Collateral Damage - Steve Harrington [Stranger Things]

Beginnings - Chapter One

The paved, gravel driveway leading to the small house was eerily silent besides the sound of tires grinding against the grain beneath them. It was creepily dark outside. The shadows of the trees marked strange shapes along the ground, resembling slithering snakes and people. The night sky had specks of stars, splattered like white paint against an abstract background. The formerly beautiful night scenery she loved at home seemed foreign here, and made her shudder with fear.

As she pulled up to the old, outdated house, she could see a single light illuminating one of the rooms. Although she assumed no one would be awake, her headlights shined through the front window of the house, and illuminated a face that appeared. He had grown, she thought, from the boy he used to be.

She barely managed to knock, before the front door was swinging open, and the young boy was staring back at her. She could tell by his eyes that he knew who she was, but is was obvious he was unsure of what to do. She stared back at him with that same, unsure expression, waiting for him to speak before she tried to explain herself. But words seemed to phase him, and instead he lunged forward and wrapped himself around her neck.

His hands slid their way back down to her shoulders, where they stayed as he looked her up and down. It was like two animals meeting for the first time – curious, yet confused. Clearly, they both had changed. They both had grown up, but there was still that undeniable familiarity that couldn't be explained.

Just as the boy was stepping away from her, the door widened and revealed a middle-aged woman. Her hair was the exact same as she remembered; that feathered cut with various layers and tangly curls. Her eyes were wide with confusion, but narrowed as they landed on the stranger at her door. With a step forward, she spoke and the words from her mouth sounded like home.

"Brooklyn?"

There it was. That name given to her by her father. She hated that name. It reminded her of all the suffering, grief, and hardship she had experienced in her short seventeen years of life. It was a simple reminder of everything that had gone wrong throughout her childhood. A messy slur of letters that phrased themselves into the name of a girl who no longer would describe herself as weak, but strong. She was strong.

"I go by Brooke, now," she said, stepping forward and into the light. The strange girl at the Byers door could finally be identified. Her facial features had thinned since the last they saw of her, and the bruises that typically decorated her arms had disappeared. She looked older, wiser, but not less beautiful.

"What are you doing here?" Joyce Byers said, stepping past her son and taking his place in front of Brooke. It had been such a long time since she had seen the girl.

Brooke was unsure of what to say. What was she doing here? She didn't even know herself. So, with absolute timidity, she said, "Well, I'm not actually sure. I guess... This was the only place I could go."

Johnathon, who peeked around the shoulder of his mom, asked, "What happened?"

"It got bad at home. I had to leave, and this was the only place I could go," Brooke tried to explain herself.

A look of uncertainty was exchanged between Joyce and her son. There was always a curtain of guilt that separated Brooke from her Aunt. The guilt that asked "Why? Why couldn't you save me?" and Joyce being unable to answer. She never stepped forward to intervene the abuse in Brooke's home because she never had the courage to. But now, she could offer her something. She could offer her a home.

"Of course, you can stay here."

And with that, Brooke stepped forward and into her new home.