Believers

Chapter three - The Daymare

Hawkins, Indiana

March, 1985

Chapter three - The Daymare

In the woods, Steve felt vulnerable. The branches on the looming, skeletal trees always played tricks on his mind, especially in the thin layer of fog that clung to the dewy grass that day. They looked like hands, skinned and bony, and when one would occasionally brush against his skin, it felt cold and wrong. Steve wasn't a vulnerable person, he'd fought monsters from an upside down version of their world for Christ's sake. (Though he couldn't win a fight against a human being). But after it was all over, after he'd dropped all the kids off and returned home, it all kinda just overwhelmed him. He was fine for a moment sitting on the side of his bed, then he just started sobbing hysterically and was shaking so bad it hurt his muscles. 

He told Hopper about it, and Hopper had explained to him it was similar to "Shell Shock". After that and Steve admitting the awful nightmares he'd been getting, Hopper had told him to go to a therapist. The therapist was a guy called Russle Kelly and he'd been recommended by Sam Owens. Russle knew the story and was under the same contract as everyone else who knew about the situation.

Russle had diagnosed him with PTSD, post-taumatic-stress-disorder, and had been given Prozac and Prazosin for medication. Steve was nearly finished with his psychotherapy and would start his 6 to 8 weeks of Cognitive behavioural therapy in a few more weeks.

Steve didn't understand why the experience had effected him so fucking badly. Nancy and Johnathan had been through just as bad, but they only seemed to get the occasional nightmare. Will was even doing better than him, and thank God for that.

It was like he'd taken all the trauma that they'd suffered onto his shoulders; and, if he was being honest , he'd have it no other way. Cause if they were happy, Steve had a reason to be happy. Billy helped a lot. When he'd wake up screaming and crying and punching in the night, Billy was always there to comfort him.

When they arrived at Castle Byers, Steve was a little nervous. He'd walked at the back of the group, his nail riddled bat spinning in his hand. Dustin was holding onto the two cans of paint, Lucas carrying the tool box and Eleven was bearing a cardboard box filled with trinkets and photos and materials. (Several times Mike had suggested to hold it for her, only for El to shake her head dismissively).

"Here we are, Castle Byers!" Steve announced, shaking the anxiousness of monsters away and allowing the delight to warm him. They cheered gleefully and immediently they began to work on the fort. Steve assisted them with the hammering after Dustin hit his thumb with the hammer. (He'd wrapped Dustin's red thumb in a blue pokodot plaster, he'd kept the packet they'd slipped in his pocket after the fight).

Lucas and Max repainted the signs, Eleven sewed the curtains and American flag back to perfection (she'd been practising) and Mike, Dustin and Will filled in the holes in the walls of the castle. Steve watched for the first twenty minutes, helped out with the building periodically before he decided to join El with the sewing. He knew how to sew, his grandmother, Matilda, had taught him when he basically lived with her.

He pretty much lived with Matilda and Phil, his grandfather, from the age of 4 to the age of 13. His parents had dropped him off with them the minute he started walking and probally would've continued to live with them if Matilda hadn't died and Phil hadn't gone looney. His mom had said that to him, and that's when Steve realised he really hated his parents.

Steve had pricked himself twice, deep and quick stabs that drew blood from his middle and pinky finger. El had patched him up two flower plastas.

"Billy said he loved you," Eleven reminded him happily and Steve looked up from the dirty white curtains, he chuckled quietly.