𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 - [𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻]

𝐱𝐱𝐢. 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 - early grave

━━━━━━━

 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 a blaring alarm was the very first thing that graced the Hopper home early the next morning. The pink alarm, covered in old and peeling stickers and dollops of old glitter glue shook atop the side table, vibrating so incessantly that Scarlet had almost flung her wrist to the side with the intent to destroy the thing entirely.

 Before she could, however, there was a light click and the alarm paused.

 Scarlet unfurled her palm from the pillow she'd smooshed over her head in the hopes of drawing out the irritating noise. She slung the pillow aside, hearing a light thump as it settled onto the ground... dangerously close to an old pot of murky water filled to the brim with paint brushes that should have been thrown out weeks ago.

 She'd, once again, stayed up as late as her poor little eyes had allowed; until they stung and watered with absolute fatigue. Her eyes cracked open, each one laced with nothing but the desire to slam shut once more. The sunlight burned as her lashes fluttered, drifting over her cheeks as they tried their hardest to grow accustomed to the stream of brightness peering through the window.

 She could see the smears of paint on her hand, the smudges that had trailed onto her freshly cleaned sheets... but that wasn't surprising... what was surprising, was seeing Joyce Byers standing right by the side of her bed, hand still atop the alarm she'd obviously paused.

 Scarlet's brows curled together; maybe she hadn't woken up, maybe she'd been so damn tired that for some God-forsaken reason... she was dreaming about the tragedy of waking up.

 If only that were the case.

 "Joyce?" Scarlet groaned, her voice cracking in the very same way Lucas' had been for the past few months; the poor kid was really getting clobbered in the face by puberty. She cleared her throat, heaving herself into a sitting position as her sheets pooled around her waist, "What — what are you doing here?"

 Joyce's motherly smile could warm even the closest of bones; it was like embers in the midst of a snowy forest, ready to spread further and further until everything was swamped in nothing but heat. She always managed to soothe those around her, from her soft voice to the little pet names she graced everybody with.

 Joyce swiped a cluster of hair from Scarlet's sight, tucking it behind her ear, "Looking after your dad."

 Scarlet was well and truly awake now. The mere mention of Hopper had shot her body as straight as a board, eyes widening with horror, "Is he alright?"

 "He's okay," Joyce breathed, even despite the look of terror that had graced Scarlet's face, Joyce couldn't help but feel a breath of warmth encase her; the teenager before her cared so very much... she was the reason Will was alive, "He's a little bruised, but he'll be just fine. You know he has enough stubbornness to keep him going."