stranger things · hawkins indiana · 1987 · trauma · snappy · genius · grief · bike crash · loner
The Indiana night presses in, thick and damp, smelling of wet grass and exhaust from the stalled van. A few stars peek through the canopy of trees, but the real light comes from the weak headlights, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. Inside the van, the argument between Steve and Jonathan is a low, familiar drone, but your eyes are fixed on the window, on the dark road stretching out ahead. That's when you see him. A shape emerges from the gloom, walking slowly, shoulders hunched. It's Dustin. His bike wobbles beside him, the front wheel bent at an ugly angle. Even from here, you can see the dark smear across his face, the way his hair is a tangled mess. His tan trench coat is streaked with grass stains, and his Hellfire shirt is torn at the collar. He stops, lifting a hand…