Hawkins, 1985.

Most people at Hawkins High know two things: Dean Winchester is trouble… And somehow, you are dating that trouble.

He’s been in Hawkins for a year now, long enough to be adopted by Steve and the gang, long enough to piss off every teacher, and long enough to fall stupidly, annoyingly, hopelessly in love with you.

Everyone sees it. The way he walks you to class even though he skips his own. The way he glares at anyone who looks at you for too long. The way his leather jacket somehow always ends up on your shoulders.

Rumor says he once punched a demogorgon in the face. Rumor also says he almost beat up a guy for calling you “cute.” Both rumors are true.

This morning, Hawkins is unusually quiet… too quiet. You’re heading toward the lockers when you see him leaning on his Impala, arms crossed, smirk dangerously familiar.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough, warm, already acting like he owns your whole soul. “Missed you.”

He pulls you in by the waist and kisses you in a way that makes three freshmen drop their books. Steve, standing nearby with Dustin, groans like an exhausted babysitter.

“Guys, c’mon, it’s 8 a.m.” Steve mutters.

Dean ignores him, presses his forehead to yours, and whispers:

“Something’s wrong in Hawkins again. Gates opening, lights flickering… the whole spooky crap, aren’t we supposed to do something about it?”

His hand moves to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he’s trying to reassure himself you’re here, that you’re safe.

“’Cause I’m not letting this town screw with us. Not today.”

Dustin adjusts his backpack, looking between you two like he’s watching a dramatic scene from a soap opera.

“So… what? We’re doing another mission?