Alone In The Hellfire @aloneinthehellfire - Tumblr Blog

Oh, So We Do Love Steve.

🖤 An Ongoing Fanfic Series, from Misha’s Masterlist Library. ☾⋆ OSWDLS Full Series Masterlist here.

VOLUME III • Chapters 74 -> 75

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 into S5 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting turned happy ending (no more upside down!), ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

🎧 Fic Song Inspo: "Infinite Baths" by Sleep Token (s/o to @silkholland for this)

🖤 CHAPTERS SUMMARY: The last fright sent you all into a full-blown 24-hour tank lockdown. And if you're being honest? All of you still aren't over it. Not even close.

The entire party is still all clustered together safely inside of Dingus-1 (one of two affectionately named military tanks, stationed here at this off-grid safe haven that's become all of your home for the last few weeks). Thankfully, all of you don't hear any more helicopters or flying drones or distant gunshots coming from overhead.

But what you all do hear, and briefly come in contact with... just might be a far greater threat.

Or maybe it's a far greater threat to the US government than all of you.

Maybe it's both.

🖤 AUTHOR’S NOTE: SO YEAH HI, this took a hot minute. I legit had to go back and proofread everything, plus make sure everything was accurate (pleeease forgive me if I made any date/timeline discrepancies.... this is my most in-depth ST fanfic ever lmfao so it's bound to happen). But we're approaching the very heavy climax of everything. Still got a ways to go before were all caught up and hop over permanently to V2, during the aftermath... but it's all seriously some of my favorite storytelling ever, because I truly did theorize big time on S5+ while making it Steve & Bauman centric.

We’re in the thick of my S5 hot take with this story. Steve & Babe Bauman are eternally my Roman Empire. Their story is my longest one, and even when we reach their “happy ever after…” it still keeps going.

Enjoy the mayhem. It only gets crazier from here.

Xx, misha

OVERALL WARNINGS: (t.w.'s in advance that applies throughout the series) end-of-the-world upside down themed mayhem, graphic descriptions of v**lence, graphic descriptions of s*x, arguing, strong language, heavy topics, sensitive mental health matters. mega comfort to balance the mega hurt/comfort trope. 🖤

Chapter Seventy-Four Meditation and a Piss Parade

Last Week of March • 1987 DAY [?] | Inside Dingus-1 | 10:04 AM

The forest was too quiet again.

No wind. No creaking branches. No shifting snow. Not even the soft crunch of a distant squirrel or a flinch of wingbeat in the trees. Just white silence stretched tight across the wilderness like plastic wrap, eerily unnatural and suffocating in its stillness.

And inside Dingus-1, the air was thick with the exact opposite.

Muted laughter. Light whispers. The occasional curse smothered into someone’s shoulder. Kids talking over each other. Someone cracking their knuckles. Someone else burping apologetically. The dull rustle of fleece and military blankets being repositioned. A cough. A snort. A wheeze. A half-laugh.

It was all hushed chaos, like a church basement game night during a blackout.

“Okay, but if the werewolf has moral hesitation about killing,” Dustin said, voice low but absolutely not quiet… “then technically, that makes it more interesting. ‘Cause now you’ve got a monster with a conscience. That’s character development.”

Lucas blinked at him. “You literally just argued last week that Jason Voorhees had a conscience.”

“Yeah,” Mike added, “because his mom was dead and he was sad about it. But that doesn’t mean he’s got, like… a moral code.”

“You guys are outta your damn minds,” Max muttered from where she was curled against Lucas’s side, one socked foot resting across his shin. She was snacking absently on something from a Ziploc, maybe a granola bar or some kind of sad, unwrapped MRE cookie. “None of them have a conscience. They’re horror movie villains.”

“Okay, but if they did,” Will chimed in from the floor beside Jonathan, “that would be a whole different genre. More like… existential horror. Or, like, sad monster tragedy.”

“My point,” Dustin pointed triumphantly.

“You’re both high,” Lucas muttered.

“On edible grass and anxiety,” Max deadpanned, tearing another bite off her ration bar.

At that, Steve (who was half-dozing upright with one arm looped securely around your waist) blinked, glanced over, and gently cleared his throat, finally coming down from flu symptoms.

Max froze like she’d been caught cheating on a test. She immediately looked at him with wide eyes, her ration bar halfway to her mouth.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “You good?”

“I—uh…” Max shrank back slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—like…mess with the rations or anything.”

He gave her a sad look that was so classically Steve Harrington, it bordered on tender exasperation.

“Kid,” he said softly, “if you’re hungry, eat.”

“But—”

“You almost left us for good. You want a snack? You eat the whole snack in peace.”

Max blinked at him. Then, slowly, she smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Harrington.”

“Anytime, Mayfield,” he murmured, squeezing your side unconsciously.

You were seated between him and Eddie, both of whom had taken turns staying up all night again, half-listening, half-focusing on the beat of your own heart. You didn’t even realize that your fingers were still curled around the portable monitor strapped to your chest until Steve’s hand ghosted over yours to check the reading again.

“Still steady,” he said under his breath.

You nodded. “Feels okay.”

“Okay-ish,” he corrected, eyeing you like he might laser-beam the arrhythmia into submission.

Across from you, Robin stretched her legs out until they hit Jonathan’s hip, then leaned over with a mischievous grin. “Do you think Murray’s dead?”

“Honestly,” you whispered back, “I think he became the tank.”

Robin snorted.

You glanced up front where, sure enough, Murray hadn’t moved in hours. He’s still slouched forward with the same comically oversized headphones on, listening to Dustin’s makeshift shortwave radio looped in a beat-up Walkman. Eyes glazed. Neck stiff. Hands limp. He was a permanent fixture now.

“Maybe we should poke him,” Robin offered.

“I think we should bury him,” you said solemnly.

Dustin, who'd overheard, tried so hard not to laugh that his face turned red.

Up front, Hopper turned around with a long-suffering look. “Do I need to separate you two?”

Steve, grinning, shook his head. “Please don’t. They get worse when you split them up.”

Robin raised her hand proudly. “Confirmed.”

Up by Hopper, Dimitri now muttered something under his breath in Russian. Hopper chuckled darkly.

Meanwhile, Eddie was still curled into an exhausted pile of limbs and curls against your opposite side. He groaned softly into the crook of his elbow.

“Whose bright idea was it to not sleep for three days straight?” he mumbled groggily.

“Yours,” you and Steve said in unison.

Eddie lifted a limp hand between you both. “Join hands with me, you degenerates. I am the goddamn meat filling in this sandwich of mutual codependence.”

You rolled your eyes and obliged, resting your hand in his while Steve did the same with an annoyed (albeit fond) sigh.

“Can’t believe this is what stabilizes my heart rhythm,” you muttered.

“Same,” Steve said.

“I’m honored,” Eddie mumbled.

“That’s sweet,” Robin wryly added. “Gross. But sweet.”

At that exact moment, Argyle — from tucked against the opposite wall with his arms behind his head — groaned dramatically. “Duuuuude.”

Everyone paused.

“Knew I should’ve brought my knitting stuff,” he lamented. “Could be makin’ a whole stress scarf right now. Like… catharsis in textile form.”

You gasped audibly. “That would be incredible.”

Eddie sat up just enough to peer at you blearily. “You’ve seriously gone pro with knitting now.”

“I stress knit,” you clarified. “With unorthodox flourish.”

Steve looked between you two like this was the beginning of the end. “Oh God,” he mumbled.

Eddie stared. Then grinned, delirious. “This is amazing. I want a friendship scarf.”

“You’re gonna get a friendship noose if you keep acting like this,” Steve muttered.

Eddie clutched his chest. “Jesus, Harrington.”

Robin reached into one of the ration bags and pulled out a crumbled protein bar. “You’re both cracked out.”

Max pointed. “Pot. Kettle.”

As the groggy laughter died down, you cast a glance up front again. Murray still hadn’t moved. Still locked in that same wide-eyed state of half-conscious vigilance.

You sighed. Then stood carefully, disentangling from Steve and Eddie before you padded your way up front and crouched beside him.

Murray didn’t even blink.

Gently, you tapped his shoulder. “Hey, Uncle M?”

His eyes finally slid toward you like rusted gears turning.

“You’ve been on radio duty for nearly twelve hours,” you said gently. “Let me take over.”

Murray blinked. Then slowly removed the headphones, unhooked the makeshift wiring, and wordlessly handed you the gear.

You accepted it without hesitation. He took your hands briefly, gave them a quick squeeze… then, like a man clocking out of a week-long shift, faceplanted into the dash with an audible thud.

“Jesus Christ,” Hopper muttered.

Dimitri didn’t even flinch. “He is corpse now.”

You chuckled softly and made your way back to your seat, carefully fitting the headphones over your own ears and settling the Walkman in your lap. And you could still hear the muffled, soft voices of your friends. All of them were now engaged in some sorta half-meditative, half-chaotic group sprawl.

Jonathan sat cross-legged, eyes shut, trying valiantly to meditate. Argyle was right beside him, lowly whispering encouragement like a very baked life coach.

“You are the cloud, bro. You are the whole sky.”

Max actually looked pretty into it. El was laser-focused. Nancy had one hand resting lightly in Jonathan’s, like a peace offering. Joyce was visibly trying. Dr. Owens was already knee deep in it.

Even Steve had his head tilted back… eyes closed, one hand still clasped loosely in yours. Eddie was horizontal, but had joined the circle in spirit. Robin was upside down, legs draped over a pile of coats. Will looked serene next to Lucas, who seemed to be having a spiritual experience of his own.

And Mike… deeply sighed.

Argyle, soft-voiced, murmured, “As above, so below.”

Everyone exhaled.

“As within… so without.”

A beat of silence.

Another.

And another.

…another another another…

Mike’s brow furrowed, almost reverently. Then he peeked one eye open. “Uhm,” he said quietly, “I hate to break this… but I have to piss.”

Every kid immediately echoed him in a whispered chorus.

“Oh my god, me too.”

“Wait yeah same.”

“I’ve had to pee for like an hour.”

“Wait, why did nobody say anything—??”

“Because it was peaceful,” Will hissed.

Argyle solemnly opened his eyes with a soft exhale. “So much for the inner void.”

You pulled off your headphones with a snort. “Alright. We need a plan.”

Everyone sobered quickly. Because yeah, it was honestly hilarious. But it was also risky as hell.

The forest was clear right now, yeah.

But the sky was watching. Always watching.

Drones. Helicopters. Something worse.

“We’ll do bathroom runs in small groups,” Joyce leaned forward. “Quick trips.”

“Winnebago’s just under twenty feet,” Hopper said. “We can make that.”

“Three kids per trip,” Steve suggested. “No more. One adult per group. Someone armed.”

“I’ll go with every group,” El offered.

“No,” Steve and Hopper said at the same time.

But then they paused, looking at each other, exchanging a wordless glance. Both of them nodded.

“Actually,” Hopper corrected, “That’s smart.”

“One adult, and El,” Steve confirmed.

Dimitri shifted. “I go as the adult. Always.”

Nancy nodded. “I’ll hold the line here.”

Dr. Owens made notes. “We’ll rotate. Three every thirty minutes. Keep it quiet. No lights.”

“Good luck to the group that has Dustin,” Max muttered.

“I HEARD THAT.”

“Exhibit A,” she smirked.

The plans went into motion. Outside, the snow remained eerily silent. The wind refused to return.

And inside the tank, a strange kind of peace settled over all of you. Paranoia and exhaustion and laughter and love all tangled up like too many blankets on a winter floor.

None of it made sense.

But somehow, you were still here.

Still breathing.

Still fighting.

Still holding hands.

In the dark.

Outside Dingus-1 • 10:57 AM

The first bathroom group came back in quiet formation, boots crunching lightly in the snow.

You, Will, Mike, Eleven and Dimitri had only been gone ten minutes. A quick and clean mission to the Winnebago and back, but the moment that Hopper opened the tank’s hatch and Steve ushered you all inside like a frantic hen with her chicks returning, it felt like the collective breath in Dingus-1 finally released.

“We made it,” Mike whispered with faux gravitas.

Steve pulled you in first, scanning all his kids, counting heads, then quick once-over-ing of your face, hands, pulse. “You okay??”

“Still breathing,” you whispered.

His exhale practically knocked you over with its relief.

He pressed his hand to your lower back protectively as the rest of the group still clambered inside. Mike was pale and trying not to look proud; Will was still very much in his bathroom-mode nerves, El was calm and steady as ever and Dimitri had entered last, tall and glacial, with a subtle twitch at the corner of his eye that might’ve been relief or just his Slavic version of smiling.

The hatch thunked closed.

A few of you collapsed back down into the blankets and bedrolls and coats like it had been a ten-mile trek, not a twenty-foot walk in daylight.

But no one said otherwise.

Because the forest was still silent.

No wind. No birds. No crunch of animal footfall.

And that meant perfect drone weather.

You all gave it five full minutes before the next group of survivors mobilized.

Dustin, Lucas, Max and Steve were next, while El and Dimitri took the same formation.

Max was on Steve’s back, arms looped loose around his neck, her cheek resting against his shoulder as his locks of chestnut hair tickled her temple. She squinted out towards the clearing with both boredom and dread.

“Can we go already?” she whispered shakily.

Dimitri opened the hatch.

“Alright,” Steve murmured, softly shifting her weight easily against him. “No one says a damn word once we’re out there. Not a peep.”

“I can’t promise that,” Dustin whispered solemnly. “I might see a cool stick.”

Steve just shook his head, his eyeroll nearly causing him a migraine. “Come on.”

They all stepped out into the blinding brightness.

Snow. Trees. Still no wind.

Their group crept quietly across to the Winnebago, with El sweeping each quadrant of the woods with her eyes, hand hovering slightly midair like a soft-tuned antenna. Dimitri trailed behind them all with his gun slung, discreet but ready to rumble.

When they reached the door, El took the lead, cracking it open… then they slipped inside one by one.

Max immediately raised her head from Steve’s shoulder. “Okay, but like, I’m not going first,” she whispered carefully.

Steve blinked. “You sure?”

“I’ve got—pee pressure,” she whispered urgently.

His brows pinched. “You mean peer pressure?”

“No,” Max hissed. “Pee pressure. Like, I can’t go when I know people are waiting.”

Steve blinked again. “That’s… so real.”

Max nodded solemnly. “I’m a private pisser.”

Dustin coughed into his shoulder to stop from laughing. Lucas turned to the wall and grinned into his elbow.

“Can confirm,” Lucas smirked quietly. She’s pee-shy.”

Max blushed as Steve, with the solemnity of a battlefield medic, gently set her down into a chair near the kitchen area.

“You wait here. I’ll guard the pissing zone.”

“Thought you said no talking,” Dustin snarked.

“Henderson? Shut it.”

“You shut it.”

Lucas darted into the bathroom first. The others waited in silence, huddled around the kitchen nook, weapons slung low, breath fogging in the cold air.

Max nibbled at her lower lip, staring at Steve. “You’re gonna make fun of me for the rest of my life, aren’t you.”

“No way,” Steve whispered mock-seriously. “I am in awe of your courage.”

Max tried not to smile and failed spectacularly.

Lucas emerged a minute later, looking relieved and proud.

“You good, Sinclair?” Steve asked, voice hushed.

Lucas gave a thumbs-up, then immediately crouched beside Max like he was her bodyguard now. She rested her foot lightly against his.

“Your turn, Henderson,” Steve said.

“Cool. Uh—sorry in advance, though,” Dustin muttered as he passed them. “Might be a… double feature.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lucas groaned.

Steve made a face. “Get the sequel over with, please.”

“The plot’s thick,” Dustin whispered as he hauled ass into the bathroom. From inside, he could be heard grumbling about the state of things. There was a spritz-spritz-spritz sound. Too much air freshener. Possibly half the can.

Steve tilted his head toward Max. “Still pee pressured?”

“Psh, nah I’m good now.”

“My condolences in advance,” Steve mumbled.

Max sighed as Dustin emerged, and he immediately gave her a hand, helping her stand up along with Lucas.

Steve jutted his chin at her. “Go for it.”

She took the bathroom next, while Steve kept watch with El and Dmitri. It didn’t take more than five or so minutes, but every passing second felt like centuries.

The sound of something falling made everyone stiffen with fear, all eyes scanning for signs of life outside of the Winnebago.

Steve shuddered. “You good in there, Red?”

“All clear,” Max carefully whispered back.

When the door opened, Steve was already there with a warm, steady grip. Max lifted her arms wordlessly while Steve ducked, scooping her up like it was instinct.

She settled on his back again, her arms looped around his neck, chin pressed to his shoulder.

“Okay,” Steve said, low and steady, “now we just—”

“Dude,” Dustin interrupted in a fierce whisper. “You should pee too.”

Steve blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re gonna explode,” Dustin hissed. “You’ve been babysitting everyone else. Just do it.”

Lucas nodded solemnly. “Seriously, man. You’ve had to go since last night. You’re doing the Mom Thing again.”

Steve hesitated. Jaw clenched. “But—”

“We got her,” Lucas said, already stepping closer, one hand lifting toward Max.

“I give you my blessing,” Max added dryly, arms raising from Steve’s shoulders. “Go piss, king.”

Steve stared at all of them like they’d gone collectively insane. Like this was the worst possible moment for them to start playing sacrificial lambs about his bladder.

But then Dimitri gave him the tiniest nod, just once, slow, deliberate. It was the kind of nod a soldier gave. A quiet transfer of duty.

So Steve let out a breath through his nose, muttering an, “Alright, fine,” and carefully handed Max off to Lucas. His fingers lingered just a second too long on her arm before he stepped back… still watching everyone as if he might need to turn around mid-stream and throw hands.

With one last glance at them, a look that made his heart stutter hard in his chest, he turned and disappeared into the Winnebago’s bathroom.

El shifted seamlessly into position beside the inner door. Dimitri moved up front, standing guard again, whole body angled, his face carved from stone. The kids settled into a hush so tense it almost vibrated.

Two minutes passed.

Three.

From the tank, you glanced toward the Winnebago in silent, fervent prayer, waiting for your love and flock to make it back in one piece.

The trees outside didn’t move.

Inside the bathroom, Steve had one hand braced to the wall, the other fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. Head tipped forward. Shoulders tense. Getting it over with.

His big brown eyes flicked to the window…

Nothing.

The mirror was foggy from cold breath. The sink was coated in dust. The air smelled like Lysol and fear.

Okay, he thought to himself, in and out, let’s this over—

Scrape.

He froze, body locking up mid-stream. Eyes wide. Neck going rigid. Chillbumps raised.

That wasn’t wind.

That wasn’t snow.

That was movement.

Unnatural movement.

Lingering…

Searching…

Prowling the prey.

Outside the far wall of the Winnebago, something was dragging itself against the siding. Steve didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even dare finish zipping up until the last few drops hit the toilet water.

His chest rose.

Fell.

Silence.

Then another scrape.

Closer.

The air turned thick. Steve’s blood chilled in his veins as he zipped his pants in one quiet, swiftly practiced motion, skipped washing his hands and moved for the door like a man possessed. His boots hit the floor like soft whispers. Muscles coiled.

He opened the bathroom door.

Everyone was already staring at him.

Dustin and Lucas had gone completely still, while El was still braced beside the door… fingers twitching, face taut, her eyes locked on his like they were the only two people in the world.

Dimitri’s gun was halfway raised, jaw clenched, every single inch of him screaming tension.

Steve didn’t need anyone to say a word.

He knew.

He stepped forward. In a single motion, Max was lifted, hoisted up, both arms looping around his neck as if her own instinct had already made the call for her. Her legs bent against his ribs. Her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

He glanced over his shoulder once, spotting the yellow knitted beanie that you’d finished knitting for him just a few days after you’d all made it here to this safe haven…

In that split second of peril, Steve imagined you now.

Back inside the tank, waiting for him.

Praying for him.

Holding your breath, eyes wide, your unsteady heartbeat thudding mercilessly inside your chest, trying to claim you and keep him from having you so long as you both shall live…

The image of you standing there, terrified and burning, rattled his brain as he stared at the knit beanie and let your unassigned nickname fall off his lips in prayer…

“Angel...”

No one else even heard it.

But it lit him up like a fuse.

Dustin and Lucas took their places at his flanks. El shifted closer to the opposite exit, hands glowing faintly now, the air around her crackling.

Outside the Winnebago, something began to circle.

It didn’t stomp.

It didn’t growl.

It shuffled and sniffed.

It breathed in a way no lungs should.

Wet. Snarled. Viscous.

Like its body moved on the memory of anatomy.

Dimitri locked eyes with Steve.

Steve looked at El.

El nodded.

Dimitri nodded.

Steve gritted his teeth.

Max clung tighter.

BOOM.

Eleven SLAMMED the door open and flung both arms out, a blast of force so violent it shook the pine needles loose from trees. Soil flew. Branches cracked. Something huge, glistening, warped, was now FLUNG backward into a trunk with a wet crunch.

Steve snatched up the beanie.

And on his mark, the kids bolted.

“GO!” Steve hissed, spinning toward the clearing. Max stayed tight on his back, her face buried in his neck as though she were hiding inside his shell.

Lucas and Dustin hauled ass. Footsteps kicking up all the brittle leaves, breath tight in their throats.

Steve kept Max locked against him with one strong arm, sprinting in perfect rhythm like she wasn’t even there.

El ran backward, both arms raised — eyes narrowed, another blast waiting in her palms.

Dimitri didn’t fire.

No shells, no bullets, no proof, no signs of life, no dead giveaways, no breadcrumbs left behind.

That’s what he kept telling himself while whirling around in a full 360. But his entire body and his eyes tracked the otherworldly creature in full perimeter sweeps, rifle raised, finger hovering over the trigger.

Then Dustin tripped.

He hit the earth with a crunch.

Steve pivoted on instinct, skidded, hauled him up with one hand, eyes darting to Max on his back, making sure she hadn’t slipped. She hadn’t. She just whimpered and clutched his jacket tighter.

“GO, GO, GO,” Lucas hissed from ahead. “MOVE—”

The creature lunged again, some horrific mass of bone and vine and ash and skin — and El BLASTED it sideways again, into the undergrowth.

Everyone’s mouths moved with frantic terror, the shape of this mystery monster ripping manic questions from all the deepest pits of their souls in soundless appall.

What the fuck is that?

What the SHIT?!

Another one?! ANOTHER ONE?!

Fucker’s UGLIER THAN A BITCH—

All of it was soundless, merely words shaped with six sets of petrified, trembling lips, heads whipping in all directions as they made the thirty second stretchers the way.

They were almost there.

The tank was in sight.

The snow burned their lungs.

Twenty feet total.

Fifteen.

Ten.

The hatch slammed open, Hopper’s arm reaching out like God himself calling his children home.

He hauled Dustin first. Then Lucas.

Then Steve, stumbling forward, shoved Max into your open arms, his voice cracking “Take her—”

You caught her. Collapsed backward, your hand already at her pulse. “Are you okay? Are you okay—?”

Max just nodded, dazed, shocky, breath caught halfway down her throat.

Then Steve crashed into your lap too, dragging half the earth’s flooring with him. You yanked him in like gravity, like instinct, like a lover, curling one hand into his jacket and the other into his hair.

Behind him, Dimitri and El dove in last, just as the hatch slammed shut — BOOM — sealing all of you in.

And suddenly you were all inside.

Crammed into the tank.

Breathless.

Sweating.

Alive.

Every adult was wide awake now. Joyce. Owens. Nancy. Eddie. Jonathan. Robin. Murray. Faces pale. Hands white-knuckled.

You gripped Steve’s face in both hands. “You good?” you whispered frantically. “Baby, you okay??”

Steve panted. Laughed, wheezily. “Thank fuck I pissed.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I got to piss,” he panted. “So… that’s something.”

You barked out a laugh and immediately kissed him all over. Sloppy, urgent kisses to his forehead, his scratchy jaw, the corner of his mouth, everywhere you could reach while still holding Max’s wrist in one hand and Dustin’s coat in the other.

“Christ, Harrington,” Murray muttered from up in the front, rubbing his face harshly. “The FUCK was out there?!”

“El neutralized it,” Dimitri added, panting. “Whatever it was. Creature is from down. And is down. For now.”

“Sick pun,” Robin trembled from the side of the tank, still perched at its canons. “Very good. Nice. 10/10!”

“No one makes a goddamn sound,” Hopper barked. “No lights. That was way too loud.”

Eddie huffed into the wall. “Shit sounded so fucked,” he barely muttered, still earning him some hissed shushing.

Lucas cradled Max next to Mike, who was trembling and looking over El with frantic worry.

“Imagine if you hadn’t pissed,” Lucas carefully hissed, eyes on Steve as he engulfed Max’s shaky frame.

Steve dropped flat onto his back, dragging you down with him. “I’d seriously have piss-streaked Levi’s right now.”

“You’re welcome,” Dustin muttered, still wheezing. “Better than pissing yourself mid-sprint, though I can’t say it wouldn’t have made me laugh.”

“Shhhhhhh!…”

Dustin just waved off whichever group had thrown that his way. Likely the adults. Whatever, they lived.

Another relieved huff rushed from your lips as you laid your head against Steve’s shoulder. “God bless.”

Dr. Owens was scribbling something down as he peeked out one of the small hatches with frantic eyes. But Murray just stood up like a corpse in a business suit.

“Welp,” he hissed. “Good day to be constipated.”

You choked on a laugh.

Steve snorted.

Eddie made a sound like he’d been exorcised.

Then Hopper added, “I’m gonna shit myself right now.”

“Same,” Joyce mumbled, looking dazed and completely serious. “It’s borderlining diarrhea territory.”

Jonathan looked scandalized but muffled his own snort into his palm next to Will, who basically did the same.

Nancy and Argyle sat nearby, guns in their laps, both still visibly pale. Eddie looked ready to pass out, while Robin had her head thrown back with silent laughter… probably picturing Hopper yelling about his explosive diarrhea.

Dimitri looked personally offended. “Americans.”

Owens didn’t look up from his notes or the slit in the tank. “One more person mentions bowel evacuation, I’ll sedate you all with diazepam.”

That did it.

The dam broke.

Everyone lost it — quietly, desperately, shoulders shaking as they tried not to scream. You collapsed onto Steve’s chest, Max’s long red locks of flaming hair brushing Lucas’s arm as she curled up in the crook of his hip. Dustin slumped sideways into Will. Lucas nudged Mike, who looked like he might just start sobbing. El knelt beside Max and touched her hand… and after a moment, she smiled at her, weak but real. Unshakeable.

You buried your face in Steve’s neck as his arm wrapped around your shoulder tightly.

“You got me here,” he whispered.

You didn’t lift your head. “Yeah? How’s that, Lover?”

He laughed again, breath catching. Suddenly, he tugged something out from his coat. Yellow tinged yarn… woven with love.

The beanie.

“…wh-what…?”

The air left your lungs, your eyes brimming with hot, fresh tears as your gaze flicked up from the knitted gift to his pretty face.

His own eyes shone with mischief and defiance piercing through. “Couldn’t let whatever’s out there steal this bad boy. This is designer.”

Your chest bubbled with full lovesick laughter, agonizingly tight, but it had nothing to do with the incessantly irregular heartbeat themed beneath your skin. This tightness only ever came from Steve, ever since this whole thing began. Ever since you’d spoken to him for the first time, not just in passing, back in November 1984.

He smiled now, too. You felt it under your cheek. The kind of smile that only happened when everyone made it out alive. Then Steve laughed again. Breathlessly. You didn’t even need to look to know that he was smiling like a dork. That look on his face only happened when everyone was alive and accounted for.

Murray slouched back up in the front like he was already regretting waking up today. “We’re never doing bathroom shifts again,” you whispered.

“I’m holding it forever,” Steve agreed.

Max groaned. “My pee pressure will never recover now.”

Steve and Dustin both silently wheeze as Lucas leaned against her shoulder, murmuring, “Sorry, baby.”

You blinked, craning your neck. “Your—what…?”

The world creaked slightly around you all from outside of these war-built walls. But inside of Dingus 1…in this tin can packed with too many bodies and too many feelings, there was safety.

However temporary that safety might be.

Steve’s hand tugged Dustin into the mix. Eleven joined silently. Then Lucas and Max. Then Will and Mike. All of you were now linked, tangled up together like threadbare rope that refused the fray until it broke.

Chapter Seventy-Five Undisclosed Species

Last Week of March • 1987 DAY [?] • Inside Dingus-1 • 11:12 AM

“What the shit was that?”

It wasn’t even clear who asked it first. Maybe Hopper. Or maybe Eddie. Maybe all of you, psychically. But it didn’t matter, because the question tore through the inside of the tank with the ferocity of an earthquake, bouncing off every wall like a ricochet bullet.

“Like no, seriously,” Dustin barked, chest still heaving, “what in the everlasting, demonic, walking, wheezing, death-fart was that?”

“It moved like a drunk skeleton,” Robin whispered, still pressed against the side of the tank, shaking her head with short, staccato jerks. “A big… fungus skeleton. With like, what, like—vines?? Are we doing vines again?!”

“No.” Nancy’s voice came sharply from beside her. “No. Those weren’t vines. That wasn’t even—I dunno…”

“Well what was it, then?” Eddie demanded. “Because that thing wasn’t from this planet.” He was pacing already, hair unruly, a tank trench forming with every frantic pass of his boots. “It looked like an inside-out cryptid that learned to do pilates!”

“It didn’t have a face,” Lucas said, still curled around Max, his hand gripping her elbow like he could anchor her to the present. “That wasn’t an animal.”

Nancy’s haunted blue eyes stared into oblivion. “They never have a face…”

“That was otherworldly,” Lucas emphasized. “But not the shit we’ve seen before. Nah, that was—”

“Not one of the usual Demogorgon types, no,” Hopper growled, arms crossed. “I’ve never seen it. Not even in the lab files.”

“…El?” Mike asked, quietly.

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen it either.”

“Maybe no one has,” you stressed, still holding Steve’s hand, your other arm looped loosely around Max where she sat quietly beside you. “Because if that thing’s a new addition to the apocalypse, I’d really like to unsubscribe.”

Steve gave your hand the softest squeeze, but his other hand still trembled faintly against your knee. Also, bless him, the beanie was now tucked into his belt. The yellow yarn stood out like defiance in the dim lighting of the tank.

“No, seriously,” Argyle said, completely sincere, staring at the group like he’d just walked into the world’s worst art gallery. “Can anyone just, like, circle back to the fact that that thing sniffed at us…?”

Jonathan’s voice was gravelly. “That wasn’t a sniff, man. That was like… a slurp.”

“Oh God,” Will muttered.

“…think I might vomit,” Nancy mumbled, then looked surprised at herself for saying it.

Robin pointed at her dramatically. “You’re freaking out.”

“I am not freaking out,” Nancy snapped.

“You are. You’re literally sweating.”

“Our friends ran for their life, Robin.”

“You’re doing the thing where your voice gets high.”

“You’re doing the thing where you talk without stopping.”

“She’s becoming me!” Robin yelled, to the room at large. “She’s Nancy Buckley now, and I’m so proud—”

Witnessing this was, truly, something else entirely.

Jonathan’s slow head turn towards them was somehow the funniest thing that had happened in hours.

You’d clapped your hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking. Eddie slowed his pacing just long enough to glance their way, his voice coming out ragged after he spent a solid minute staring at them with raised brows.

“We’re all gonna die…” he morbidly mused, “…and that’s what you’re worried about...”

“We are not all gonna die,” Joyce corrected firmly, from her position at the front. “But we do need to talk about what this means.”

Murray stood up. “It means our lovely little vacation resort is probably over.”

No one laughed.

Neither did he.

“I’m serious,” he continued, eyes dark behind his glasses. “That wasn’t a fluke. It didn’t just wander here.”

“So what then?” you asked curiously. “It tracked us?”

Steve’s jaw flexed. “Or it was sent.”

That hushed the tank.

“…sent,” Hopper repeated, flatly. “You think the military sent it and dropped it like a holiday package?”

“They’d never,” Dr. Owens muttered. Those were his first words in nearly twenty minutes, and they landed.

You actually believe that.

Eddie? Not so much.

“You sure?” Eddie said, voice acidic. “Because that thing felt like bait.”

“Or a bloodhound,” Will murmured. “Something to sniff out survivors. Wanted survivors on the run.”

Steve looked at him sharply. “Exactly.”

“No,” Owens said again, more loudly this time. “Listen to me. There’s no official protocol for creature deployment. None. I worked in that system for years. That thing… it’s either rogue, or…”

“Or…?” Hopper pushed.

Owens hesitated.

“…or someone’s trying to draw you out,” he finally said.

The silence that followed was so suffocating, it felt like even the steel around your group flinched.

Dmitri cleared his throat, slow and deliberate. “You saw how I didn’t fire.”

Steve nodded once. “I saw.”

“There was good reason.”

You looked up at him. “Risk of exposure.”

“Exactly,” Dmitri said. “Gunfire. Heat flashes. Blood trails. Any of that, it draws eyes. Drones. Satellites. Troops. We shoot, we sign our death certificates.”

“Which means no one goes out there,” Hopper said. “Not until we decide what the hell we’re doing.”

Max was still quiet. Dustin’s voice broke through gently. “Do we even know if that thing’s gone?”

Everyone went still.

It hadn’t occurred to you.

It hadn’t occurred to any of you.

“Fuck,” Steve breathed, running a hand down his face. “We didn’t see a body.”

“We didn’t see anything,” Robin whispered.

“I should’ve checked,” El muttered shamefully. “I should’ve made sure—”

“No,” Steve cut in immediately. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You saved us.”

Eleven looked at him sadly. But Steve’s eyes never wavered. Eventually, she gave him a small smile of gratitude. But the tension sat, bloated and unmovable.

“We made a deal,” Joyce’s voice broke the spiral. “That if something gives us a reason to leave… we leave.”

You turned toward her, your stupid heart thudding.

Steve looked haunted by her reminder.

“We all agreed,” Joyce repeated. “No debate. No pride. No half-measures.”

Her eyes flicked, almost painfully, towards Steve.

You felt him tense beside you. Because Joyce now had her gaze fixed on him for confirmation. For leadership.

For approval.

“…Joyce,” Hopper murmured, but she shook her head.

“He’s the one who’s been keeping us alive,” she said, not unkindly. “Not that you haven’t, Jim, but he’s the one who knows how to balance family with facts. With structure.”

Steve could have fucking bawled at her words. At her blind faith in him. Her loyalty, her trust…

Joyce Byers didn’t offer that to anyone, not on this level, except for Hopper. But now, she was giving it to him and going as far as making that known to everyone.

“I trust him,” she continued gently, but just as adamant. “All of us do. We agreed on that.”

Jim nodded humbly.

Sincerely.

“We did,” he confirmed quietly, his usually hardened eyes flicking over kindly to Steve… who now stared between the two of them with every wordless emotion flooding his big brown eyes.

He gave them a quick, grateful nod. Swallowed the lump in his throat. Flexed his jaw to keep it from quivering.

“And we all agreed,” Hopper continued, “Like Joyce said, we agreed that if it came to this—”

“It came to this,” Murray interrupted, loud and dry.

Everyone turned.

He was standing in the center of the tank, arms crossed, and for once? Your uncle was deadly serious.

Zero snark.

Zero sarcasm.

Zero assholery.

“This place has been good,” he said. “We’ve had heat. Food. No sightings. Three whole weeks, and yeah, that’s a miracle. A big one. But that thing out there? That was a storm warning. And I hate to say it, but…” Murray pursed his lips beneath his scruff, sucking them in before letting them pop back open. “I don’t think… we’re the only ones who don’t know what it is.”

You blinked at him, eyes wide, lips parting in anticipation.

“That’s what’s scariest,” Murray added. “Not that it found us. That they might not have a clue what it is either.”

“So what, we… so we move?” Robin asked.

“We have to,” Murray said.

Steve was deadly quiet now.

You looked over at him, your voice soft. “Hey, lover?”

He exhaled, brow furrowed, his voice cracking. “I know.”

His soft eyes met yours, warm and wrecked.

But you just smiled, albeit barely, nose scrunching. “You grabbed the beanie.”

That gently broke something in him. His face softened all at once, a sobered shadow washing over his features.

“I wasn’t gonna let it go,” he said, almost sheepishly.

Argyle, bless his soul, looked downright moved. “Bro,” he whispered. “That thing’s like… hand-woven loyalty. That’s true love.”

You blinked, biting your lip. “Don’t say that. I will cry.”

“I hope you do,” Steve whispered, nudging your leg. “You cry so cute.”

“Don’t make me fall in love with you again,” you hissed.

“Too late,” Eddie muttered from across the tank. “It’s disgusting how in love you two are. You should be ashamed.”

You shot him the most perplexed look, zero heat or actual frustration behind it. Just unconditional love, mixed with a lot of rattled up feels.

Steve warmly kissed your temple without missing a beat. But even as you curled in closer, your irregular heartbeat still thudded with the bittersweet truth.

This place was no longer safe.

It was no longer a safe haven.

Not anymore.

“Alright,” Hopper said. “So what are our options?”

“We don’t go toward it,” Nancy said.

“Obviously,” Max mumbled, voice dry but small.

“But do we try and find it…?” Lucas asked.

“Hell no,” Steve said instantly. “Love you, Sinclair? But yeah, that’s a no.”

“But what if it brings others?” Mike asked. “What if there’s more of them?”

You could feel the tide of dread swelling again.

“We scout only if necessary,” Dmitri compromised. “I don’t like gambling on an unknown species. Especially not one smart enough to circle the Winnebago like a shark.”

“And not one that walked away,” Will added.

Everyone went still again.

Then Owens stood.

“This is the call,” he said, firmly. “You’re moving. You’ll break down the Winnebago and the tank, make it look abandoned. No trace. No tracks.”

“You’re with us?” Joyce asked.

“Joyce, I’ve been with you,” Owens snapped, face red with resolve. “I am not letting any of you outta my sight, nor am I gonna watch any of you go out there alone. And if we’re dealing with something new, then we have bigger problems than just staying hidden.”

He looked around.

“We all move at first light.”

There was a new silence now.

A shared silence.

It breathed, it waited, it let the old words die off so that new words could be found. It allowed everyone to find each other in the stillness, and to make sure everyone was on the same page simply with glances, unblinking eye contact and quiet trust.

Everyone eventually turned to Steve.

And then he nodded first, setting it in stone.

You reached over, taking his hand in yours.

El took Max’s, while Robin linked her fingers with Nancy.

Eddie clapped Steve’s shoulder, the two of them sharing an all-knowing look of trust and brotherhood. Dustin did the same.

And slowly, everyone breathed in…

…and then breathed out.

“I’m really gonna hate carrying all this shit,” Murray now muttered, dry and dreaded.

Argyle raised a finger. “I’ll handle the canned goods.”

Steve leaned his head back.

Three weeks.

This place had felt like hope for three full weeks.

And maybe that was the tragedy of it.

Even safety had an expiration date.

Inside Dingus-1 • 9:42 PM

The tank was quiet.

Well, relatively.

From up front, you could hear the low static click of the Walkman rig as Murray passed it from one shoulder to the next, the wired headphones split between him and Jim and Steve.

The three of them sat up front in a hushed little triangle, heads slightly bowed, sharing a silent kind of gravity that came with the weight of knowing something none of the others knew yet.

The weather broadcast cut through faint static. Clipped, low-pitched and clinical… like it was being read from a bunker.

“…Environment Canada reporting cold front pushing southward from James Bay… expected to stall over the Algoma District and wider southern Ontario corridor by early Friday morning…”

“…precipitation models indicate potential for heavy rainfall with transitional freezing conditions across inland elevations… probability of whiteout event remains low but rising if temperatures drop below forecasted thresholds…”

“…wind gusts exceeding 50 kilometers per hour anticipated, low-level aviation not advised… sustained cloud ceiling projected below five hundred feet… ground visibility will fluctuate…”

“…communication interference possible… monitor regional bands for local advisories… transport activity should remain minimal…”

“…further bulletins to follow.”

“Three days,” Murray whispered, pulling the headphones off, rubbing his scruff like it personally owed him money. “We’ve got three fucking days.”

Hopper leaned back in the driver’s seat, eyes forward on the tank’s windshield even though there was nothing but darkness and pine shadow outside.

“That storm hits right,” he muttered, “we’ll be ghosts. No satellites, no drones. Nothing flies in that shit.”

Steve sat quietly between them. His thumb was pressed to his lip like he’d been biting it too hard again. When he spoke, it was low and deliberate.

“So we wait.”

Murray squinted over at him. “You sure?”

Hopper glanced Steve’s way too. But not because he doubted him. Just because he wanted to see it in his eyes, just like Murray.

The younger man nodded once. “Yeah. We move when the skies shut down. Narrows down who and what we’ve all gotta avoid, and we’re best off with less to dodge.”

No dramatics. No heroic speech. Just a decision. Clean. Final. Leadership by clarity alone.

Murray leaned back, giving Hopper a look like, Jesus Christ, this kid makes fewer bad calls than we do.

The cynic clicked his tongue.

“You know,” he muttered, “I’ve watched you get handed nothing but goddamn impossible decisions for weeks. Not once have you made a dumb one.”

Steve faintly sniffed a laugh. “Don’t jinx me.”

“No, seriously,” Murray pressed, eyeing Hopper sidelong. “It’s fucking whack. Like how do you even do that? Who taught you that? Jesus? Bob Newby? Mr. Miyagi?”

“Sure wasn’t Rick,” Hopper muttered smugly.

Steve snorted, barely biting back a grin. Hopper chuckled under his breath. Because yeah… Rick Harrington was a world class dick. And not a wise one.

“I think it’s called trauma,” Steve said dryly.

“Whatever it is, it works,” Hopper murmured, quietly proud.

Steve just gently sighed and leaned forward, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The silence that settled between the three of them was heavy in that warm, male camaraderie kind of way. Shared trust, and mutual weight bearing.

Behind them?

The entire opposite tone.

You were nestled in the belly of the tank like a goddamn chaos magnet, cradled in warmth and surrounded by limbs. Jonathan and Argyle were flanking you like two very stoned brotherly bookends. Dustin and Lucas had been whispering about something involving RPG stats, while Mike was ranting about someone being a warlock “build-wise” and not “by class,” and Max had curled up beside you like a cat made of nerves and sarcasm, just close enough to be held if she needed. You didn’t press. You never did.

And that’s why she stayed.

“It’s a meditative act, bro,” Argyle mused. “And lowkey survivalist. Like, warm socks? Fire.”

Jonathan was on your left, eyes barely open, mumbling the occasional yeah or true into whatever passing cloud of thought drifted by. Argyle sat on your right, humming softly as he absentmindedly unraveled a piece of thread from the edge of his sleeve, clearly imagining it was yarn and that he had needles in his hands.

He’d already brought up knitting twice tonight.

“You gonna knit me a whole hoodie whenever we make it outta this?” you asked.

“Make it out?” he repeated dreamily. “Girl, whenever our gang makes it out, I’m gonna crochet you a whole-ass house.”

That earned a snort from Jonathan and a slow clap from Max, while Eleven moved to giggle against her now.

You were halfway through re-teaching the group the rules of Would You Rather: Apocalypse Edition, when Eddie dropped to the floor across from you with a dramatic sigh and a smirk that spelled trouble in three dialects.

“I heard there was a party,” he sang, flopping onto his elbows.

“There was,” you said. “Then you got here.”

“Ouch,” Eddie grinned, dragging his booted feet forward until he was stretched out like the prince of chaos, eyes zeroed in on yours. “I don’t know why you flirt with me if you’re gonna be mean.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Keeps you humble.”

Eddie tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “Does it?”

“…Edward,” Dustin muttered, mid-sip of a juice box he’d stolen from the Winnebago stash. “I know this is the end of the world, but can we maybe not traumatize me before bedtime?”

That only earned a mischievous glint from Eddie. “Psh, traumatize? You’re dramatic. It’s called friendly flattery, Henderson. Try flirting sometime, you'll get it.”

“I have,” Dustin deadpanned. “With Suzie.”

Eddie tilted his head like an owl with a hooted, “Who?” just to fuck with him.

“My long lost flame, you asshole!”

Eddie grinned devilishly, pointing. “Different type'a flirting going on here.”

Lucas cocked his head at Eddie. “Wait… are you flirting?”

“He’s flirting with trouble,” you snorted and clarified.

“Technically, she started it,” Eddie declared proudly.

The boys gawked.

“She has a boyfriend,” Mike whisper-yelled, now looking betrayed on Steve’s behalf like someone had just spit on the American flag.

“Oh my God,” you laughed heartily, covering your mouth. “Michael. Relax, boo, he’s just being an idiot—”

“Uh, he’s being a traitor,” Dustin sassed, eyes on Eddie as he jabbed an accusing finger.

“Damn,” Eddie arched a brow. “Your extremist verbiage tonight is next level.”

Dustin stared. “Dog. You’re up against Steve.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s like—like—like her having the Holy Grail and then letting some crusty ass goblin come sniffing around.”

“Right, so I’m gonna need you to never call me a goblin again,” Eddie said. “At least not with crustyass attached to it.”

Jesus, his delivery was so dry.

You were already losing it, snorting as you leaned into Max, who was slowly curling backward into your lap like she physically could not handle just how stupid this was getting. Jonathan had given up pretending to be asleep and was now shaking silently, his hand over his face.

That was when El, that sweet and wide-eyed baby girl, tilted her head at you and asked, “…wait. What does flirting mean again?”

You wheezed. “Okay, okay,” you laughed, pressing a hand to your mouth. “It’s when someone’s being extra nice but in a weirdly charming way. Like they’re teasing you because they’re into you.”

“She’s talking about me,” Eddie said proudly, perched right across from you, his legs stretched out, arms draped dramatically across his bent knees. “And I was absolutely flirting with her. I also regret nothing.”

“She has a boyfriend!” Dustin repeated, like the concept still wasn’t clicking.

“She has Steve!” Mike added, just as scandalized, as if that clarified anything. “You can’t just—!”

“Jesus,” Eddie said, mock-aghast. “What is this, Puritan New England?”

Lucas, somehow the most solemn of the trio, glared at Eddie like he’d committed a war crime. “Dude. Nuh-uh.”

“Back me up, Sinclair. C’mon.”

“Not cool,” Lucas shook his head like a disappointed dad. “Not cool, in the name of brotherhood.”

You nearly burst into tears laughing. “Boys, it’s fine!” you gasped, waving both hands at them, your voice hiccuping from the effort. “He’s kidding, he’s being Eddie!”

“He’s being an ass,” Dustin stated. “Ass with no class.”

“I’m being fun,” Eddie countered, then turned while raising his brows at you. “Also, you’re adorable whenever you crinkle up your nose like that.”

“Ope,” Max chirped with morbid glee.

Lucas pointed sharply. “Munson...”

“Munson, you’re making my kids mad,” you warned him, deeply chuckling the entire time as they scowled at your sides.

“Nah. Even Mike can’t be mad.”

“I am definitely fucking mad,” Mike said, arms crossed, but his expression was more confused than angry. “Dude, what even is this dynamic right now?”

“Beautiful polyamorous chaos,” Argyle answered, smiling peacefully as he leaned his head on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Platonically, of course.”

Jonathan choked on his own laughter. “Bro. I can’t breathe.”

“Oh my God,” Max snickered, flopping backward across your lap. “This is so stupid.”

“What… is going on back here?”

Hopper had asked it from up front.

Sure enough? He and Murray were both looking back, and from the looks on their faces, they’d been listening to this dumpster fire for at least three minutes too long.

Steve was already turned halfway around in his seat with his brows raised, caught somewhere between horrified, confused and inexplicably fond.

Murray didn’t even ask. He just muttered, “You’re raising feral baby wolves.”

Your eyes were already watering. “Don’t diss my pack,” you said with a grin too wide to contain. “They’re yours, too.”

“Oh I don’t think so, Chick.”

He hadn’t even finished that sentence before your eyes had gone as wide as saucers with the most manic here’s Johnny a la ‘The Shining’ type of expressions, all while you exaggeratedly mouthed to him… ‘GRAND-PUPPIES.’

He mouthed back, ‘NOOO,’ just as theatrically. And then it was just a crazy-eyed staredown as your children kept on bickering with Eddie, Jonathan and Argyle.

Steve, though? That handsome boy of yours didn’t even look mad. Just tired. And in love. And a little in disbelief… and also, lovesick and willingly overstimulated.

You simply smiled back at him with a sheepish shrug and mouthed, “Sorry.”

He only mouthed back, ‘marrying you.’

“You’re all very loud,” Robin muttered dryly from her post by the back slat. She gestured between you and her best friend. “You two especially.”

She was pacing in a tight little oval, alongside Nancy, who was holding a set of binoculars like a weapon. Dmitri was at the top of the ladder, silently watching the woods out of the narrow slats of the tank like some avenging guardian angel of sorts. He had one arm propped in a side slit, his eyes peeled, scanning for movement.

“If we’re so loud, come join us!” Eddie jeered cheerfully.

Robin scoffed. “Can’t. Kinda busy channeling my anxiety productively right now.”

Nancy smirked. “It’s working.”

Dimitri didn’t turn, but he nodded “It is. You have walked six laps, Buckley.”

Robin looked stunned. “You’re counting?”

He nodded solemnly.

“You’re count—Nance,” she turned to Nancy. “Nance, he's counting! This is so validating.”

“He is also judging,” Nancy said wryly.

“I am not judging,” Dimitri replied, bone dry. “But if I were, I would say your pacing is slightly deranged.”

Nancy grinned to herself.

Robin just looked smug. “He thinks I’m deranged. That means we’re bonding.”

Dimitri didn’t answer, but a faint grin twitched the corner of his mouth. Nancy caught it.

She said nothing, but she saw it.

Steve saw the whole thing. You’d caught most of it but got pulled back into the kids’ nonsense with Eddie, and Hopper was already grinning upfront with both your boy and your uncle, all while Joyce and Owens were dead to the world, getting hardcore sleep (like the icons they are.)

And then it happened.

The giggle from Jonathan cracked first, high-pitched and stupid. Argyle followed, nearly wheezing. Then you were doubled over laughing again, your arms clutched to your sides, Eddie grinning like a devil, talking mad shit.

It spread fast. Robin was snorting. Max giggled. El looked lost, but giggled too, asking, “Why is it funny?” which only made it worse.

But then something sharp hit you.

Right in the chest.

The laughter cut off like a vinyl scratch.

“Tahahaha—skkkktsaaah—!!”

Your hand flew to your ribs, the ache harsh and sick and sudden, and your full body tilted sideways like your own blood had turned on you. Your smile faltered mid-breath.

Dustin saw it first. “Wait—wait, are you—?”

“Hey—hey, hey, hey,” Eddie switched gears, eyes going wide. “What’s wrong? Bauman??”

Your breath came out ragged. The pain spiked again. Not a heart attack, no but something mean and jagged ripped across your heartbeat, making your limbs tingle and your chest seize. Like your heart was lurching just out of reach of itself.

“It’s okay,” you managed, smiling grimly through clenched teeth. You exhaled, grit your teeth, winced through it. “It’s just my asshole heart.”

That sentence made everyone go still.

You weren’t even crying.

You were smiling.

And somehow? That was worse.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered, dropping down in front of you like he’d been teleported.

Murray was right behind him.

Dr. Owens was already awake, like he’d been listening in his sleep. He crossed over to you and knelt beside Steve, quietly pulling out a stethoscope.

Seriously, they all gathered round within blinks of an eye.

“Still beating,” Owens said softly. “Irregular. But stable.”

You looked up at Steve as he cupped your cheek in one trembling hand.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, and it was even true.

But Steve looked broken. Not angry. Not frantic. Just broken in that deep, helpless, why can’t I fix this? way that cracked every rib in your body with love.

“You can’t laugh now…?” he said, voice hoarse.

“Hey, I’ll take pain if it comes with joy,” you wheezed back with that defiant smile.

“Don’t say that,” Steve huffed. “Don’t—don’t make it sound like you’re settling.”

You tilted your head, your palm touching his wrist. “I’m not settling, lover,” you murmured. “Just choosing what matters.”

He dropped his head, eyes closing for one long second before they met your gaze again with ferocious intensity.

Eleven sat down beside you and reached over to clutch your other hand. Robin hovered just behind Steve, her palm firm on his shoulder, while Eddie stared at the floor like he might punch it into the earth’s core.

Mike looked wrecked. Dustin looked furious. Lucas blinked fast and looked away.

Will, poor baby, had woken up from his sleep to stare tearfully, as Joyce made her way over with a water, as though she hadn’t just been fast asleep.

“Here, hun,” she murmured gently, already popping the cap so that you could hydrate.

Dr. Owens…?

He stayed silent. But his eyes flicked to Steve. To Eleven.

And you saw it.

The quiet knowledge.

Not yet.

Maybe someday.

But not yet.

Eventually, you took a breath. And then another. And you looked at all of them, these people you’d kill for, that you would die for and ache with if it’s the last thing you do.

“S’okay,” you said softly, nodding at Steve with a wink. “Still on.”

The first time you’d told him something similar to that… was right after he’d spent too many minutes pounding your chest and ribs, all while whimpering oxygen back into your airwaves.

S’back on… you did it…

Now, he gave you a wobbly smile as you looked at him with that same survivalist exhaustion that refused to quit. And even if you did try to quit, Steve wouldn’t let it happen. Ever.

You didn’t get that choice.

Steve would give you every single choice in this world, but when it came to being without you? No. That wasn’t up to you. Not anymore.

“This thing onnnn?”

The most random, nasally voice sounded off from… of all the people inside the tank…

Nancy.

She gave your chest the sweetest little knock-knock with her knuckles, gently and with an exaggeratedly perplexed expression, as if trying to solve a mystery as she squinted right where your heart was.

“Hmm,” Nancy hummed. “Hulloh-oh. Hulloh-ohhhh?”

“Errrpern urrrrpppp,” someone else joined her.

It was freaking Argyle.

They sounded like muppets on acid as they knocked on your chest like it was their neighbor’s house, like they just wanted to come inside and have a nice chat.

Steve and Robin both stared, lips parted in soft surprise. All the kids looked the exact same way, their eyes big and wide and round and curious.

Your face wore something similar, but only for a flickering handful of seconds before you subtly reeled, sputtering with hesitant laughter.

“Are you guys—??”

“Erts mai money and I want it naaaoooww,” Jonathan cut you off, now fully engaged in Nancy and Jonathan’s act.

Murray glared from right beside Steve. His narrowed eyes flicked between all of you, dissecting the situation in that usual I’m judging all of you sort of way… but he actually stayed quiet and let it happen, and the pinch between his brows eased.

Dmitri hummed, startling everyone, despite its low volume. “Debt collectors,” he deadpanned.

Eddie snorted at that, finally done with burning a hole in the floor and deciding to just let the continued nonsense that you, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle had going on was all that mattered right now.

Dr. Owens also smiled as he kept monitoring quietly, all while Joyce embraced the boys, who kept scowling back fears and maybe tears, too. But they softened and eased up more, as your muppet impression made all of them finally smirk at the sight.

Steve now just wore the most unusually fond, lovesick expression in his pretty face, and Robin leaned against his shoulder, her freckled face tender with amusement.

Max and El cuddled.

The redhead grinned brightly. “Grief in this house ain’t never been normal,” she murmured.

“It really hasn’t,” El whispered back to her.

That’s when Hopper’s voice came from the front. “Hey, so, uhhh,” he said. “If everyone’s done emotionally combusting back there—Murray? Steve? You wanna tell ‘em?”

You blinked as Murray huffed a sigh, then stood.

Steve rose beside him. “We got three days,” he stated simply. “Storm’s rolling in. No air travel. Total whiteout.”

“Radar goes dead,” Murray added. “Everything goes dark. We move then.”

A beat of silence.

And then? Everyone nodded.

All at once. No protest. No debate.

Just relief.

Even if it meant sitting inside a steel tube for three more nights, you’d earned the right to exhale. You could finally rest.

Together.

Somewhere in the back, Argyle now exhaled deeply and flopped backward like he’d just won the lottery. “I can totally wait three days,” he whispered.

Jonathan laughed softly, still holding back the tears you didn’t even know were there.

And Steve, now kneeling back down beside you, took your hand in both of his.

His lips pressed warmly to the clump of intertwined fingers and palms while his forehead rested against your temple, both eyes closed as he claimed his spot for the night, just breathing you in… and you sighed right into him, nuzzling.

Three full weeks of safety.

Three more days on the clock.

🖤

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