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Hawkins Indiana,
1984
SMALL tendrils of pitch black matter swirled in the dark streets, a quiet hum of static energy coexisting at the same time. Quickly growing in size the swirl began to hum louder than it had before and, in one second, the image of a chair falling backwards entered from it. Salazar gave a manly shriek at the force of his body being thrown down with the cheap wood of the chair.
Salazar spluttered in embarrassment, eyes looking in the direction of the star filled night while his chest heaved at the aftermath of being shot from the rough spell. "Motherfucker! fuck fuck." Throwing his body forward and out the broken pieces of what was once a chair, Salazar refused to let himself whimper like a little girl but damn did that hurt.
Salazar grumbled instead, crossing his legs like a grade schooler waiting to be told what to do. He tugged the offending blue and red coat Ambrose had given him tighter against himself, feeling the cold chill of the night. Salazar cooled his features but not even a minute later furrowed his eyebrows in impatience, hands tapping on the rough jean material on his legs.
"Anytime now, please." Tugging his sleeve back Salazar looked to his wrist as if there was supposed to be a watch there, there wasn't, not finding whatever he was looking for he shut his eyes and started counting.
There was not a chance he would regret leaving the Spellman mortuary even when the chill of the night grew. The spell was always a last resort for getting out of tricky situations and after over 300 years of never casting it, he finally remembered why. His body ached painfully and he had no idea where he appeared to. When he tried to muster up the strength to mutter out a spell he ended up wincing in pain and shutting up quickly.
As if Satan heard his prayers the distant light of a modern car beamed in the night. It was traveling horribly fast and Salazar, in an act of stupidity, pushed his sore body forward and out into the two-way street. Hands spread wide Salazar huffed with eyes shut before opening them to glare openly at the car as if his glare could stop it from speeding at him and killing him there.
In pure luck the driver of the vehicle stomped harshly on the breaks at the reflection of his bright clothing in the dead night. Her eyes were wide when the teen became fully visible to her with the help of her headlights.
"Oh my God!" Joyce Byers yelped. Hand blindly moving to put her car in park, she fumbled with the door swinging it open and stumbling out the car when she tripped over her feet. "Are you okay?! Oh my God! You're not hurt are you? Please tell me you're not hurt."
Salazar blinked sluggishly at her, almost confused why she was a spluttering mess at him when he realized that he'd probably just given her a heart attack. Humans, he rolled his eyes internally and cooled his features into a believable look of fear.
"I'm sorry I was just-" He mocked a heavy stutter. "I just don't know where I am and couldn't see anything at all. And I don't know what to do my dad he..uh kicked me out?" Salazar winced when he sounded confused and at the look she gave him, she hadn't noticed his slip-up.
"You poor thing." Joyce thought of her own son Will and everything that happened to him. Feeling an increasing worry for the doe-eyed teen in front of her and his battered form, she ran to his side.
Salazar grinned down at his father in hell. Luck always seemed to be on his side in the end. "I'm really sorry for doing that I just didn't know what to do." He hung his head down in what was supposed to look like shame, a giant smirk on his face.
Shaking her head quickly, Joyce muttered out paced "No" "No's" and frowned at the boy in sympathy, "You know what" She dug harshly into her lip in hesitance, "How about stay at my house for the night? My sons wont mind and it's just until I can call up Chief Hopper to get you some help."
She thought about her mess of a house and how Jonathan might not take well to a stranger, even Will who hadn't been himself for a while but looking back into those puppy eyes of the lost teen Joyce was too conflicted between extremes to leave him in the cold streets. It just wasn't safe anymore.
Salazar frowned. Think of dead kittens. Dead kittens, dead kitt- His eyes became glossy, "If you don't mind, I'd really appreciate that."
