CHAPTER ONE ━━━ IN FEAR AND WAIT
( Episode One: The Hellfire Club )

warnings: suicidal ideation,
mentions of drug use, and gore.

THE INCESSANT TICKING CLOCK on the wall looms over Miss Kelly. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. She's composed, undisturbed, and offers a soft smile with her vermillion-stained lips. Her arms are loosely crossed over her wooden desk as she leans forward, in what might be her way to be attuned to her patient's emotions, most importantly, she's willing to dissect whatever he'll give. Friday mornings were Sam's usual sessions. The only reason he's even in counseling is because Eddie encouraged Wayne to sign off with the school in mid-November. 

In a mandatory fashion he's in Miss Kelly's office twice a week. Today he's disregarding her with his attention as he's being drawn elsewhere. The elsewhere being the slivery-pink scar on his left palm. He traces it with his thumb as it runs in between his thumb and pointer nearing towards the edge of his wrist. He doesn't like how far it goes down. He never has. It's all too familiar. Once he reaches the end he repeats the same motion.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up and—

"Sam."

He snaps back from his thoughts to find Jon standing right beside him. The other boy's hand is on his shoulder giving it a squeeze in an attempt to draw Sam back to real world.

This is real.

This is really happening. Sam's glassy eyes meet Jon's determined ones. Sam sucks in a breath to hold it all in.

He can't do this.

Sam can't help the shaky breath he lets out.

"Hey...hey, Nancy and I need you," Jon hushes, like he doesn't want Nancy Wheeler, the ghost of Barb, or even the monster to know how goddamned terrified Sam is. Jon's hand slides up to Sam's neck, his thumb landing right behind his ear. He brings Sam closer and gently presses his forehead against his.

"We'll be okay," Jon's says like a promise.

The far away sound of a crowd roaring brings Sam back to the present. He blinks and glances at the brick wall a few feet away from him. Despite the office's closed door and its thick walls he can hear Jason Carver riling up the students of Hawkins High. He doesn't particularly like Jason, yet he would much rather sit on the gym's bleachers than regurgitate his so-called trauma to Miss Kelly.

He doesn't even want to think about it.

For Christ's sake, he's missing the pep rally!

Not that Sam was especially excited for a celebration involving the jocks and cheerleaders of Hawkins High. Who by the way, regularly ridicule his brother. Just because Sam wasn't on good terms with his brother doesn't mean he wouldn't defend him. He's still his brother. In all honestly, Sam really, really, really does not want to be sitting in Miss Kelly's suffocatingly small office.

"Samuel, have you thought about college?" Miss Kelly questions. Oh, God. This again. The inquiry catches Sam off guard enough for him to look back at his counselor. He momentarily locks eyes with Miss Kelly before he throws his head back to let out a loud groan as he slumps into his chair.

When he wasn't avoiding Nancy, Emerson College had been the only thing on her mind. Emerson College this and Emerson College that. Including the occasional, rants about Jon and his own college application. However, she was constantly on Sam's case about applying to NYU. It was one time. One time Sam mentioned NYU and Nancy ingrained it into her brain.

He appreciated the sentiment.

But he stopped caring about college a long time ago.

He used to think about higher education. A lot, actually. Before the Demogorgon, the Mindflayer and Demodogs to Russians in Starcourt Mall. He used to dream of high-tailing out of Hawkins, Indiana towards somewhere that wasn't a gateway to Hell.

Sam would major in English and he'd minor in something extremely pretentious just to piss his brother off. Now college has been the last thing on Sam's mind. Nonexistent even— or that was a lie. The concept of college did cross Sam's mind for a millisecond last weekend. When he and Sloane Bauman were watching their annual showing of ThunderCats as they drank giant, cherry, Slush Puppies. Sam wondered then what Lion-O would do in the real world. What some anthropomorphic creature would go to college for.

"Yeah..." Sam decides picking his head back up before he adjusts his weight in the chair. "I have," he continues catching the second his counselor's eyes squint as if she's called bullshit.

"You don't sound too sure on that," Miss Kelly observes. She looks down at the papers on her desk, gears appear to be turning in her head as she tries to think of a new tactic from the manual book: Getting Samuel Munson to Open Up 101.

Sam did not want to talk about the things that have happened to him. Frankly, it's uncomfortable. It's like nails on chalkboard or the way Max kicks Sam behind his knees that cause them to buckle ending with his face down in the dirt. He's a bottler and he doesn't plan on uncorking his Pandora's Box— or those radioactive canisters open.

"How is everything at home? Is it still tense with your family?" She enquires. Miss Kelly pushes her elbows off her desk and leans back into her seat.

Is it still tense with your family? Sam mocks in his head. He hates this. He should stop complaining so much because he won't have to see Miss Kelly and sit in this damned office for a whole week with Spring Break finally on the horizon.

"No," Sam answers giving her a grin.

A lie.

Last Night 9:04 PM / The Munson Residence

  SAM DOES NOT UNDERSTAND a word of what Elizabeth Fraser sings. Her soft vocals pour out from his headphones and he hums along to the strange whimsical tune of the Cocteau Twins. Lately he's been listening to more of their music. The strange melodies are comforting and somewhat help lull him to sleep. So far Sam has had the same song on repeat, rewinding the cassette tape to hear the four-minute melody. Sam's eyes have been shut, too deep in thought, and too focused on trying to figure out what the hell Elizabeth Fraser is singing to notice his brother. Who happens to be awkwardly standing next to the edge of Sam's bedside.

Amongst the serenading Sam hears a voice. Masculine. Slightly high-pitched. Definitely annoyed. He then makes out a muffled yell of his name before opening his eyes. He's greeted with the sight of his brother Eddie. There always seems to be a frown permanently etched into Eddie's face whenever Sam is in his line of sight. Eddie raises his arm, bringing his hand close to his ear, and makes a tapping motion with his pointer finger. Sam feels the sheets for his Walkman, finding it beside him he grasps and pauses the song with the press of button. He tentatively slides his headphones down his ears to rest on his neck.

"Sorry," Sam admits, earnestly. He can feel the oncoming weight of scrutiny falling upon him with his brother's presence. He's fiddles with the wire of his headphones waiting for his brother to say something. Anything. Maybe that he forgot to his laundry or that Wayne's lunch needs to be packed because his brother cannot cook for shit.

Eddie is dripping with sweat, his jacket is tied around his waist, and his hair is up in a loose bun. What was today? Sam thinks.

Oh, it's Thursday.

Corroded Coffin practices on Thursday nights.

At Gareth's house.

Sam glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was nine pm. Usually Eddie gets home at ten something on Thursday nights because of band practice.

"Sammy. I came home early to check on you..." Eddie says a bit breathless, "You weren't— you didn't answer the phone."

"Oh," is all Sam replies with.

"I called ten times. I thought you— l thought you were at Rick's," Eddie reveals.

"At Rick's" rings in Sam's ears and sets off an alarm. Fuck. Eddie sounds serious. He seriously believed Sam had gone off to Reefer Rick's.

"So I called him. He said you hadn't stopped by..."

He doesn't know how to respond to that. That Eddie really had little faith in Sam to stay sober. Eddie's attention wavers as he looks around his brother's side of the room. Once meticulously organized is now cluttered with unfolded laundry, crumpled up papers, and books scattered from their shared library shelf. Eddie lets out a whistle-like sigh his gaze finding its way back to Sam.

"—at least not today."

Aaaaaand atomic bomb has been dropped.

Sam stops fiddling with the wire of his headphones. He knew it was coming yet he feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Sam wants to deny all plausibility.

He can deny.

Deny. Deny. Deny

Deny the fact that Eddie doesn't have a fuck-up of a brother.

But he won't.

For Eddie's sake.

Sam glances down to his left hand and turns it around to see his palm and the softer line of flesh of his scar. Upon furthering pondering, Sam feels defeated and mostly pissed off.

"So?" Sam questions plain and simple. He looks back up to face Eddie who immediately pales. The words that transpired from Sam's mouth seemed to rattle his brother. Eddie's breathing becomes heavy, he looks beyond frustrated, and suddenly he's grasping the curls on his head. He turns around unable to even look at Sam and yells out, "Fuck!"

Eddie turns back towards him, eyes closed as he pinches the crease between his brows trying to bring back his composure. "What were you doing there?" Eddie breathes out as if the answer wasn't obvious. It's not a question, it's Eddie demanding to know why Sam went to a place he knows he's forbidden from going to. He wants to hear it from Sam himself.

Sam stays silent. What could he tell him? That he walked to 2121 Holland Drive and took alarming amount of drugs? Or maybe that he practically begged Rick to give him something? That's what Eddie would want to hear, right? That Sam fucked up once again.

"Sam. C'mon. What were you doing there?" Eddie tries again.

Sam still can't find the words. He wants to tell his brother the truth about everything. It won't come out, but what does makes things worse, "You should be more fucking worried about Miss O'Donnell's class than my life!" Sam snaps.

He can't do this with Eddie right now.

He doesn't want to hear it.

"Yeah? Yeah? Did you get your fucking fix?!" Eddie spits out his hands turning in fists. He unfurls one of his hands to grasp Sam's shirt. He brings himself closer bring Sam face to face.

"You're drowning in debt Sam! Did you get everything you needed out of it? Do you need it? That. Fucking. Bad?"

Sam flinches.

"Eddie—"

"I really can't wait for Wayne to find you coked out!" Eddie laughs, letting go of his shirt. He takes a step back and throwing his arms up in the air. Sam feels small. He feels like dirt on his brother's shoe or gum that's stuck and won't go away.

"Fuck you! I didn't even step into his house!" Sam shouts, swinging his legs off the bed, his Walkman clattering to the floor and shoves Eddie out of the way to make room for himself to stand. "I wanted to. Christ. I wanted to. But I didn't. I stood outside of that house for a good thirty minutes and I left!"

"You're such a goddamned liar!" Eddie screams.

Sam was a liar.

He was ashamed. He didn't step into that house. Rick met him outside. He gave him the cash and Sam made it off home with a few pills of temazepam. It wasn't what he used to do before. He used to do hard drugs. He just needed to sleep and Reefer Rick was his last resort. Sam takes a step towards his night stand and gets on his knees to open the bottom drawer.

"What the fuck are you doing? Are you going to run off to Bauman like the last time and give her your sob story?" Eddie seethes.

Sam stays silent as he searches through the miscellaneous items from pencils, trinkets, and papers he found his Altoids tin. He pulls it out and grips it into the palm of his hand. He can't sleep. He can feel her watching him.

Sam want's her to go away. He wants it all to go away but he needs his brother to trust him.

To believe him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and flings the tin at his brother with yell of exasperation. It smacks Eddie right in the chest and lands faced opened on to the carpeted floor. It's filled to the brim with pills as they scatter everywhere. Sam then stares back into the now empty drawer.

"I needed help sleeping. I wake up and I....I see—..." The words die in Sam's throat.

If Eddie heard that he doesn't let Sam know as he bends down and picks up a pill from the floor. He holds up the pill with his thumb and pointer finger to look at the inscription on it. Eddie himself has been around Reefer Rick long enough to know his drugs. It's quiet and both of the Munson brothers don't make any sudden noise. Eddie is staring at his brother who is on the floor with clenched jaw, unsure if he should be this furious at him. His bridle anger emanates the entire room. It's been like this for months between them. Animosity. Arguments. Sam shoving Eddie. Eddie being an immovable wall.

"Keep it. Take it back. I haven't taken any of them so it can go back to the inventory for all I care," Sam says not bothering to look up at Eddie. He picks up his Walkman that landed near his brother's black boots before he stands back up. Eddie says nothing when Sam comes back up and he continues to stare at the pill between his fingers.

Sam wants to scream.

A multitude of times Eddie has asked him: Sammy what's going on with you? Every single time Sam gave his brother a flatlined response. Sam knows he's a lot and an "I'm sorry" is the best he can give Eddie in this moment. Sam forces himself to take a look at Eddie who seems to look utterly exhausted by him.

"Okay," is all that comes out of Eddie's mouth. It's quiet and soft like Eddie can't believe what happened. He gets on the floor picking up the spilled pills and the Altoid's tin. He turns on his heels with heavy footsteps leaving their room.

Sam is alone once again.

Except, creeping in the corner on his side of the room he can feel her. He tries not to acknowledge her. She's not real. She's not real. She's not real. Sam tells himself. He quickly turns off the lamp on his night side, crawling back into bed, lying flat on his back. His Walkman was still in his hand and without looking as if it was instinct he takes the headphones slipping them back on his head.

He presses the play button and closes his eyes. To Sam it kind of sounds like she's singing:

   ...Tragedy end.

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                     MISS KELLY DOESN'T press any further. Thank fucking God. "Are you sleeping better?" She asks. I take that back. The grin falls and the line on his mouth becomes taut. He looks up at the clock above Miss Kelly and he feels like he's been here for ages when in reality it's been twenty minutes. His only savior would be the bell or a meteor crashing into Earth.

"I'm..." Sam thinks for a moment. He doesn't really know how he is. He's somewhat sober and has been able to maintain his friendship with Sloane. That's better than he could have imagined a few months ago, when he was never home always at Rick's and practically friendless at that point in his life. But sleep was a different. He couldn't sleep unless it involved a panic attack and the after sleepiness he felt.

"—better," Sam decides in order to quell any of Miss Kelly's growing doubt.

"Any nightmares?"

Yes.

"Not really," Sam says.

"Are you sure?" Miss Kelly presses.

Sam is quiet as he debates whether or not to say something. Anything really. Maybe it really couldn't hurt to tell Miss Kelly something it's like throwing a bone to a starving dog.
The time would go by faster. "Well, there's been one," Sam replies. This truly peaks his counselor's interest—probably because Sam isn't always this cooperative during these sessions. Miss Kelly has made Sam accidentally reveal his thoughts too many times.

"Is it the same one?"

Ah, the recurring nightmare that Sam can't escape. The same one that manifested after his mother's funeral. He had spoken about it once to Miss Kelly in a desperate attempt to find a way to fix himself. God, Sam wishes he could go back to the nights of before where he's Crockett and Jonathan is Tubbs from Miami Vice. 

"Ahem," Miss Kelly says to grab Sam's attention amidst his reminiscing. "Samuel, I need you to know: I'm here to help you with what you're going through."

"I know," Sam murmurs.

"Alright, and I can only help you if you're open with me."

He must have been quiet for too long to have Miss Kelly announce this to him. He knows she's trying to help him and he's willing to try.

It's just hard.

"...Okay. Uh, well. I'm at her funeral again. Looking over her coffin and I can't move. I'm glued to the floor. She's opening her eyes. They're white and devoid of any life. She— she— stretches out her arms— " He stops. Sam watches as a shadow emerges from behind his counselor.

"Then what happened Sam?"

It moves and stretches further up the wall just below the clock. He tries his best to focus on Miss Kelly. "...She's reaching out and she pulls me—"

He can't speak. She's not real. Miss Kelly told Sam she's not real. It. It's not real. It's just a manifestation of his grief. His mind is blank as he watches the corpse of his mother drag herself out of the shadow behind Miss Kelly.

It's not real.
It's not real.
It's not real.

The nightmarish form of what is suppose to be Sam's mother stands behind Miss Kelly. It looks worse than the last time he saw it. The skin is peeled off showing the tissue below the layer of it. It's red and seeping with blood. Clumps of skin slowly fall to the carpet with an audible wet slap. The eyes are milky and look like they could roll onto the floor. It's grey and looks like it crawled its way out of the grave.

His mind goes blank. He's frozen.

It moves from Miss Kelly and steps towards Sam. The closer it gets. The smell of death follows. It's face to face with him now. Sam holds his breath. It's not real. But why can he smell it? Why can he feel a hand gripping his hair?

"You can't keep running Samuel," it says.

It's has her voice. It's never spoken to him. She's always staring at him and never moving unless it was an attempt to show some sort of motherly affection.

Sam shuts his eyes willing for it go away.

It can't be real.

When he opens his eyes again it's disappeared. Sam lets out a shaky breath and feels his hands trembling. He glances up to the clock and— that can't be right. His session is over? He looks back to Miss Kelly who is talking to him except she sounds muffled and far away. There's a ringing in his ears and he just nods along to whatever Miss Kelly is telling him. Had he been talking? This isn't...right.

The bell rings and Sam hurriedly leans down to reach for his backpack. He can't risk being late or Mr. Weiss will put him in detention. He stands up and slings his backpack onto his shoulder.

"I'll see you next week Miss Kelly," Sam says already headed for the door.

"Before you go!"

Sam turns around right his hand is on the door knob. He watches Miss Kelly frantically open the drawer in her desk. She pulls out several pamphlets.

Oh. Right. College.

Miss Kelly pushes her chair back and stands up maneuvering her way towards Sam. "Please look these over Samuel. And remember: I'm here when you need me." She holds the pamphlets out to him and gives him a small smile.

He reluctantly takes them into his hand and nods his head. He turns back around twisting the door knob. He walks out of Miss Kelly's office unable to shake the feeling of what he witnessed. The door closes with a heavy slam making Sam jump and he finds the next troubling teen beside him.

Chrissy Cunningham.

"Hi Sam," Chrissy greets quietly.

"Heeeey Chris," Sam says embarrassed.

She gives him a one-sided smile. Her typical cheery disposition has disappeared. Sam doesn't know how Chrissy does it. She's sunshine and smiles one moment to looking like she's ready to burst into tears the next.

"Miss Kelly is all yours," Sam continues as he steps away from the doorway. He motions his pamphlet held hand towards the closed the door. He watches Chrissy shuffle her way past him and when she grips the door knob. She looks back to Sam gives him a salute.

Sam smiles and gives her one back. She enters the counselors office and Sam begins to walk towards his class. A few months ago, Sam wouldn't be caught dead conversing with Chrissy. Not that she wasn't approachable, well, she really wasn't considering her status within the school. During these one minute meetings with Chrissy, Sam has learned a lot about the girl. From her time as a pageant kid, what her all-time favorite show is, The Facts of Life, and her celebrity crush, the quote on quote, "Total stud that is Matt Dillion." Sam prides himself on being an attentive listener. He likes it, mostly because he doesn't have to talk about himself.

It wasn't so hard to notice the way Chrissy stopped painting her nails, the heavy makeup she uses to cover her dark circles, and the times she walks to the restroom after lunch.

Sam thinks about this while trying not to think about it— her.

🕰️

                          "YOU ARE TOTALLY COMING TO tonight's game, right?" Sloane asks before plopping a fry into her mouth. It's lunchtime and Sloane insisted she needed to leave the so-called dreary cafeteria and bask out in the sun. When Sam knows for a fact, she is only sitting outside for his sake, because Sloane Bauman is a goddamned vampire. She's mentioned she's allergic to sun and rather sit in a dark cave with her millions of bat minions. The real reason Sloane moved them outside was to get away from Sam's standing-on-table-tops brother.

Sloane is stuck to him like glue, she's his voice of reason, the missing puzzle, and she's the girl that rear-ended him with her car. That was two years ago and Sam was a different person then. Sam watches as Sloane's mouth open and closes as she spouts nonsense about why Sam should be going to the game.

"Oh my god. Please, please, please. Don't be dead," she breathes out. Sam is ninety-five percent sure the girl that ran him over is the same girl Sam caught a glimpse of in the principles office Friday morning. Sam would have gotten a better look if Jon hadn't dragged him off to history class.

Sam lays on the concrete with his eyes wide open unable to comprehend what has happened. One moment he was racing to get to his shift at The Hawk, which he is very late for, and then the next the sky is turning over and he's flat on his back. The girl is standing above him and looking down at him with her big doe eyes.

Down? Oh right. Sam is laying on the ground. How did he get here again? This doe-eyed girl looks like she's about to have a panic attack so Sam is willing to give her some grace.

"I'm alive," Sam replies.

The girl lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh god. I cannot believe that just happened. You're okay though? No broken bones or a concussion?" The girl eagerly holds out both her hands towards Sam. He stares at them for a moment before sitting up on his elbows and reaches out for them. The girl helps haul Sam up and finally he can finally see this girl up close. There's bags under her eyes, her features are sharp but soft at the same time, her jet black hair frames her face along with its loose curls. She's dressed in a long floral dress and she's covered up in a bulky denim jacket.

"I just need to call Murray—"

"No," Sam interrupts finally paying attention to what the girl is saying, "It's alright. Promise. Stuff happens I— I'm sorry? Did you just say Murray?"

"Uh-huh. He's the sperm donor, alright."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "So...he's your dad?"

"I guess if you had to use legal terms," she answers fiddling with the circular pendant around her neck. "But how do you know my dad?"

Sam doesn't know how to explain that he doesn't really know Murray. He knows of him. Mostly from Jon and mostly from Nancy. Sam sometimes feels like the mediator of their relationship.

Sam sometimes feels like this girl's dad.

Sam should not be knowing extensive details about his friends' sex life.

He blames Murray.

"My friends know him. It's a long story," Sam answers not trying to reveal too much. "But you don't have to call him. No broken bones. No concussion."

"Okay. I'm still really sorry."

A beat of silence.

"I don't know your name," she says.

"Oh, I'm...Sam."

He doesn't know why he's being so friendly to the girl who hit him with her car. Maybe it's the panicky look she had before or because he's really needs to get to work. Sam doesn't know.

The girl smiles and it's the brightest thing Sam has seen all day.

"Sloane."

She's been his closest friend ever since Jon quote unquote, "Bon Voyaged" as he sailed away to sunny California. Nancy on the other hand was a different story. He avoided Nancy and it wasn't hard to do so when she was focused on Emerson, Jon, and trying to catch the biggest scoop of the century. Sloane still hung around Nancy without him. They had their "girl-time" even though Sam used be included in "girl-time" where they watched Sloane's Spanish soap-operas that called "Telenovelas."

Sam really needed to catch up on the show they were watching together. Whenever Sloane isn't with Nancy, she's usually with Sam. Mostly on Saturdays and so far every Saturday they have been together Sloane casually mentions that Nancy misses him or how Nancy mentioned that Sam would have loved seeing Julio trip and fall down the stairs.

Sam misses Nancy. It's not like he ended his friendship on bad terms with her. At least not like he did with Robin and not like he did with especially Steve. Now what he did was majorly fucked up and filled with a purpose of cutting the cord with them.

Sloane one the other hand is eccentric like her father and like Murray she can see right through people. She sees right through Sam. It must be why their friendship has lasted as long as it has or it's just that Sloane is determined to not leave Sam's side. Maybe it's because she knows if Sloane left him he'd be alone.

Sam being alone was never good. Sam knows it. Sloane knows it. God, even Eddie knows it. When Eddie put Sam's bender on the back burner, he was finally sober enough to face Sloane. It was embarrassing really, the way he ran to the Bauman's house in the middle of the night, frantically knocking on Sloane's window—because if he knocked on the door at that hour of the night Murray would have cocked his rifle on Sam.

The light turned on and suddenly there was Sloane wearing one of Sam's really ratty The Cure t-shirts he could have swore was thrown somewhere in his closet. They don't talk about what Sam said to Sloane when he sobbed in her arms that night.

"You're forgetting. Our shifts at The Hawk are right after the game," Sam points out from across the table bench wiggling is finger in front of her face.

She pushes his finger away completely unfazed by the action. "You're right! I totally spaced about it! I'm sure Robert wouldn't mind if we came late. Rarely anyone likes to come to The Hawk late at night now," Sloane counters.

Sam huffs as he pulls out the contents of his lunch bag: a peanut butter-jelly sandwich and a Ziploc bag of potato chips. He was all for supporting Lucas, but he doesn't want to go for obvious reasons. Which began with "S" and ended with an "E." He takes a bite out of his sandwich and a large sip of his water.

"Okay. 'Samuel the Scourge.' C'mon, this is Lucas. You used to babysit this kid. Don't you want to feel like a proud father watch his son win the championship game?" Sloane argues right before she swipes Sam's sandwich from his hand and takes a bite of it herself. Sam is unfazed by this as well and resumes to eating his potato chips.

"Sloane. I know we talked about how I should make amends with everyone. But didn't we agreed that would start when Spring Break started? It's not 'officially' Spring Break yet," Sam declared.

"You could get a head start?" Sloane offers. "It's Lucas. Sam. C'mon. You care about the kid. You told him he didn't have to pick and choose what he wanted to do. You told him he could pursue basketball and want to play D&D."

Sam wishes a black hole would suddenly appear and swallow him whole. He's never been good with emotions and he compartmentalizes everything. He feels guilty for ignoring Lucas calls and attempts for Sam to come to his games or even watch him shoot some hoops at the park while Erica played with her friends at the playground. 

He had to start somewhere.

"...Okay," Sam says a bit reluctantly. Before Sam could get another word out he's interrupted.

"Bauman!"

In the distance Sam and Sloane see Dustin. Tagging along behind him is Mike who waves his lanky arms frantically. Together they approach the table and bend over trying to catch their breaths. Dustin springs back up and flashes Sloane a smile while completely disregarding Sam.

"Are you interested in filling in Lucas' spot for Hellfire?" Dustin asks.

Sam knows Steve probably told Dustin something. Probably not a lot of details. But Dustin has definitely noticed that Sam takes up Eddie's precious D&D time. It's not like he means to do that. Eddie can't help but have to call Sam whenever he is to check that he's where he's supposed to be. Usually this happens a several times during Eddie's D&D sessions and Sam can already imagined the pissed off looks from Mike, Dustin, possibly Lucas, Gareth, Jeff, and Floyd.

Sam can tell when he's being ignored. It's not hard to. Especially if it's Dustin who will take one look at a person, cross his arms, tip his chin up, letting out a "Hmph!" Before stomping away.

"No," Sloane automatically answers.

"C'mon Sloane! You're a great wizard!" Dustin tries.

"Yeah!" Mike pipes in huffing out a breath giving a quick once over to Sam before looking back at Sloane. "We really need someone...Please Sloane, I'll give you a month of my allowance!"

"Sorry, boys. Sam and I have plans to go to the championship game," Sloane interjects. Sam would never be caught dead at a game. He'd never be caught dead nowadays anywhere except—

"You guys don't even know anything about basketball!" Dustin whines. He looks to Sam, doing exactly what he expected. Crossed arms, chin tipped up, in order to let out a loud, "Hmph!"

"It's a stupid basketball game. Hellfire is the one having the biggest event of the semester!" Mike adds in throwing his hands in the air. Sam cringes, how much has his brother been affecting these super adolescent boys. Dustin acts a lot like Eddie, but can throw around sass like Steve. Mike on the other hand has totally copied his brother's style and right down to his infamous movements.

"Yeah, but like Sloane said: we already have plans," Sam articulates. Sloane smiles big and wide hearing Sam's words. Sam tries not to talk too much around The Party nowadays. He's not who he used to be. He doesn't like this version of himself. The only person left from The Party he talks to is Max. It all started when Sam saw the Mayfield's car in tow and piles of boxes that needed unloading into the empty trailer across from him. No one moves into Forrest Hills unless you were seriously in debt, poor, or running from something. Amongst his mother's belongings he received from her dead-beat boyfriend was a cassette album called "The Kick Inside" by Kate Bush and a first model Walkman. Besides sharing a counselor, Sam and Max share music too.

The two boys seem beat and Sam almost feels bad for them. "Boys," Sloane chirps throwing french fries at their heads. The two of them turn towards the Bauman girl startled. "I think you're forgetting one teensy-tiny factor. You've definitely been looking in the wrong places." Sloane tilts her head in the direction of none other than Hawkins' Elementary. Sam doesn't get it. Until he remembers a certain little girl that would berate Sam along with Robin. He can hear them cackling in the distance if he listens hard enough. He used to play Barbie dolls with that kid.

Dustin looks in the direction of the elementary sign. "...Elementary?" He says under his breath. Sam and Sloane watch the gear turn inside Dustin's head. For a smart a kid he never really looks outside the box.

"Man. I hate high school," Mike mutters.

The shorter teenager immediately lights up "High school! You're a goddamned genius Sloane!" Dustin is gone in a flash running off towards the school and Mike dumbfounded flailing his arms around chasing after his friend.

"Erica is gonna wipe the floor with them." Sam grins with a toothy smile as he watches the boys go.

"So you're totally coming to the game, right?" Sloane puts on a show as she clasps her hand together in a prayer, flashes him those big doe eyes, and a small pout. Sam can never really say, "No" to Sloane but he indulges her whenever she puts on shows like these.

"Right."

🕰️

SAM TREKKED SEVERAL FEET behind Sloane. He dragged his feet across the squeaky gym floor as she led the way to their seats at the bottom of the bleachers. Sloane score two free tickets to the game. Now Sloane didn't say how she was able to get these tickets but Sam should have guessed where they came from.

"Sam, hurry up!" Sloane yells out, walking back to Sam, linking their arms together, and pulling him towards the bench of their seat. Sam sits down sandwiched between Sloane on his right and to his left—

"Hi Sam."

"Hi Nance. S'been a while," Sam admits.

This was surely a surprise. Sloane really did want Sam to get a head start on making amends. The first one should be easy, in what Sam knows to be in Sloane's twisted mind. He can't really remember the last time he talked to Nancy. It had to have been around the time Jon stopped answering her calls and when Sam stopped calling Jon.

"How's the newspaper going?" Sam asks.

Nancy beams at the question and the corners of Sam mouth turn upwards. He missed Nancy and all the stories she likes to tell. As Sam listened, he noticed the amount of people flooding into the gymnasium. Dustin was right. Sam didn't know shit about basketball. Sloane probably knew way more than him. He hoped to see Lucas on the court and maybe see him scoring the winning basket.

He wondered.

Sam wondered if Lucas ever asked Steve to show him the ropes. It's as if Sam Munson had some honest-to-God superpower because the second he thought of Steve Harrington, the man himself walking into the gym. At his side clutching his arm was a girl. Sam vaguely recognized her from a few of his classes.

He wants to look away but he's can't. Sam wants to pry his eyes away but at the same time wants to claw them. He tries to keep his attention on Nancy but it wavers. Sloane notices but then again Sloane notices the tiniest details. He'll admit it. Sam missed Steve. Even though the thought of Steve physically hurt. He cut the invisible string that held him and Sam together. Sam knew Steve. He knows him better than anyone else. Steve knows Sam. Steve knows parts of him that Sam has never showed anyone but maybe Sloane.

They were friends.

Steve was the first friend he made after he repaired his friendship with Jon. His eyes flicker back and forth between Nancy and Steve. Why wouldn't Steve be here? Steve loves basketball more than he ever loved baseball but not as much as he loved being on the swim team. Sam can feel his breath quickening, and the sudden panic that something bad might happen. Sam suddenly feels a hand clasp against his and he finds Sloane beside him.

Right.

He's with Sloane and he's listening to Nancy.

But Sam can't help it when he noticed the small hairs on Steve's upper lip like he's trying a grow a Tom Selleck mustache. Not that Sam doesn't find that appealing.

This is stupid.

Sam shouldn't pay attention to Steve. He doesn't even deserve to look at Steve. He needs to stop gawking at Steve and this girl he can't recall the name of right now.

Sam is a second too late. Steve has caught him and his dark eyes are swallowing him whole. Sam sinks under the weight of them. Sam quickly turns away and is nodding along to whatever Nancy is saying about the newspaper all while Sloane tries to quell his trembling hands. She slinks an arm with Sam to make the trembling less noticeable. He clasps his free hand not beside Sloane over the other hand she is holding. He feels a phantom pain of the scar on his left palm. He remembers that night. He remembers Steve and how he rewrapped his bandage for him. Suddenly he feels a breath near his ear. It's Sloane who whispers just enough for him to hear, "You have to talk to him Sam."

Sam knows this.

He's just a coward.

A/N:                                yes im a total liar. uhhhh this has been sitting in the drafts forever. i have been tweaking it for ages. i finally feel comfortable enough to post. sam is like an amalgamation of myself and i love him. so i've finally decided to share him.

this chapter really sets the tone for the rest of inbd...it gets worse from here on out. eddie and sam are never beating the black brothers allegations.

6000+ worded chapter for the win.

( sinking by the cure )