together at someone’s party.

And pictures. So many pictures. Some dating all the way back to your childhood. You and Mack sat on a bench at the beach, faces covered in ice cream and smiles miles wide. You still remember that day. A picture of the two of you in a canoe on a family fishing trip, the lifejackets slightly too big that made you look a little funny. You were mid yell, glaring at Macklin as he was stood up in the canoe, probably rocking it to piss you off.

You were right to be mad. He ended up tipping it and the two of you were drenched in lake water. That night consisted of you annoyed while sitting by the fire, Mack roasting a marshmallow as an apology. Aiden had snuck a photo that you still don’t to know about. Macklin has that one.

Then there were pictures of the two of you through high school.

The classic first day picture that your parents always made you take. You hated doing it with your siblings, but you didn’t mind doing it with Aiden or Mack. Moments of you and Macklin before hockey games - his jersey on you as you did your pregame handshake, one you’d made up when you were younger - and after games - the two of you sitting at Mack’s dinner table or watching a movie . . . Well, mostly you. He wad passed out beside you.

For your fifteenth birthday, Macklin decided to save up his money and buy you a Polaroid camera. His parents offered to chip in and pay for half, but he refused, wanting to buy it himself. You never noticed, but he’d seen you eyeing up cameras in stores and online. He got one in your favourite colour and gave it to you the night of your birthday, the two of you in your bedroom hanging out.

That was the first Polaroid you ever took.

Soon, it came everywhere with you. You had to get a part time job to pay for the film. (You had to get one anyway, but you mostly got it for the film). You took pictures of yourself, of Mack, of the two of you together. Mack took pictures of you two, stealing your camera and catching you off guard.

His favourite one is one he took of you mid-conversation, talking about one of your favourite topics. He kept it in his suit pockets when he went to his games.

It’s now tucked in the back of his wallet. He still looks at it every now and again.

There were pictures of the two of you in matching pyjamas on Christmas, you forcing your parents to take a picture. There were pictures of the two of you at prom, his tie matching with your dress. That night you remember like it was yesterday. Your parents were taking a million pictures, and his mom had grabbed your Polaroid and catching one before you were almost late.

The punch was spiked and you were both a little tipsy, dancing together to Lover by Taylor swift. You’d almost kissed that night. He’d pulled away first, kissing your forehead instead.

You never talked about it, but that night made the line between friends and dating a little blurry.

By the time you’d both been accepted to Boston University, the camera had been worn down and didn’t work half the time. You left it at home, not wanting it to take up extra space in your dorm. But Macklin had snuck it with him the last time you two had hung out before moving day and took it with him. You were getting a picture in front of the resident building with him, everyone’s phones out - including yours and Mack’s - to catch the moment. You thought you were done when he walked towards his mom, but then he dug through his mom’s purse and pulled the thing out.

He had a giant smile on his face, one that said he was proud of himself. He had held it up, saying “one more?” You had rolled your eyes with a smile on your face and went to pose once more. You were happy, but you didn’t know why he would grab it since it never worked.

Those two photos, one for both of you, were the last time the camera had worked.

You stayed friends in university, taking some of the same classes and hanging out in your car because he still hadn’t gotten his drivers license. His payment for driving you everywhere were cans of redbull and discounted tickets to hockey games.

The last time you had seen Macklin was at the Boston airport. He was in a plane hoodie and sweats, beanie on his hand and luggage in his hand. Your face was red from crying the night before and trying not to cry then. It didn’t work. You walked him to security and hugged him. He kissed your forehead like he did at prom and promised to stay in touch.

You did your childhood handshake and told him to text you when the plane was taking off and landing. You’d cried the whole night and next day, staying in bed and missing your classes.

You stayed in touch for the first little while, texts and phone calls a regular thing. The rare FaceTime when he wasn’t busy. Then the season picked up and he became busy, texting you once every couple weeks and not calling.

You knew you lost your best friend when texted every couple months, just saying hi and seeing how you were. No more funny TikTok’s or vlogs of your day, random texts in the middle of the night when you both couldn’t sleep. You talked to his parents and Aiden more than you talked to Macklin.

His contact name changed, but he stayed in the same position in your messages app.

You hate how he still cares. He still likes your Instagram posts and stories, still checks in - thought rarely. It would’ve been easier for you to let go if he didn’t. If he cut contact, stopped interacting but he didn’t.

You don’t know he still thought you could be friends. You don’t know how it wasn’t tearing him apart like it was killing you. You wanted to let go, but you couldn’t.

Your mom called up from downstairs for dinner and you slowly piled the pictures up and placed them back in the box. All except for one.