𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘. By then, Steve’s hands were no longer gripping the steering wheel with knuckles pale as a sheet, the lack of color revealing just how many scars the boy collected on his hands, no doubt from the fights he had a habit of getting into. The blond decided not to mention it, citing the rumored failures to win aforementioned fights — not only because he hated getting on anyone’s bad side, but because he had a feeling there was something he didn’t know about regarding the whole thing. And without all the facts, he wasn’t saying a word. 

Still facing the window, the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was now long gone. The brief conversation they had before wasn’t forgotten — Scout doubted he could ever forget those words, as awkward as it felt in the moment — far from it; it had been replaced by regret, and guilt, and frustration. While they had been much more prevalent after leaving Letitia’s house, Steve’s little speech had certainly thrown him off, now it was as if all his thoughts were fighting for space in his head, giving him a massive headache as no clear winner reigned — this was not what he imagined the rest of his day would look like after school let out. 

Then again, that talk with the police officers was in no way normal, either. He wasn’t even quite sure why they hadn’t arrested him (again) on the spot. From what he could tell, it wouldn’t have been hard for them to do just that, place him in handcuffs and escort him out of school while everyone watched, leading him down to the station for the second time in less than a week, asking him a slew of endless questions to which he had no good answers. For whatever reason, it seemed as if they couldn’t, not wouldn’t, which both interested and frightened him terribly, because there was nothing scarier than something one did not understand. 

“Why do you want to go to the library?” Steve asked, making no move to change his aimless course, before adding sarcastically, “Now’s not really time to become a nerd, but..” 

“Shut up,” he said, but his heart wasn’t into it. He was in no mood to joke. “I was thinking we could try and fight out more about Night Vale’s mayor — you know, Mr. Macaulay. The library probably has some old newspapers or stuff we can look at. I don’t know, it’s better than just driving around all day. Right?” 

He adds this to see if Steve will agree with him, and to his surprise, he does. “Right,” the Harrington boy said, “No, it’s a good idea. And it’s not like I have any better ones.” With barely a second in between, he switches his turn signal on and immediately makes the turn to begin towards the library, unaware of the look of contempt glaring in his direction at his driving. 

The drive to Hawkins Public Library takes no time at all. By the time the big red brick building was in view, the silence between the two was an inexplicable mix between suffocating and something that almost felt like content. Oddly enough, that was exactly how he felt as he scrambled out of the car the second it came to a stop, the sputtering of gasoline slowly quieting in the still parking lot, as if in a hurry to escape.  

When they’re inside, the way Steve’s head swiveled as he looked around made him roll his eyes; of course this was the first time Steve Harrington had been inside a library. He was probably being less than fair with that judgement, but at the moment, he didn’t care, which was so unlike him that he forced himself to comment on it — he usually cared about everything, even if it was just his anxiety talking. 

“When you have your head back on your shoulders, we should probably find somewhere to sit,” Scout said dryly, smirking at the way Steve immediately stopped looking around at his words. 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Steve defended. Odd enough, since Scout wasn’t really accusing him of anything to begin with. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in here. Has that smell always been in here?” 

“It’s a library, Steve. Old book smell has always been here.” Part of him was tempted to ask how he didn’t smell it last time he was supposedly in here. As they made their way between the shelves, looking for somewhere to sit, Scout ran his fingers on the spines of thick volumes adorned by inches of dust that rubbed off on his skin. When he rubbed his fingers together, the dust disintegrated between his fingertips, coming apart and falling to the floor like snow. 

“There,” Steve announced suddenly, earning them a chorus of shushing from at least three different directions. “Jeez,” he muttered under his breath, “I wasn’t even that loud!” 

“You still kind of are,” Scout pointed out, nodding at the patrons glaring at them from the scattered tables the place had to offer. The attention has given him goosebumps, small prickles up and down his skin that he wants to rub with his hand, but settles for flexing it at his side instead. He eliminates the distance between them in the blink of an eye, taking two strides and entering the room where Steve was holding the door open, looking everywhere but at him. 

“So what are we looking for?” Steve asked. He let the door swing to a close behind him, where the gap between door and frame narrowed like a hallowed breath until there was nothing in between. His words were accompanied by a sly smile, as if studying was the one thing he could not wait to do — as if their conversation, albeit one-sided, had never happened. There was something about the Harrington boy in this moment; something Scout was not yet seeing, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

“Anything about Mr. Macaulay, I guess,” Scout answered, dividing the slim stack of manila cards he’d managed to snag when the librarian had been busy scolding Steve for being too loud. There wasn’t much, just enough to fit in one hand and wrap his fingers around it. But it was enough, and so the blond eyed the difference as best he could and set down Steve’s on the edge of the table, expecting him to at least pick it up. To his surprise — and partial annoyance — he did not. 

Instead, his attention was preoccupied by the two microfiche readers that stood in all their aging glory upon the box-like desk, running a finger along the top of the machine and scoffing at the thin layer of dust it collected. “When’s the last time anyone’s even used these things?” 

Scout was in no mood to give a straight answer. “We’re about to use them right now,” he said shortly, collapsing in the chair opposite one of the devices. Even before he could look up, however, the blond could practically feel Steve’s raised eyebrow. “They’re not that hard to use,” Scout commented in lieu of an explanation — although it truly wasn’t that hard to figure out. “I had to use them in middle school for a project. The animal environment one, remember?” 

“Oh yeah,” replied Steve, but Scout could tell he really doesn’t remember at all, nor cares, probably. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve done a school project,” he admitted, “Whenever it’s a group one I never do any of the work. One time I paid this kid to do it for me ‘cause I didn’t have time.” 

Not taking his eyes off the screen, Scout guessed, “Partying, right?” 

To his surprise, the boy shook his head, suddenly too quiet for his liking. He sat as if defeatedly, thoughts stirring but no words to accompany them, merely staring at his hands before he found his voice again. “No,” he corrects, now perfectly abiding by the library’s inside voices rule. But other than that one word answer, he offers nothing else; suddenly devoid of words and voice, he turned to the reader in front of him and began to fiddle with its components — no explanation, no nothing. 

And just like that, Scout’s demeanor diminished, the structure of his walls crumbling just a tiny bit more. Whatever prevented him from doing that project had nothing to do with what Steve Harrington was usually known for. No, it seemed King Steve had his own skeletons and secrets, and while he burned with curiosity to know what they were, Scout merely gave a solemn nod and returned to his research, forcing himself not to watch his companion out of the corner of his eye. 

Unable to help himself, Scout raised his head to get a better look at Steve. The boy’s eyes were open, focused, but still slightly glazed over as if whatever he’s reading on the screen reminds him of something. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but something about the way the brunette bows his head down — in excuse of reading something? — that almost seems like a prayer; a silent homage to someone in a moment of silence that means nothing to everyone but him. 

And if it was, he will be respectful. Scout knew there was always more than what meets the eye; he just didn’t expect it to apply to Steve Harrington. 

They settled into a mutual silence that felt both deserved and uncomfortable, rifling through microfiche cards and glancing through anything that might have a mention, a notice, anything about Night Vale or its mayor. Neither said a word for what must be at least an hour, although it was hard to tell without any kind of clock in the room. Part of him was tempted to get up and stretch a bit — he’d never been great with sitting still for long periods of time anyway — but something convinced him to stay seated. Whether it was the fact that he needed to put in his share of research or the desire to stay in the room rather than venture out alone or something else entirely, Scout only gave a heaving sigh and twisted in his chair, cracking his back in the process and earning a satisfying POP! for his efforts. Before his attention could once again be brought back to pages and pages of mind-numbing newspaper clippings, he found himself looking over at Steve again. His chin rested on a pale fist as he seemed to have the process down, diligently searching for clues as Scout should be. He did not notice the pair of eyes on him, or Scout was sure he would have cracked a wise ass joke and sly smile in response. This thought was enough to make the blond turn his attention back to his own screen, bristling at himself, oblivious of the sea of goosebumps running up and down his arms. 

“Wait…” Steve was the first to speak in a while. “I think I found something, c’mere.” 

And like a well-trained dog, Scout does come, scooting his chair backwards and wincing at the brief painful screech it emits before walking over and looking behind the Harrington boy’s shoulder as he points at the screen. “See anyone familiar?” 

The first thing that catches his attention is the headline. Boldly reading ‘'Night Vale Resident Arrested in Embezzlement Suspicions' across the top, he has to wonder why he’d never heard anything about a scandal like this. In small towns, people talk. They notice, and they are ruthless to those who don’t fit in — like people in Night Vale, who were odd enough to stick together and crazy enough to stay there. 

Stranger yet, past the neon white coloring of the seven or so bodies in the photograph, an eighth figure stood to the side, its usual colorful clothing dulled to standard black and white. Scout knew who it was instantly; the outfit was a dead giveaway, even without having to look at the face to confirm. Now no more than the length of his pinkie finger on the screen, the man seems a lot less scary than he does in real life. In fact, his entire ensemble looks laughable — the extravagant suit, the parted hair, even the strange spectacles he wears all make him seem like he belongs in a children’s funhouse, not someone who has power and range and bribery at his disposal. 

“Look,” the brunette urges, pointing a finger at a woman by the mayor’s side, “That’s Dawn, right?” 

Scout leaned in closer, trying to get a good look. “It can’t be,” he murmured, one hand on the table, the other on the back of the boy’s chair, “Check out the caption; her name’s not on there. It says that woman is…” He leaned in further to read the small text. “...Jane Doe. That’s — that is useless.” 

“Wait, why is it useless?” Steve twisted in his chair to try and get a good look at Scout, but he was already moving away, collapsing on the window seat beside them, defeated — their one potential clue a waste of time. “I mean, we have her name now, she looks like she’s close to the mayor — why aren’t you more excited?” 

“Jane Doe is what they call someone when they don’t know her name, dumbass.” Rude, maybe, but arguably deserved. “It’s useless because all it shows is a woman standing next to him, for all we know, that’s his wife or something.” 

Steve snorted. “Since when does Maxwell Macaluay have a wife?” 

“What are you going on about?” 

“Come on, man, have you looked at the guy? Everything about him screams q — er, just I seriously doubt he’s married, okay? The way he dresses, for one thing, there’s no way any woman would wanna get anywhere near a guy with that kind of fashion sense. Even Night Vale has standards, trust me.” 

Scout snorted. “Trust you? That you secretly know a lot about fashion sense or that you know the people in Night Vale?” 

“It could be both,” huffed Steve. Seeing the amused look he’s being given, he quickly changes tactics, saying instead, “Or, you know, maybe… just the first one. Maybe.” 

If he wasn’t so disappointed, he would have laughed even harder at the look on the boy’s face. Embarrassed, sure, but laughing at the Harrington boy’s expense didn’t feel mean, just...strange. He wasn’t sure, but part of him was almost sad to see the moment go when Steve had enough, waving his hand with a “Yeah, yeah.” gesture after the only sound in the room for several moments was the blond’s raspy laugh. 

Scout was just about to rise and make his way back to his own seat to resume his own research when he’s stopped by a hand grabbing his wrist. Without looking down, he can tell it’s Steve’s — rougher than he expected, and yet it only takes a fraction of a second for him to remove it and clear his throat instead. “Night Vale is small, right? Smaller than Hawkins.” It is a statement, not a question. 

He answered anyway, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah…?” 

“So why don’t they know her name? They probably know each other like we do here, so it shouldn't have been that hard to find out who she is. Why call her Jane Doe then?” 

“Steve, where are you going with this?” 

A quick glance up — because he was still seated and he has not yet regained Scout’s interest enough to get him to do the same — gets the gears turning even more. “What if that’s not her name?” 

Scout was officially disinterested; this so-called ‘revelation’ he’d been waiting for Steve to spit out was a waste of time. Rolling his eyes, he couldn’t help himself but comment sarcastically, “We know that’s not her name, dude. People may talk in a small town, but,” he waved a hand towards the screen, “evidently not enough. They don’t know who she is, okay? That newspaper’s a dud, let’s just go back to looking somewhere else.” 

A pause. “But people in Night Vale might.” 

Scout blinked at that. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” 

“Maybe,” Steve admitted, running a hand through his hair, speaking quickly. “Hear me out: we go there, ask around, try and find out who she is and if she’s still living there. If she is, great! She can tell us about the mayor and if he was involved in that emb — embezzeled thing. If not, no harm done.” 

“No harm done?” repeated Scout in disbelief. “Why do you think he gave us that money in the first place? Just for kicks? In case it hasn’t gotten through your thick ass skull by now, it was hush money!! We were asking about Dawn and he wants us to shut up! You bet your ass Mr. Macaluay had something to do with her death, and you want to go back and poke around? What is wrong with you?” 

His turn to blink. “I... I thought you would be on board with it.” 

“I — I don’t know if I am, okay? I don’t want to go back there, it’s creepy and I just…” Scout dropped his hands into his lap, staring at them. “I just want this to be over. No mystery, no murder, no nothing. It isn’t supposed to be this hard.” He sighed, dejected. “School’s already hard enough without this stuff. Why can’t it just be normal, you know?” 

He didn’t lift his head to see if Steve agreed, but he heard, “If it makes you feel any better, finals are coming up. Plenty of time to feel normal then.” 

To his surprise, Scout breathed a chuckle, raising his head to meet Steve’s eyes, just as he was seeking out his. 

Scout’s gaze quickly fell away. 

The brunette cleared his throat, clearly waiting for an answer that Scout has no pleasure in giving him. Finally, he sighed heavily, as if agreeing took more energy out of him than his little outburst. “Fine. We’ll go.” 

The Harrington boy’s eyes lit up more than he expected. “Really?” 

Scout nodded. “But,” he said, raising a finger, “On one condition.” 

Steve’s grin faltered for a second. “What?” 

“You have to tell more about your secret fashion sense.” Silly, but he was glad he mentioned it.

“That won’t be hard,” he replied, grinning, “If you don’t mind hearing about jeans and mullet hair care. Is that what you had in mind?” 

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to hear about it.” 

The brunette grinned over the microfiche readers, squinting in the streams of sunlight bearing down upon where he was clearing away any evidence of their research, stacking all the cards into one neat stack, not bothering to reorganize them. “Whatever you say, Murphy. You’re missing out.” 

He gave a fake polite smile, shaking his head and replying, “Yeah, I don’t think I am, actually,” to which Steve responded with what sounded like a cross between a scoff and a laugh, earning them yet another chorus of shushing from the library’s open area. And while the glass separating them is anything but sound resistant, they could not help but look at each and do their best to muffle their laughter, although neither knew it was not the course of action, but each other, that sparked the connection — a spark that was not yet known but would soon be fought for nonetheless. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

uhh hi y'all!! it's been a while since i've thought about this fic and while i do have every intention of finishing it, i realized there's no point in doing so without releasing most, if not all, the prewritten chapters i have for this fic. so expect some updates! let me know what kind of schedule you'd like to see, as i'm thinking of aiming for once a week at the moment :)

i hope you enjoyed!