Never going Back ⋆ Stranger Things

1. The Job Interview

Friday, July 5, 1985.

Things had never worked out for Oscar Reynolds. Because of this, he'd known that he was cursed even long before an interdimensional demon attempted to grind his bones to dust. The fact that his new job burned down the day after he was hired solidified those feelings before any monsters could even get their hands on him.

It would almost be redundant to say that strange things had been happening during the summer of '85. This was Hawkins, strange things happened seemingly every day. Though, that summer had been an explicitly strange one, for reasons that Oz feared he might never truly understand.

It was a nice, cool summer morning when Oz got himself ready for his first day of work. He'd even bothered to put in some actual effort to look alive, though it hadn't fully worked out.

Oscar Reynolds was an odd thing to see. He was tall for his age, with spiky black hair that stuck out like he'd just rolled out of bed—no matter the effort he put in to try and fix it—and seemingly ever-present bruises on his face from whatever fight he'd recently found himself in. Despite the fact that he was good at sports and had even managed to join the Hawkins High basketball team—something mainly accredited to the aforementioned height advantage—he never quite seemed to fit in with the high school stereotype he'd been sorted into.

He'd never quite earned the approval of his class- and teammates, but it also seemed like he had long since given up on trying. As long as they paid him very little attention at all, Oz seemed satisfied with his situation. If any of the other Hawkins High students were asked, they most likely couldn't name even one person that considered themselves a friend of Oscar.

Those who had been paying close attention during freshman year might be capable of naming one friend he'd had, but everyone had long since stopped wanting to name that boy entirely.

Tragic things happened all the time around Hawkins, but that never made them any easier.

As was the case for the Starcourt fire of '85.

Oz was out of the front door before his mother had even woken up, making sure to be quiet as a mouse while he snuck out. He even went through the effort of pushing his motorbike across the asphalt, not wanting to start it before he'd gotten himself a nice distance away from the home. The old thing sounded like gunshots when he would start it, which might just wake his mother. He wasn't willing to take the risk.

As Oz rode up to the mall he should have heard the sirens. Though, he never quite heard anything over the roar of his bike's engine. Perhaps he should have seen the blinking lights in the distance, or noticed the fleet of cars rushing past him. He didn't, though. It was one of his greater flaws, that lack of perceptiveness. The things Oz did see, he saw very well. Sadly, he often didn't see anything at all. As was the case for the parade of lights and sirens ahead of him. He didn't notice a thing until it was right in front of him.

"What the—?"

Oz pulled the helmet off his head slowly, staring wide eyed at the smoldering metal carcass of what had once been the Starcourt Mall ahead of him. The parking lot was filled with police cars and fire trucks, along with the odd confused mall employee that—much like Oz—stared ahead at what had once been their place of employment. Their expressions ranged from confused to utterly horrified. Oz felt the pit in his stomach harden, eyes scanning over the parking lot to see if there were any familiar faces there.

He noticed two cinema uniform shirts in the crowd, though he didn't recognize the people wearing them. He figured he never would, either, as they stopped being coworkers before they could even well and truly work together.

Looking further, Oz realized with something of a painful twist in his stomach that he could see Steve Harrington sitting in the back of an ambulance, still wearing his Scoops Ahoy uniform. Had he been working when the mall caught fire? The side of his face was swollen, a mean blue bruise circling his eye. It looked like he'd been punched in the face. Hard. It didn't matter much, though. Steve Harrington couldn't look bad if he tried. For a moment Oz imagined he could walk up to Steve to ask him what happened, or if he was okay. He allowed himself to imagine that they were fiends who cared about each other in that way.