Steve tries to connect with home. It doesn't go the way he
hoped.
⚠ None
The smart thing to do would have been to heed the warnings on the network. It wasn't as though he were naïve. Steve had been present in the room sometimes when the news was on. He heard about the crime rates and the drug scene and the general lack of safety that was New York City. This had been perpetuated as knowledge in his cultural osmosis for years now even with him living as far away as Indiana; with no real hopes of ever stepping foot in the famed city. Steve didn't have any real hopes of leaving Hawkins at this point. Not back home, at least.
But the network had people discussing the time period. After an arrival in the 1700s and on a sinking pirate ship? Time travel didn't seem so out of the norm for Steve and the possibility that they were suddenly in 1983? A whole year back from when he'd been back home?
Well, perhaps he was a little foolish. Perhaps he'd yanked off his sailor uniform and pulled on his cobbled pieces of clothing from the theater. He'd stumbled away from Derleth, into a City he didn't know, looking as though he'd just taken a beating on a subway station. Most ignored him but those who caught sight of him? They gave him a wide berth. As though he were dangerous himself. He ignored this. He was rushing away from the park with a perhaps foolish hope.
He needed to get to a pay phone.
Forget that he didn't have money. He'd figure that out. He just needed to get to a phone. He'd figure the rest out from there. Once he was out of the park? It wasn't hard to find one that was lined along the street with heaping trash bags propped against it. He turned, looking all around him, before cringing slightly. This wasn't going to go well. Deciding to give it a shot, he moved towards the first person he saw that looked as though they had spare change. "Hey, excuse me, could I borrow a qua..."
"Get lost!"
Right. Fair. He should have known better. Hands came up to brush his hair back and he squinted through the crowds passing at the streetlight. He moved forward, he asked more people and eventually it was some evident tourists who took pity on him. He was given quite a few spare coins and then he was fumbling into the phone booth, shutting it quickly.
It was easy to dial in from memory. Despite their status having shifted to friends only, he would be able to recite Nancy Wheeler's phone number from heart for years to come. He waited, listening to the ring on the other side and when it picked up, a burst of excitement rushed through him. "Hello? Hello? Mrs. Wheeler? Is this Mrs. Wheeler?"
"Who?I'm sorry, you've got the wrong number."
No. No he didn't. "Well is it 463..."
Click.
Steve's heart sank and he pressed the receiver, head leaning against his arm for a moment. He inserted another quarter. He tried again. And again. And again.
Hopper. Dustin. The Byers. His Mom. Not a single one connected.
Slamming the phone back on the receiver, he tossed open the booth and brought his hands up to cover his face.