chapter one

tw:
child abuse, brief mentions of suicide

Isaac Lincoln was not your typical all-American golden boy. He wasn't on the football team, he didn't have a girlfriend on the cheerleading team (or a girlfriend at all) He wasn't involved with anything inside school, he barely had any friends, if any.

No, Isaac was not your golden boy. He was quite the opposite, actually. He was the boy that parents warned their kids to stay away from.

"He's bad news."

"The only place he's going is back to prison."

"No future!"

"Low-life."

"Disgrace."

"Bad news."

He was sure that he'd heard every insult under the sun. Especially from that stuck-up asshole with the stupid hair, Steve Harrington. He and his friends spent, seemingly, every waking moment of their plain and boring lives to make Isaac's own life hell.

Even so, they were still terrified of the boy. At the slightest twitch of his hand or tilt of his head, Steve and Tommy were running like wolves with their tails tucked between their legs.

Isaac would like to say he would never actually hit them (though he would think about it) but the events of April, 1983 proved differently.

Isaac didn't mean to hurt him that badly, no. No, of course not. Isaac never meant to send him to the emergency room. He really didn't, he just saw red.. he couldn't stop. It felt like he couldn't control himself, even if he tried he couldn't stop. Punch after punch until the boy was a bloody and bruised mess. Teachers tried to pull him off, though they were unsuccessful, students to afraid to move as they didn't want to get caught in the crossfire. In the end, it took three boys on the football team to pull Isaac off of him. Isaac snapped out of it seconds later, nearly breaking down in front of the class. He held it together, refusing to let Steve Harrington, of all people, see him in that state.

The boy, Jason, his parents pressed charges, and within that week he was walking through the doors of Lake County Juvenile Center in cuffs with his head hung low.

"Don't talk to anyone. Don't make friends. Don't take gifts. Don't take favors." Hopper said, sparing him a glance. "Be good."

Isaac spent the remainder of April through the end of summer vacation locked up, doing the same thing every day. He, only by a miracle of God, got released early due to good behavior. No one believed that. Not even Isaac himself, who now saw himself as a monster, believed that.

Isaac was released just days before school started. The car ride back to his house with Hopper was silent and awkward. The only sound coming from the radio and when voices crackled through Hopper's own radio.

The closer they got to arriving at his house, the more anxious Isaac became. His fingers, no longer bruised and bloody, but if he stared hard enough he could see the blood covering his knuckles and fingers.

If Isaac stared for too long, he was right back to April  13th. It was a Wednesday, unusually chilly compared to the rest of the warm weather they'd had due to summer quickly approaching.

It started off normal, Isaac got up, quietly got ready as to not wake the sleeping bear that was his father. He skipped breakfast, it would be too much noise to make something to eat. He decided he'd stop at the cafeteria and beg one of the ladies to slide him something extra before first period.

By third period everything had changed. Isaac could barely remember it if he tried, only being able to when he was alone with his thoughts at night, or when he didn't want to. His head was funny like that, taunting him with the worst possible memories whenever possible.

Sometimes Isaac was grateful that that was the memory that plagued him the most now, rather than the memory of his sister dying right before his eyes with nothing he could do about it to stop it.  He couldn't save her. His mother was only weeks later. Isaac was the one who found her. He was the one that called 911.

The sound of a sharp inhale as Hopper's police cruiser came to a halt in Isaac's driveway brought the attention of the police chief onto him.

"You alright, kid?" His gruff voice was laced with hidden concern, Isaac almost didn't pick up on it. He hadn't heard concern for him in years.. since before the accidents.

"Uh," Isaac cleared his throat, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. The same jeans he wore that day, all those months ago. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

Hopper nodded, waving his hand as an indication for Isaac to get out of the vehicle. Isaac obliged, muttering a quiet thank you. He didn't have any bags with him, just the clothes on his back.

The warm end of summer breeze blew through Isaac's dirty blond hair. The sound of Hopper driving off became drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat hammering against his ribcage, almost as if it were trying to escape.

Isaac's eyes trailed over the place that he should call home, but no. No, this place wasn't home. Isaac didn't have one of those. This was just a house. A house in east Hawkins.

Some time ago, a long time ago, maybe it was home. When his mom and his sister were both still alive, before his dad became an abusive alcoholic. Maybe then it was home... not anymore.

The yard was overgrown, weeds growing through the old rickety steps. The grass had become out of control and trash bags piled high out of the trashcan.

It was once beautiful. Messy, but beautiful. He, his mom, and Betty would garden together, his mom took great pride in the flower garden surrounding their house. The garden was long gone now, torn down in a drunken rage by his father. His father who fell apart. His father who forgot he had another child he had to raise. His father who only remembered Isaac if he had done something wrong.

Really, he couldn't blame the man for falling apart. He had lost not only a daughter, but his lifetime partner only three weeks apart. What he could blame him for was how Isaac had to take care of not only himself, but the house and his father, too. Which included the yard.

Isaac did all the yard work, it made sense that the yard had gotten out of control with his absence. Isaac chewed on his lip, staring at the house in front of him. The rusty truck sat in the drive way, meaning that his dad was home.

The living room curtains were drawn, and from where he stood he could see pictures torn off the wall in his dad's bedroom.

His feet felt like they were embedded in cement, unwilling to move. He stood there, for God knows how long. Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? Isaac couldn't be sure how long had passed by the time he finally got his feet to move.

Isaac felt like he was moving through quick sand as he trudged up the trailer steps, hands shaking as he reached for the door and carefully opened it.

"Dad?" Isaac called out cautiously, nerves pumping through his veins. Goosebumps appeared on his skin at the state (and smell) of the house.

Isaac wasn't afraid of much, nothing made his skin crawl or the hair on the back of his neck stand up. No, Isaac's list of fears was short. Very short, but at the very top of that list, in big bold letters, was his dad.

Isaac nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of his dad, shotgun propped up next to him with a beer bottle in his right hand,  lit cigarette resting between two fingers on his left hand. Isaac's heart seemed to stop as the man stood, muttering to himself as he swayed back and forth. Isaac's eyes trailed over the floor, over all the trash littering the room.

"Wondering how I afforded all this?" His words slurred as he stumbled around the living room, haphazardly stepping over empty takeout boxes and beer bottles. "Well... it's not like you were goin' to college, were ya, boy?"

Isaac's heart sank and he gulped. "I-I-"

"They don't want crooks like you draggin' their name through the mud." He slurred, his eyes finding Isaac. A scoff left his lips as he stumbled towards him. "Fuckin' disgrace."

Isaac remained silent, eyes trained on the ground in an attempt not to provoke the man. His fists balled at his sides and his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Over the years, he'd leaned to bite his tongue and not fight back. He'd gotten his fair share of black eyes and bruised cheeks or busted lips to prove it.

"I want," A hiccup cut his sentence off. "I want you out."

"What?" Isaac's words caught in his throat, coming out as a strangled whisper. "Our?"

"Let me.. let me clear it up for you, okay?" Isaac flinched as the man roughly grabbed him by the shoulder, peering down at him. Isaac wasn't short by any means, standing in at at least six foot two. Still, his dad towered over him. "You.. you and your- your shit. I want it gone. You hear me? Fuckin'... gone. Your grandma... she'll take care of ya.. Not like you deserve it, you're a little shit!"

His breath reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, causing the boy to tilt his head away and scrunch up his nose.

Isaac flinched as his dad slammed the beer bottle on the ground, inhaling shakily as his dad stumbled back to the couch. "You have an hour.. get your shit and get the fuck out of my house."

Isaac shakily wiped the saliva from his face, moving as quietly as possible to his room. Faintly, he could hear the air conditioning buzzing from his parents'- his dad's room.

His heart stung as he passed his sister's room. Even after six years, hearing her name caused a searing pain to stab his heart.

He pushed open his bedroom door, his heart sinking at the sight.

"He trashed it.." Isaac muttered to himself, panic flooding his body when he saw the flipped over desk, an overturned picture frame laying just inches from it.

"No, no, no!" Isaac rushed and dropped to his knees, careful to avoid the shattered glass as he overturned the frame. Relief flooded his body when he saw that the picture remained undamaged.

He breathed a sigh of relief, fingers brushing over the film. In it, stood a much younger Isaac, stood next to him was his sister, she was seven at the time, and in between them was their mother. Grins on each of their faces, even if Betty was soaking wet after Isaac dumped a bucket of water on her. Still, she held a death grip on the bright yellow stuffed duck she would always carry around.

Isaac could remember that picture like it was yesterday. It was a year and a half before the incidents, his family had gone camping together in Minnesota.

Dumping out his school bag, he haphazardly tossed in clothes, pictures, he packed his life away in one small bag. Topping it with his sister's stuffed animal and the picture he had been holding just minutes ago. Isaac barely had time to zip up the bag before-

"Time's up, boy!" Isaac jumped at the pounding on his door. "Get-"

hiccup.

"Get the fuck out of my house!" Isaac flinched, stumbling back as the door flew open, his father stumbling in shortly after. "I- never, ever, wanna see your fuckin' face again."

Isaac straightened his back, rational thought flying at the window as he clenched his jaw. "Good! You won't, you're a shitty father anyway!"

"What did you just say to me?"

In the blink of an eye, he had the collar of Isaac's shirt balled in his hand, raising the boy up so they were eye to eye. "If you show your face, if you fuckin' disrespect me like that again, I'll fuckin' kill you. Got that?"

Isaac clenched his jaw, but nodded. He grunted as his dad tossed him to the ground, wincing as his hand landed in the pile of glass, pieces embedding themselves in his hand.

"Good. Now get out of my fuckin' house."

~~

a/n; starting an isaac's dad hate club tbh
not at all proof read tbh