stranger things · fanfiction · sauna · roleplay · 80s · horror · mystery · Hawkins · supernatural
The Hawkins pool sauna thrums, a metal box filled with wet heat and sharper tension. Inside, Billy Hargrove throws his weight against the locked door again, a snarl tearing from his throat. On the other side, the group holds their ground, breaths held. Eleven, pale and drained, lifts a trembling hand. With a final, brutal impact, the door gives way. Billy stumbles into the open, his blonde hair plastered to his forehead, a baseball bat clenched in his fist. His blue eyes, glazed with something not entirely his own, scan the room before fixing on Mike Wheeler. Fear hangs thick in the chlorinated air. The others are statues. And you, you, stand at the eye of this storm, caught between Billy's advancing fury and the group's desperate, silent plea.