𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 ━ ᴶᴶ ᴹᵃʸᵇᵃⁿᵏ

𝟬𝟲. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨

IT WAS ALWAYS A BACK AND FORTH process between sleeping at John B's and sleeping in her own home for Sierra. That night, though, it felt necessary to stay in the Routledge boy's company after such a major discovery. One of which made everything much more personal then it initially was. The two were up hours after night fall, discussing how a compass that was in Big John's ancestry was somehow circled back into John B's palm. And something about denial, that was mostly on John B's part due to the constant pitiful looks he gets whenever he shoots down that claim that his father was dead.

  "Denial is overrated." He claimed, looking at Sierra from across the hammock, noting the fact that she was dozing off with every word he spoke.

  "Well, I had no room for denial because my old man was just straight up dead." Sierra slurred tiredly as she shrugged, throwing her head back. "And the autopsy is there to prove it, plus the funeral really sealed the deal."

  John B didn't know if he should've laughed or patted her on the back with a soothing word. He did a mixture of both, standing from the hammock with an amused grin and a hand on her right shoulder. "Don't think he pulled a Will Byers and the body you saw was actually just a dummy."

  "Denial is a river in Egypt, John B." Sierra muttered, slowly stepping off the hammock as well. "Let's keep it there and not bring to the Outerbanks."

  "Don't know 'bout you, but you should definitely try it out."

  "Didn't you just say it was overrated?"

  "I can make some exception." John B tossed an arm to wrap around Sierra, letting her sink into his side as they made their way into the Chateau. "Alright, nice and steady."

  John B slowly lowered Sierra before she physically tossed herself into the sheets. The pull out couch had spent more of its hours as a bed then an actual couch, the brunette noticed. It was small things like that of which he appreciated. It meant he didn't have to leave Sierra on one of the dining chairs—where he knew she'd ultimately fall asleep on—as he set up the whole bed.

  Sierra only let out half groans, half hums every time John B spoke, including when he pushed her to the other side so he could comfortably crawl in too. "To being fatherless, John B."

  The Routledge boy laughed, shaking his head. "To being fatherless, Sierra."

  "Goodnight."

  "Night."

Sleep soon overtook them, soft breathing turning into snores as they rested for the whole night. The pull out couch could've been worse. Yes, it was a bit old but with a few blankets and pillows (and JJ's body warmth, of which was absent from the scene) it was enough.

  That morning, a pounding came from the door, a deep voice calling out from the other side.

"DCS, we know you're in there!" A harsh knock, then a brief silence. John B sat up in a instant, looking around in fear, his hand reaching out to shake Sierra awake. Just as she began to flutter open her eyes, JJ jumped in front of the window that sat directly above the couch, banging on the glass with a wide grin. John B flinched, then scoffed at the sight of his mischievous best friend. "Gotcha' slick."

Sierra sat up, looking around with furrowed brows and squinted eyes. "Fuck off, JJ." She heard John B mutter, moving off the couch to unlock the door.

"What are you doing on the pull out couch with my girl, that's our designated spot." JJ pushed through the door, staring at the culprits with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought it was the guest room that you turned into your room." John B asked, standing to walk to his bedroom and search for a different shirt.

"It is, we have multiple spots." The blonde turned to look at Sierra who had yet to say anything, far too sleepy as she stared at the wall in front of her blankly. "Isn't that right?"