Ashley

I come here to escape Fan fiction is my get away. I take request :) ✌🏻❤️🌻

[lauraashley93]

Master List Mayans MC ~~~~~ Angel Reyes

I Don’t Love You Anymore

I Don’t Love You Anymore PT 2

I Don’t Love You Anymore PT 3

Knight In Dusty Leather

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ALL OF THEM

Halloween scare

COCO 

Please Stay

It’s a new phenomenon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EZ REYES

Stormy Weather

Invisible 

Invisible pt2

~~~~~~~

RIZ

Reunited

Clubhouse Christmas

~~~~~~~~~~

MIGUEL GALINDO

It was always you

[starryglacier]

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

xᴀᴅᴇɴ ʀɪᴏʀꜱᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ!ᴛᴀᴜʀɪ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴏʀʏ: Establishing a secure spot among the Marked Ones wasn't easy, yet you earned the respect from Xaden Riorson. What the both of you weren't expecting was to fall in love with one another. You fall for him first, but he falls harder. Until your secret comes out and he thinks you betrayed him by keeping your real family name under wraps. It's time for you to prove to him that your love for him isn't some scheme your father planned. No, your love for him burned with a passion that made you defy your father in front of everyone.

ꜱɪɢɴᴇᴛꜱ: Fire- wielding and Mind Reader. Since there is no same "intinnsic" abilities, Reader's ability to read minds only happens when she links with someone. She doesn't automatically have access to everyone's thoughts like Jeremiah. She needs to link with them by one look into their eyes (because eyes are the doors) and it has to be by her will. She can also unlink with someone by cutting off the connection with them, so she's not plagued by hearing unwanted thoughts all the time. We want our baddie to live for longer than Jeremiah and not go completely insane.

ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ: Sicaech is a red, scorpion tail dragon with a fierce temper. Cadets, lieutenants, generals and even other dragons are warned not to get on his bad side because he has no problem with eating, stomping or burning others. He is the fastest dragon and it makes him lethal in combat. He has a crown of spiked horns that serve to protect his head towards his neck, but they get smaller in size the further down. He is about the same size as Sgaeyl. Because of his anger, Sicaech is not favored by a lot of the dragons, but Andarna loves him which makes Sgaeyl and Tairn watch over her more when she hangs around the Red Riot.

I believe that's all I can flesh out for now. I can't wait to post this series, chapter by chapter to see where it goes and how everyone reacts. I know Reader seems OP, but come on. If Violet freaking Sorrengail can survive a death college with very little experience of fighting and using her brain then Reader can survive what is thrown at her...with her plot armor.

[lauraashley93]

Chapter one

The announcement

Xaden Riorson x reader

Summary :

Fake Engagement for political reasons

Everyone thinks readerand Xaden are engaged.

They absolutely are not.

They cannot stand each other.

—————————————————-

The war room was unusually full.

Not because there was a battle.

Battles were expected.

But because every ranking officer from every province had somehow found themselves summoned to Basgiath with less than twenty-four hours’ notice. Nobles lined the back wall in embroidered jackets. Riders stood shoulder to shoulder in black flight leathers. Scribes occupied the corners with ink already staining their fingers, waiting to record whatever decree was apparently important enough to drag half the kingdom here.

Y/N hated surprises.

She stood near the back of the room with her arms crossed, leaning one shoulder against the stone wall

“What do you think this is about?” Ridoc asked quietly beside her.

“If I knew, I’d be standing somewhere else.”

He grinned.

“So… no idea.”

“No idea.”

A familiar voice cut through the room.

“Move.”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn around.

“I’d recognize that charming personality anywhere.”

Xaden Riorson stopped beside her. His expression remained as unreadable as ever.

“You are standing in my spot.”

She looked around dramatically. “I don’t see your name carved into the floor.”

“It should be.”

She smiled sweetly. “How unfortunate for you.”

Ridoc immediately took two cautious steps backward.

“Nope.”

Y/n glanced at him. “What?”

“I’ve learned to evacuate before you two start.”

You rolled your eyes “We’re having a perfectly civil conversation.”

Xaden looked at her.

“This is civil?”

You shrugged. “It could be worse.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

⸻

The truth was…

You and Xaden had never gotten along.

It wasn’t one explosive argument that started it.

It was dozens.

He criticized her battle plans.

She called him insufferably arrogant.

She accused him of believing he always had the right answer. He accused her of charging into situations without thinking.

She said he overthought everything. He said she underthought everything.

Neither of them had ever won an argument.

Mostly because neither of them ever backed down.

The squad had long since learned that if you and Xaden were in the same room…

Someone was going to sigh dramatically before the conversation was over.

Usually Garrick.

Sometimes Bodhi.

Always Ridoc.

⸻

“Ten silver says they argue before this meeting ends,” Ridoc whispered.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Garrick answered from somewhere behind them.

“Why?”

“Because I’d lose.”

You rolled her eyes. “We’re standing right here.”

“We know.”

⸻

The heavy doors swung open. Conversation stopped instantly.

General Melgren entered first, followed by several members of Navarre’s ruling council.

Even Xaden straightened.

You pushed away from the wall.

Something was wrong. Nobody gathered this many people unless it affected the entire kingdom.

Melgren climbed the platform at the front of the room. His expression gave away nothing.

“I appreciate everyone’s attendance.”

Silence answered him.

“As you’re aware…” He paused. “The alliance between Navarre and Tyrrendor remains… politically delicate.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Bodhi. That wasn’t new.

“The council has decided that visible unity is essential.”

Still too vague. You hated vague.

Beside you, Xaden’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn’t like where this was heading either.

“The people require certainty.”

A noble nodded.

“The provinces require stability.”

Another pause.

You felt your patience thinning.

“Can someone just say it?” You muttered under your breath.

Ridoc snorted.

Melgren continued.

“Therefore…” He unfolded a parchment. “The council has approved a formal political engagement.”

You frowned. Poor bastards. Whoever they were.

“The union will represent cooperation between both sides of the kingdom.”

Someone near the front whispered excitedly.

You barely listened, already wondering how long this speech would drag on.

Melgren looked up.

“Y/N.”

Your head snapped up.“…What?”

“Step forward.”

Every eye in the room turned toward you.

Ridoc’s smile disappeared.

Slowly…you walked toward the front.

“This feels like a trap,” you muttered.

“ It probably is,” Ridoc whispered back.

You stopped a few feet from the platform. Melgren wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her.

“Lieutenant Riorson.”

Silence.

Then—

Boots against stone.

You turned just enough to see Xaden walking forward from the opposite side of the room. He looked just as confused as she felt.

That…Was not comforting.

He stopped beside her. Neither spoke. Melgren looked between them. Then, in a voice loud enough for the entire chamber to hear—

“Congratulations.”

You blinked.“…On?”

“The council has announced your engagement.”

…

Nothing happened.

Not immediately.

The room simply…

Stopped.

As if every single person inside had forgotten how to breathe.

You stared. Then slowly looked at Xaden.

He was already looking at her, For once…They wore the exact same expression.

Utter disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” you said carefully. “Our… what?”

“Your engagement.”

“No.”

Melgren didn’t react.

Xaden spoke next.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“There is not.”

“I did not agree to this.”

“It was not presented as a request.”

You let out one short laugh. The kind people laughed when they were seconds away from losing their minds.

“No.” You shook her head once.“No, absolutely not.”

A murmur swept through the room. Melgren folded the parchment.

“The announcement has already been delivered to every major province.”

You frowned.“…Delivered?”

“The official proclamation went out this morning.”

Your stomach dropped. “You announced it…” you stared at him.“…before telling us?”

“Yes.”

Ridoc made a strangled noise somewhere behind them. Even Garrick looked stunned.

You looked back at Melgren. “You can’t just decide I’m engaged.”

“I already have.”

You laughed again. It sounded a little hysterical this time.

“No.” Xaden’s voice was calm. Dangerously calm.

“General, I will not participate in this.”

“You will.”

“No.”

“You leave in three days for the Summer Unity Banquet.”

You looked between them.“…Three days?”

“You will attend together.”

“No.”

“You will dance.”

“No.”

“You will wear the betrothal bands.”

You looked horrified. “I will not.”

Melgren finally met her eyes. “You will.”

Silence.

You looked at Xaden. He looked back. For the first time in years…They were in complete agreement.

This was the worst idea anyone had ever had. And neither of them had the slightest clue how to stop it.

—————————

[lauraashley93]

This is more

part 2 to “more than this”

Eddie Munson x reader

The next few days didn’t look like a dramatic ending.

There was no big fight. No final blow-up.

Just distance.

You stopped showing up early to Hellfire, Stopped waiting by his van, Stopped lingering after school like you had nowhere else to be.

When Eddie talked, you answered. Polite. Light. Safe.

But you didn’t stay anymore And Eddie noticed.

At first, he tried to act like he didn’t.

“You’ve been busy,” he said once, tossing a pencil between his fingers like it didn’t matter.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Stuff.”

“Cool. Cool.”

Then silence.

Then more silence.

Until even Dustin noticed something was wrong.

“She’s like… gone,” Mike said one afternoon, watching you walk past the cafeteria table without even glancing over.

Dustin frowned. “No, she’s not gone. She’s just—she’s just not coming over.”

Lucas looked between them. “That’s basically gone.”

Dustin didn’t like that word. “Something’s up with Eddie.”

Will sat quietly but nodded his head in agreement.

Mike snorted. “Everything is always up with Eddie.”

But Dustin wasn’t laughing.

Because he’d seen it—how Eddie’s eyes followed you a half second too late now. How he looked like he was thinking too much between sentences. How the jokes weren’t landing the same way.

So they made a decision.

They were going to your house.

⸻

Your porch light was on even though it wasn’t dark yet.

You were sitting inside, curled into the couch with something mindless playing on the TV, not really watching it. Just letting the noise fill the space where thoughts kept trying to creep in.

The knock startled you.

Three sharp taps.

You frowned, sitting up slowly. When you opened the door, you didn’t expect to see them.

Dustin first, shifting on his feet like he wasn’t sure if this was a good idea anymore. Mike behind him, arms crossed like he was trying to look serious and failing. Lucas slightly off to the side, quiet but watching you carefully. And Will biting his lip nervously and looking like he was about to turn around and leave.

“Uh…” Dustin started. “Hey.”

You blinked. “Hey?”

A pause.

Then Mike just said it bluntly, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Where’ve you been?”

You let out a small, confused laugh. “At home.”

Lucas tilted his head slightly. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

That made your smile falter for half a second before you fixed it again. “I haven’t been avoiding anyone.”

Dustin didn’t buy it.

“Okay,” he said gently, stepping forward a little. “Then why aren’t you with Eddie?”

That question landed heavier than the rest. Your fingers tightened on the doorframe without you realizing it.

“I am with Eddie,” you said carefully. “We’re fine.”

Mike scoffed. “That is not what Eddie looks like.”

Your chest tightened.

“…What does Eddie look like?” you asked, quieter.

Lucas answered this time.

“Like he’s trying not to freak out,” he said honestly. “Like he messed something up and doesn’t know how to fix it.”

That hit something deep enough to make your stomach twist.

You swallowed. “He didn’t mess anything up.”

Dustin shook his head. “That’s not what he says.”

You froze slightly.

“…What does he say?”

They all exchanged a look.

Then Will spoke softer now. “He says you won’t talk to him.”

A beat.

Another.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your expression back into place. The mask. The smile. The version of you that didn’t fall apart in front of people.

“I’m just busy,” you said again.

But even you could hear how hollow it sounded now.

Mike frowned. “That’s not—”

Lucas cut him off, more careful. “Can we come in?”

You hesitated. Then stepped aside.

And as they walked past you into your living room, Dustin glanced back like he was trying to understand something bigger than all of them.

“Eddie’s not okay,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. Because that part… you already knew. And you weren’t sure what hurt more. That he wasn’t okay. Or that he hadn’t come himself.

The boys had, had enough. They were tried of beating around the bush. So Dustin signed and exclaimed loudly,

“Alright. Time for plan B.”

You furrowed your brows. “Plan B..?”

————————-

The boys absolutely did not ask.

They kidnapped you.

As much as four freshmen could kidnap somebody.

⸻

“Dustin, I swear to God—”

“Language.”

“You showed up to my house, broke into my house! And now what? You’re kidnapping me?”

“We knocked first,” Mike argued. “You let us in And technically Steve showed up at your house.”

You froze.

Slowly.

“What?”

The boys exchanged glances.

Will immediately looked guilty.

Very guilty. The kind of guilty that said this whole thing had been Dustin’s idea.

“Where is Steve?” you asked suspiciously.

Steve was sitting in the driveway.

Behind the wheel of his car.

Looking like he regretted every life decision that had led him here.

The second he saw your face, he pointed at the boys.

“I didn’t know what this was.”

“Steve—“

“They said it was an emergency.”

Dustin winced.

“It is an emergency.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It absolutely is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“ Yes.”

Will finally sighed.

“You guys have been miserable for weeks.”

Everyone stopped.

Even Dustin.

Because Will rarely jumped into arguments.

When he did, people listened.

His expression was soft.

Concerned.

“You miss Eddie.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Will continued.

“ And Eddie misses you.”

Mike nodded “You’re both idiots.”

You closed your eyes.

Lucas nodded. “He’s right.”

Mike pointed dramatically.

“You guys are like divorced parents.”

“Mike!”

“You are!”

“We are not!”

“You don’t sit together anymore!”

“Because we’re busy!”

“You don’t talk anymore!”

“We talk!”

“Barely!”

“Exactly,” Dustin said triumphantly.

You hated that they weren’t entirely wrong.

So here you were, crammed in Steve’s car.

Against your will.

Steve was driving. Looking more guilty than you had ever seen him.

Mike was in the passenger seat.

The rest of you were squeezed into the back.

You considered jumping out at a stop sign.

Lucas noticed.

“Don’t.”

“Traitor.”

“I know.”

Will smiled slightly beside you.

The second Eddie’s trailer came into view, your stomach dropped.

“Oh absolutely not.”

Dustin was already climbing out.

“Oh absolutely yes.”

You seriously considered running.

Steve immediately pointed at the boys.

“I am not getting involved.”

“You’re already involved.”

“I drove.”

“Exactly.”

Steve groaned as Dustin knocked on the door.

Wayne answered the door.

“Uh…” he said, looking between you, Steve, and the collection of teenagers standing behind you. “Should I be concerned?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately.

“No,” Dustin answered at the same time.

Wayne looked exhausted already.

Steve lifted both hands. “I was lied to.”

Wayne nodded.

“Understandable.”

Then he stepped aside.

“Good luck, kid.”

Eddie was sprawled across the couch.

At least he was until he looked up.

Then he nearly fell off it.

“Holy—”

His eyes immediately found yours.

The room went quiet.

Painfully quiet.

Neither of you had really been alone together since the hallway.

Since the question he never answered.

Since everything changed.

For a moment nobody moved.

Then Dustin clapped his hands together.

“ Great.”

Nobody reacted.

“Awesome.”

Still nothing.

“Fantastic.”

Eddie slowly looked at him.

“What are you doing?”

“An intervention.”

“A what?”

“A friendship intervention.”

Eddie looked horrified.

You looked ready to jump through a window.

Mike folded his arms. “We miss you guys.”

Lucas nodded. “It’s annoying.”

Will spoke up quietly. “It hasn’t felt the same.”

That got both your attention.

Because Will almost never complained about things like that.

Dustin pointed dramatically.

“We’re tired of watching both of you mope around.”

Mike nodded.

“Like divorced parents.”

Steve who was standing by the door trying desperately not to be part of this, muttered:

“They really are.”

“STEVE.” You glared at him.

He immediately looked away.

Ten minutes later the boys had somehow managed to physically shove both you and Eddie into his room.

Dustin pointed between you.

“Talk.”

“No.”

“Talk.”

“No.”

“Talk.”

“No.”

“Talk.”

“Dustin, I will throw you.”

“Not before you communicate.”

The boys disappeared into the living room.

Steve immediately followed but was heading for the exit. But Dustin grabbed his arm

“Nope. Absolutely not.” “You have to help us listen,” Dustin whispered.

“I absolutely do not.”

The door shut.

A few seconds later came muffled arguing.

Then silence.

The trailer felt impossibly quiet.

Neither of you looked at each other.

You stared at the floor. Eddie stared at the coffee table.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Finally—

“You look okay.”

You blinked.

Of all the things he could have said.

“You kidnapped me to tell me I look okay?”

A tiny smile made its way to eddies face.

The first one you’d seen in weeks.

“I didn’t kidnap you.”

“You were an accomplice.”

“Fair.”

The smile disappeared quickly.

And the silence came back.

This one hurt more.

Because neither of you knew how to get back to where you’d been.

Before.

Before the hallway. Before the stupid conversation. Before your heart got involved.

Eddie rubbed his hands together nervously. Something he only did when he was really anxious.

You noticed because you always noticed him.

“Hellfire sucks now,” he said quietly.

You laughed softly. “That’s your opening?”

“I’m trying.”

His voice cracked slightly.

And suddenly all your anger felt smaller.

Because he sounded tired. The same way you felt.

Eddie swallowed.

“I miss you.”

Your heart immediately betrayed you.

You looked away.

“Eddie—”

“No, let me finish.” His voice was shaking now.

Actually shaking.

“I miss my best friend.”

The words hurt. He saw it happen. Saw your face fall. Saw the wall immediately go up. And for the first time it seemed to click.

Really click.

His expression crumpled.

“Oh.”

You looked down.

“Yeah.”

Another silence.

Then quieter—

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Eddie’s face lost all color.

Because suddenly he understood. Not just that you were hurt.

Why.

The realization hit him all at once.

The late nights. The way you always stayed.

The way you’d looked at him.

The way you’d looked at him in the hallway.

And then—

The question he’d never answered.

‘Why were you nervous?’

His breathing slowed.

“Oh”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Don’t.”

“You thought…” He laughed once, but it sounded miserable. “You thought I didn’t want you.”

You stood immediately.

“I’m leaving.”

“Wait.”

“No.”

“Please.”

His voice cracked. Actually cracked.

And that stopped you.

Because Eddie Munson never sounded like that.

Ever.

You turned around. And found him standing too.

Looking terrified.

Like the next words might ruin him.

“That’s why you left?”

His eyes were glassy now. “Because you thought I didn’t—”

He couldn’t even finish it.

Your throat tightened.

“You never answered me.”

The words came out barely above a whisper. Eddie looked devastated.

Not defensive. Not annoyed. Devastated.

“I didn’t answer because I was scared.”

You froze.

The room felt suddenly too small.

Too quiet.

Behind the bedroom door there was a suspicious thud, like four teenage boys and one increasingly regretting-his-life Steve Harrington had just fallen against it trying to listen.

Neither of you noticed.

Eddie only looked at you.

“I was scared because I liked you.”

Your breath caught. His eyes never left yours.

“For a long time.”

The room went completely still.

And behind the door, Dustin Henderson silently lost his mind.

For a second, nobody moved.

Not you.

Not Eddie.

Not even the boys hiding behind the bedroom door.

The entire trailer felt frozen.

Your heart was about to beat out of your chest.

Because this was Eddie.

Your Eddie.

The boy you’d spent years loving quietly. The boy you’d convinced yourself would never look at you the same way. And now he was standing in front of you looking absolutely terrified.

Terrified.

Like you had the power to break his heart.

“Eddie…” you whispered.

He laughed nervously and scrubbed both hands over his face.

“Nope. Nope, now that it’s out there, I need to finish.”

A muffled voice came from the living room .

“YES YOU DO.”

“DUSTIN, I SWEAR—!”

Silence immediately followed.

Then a quieter voice.

“Sorry.”

You couldn’t help it.

A tiny laugh escaped you. The first real laugh you’d had in weeks.

Eddie’s eyes snapped to yours.

And for the first time since all of this started, he looked hopeful.

Just a little.

Like seeing you laugh reminded him of something he’d been missing.

“I was scared,” he admitted again.

His voice was softer now.

“When Mike and Dustin started asking questions, I panicked.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because they weren’t wrong.”

The confession came so easily now. Like once the dam broke, everything was rushing out.

“I’ve liked you forever.”

Your eyes immediately filled.

“I just…” he swallowed hard. “I figured there was no way you felt the same.”

You stared at him. Actually stared.

“Eddie.”

“What?”

“You thought I didn’t like you?”

“Obviously.”

You made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.“Eddie, everyone knew.”

His eyes widened.

“ No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Dustin knew.”

“Dustin knows everything.”

“Steve knew.”

“What?”

“Robin knew.”

“What?!”

“Wayne knew.”

At that, Eddie looked genuinely betrayed.

“MY UNCLE KNEW?”

You nodded. A bark of laughter escaped you.And suddenly Eddie was laughing too.

The tension cracked.

Not completely. But enough.

Enough that the hurt didn’t feel quite so sharp anymore.

Then the laughter faded.And reality settled back in.

The weeks apart. The heartbreak.The misunderstanding. The fact that you still remembered every word he’d said.

Your smile slipped.

Eddie noticed immediately. Of course he did. His own expression softened.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were quiet, Honest.

No jokes.

No sarcasm.

Just Eddie.

“I hurt you.”

You looked away. His voice got even softer.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

The tears you’d been fighting finally slipped free.

One rolled down your cheek.

Then another.

And Eddie looked absolutely wrecked.

“Hey.”

You shook your head. “It just really hurt.”

The confession came out broken.

Raw.

“I spent so long trying not to like you because I didn’t think I was your type.”

Eddie stared.

“I thought you liked girls like Chrissy.” You laughed weakly. “The pretty girls.”

His face immediately twisted. “Are you kidding me?”

You shrugged.

But Eddie stepped forward. Just one step.

Then another.

Until he was standing right in front of you. His eyes were shining now too.

“You know what I saw every day?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You.”

Your breath caught.

Eddie smiled sadly.

“Every stupid day.”

Another tear slipped down your face. He reached up slowly. Giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he brushed it away with his thumb.

Gentle.

Careful.

Like you were something precious.

“I walked you home because I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Another brush of his thumb.

“I saved you seats because I wanted you next to me.”

His voice cracked.

“I got jealous whenever anybody flirted with you.”

You stared at him. “Eddie—”

“I was so gone for you.”

The tears came faster now. Not because you were sad. Because after weeks of heartbreak, after convincing yourself you imagined everything, hearing him say it felt overwhelming.

Eddie looked close to tears himself.

“I thought I’d ruined everything.”

His hand slipped into yours.

Warm. Shaky. Real.

“When you stopped showing up…” His voice broke completely. And suddenly you realized just how much those weeks had hurt him too.

“I hated it.”

Your heart shattered a little. Because Eddie looked genuinely miserable.

“I kept waiting for you.” He laughed weakly.

“Every day.”

Another tear rolled down your cheek. “Eddie…”

“I missed you so much.”

That did it.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. The sound that left him was half relief, half heartbreak. His arms immediately locked around you. Holding on like he’d been afraid to for weeks. Like if he let go, you’d disappear again. For a long moment neither of you spoke.

Just held each other.

Breathing.

Existing.

Finally, Eddie buried his face in your hair. “I am never taking relationship advice from fourteen-year-old boys again.”

A loud crash came from the living room .

Then Dustin’s offended voice.

“HEY!”

You and Eddie both started laughing.

The sound filled the trailer. Warm and familiar.

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt like home again. Eddie slowly cupped your cheek and looked from you to your lips like he was asking permission and you nodded slowly and that’s all he needed. He kissed you. Slowly, softly, like you were the most precious thing In the world. He smiled against your lips and slowly pulled away.

“I could definitely get used to that.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, bet your guitar can’t do that.”

Eddie groaned. “I’m never living that down am I?”

“Never.”

From behind the door came Mike’s triumphant yell:

“THE DIVORCE IS OVER!”

Followed by Lucas shouting:

“THANK GOD!”

Then Will’s relieved laugh.

And Steve’s exhausted voice:

“I drove forty minutes for this.”

And Eddie just groaned into your shoulder while you laughed so hard tears were still running down your face. ❤️

[lauraashley93]

More than this.

Eddie Munson x reader

Part one

The Hellfire Club table was loud in the way it always was—dice rolling, papers slapping, Mike arguing like he had a personal vendetta against logic.

You stood just outside the circle of light, arms loosely crossed, pretending you were only there because Eddie had asked you to help set up. That’s what you told yourself every time. That it was casual. That it didn’t mean anything when he looked at you like you were something he’d drawn in the margins of his notebook—important, but only when no one else was watching.

Eddie Munson was in his element.

Hair wild, ringed fingers gesturing like he was conducting an orchestra only he could hear. He leaned over the dungeon master screen, voice dropping into that dramatic, gravelly tone that always made the boys groan and laugh.

You had just walked up after going to get drinks and should’ve left when they started talking about you.

It started harmless enough.

“So,” Mike said, flipping a pencil between his fingers. “What’s the deal with you and y/n?”

Dustin immediately perked up. “Yeah, you two are like… always together. Like, always.”

Lucas nodded. “It’s kind of weird, man.”

You felt your stomach tighten, but you stayed still. Waiting for Eddie to answer.

He leaned back in his chair, smirking like the question was funny. Like it didn’t matter.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No. No, no, no.”

Mike blinked. “No what?”

Eddie laughed. A real laugh. Sharp, easy, automatic. “Me and y/n?” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not a thing. That’s like… I don’t know, that’s like saying I’d date my guitar. She’s my best friend, dude. That’s it.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Best friend.

You waited for him to soften it. To joke. To fix it.

He didn’t.

Dustin frowned. “Yeah but you act kinda—”

“Kinda what?” Eddie cut in, still smiling, but there was an edge now. “Nice? Sorry, I’m not allowed to be nice anymore?”

Mike raised his hands. “We’re just saying it looks like—”

“It doesn’t look like anything,” Eddie said quickly, too quickly. Then he laughed again, smaller this time, like he was trying to shake something off. “Trust me, if I was gonna date someone, it wouldn’t be… complicated.”

That one landed differently. You felt your fingers curl into your palms.

Complicated.

Like you were something messy. Something inconvenient.

Dustin finally shrugged. “I dunno, man. She’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, almost absentminded now, rolling a die between his fingers. “She is. She’s great.”

Great.

Not anything more than that. Not the way he walked you home every night even when you told him you were fine. Not the way he always saved you a seat. Not the way his voice softened when he said your name like it mattered more than anything else in the room.

Just… great.

You stepped back before anyone noticed you.

The hallway outside Hawkins High was colder than it should’ve been. You pressed your back against the lockers, exhaling slowly, like you could push the feeling out of your chest with enough air.

You told yourself it was fine. That you’d misunderstood. That Eddie was just Eddie. Loud, dramatic, affectionate in a way that didn’t mean anything. That the way your heart had latched onto him wasn’t his fault.

But then you heard the door open again.

Footsteps.

“Hey—there you are! We thought you got lost.”

You didn’t look at him right away.

Eddie came into view anyway, Hands shoved into his pockets, expression already shifting into something lighter, like nothing had happened.

“Where’d you go?” he asked.

You swallowed. “Uh, I was actually gonna go ahead and head home.”

He blinked. “Already? We’re not done yet.”

“I think you are,” you said quietly.

That made him pause. Not long. Just a flicker.

Then he smiled again, softer this time. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You finally looked at him. And for a second, you hated how easily your heart still reached for him.

“I heard you,” you said.

His brows knit. “Heard me what?”

“At the table,” you continued. “With them.”

Something in his face tightened, almost imperceptibly. “Oh.”

That was all he said. Just… oh.

Like he already knew which part.

You nodded anyway, because if you didn’t keep going, you’d fall apart right there in front of him. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you whispered.

Eddie exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just messing around. You know how they get. They don’t shut up if you don’t—”

“You said I was like your guitar,” you interrupted.

Silence.

That one landed differently for him too. His jaw shifted slightly, like he was searching for the right version of himself to be in this moment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said finally.

You gave a small, broken laugh. “Yeah. I figured.”

Because if he had meant it, it would’ve been worse. Or maybe it already was.

You pushed off the lockers. “It’s fine, Eddie. Really. I get it.”

But your voice betrayed you. It shook at the edges.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, stepping closer. “You’re not—don’t do that. Don’t go weird on me.”

Weird.

You nodded, staring past him. “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter: he tried to catch your eye. “You’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

There it was again. The word that used to feel like home.

Now it just felt like a door locking.

You forced a nod. “Yeah.”

But you didn’t look at him when you said it. And for the first time, Eddie didn’t know how to fill the silence after.

Eddie didn’t like silence.

It wasn’t his thing. Silence meant thinking, and thinking meant feelings he didn’t have neat little jokes for.

So he did what he always did—he tried to fix it.

“You’re not seriously mad at me, right?” he asked, stepping sideways so he was back in your line of sight. “Because that was—okay, that was taken out of context. Massively. Like, criminally out of context.”

You let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but it wasn’t. “I’m not mad,” you said.

That should’ve made him relax. It didn’t.

Because your voice didn’t match your words.

Eddie shoved a hand through his hair, eyes darting over your face like he was trying to solve a problem that didn’t come with instructions. “Okay… then what is this?”

“This?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he said, a little sharper now, like frustration was easier than confusion. “This thing where you’re looking at me like I just—what—kicked your dog or something.”

That almost stung enough to make you flinch.

Almost.

Instead, you just shook your head. “I just didn’t know you thought of me like that.”

His expression changed immediately. “Like what?”

You hesitated. Because saying it out loud made it real. But he was looking at you like he actually wanted the answer. Like for once, he wasn’t performing.

So you gave it to him.

“Like I’m not… an option,” you said quietly. “Like I’m just your best friend. Like that’s all I’ll ever be.”

For a second, Eddie didn’t move.

Not a joke. Not a grin. Not a defense. Just still.

Then he scoffed, but it didn’t land right. “That’s not—no, that’s not what I said.”

“You said it wouldn’t be complicated,” you reminded him.

His mouth opened, then closed again.

Yeah. He remembered that part. A beat passed. Then another.

His voice dropped. “You were listening to that?”

You almost laughed again. “I was standing there, Eddie.”

That shut him up completely.

The hallway felt too bright suddenly. Too exposed. Like there was nowhere to put your hands, your thoughts, your heart.

Eddie finally looked away first.

Which hurt more than you expected.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said again, but quieter now. Less defensive. More… unsure. “I was just trying to get them off my back. They don’t stop when they get an idea in their heads.”

“And me being your best friend was the easiest way to shut it down,” you said.

He didn’t deny it. That silence did it for him.

You nodded slowly, like something inside you was settling into place whether you liked it or not. “Okay.”

Eddie frowned. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “Okay.”

You started walking past him.

His hand shot out before he even seemed to think about it, catching your wrist lightly.

Not tight. Just enough to stop you.

But it was enough.

“Hey,” he said, softer now. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you asked, not turning back.

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely like the word itself was failing him. “The shutting down. The… leaving.”

You finally looked at him over your shoulder.

And for a second, his expression shifted—like he saw it clearly now. Like he realized what he’d actually done, not what he meant to do.

“I’m not leaving,” you said.

A pause.

Then, quieter: “I’m just stopping where I am not wanted.”

His grip loosened immediately. Like he’d been burned.

“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly.

You turned fully now. “Then what did you say, Eddie?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out right away. That was new. Eddie always had words. Too many of them. Loud ones, funny ones, deflecting ones.

But not these.

Finally, he exhaled, almost angry at himself. “I said something stupid.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then he added, smaller: “I say stupid things when I’m nervous.”

That made your chest tighten.

Because that was the first honest thing he’d said.

You studied him for a moment—his hands shoved into his pockets now, shoulders tense like he was bracing for something he didn’t understand how to fight.

“…Why were you nervous?” you asked quietly.

That question hit him like a snap of a string. His eyes flicked up to yours. And for the first time all night, Eddie didn’t have an answer that came easy.

Just silence.

And the truth hanging in it, unspoken but suddenly very loud. He could have told you. Told you how he really felt. That he’d been in love with you since he met you. He could have said anything. Something.

But Eddie didn’t answer.

Not really.

His mouth opened like he might—like there was something trapped behind his teeth that couldn’t find a way out—but whatever it was never made it into words.

That silence was answer enough.

You nodded once, like you understood something neat and simple, even though your chest felt anything but.

“Okay,” you said again, softer this time. Then you smiled.

It wasn’t real. It was the kind of smile you’d practiced your whole life for moments exactly like this—when something hurt but you didn’t want it to show. When you needed people to believe you were fine so they wouldn’t ask you to explain what you couldn’t fix.

“I get it,” you added lightly, like it didn’t matter.

Eddie’s brows pulled together. “Hey, wait—”

But you were already stepping back. Not running. Not dramatic. Just… slow. Careful. Like if you moved gently enough, nothing would break louder than it already had.

“I’m gonna head home,” you said. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not—” he started, then stopped again, like he kept hitting invisible walls inside himself.

You gave him another small smile. Same mask. Same practiced ease.

“See you, Eddie.”

And then you turned away before he could find the right version of what he meant.

[lauraashley93]

More than a joke

Eddie Munson x reader

Eddie Munson wasn’t exactly used to people being nice to him.

People laughed at him. Mocked him. Avoided him.

But they didn’t usually go out of their way to be kind. Which was why, when you approached the Hellfire table during lunch, his first thought was:

This is a joke.

⸻

The cafeteria was loud as usual.

The Hellfire Club occupied their corner of the room, laughing about a campaign from the night before.

Eddie was halfway through an exaggerated story when he noticed you walking toward them.

You.

The girl he’d spent months secretly crushing on.

The girl who smiled at him in the hallways.

The girl who always waved first.

His stomach immediately flipped.

Then panic set in.

Because why were you coming over here?

In front of everyone?

You stopped beside the table.

“Hey, Eddie.”

The boys all looked between the two of you.

Eddie forced a grin.

“Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You smiled nervously.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to hang out sometime?”

The entire table went silent.

Mike nearly choked.

Dustin’s eyes widened.

Gareth looked ready to explode.

Because everyone knew Eddie liked you.

Everyone except you.

Or so they thought.

Eddie’s heart practically stopped.

Then his brain immediately convinced him this was some cruel setup.

Maybe your friends were watching.

Maybe someone dared you.

Maybe everyone was waiting for him to embarrass himself. His face hardened.

“Oh, that’s funny.”

Your smile faltered. “What?”

“You seriously expect me to believe that?”

Confusion flashed across your face.

“Eddie, I—”

“What is this?” he interrupted loudly. “A bet or something?”

The boys exchanged uncomfortable looks.

“Eddie…” Dustin warned.

“No, seriously.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair.

“You got your friends recording this somewhere?”

Your face drained of color.

“Eddie, I wasn’t joking…I-”

“Sure.”

The word came out sharper than he intended.“You can tell whoever put you up to this that they can do better. It’s insulting you thought you could pull that over on me. ”

The cafeteria suddenly felt very quiet.

You looked completely stunned.

Then hurt, deeply hurt. But you tried one more time because you genuinely liked the stupid boy in front of you.

“Eddie…”

For one horrible second, he almost backed down. Then fear took over.

Fear of being laughed at. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of believing you.

So instead he rolled his eyes.

“Nice try.”

The tears in your eyes appeared instantly.

And Eddie immediately knew he’d messed up. But it was too late.

You turned around and walked away wiping angrily at the tears falling down your cheeks.

⸻

The table sat in silence.

Dustin was the first one to speak.

“What the hell was that?”

Eddie scoffed.

“A joke.”

“No,” Mike said. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“Yeah, you just ran off the girl you’ve been crushing on for months now…” Dustin said as confusion colored his face.

Eddie looked away.

Because a tiny voice inside him was already whispering:

What if it wasn’t?

⸻

Three days passed.

You didn’t wave at Eddie anymore.

You didn’t look at him.

You didn’t even glance in his direction.

And for some reason that hurt worse than anything.

He wanted to go and talk to you about it but couldn’t find the nerve to. He convinced himself that he was right and the reason you weren’t trying anymore was because you and your friends failed at your joke of trying to embarrass him.

⸻

School ended on Friday.

Dustin was heading toward the parking lot when he spotted someone sitting behind the gym.

Curled up against the brick wall.

His stomach dropped.

It was you.

Slowly, he approached.

“Hey.”

You jumped slightly and looked up.

“Oh. Uh..um.. hi..” you quickly looked back down not knowing what to do or say.

Dustin sat beside you.

Neither spoke for a moment.

Then he sighed.

“Were you really interested in Eddie.. or was it a joke? ”

You laughed sadly and looked at Dustin. ”not sure it really matters now, does it?”

“It does.” Dustin sighed, “Eddie is the friendliest guy I know.. and I know he’s really kicking himself for how he spoke to you. He’s just always so used to being the butt to everyone’s joke. He just couldn’t understand why someone like you would even want to speak to him.”

You stared at the pavement.

“I really liked him. It wasn’t a joke. I would never do something like that. Especially to Eddie.”

Dustin’s heart sank.

“What?”

You shrugged. “I thought maybe he liked me too. I obviously read that wrong, Though.

Dustin almost screamed.

“Oh my God.”

You looked over at him confused. “What?”

“Nothing.” He started shaking his head. “Nothing except you like the biggest idiot in history.” He says it like it explains everything as he starts to stand to leave.

You furrowed your brows “I don’t understand. “

Dustin just smiled his toothless grin at you. “Don’t worry about it. Just know that I’m about to fix everything and you and Eddie will repay me by naming your first kid after me.”

He speed walks away from you before you even have a chance to reply. So you sit there and watch his retreating form more confused than you have ever been.

⸻

Twenty minutes later Dustin practically kicked open the door to the trailer.

“Eddie!”

Eddie jumped.

“What the—”

“YOU ARE THE BIGGEST MORON IN INDIANA.”

Eddie blinked.

“…Thanks?”

Dustin pointed at him.

“She wasn’t joking.”

The blood drained from Eddie’s face.

“What?”

“She likes you, idiot. Like really really likes you. ”

Eddie froze.

“What?”

“I talked to her.”

The room suddenly felt too small.

“She was alone and looked really sad so I decided to ask her about the whole thing and she genuinely really likes you. ”

Every ounce of color left Eddie’s face.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“YES.”

Eddie felt sick.

Absolutely sick.

Because the one thing he’d wanted for months had been standing right in front of him.

And he’d destroyed it.

“What do I do?!?” Eddie face palmed himself

Dustin rolled his eyes “you go and you fix it before you can’t”

⸻

The sun was beginning to set when Eddie finally found you.

You were sitting alone on the swings at the park.

Slowly swaying.

Lost in thought.

When you saw him approaching, your expression immediately closed off.

“Go away, Eddie.”

The words hurt.

But he deserved them.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I think you said enough.”

He stopped in front of you. For once, he had no jokes. No dramatic speeches. No theatrics. Just guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked away.

“Eddie—”

“No.”

His voice cracked.

And that got your attention.

Because Eddie Munson never sounded vulnerable.

Ever.

“I thought you were messing with me.”

You frowned.

“Why would I do that?”

He laughed bitterly. “Because people do.”

Silence.

“They always have.”

You watched him carefully. “I didn’t realize..” you sighed “but I never would have done that to you. “

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“That’s the thing. I figured there was no way someone like you would actually want to hang out with someone like me.”

Your heart broke a little.

“Eddie…”

“So I panicked.” He looked down. “And I hurt you.”

You could see how miserable he looked.

How exhausted. How ashamed.

You were the first to break the silence then. “I really liked you.” His eyes met yours. “Still do.”

The confession hung between you.

Raw and honest. Eddie took a breath in and moved closer to you.

“I know I don’t deserve another chance.”

You swallowed. “Probably not.” Then a small smile made its way to your face.

A weak smile appeared on his face.

“Fair.”

“But…”

Hope flickered in his eyes.

You sighed.

“Maybe we could start fresh.. not unless you want to publicly accuse me in front of Mother Nature now. ”

Eddie groaned.

“Oh God.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“And maybe apologize properly.”

He stepped closer

“I am sorry.”

This time it sounded real. No defenses. No excuses. Just truth.

You studied him for a moment.

Then you finally smiled and put out your hand. He grabbed yours and pulled you up from the swing and into his arms.

The relief on Eddie’s face was immediate.

And as he held you in his arms , he couldn’t help thinking that if Dustin Henderson hadn’t intervened…

He would’ve lost the best thing that had ever happened to him before it even started.

[lauraashley93]

Toxic love

Billy Hargrove x reader

Billy had always known exactly where to hit when he wanted to hurt someone.

Most of the time, it was with his fists.

Tonight, it was with his words.

“You think you’re so damn perfect, don’t you?” Billy snapped, pacing across his room.

The argument had started over something stupid. It always did.

A missed phone call.

A jealous comment.

A look from another guy at the arcade.

Now it had snowballed into something ugly.

You stood near the door, arms folded tightly over your chest. “I’m not doing this again, Billy.” You sounded tired.

“Then leave.”

The words hung between them.

Neither moved.

Billy scoffed.

“Seriously. Leave.”

His blue eyes were blazing, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.

You swallowed. “You don’t mean that.” As toxic as you and Billy were and as many fights you all have had, he’s never told you to leave.

Something flashed across his face.

Fear.

But Billy buried it under anger.

“No?” he laughed bitterly. “You really think I’d care if you walked out?”

The words landed like a punch.

Still, she stayed. Still, she waited.

Because underneath all the fights and screaming, underneath all the nights he showed up at her window just to see her smile…

She loved him.

And he loved her.

Even if neither of them knew how to do it right.

“Billy—”

“No.” He pointed toward the door. “I’m tired of this.”

Your heart started hammering. “What are you saying?” You could feel the panic creeping up.

He looked directly at her And chose violence.

“I’m saying maybe I don’t want you anymore.”

The room went silent.

Billy felt the regret instantly.

The second the words left his mouth.

But his pride wouldn’t let him take them back.

Your face crumpled. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just enough. Enough for Billy to realize he’d finally gone too far.

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered.

Billy’s stomach twisted. He should’ve stopped. Should’ve apologized. Should’ve grabbed her hand. Instead he doubled down.

“Maybe I do.”

You stared at him.

Waiting.

Begging him with your eyes to tell you it wasn’t true.

Billy looked away.

And that was your answer. So you left. The front door slammed. The sound echoed through the house.

Billy stood frozen.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then five.

The anger disappeared.

Leaving only panic.

“Oh, shit.”

⸻

By midnight Billy was parked outside her house.

His Camaro sat crooked against the curb.

Every light in the house was off except one.

Her bedroom.

Billy climbed out. Walked to the window he’d climbed through a hundred times before and tapped lightly.

Nothing.

Tapped again.

The curtain moved.

You appeared. Your eyes were swollen. Red.

Like you’d been crying for hours.

The sight nearly broke him.

“Baby—”

She immediately shook her head.

“No.”

Billy felt his chest tighten. “Come on.”

“No.”

“Please.”

You laughed bitterly.

The sound hurt worse than any punch he’d ever taken.

“Please?” Billy swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You said it.”

“I was angry.”

“You said it. And you didn’t stop me. You let me walk out that door. “

Every word felt like a knife.

Billy rested his forehead against the glass.

“You know I didn’t mean it.”

Your eyes filled with tears again.

“That’s the problem.”

His stomach dropped.

“What?”

“You always say that.”

Silence.

“You scream at me.”

Silence.

“You tell me horrible things.”

Silence.

“You make me feel like I’m nothing.”

Billy looked down. Unable to argue. Because she wasn’t wrong.

“And then you show up and apologize.”

You wiped at your eyes.

“And I forgive you.”

Billy’s chest tightened painfully.

“Please forgive me.” The words sounded small. Pathetic. Nothing like him.

But he didn’t care. Not anymore.

You stared at him for a long time. The longest minute of Billy’s life.

Then you shook your head.

“No.”

The word stole the air from his lungs.

“No?”

Tears slid down your cheeks.

“I love you, Billy.”

His heart shattered.

“But I don’t like who I am when I’m with you.”

The confession hit harder than anything.

Because it was true.

He watched her struggle to breathe through her tears. Watched her fight herself. Fight the part of her that wanted to open the window and take him in her arms.

Fight the part of her that still loved him.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Billy felt his eyes burn. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t do this.”

“You already did.”

You reached for the curtain.

Billy’s pulse spiked.

“Wait.”

You hesitated.

“I love you,” he said.

The words came out broken.

Raw. Real. For once, No anger, No ego, No walls. Just truth.

You closed your eyes. More tears spilling down your cheek.

And for a second Billy thought she’d come back. Thought she’d open the window. Thought everything would be okay.

Instead she whispered:

“I know.”

Then she closed the curtain.

Leaving Billy standing alone in the dark.

For the first time in his life, there was no fight left. No comeback. No charm. No way to fix it.

Just the crushing realization that sometimes loving someone isn’t enough.

Sometimes you hurt them one time too many.

And they finally choose themselves.

[lauraashley93]

You told yourself you didn’t care. That was the first lie.

The second was that you were fine.

The third was that Steve Harrington didn’t matter that much anyway. All three fell apart the second you saw him with Nancy Wheeler again.

It wasn’t even dramatic. No big moment.No confession.

Just Steve laughing at something she said, leaning in like she still had gravity over him.Like she always had.

And you?

You stood a few feet away, holding two sodas you’d brought specifically for him. Still warm from your hands. Still stupidly hopeful.

“Hey,” you said when you finally walked over.

Steve turned. His smile was automatic, friendly.

“Oh—hey,” he said.

Then immediately looked back at Nancy.

Just for a second. But you felt it. That tiny shift.

Nancy smiled politely at you.

“Hi”

You tried to smile back. It didn’t feel real.

“I grabbed you a soda,” you said, holding one out to Steve.

“Oh—uh—thanks.”

He took it, distracted, Didn’t really look at you.

Silence.

Nancy glanced between you two.”I should go find Robin,” she said, already stepping back.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve replied.

Too fast. Too easy.

And just like that, she was gone Leaving you alone with him. Finally.

You waited For him to look at you To say something.To notice you standing there like an idiot trying to matter.

He didn’t, Not really.Instead, he took a sip of the soda Still not looking at you properly. Something inside you snapped quietly. Not loudly, Not dramatically, Just… quietly.

“So,” you said.

Steve blinked. “Yeah?”

You forced a smile. “You two seem close again.”

That got his attention, Finally.

He looked at you properly now. A little confused.

“What?”

You shrugged. “You and Nancy.”

Steve frowned.“We’re just talking.”

“Right.”

He sighed. “Can we not do this right now?”

Your stomach dropped slightly.“…Do what?”

Steve shifted his weight.“I don’t know, whatever this is.”

Your voice softened.“I’m just asking a question, Steve.”

He ran a hand through his hair.“Look, I don’t have time for this.”

That stung more than you expected.

“You don’t have time for this?”you repeated.

Steve let out a frustrated breath.“Yeah. I mean, Nancy and I are trying to figure some stuff out and you’re kinda—”He stopped.

You went very still. “…Kinda what?”

Steve hesitated..Just a second too long.

“Look,” he said finally, “you’re great and everything, but you’re making this weird.”

Silence. Your heart dropped. “Making what weird?”

He looked uncomfortable now. Like he regretted starting but couldn’t stop.

“This,” he said vaguely, gesturing between you and him.“And Nancy and I… we’ve got history. Real history.”

Your throat tightened.

“I know that,” you said quietly.

Steve nodded like that should settle it.“Right. So I just need some space to figure that out.”

Space.

You swallowed.

“Okay.”

But your voice betrayed you. Steve noticed. Of course he did. And instead of softening…He doubled down.

“Look,” he said, a little sharper now, “I didn’t want to say it like this, but you’ve been kinda… intense lately.”

Your breath caught.

“Intense?”

He exhaled.

“Yeah. I mean—you’re always around, always asking questions, always—”

He paused- Searching for the word.

And then-

“—always there.”

Your chest tightened.

“That’s… a problem?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just… I don’t know. It’s a lot sometimes.”

A lot.

You stared at him. Waiting for him to realize what he was saying. Waiting for him to take it back.

He didn’t.

“So what,” you said slowly, “I’m too much?”

Steve looked frustrated now.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence.

For a second, he looked like he might soften. Like he might fix it. But instead he said:

“I just think maybe you’re reading into things that aren’t there.”

That did it.

“Oh.”

Steve frowned.

“What?”

“You’re right,” you said quietly. “I definitely misread this.”

Steve exhaled like the conversation was finally ending.

“Good. So we’re cool?”

You stared at him for a long moment. At the boy you trusted. At the boy you waited for. At the boy who didn’t see you at all.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “We’re cool.”

Then you turned and walked away. Before he could see your eyes burn.

_______________

The next few days hurt in a quiet way. Not dramatic. Just empty.

So you decided to hang back… maybe he just needed space, maybe he would realize what he had done and come back to you…

Steve noticed you weren’t around as much.At first. Then he didn’t. Because Nancy was there again.But still you tried to fade to the background. All your life you felt like you were too much and what Steve just solidified it. So you tried to be invisible. You didn’t think anyone would notice anyway. You weren’t important enough to interrupt anything.

You started noticing it in pieces. Not all at once. That would’ve been kinder. It was the way Steve laughed a little too easily when Nancy was around. The way his eyes found her in a room before they found anyone else.

The way he always—always—seemed to end up standing next to her without realizing it. How you wanted him to be with you.. but it wasn’t you. So you started standing somewhere else.

At first, it was subtle. You just… drifted.

Hung back with Robin more, Helped Dustin check equipment. Stayed near Eddie when he was rambling about something you didn’t fully understand but didn’t mind listening to.

Anyone but Steve. Because you weren’t stupid. You saw it. Whatever history he had with Nancy Wheeler still mattered. Still pulled, Still lingered.

And you were tired of being the thing in between. Even if you were never officially anything at all.

The first time you really tried to ignore it was at the War Room in the Wheeler basement.

Maps everywhere, Flashlights. Tension thick in the air.

Steve walked in with Nancy Talking quietly. Already mid-conversation like it didn’t need anyone else.

You looked up for half a second, Saw it. Looked back down immediately.

“Hey,” Robin said, nudging your shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you lied. Then grabbed a flashlight like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Across the room, Steve glanced your way, Just briefly. Like he was checking if you were there.

You didn’t look back.

The second meet-up was worse.

The Upside Down prep in Steve’s living room.

Cords everywhere, Weapons laid out. Everyone talking over each other.

Steve was showing Nancy something on the map. Leaning in. Too close.

You didn’t react. You just kept talking to Eddie About nothing important. About everything except what you were watching.

“You ever think bats are just… misunderstood?” Eddie asked seriously.

“I think you’ve been in this house too long,” you replied.

That made him laugh. Good. You focused on that.

Not Steve. Not the way Nancy smiled at something he said. Not the way Steve didn’t move away fast enough.

You didn’t notice.

You didn’t notice.

You didn’t—

“Hey,” Steve said suddenly beside you.

You jumped slightly. Then recovered fast.

“Yeah?”

His eyes flicked to Eddie, then back to you.

“You okay?”

You nodded immediately.

“Yeah. Fine.”

Too fast. Even you knew it was.

Steve hesitated Like he wanted to say more. But Nancy called his name from the other side of the room.

And just like that—he turned away. You didn’t watch him go.

You absolutely did.

——-

The third time was the mall.

Planning. Gathering supplies. Pretending things were normal. You stayed with Robin this time.

Deliberately, Actively.

Like it was a choice and not avoidance.

Steve and Nancy were at the other end of the store. Talking again. Always talking. Always together.

Robin leaned against a cart.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That ‘I’m totally fine but I am absolutely not fine’ thing.”

You huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Robin gave you a look.

You sighed. “…I just don’t want to get in the way.”

Robin blinked. “Of what?”

You sighed “of anything.” You shrugged and glanced across the store.

Steve laughed at something Nancy said.

Robin went quiet for a second and followed your line of site “You realize you’re not in the way of anything unless you think you are.”

You didn’t respond. Because you didn’t have a good answer.

He tried to talk to you twice that week.

Once in the hallway at the Wheeler house, Once in the woods during a supply run.

Both times, Nancy was there. Both times, you were already halfway turned away. Both times, you answered quickly, Shortly, Politely. Then left.

It hurt worse that he was trying to keep the door open. Like he wasn’t bothered with how he made you feel at all. Sometimes you just wish he’d ignore you and act like you didn’t exist. What you didn’t know was Steve started frowning more, Watching more, Trying more, Missing you more.

But neither of you knew how to fix it. Not yet.

The Upside Down mission wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.

That was the joke.

Everything was always “not supposed to be dangerous.”

You went in with the group. Flashlights cutting through the dark. Heart steady but uneasy.

Steve was ahead, Nancy was near him. Of course she was.

You stayed back with Robin and Eddie. Talking quietly. Staying useful. Staying elsewhere.

A mistake.

Something moved fast in the dark. Too fast.

“Get down!” someone shouted.

Chaos erupted instantly.

You ran, Didn’t think. Just ran.

The ground gave out under you. You fell hard. Pain exploded through your side. Your breath left your lungs completely. You hit the ground hard enough that the impact rang through your bones. For a second—just a second—you thought you could still get up.

You always got up.

That was the thing about you. You got up. You stayed out of the way. You didn’t make things harder. You didn’t make things a lot.

But your body didn’t agree this time.

Pain flared through your side so sharply it stole the air you were trying to pull back in. Your vision blurred at the edges. Dark vines shifted somewhere nearby, alive in a way nothing on Earth should be.

“Y/N!”

Steve’s voice cut through everything.

Instant. Panic-stricken.

Like your name had become something he couldn’t afford to lose.

You tried to turn your head. Failed. Your fingers dug into the dirt beneath you instead.

“Stay there!” Robin shouted somewhere behind him.

But Steve didn’t listen, Of course he didn’t. He never did when it mattered. He was there in seconds. Kneeling so fast he nearly slipped.

And the second he saw you—

Everything in his face broke.

“No,” he breathed.

Like he could refuse reality. Like that would fix it.

“No, no—hey, hey, hey—look at me.”

You wanted to laugh. You weren’t even sure why. Maybe because it was funny. Maybe because it hurt too much not to.

Steve’s hands hovered over you for half a second before pressing down carefully against your side. He flinched instantly at what he felt.

Warm. Too warm.

“Oh my God…” His voice cracked. “You’re okay. You’re okay, I got you, I got you—”

He wasn’t even convincing himself.

You swallowed, throat dry. “Steve…”

“Don’t talk,” he snapped immediately.

Then softer, panicked:

“Please don’t talk. Just—just stay with me, okay?”

Your eyes finally found his. And something inside you shifted. Because this wasn’t the Steve who said you were “too much.” This wasn’t the Steve who barely looked at you when Nancy was around. This wasn’t even the Steve who let you walk away without stopping you.

This Steve looked like he was watching the world end.

And you were the only thing left in it.

“You’re bleeding too much,” he whispered, like he couldn’t accept the words out loud.

His hands shook harder now.

“I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

Behind him, Nancy called his name, Robin shouted something about getting help, Eddie swore loudly in the distance. But Steve didn’t turn.

Not once.

Your breathing turned shallow, Your body felt heavier by the second.

And suddenly—it hit you.

All those moments. All those times you stepped back, moved aside. Made yourself smaller. Quiet.

Less.

Because you thought you were too much.

Because he made you believe it.

And now?

Now he couldn’t even breathe right without you.

“Hey,” Steve said again, voice breaking completely now.“Hey—stay with me, okay? Just look at me.”

You did. Because you always did.

Even when you weren’t supposed to anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.

Like it had been sitting in him too long.

Your brow furrowed faintly.“…For what?”

His jaw clenched, tears spilling before he could stop them. “For making you feel like you weren’t important.”

That made everything go quiet. Even the Upside Down felt like it paused.

“I saw you pulling away,” he admitted quickly. “I saw it and I didn’t fix it. I didn’t—” his voice cracked hard, “—I didn’t stop it.”

Your fingers weakly reached for his wrist. He froze instantly like he was afraid to break you further.

“You were never… in the way,” he said, shaking his head. “You were just there. You were just—my person.”

He swallowed hard.

“And I screwed that up.”

A tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it. Not from pain. From everything else.

“Steve…” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to yours. Immediate. Terrified.

“I don’t want Nancy,” he said quickly, like he had to fix everything at once. “I care about her, but she’s not—she’s not you.”

Your breath stuttered.

“I just didn’t know how to say any of it right,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize I was pushing you away until you were already gone.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“…I wasn’t gone,” you whispered. “I was just… trying not to be too much.”

That hit him like a punch.

Hard.

Steve shook his head immediately. “No,” he said. “No, don’t do that.” His voice broke again. “You are not too much. You’re just the only thing that ever felt real.”

Silence.

Then softer, almost desperate:

“I love you.”

Your heart stuttered.

Completely.

You stared at him like you were afraid to believe it.

“…Now?” you whispered weakly.

A broken, wet laugh escaped him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know. I know I’m late. I know I’m an idiot.” He leaned down carefully, forehead resting against yours.

Hands still holding you like you were something sacred.

“I love you,” he said again.

Like saying it enough times could fix what he broke.

And for the first time since you’d met him…You believed him.

Tears slipped down your cheek as everything inside you started to feel too heavy to hold.

Not just the pain. Not just the blood. Not just the cold creeping in around the edges of your body.

But him.

Steve.

His hands were still on you like he could keep you here through sheer will alone. Like if he just held on tight enough, you wouldn’t slip away.

“Hey—hey, look at me,” he whispered, voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before.

“I’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you.”

But the world was starting to tilt. The edges of his face blurred, then sharpened again, then blurred again like your mind couldn’t decide what to keep.

You tried to breathe in. It didn’t feel like it went anywhere.

“Steve…” you rasped, barely a sound.

His eyes snapped to yours immediately.

“Yeah—yeah, I’m here. I’m right here.”

Too fast. Too desperate. Like he was afraid silence meant losing you.

You blinked slowly And suddenly everything felt far away.

The Upside Down. The noise. The fear.

Even your own body.

“I… tried,” you whispered.

His face twisted. “What? Hey—don’t talk like that, okay? Just stay with me.”

But you needed him to hear it. Needed it more than air.

“I tried… not to be too much.”

The words broke halfway through.

“I tried to be… smaller.”

Steve froze. Completely.

Like the world had stopped hitting him and started crushing him instead.

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head hard. “No—don’t you say that. Don’t you dare say that.” His grip tightened carefully, like he could still fix this if he just held the right way. “You were never too much. That was me. That was me being stupid.”

A tear slid down his cheek. Then another. He didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

“I didn’t see it,” he admitted, voice wrecked. “I didn’t see what I was doing to you.” His forehead pressed to yours, trembling.

“And I can’t— I can’t lose you now. Not after I finally—”

He stopped.

Like the words were too big to say out loud.

Your vision flickered again Darker this time.

He noticed immediately. Panic surged across his face.

“No—no, hey, stay with me. Stay with me.”

You wanted to. God, you wanted to. But your body felt like it was drifting somewhere you couldn’t follow.

“Steve…” you whispered again, weaker this time.

“I’m tired.”

His breath hitched violently.

“No. No, you don’t get to be tired. Not now. Not—” his voice cracked completely, “—not when I just got you back.”

You gave the smallest, faintest smile.

“Always… a little late, huh?”

That almost broke him.

“I love you,” he said again, fast and shaking.

“I love you. I love you. I love you—please just stay with me.”

Like repetition could anchor you here. Like love could argue with death.

And for the first time since you’d met him…

You believed him.

Not because he said it perfectly. But because he said it like it was the only truth he had left.

Your fingers twitched weakly against his wrist.

Found him. Held on. Just barely.

“I know,” you whispered.

And your voice was softer now.

Far away.

“Steve… I know.”

His whole body broke at that. Because he understood. Too late, but finally.

“I’m here,” he whispered desperately, pressing closer.“I’m right here. Don’t go. Don’t—please don’t go.”

But the world was fading at the edges now.

Quietly, Gently.

Like it was trying not to hurt too much on the way out.

And the last thing you felt—was his hands holding tighter.

And his voice cracking as he kept saying your name.

Like if he said it enough times…you might come back.

——————————-

The world came back in pieces.

First sound.

A steady, rhythmic beeping somewhere to your right.

Then light—too bright, too clean, nothing like the dark choking woods you remembered.

Then pain.

Dull now. Distant. Like it didn’t belong fully to you anymore.

You blinked slowly.

White ceiling, Soft hospital sheets, The smell of antiseptic.

Real life.

Not the Upside Down.

Your throat felt dry when you tried to swallow.

Your fingers twitched.

And immediately—a hand tightened around yours.

“Hey—hey, hey, hey.”

Steve.

His voice cracked on the first syllable like he’d been holding it in for hours.

Maybe days.

You turned your head slightly. He was there.

Leaning forward in a chair pulled too close to the bed, hair messier than usual, eyes red like he hadn’t slept properly in a very long time, like he’d been afraid to.

“You’re okay,” he said quickly, almost like he needed to convince himself first. “You’re okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”

You blinked again.

Slow.

Still trying to connect everything.

“…Steve?” Your voice came out rough, barely there.

His face crumpled immediately.

Not in sadness this time.

Relief.

Full-body, overwhelming relief like something had finally stopped crushing him.

“Yeah,” he said, letting out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a breath breaking free. “Yeah, it’s me baby. I’m right here.”

You tried to shift, Winced slightly.

He noticed instantly and leaned forward, careful, hovering like you might shatter if he touched you wrong.

“Don’t move too fast,” he said softly. “You’ve got stitches.”

That word made everything come rushing back in flashes.

Dark woods. Pain.

Steve’s voice.

Steve holding you like you were something he couldn’t afford to lose.

You stared at him for a long moment. Searching his face. Trying to understand what was real and what wasn’t.

“You didn’t leave,” you whispered.

It wasn’t a question.

Steve shook his head immediately.

“Not once.”

A pause. Then softer:

“I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Something in your chest tightened painfully.

Not from injury. From everything else.

“I thought…” your voice faltered. You swallowed. “I thought I was… too much.”

Steve went still.

Completely still.

Like that sentence hit somewhere deep and ugly inside him. Then he shook his head hard.

“No.”

Immediate. Firm.

“No. No, you don’t get to believe that anymore.” His hand tightened around yours.

Warm. Real. Steady.

“I was wrong,” he said, voice quieter now. honest in a way that stripped everything else away. “I was scared, and jealous, and stupid, and I said things I can’t take back.”

His jaw clenched.

“But I meant what I said later.”

Your eyes searched his again.

His voice softened completely.

“I love you.”

This time it didn’t sound panicked, It didn’t sound like fear. It sounded like certainty.

Like something he’d finally stopped running from.

Your breath caught.

“…You do and you stayed?” you asked quietly. Like you still didn’t fully believe it.

Steve let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head like the idea was ridiculous.

“I’ve been sitting here for… I don’t even know how long,” he admitted. “Talking to you. Holding your hand. Freaking out every time you moved your fingers.”

A pause.

Then softer:

“I wasn’t leaving you again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I tried to be smaller,” you whispered. Almost like a confession you’d carried for too long.

Steve’s expression broke instantly.

“No,” he said again, but softer this time. He leaned closer, forehead almost touching yours.

“You don’t get to shrink yourself for me. Not ever again.”

A beat of silence. Then, quieter:

“I like you exactly like this.”

You gave a small, shaky breath.

“…Even when I’m a lot?”

Steve smiled faintly through tired eyes.

“Especially when you’re a lot.”

That did it.

Something inside you finally unclenched. Not all at once. But enough. Your fingers squeezed his hand weakly. And his grip tightened immediately in response, like he’d been waiting for that signal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head slightly. “No more sorrys.”

A pause.

Then, softer:

“Just… stay.”

Steve nodded instantly. Like there was no world where that wasn’t already the plan.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m staying.”

And for the first time in a long time…You didn’t feel like you were too much.

You just felt held.

And this time, he didn’t let go

[discodjo]

Temporary Fix | Steve Harrington

Chapter Nine - Not Like Before

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive content, language, angst, miscommunication, friends with benefits, jealousy, smut (18+), thigh riding, praise, a little bit of dom steve harrington, spanking..(JUST READ AND SEE), guided movement, emotional intimacy during sex

word count: 13k

series masterlist

summary: you and steve were friends first, and that was the part that mattered. everything else, the late nights, the quiet routine, the way he kept showing up, didn't mean anything. it was easy. something the two of you fell into without really thinking about it. something that didn't need to be explained. because as long as it stayed like this, nothing had to change. right?

an: I'M BACK FROM COACHELLAAA!!! ugh it was so fun but time to lock in. i wanted to feed you guys with this chapter since there was no update on sunday..and also publish it a day earlier than usual. but ugh this chapter i cannootttt!!!

reblogs are appreciated <3

🎧

blue light - mazzy star

show me how - men i trust

devil's advocate - the neighbourhood

in your room - depeche mode

heavenly - cigarettes after sex

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

The station didn’t sound like it was almost ready to launch.

It sounded like it was falling apart.

“—no, don’t touch that—Dustin, I said don’t—oh my god—”

Robin’s voice carried over everything, sharp and frantic as she moved from one side of the room to the other, hands already full of wires she didn’t seem to trust anyone else with. The hum of equipment filled the background, uneven and inconsistent, like something was always just slightly off. Someone knocked into a table, something clattered to the floor, and immediately—

“Who unplugged that?” Robin snapped.

“I didn’t unplug anything,” Dustin shot back, already crouched halfway under the desk, messing with something he definitely shouldn’t have been touching.

“You literally have it in your hand.”

“That doesn’t mean I unplugged it—”

“It is not attached to anything!”

“That’s not my fault!”

“Okay—no—no, give me that,” Robin said, dropping to her knees beside him and yanking the cord out of his grip before he could argue again. “You are done. You’re cut off.”

“I’m not cut off,” he protested.

“You’re cut off.”

Across the room, Eddie sat cross-legged on the floor with a pile of cables he had made absolutely no progress on, holding one up like he was inspecting it for something deeply philosophical.

“So, theoretically,” he started, “what happens if I just… don’t plug any of these in?”

“Then nothing works,” Jonathan answered from behind him without even looking up from the stack of papers he was organizing.

Eddie tilted his head. “Yeah, but like—conceptually.”

Jonathan sighed.

Max leaned against one of the tables, arms crossed, watching the whole thing like she’d already decided it wasn’t worth getting involved. “This is why no one lets you help,” she said flatly.

“I am helping,” Eddie argued.

“You’re sitting.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s worse.”

“Mike—don’t—”

Too late.

A loud screech of feedback tore through the room, sharp and awful, making everyone flinch at once.

“El—why did he touch that?” Max said, already covering one ear.

“I told him not to,” El replied simply, watching Mike with a kind of detached disappointment.

“I was just checking if it worked!” Mike defended.

“It was working before you checked it!” Robin shouted from across the room.

You stepped inside right in the middle of it, the door barely closing behind you before the noise swallowed you whole. It took half a second to even process what was happening—voices overlapping, movement everywhere, something buzzing too loudly in the background—but then it settled into something familiar.

“Hey—” you started, but your voice got lost almost immediately under everything else.

You adjusted your grip on your bag, stepping further in, weaving past a chair that definitely wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of the room, your eyes scanning automatically for—

And then you saw him.

Steve was near the back, half-turned toward Dustin, one hand braced against the table while the other gestured mid-argument.

“I’m telling you, that’s not how it works,” he said.

“That is literally how it works,” Dustin shot back from the floor.

“It’s not—”

“Then why did it just work?”

Steve paused.

Just for a second.

“…that was luck,” he said finally.

“That was not luck.”

“That was absolutely luck.”

He was… talking.

Not just responding, not just standing there—actually talking. Engaging. Arguing like he cared about the outcome instead of just letting Dustin run circles around him.

It was small, but it wasn’t.

Your eyes stayed on him a second longer than they should have. Like you were trying to figure it out. Or figure him out.

And then, like he felt it, he looked up, his gaze landing on you immediately, no hesitation, no searching, just there, like he already knew where to look. A beat passed, barely one, before he said, “Hey,” not loud, not trying to cut through the chaos around you, just enough for you to hear.

“Hey,” you replied.

And then, just like that, everything kept moving.

“Okay—no—why are there more cables?” Robin’s voice cut in again, louder than before. “Where did these come from? We already had cables—why do we have more cables?”

“No one told me we didn’t need more cables,” Dustin said defensively.

“We always have enough cables!”

“That’s not a real system!”

Steve shook his head slightly, pushing himself off the table as he stepped around Dustin, grabbing something off the counter before glancing back at you again—quick this time, like he didn’t want to make it a thing.

“You’re late,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m not late.”

“You’re late enough.”

“That’s not a time.”

“It is now.”

You huffed a quiet laugh before you could stop it.

From across the room, Robin finally noticed you.

“Oh my god—thank you,” she said immediately, pointing at you like you were the answer to all her problems. “You—over here—now—please—before I lose my mind completely.”

You didn’t even argue, just moved, slipping into the chaos like it was second nature. Behind you, Steve followed, not right away and not obviously, but he did.

Robin clapped her hands once—loud, sharp, enough to cut through just enough of the noise to get everyone’s attention for half a second.

“Okay—stop—everyone stop,” she said, already shaking her head like she didn’t believe she had to say it. “We are not all doing random things at the same time anymore. That’s not a system. That’s how we die.”

“We’re not gonna die,” Dustin muttered from the floor.

“We are absolutely going to die,” Robin shot back. “Or worse—the station won’t work, which is basically the same thing.”

She stood up fully, pointing around the room as she started assigning people without waiting for complaints.

“Jonathan—you’re with me. We’re fixing whatever that is,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward a cluster of wires that looked like a disaster waiting to happen. “Nancy—help him. You actually know what you’re doing.”

Nancy nodded easily, already stepping toward Jonathan without argument.

“Eddie—” Robin paused, narrowing her eyes slightly, “you’re on cables. And I mean actually on cables. Not sitting next to them. Not thinking about them. Touch them.”

Eddie placed a hand over his chest. “Wow. No faith.”

“None,” Robin said flatly.

“Fair.”

“Max, Lucas—go check the back room. Make sure nothing’s unplugged back there.”

“Why would something be unplugged back there?” Lucas asked.

Robin stared at him.

“Because you’re here,” she said.

Max snorted, already grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward the hallway.

“Mike—” Robin turned next, already exasperated, “you are not touching anything electronic. You can—organize… something. I don’t care what. Just stay away from the sound system.”

“That’s so unfair,” Mike complained.

“El, you can supervise him,” Robin added quickly.

El nodded once. “I will.”

Mike looked even more offended.

Robin turned again, scanning the room like she was mentally placing the last pieces. Then her eyes landed on you and Steve.

Something unreadable flickered across her face before she pointed between the two of you.

“Okay,” she said, slower now, like she was making a decision she was going to regret. “You two—soundboard.”

You blinked. “Soundboard?”

“Yes,” Robin said immediately. “You’re both tall enough to reach everything and not completely incompetent, so congratulations. That’s where you’re going.”

“Wow,” Steve said, offended. “High praise.”

“It’s the highest you’re getting,” she replied. “Don’t break it. If you break it, I will actually never forgive you.”

“You say that like I’ve broken things before,” he said.

“You have broken things before.”

“That was one time.”

“Sure….”

You let out a quiet breath, already stepping toward the setup before the argument could go anywhere else, your fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the table as you took it in. The soundboard sat in the center, wires branching out in every direction, knobs and sliders untouched for the most part, waiting.

Steve moved beside you a second later.

“So,” you said, glancing at it, “you know how to use this, right?”

“Obviously,” he replied.

You looked at him.

“…you don’t know how to use this.”

“I absolutely know how to use this,” he said, already reaching forward and flipping a switch like that proved his point. Something buzzed louder than it should’ve.

You winced. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“It’s fine.”

Across the room, Robin’s head snapped up. “Why does it sound like that?”

“It’s fine!” Steve called back immediately.

“It doesn’t sound fine!”

“It’s just warming up!”

“That’s not a thing!”

You tried to hide your smile, reaching past him to adjust one of the dials, your arm brushing his slightly as you did.

The sound then shifted.

“…okay, that helped,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

He glanced at you then for a second. You watched as a small smile grew, tugging at his mouth.

You leaned forward slightly, adjusting one of the sliders with more care this time, your focus narrowing in on the panel in front of you. The low hum evened out just enough to sound intentional, and for a second, it almost felt like progress.

“Okay,” you said, more to yourself than anything, “that’s actually—”

A loud, obnoxious honk cut through the room.

You froze then slowly turned your head. Steve was already looking at you, hand still resting on one of the buttons. Completely unapologetic.

“…really?” you said.

He shrugged, leaning back just slightly. “Had to test it.”

“That’s not testing, that’s—annoying,” you shot back, reaching for the controls.

Before your fingers could land, another sound.

This one worse.

Something between a buzzer and a distorted screech.

You let out a short laugh despite yourself, pushing his hand away. “Stop—no—give me that—”

“I’m literally helping,” he said, not moving his hand fast enough to actually stop you.

“You’re making it worse.”

“Am I?” he said, hitting another button.

A weird echo filled the room. Your last word repeating back at you.

You stared at him.

Then shoved his shoulder lightly. “Oh my god, you’re so annoying.”

“Yeah?” he said, glancing at you, that same small smile still there. “You seem entertained.”

“I’m not entertained,” you said.

You were.

You leaned closer to the board, trying to fix whatever he’d just done, your shoulder brushing his again as you reached across him this time. “Move,” you muttered.

“I’m not even in your way.”

“You are literally in my way.”

“I’m standing still.”

“You’re standing wrong.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh at that, but didn’t move. Instead, he leaned in slightly closer.

“Alright,” he said, lower now, “show me how to do it then.”

Your hand stilled for a second over the controls. You glanced at him and realized how close he actually was.

Your fingers moved again, slower this time, adjusting one of the knobs as you spoke. “You don’t just press random buttons,” you said. “You actually have to know what they do.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” he said.

“Clearly.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Not with something sarcastic, not with a comeback—just a quiet hum under his breath like he was considering it, his gaze still fixed on your hands as they moved across the board. Then, a second later, his hand lifted, hovering just beside yours before settling lightly over the same knob you were adjusting.

“Like this?” he asked, quieter now.

Your breath caught just slightly. His fingers brushed yours as he followed your movement, slower than before, more careful this time, like he actually meant it. The contact was brief, barely there, but it lingered anyway, your hand stilling for half a second before continuing, guiding his without fully pulling away.

“Yeah,” you said, softer now. “Just—don’t push it too fast.”

“I’m not,” he murmured.

You glanced at him.

He wasn’t looking at the board anymore.

Your fingers slipped just slightly against his as you adjusted the dial again, and this time neither of you pulled back right away. It wasn’t intentional—not fully—but it wasn’t accidental either. His hand stayed there, steady, following your lead, the space between you smaller than it had been before without either of you acknowledging it out loud.

“That’s it,” you said, almost under your breath.

“Yeah?” he said.

You nodded once, still watching the board even though your focus had already slipped. A faint click sounded as the audio settled, smooth this time, no feedback, no distortion, just clean.

Steve let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh, but softer. “Okay,” he said. “That was actually kind of impressive.”

You smiled a little at that, finally pulling your hand back, though slower than you needed to. “I told you,” you said. “You just don’t listen.”

“I was listening,” he said.

“Not at first.”

“I got there.”

You looked at him again, and this time you didn’t look away right away. Your gaze held, just for a second longer than it usually would’ve, like something in you forgot to pull back, like you didn’t feel that immediate need to break it. The noise around you faded—not completely, not enough to disappear, but just enough that it blurred at the edges, turning into something distant, something unimportant compared to the way he was looking at you now. There was something easy about it, something that didn’t feel forced or tense or like you were both trying to figure out where you stood because that didn’t matter in the moment.

“Wow.” Robin’s voice cut in suddenly.

You blinked. Both of you pulling back just enough to look over.

She was standing a few feet away now, arms crossed loosely, a grin already forming like she’d just walked in on something she definitely didn’t understand, but was going to comment on anyway.

“You guys are actually working together,” she said, glancing between you and Steve. “And not punching each other. This is huge.”

You let out a small breath, shaking your head slightly as you turned back toward the board. “Well,” you started, dragging the word out just a little, “Steve almost—”

He moved before you could finish. His hand came up quick, two fingers pressing lightly over your mouth.

“Don’t,” he said, already half-laughing, half-warning.

You froze for half a second, then your eyes snapped to his.

Robin’s grin widened instantly. “Oh my god,” she said. “You have to tell me what Harrington’s been fucking up.”

You pulled his hand away immediately, though your smile gave you away just slightly. “He almost broke it,” you finished anyway, shooting him a look. “Like—immediately.”

“That’s not what happened,” Steve said.

“That is exactly what happened.”

“It was working.”

“It was making noises.”

“That’s how sound works.”

Robin laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she turned away. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “I’m not getting involved in whatever this is. Just—keep doing that,” she added, gesturing vaguely toward the board. “Because somehow it’s working.”

She walked off before either of you could respond.

You glanced back at him. “…you literally just did that,” you said.

He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal.

Like his hand hadn’t just been there.

“You were gonna expose me,” he said.

You huffed quietly, shaking your head as you turned back to the board. But your smile lingered. And then you looked up.

Across the room, Nancy was already looking at you.

She wasn’t doing anything obvious. Still standing beside Jonathan, still half-turned toward whatever he was saying, like she hadn’t moved at all. But her attention wasn’t there. It was on you.

A small smile tugged at her mouth. Not teasing, not judging—just knowing. Your chest tightened just slightly.

She held your gaze for a second longer, like she was waiting to see what you’d do with it, like she didn’t need to say anything out loud for you to understand. Then, almost casually, she tilted her head, just a little.

You looked away first. Your fingers moved over the controls again, adjusting something that didn’t need adjusting, your focus suddenly a little too sharp, a little too deliberate, like if you stayed busy, it would settle.

“…you okay?” Steve asked beside you.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah, I’m okay.” you said.

“…okay,” he said.

He didn’t push. But you could feel it, the way he stayed just a little closer than before, the way he didn’t step back.

After a few hours, the noise started to settle.

Not all at once, but enough that the chaos softened into something more manageable. The sharp feedback was gone, the constant overlapping voices easing into smaller conversations, laughter replacing the edge that had been there before. Things were still messy, still a little unorganized, but it didn’t feel like everything was about to fall apart anymore.

It actually looked like something now.

Like a place.

Wires were finally where they were supposed to be, or at least closer than before. Equipment sat where it belonged instead of scattered across every surface, and the soundboard in front of you hummed low and steady, no longer threatening to scream every time someone touched it. It wasn’t perfect but it was working.

You glanced around the room, taking it in properly this time.

Jonathan and Nancy were still near the back, talking through something over a stack of papers, their voices quieter now, more focused. Eddie had somehow ended up exactly where he started, still surrounded by cables, but this time there was actual progress—some of them untangled, some even plugged in. Max and Lucas had come back from the back room, arguing about something that didn’t seem important enough to care about, while Mike hovered nearby, still not trusted with anything important. El stood beside him, watching everything with quiet interest like she was taking mental notes.

And then there was Robin.

Robin looked… proud.

She tried to hide it.

You could tell.

Still moving around, still fixing things that didn’t necessarily need fixing, still acting like she was one wrong move away from everything breaking again, but it was there. In the way she paused for half a second longer than usual, in the way her shoulders weren’t as tense as they had been earlier.

This was hers.

All of it.

And she let you be part of it.

That settled somewhere in your chest in a way you didn’t expect.

Because it wasn’t just a project to her. It wasn’t just something to pass the time or mess around with, it mattered. And she trusted you enough to bring you into it, to let you stand in the middle of something she clearly cared about and just… be there.

All of you.

“Okay,” Robin said after a second, clapping her hands once again, but this time it wasn’t frantic. “This is—this is good. This is actually good.”

She looked around the room, like she was seeing it for the first time too.

“We’re like… a week out,” she added, almost to herself. “That’s insane.”

“A little over,” Jonathan corrected.

“Don’t ruin it,” she said immediately.

But she smiled anyway.

“Hey—before you guys all disappear again—”

Jonathan’s voice cut in, not loud, not trying to take over, but enough to pull attention back toward him. He stood near the back table, one hand resting against a small stack of envelopes, the other already reaching for the top one like he’d been waiting for a moment where people might actually listen. A few heads turned.

“I, uh—” he started, glancing down for a second before looking back up, “I finally got these developed.”

“Wait—seriously?” Max said, already stepping closer, her tone shifting immediately.

“You’ve been holding out on us?” Lucas added.

“And the station,” Jonathan said quickly. “Just… stuff from the last few weeks.”

“That’s worse,” Eddie muttered, but he was already moving in anyway. “So you’ve just been documenting us this whole time?”

“You told me to bring my camera.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually use it.”

Max grabbed one of the envelopes without asking. “If I look gross in these, I’m blaming you.”

“You always look like that,” Lucas said.

She elbowed him without looking.

The room filled with noise again almost immediately with laughter, complaints, people talking over each other as envelopes were opened too fast, photos being passed around without permission. You didn’t move.

Your envelope stayed closed in your hands, your thumb tracing lightly along the edge like you were stalling without fully meaning to.

“Wait—no, give me that one,” Robin said somewhere behind you.

“You already have three,” Eddie shot back.

“I need to compare.”

“That’s not how that works.”

You huffed a quiet breath through your nose, glancing down again before finally sliding your finger under the flap.

It opened easily.

Next to you, Steve hadn’t opened his either. A small pause settled between you. “You gonna open it?” he asked.

You glanced up at him. “…I was about to,” you said.

“Okay,” he said. But he didn’t move.

Neither of you did.

Across the room, someone laughed, loud enough to break through everything else, and for a second it pulled your attention away, your eyes flicking up before settling back again.

Steve shifted slightly beside you, the movement small but enough to close the space just a little. “You’re gonna hate half of these,” he said after a second.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because, you know Jonathan, he doesn’t warn people before he takes pictures,” he said. “He just—” he gestured vaguely, “—does it.”

You let out a small laugh. “That’s kind of the point.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, glancing down at the envelope in his hands, “some of us have reputations to maintain.”

You looked at him. “…you do not have a reputation.”

“I absolutely do.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You really don’t.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh at that, but didn’t argue further.

“you wanna—” he started, lifting his envelope slightly, “go through them together?”

Your fingers tightened just slightly around yours. “…yeah,” you said.

He nodded once. “Okay,” he said.

Then you stepped away from the noise first, him following right behind you.

The noise faded with every step, voices turning into something distant, something you could still hear but didn’t have to focus on. By the time you reached the bottom, it was quiet enough to notice your own breathing again, the hum of something low and steady filling the space instead.

Light pooled softly from a lamp in the corner, casting everything in that muted glow that made it hard to tell where one thing ended and another began. Old records lined part of the wall, stacked unevenly beside equipment that looked like it had been there longer than any of you had. It didn’t feel unfinished like the rest of the station.

You slowed just slightly, taking it in for a second before stepping further in, your fingers brushing along the edge of a table as you moved. Steve came in behind you, the door settling shut with a softer sound than it should’ve, like even that didn’t want to break the quiet.

Neither of you said anything right away.

You turned slightly, holding up your envelope just a little. “Okay,” you said, quieter now, like the space asked for it. “Let’s see.”

You sat first. Not too far from him but not too close either. Just enough space that it didn’t feel like a decision. He followed a second later, settling beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed but didn’t quite.

You opened yours again, slower this time. The first photo slipped out easily. You looked at it for half a second then laughed.

“Oh my god,” you said, holding it up. “Look at this.”

Steve leaned in slightly to see it better. It was Dustin mid-rant, leaning across a diner table, mouth open, hands thrown out like he was making the most important point of his life.

“He looks like he’s about to fight someone,” Steve said.

“He probably was,” you replied.

You set it down, reaching for the next.

Milkshakes. Half-eaten fries.

Robin mid-laugh, her head tipped back, your arm barely visible at the edge of the frame.

“That was the night she tried to convince me to let her drive you home in my car,” Steve said.

“She almost did.”

“She did not.”

“She was close.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh at that.

Another one.

Eddie sitting on the floor at the station, surrounded by cables he clearly had no intention of organizing, staring straight at the camera like he’d been caught in the act.

“He didn’t do anything that entire day,” you said.

“He never does,” Steve replied.

You flipped through a few more.

Max and Lucas mid-argument.

Mike in the background looking confused.

El watching everything like she already understood it better than everyone else.

Your smile came easier now. It didn’t feel forced, didn’t feel like you were trying. It just happened, settling naturally as you flipped through the photos without overthinking it.

Then you pulled one out and paused.

“…wait,” you said softly, holding it up between you.

It was from karaoke night, you in the middle, Steve on one side, Robin on the other, both of them pressing quick kisses to your cheeks while you laughed, your eyes squeezed shut like you didn’t see it coming.

Your smile softened, just slightly.

“You’re bold for that,” you said, glancing at him. “Doing that in front of everyone.”

Steve leaned in closer this time, close enough that your shoulders brushed for real.

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t go away. “I didn’t even see it coming,” you said, glancing back at the photo for a second longer than you needed to.

“That was kind of the point,” he replied.

You huffed quietly, shaking your head as you set it down with the others, a little more carefully this time. Your fingers lingered against the edge before you pulled your hand back, like you had to remind yourself to keep going. “It’s like you’re trying to give everything away,” you said, glancing at him.

He let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh. “Relax,” he said. “It’s just a cheek kiss.”

You looked at him. “Yeah,” you said slowly. “But that’s not really… our thing.”

A pause.

He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated for half a second, your fingers brushing over the next photo without actually picking it up. “I mean—we don’t do that,” you said. “Not like that.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Your chest tightened just slightly, but you didn’t look away this time. “We don’t just—kiss,” you added, quieter now. “Not unless it’s…” You trailed off.

He understood anyway.

He leaned back just slightly, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to find the right way to say something and not landing on it fast enough. “I just didn’t think it was a big deal,” he said. “It was a joke.”

“I know,” you said quickly. “I’m not saying it wasn’t.” Silence settled again. “…it’s just different,” you said after a second, softer now.

“Different how?” he asked.

You shook your head once, letting out a small breath. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “It just is.”

He watched you for a second longer than necessary. Like he was trying to figure it out in real time. “…okay,” he said finally.

It wasn’t an answer, but it wasn’t nothing either. You nodded once, like that settled it, even though it didn’t.

Your fingers moved again, finally picking up another photo, your gaze dropping back to the small stack in your lap like it was easier to focus on that than anything else sitting between you now.

Steve didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t reach for another picture either. You could feel it more than see it, the way he stayed still for a second longer than before, like something you said hadn’t fully landed yet, like he was still turning it over in his head.

You tried to ignore it, tried to move past it.

“This one’s not that bad,” you said, softer now, holding up another photo without really looking at him.

He hummed in response, but it wasn’t his usual tone, quieter, distracted.

You reached for the next picture, your fingers sliding under the stack, pulling one free without really looking at it yet.

Across from you, Steve did the same, picking one up from his side, his attention shifting away from you, from the conversation, like that was enough for now. You glanced down at your photo, trying to refocus, trying to fall back into something easier, something that didn’t ask as much from you. And for a second, it worked.

A small laugh slipped out of you under your breath, your shoulders loosening just slightly as you tilted it toward yourself. “Okay, this one’s actually kind of—”

You stopped and not because of your photo.

Because Steve had gone still.

Your voice trailed off, your eyes lifting from your hands to him instead. “…what?” you asked, softer now.

He didn’t answer. His fingers had tightened just slightly around the edge of the picture he was holding, his gaze fixed on it in a way that didn’t match anything from before. Something in your chest tightened.

You leaned over, just enough. And then you saw it.

The girl.

The same one from the polaroid.

But this time it was different.

Her lips were pressed to his cheek. Not almost. Not caught in between. Actually there.

Your chest tightened.

Your eyes stayed on it a second too long, taking in the details without meaning to—the way he was angled toward her, the way she leaned in without hesitation, the way it had been caught so casually. So naturally.

And then it hit you.

Jonathan.

He took this.

Your stomach dropped slightly at that, your thoughts catching up all at once, pieces clicking together in a way you didn’t expect. Because that meant, he was there. That day.

The one you hadn’t been part of. The one you didn’t even fully know about.

A “date.”

Or whatever it was.

Your grip tightened just slightly around the edge of your own photo, your thumb pressing into it without you realizing, your gaze still fixed on his. “…oh,” you said.

Like you didn’t feel it, but you did. Not just the picture, but the difference. Because before, it had just been close, something you could pretend didn’t really happen, something unfinished. But this… this was real. And for some reason, that made it worse. Even if Steve had told you it wasn’t what it had looked at, back at Family Video.

Steve moved fast after that. The photo crumpled in his hand like he needed it gone, like if it wasn’t there anymore it didn’t count.

“That wasn’t—” he started quickly, the words coming out too fast, like he was trying to catch up to something that had already slipped past him. “It’s not like that—I didn’t even know that was in there.”

You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on the photos in your hands, even though you weren’t really seeing them anymore, your fingers shifting slightly like you were about to pick one up but didn’t.

“It’s fine,” you said. Your voice came out easy. “I didn’t ask,” you added, softer this time, like that settled it.

The quiet didn’t feel comfortable anymore. It pressed in instead, filling the space between you, making it feel smaller than it had a few minutes ago. The warmth of it faded, replaced by something that didn’t quite have a name but didn’t feel good either.

“…it wasn’t—” he tried again, slower this time.

You stood before he could finish. You brushed your hands lightly against your jeans, like that closed the moment, like that was enough.

“I’m gonna go see if they need help upstairs,” you said.

You turned before he could respond.

“Hey—”

You kept walking.

“Wait—”

You didn’t stop.

The stairs creaked lightly under your steps, the sound of your movement filling the silence he didn’t follow you into. The closer you got to the top, the louder everything became again, voices overlapping, laughter cutting through, the station alive in a way that felt almost jarring after the quiet downstairs.

And then you stepped back into it, like nothing had happened.

“—no, because that one is objectively worse—”

“Shut up, give it back—"

“Robin, you cannot keep all of them—”

“I’m organizing!”

“You’re hoarding!”

You slipped back into the room like you’d never left, your movements automatic as you crossed past the table, setting your photos down without making a big deal out of it. No one stopped you. No one questioned it.

Everything was still moving, but you weren’t.

Your smile came easy when someone said something to you—you nodded, responded, laughed when you were supposed to.

Across the room, Nancy noticed. It wasn’t obvious, she didn’t stare. But her eyes found you anyway.

You felt it before you fully looked up.

A small crease formed between her brows, subtle, almost hidden under the way she kept her expression neutral. She didn’t call you out, didn’t draw attention to it.

She just stepped a little closer. “Everything okay?” she asked, low enough that no one else heard.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you said.

She held your gaze for a second longer like she didn’t believe you. 

Okay,” she said anyway.

Across the room, the basement door opened.

Steve stepped back into the noise a second later, his presence quieter than before, like he hadn’t fully brought himself back with him. He didn’t say anything right away, didn’t jump back into whatever argument had been happening earlier.

He just stood there for a second, like he hadn’t fully stepped back into the room yet, like part of him was still downstairs. Then he moved—not toward you, but not away either—just enough to blend back into everything without really settling into it. Something about him had shifted, subtle but noticeable, the kind of change no one else would clock right away. But even in a room this loud, you could feel it.

The room didn’t slow down. If anything, it picked back up, voices overlapping again, photos being passed around, arguments restarting like nothing had ever interrupted them in the first place.

“Okay, no—this one is actually bad,” Mike said, holding up a photo no one asked to see.

“That’s just your face,” Max replied.

“That’s not my face.”

“That is literally your face.”

Eddie laughed from across the table, leaning over to grab it anyway. “Let me see—oh yeah, that’s rough, man.”

“Give it back.”

“No, I’m keeping this.”

“You’re not keeping that—”

Robin clapped her hands again, louder this time. “Okay! We are not getting distracted—we still have things to finish.”

“No we don’t,” Eddie said immediately.

“We do,” she shot back. “And I would like to not embarrass myself on launch day, so—everyone, back to something productive. Please.”

A few groans followed but people slowly moved. 

You stayed near the table for a second longer than you needed to, stacking the photos back into something that resembled order, your fingers moving automatically while your attention stayed split.

Across the room Steve had picked something up. A coil of cables. He wasn’t doing much with them, just holding them. You looked away first.

“Hey,” Robin said suddenly, appearing beside you again, already mid-thought. “Can you help me move this? It’s like—slightly too heavy for one person and I refuse to ask Eddie.”

“I can hear you,” Eddie called out.

“I know,” she replied.

You nodded, stepping away from the table without argument. “Yeah, okay.”

The equipment sat near the back wall, half-assembled, half in the way. You bent slightly to get a better grip, your hands settling against the side as Robin adjusted her hold on the other end.

“On three,” she said. “One—two—”

Someone stepped in.

“—I got it.”

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Steve moved in beside you, already reaching down, his hand brushing yours for half a second before settling on the edge of the equipment instead.

“Three,” he finished.

You both lifted at the same time.

Your shoulder brushed his again as you adjusted your grip, your focus fixed ahead, not on him, even though you could feel him there.

“Oh wow,” she said under her breath. “Look at that. Teamwork.”

“Don’t start,” you muttered.

“I’m not starting anything,” she said, already backing away once it was set down. “I’m just observing.”

You exhaled quietly, straightening up as you brushed your hands against your jeans again.

“…thanks,” you said, not looking at him.

“Yeah,” he replied. 

Robin reappeared a few minutes later, a small stack of tapes in her hands, already half distracted as she looked between the two of you. “Okay—question,” she said, not really waiting for one. “Can you guys take these home and label them?”

You blinked. “All of them?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Or like—most of them. I started, but then everything got chaotic and I don’t trust anyone else to not mess it up.”

“I can hear you,” Eddie called again.

“I’m not changing my answer,” she shot back.

She held the tapes out toward you, then Steve, like it was already decided.

“You just have to write what’s on them, date them, put them in order—super easy,” she added. “I’ll love you forever.”

You glanced at Steve for half a second.

He shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he said.

“Thank you,” Robin said immediately, already moving on. “You’re saving my life.”

You took the tapes, stacking them carefully in your arms, your fingers adjusting slightly so they didn’t slip. “We’ll bring them back tomorrow?”

“Yeah—whenever,” she said, distracted again. “Just… don’t lose them.”

“I won’t,” you said.

“Steve might,” she added.

“I’m literally right here,” he said.

“I know.”

You gathered the tapes more securely in your arms, adjusting your grip as the conversation around you continued without pause. It didn’t take much to slip out of it—just a few quick goodbyes, scattered and half-distracted, the kind that blended into everything else already happening. No one made a big deal out of it. No one really stopped you.

And just like that, you were leaving.

The noise of the station followed you for a moment, voices and laughter spilling into the hallway before dulling as the door swung shut behind you. The air shifted almost immediately, cooler, quieter, like stepping out of something that had been holding you in place. 

You walked beside him, not too close, not too far, the tapes still pressed lightly against you as your footsteps echoed faintly against the pavement outside. The parking lot was dim, lit only by uneven streetlights that flickered just enough to be noticeable, casting soft shadows that stretched and disappeared as you moved.

Neither of you said anything. Not because there wasn’t anything to say. Just because neither of you reached for it.

And somehow, that felt easier.

His car came into view, parked a little farther out than the others, and you slowed slightly without thinking as he stepped ahead to unlock it. The quiet settled again, softer this time, not as heavy as before, but not gone either.

The engine had been running for a minute before either of you said anything. The tapes sat between you now, split into two uneven stacks, your hands still resting lightly on yours like you hadn’t fully decided what to do with them yet.

“We can just split them,” you said after a second, glancing down. “I’ll take half, you take half.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, nodding once. “That works.”

A small pause followed.

You shifted slightly in your seat, adjusting your grip on the tapes before glancing over at him again. “Um,” you started, a little more hesitant now, “I can just pick them up from your house tomorrow too, if you want.” 

He frowned slightly.

“Or like—” you added quickly, “you don’t have to bring them or anything, I can just—”

“Or,” he cut in, a little more firmly this time, glancing at you now, “you could just come over and we do them together.”

You paused.

“It’ll take less time,” he added, like he needed to justify it. “And I’ll probably mess them up if I do it myself.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth.

“Isn’t that like… your job?” you said. “At Family Video?”

He huffed out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly as he looked back at the road.“No comment.”

You let out a soft laugh at that, leaning back slightly in your seat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said.

Another pause settled in. 

Your fingers tapped once against the edge of the tape before stilling again. “…okay,” you said after a second.

Steve glanced at you briefly. “Okay?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” you said. “We can do them together.”

Your voice came out easy. But your chest felt just slightly tighter. Like you knew this wasn’t just about tapes.

“Okay,” he said again. 

The drive didn’t take long. It never really did, but tonight it felt even shorter, the quiet stretching in a way that made it hard to tell how much time had actually passed. The tapes sat between you again, shifting slightly every time the car turned, your hand resting lightly against them like you were making sure they didn’t fall, even though they wouldn’t. Neither of you filled the silence.

By the time he pulled into his driveway, the street was almost completely dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of a porch lamp that flickered on a delay, like it hadn’t expected anyone. The house itself was quiet. 

Steve cut the engine, the sudden stillness settling around you both. “…my parents are out of town,” he said after a second, like it was an afterthought. “They won’t be back till like—next week or something.”

You nodded once. “Okay.”

He got out first, walking around to the other side while you gathered the tapes again, holding them a little closer this time as you stepped out of the car. The air felt cooler here, quieter than the station, like everything had slowed down just a little too much. You adjusted your grip as you stood, the stack shifting slightly in your arms before you could steady it, but before you could say anything, Steve reached for them, taking the whole stack from you in one easy motion. 

“I got it,” he said, already balancing them against his side like it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t anything dramatic, nothing that needed a response but your hands felt strangely empty, even if your heart felt full. 

You followed him up the short path to the front door, your hands brushing together once like you didn’t know what to do with them now. He shifted the tapes against his hip so he could unlock the door, the keys jingling softly in the quiet before the lock clicked open.

“After you,” he said, stepping back just enough to let you in first.

Steve came in behind you, the door closing with a soft sound that seemed louder than it should’ve been. He flicked on a light, warm and low, filling the room without breaking the quiet completely.

He set the tapes down on the coffee table, stacking them a little more neatly than they had been in the car, like that mattered. Like it gave him something to do.

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the kitchen for half a second before looking back. “You want something? Like—water, or… I don’t know.”

“Water’s fine,” you said.

“Yeah—okay.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and for a second, you were alone again.

You took a few slow steps further into the room, your eyes moving over everything without really focusing. It felt different being here like this. Quieter. More… his. It had been awhile since you’d been over to his house. 

Your fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the tapes on the table, straightening one that didn’t need it.

When he came back, he handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

He sat down first this time, dropping onto the couch with a quiet exhale, one arm resting along the back like he always did, familiar, easy, like nothing had changed.

You hesitated for half a second before sitting beside him.

The tapes sat between you now, waiting.

“Okay,” he said, reaching for one.

Same word.

Different meaning.

You picked one up too, twisting the cap off the marker as you glanced down at the label.

“Okay,” you echoed.

Steve turned one of the tapes over in his hands, reading the scribbled handwriting on the side like it required more focus than it did.

“…what even is this?” he said, squinting slightly.

You leaned over just enough to see, your shoulder brushing his as you did. “That says ‘test run,’” you said. You let out a quiet laugh, reaching over to tap the label lightly with your marker. “You just can’t read.” 

“Okay, relax,” he said, but there was a small smile there now. “Some of us didn’t major in… whatever this is.”

“Reading?” you said.

He huffed out a quiet breath at that, shaking his head as he finally set it down. “You’re annoying.”

“Yeah,” you said easily. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You looked back down at the tape in your hands, uncapping the marker again, your fingers moving slower now as you started writing.

“Date?” you asked.

“What?” he leaned back slightly, looking at you. Like he wasn’t sure what you were asking. 

“Steve, the date of the tape.” 

“Oh uh—” he leaned forward, looking at the tape. “Two weeks ago? I think.” 

“You think?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “They all kind of blur together.”

You shook your head a little, writing it anyway. “That’s not helpful.”

“Hey, you agreed to this.”

“Because you said you’d mess it up.”

“I would’ve,” he said immediately.

You glanced at him again, just briefly. “Yeah, I know.”

A small pause followed.

You reached for another tape, your fingers brushing his as you both went for the same one at the same time.

You both paused.

“Sorry,” you said.

“No—go ahead,” he replied.

You hesitated for half a second before taking it, your fingers lingering just slightly longer than they should have before pulling back.

You focused on the label again.

“…you’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

Your hand stilled slightly. “Am I?” you asked.

“A little.”

You shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “We were just talking all day.”

“Yeah, but—” he stopped, like he wasn’t sure how to finish that.

You looked up at him this time. “But what?” you asked.

He met your gaze for a second. Then looked away first.

“Nothing,” he said.

You held his gaze for a second longer than he did. Then nodded once. “Okay.”

You leaned back slightly, resting your arm along the back of the couch without thinking, the movement bringing you just a little closer to him than before.

“You know,” you said after a second, your voice quieter now, “you weren’t this talkative earlier.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost like a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “Well.”

“Well?” you pressed.

He glanced at you again. “I didn’t think you wanted me to be.”

That caught you off guard. “What?” you said.

He shrugged slightly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Earlier. At the station.”

You frowned just a little. “Why would you think that?”

He hesitated. “Because every time I said something, you looked like you were about to tell me to shut up.”

You blinked. “I was not.”

“You were,” he said, but there was a hint of a smile there now.

“That’s not true,” you said, shaking your head. “You were just—talking a lot.”

“Oh, so I talk too much now?” he said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I did not.”

He leaned back slightly, turning toward you just enough that your shoulders brushed again. “You did.”

You looked at him. “…I didn’t mind it,” you said. Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. “…it’s kinda crazy,” you said after a second.

“What?” he asked.

You glanced down at the tape in your hands. “That this is actually gonna be a thing.”

“The station?” he said.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Like… a week from now.”

He leaned back slightly, looking toward the table for a second before shrugging. “Yeah. Robin’s been talking about it forever.”

“I know,” you said. “But it didn’t feel real before.”

“It still doesn’t,” he admitted.

You looked at him at that. “…you don’t think so?” you asked.

He shook his head a little. “I don’t know. Feels like one of those things that’s just happening. And then suddenly it’s done.”

You nodded slowly, like you understood that more than you wanted to. “Yeah,” you said. “Everything kinda feels like that lately.”

He glanced at you again. “What do you mean?” he asked.

You shrugged slightly, your fingers tapping the edge of the tape. “I don’t know,” you said. “Just… everything’s moving.”

A small pause.

“Like school, and this, and…” you trailed off, shaking your head once. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

It came out quieter than you meant it to.

Steve didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the tape in his hands, turning it over once before setting it down. “Yeah,” he said after a second. “Same.”

You glanced at him. “Really?” you asked.

He nodded once. “Yeah. I mean—I work at a video store,” he said, a small huff of a laugh following it. “Not exactly a long-term plan.”

You smiled a little. “You love it though.”

“I mean—yeah,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

You tilted your head slightly. “It kinda does.”

He looked at you again. “Not really,” he said. “Everyone says you’re supposed to have something figured out by now.”

“Who is everyone?” you asked.

He let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know. Everyone.”

You shook your head slightly. “That’s not real.”

“Feels real,” he said.

A pause.

You looked down at your hands again, the marker still resting between your fingers.

“…I don’t think anyone actually knows what they’re doing,” you said. “They just pretend they do.”

He watched you for a second.

“…you’re not pretending,” he said.

That caught you off guard, “What?” you asked.

He shrugged slightly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re not,” he said. “You just… say it.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your fingers tightened slightly around the marker.

“…yeah,” you said finally, quieter now.

The moment didn’t break all at once. It softened. Steve shifted slightly, like he needed something to do with his hands, and a second later he reached over, pulling a record from the stack near the shelf. The movement felt casual, but not random. He was giving both of you something else to focus on before the quiet got too loud again. A beat passed, and then the soft crackle of vinyl filled the room, the low hum of a Tears for Fears record settling into the space like it belonged there. 

Somewhere along the way, both of your shoes came off. The tapes ended up scattered across the floor instead of neatly stacked on the table, the two of you shifting down from the couch without really deciding to, sitting side by side with your backs resting against it. It was easier like that, closer to everything, closer to each other, the work turning into something quieter, slower, more comfortable. You reached for a tape, then another, your shoulder brushing his every so often when you leaned too far, neither of you apologizing for it anymore. The music played low while the room stayed warm.

At some point, you both ended up in the kitchen at the same time, unplanned. You opened the fridge first, staring at it for a second longer than necessary before letting out a quiet breath through your nose, there wasn’t much. Steve leaned over slightly to look, his shoulder almost bumping into yours as he scanned the shelves like he might find something if he looked hard enough. He didn’t. 

After a second, he grabbed a box from the freezer instead, deciding on a frozen pizza like it was the most obvious solution in the world. You smiled a little at that, moving around him to grab a box of pasta from the pantry, setting it down on the counter like you had a plan even if it was just as simple. He paused, glancing at you, half amused, half curious, but didn’t question it. The two of you moved around each other easily after that, brushing past, reaching for the same space at the same time, small pauses turning into quiet smiles instead of apologies.

By the time everything was ready, the kitchen felt warmer, like something had settled into it. You carried everything back to the living room, setting it down on the small TV trays he’d pulled out, the two of you dropping back onto the couch again, closer this time without making a thing out of it. The TV flickered on, some old sitcom playing in the background, the kind neither of you had to fully pay attention to. 

You ate slowly, talking here and there about nothing important, but it didn’t feel like nothing. There were moments where you both spoke at the same time, stopping, laughing quietly, letting the other go first before forgetting what you were going to say anyway. Moments where you glanced at him and caught him already looking. Moments where neither of you looked away right away. The awkwardness wasn’t uncomfortable, it was soft.

Steve leaned back slightly, his arm resting along the back of the couch again, his fingers tapping lightly against the fabric. After a while, he mentioned your birthday—which was in two weeks. He said it so casually, like it had just crossed his mind, but it still caught you off guard. You looked over at him, surprised he even remembered. He asked about it like it mattered, like it wasn’t just another date, and you shrugged it off the way you always did, your gaze dropping back down for a second as you admitted you didn’t really like birthdays. At least not yours. It wasn’t a big thing, you said, like that explained it. Still, something about the way he looked at you after, like he was already thinking about it, stayed there. 

The TV kept playing, the music still low in the background, the plates half-finished in front of you. And somehow, without either of you saying it, the night settled into something that felt a little too easy to ignore.

Steve shifted slightly beside you, glancing down at the mess of plates, tapes, and trays crowding the space between you. “…okay, this is kinda—” he gestured vaguely, like he didn’t have the word for it. “—a lot.”

You looked down, then back at him. “You’re the one who brought everything out here.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quickly. “I didn’t think it through.”

A small smile pulled at your mouth.

He leaned forward, moving one of the trays aside, then another, like that would fix it—but it didn’t really. “Do you wanna—” he started, then paused, like he was figuring it out mid-sentence.

You waited.

“…we can just go upstairs,” he said finally, more casual now. “There’s more space.” He shrugged.

“…okay,” you said.

He nodded once. “Okay.”

He stood first, grabbing a couple of things without really organizing them, like he just needed a reason to move.

Your footsteps softened against the floor as you followed him, the sound of the TV fading behind you, the music barely carrying this far. It felt different up here. Like everything slowed down without asking.

Steve pushed his bedroom door open, stepping in first before moving slightly to the side. Just enough space for you to walk in after him.

“Sorry, it’s—” he started, glancing around quickly like he was seeing it through your eyes all of a sudden.

It wasn’t messy, he was just nervously overthinking. 

“—perfectly fine,” you said, stepping inside anyway.

Dim light from a lamp in the corner filled the space instead of the harsh overhead, casting everything in that softer glow that made it feel smaller in a good way. A few clothes were draped over a chair, a stack of records near his dresser, the bed unmade but not in a way that looked careless, just how Steve’s room was. 

Steve moved further in, setting the few things he’d grabbed down without really organizing them, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands again. 

“Uh—” he glanced around, then back at you. “You can just—sit. Wherever.”

You nodded once, your eyes flicking around the room for a second before landing on the bed. You sat down carefully, your hands resting in your lap for a second before you leaned back slightly, testing the space like you weren’t fully committing to it yet.

“Or—” he said quickly, stepping closer, “I mean, you don’t have to—there’s a chair—”

You blinked at him for half a second then laughed. Actual laughter, the kind that caught you off guard as much as it did him, your shoulders shaking slightly as you covered your mouth for a second like that might help. 

“What?” he said, already defensive, even though he looked confused.

You shook your head, still laughing a little. “Are you sick or something?”

“What?” he repeated.

“Why are you acting like that?” you asked, finally lowering your hand, a smile still pulling at your mouth. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” he said immediately.

“You are,” you said, softer now, still smiling. “You’re like—” you gestured vaguely toward him, “—overthinking everything.”

“I’m not overthinking,” he said, even though he clearly was.

You just looked at him. That smile still there.

He lasted maybe two seconds before breaking. “…okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

You laughed again, quieter this time. “It’s fine,” you said. “You can relax.”

He glanced at you, something easing just slightly in his expression. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah.” A small pause. “You’re good,” you added. “Don’t overthink with me.” 

The words settled between you a second longer than you expected them to. Steve looked at you like he was trying to decide what to do with that. Like no one had ever said something like that to him so plainly before.

“…okay,” he said after a second, quieter now.

You nodded once, like that was enough.

He shifted slightly on the bed, his shoulder brushing yours again, closer this time without the hesitation from before. His hand moved where it rested between you, not pulling away, just… there, his fingers tapping once against the fabric like he was grounding himself.

“You’re smiling,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You are,” he said, a little more sure now. “You’ve been smiling this whole time.”

You let out a quiet breath, glancing down for a second before looking back at him. “You’re just noticing now?”

He huffed out a small laugh. “No—I just… didn’t say anything.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged slightly, but there was something softer in it now. “Didn’t wanna mess it up.”

“You’re not gonna mess it up,” you said.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Your voice came out quieter this time. 

The space between you had already changed, something quieter and heavier settling into it as his hand shifted just slightly closer, close enough that your fingers brushed. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he. It was small, barely anything, but it was the first time.

You’d never held his hand before. Not like this.

And somehow, you noticed everything all at once, the size of his hand compared to yours, how much bigger it felt, how easily it could’ve closed around yours if he wanted it to. His fingers were warm, his skin softer than you expected, not rough like you thought it might be. You could see the faint lines of veins along the back of his hand, subtle but there, something about it grounding and distracting all at once.

Your gaze dropped without meaning to, just for a second, tracing the shape of his hand against yours before lifting again.

And suddenly, he was closer. 

Your foreheads brushed, not fully intentional, not fully accidental either, and neither of you pulled away. Your breath caught slightly, your lips parting before you pressed them together again, your teeth catching your bottom lip without thinking.

“You’re really pretty,” he said quietly. 

It wasn’t his usual teasing, it was raw.

You felt it immediately, the warmth rising to your cheeks, soft but unmistakable, your breath catching again as your eyes dropped for half a second before lifting back to his. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t think you needed to, because right now everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

You couldn’t ignore it, the way your body leaned into him without meaning to, the way every part of you felt pulled closer, like it had already decided before you had. How badly your heart was aching for him. Not just the closeness. Not just the moment. Not just how badly you wanted his hands all over your body. 

Him.

And that was the part that made it harder.

The moment stretched just a second too long. Not breaking, just hovering there, right on the edge of something neither of you had crossed yet.

But, he pulled back. 

Steve shifted slightly, like he needed to reset, his hand slipping from yours as he leaned back against the headboard, adjusting himself more comfortably against it. One arm came up behind his head, the other resting loosely against his side, his chest rising a little deeper than before.

You stayed where you were, still turned toward him.

Your head dipped slightly, your gaze dropping for just a second, like you were grounding yourself but your eyes didn’t stay there.

They lifted again, slowly. Meeting his from under your lashes.

Your lips parted slightly, not fully intentional, your breath still uneven from how close you’d just been, your body not quite catching up to the space he’d created.

His expression shifted almost immediately, not dramatic, not obvious to anyone else, but there. The way his jaw tightened just slightly, the way his gaze dropped for half a second before coming back to yours like he couldn’t help it. He adjusted again, subtly this time, like he was trying to get comfortable but not draw attention to his bulge. 

Your hand pressed lightly into the mattress as you shifted forward.

Your knee moved first, sliding across the bed as you turned more fully toward him, the fabric beneath you creasing softly with the movement. Your other hand followed, bracing yourself as you leaned in, the distance between you shrinking again, but this time it was you closing it.

His eyes stayed on you, tracking every small movement, every inch you moved closer, his expression tightening just slightly like he didn’t know whether to stay still or meet you halfway. 

You didn't give him the chance to pull away again. Leaning in, your fingers found his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly at first, then tighter. 

“Steve,” you whispered, your voice low and needy, the word pulling him back toward you. His jaw clenched, and before you could say more, his free hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck. He pulled you in roughly, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all heat and hunger. 

His mouth moved against yours with a force that made your head spin, his tongue pushing past your lips to claim you. You moaned into it, your hands sliding up his chest. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as his grip tightened, fingers tangling in your hair. He tugged just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck, and he broke the kiss to drag his lips down your jaw, nipping at the skin there. 

Your hands, already pressed against his chest, moved without hesitation, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt before sliding down, slower this time, like you were feeling your way through it instead of rushing.

He reacted immediately.

A sharp breath.

A quiet, low sound slipping out as his hands left your hair, dropping to your waist, gripping just enough to pull you closer.

Your fingers found the edge of his waistband, hesitating for half a second, not out of doubt, just the weight of it, before you pushed past it, tugging lightly.

He got the message.

His hands moved at the same time, mirroring yours, sliding down your sides until they reached your hips, his touch firm, deliberate now. His fingers hooked there, pulling you just slightly closer as his forehead brushed yours again for a second.

You tugged again, more sure this time, and he lifted just enough to help you, the movement uncoordinated but easy, like you were figuring it out together without thinking too hard about it.

His hands followed your lead.

Slipping to the hem of your jeans, pausing for just a second, just enough for your eyes to meet again, before he pulled, slower than you had, but just as certain.

Until both of you were left a little more undone than before.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point. You arched into him, your body pressing closer, thighs squeezing together as you felt a wave heat. His other arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you onto his lap in one swift move. You straddled him now, your core brushing against the hard bulge in his under his boxers, and you both groaned at the contact. 

But he didn't let you settle there. With a firm hand on your hip, he guided you down, shifting so your leg draped over his thigh instead. 

“Ride my thigh,” he ordered, voice rough and commanding, his eyes burning into yours. There was no room for hesitation in his tone, just raw desire. You nodded, breathless, your hands bracing on his shoulders as you started to move. 

The friction was immediate, your pussy grinding against his thigh. He flexed it under you, pressing up hard, and you gasped, moving your hips faster. His hands roamed your body, one sliding under your shirt to grip your bare skin, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks. The roughness of it sent sparks through you, mixing with the passion building in your chest. 

Steve watched you intently, his breath coming in short bursts as you rode him. “That's it baby, move your hips just like that,” he rasped, his free hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt, thumb circling your nipple until it hardened. 

You whimpered, leaning into his touch, your hips rolling in a steady rhythm. The fabric of his boxers rubbed against you, it was teasing in a way, building that ache deeper.

You could feel how wet you were getting, soaking through your panties, making each grind smoother, more desperate. His thigh tensed again, pushing up to meet your movements, and you cried out softly, nails digging into his shoulders. He liked that, his eyes darkened, and he pulled you down harder, forcing you to grind with more force.

“Harder,” he demanded, his voice gravelly. You moved harder, chasing the pressure, your body trembling as pleasure coiled tight inside you. His mouth found yours again, the kiss messy and fierce, teeth clashing as he devoured you. 

One hand slipped down to your ass, squeezing roughly, guiding your pace. He slapped it once, the sharp sting making you jolt forward, your clit pressing right against him.

The emotional pull hit you then, amid the roughness, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go, the intensity in his gaze that said this was more than just lust. Your heart pounded, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming need for him, all of him. 

“Steve, please,” you begged against his lips, not even sure what you were asking for.

He stayed propped against the headboard, but his hands controlled you fully now, lifting your hips to slam you down onto his thigh over and over. 

The roughness amped up, his grip bruising, but it was mixed with passion, his forehead pressing to yours as he whispered, “I got you, let go for me.” 

You did. The tension snapped, your orgasm crashing through you in waves, your pussy clenching as you ground down hard, soaking his thigh and your panties. He held you through it, his thigh flexing to draw out every shudder, his lips brushing your ear with soft curses and praises. 

“So fucking beautiful when you finish for me,”he murmured, voice thick with his own need.

But he wasn't done.

Steve's hands were everywhere, gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he pulled you closer onto him. 

“Again,” he said, eyes locked on where your pussy slid against him. You were sensitive now, each movement sending jolts through you, but the roughness in his touch kept you going. He reached between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in firm circles that made your back arch.

You rode him harder this time, fueled by the way he touched you, like he owned every inch. His other hand pinched your nipple, twisting just enough to border on pain, and you moaned loud, head falling back. The passion surged, your bodies slick with sweat, breaths synched as you chased that edge again.

He slid his boxers down underneath you, freeing his cock. But he didn't push inside yet. Instead, he guided your hand to it, wrapping your fingers around the base. 

“Stroke me while you ride,” he grunted, thrusting up into your grip.

You did, pumping him in time with your hips, feeling him throb under your palm. His thigh pressed up relentlessly, the sensations overwhelming. Steve's head tipped back against the headboard, a low groan escaping him as you worked him. 

“Fuck, yeah—just like that.” 

The room filled with the sounds of your bodies, heavy breaths, the creak of the bed. You leaned in, nipping at his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, and he responded by slapping your ass again, harder, urging you faster.

Your second climax built quicker, his fingers on your clit relentless. 

“Come on my thigh, soak me,” he urged, voice breaking with his own building release. You shattered, crying his name as your pussy pulsed, come soaking his leg. The sight pushed him over, his cock jerked in your hand, hot cum spilling over your fingers and onto his shirt in thick ropes.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathing raggedly, his arms wrapping around you tight. He kissed your temple softly, but the roughness lingered in the way he held on, like he was afraid you'd slip away. The space between you was gone now, replaced by tangled bodies and shared heat.

Steve’s hand shifted slightly against your back, slower now, softer, like he was coming back down from it too. His thumb brushed absentmindedly along your arm, grounding, steady. “…you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded against him, your cheek still pressed to his chest. “Yeah.”

“…do you wanna shower?” he added, a little more hesitant this time. “Like… to get you cleaned up.”

You let out a soft breath, lifting your head just enough to look at him. “Yeah, that’d be great” you said. 

Another pause. “…I don’t have clothes,” you added, quieter now. 

He didn’t even hesitate. “You can wear mine,” he said, like it was obvious. “I’ll—find you something.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He shifted carefully, loosening his hold on you just enough to sit up, running a hand through his hair as he stood. He slid his boxers up carelessly but quickly. He glanced at you for a second, like he was making sure you were still there, before stepping toward the door. “I’ll turn it on,” he said. “It takes a second to get warm.” 

You watched him go.

A minute later, you heard movement down the hall, doors opening, closing, the faint sound of water starting.

Steve moved through the house like he knew exactly what he was doing, even if there was a slight rush to it. He stepped into his parents’ bathroom, grabbing a bottle of shampoo from the counter, something that definitely didn’t belong to him, but it smelled better than anything he had.

He grabbed towels next.

When he came back, he knocked lightly against his bedroom doorframe before stepping in, holding everything out toward you. 

“Uh—here,” he said. “There’s… like—one for your hair, one for your body, and then—” he held up the smaller one, “—to wash your body.”

You smiled a little despite yourself. “Thank you,” you said.

He nodded once, like it was nothing. “I’ll find you clothes,” he said, already turning slightly. 

You nodded again.

—-

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, and for a second, you just stood there.

You stepped into the shower without overthinking it, the warmth hitting your skin in a way that made you exhale on instinct, your shoulders dropping as everything from the night settled into you all at once. 

The water ran over you, washing away the heat, the tension, the way your body still felt like it hadn’t fully come down from it. You tilted your head back slightly, letting it hit your face, your hair, your neck, your eyes closing for just a second longer than necessary. 

You reached for the shampoo he’d left for you, pausing for a second when you realized it wasn’t his. It smelled softer, cleaner, something that didn’t quite match the rest of him, but still somehow felt like it belonged here. You used it anyway, working it through your hair slowly, your movements quieter now, more thoughtful.  

When you finally looked around, really looked, you noticed everything.  

It was so him.

His cologne sat near the sink, the cap slightly off-center like he never put it back exactly right. A small pile of clothes rested in the corner of the floor, clearly worn, clearly ignored. His toothbrush sat beside his toothpaste, a little crooked in the holder, next to a box of Q-tips that looked like it had been there forever. There was hair gel too.

You smiled to yourself, just slightly.

By the time you turned the water off, the room was filled with steam, the mirror fogged over completely. You stepped out, wrapping one towel around your body, using the other to gently squeeze the water from your hair, your movements slower now, calmer.

Eventually, you gathered yourself, adjusting the towel slightly before stepping back into the hallway.

You made your way back to his room, your steps softer this time, your hand brushing lightly against the doorframe before you stepped inside.

Steve stood near the edge of his bed, half-turned away from you, picking up clothes from the floor and tossing them into a pile like he was trying to make the room look less like… what it had just been. Like he was trying to fix something that didn’t actually need fixing.

He didn’t notice you right away. His focus stayed on what he was doing, grabbing something from the chair, straightening the blanket just slightly, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t know where else to put the energy.

Then he looked up and stopped. Just for a second. His eyes flicked over you quickly, not lingering in a way that made it weird, but enough that you noticed. Enough that something shifted in his expression again.

“Oh—hey,” he said, a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t expected you back that fast.

You leaned slightly against the doorframe, the towel secure but your hair still damp, small drops trailing down your shoulders. “Hi.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached over, grabbing a shirt and a pair of sweats from his dresser, tossing them onto the bed beside you like it was nothing. “You can wear those,” he said simply.

You picked them up, glancing at him for a second before nodding. “Thanks.”

He gave a small shrug, already turning slightly, not making a big deal out of it. “No problem.”

You stepped back into the bathroom to change, the door closing softly behind you. The mirror was still fogged, the air warm, the space quieter now. You slipped into his clothes, the fabric loose against your skin, the shirt falling past your thighs, the sleeves a little too long. It faintly smelled like him. 

When you came back out, the room felt different.

Steve was already on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, one arm resting behind his head, the other loosely draped across his stomach. He looked up when you walked in, his gaze flicking over you once before settling. 

A small smile. “Looks better on you,” he said.

You rolled your eyes a little, but you smiled anyway as you moved toward the bed. “Don’t start,” you muttered.

You climbed in beside him without asking, settling under the blanket like you’d done it before. He shifted slightly to make room, easy, natural, like it didn’t need to be acknowledged. The TV played quietly in the background, something forgettable, something neither of you were really watching. 

You leaned back, your shoulder brushing his.

He didn’t move away.

His arm dropped from behind his head, coming around you without hesitation, resting across your back like it belonged there. This was new. This. This whole thing going on right  now. Normally, you would’ve been gone by now. Maybe already even home. 

You adjusted slightly, your head finding its place against his chest this time, the fabric of his shirt soft under your cheek. His hand moved once against your arm.

At some point, your fingers curled lightly against him, not even realizing you’d done it.

He shifted just enough to settle you more comfortably against him, his chin resting briefly against the top of your head. 

And neither of you moved after that. The TV blurred into background noise. The night softened.

And eventually without meaning to, you both fell asleep.

Together.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

thoughts?

taglist- comment 2 be added!

@drmscomet  @stoneyggirl2 @lauraashley93 @solynoche @purplerainx1 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @iwrotethissky @ur-djoking @sadiea20 @strangegirl26sff @loonylups @djotimestyles @torirachel @fantasyreader130 @swirledyouintoallmypoems @starryymeg @djolover4ever @literal-tv-menace @eller41 @tankajahari09 @sanriwhores @annievolume6 @skkeletonns @marianm25 @projections-mortal @sandrapazos22 @katiebby04 @djopuppy @averylovesbookss @unicronfarts @mandoskenobi @fictionallovee

[thelastcitysposts]

chapter eight: the rightside up

steve harrington x fem!reader (word count: 14800)

summary: the final plan is set in motion as the group breaches the MAC-Z and enters the upside down, splitting up to take on vecna from different fronts. as the climb toward the abyss begins, the strain—both physical and emotional—pushes everyone to their limits, especially as the worlds start to collide overhead. with no time to stop and everything on the line, they’re forced to keep moving forward, one step closer to the end.

warnings: mentions of death, cursing, canon typical violence, scares, death, trauma

note: SO SORRY this took longer than usual, I had it completed but I wanted it to be better, I hope you all enjoy it! I needed it better, my last action packed chapter for this series <3 final series epilogue is out tomorrow <3

series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>

--------------

The truck doesn’t slow—can’t—because the road beneath you is uneven, cracked, and barely holding together under the force of Murray’s driving, and every sharp turn throws your balance just enough that you have to keep adjusting—your boots shifting against the metal floor, your body constantly fighting to stay upright as the truck barrels forward.

Steve doesn’t let you.

Not really.

His arm is locked firmly around your waist from behind, steady and unyielding, pulling you back into him every time the truck jolts too hard, every time your footing slips just enough to matter. Your back presses against his chest, one of your hands braced against the side of the truck while the other grips his wrist without thinking.

“Careful,” he murmurs low against your ear as the truck jerks again, his grip tightening slightly—not restricting, just there. Grounding.

You nod faintly, adjusting your stance as best as you can while the others do the same around you—Jonathan steadying Nancy beside him, Joyce gripping tightly onto the side rail, Dustin half crouched with one hand on the shelving unit, and Robin already clinging to a pole like her life depends on it.

Because it does.

Because all of yours do.

No one is really talking. Not properly. There’s too much sitting in the air between you all—the plan, the risk, the tonight of it all—settling heavy in your chest, in your lungs, in the tight way your fingers curl just a little tighter around Steve’s wrist without you realising.

This is it—the final push, the moment where there’s no more running left.

Murray’s voice crackles through the radio from the front.

“Showtime, Snookums!”

There’s a brief beat before another voice answers, distorted but clear enough.

“Mellon.”

The truck lurches forward harder, faster—

Murray lets out a sharp, breathless laugh. “Pardon me!”

The sudden acceleration slams through all of you at once, your body pitching forward as your grip falters for half a second—but Steve’s arm tightens immediately, pulling you back against him, his other hand bracing hard against the wall to keep both of you steady.

“—got you—”

The words are quiet, automatic.

You don’t even think about it. You just lean back into him, trusting it.

Outside, gunfire erupts.

You don’t see it—not from back here—but you hear it. Sharp, rapid, far too close. It cracks through the air around the truck, metal pinging faintly as bullets hit somewhere out of sight, the sound alone enough to make your chest tighten.

“First gate cleared,” Erica’s voice cuts through the radio. “Two hostiles, towers, ten and eleven o’clock.”

The truck doesn’t slow.

If anything, it speeds up.

Another sharp turn sends your footing slipping again, your weight shifting too far forward before you can catch it—

Steve reacts instantly, his hand leaving the wall as both arms lock around you, pulling you fully back into him, your spine pressed flush against his chest as he absorbs the movement instead of you.

“Easy—”

You exhale sharply, your hand tightening in his sleeve. “I’m okay.”

His grip doesn’t loosen. Not yet.

At the front, Murray’s voice comes again, almost gleeful. “Now comes the fun part.”

The truck jerks—

Then slams violently to a stop.

Everything in the back lurches forward at once. You’re thrown off balance completely this time, your body pitching—but Steve is already bracing, one foot planted hard as he drags you back with him, taking the impact so you don’t have to.

Gunfire is louder now.

Closer.

Constant.

Nancy doesn’t hesitate. She’s already moving, climbing through the opening in the roof and disappearing upward as another burst of shots rings out—hers this time—sharp, controlled, cutting through the chaos outside.

Jonathan is at the back in seconds, wrenching the doors open.

“Come on! Come on!”

Cold air rushes in immediately, sharp and biting, carrying the sound of gunfire and shouting with it.

Steve moves before you can.

His arm slips from your waist just long enough for him to push forward, stepping beside Jonathan as they both reach out.

“Come on! Come on!”

Hopper appears at the back, moving fast—

They grab him.

Pull him in.

Hard.

“Go! Go! Drive!” Jonathan shouts.

The truck roars back to life instantly, jerking forward with brutal force. You grab onto the side rail this time, your other hand catching Steve’s sleeve again as he stumbles back toward you, regaining his footing just as the truck surges forward again.

The doors are still open.

For a second—

everything is exposed.

Eleven steps forward slightly, her gaze locked out into the dark as the truck speeds toward the gate—and you see it too. A figure. Gun raised. Aimed directly at her.

Your chest tightens—

But they don’t fire.

They hesitate. Just long enough.

Steve moves first. He and Jonathan slam the doors shut, the sound echoing sharply through the truck—

And then everything shifts. The truck tears through the gate. The world pulls.

It’s never smooth. It feels like being dragged through something thick and wrong, pressure building for a split second—

And then— release.

The truck bursts through into the Upside Down. The air changes instantly—heavier, colder, wrong in a way that settles under your skin. Murray whoops from the front. “Whoohey! Yeah!”

Steve exhales beside you. “Jesus Christ.”

You feel it too—your pulse still racing, your grip still tight on him, your body still half-braced for something that isn’t coming anymore. The truck keeps moving now—but slower, controlled.

“Everybody all right?” Hopper calls out. “Everybody okay?”

A chorus of breathless answers follows.

“Yeah—”

“I think so—”

You nod instinctively, even though no one is really looking at you, your breathing still uneven as you finally loosen your grip just slightly. Steve’s hand finds your waist again almost immediately. You tilt your head back just enough to glance at him. “I’m okay,” you murmur.

His jaw tightens briefly before he nods once. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

Hopper moves through the space, clapping Nancy lightly on the shoulder. “Hey—nice shooting back there.”

Nancy exhales, still catching her breath. “You too.”

Robin’s voice cuts through, shaky and incredulous as she clings to the pole. “I kind of thought that that was supposed to be the easy part.”

“It was,” Lucas replies dryly.

A small, breathless sound escapes you despite everything. It doesn’t last.

Mike steps closer to Eleven, his hand settling on her shoulder. “You ready?”

She places her hand over his.

“Ready.”

The word settles in the space between all of you.

Final.

And for a second, standing there in the back of that truck—surrounded by all of them, with Steve’s hand still steady at your waist—you feel it.

Not fear. Not panic. Something sharper. Focused.

Because this is it. No more running. No more waiting.

This ends tonight.

_________________________

Thunder cracks overhead, rolling across the sky in a low, violent rumble that feels too close, too heavy—like it’s sitting right on top of you instead of miles above. The truck slows beneath it, the engine groaning as Murray eases it to a stop, the sudden stillness hitting almost as hard as the drive did.

For a moment, no one moves. The air inside the truck feels thicker here, heavier than before, the kind of wrong that settles into your lungs and stays there. You can feel it pressing in around you, the Upside Down stretching endlessly in every direction outside, silent except for the distant echo of thunder.

Then the back doors swing open.

Murray stands there, framed in the dim, red-tinged light, his expression sharp but unmistakably pleased as he glances over all of you with a quick, assessing look. “All right, lab rats. Let’s scurry up. An entire dimension’s about to come crashing down on our heads.”

There’s no humour in it. Not really.

Hopper moves first, already jumping down from the truck with a heavy thud, Kali right behind him—quicker, quieter, but just as certain. The shift is immediate. This is it.

The split.

You feel it before it’s said out loud, Steve’s hand tightening slightly at your waist like he feels it too.

Eleven steps forward next, moving toward the open doors, her focus already locked ahead—on the lab, on what she has to do. Mike stops her.

“Hey.”

His voice is quieter than everything else, but it cuts through just enough. She pauses and turns back.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, searching her face.

Eleven nods once—simple, certain—but Mike doesn’t let it end there. He steps closer, his voice lowering like the words matter more if he keeps them contained.

“Listen… I know this plan is totally mad,” he says, a small, almost breathless laugh slipping through before he pushes past it. “And a million things have to go right, and a million things could—and probably will—go wrong…”

You feel Steve shift behind you, his fingers brushing faintly against your side as you both watch, the moment pulling the entire space quieter without anyone meaning for it to.

“But we can do this,” Mike continues, steadier now. “I know it. One last fight, and this whole nightmare… it’ll be over.”

There’s a beat before he adds, softer, “It’ll finally be over.”

Eleven doesn’t answer. She just steps forward and hugs him—tight, certain—like she’s holding onto something real before she has to let it go again.

Your chest tightens slightly at the sight, not from fear, not entirely, but from the weight of what it means.

Endings.

Or at least the chance of one.

After a moment, she pulls back, looks at him once more, then turns and jumps down from the truck. She lands beside Hopper and Kali without hesitation, already moving toward the lab with them, her focus narrowing again onto the task ahead.

Hopper reaches back briefly, pulling the doors shut behind her with a heavy slam. The sound echoes—final.

And just like that, they’re gone.

For a second, no one inside the truck speaks. The space feels different now, quieter, emptier in a way that has nothing to do with numbers and everything to do with what just walked away from you.

You exhale slowly, not realising you’d been holding your breath.

Steve’s hand shifts again at your waist, grounding, steady. You turn your head just slightly, enough to catch him in your peripheral—he’s already looking at you.

“I’m good,” you murmur quietly.

His jaw tightens faintly like he’s not sure he believes it, but he nods anyway. “Yeah,” he says under his breath. “Me too.”

It’s not entirely true—for either of you—but it’s enough.

Movement breaks the moment.

Steve’s hand slips from your waist as he steps forward, moving toward the front of the truck without hesitation, already shifting into the next part of the plan. You follow a step behind, your hand brushing briefly against his arm as you pass—small, instinctive—before dropping away again.

He climbs into the driver’s seat, sliding in with practiced ease despite everything, his hands finding the wheel like they belong there. For a second, he just sits there. Breathes.

Then he glances back at all of you.

“Next stop,” he says, quieter than Murray had been, but steadier. “The magic bean.”

There’s no argument, no hesitation—just quiet agreement as everyone braces again, shifting their footing, finding something to hold onto as the engine rumbles back to life.

The truck lurches forward, pulling away from the lab, from Eleven, from whatever happens next inside those walls.

And as the Upside Down stretches out in front of you once more—endless and wrong and waiting—your hand finds Steve’s shoulder from behind without thinking.

Just for a second. Just enough.

He leans back into it—barely noticeable, but there.

And then you keep moving.

Toward the next part of the plan. Toward the end.

__________________________

The truck rolls to a stop beneath the shadow of the tower, the engine cutting out with a low groan that leaves a heavy, unnatural silence in its wake.

For a moment, no one moves.

The Upside Down stretches out around you, vast and wrong, the air thick in your lungs in a way that never quite gets easier to breathe through. There’s a low, distant hum beneath everything—something constant, something you feel more than hear—and it settles under your skin as you steady yourself from the drive.

Then the door slams.

You turn slightly just as Steve moves past the front of the truck, his boots crunching against the ash-coated ground before he reaches the back. The metal doors wrench open a second later, the dim red light spilling inside as his silhouette fills the frame.

“We’re here.”

It’s simple. Steady. Enough.

You shift forward with the others, your body still adjusting to the sudden stillness, but before you can jump down, Steve is already there—closer than you realised.

His hand finds yours without hesitation.

You take it instinctively, letting him guide you down from the truck. Your boots hit the ground a second later, the impact softer than you expect, and his hand lingers just long enough to make sure you’re steady before he lets go.

Just enough to ground you.

Your breath leaves you slowly as your gaze lifts—

And then you see it.

The tower.

It rises impossibly high into the sky, cutting straight through the dark like something unnatural even for this place. The structure is warped, twisted in places, but still standing—still reaching—and the higher it goes, the harder it is to see where it ends. Platforms are scattered along the climb, barely visible from where you stand, and the ladders on either side look thinner than they should.

Further than they should be.

Your stomach tightens without you meaning for it to.

Behind you, Robin jumps down from the truck, landing with a small stumble before catching herself just as the radio crackles to life in her hand.

“Hey, Robin, yeah,” Vickie’s voice cuts through, slightly distorted but clear enough. “Can you please tell me that that was you guys and not more of those, like, mutant Cujos?”

Robin exhales sharply, already moving a few steps forward as she lifts the radio.

“It’s us,” she replies, a little breathless but trying for her usual tone. “And it’s too early to be stressed, Vic. Save it for later.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Yeah, no, copy that, yeah. No. Bottling… bottling emotions.”

A small, almost disbelieving breath escapes you despite everything, the sound brief and soft—but it doesn’t last.

Because all of you are looking at the same thing now.

Lucas raises his binoculars, angling them upward as he scans the sky above. “No sign of an evil moving planet.”

“Well, that’s good,” Jonathan says, already stepping forward, his focus narrowing as he takes in the climb ahead. “Because this is gonna take some time.”

You watch as he gestures toward either side of the structure, pointing out both ladders before turning back to all of you.

“All right, we should split up. Use both ladders,” he says, his voice steady despite everything pressing down around you. “Don’t rush. Pace yourselves. There are platforms along the way—use them to rest.”

Your eyes follow where he points, tracking the climb again, really seeing it now—the distance, the height, the way it disappears into something you can’t fully make out.

“All right,” Jonathan adds after a brief pause. “Let’s do this.”

Movement breaks the stillness almost immediately, the group splitting without needing much direction, boots shifting against the ground as everyone falls into place.

You don’t think about where to go. You just follow Steve.

He glances back as you approach, catching you instantly, and shifts slightly beside the ladder, one hand lifting in a small, silent motion.

Go on.

You step closer, your hand reaching out, fingers brushing against the cold metal rung—and you pause. Up close, it feels different. Higher. Steeper. Real in a way it wasn’t before. Your grip tightens slightly, your breath catching just enough to matter as you look up again, tracing the climb you’re about to make.

Steve notices immediately.

You feel him step in behind you, close enough that you don’t have to look to know he’s there. Not crowding. Not pushing. Just… present. Solid in a way that steadies something in your chest before it can spiral.

“Honey,” he murmurs, his voice low and close, meant only for you, “I’ll be right behind you.”

His hand settles at your waist, warm even through your clothes, grounding in a way that feels automatic now.

“I’ve got you.”

Your eyes close for half a second, your shoulders easing just slightly as you take a slow breath in, then out. “Okay,” you murmur, adjusting your grip on the ladder as your other hand reaches for the next rung.

And then—

you start climbing. One step. Then another. The metal is cold beneath your hands, solid, unmoving, and with every movement upward you can feel him there behind you, close enough that you don’t have to think about it.

Exactly where he said he would be.

Not letting you fall. Not letting you go.

______________________________

The climb doesn’t feel the same anymore. Somewhere along the way—between the ground and where you are now—your body stopped treating this like something you could do and started treating it like something you shouldn’t.

Your arms burn—not sharp, but deep and constant, settling into your muscles with every rung. Your hands ache against the cold metal, your grip tightening like it’s already falling behind, and your legs aren’t much better, every step upward feeling heavier than the last.

Your breathing comes shorter now, less controlled, your chest rising and falling faster than you want it to. You try to steady it—try to fall back into a rhythm—but it’s harder now. Everything is harder now.

You don’t stop. You can’t—but your body is starting to ask you to, louder with every movement. Just for a second, you pause, your forehead dipping forward as you hold onto the rung, your eyes closing briefly as you try to catch a breath without fully stopping.

Below you— “Hey—” Steve’s voice carries up, sharper than before. You don’t look down, but you feel him there. You always do.

“Next platform,” he calls, a little louder this time. “Go to the next platform.” There’s no panic in it. Just certainty.

You swallow, tightening your grip as you lift your head again, your eyes tracking upward until you spot it—a small break in the climb, the next platform just a little higher. Not far. Just far enough.

You nod to yourself. Then move.

Your arms protest immediately, your body slower now as you pull yourself up again, one rung, then another, your foot slipping slightly before catching again. Your breathing gets louder in your ears, sharper, but you keep going—pushing through the burn, through the strain, through the part of you that’s telling you to stop.

You don’t listen. Not now. Not here.

The platform comes into reach sooner than it feels like it should, your hand gripping the edge as you pull yourself up, your body following a second later as your boots hit solid ground. You stop. You have to.

Your hands drop to your knees as you bend forward slightly, your chest rising and falling hard as you try to catch your breath, the air feeling thinner up here, heavier at the same time. For a moment, everything else fades—just your breathing, just the ache in your arms, just the steady, pounding rhythm of your heart.

A second later, you hear him. The familiar shift of movement behind you, the quiet thud as Steve pulls himself onto the platform too, his presence immediate even before you look.

He doesn’t say anything at first. You feel his hand come to your back, warm and steady as it moves slowly between your shoulder blades—grounding, reassuring, like he’s reminding your body how to breathe again.

You straighten slightly, still catching your breath as he reaches for his bag, pulling out a bottle and holding it out to you.

“Here.”

You take it without hesitation, your fingers brushing his briefly as you bring it up, taking a few quick sips before forcing yourself to slow down, your breathing evening out just enough to feel manageable again.

You lower the bottle, handing it back to him as your eyes drift outward, over the edge of the platform, over the stretch of the Upside Down below. WSQK looks smaller from up here, swallowed by the landscape, the world around it stretching endlessly into something dark and unknown.

For a moment, it feels like you’re standing between two things—where you came from, and where you’re going.

You glance at him. “Do you think this is going to work?”

The question comes out quieter than you expect, not doubtful—just honest. Steve looks at you, really looks at you, his hand still resting lightly against your back. He nods.

“It has to.”

There’s no hesitation in it, no second-guessing—just that same steady certainty he’s always had when it matters.

Something in your chest settles slightly. Not completely. But enough.

You nod once, small but sure, your gaze holding his for a second longer before you turn back toward the ladder, your hand reaching out for the next rung.

Ready. Or as close as you’re going to get.

Before you can start climbing again, you feel him lean in, his lips brushing softly against your cheek—quick, gentle, grounding in a way that makes your breath catch just slightly.

You don’t pull away. You don’t need to.

Then he’s stepping back, giving you space, right behind you—exactly where he’s been this whole time.

You tighten your grip on the ladder. And start climbing again.

Higher.

_____________________________

The last stretch feels endless.

By the time your hand reaches for what has to be the final rung, your arms are shaking—not violently, not enough to stop you, but enough that you feel it in every movement. Every pull upward takes more effort than it should, your muscles burning, your grip tightening harder than necessary just to make sure you don’t slip now.

Not this close. Not when you’ve already come this far.

You don’t look down. You don’t let yourself. Instead, you keep your focus locked on the next rung, and the next, and the next, forcing your body to follow through the exhaustion as you climb.

Until suddenly— there’s nothing above you.

Your hand reaches up and finds empty air before catching the edge of the platform, your fingers curling over it instinctively as you pull yourself up, your body dragging over the ledge a second later until your boots finally hit something solid.

You made it.

For a moment, you don’t move. Your chest rises and falls as you try to steady your breathing, the air thinner up here, colder in a way that settles into your lungs differently than below. The height presses in around you, not overwhelming, but present—real in a way the climb hadn’t quite been until now.

Then— you hear him.

Steve pulls himself up behind you, the sound of his boots hitting the platform grounding in a way that nothing else quite is. You don’t need to turn to know it’s him—you feel it in the shift of space, in the way your shoulders loosen just slightly without you meaning them to.

You’re both here. You’re both okay.

Movement continues around you, the rest of the group reaching the top in staggered bursts of effort. Jonathan climbs over the edge next, immediately turning back and reaching down toward Dustin as he struggles through the final stretch.

“Thanks, man,” Dustin pants as Jonathan helps haul him up.

“Okay,” Jonathan replies, steadying him as he gets his footing.

You step forward without really thinking about it, your attention already being pulled outward, and the moment your eyes lift— the view hits you.

The Upside Down stretches endlessly in every direction, wider and darker than it ever looked from below. The ground is fractured and uneven, swallowed in shadow, and in the distance you can see it—the wall, massive and looming, surrounding everything like something built to contain something far worse than what you’ve already seen.

Your breath catches slightly as you take it in. Beside you, Dustin lets out a low whistle.

“It’s pretty damn spectacular.”

Lucas pulls himself up onto the platform a second later, straightening as he follows your line of sight. “It’s almost too bad we have to blow it all up.”

A faint rumble rolls through the air.

At first, it’s subtle—easy to mistake for something distant, something unimportant—but it doesn’t fade. Instead, it deepens, growing heavier, louder, until you can feel it as much as you hear it, vibrating faintly through the metal beneath your feet and into your chest.

Your brow furrows as you look out again, something shifting in the distance—

Then—

a sound.

Not thunder. Not exactly. Something heavier.

Your gaze lifts upward. And your breath catches.

The sky is moving. Not clouds. Not weather. Something else entirely. Massive shapes tear downward from the darkness, jagged and uneven like pieces of something breaking apart and falling through the air. They look like rock—like entire sections of land being dragged from somewhere else and forced into this space, distorting as they descend, as if the sky itself is being pulled apart and dropped into the world beneath it.

Your stomach drops.

This isn’t just wrong. This is it.

The worlds— colliding.

“Mother of God,” Dustin breathes beside you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because all you can do is stare at it—at the scale of it, the inevitability of it—and realise, with a clarity that settles deep in your chest,

there isn’t much time left anymore.

__________________________________

The movement doesn’t stop—if anything, it gets worse. At first it feels distant, something happening far above you that you can watch without fully understanding, but the longer you stand there the more obvious it becomes that it isn’t slowing down.

It’s getting closer.

The jagged mass of the Abyss continues dragging itself downward in violent, uneven shifts, rock grinding against rock like the entire world above you is being forced into place—and it’s not stopping.

Which means El hasn’t reached him yet.

Your chest tightens at the thought, your gaze locked upward as the scale of it becomes impossible to ignore. It’s too big. Too close. Moving too fast.

Beside you, Lucas suddenly stiffens. “No, no, no—guys. It’s not lining up.”Something in his voice pulls all of you in at once, tension snapping through the group.

Joyce looks up sharply, Steve stepping closer, his eyes following where Lucas is pointing.

“What do you mean it’s not lining up?”

You move with them, your eyes tracking upward again— And then you see it.

The tower, the needle, the rift—they don’t match.

“Look,” Lucas says, pointing. “The tower needle—it’s not lining up with the rift.”

Your stomach drops. “Shit.”

“If the Abyss hits the needle—” Will starts.

“This tower’s going down,” Mike finishes.

“That’s great,” Steve mutters, tension snapping tight in his voice. “That’s just great.”

Everything starts moving faster after that—voices overlapping, panic threading through the group despite every attempt to stay focused.

Dustin is already on the radio. “Hey, Chief, we’re gonna need El to stop this planet. On the sooner side, please.”

“How soon?” Hopper’s voice crackles back.

Dustin doesn’t hesitate. “Thirty seconds?”

Your hand finds Steve’s without thinking, your fingers lacing together tightly as you both watch it descend.

You glance sideways and catch Jonathan already looking at you, something in his expression you don’t usually see—fear.

“Chief, talk to me,” Dustin presses. “What’s going on in there?”

“I don’t know,” Hopper answers. “I can’t talk to her. I gave her the signal.”

“Well, nothing’s happening over here,” Dustin snaps, panic rising now, “and we’re about to be squashed by a moving planet, so give it again!”

The tower shifts beneath you, a low groan of metal vibrating through the platform as the structure trembles under the pressure above.

You take a step back instinctively, your grip tightening on Steve’s hand as everyone scrambles for something to hold onto—then impact.

The Abyss collides with the antenna. The sound is deafening.

Metal screams as it bends, the entire tower shuddering violently as debris breaks loose and rains down around you. The structure jerks, tilting just enough to throw your balance completely off.

“Shit!” Dustin shouts.

Everyone is yelling now, voices lost in the chaos as the tower rattles harder, the pressure above forcing it down, bending it, crushing it—

It’s not stopping.

It’s not stopping—

“Look out! Look out! Look out!” Steve shouts.

You barely have time to react.

The antenna snaps. A section tears free with a violent crack, ripping part of the structure with it as it falls—

Steve grabs you, pulling you with him as he runs for the other side of the platform, your feet scrambling to keep up—but your attention snaps back instinctively—

“Jonathan—!”

You turn, reaching back toward him, toward the others—

And then—

the railing behind you gives.

It tears away with the falling debris, and your footing disappears with it.

The world drops, your hand shooting out to catch the edge just in time as your body swings over the side.

You’re left dangling, your grip already slipping.

Your fingers are already losing it—

And then—

Steve is there.

His hand clamps around your forearm just as your grip finally gives, the force of it snapping through both of you as he catches you, his body dropping with the weight before he braces hard against the platform.

“Just hold on! I got you—just hold on!”

You grab onto him, your other hand clutching his sleeve as he pulls, dragging you upward with everything he has—

the pressure stops.

The world stills.

The crushing force above halts completely, the Abyss freezing just feet from the tower.

But Steve doesn’t stop.

He hauls you up the rest of the way, your body collapsing onto the platform as he falls back with you, his arms still locked around you like letting go isn’t an option.

For a second—

everything narrows.

His breathing is uneven, too fast, his grip tight—too tight—as if letting go isn’t an option.

Like he’s making sure you’re real.

Still here.

Still breathing.

“Jesus—” the word breaks out of him under his breath, rough and unsteady, his hands coming up to your face without thinking, checking, grounding, like he needs to see you properly.

You barely get a second to respond—

because he kisses you.

It’s not slow or careful—just desperate.

A sharp, breathless press of his lips against yours, like the fear hasn’t left his body yet, like it’s still sitting in his chest and he needs to prove you’re still here, that he didn’t just—

lose you.

Your hand grips his shirt instinctively, holding onto him just as tightly for that split second before he pulls back, his forehead almost brushing yours, his breathing still uneven.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, quieter this time—but no less intense.

And this time, it sounds like he’s convincing himself as much as you.

“I’ve got you.”

Your chest is still tight, your pulse still racing as you nod faintly, your hand still gripping his sleeve.

“I’m okay,” you manage softly.

It takes him a second.

Then he nods once.

Still not letting go.

“Shit—we’re alive! We’re alive!” Mike’s voice cuts through, breathless as he grabs onto Robin.

Dustin rushes over next, dropping down beside you with Will and Jonathan right behind him, his laugh shaky and overwhelmed.

“Shit—I thought you were toast.”

The moment shifts around you, the group closing in, voices returning, movement returning—

But Steve’s arm is still around you.

Still holding you close.

Like he hasn’t quite let go of that moment yet.

Above you, the Abyss hovers—

still.

Stopped.

“Chief!” Lucas shouts into the radio, adrenaline surging through his voice. “The Abyss stopped! El got him! I repeat—El got the bastard! Yes! Wow! Come on!”

Your breath leaves you slowly.

You’re still here. All of you are.

And for the first time since the tower started shaking—

everything stops moving.

__________________________

The world doesn’t start moving again.

Not yet.

But it doesn’t feel still either. It feels like something paused mid-breath, like whatever hangs above you could shift again at any second if something goes wrong. The Abyss looms just overhead now, close enough that you can actually see it for what it is—not just a distant mass, but something layered and wrong, jagged rock fused with something almost organic, stretched together like it was never meant to exist as one piece. It pulses faintly, unevenly, like something alive trying to hold itself together.

And right in the middle of it—

the rift.

It isn’t clean. It isn’t anything close to a doorway. It looks like a tear through something living, thin and translucent, stretching slightly as if under pressure from both sides. The surface glistens faintly, shifting in a way that makes your stomach turn, like it’s breathing.

That’s where you’re going.

Nancy doesn’t hesitate.

She climbs first, stepping carefully onto the narrow railing at the edge of the platform, balancing with a steadiness that feels almost unreal considering how high up you are. Her gun is already raised, her focus locked forward as she reaches up toward the rift—

and pushes through.

The surface gives with resistance, stretching before it breaks, like forcing your way through something thin and wet, and then she’s gone—pulling herself fully into the Abyss.

For a moment, everything holds.

Then her voice cuts through from above.

“All clear!”

Relief doesn’t come. Not properly. Just movement.

“Hold this,” Dustin says quickly, shoving his nail-filled shield into Mike’s hands before stepping forward.

“Hey—” Steve’s voice cuts in immediately, sharper now, the edge of it still lingering from everything that just happened.

“Easy,” Jonathan adds from the side, watching closely.

“You ready? Ready?” Steve asks, already moving in closer behind Dustin, his hands hovering near him, ready to catch if he slips.

“Yeah,” Dustin answers, though it sounds a little forced.

“Okay, easy. Easy. I got you, man.”

Dustin climbs up onto the railing, wobbling for half a second before Steve and Lucas steady him, hands bracing, guiding without pushing. He glances up once, takes a breath, and mutters, “All right, here goes nothing,” before reaching up and forcing his way through.

The rift stretches around him before giving, swallowing him into the space beyond.

You watch him disappear, your pulse picking up again, your attention drawn back to that thin, shifting surface.

Steve moves next—but not immediately through.

He turns to you first.

His hand finds yours again, tighter this time, more deliberate, like he needs to feel that you’re still there before anything else happens. His eyes flick over you quickly, checking—really checking—in a way that hasn’t quite settled since you slipped.

“You with me?” he asks, quieter now, but more intense.

You nod, even if your chest still feels tight.

“Yeah.”

He holds your gaze for half a second longer, like he’s making sure, before giving a small nod back. His grip lingers just a moment more before he lets go and climbs up onto the railing, steadying himself before reaching up and pushing through the rift.

And then he’s gone.

Your turn.

You step forward, your movements slower now, more aware as you climb onto the railing. The height presses in around you again, the space beneath you far too open, far too easy to fall into if you let your focus slip for even a second.

You don’t look down.

You can’t.

The rift is right there in front of you now, close enough to see every detail—the way it shifts, the way it stretches, the way it almost seems to react to your presence.

You lift your hand. Your fingers brush against it.

It’s warm. Slick.

Wrong in a way that makes your stomach twist immediately, like touching something that shouldn’t feel alive but does.

Your breath catches slightly.

Then—

“Hey.”

Steve’s voice comes from the other side, slightly muffled but clear enough.

Grounding.

“I’ve got you. Come on.”

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself, before pushing your hand through. The surface resists at first, stretching around your fingers before giving, the sensation crawling up your arm as you force yourself forward. Your shoulder follows, then the rest of you, the resistance snapping away as you break through completely—

And immediately—

you’re pulled.

Steve’s hands are on you the second you’re through, one gripping your arm, the other wrapping around your waist, pulling you fully into him before you even have the chance to lose your balance. The movement is quick, instinctive, like he didn’t trust the ground beneath you—or you—to hold steady on your own.

You stumble into him, your body catching against his chest as he steadies you, his grip firm, almost too tight.

For a second, he doesn’t let go.

Not immediately.

His hands stay where they are, like he’s making sure—again—that you’re actually here, that you made it through, that you didn’t just—

His jaw tightens slightly as he exhales, his forehead dipping just a fraction closer to yours before he pulls back enough to look at you properly.

“You’re good,” he says, quieter now, more to himself than anything else.

You nod, your hand still gripping his shirt without realising it.

“I’m good.”

It takes him a second.

Then he loosens his grip—but not completely.

Not yet.

Around you, the others begin to pull through one by one, the sound of movement returning as the group gathers again, but the space feels different now.

Heavier.

The Abyss.

It isn’t like the Upside Down—not entirely. Everything feels denser here, like the air itself is pressing in around you, harder to breathe, harder to move through. The ground beneath your feet is uneven and jagged, stretching out in strange, unnatural formations, and the sky above isn’t really a sky at all—just layers of broken terrain and darkness suspended in ways that don’t make sense.

It feels like standing inside something that’s falling apart.

“Holy shit,” Dustin breathes somewhere to your left.

You glance over, seeing him staring out at everything, wide-eyed, his voice carrying the same disbelief you feel settling in your chest.

Nancy stands ahead, already scanning the area, her gun raised, her focus sharp.

“Does this officially make us space travelers?” she asks, her tone quieter now, edged with something between disbelief and adrenaline.

“Interdimensional space travelers,” Mike corrects as he climbs through behind you.

Lucas pulls himself up next, taking one look around before letting out a short breath.

“Suck it, Armstrong.”

A faint, almost disbelieving exhale leaves you, something close to a laugh threatening for half a second before it fades.

Because the ground doesn’t feel stable. Because the air still feels wrong. Because somewhere deeper in this place—

he’s still there.

And now— you’re in his world.

_____________________________

The ground beneath your feet shifts with every step—not unstable, not enough to throw you off balance, but wrong. The sand is too fine in places, too coarse in others, the rock formations jagged and uneven like they were forced upward instead of formed naturally, everything stretching out around you in muted tones of ash and rust under that unnatural orange glow pouring down from the sky.

It doesn’t feel like the Upside Down. That place had always felt familiar in a twisted way, like a reflection gone wrong, but this feels like somewhere that was never meant to exist at all. The air is heavier here, warmer too, pressing faintly against your skin as you move with the group, your eyes scanning the landscape without really knowing what you’re supposed to be looking for—anything, something, a sign of him, of where this ends.

You walk near the back of the group, your steps slower than the others—not because you can’t keep up, but because your attention keeps drifting, pulling between the ground beneath you and the sky above like you’re waiting for something to shift again. Steve stays close, closer than before—not hovering, not obvious, but there, always just within reach, like if you moved even slightly he’d notice. Jonathan walks on your other side, quieter than usual, his gaze fixed ahead as the three of you trail behind the others.

“Don’t know about you guys,” Lucas calls from the front, breaking the silence, “but I was expecting more like—”

“Deadly vines?” Will offers.

“Or monsters?” Mike adds.

“I assume the hive mind works here too,” Dustin says, his voice carrying back toward you. “So if Henry died, so did all his nasty, little minions.”

Will hesitates slightly. “If?”

Dustin exhales. “We don’t know what’s going on in the mind. I know El broke the spell and stopped the Abyss, but she could still be fighting him.”

You glance toward Mike, catching the shift in his expression even from behind—worry settling in.

“Hey,” Will adds quickly, trying to steady it, “she’s been training for this. And she’s not alone. She’s got Kali and Max. And I’m sure Henry’s dead. And if he’s not—he will be.”

“Yeah,” Mike mutters.

“Great job keeping the morale up,” Lucas says dryly, reaching over to slap Dustin on the shoulder.

The conversation fades back into quiet after that, the weight of it settling in the air again as you keep moving forward. You glance sideways, noticing Steve hasn’t said a word—not since the tower, not since—

Your chest tightens slightly.

“Hey.”

Your voice is soft, just enough to reach him, and he looks at you immediately.

“Thought you were a goner back there.”

There’s no humour in it, no teasing edge—just something raw, real.

“Honey, I’m here—”

“But you almost weren’t,” he cuts in, his voice lower now, tighter. “I should’ve held onto you or something tighter—”

You stop just enough to interrupt him, turning fully toward him as the rest of the group keeps moving ahead. Without thinking, you reach for him and pull him into you.

“But you got me,” you say softly, your arms wrapping around him tightly. “You got me. I’m okay.”

For a second, he doesn’t move, and then you feel it—the tension in him shifts. Not gone, but easing as his head dips slightly into your shoulder and he nods once, his breath still uneven.

“Okay.”

You pull back slowly, your hand lingering briefly against his arm before you gesture ahead. “Come on.”

You both move again, closing the distance between you and the others as you fall back into step, reaching Jonathan as Steve slows slightly beside him.

“Hey, man.”

Jonathan glances over. “Hey.”

Steve exhales like he’s been holding something back. “Look—I just want to say… I’m sorry if I’ve been, you know… a dick to you or anything.”

Jonathan’s expression shifts, not softening completely but changing enough. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Look, just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean anything right now. And I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna need you up here.”

Steve huffs a quiet breath, nodding slightly. “I don’t blame you, by the way. For not liking me. You know, I can be a real prick sometimes.”

Jonathan lets out a small, almost amused exhale. “Yeah. I mean, same.”

There’s a pause before he continues, more serious now. “Look, Steve… when I was away in California, you were there for Y/N when I just, wasn’t.”

Your steps slow just slightly as you hear every word.

“And I thought that, you know… she changed too. Became like you used to be,” Jonathan adds. “But the truth is, I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with you.”

Steve lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, his gaze flicking toward you instinctively. “If we hadn’t been so busy fighting, I probably could’ve made it a bit easier,” he admits. “Because… I’ve known for a while now that if me and Y/N are ever going to work, I need you to like me. And I’ve got a long list of life plans with that girl.”

Jonathan snorts slightly. “Like six little nuggets?”

You almost choke on a breath.

“She told you that?” Steve shoots back. “You think it’s a bit much?”

“Maybe just don’t call them nuggets.”

“Right,” Steve mutters, then softer, more serious—“Listen… bottom line, end of the day, I… I love her.”

Your chest tightens.

“And you’re her family. And… I’m sorry. For everything.”

Jonathan studies him for a second, then nods. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

Steve exhales, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess we can agree on one thing.”

His gaze finds you again.

“She’s pretty special.”

Jonathan follows his line of sight. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I still don’t fully like you, though.”

Steve huffs a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. For now.”

“Hey, lovebirds!”

Robin’s voice cuts through from ahead, pulling all of your attention forward. “You’re gonna wanna check this out.”

The tone of it shifts something immediately, and you all pick up the pace as Steve and Jonathan move ahead, you following close behind. Your eyes lift as you round the bend—

And then you see it.

It rises from the ground like something grown rather than built, massive and twisted, a towering structure of jagged, root-like formations spiraling upward into a hollow center. The surface looks fused together, like bone and rock and something else entirely, stretching skyward in uneven, clawing shapes that curve inward toward the top.

It looks like a cage. Or a nest. Something meant to hold something inside.

The orange light casts long, warped shadows across it, making it seem like it’s moving even when it isn’t.

Steve exhales beside you. “Jesus Christ.”

“That’s it,” Will says quietly, but certain. “That’s what I saw in my vision. The kids are in there.”

Nancy steps forward immediately. “Then what are we waiting for?”

She doesn’t hesitate—she just moves, and the rest of you follow without thinking as the structure looms closer with every step.

Steve’s hand finds yours again as you walk, his grip firm, steady—

not letting go.

Not this time.

And not again.

______________________________

The structure gets bigger the closer you get to it.

From a distance it had looked massive, unnatural—but manageable, something you could approach and understand once you got closer. But now, as you walk toward it, it doesn’t feel like that anymore. It feels wrong, like it’s growing as you approach, its jagged, root-like formations stretching upward and inward, twisting around each other like something alive trying to cage whatever sits at its center.

The orange light above bleeds down over everything, casting long, warped shadows that shift as you move, making the whole place feel like it’s breathing.

You stay toward the back of the group, your steps steady but slower than they had been earlier, your attention pulled between the structure ahead and the space around you. Steve is still close—closer than usual—his presence constant at your side even when he’s not touching you, while Jonathan walks just beside him, quieter now, with Will and Joyce trailing just behind.

Robin drifts closer to you without really thinking about it.

“So,” she starts, her voice just a little too bright, a little too fast, “I don’t know about you, but this whole ‘interdimensional desert of doom’ vibe? Not exactly what I pictured when we signed up for, you know, saving the world again.”

You glance at her. She’s not really looking at you—her eyes scanning ahead, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the radio at her side.

“I was thinking more vines,” she continues, nodding to herself. “Creepy, gross, very on brand. Maybe some bats. Definitely bats. This? This feels like we accidentally walked into, like, the world’s worst geology field trip.”

A faint breath escapes you despite everything. “Yeah… little less nature documentary.”

“Right?” she says quickly, latching onto it. “Like, where’s the theme? Where’s the consistency? Pick a lane, Henry.”

She exhales, just slightly, her shoulders dropping a fraction, and you know it’s not really about the Abyss—it’s about not thinking too hard. You get it.

Your gaze drifts forward again, the structure looming closer with every step, your chest tightening just slightly as the scale of it becomes harder to ignore.

Then something shifts.

It’s subtle at first—you feel it more than see it. A pause, a change in the movement behind you.

You glance back.

Will has stopped.

Completely still.

Your brow furrows, but before you can say anything—

“Hey! Will! Will!”

Mike’s voice cuts through the space, sharp and immediate, and everything stops.

You turn fully now, your stomach dropping as you see Mike rushing back toward him, the rest of you following without hesitation.

“Will!”

Joyce is already there, her voice breaking slightly as she reaches him.

You close the distance quickly, dropping down beside the others as Will blinks hard, his expression distant for half a second before it sharpens again.

“Hey,” Mike says, hovering close, his hand near Will’s arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You watch him carefully, something in your chest tightening as you take in the look on his face. He’s here—but not fully.

“It’s Henry,” Will says.

Your stomach drops.

“He’s alive.”

A beat passes before Will suddenly drops to his knees, the movement abrupt enough to make you flinch as your hand instinctively reaches forward before stopping short. His breathing shifts—uneven but controlled—his body tense like he’s fighting something you can’t see.

“Will—” Joyce’s voice is tight now. “What’s going on? What do you see?”

Will doesn’t look at her. His eyes are fixed somewhere else entirely.

“It’s Henry,” he says again, quieter now. “He’s made it into the cave.”

Your chest tightens.

“He’s found them,” Will continues. “He’s found Holly and the kids.”

The words settle heavily between all of you.

Mike leans in slightly, urgency cutting through his voice. “Okay—what about El? Do you see El? Or Kali? Or Max?”

Will’s jaw tightens. “They’re alone.”

The words hit harder than anything else.

“They’re all alone.”

Silence follows.

Robin shifts slightly beside you. “Could you stop him?” she asks quietly. “With your powers?”

Will exhales slowly. “I can try. Just keep going.”

No one moves—not immediately.

You all look at each other—at Nancy, at Steve, at Jonathan, at Mike—no one wanting to be the one to move first, no one wanting to leave him behind when he looks like this.

Joyce makes the decision for you.

“Go,” she says, her voice firm despite everything. “Go!”

You hesitate for half a second longer, your eyes flicking back to Will before you push yourself to your feet, your movements slower now, heavier.

Steve’s hand finds yours immediately.

You don’t look at him. You don’t need to.

You just hold on.

The group starts moving again—Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Nancy, Robin, Steve, Jonathan—and you.

Back toward the structure.

Toward whatever is waiting inside.

Toward him.

And even as you move forward, even as the distance between you and Will grows, you can still feel it—that shift in the air, that pull—like something has already begun.

And you’re already late.

_________________

You don’t walk anymore—not after what Will said, not after knowing he’s there, really there. The shift happens without anyone saying it out loud; one second you’re moving forward, tense and focused, and the next—you’re running.

Boots slam against the uneven ground, sand kicking up behind you as the entire group surges forward at once, the structure looming larger with every step, every breath burning sharper in your chest as urgency replaces everything else. You don’t think, you don’t question—you just run.

Steve is right beside you, close enough that your arms brush with every stride, Jonathan just ahead of you, the rest of the group spread out in front, all of you pushing toward the same point—toward him, toward the end.

The structure grows fast now, its twisted, root-like limbs towering above you until it fills your entire field of vision. The orange light catches along its jagged edges, casting long, warped shadows that move in ways that don’t quite match your steps.

Something about it feels off.

Your pace falters slightly—not enough to stop, but enough to notice—because it’s not still. It’s moving, subtly at first, like something shifting under the surface, but the closer you get the more obvious it becomes. The long, jagged limbs twitch, the structure itself pulsing faintly like something beneath it is trying to break free.

“Nancy—” someone breathes.

She stops first, sharp and sudden, and the rest of you follow immediately, boots skidding as you pull up behind her, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

You’re close now. Too close.

The structure towers above you, and now that you’re standing still you can see it properly—the way it shifts, the way it twitches, like it’s alive.

Your stomach drops.

A low, deep sound begins to build somewhere inside it—not loud, not yet, but enough to make the ground beneath your feet vibrate faintly. No one speaks, no one moves.

And then—it happens.

One of the massive limbs jerks violently and slams down.

The impact is instant and brutal, the ground shaking hard beneath you as the force sends you dropping instinctively, your hands catching yourself just before you hit fully. Dust and debris explode outward, the air thick with it as more movement follows—more limbs, more shifts.

The entire structure begins to unravel.

Not collapse—unravel.

Jagged pieces peel away from each other, twisting and pulling free as if something enormous is forcing itself out from inside, the sound of splitting and tearing filling the air as the ground trembles harder beneath you.

You scramble backward, your hand grabbing onto Steve instinctively as another section crashes down just feet away, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground.

“Holy shit—” Dustin breathes.

But it doesn’t stop.

It keeps unfolding, expanding, until finally—you see it.

The shape beneath.

Not a structure. Not a cage.

A body.

Massive. Towering.

The jagged limbs weren’t holding something—they were something, shifting and stretching, reforming into something far worse as the full shape reveals itself: an enormous, sprawling entity, its limbs long and unnatural, its form twisting like smoke given substance, like something that doesn’t fully belong in this world.

The Mind Flayer.

Not a shadow. Not a presence.

A physical form.

Right in front of you.

Your breath catches, your body locking in place because it’s too big, too real, too alive.

It moves—slow at first, then faster—as its limbs stretch outward and its full form rises, unfolding as a sound builds deep within it.

A roar.

It tears through the air, loud and violent, shaking the ground beneath you as the force slams into you like a wave. Wind bursts outward, blasting dust and debris across the ground, forcing you to brace as your body is pushed back and the air is ripped from your lungs.

You can’t move. You can’t think.

All you can do is stare.

“Run!” Dustin yells.

And just like that—everything snaps back into motion.

_______________________

You run.

There’s no time to think, no time to look back properly—just instinct, just movement, just the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as the ground shakes beneath every step. Behind you, it follows.

The Mind Flayer doesn’t just move—it collides with the world around it, its massive limbs slamming into the ground with devastating force, each impact sending shockwaves through the earth like explosions going off behind you.

“Run! Run! Run!” Mike shouts from somewhere ahead.

You push harder, your lungs burning now, your legs threatening to give under you as the air fills with dust and debris, the sound of roaring and screeching tearing through everything.

Then—impact.

A limb crashes down just beside Dustin, the force throwing him sideways as his body slams into the ground and the earth splits beneath the strike.

“Dustin!” Steve shouts, panic ripping through his voice.

You barely have time to react. The limb lifts again and comes down fast—too fast—but Lucas is already moving.

He throws himself forward, grabbing Dustin and rolling with him across the ground just as the limb crashes down where they were a second ago, debris flying in every direction.

“Come on! Come on!” Lucas yells, scrambling to his feet and dragging Dustin with him.

“Let’s go!” Steve shouts, turning back toward you for half a second, his hand reaching out, making sure you’re still there. “Come on!”

“Shit!” Dustin gasps, stumbling but moving as adrenaline kicks him back into motion.

The roar behind you grows louder, closer, the ground trembling again—

and then everything stops.

Not by choice.

By force.

The limbs slam down around you one after another, massive and unavoidable, crashing into the ground in a wide circle and boxing you in as dust explodes upward, forcing all of you to stumble to a halt.

You turn slowly.

All of you do.

Because there’s nowhere else to look.

The Mind Flayer towers above you, its full form stretching in a way that feels impossible, its limbs curling and shifting as it lowers itself toward you—watching, hunting.

The roar that follows shakes through your chest, the pressure of it forcing you back a step as your hand instinctively finds Steve’s again.

This is it—

and then something slams into it.

A massive boulder collides with the creature’s head from the side, jerking its body back as debris scatters outward.

You turn sharply.

“Come on, go! Go, go, go!” Jonathan shouts.

Movement snaps back into place instantly.

You run—all of you—breaking through the gap as the creature recoils, boots hitting the ground hard as you push forward again, not stopping, not looking back—

until it turns.

The Mind Flayer shifts, its massive form twisting away from you—toward something else, toward someone else.

You slow.

Everyone does.

Because Mike stops.

And when he does—you see her.

El.

She stands alone in the distance, small against the massive scale of the creature, unmoving and unshaken as its focus locks entirely onto her.

Your breath catches.

She doesn’t hesitate.

She runs straight toward it.

“No—” someone breathes, but it’s too late.

The creature rears back, its mouth opening wide, jagged and wrong—and El jumps. Not falling, not like before—flying.

She launches herself upward with her powers, rising fast as the creature lunges—

and then she disappears.

Straight into it.

Through it.

Inside.

The world holds for half a second.

Then—

“She’s hurting it,” Lucas says.

“How?” Jonathan asks.

“She’s fighting Vecna,” Mike answers, his voice tight.

“Hive mind,” Robin adds

Mike turns, urgency snapping back into place. “We have to help her.”

Nancy doesn’t hesitate. “How?”

“The hive mind works both ways,” Mike says quickly. “If we hurt the Mind Flayer, we hurt Vecna.”

Robin exhales. “What—hurt Godzilla over there?”

“The only way to damage anything of that scale,” Dustin says, stepping forward, his voice steadier now, “we spread out. Flank it on all sides. Just chip away at its hit points.”

“‘Hit points’?” Steve mutters. “What are you talking about?”

“There,” Lucas says, pointing toward the surrounding cliffs. “One of us draws it to that canyon. The rest take positions up there.” He turns back to all of you. “Ambush it from above.”

“Which one of us is bait?” Robin asks quietly.

No one answers.No one wants to.

You all look at each other—fear, hesitation, understanding passing between you without words.

Then—Nancy steps forward.

“I am.”

There’s no hesitation, no doubt. She moves before anyone can argue, lifting her gun as she walks toward the creature.

The Mind Flayer lets out a low, echoing wail.Nancy raises her weapon—and fires.The shots crack through the air, sharp and deliberate, drawing the creature’s attention immediately as it shifts toward her, its focus locking in.

She glances back once.“Go! Go!”

The words hit like a command.

You don’t want to move.

None of you do.

Jonathan lingers the longest, his feet rooted as he watches her, something breaking through his composure—but Steve steps in, tapping his chest once before motioning forward.

“Come on.”

It’s enough.

You move, all of you turning and running toward the canyon as the creature behind you grows louder, closer as it begins to pursue—Nancy’s shots echoing behind you until they stop.

You glance back once.

She’s running now, following you—but the creature is faster. Closer. Too close.

Jonathan stops.

“No!”

“Jonathan—no, no!” Robin grabs him, her voice breaking. “There’s nothing we can do! Come on, please!”

The moment hangs—fragile, terrifying—

because behind him, the monster is coming.

___________________________

You don’t stop moving.

Even as the plan forms, even as everyone splits into position, your body is already reacting—already running, already shifting with the others as everything falls into place.

You, Steve, and Dustin break off to the side of the canyon, cutting low along the edge where the rock juts out just enough to give you cover. Your boots skid slightly on the loose sand as you press yourselves against the stone, your chest rising and falling as you turn back—

And watch.

Nancy is still running. She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t hesitate. She sprints straight for the narrow opening ahead, disappearing deeper into the canyon where the gap tightens—too small, too confined for something that massive to follow cleanly.

Behind her—

the Mind Flayer closes in. Fast. Too fast.

Your breath catches as you hold still beside Steve and Dustin, all three of you watching, hearts pounding, the sound of it tearing across the ground filling the air.

“Come on…” Dustin mutters under his breath.

The creature reaches the canyon.

It doesn’t stop. It lunges forward—

Then suddenly recoils.

Its massive body jerks back slightly, limbs scraping against the canyon edges as if the space resists it, as if it can’t quite force itself fully inside. It pulls back, shifting, repositioning—angry, confused, searching for another angle.

And then—

fire.

A massive blast of flame pours down from above, slamming into its upper body as it lets out a screech that rattles through the canyon walls.

Jonathan.

You spot him immediately, braced at the edge above, the flamethrower roaring in his hands as he aims downward, relentless.

“Yes!” Dustin breathes.

Another explosion—

Robin.

Molotovs shatter across the creature’s surface, fire blooming fast, spreading across its form as it writhes and pulls back further, recoiling from the heat.

On the other side—

Lucas and Mike.

Lucas flings another balloon, the liquid bursting across its body just as Mike fires the flare gun— The flare hits. Ignites. Flames crawl fast over its surface.

The Mind Flayer roars, its entire body thrashing now, pulling itself away from the canyon, backing up into the open space as it tries to escape the concentrated assault from above.

This is the moment.

Steve moves.

You follow.

All three of you sprint out from cover and straight into the chaos beneath it, the heat slamming into you immediately, the air thick with smoke as you duck low and race under its massive frame.

“Look out! Look out!” Steve shouts.

A limb crashes down behind you, close enough to feel the shockwave ripple through your legs as you keep moving, not stopping until—

you’re under it.

And then— you see it.

The underside is worse. Clusters of swollen, pulsing sacs hang beneath it, slick and glistening, shifting with horrible, squeaking sounds as thick slime drips down in strands. It’s alive.

Too alive.

“This is for Eddie, you son of a bitch!” Dustin shouts, lunging forward and driving his weapon into one of the sacs—

It bursts. Dark fluid explodes outward, splattering across all of you as the creature shrieks above.

“For Eddie!” you shout, pushing forward, stabbing again, feeling the resistance give as another sac splits beneath your weapon.

Steve is beside you, striking hard and fast, relentless, his movements sharp and controlled despite the chaos raining down around you.

Above— Fire. Explosions. Gunfire.

The Mind Flayer recoils again, backing up further now, its movements less coordinated as the attacks hit from every direction, its massive body shifting erratically as something inside it begins to fail.

You feel it.

Something changing. Something breaking. The ground trembles differently now.

Its movements falter—

stutter—

And then—

it starts to collapse.

“Run! Run!” Steve shouts immediately, grabbing your arm and pulling you back as the creature’s body gives, its massive form folding inward as it loses control.

“Shit—shit—shit!” Dustin yells, already scrambling away.

You run.

All three of you sprint out from beneath it as it comes down, the sound deafening as the ground shakes violently beneath you, debris crashing down behind you as you barely clear the space—

The impact hits hard. Everything rattles. Dust fills the air.

And then—

silence.

Not complete. But enough.

The roaring stops.

The movement—

stops.

Your chest heaves as you turn slowly back, your eyes lifting toward the massive form now collapsed behind you—

Still. Finally— still.

_________________________

For a moment after it falls, the world doesn’t feel real.

The roar is gone—completely gone—and the silence that follows is so sudden, so absolute, that it almost feels louder than the chaos that came before it. Your ears ring faintly as your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, your body still braced for something that isn’t happening anymore.

The ground has stopped shaking.

The air has settled.

And the massive, impossible body of the Mind Flayer—something that had filled the sky, that had hunted you, that had nearly crushed you—now lies collapsed across the canyon, unmoving. Its limbs are sprawled at unnatural angles, its form slack and lifeless in a way that doesn’t quite register at first, like your mind hasn’t caught up with what your eyes are seeing.

You stand there, breathing hard, your grip still tight around your weapon, your hands slick with sweat and something darker, something that hasn’t fully dried yet.

Slowly, you turn your head. Steve is right there.

His chest is rising and falling just as hard as yours, his hair stuck slightly to his forehead, his clothes streaked with dirt and dark slime, his eyes already on you—checking, searching, making sure you’re still standing, still here.

Dustin is just ahead, bent slightly at the waist as he catches his breath, muttering something under it that sounds half like disbelief and half like relief.

Around you, the others begin to move.

Cautiously at first, like none of you fully trust that it’s over. Figures climb down from the canyon walls, boots scraping against rock as they make their way back to the ground, all of you drawn toward the same place— the opening.

The wound in the creature’s chest. Where El went.

Nancy doesn’t hesitate. She’s already moving before anyone else fully processes it, her steps quick and purposeful as she reaches the edge of the opening and disappears inside without a second thought.

“Come on,” Steve says, his voice lower now, but steady, his hand brushing yours briefly as he moves forward.

You follow. You all do.

Stepping inside is like stepping into something that shouldn’t exist. The air is thicker, warmer, carrying a damp, metallic scent that clings to the back of your throat as you move deeper, your boots sinking slightly into the uneven, organic ground beneath you. Everything around you pulses faintly, like the inside of something that was once alive—and now entirely dead.

It’s quieter here. Too quiet.

“El!” Nancy’s voice breaks through the stillness, sharp and full of something that sounds dangerously close to fear.

You move faster, your pulse jumping as you round the curve of the hollow space— And there she is. El. Standing. Alive.

Nancy reaches her in seconds, pulling her into a tight embrace, the kind that isn’t just relief but something deeper—something that says you’re still here, you made it, you’re okay. El holds onto her just as tightly, her shoulders tense before they finally begin to ease.

“Is everyone okay?” she asks as she pulls back, her voice quieter now, but urgent.

Nancy nods quickly—

But then her gaze shifts. Freezes.

You follow it instinctively. And your breath catches.

Holly.

She’s barely visible beneath it all—covered in that same thin, suffocating layer, something wrapped around her, fused to her, a tendril still attached at her mouth like it’s holding her in place.

Nancy is already moving again.

“Holly—”

She drops to her knees beside her sister, her hands shaking just slightly as she tears at the layer around her, ripping it away without hesitation, pulling at the tendrils with a kind of desperation that comes from not knowing how much time she has.

“Holly? Holly, can you hear me? Holly?”

You don’t stay still.

None of you do.

Everyone spreads out instinctively, moving to the others, pulling them free from the walls, tearing away the same suffocating material, helping them down one by one.

“Come on—come on—”

And then—

Holly’s body jerks.

A harsh, choking sound rips from her throat as she gags, her chest heaving as something dark begins to spill out of her mouth—black, ash-like particles that rise into the air, drifting upward and out, like something leaving her all at once.

“Nancy—!”

“Nancy?” her voice is small. Weak. Real.

Relief hits like a wave.

“Yeah—yeah, it’s me,” Nancy breathes, pulling her close immediately, her arms wrapping around her tightly. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Holly clings to her just as hard.

“Holly? Hey—hey!”

Mike rushes in, dropping down beside them, his arms wrapping around both of them as his voice cracks with relief.

Around you, the same thing is happening again and again—kids waking, coughing, gasping, crying as they’re pulled free, as whatever had them finally lets go.

You and Steve move together without needing to say it.

You find Derek.

He’s slumped slightly, his body heavy as you pull him free, his head lolling forward before his chest jerks with a sudden gasp. The same dark particles spill from his mouth, drifting upward as he coughs hard, his body trembling as he tries to breathe properly again.

You steady him between you, one arm around his back as Steve supports him from the other side, helping him sit upright.

“Where… where am I?” he asks, his voice barely there, his eyes unfocused without his glasses.

“You’re safe,” Steve says immediately, his hand firm against Derek’s back, grounding him. “You’re safe, bud, okay? We’re here to get you home.”

The words land.

Derek doesn’t hesitate.

He throws his arms around both of you, clinging tightly like letting go might mean losing it all again.

“Whoa—hey,” Steve exhales, surprised but steady as he holds him there anyway. “I got you, bud. I got you. It’s okay.”

You wrap your arm around him too, your hand pressing gently against his back, letting him feel it—feel that he’s here, that he’s safe, that it’s over.

And then—

you hear it.

A sound that doesn’t belong to relief. Wet. Broken. Coughing.

You turn slowly.

Vecna.

What’s left of him is still there, pinned where he fell, impaled through the torso, his body barely holding itself upright as he coughs, dark blood spilling from his mouth with every laboured breath.

The entire space stills again. No one speaks. No one moves.

Except Joyce.

She steps forward with the axe already in her hand, her grip tight, her expression set in a way that leaves no room for hesitation.

She walks right up to him, stopping just close enough to meet his eyes as he struggles to lift his head.

“You fucked with the wrong family.”

He lets out a low, broken growl. It doesn’t matter. She swings.

The sound of it landing echoes through the space, sharp and final, and she doesn’t stop—again, and again, each strike driven by something deeper than anger, something built over years of fear and loss and fighting to hold onto what matters.

You can’t look away. None of you can.

Because as she does— it hits.

Memories. Not just hers. All of yours.

Flashes, fast and sharp, cutting through your mind—

The Upside Down. The fear. The endless running. The fighting. The loss—

Eddie.

You’re back there for a split second, the world red and wrong around you, your knees hitting the ground as you see him lying there, unmoving, your chest caving in on itself as the reality hits—

Steve’s arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you into him, holding you there even as everything around you felt like it was breaking—

You blink—

Joyce swings again.

And this time—

Vecna doesn’t move. His body slackens. His head— falls.

Rolling just slightly before going still.

The silence that follows is different. It doesn’t press in on you. It doesn’t wait.

It just… is.

Your breathing slows. Your grip loosens.

And for the first time since this all began—

there’s nothing left to fight. It’s over—finally, completely over.

______________________

Getting back doesn’t feel real.

One minute you’re standing inside the hollowed-out remains of something that should never have existed, the air thick with smoke and silence and the weight of it’s over—and the next, you’re moving again. All of you. Not running this time, not frantic, but still not quite steady either, like your bodies don’t fully trust that it’s safe to slow down.

The path back blurs together.

Out of the creature. Through the canyon. Across that strange, endless stretch of the Abyss that now feels quieter—emptier—like something essential has been ripped out of it. The orange glow still hangs above, but it doesn’t feel as heavy anymore, like the world itself is loosening its grip.

And then— the rift.

That thin, slick tear in reality waits where you left it, still pulsing faintly, still wrong, but now it feels like an exit instead of a threat.

One by one, you all climb through.

Back into the Upside Down.

The shift hits immediately—the air colder, thinner, more familiar in its own twisted way—and before long, you’re retracing your steps down the radio tower, your muscles protesting every movement now that the adrenaline has worn off.

It’s harder going down than it was climbing up.

Your hands ache as you grip the rungs, your legs shaky, your body finally catching up to everything it’s been pushed through. Steve stays close behind you again, just like before, his presence steady and grounding as you descend carefully, taking it one step at a time.

No one rushes. Not anymore.

By the time your boots finally hit the ground, you feel it—relief, exhaustion, something heavier all at once—as you step back from the tower, your gaze lifting instinctively.

The truck is still there. Waiting. Like it knew you’d come back.

A breath escapes you that you didn’t realise you were holding.

“Come on,” Steve says quietly, already moving toward it.

You go with him.

The back doors creak as the two of you pull them open together, the metal groaning slightly as they swing wide. The inside looks exactly how you left it—but now, it’s about to carry a lot more than it did before.

“Easy—watch your step,” you murmur as you reach up, helping one of the kids climb in, your hands steady despite the lingering tremor in your arms.

Steve is right beside you, lifting another up with ease, his voice softer now, calmer than it’s been in a long time.

“I got you—there you go.”

One by one, everyone climbs in—kids first, then the others, helping each other up, guiding, steadying, making sure no one slips, no one gets left behind.

Dustin hangs back just outside the truck, already lifting the radio. “Chief, you copy? Chief?”

There’s a crackle. Then—

“Yeah, yeah, I copy. What’s going on?”

Dustin lets out a breath that sounds halfway between relief and disbelief. “Well, the noseless bastard’s toast. We’re back in the Upside Down, and we have the kids.”

You pause for a second at that, your hand still resting against the edge of the truck as you glance toward him.

It’s done.

“...How is everybody? Is everybody okay?” Hopper’s voice comes through again.

Dustin nods, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah, the party took a hell of a beating, but we’re okay.”

“What about El?”

Dustin smiles just briefly before answering. “The whole party,” he says, a little softer now. Then, louder again—trying to bring the energy back. “So what do we say you hit the music, old man? Destroy the Upside Down once and for all. Let’s ditch this hellscape.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Then—

“Yeah. Copy that.”

That’s it. That’s the end.

You and Steve exchange a look—just for a second—but it says everything.

You push the doors closed together, the metal slamming shut with a final, solid sound that echoes just slightly in the quiet.

And then— you both smile.

Not wide. Not over the top.

Just… real.

Tired. Relieved. Alive.

“C’mon,” Steve says, nodding toward the front.

You follow him around the truck, your steps slower now, heavier, but lighter in a way that’s hard to explain. He climbs into the driver’s seat, the familiar movement grounding after everything you’ve just been through, and you slide into the passenger side beside him.

For a second, neither of you move.

Then Steve reaches forward, turning the key. The engine roars to life.

And for the first time in what feels like forever—

you’re going home.

____________________________

The drive starts loud.

Not because of the engine, not because of the road—but because of them.

The back of the truck is alive with noise, with movement, with something that sounds so unfamiliar after everything you’ve just been through that it almost takes a second to recognise it for what it is.

Relief.

Laughter spills over itself, messy and uncontained, voices overlapping as the kids talk all at once, some of them still shaky, some of them borderline hysterical, all of them riding that fragile line between we made it and I can’t believe we made it.

The smell hits you harder now that everything’s slowed down, now that adrenaline isn’t drowning it out. It clings to your clothes, your skin, something thick and sour and almost burnt, mixed with something organic that makes your stomach turn if you think about it too long.

You don’t.

Instead, you reach forward and wind the window down.

The air that rushes in isn’t clean—not even close—but it’s moving, cold and sharp against your face, carrying that familiar, ash-laced edge of the Upside Down that somehow still feels better than whatever is coating you.

“What are you doing?” Steve glances over at you, one hand steady on the wheel, the other tightening slightly as the wind pushes into the cab. “You’re gonna let more of that crap in here.”

“It’s either that or I pass out,” you shoot back, leaning slightly toward the open window, desperate for anything that isn’t that smell. “Because we smell like—” you pause, genuinely trying to find a word for it, “I actually don’t know what we smell like, but it’s bad.”

Steve lets out a quiet huff of a laugh under his breath, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, glancing back at the road, “you’re lucky I love you and don’t tell you that you stink too.”

You turn your head toward him, a tired, disbelieving smile pulling at your lips.

“Oh, please,” you nudge his shoulder lightly with yours. “You’re just as bad.”

“Excuse you,” he shoots back, but there’s no real argument behind it—just something softer, lighter than anything that’s come out of his mouth in a long time.

For a moment—

it feels normal.

The road stretches out ahead, the dark, twisted version of Hawkins rolling past as the truck hums steadily beneath you. Behind you, the noise continues—laughter, voices, someone starting to retell something that just happened like they already can’t believe it’s real.

Alive. All of you.

And then—

a horn. Loud. Sharp. Cutting through everything.

You and Steve both turn instinctively.

Headlights flare up beside you, bright beams slicing through the darkness as a military humvee tears up alongside the truck, engine roaring as it pulls level with you—

And inside— Murray. Hopper.

Both of them leaning forward, grinning like absolute idiots as Murray slams his hand down on the horn again.

HONK. HONK.

They’re laughing. Actually laughing.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath.

“Are you kidding me—” Steve exhales, shaking his head.

“Assholes,” you both say at the same time.

The humvee surges ahead of you, dust kicking up in its wake as it overtakes, and for a second, it almost feels like something out of another life—like you’re just driving, just heading somewhere normal, just—

Home.

The gate comes into view ahead, flickering and unstable but still open, still waiting. Steve doesn’t slow. He drives straight for it.

The world shifts as you pass through, the air snapping back into something real, something closer to home—

And then—

POP.

The sound is sharp. Violent. The truck jerks hard beneath you.

Then another—

POP.

“Watch out!” you shout, your hand flying to the dashboard as the wheel yanks in Steve’s grip.

The tires blow out completely.

The truck swerves, violently, the back fishtailing as Steve fights it, his jaw tightening, both hands locked on the wheel as he tries to wrestle control back—

The world spins just slightly—

Then—

the truck slams to a stop. Hard.

“Everyone okay?” Mike’s voice calls from the back, tense now, the laughter gone in an instant.

You barely have time to breathe. The back doors are ripped open.

Soldiers flood in immediately, boots hitting the ground hard, hands grabbing, pulling people out without warning.

“Everyone put your hands up!” one of them shouts. “I said, hands up! Move!”

“Hey—get off me!” Mike snaps.

“Get down! Get down!” another yells. “Hands up! Now!”

“Oh, wow!” you hear Murray say distantly.

“Okay—okay!” Robin’s voice follows quickly.

Your door is yanked open.

Rough hands grab you before you can react, dragging you out of the seat and forcing you forward, your body pressed hard against the front of the truck as they pin you there. “Move!”

Steve is pulled out beside you just as roughly. “Hey—don’t touch her!” he snaps immediately, twisting against the grip on him, trying to break free as he sees the way they’re handling you. “Don’t touch her!”

“Hold him!” a soldier barks.

Holly’s voice cuts through everything, high and panicked. “Nancy!”

“No—no, that’s my sister!” Nancy shouts, struggling against the soldiers. “Let go of me!”

“Yeah—yeah, okay, okay!” Lucas says quickly, hands already raised.

“Let’s go! Move!”

“Everybody up! Everybody up!”

The noise builds again, chaotic and sharp, fear replacing everything that had been there just seconds ago.

And then—

Mike’s voice. Different now. Searching.

“—El?” he calls out, turning, scanning frantically through the crowd. “Do you see El?”

___________________________

The noise doesn’t settle.

Even with soldiers shouting over one another, even with hands still gripping your arms and forcing you to stay where you are, something else cuts through it now—something sharper, something that spreads through the group like a ripple of unease before anyone fully understands why.

“El?” Mike’s voice breaks through again, louder this time, strained. “Do you see El?”

Your stomach drops immediately. You twist against the grip on you, not enough to break free but enough to look past the soldiers, past the truck, past everything—

Toward the gate.

The air around it feels wrong. It flickers faintly where the tear in reality still hangs open, unstable now in a way it hadn’t been before, like the space itself is struggling to hold together.

“Sergeant!” Dr. Kay’s voice snaps sharply through the chaos. “Where’s the girl?”

“She was right here one second ago!” a soldier answers, his voice tight with confusion.

Dustin exhales quickly, trying to piece it together before panic can fully take hold. “She must have escaped.”

You hear the breath leave Mike—relief, sudden and fragile—

But it doesn’t last.

“Oh God.”

The way that it’s said is what makes something in your chest twist.

“Mike…” Dustin says again, quieter now.

Everyone turns. You follow their line of sight, your heart already racing before your eyes even land on her—

And there she is.

El stands at the edge of the gate. Still. Silent.

She isn’t looking at you. She isn’t looking at any of you.

She’s looking forward—into Hawkins, into the real world, like she’s standing on the edge of something only she can see clearly.

Your breath catches.

She hasn’t stepped through. She’s still inside it.

Which means—

“Get off me! Get off me!” Mike suddenly shouts, struggling hard against the soldiers holding him back.

And then—

He drops.

His body goes still, his eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow as he stares ahead, completely disconnected from everything around him.

You freeze. Everyone does. Because you know what this is. She’s with him. Even if you can’t see it.

Seconds stretch, longer than they should, the world holding its breath as Mike stands there, suspended somewhere between here and wherever she is.

Then he gasps, flung backwards. Like he’s been pushed back into his body.

“El!” he shouts immediately, scrambling to his feet, fighting against the soldiers grabbing him again. “El! El! El!”

Nancy tries to move toward him, panic breaking through her completely. “Mike!” she shouts, but hands grab her too, holding her back.

“Hey—don’t touch her!” Jonathan snaps, stepping forward before he’s shoved back again.

“Get off me!” Mike struggles harder, his voice breaking now. “El! El! El!”

“El, no!” Lucas shouts, his voice tight with fear.

“Eleven!” Dustin calls, louder now, desperate.

Steve shifts beside you, his body going rigid, his hand brushing yours instinctively like he’s grounding himself in the middle of something neither of you can stop.

“No!” Hopper’s voice cuts through everything, sharper than the rest, filled with something raw. “No!”

“El! El! El!” Mike keeps shouting, his voice tearing at the air.

And then—

everything changes.

At first, it’s loud. A shift in the air. A blinding light.

Your clothes tug slightly, your hair lifting just a fraction as something begins to drag—not toward the gate exactly, but toward the space it occupies, like the world itself is starting to collapse inward.

Then it gets stronger. Fast. The air rushes. Violently.

You gasp as the force of it hits you full-on, your body jerking forward as you instinctively drop, your hands slamming against the ground to keep yourself from being dragged.

Around you, everyone does the same—soldiers, kids, everyone thrown off balance as the pull intensifies, the wind howling now as it tears through the space, dragging debris, dust, anything loose toward the gate.

“Hold on!” someone shouts, but the words are nearly lost to the roar.

You press yourself down harder, your fingers digging into the ground as the force threatens to pull you forward, your arm straining as Steve’s hand locks around yours, holding tight, anchoring you.

The sound is deafening. Like the world is being ripped apart.

And still— you look.

You force yourself to lift your head just enough, your eyes straining against the pull—

El is still there. Still standing. Completely unmoved. Calm in a way that doesn’t make sense, like the chaos around her doesn’t touch her at all.

The world behind her is collapsing now—pieces of the Upside Down tearing away, disappearing into nothing, everything being dragged inward as the gate shrinks, distorts, begins to close.

“El!” Mike screams again, his voice raw, breaking.

She doesn’t move. She just looks forward. Like she’s already said goodbye.

The pull reaches its peak—

And then—

it stops. Abruptly. Completely.

The force vanishes so suddenly that your body nearly lurches forward with it, your grip slipping slightly before you catch yourself again.

Silence crashes in. Slowly, you lift your head fully now, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath, your hand still locked tightly with Steve’s as you both look toward the gate—

Or where it was. Because it’s gone. There’s nothing there.

No tear. No light. No distortion.

Just a solid brick wall, untouched, unmoved, like nothing had ever been there at all. Like none of it ever existed. Your breath catches in your throat.

No one speaks. No one moves.

Because El— She’s gone—and this time, there’s no coming back.

-----------------

taglist: @mhayes777 @jorden710 @scaramou @feathersmcgee230 @serena6728 @hopeofwinter @lilulo-12 @torntaltos @mirellef2001 @ophirei @purplerainx1 @1iliaanxz @lily-liketheflower @raajali3 @katiebby04 @lauraashley93 @matt-manhattan @that-b-word-lol @leaveonthelight29 @chervbs @asteropeavery

[thelastcitysposts]

chapter four: the sorcerer

steve harrington x fem!reader (word count: 6300)

summary: as the plan to trap the demogorgon collapses, the group is forced into the upside down in a desperate chase that leads to a terrifying discovery. stranded behind a living wall that seems to surround the entire dimension, the truth points them back to where everything began—hawkins lab. amid the chaos, you and steve hold onto each other, grounding one another as the fight against vecna grows bigger than ever.

warnings: reader gets hurt, cursing, aruging

note: little emotional note at the end :)

series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>

--------------

The car tears down the road toward McCorkle farm, the engine straining under Steve’s foot as he pushes it harder than it was ever meant to go. The world outside blurs into streaks of dark shapes and passing lights, the road barely holding still long enough to register before it’s gone again.

No one speaks at first.

Not because there’s nothing to say—but because none of you want to say it out loud.

You don’t know if they’re okay.

You don’t know what you’re about to find.

And somehow, that silence feels louder than anything else.

You lean forward slightly in your seat without realising, your eyes locked ahead, scanning for the barn—your fingers tightening instinctively against the edge of your seat as your chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

Please let them be okay.

The thought loops, unsteady, unfinished.

And then—

you see it.

The barn comes into view across the stretch of open land, and your stomach drops immediately.

The lights are going insane.

They’re not just flickering—they’re surging, flashing wildly through the windows and spilling out into the night in sharp, erratic bursts that make the entire structure feel unstable, like it’s barely holding together.

“Steve…”

Your voice is tight, quieter than you mean it to be.

“I know!”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but you feel the shift beside you as his grip tightens on the wheel and his foot presses down harder, the car surging forward with a jolt that pushes you back into your seat.

The barn gets closer—

too fast—

and then everything comes into focus all at once.

The doors are gone.

Not open—gone.

Ripped clean apart.

And just outside—

Joyce.

For one second, everything inside you goes cold.

She’s standing in front of the barn, axe in her hands, swinging hard, her movements sharp and desperate as she tries to keep distance between herself and the Demogorgon pacing in front of her. It snarls, shifting backward step by step, its body coiled, ready to strike again.

Your breath catches, your hand instinctively gripping the edge of the dashboard.

“Hold onto something!”

Steve’s voice cuts through, and before you can fully react, the car jerks forward as he swings the wheel and accelerates straight toward it.

The impact is brutal.

The Demogorgon slams against the front of the BMW with a force that rattles through the entire frame of the car, its body thrown up and over the hood before crashing down behind you with a shriek that echoes across the open field.

“Yeah, we got him! We got him!”

Dustin’s voice bursts out from the backseat, half-laughing, adrenaline spiking as he leans forward, gripping the seat in front of him.

Jonathan is braced beside him, one hand gripping the edge of the door, the other steadying himself as Steve swings the car sharply around, the tires kicking up dirt as the BMW pivots to face the Demogorgon again.

But it doesn’t stay down.

It never does.

It’s already moving.

You twist in your seat, looking back through the window as it bolts past the barn, fast and deliberate, not even hesitating—like it has somewhere to be.

Like it knows.

“Where’s it going?” Jonathan demands from the back, leaning forward slightly, eyes fixed on the movement ahead.

The Demogorgon reaches the silo—

and then it tears the air open.

A gate rips into existence in front of it, jagged and pulsing, the red glow spilling outward as it forces its way through, disappearing into the Upside Down in a single, fluid motion.

Steve doesn’t move.

Not yet.

He’s staring at the gate as it flickers, unstable, already beginning to close in on itself.

The transmitter begins to beep again, sharp and urgent.

“It flipped! It’s headed back towards us!”

Dustin is already adjusting the signal, his hands moving quickly over the controls as the machine flickers in his lap.

“Come on, what are you doing, man? We gotta turn around!” Jonathan snaps, his voice tight, leaning forward now, urgency cutting through.

“Wait.”

Steve doesn’t take his eyes off the gate.

“Gates are like Peanut Butter Boppers, right?”

“What?” you ask, your head turning toward him, confusion cutting through the tension.

“The outside is, like, crunchy and tough,” he continues, still watching the closing tear in front of you. “But bite down on it, it gives way to a gooey, creamy core.”

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?” Jonathan shoots back immediately.

“I drive fast enough,” Steve says, finally glancing forward again, “the Beamer can punch a hole into the gate—and then we can track the Demo on its home turf. In the Upside Down. Follow it back home.”

Your stomach twists.

Behind you, Dustin shakes his head, watching the signal fluctuate.

“We’re losing the signal!”

“We won’t be able to follow anything if we crash!” Jonathan adds, tension rising in his voice.

“We won’t crash if it’s like a Bopper!”

“It’s almost gone!”

Everything overlaps now—voices, movement, the ticking pressure of the gate shrinking with every second—but it all narrows down to one thing as Steve turns his head toward you.

He doesn’t say it.

But you know what he’s asking.

Your chest tightens as your gaze flicks back to the gate, then to him, then back again—the memory of the Upside Down hitting hard, the dark, the cold, the feeling of being swallowed whole by it.

You don’t want to go back.

Not there.

Not again.

But Nancy shifts beside Jonathan, leaning forward just slightly, her eyes finding yours—wide, desperate, pleading.

Holly.

This is how you end it.

You swallow, forcing the fear down as you look back at Steve.

Then the gate.

“Do it.”

The response is instant.

If this was madness, then at least it was forward.

Steve slams the clutch, shifts hard, and floors it, the BMW launching forward toward the shrinking opening.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Jesus!” Jonathan shouts from the back, gripping onto the seat as the car surges ahead.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Dustin echoes beside him.

“I got it! I got it!” Steve shouts, eyes locked ahead.

“Oh God, no! It’s not gonna work!” Dustin panics.

“We’re not gonna make it!” Jonathan adds, voice rising.

“It’s not a Bopper, stop!”

“Slow down! Jesus Christ!”

“Shit! Oh my God!”

“Hang on!”

The world compresses into speed and noise and motion as the gate closes in front of you, the edges pulling inward as the car barrels straight toward it—

Impact.

The sides of the gate slam against the car, metal screeching violently as the mirrors are ripped clean off, the space tightening around you like it’s trying to crush the car whole—

And then—

you’re through.

The shift is immediate.

The air changes first.

Then the light.

Then everything.

The world around you twists into something darker, something wrong, the sky fractured with distant lightning as the BMW bursts into the Upside Down, the ground uneven beneath the tires.

For a second, no one speaks.

Then—

“We did it! Woo!”

Dustin’s voice breaks through first, breathless, almost disbelieving as he leans forward again, gripping the seat.

Jonathan exhales sharply beside him, half-laughing, half in shock.

“Oh my God…”

“Signal?” you ask immediately, your voice cutting through the noise as you turn slightly in your seat.

“Strong!”

“Oh my God!”

“We got you, son of a bitch! We got you!”

Thunder cracks overhead.

And somewhere ahead—

the Demogorgon roars.

Steve doesn’t hesitate.

He just keeps driving.

Straight into the dark.

__________________________________

The world in the Upside Down doesn’t move the same way.

It stretches.

Warps.

The road beneath you feels uneven, like it’s barely holding together, the tires of the BMW struggling for grip as Steve pushes it faster and faster through the dead, broken landscape. The sky above flickers with distant lightning, red and black bleeding into each other as the air itself feels heavier—thicker—like it’s pressing in on all of you at once.

But Steve doesn’t slow.

He can’t.

Not now.

Not when they’re this close.

“Our boy’s taking us on a shortcut through Roane Cemetery.”

His voice cuts through the noise of the engine, tight with focus as he leans forward slightly over the wheel, eyes locked ahead.

You follow his line of sight, your stomach tightening.

“That’s almost at the county line.”

“Doesn’t this thing get tired?” Jonathan asks from the back, his voice edged with disbelief as he braces one hand against the side of the car, the other gripping the seat in front of him as the vehicle jolts over uneven ground.

“Unfortunately, it looks like the opposite,” Dustin mutters, his attention fixed on the decoder in his lap, adjusting the wheel again as the signal flickers erratically. “I think he’s speeding up.”

And then—

the numbers drop.

Fast.

Steve hears it immediately.

“Wait, what?”

“I’m losing the signal.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me!”

Nancy leans forward slightly between the seats, her voice sharp with urgency. “Can you go faster?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate.

“Let’s see.”

He shifts gears hard, the engine roaring louder as the car lurches forward again, tires screeching as he forces more speed out of it than it should have left to give.

“Henderson, you’ve gotta talk to me here. What do you got? Henderson, what—”

He glances back briefly, needing direction, needing something.

Dustin is already shaking his head, adjusting, listening, trying to catch it again.

“Wait—I’m picking up interference.”

“How is that important right now?”

“It means I can’t hear the signal.”

“Well, then listen harder.”

Dustin shoots him a look, already reaching for the headphones. “What do you mean? You wanna put these on?”

“I’m driving!”

“You do the driving, I do the navigating!”

Their voices overlap, sharp and fast, tension climbing again—but something pulls your attention away from it.

Something ahead.

You lean forward slightly in your seat, your eyes narrowing as you try to focus through the shifting, distorted air.

“What is that?”

You lean back just enough to look past Steve, your voice cutting through their argument.

Nancy shifts slightly, trying to see past him too. “I don’t know.”

Whatever it is—it’s big.

Too big.

The shape starts to form the closer you get.

A wall.

Not stone.

Not solid—

alive.

The surface moves, pulsing faintly, thick with vines and something darker threading through it, like veins, like it’s breathing.

Your chest tightens.

“Steve, slow down.”

He doesn’t hear you.

He’s still focused on Dustin, still pushing forward.

“Is he ahead of us or not?”

“Steve!”

Your voice is louder now.

Urgent.

Jonathan sees it next.

His body shifts forward instantly, one hand slamming against the back of Steve’s seat.

“Steve, watch out!”

Nancy leans forward too, panic hitting all at once.

“Steve, watch out!”

Steve’s head snaps forward—

and he finally sees it.

“Shit!”

He slams on the brakes as hard as he can.

The car jerks violently, tires screaming as they try to catch against the uneven ground, but there’s too much speed—far too much—and the distance is already gone.

You barely have time to react.

Your body is thrown forward, the seatbelt catching hard across your chest as your hands fly up instinctively, bracing for something you can’t stop—

Everyone screams—

And then—

impact.

The BMW doesn’t bounce.

It hits—

and drives straight into it.

The front of the car punches into the wall of thick, pulsing vines and dark, slick growth, the surface giving way just enough to take it, like something alive yielding under pressure. The hood disappears halfway into the mass, swallowed by it, the vines stretching and clinging around the metal as the force carries the car forward—

until it stops.

Hard.

A violent jolt tears through the entire frame, snapping everything forward before slamming it back again, the engine choking out a rough, uneven sputter as the car sits half-embedded in the wall.

The sound is wrong.

Metal grinding.

Wet.

Something tightening around the front of the car like it’s holding it in place.

The vines twitch.

Shift.

Almost like they’re reacting.

The engine ticks.

Your ears ring.

_______________________________

For a moment, nothing feels real.

Sound comes back first—distant and muffled, like it’s travelling through water—followed by a dull, pulsing ache at the front of your head that throbs in time with your heartbeat. Your vision lags behind, slow to catch up, the edges of everything blurring as you blink too fast, trying to force the world back into place.

It tilts instead.

“Hey—hey—look at me.”

Steve’s voice cuts through everything, close and urgent, and suddenly he’s right there in front of you, leaning across from the driver’s seat, one hand already on your shoulder, the other hovering near your face like he doesn’t quite know where to touch without making it worse.

“Are you okay?”

You nod automatically, even though the movement makes your head spin again, your vision dipping before it steadies.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”

The words come out slower than you expect, heavy, like they have to push through the fog in your head first. Steve doesn’t move straight away—his eyes stay on you, searching, checking—before he exhales sharply and glances over his shoulder toward the backseat.

“Everyone good back there?” Steve calls.

“I’m okay,” Nancy answers quickly, already shifting herself upright, brushing hair out of her face.

“Yeah,” Jonathan adds from beside her, his voice steady but tight, one hand braced against the seat as he reorients himself.

“I’m good,” Dustin says, though there’s a slight edge to it, like he’s trying to sound more certain than he feels.

They don’t wait long. The back doors are forced open just enough, and one by one they climb out, sliding down the angled surface of the wall where the car has lodged itself. Their shoes scrape against the slick, uneven vines as they drop to the ground below.

Steve turns back to you immediately.

“Okay, we gotta move.”

The front doors won’t budge—completely swallowed by the wall—so he climbs over the console into the back, movements quick but careful as he makes space for you.

“Come on,” he says, reaching for you.

You follow slower, your body lagging just slightly behind your thoughts, one hand bracing against the seat as you shift. The dizziness hits again, sharp this time, and you pause for a second, breathing through it before continuing. Steve stays right behind you, steadying you without rushing you.

“Easy… easy,” he murmurs.

He drops down first, landing on the ground and immediately turning back toward you, arms already lifting.

“Okay—come on.”

You slide down, your footing uneven as you hit the ground, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you—

—and Steve catches you instantly.

“Honey—hey—are you okay? I’m so sorry,” he says, his hands firm on your arms, steadying you as his eyes move quickly over your face, checking for anything worse.

You blink, forcing the world to settle again, and lift a hand to pat his shoulder.

“I’m okay. I’m okay—don’t worry.”

It takes a second, but your balance steadies enough for you to stand on your own again. Steve lingers for a moment, clearly not convinced, before finally letting his hands drop—though he stays close.

Behind you, Dustin, Nancy, and Jonathan have already turned to look up.

You follow their gaze.

And your breath catches.

The wall stretches endlessly upward, towering over all of you, so high it disappears into the darkness above. Thick vines twist and layer over each other, slick and pulsing faintly, like something alive. The BMW sits embedded halfway into it, the front of the car completely swallowed, the vines clinging to the metal like they don’t intend to let go.

Dustin exhales, already pulling out his walkie.

“What do we even do now?” he mutters.

“Try Hopper,” you say, your voice steadier now as the fog in your head begins to clear.

Dustin nods, lifting the radio.

“Hopper, do you copy?” Dustin says into the walkie.

Static.

“Over. This is Dustin. Hopper, do you copy? This is Dustin.”

Nothing.

The silence stretches just long enough to make your chest tighten.

Then—

crackling.

“Hey, hey, it’s Hop. I copy,” Hopper’s voice comes through the radio.

Dustin’s head snaps up.

“Holy shit! Okay. They’re alive!” Dustin blurts.

“El! Ask about El,” Nancy says quickly, stepping closer.

“El. Is El with you? Over,” Dustin says.

“Yes. I’m here. Over,” Eleven’s voice answers.

A collective breath leaves all of you at once, the tension easing just slightly.

“Okay. Yay. Terrific,” Dustin says quickly, pacing a step. “I don’t know if you’re caught up in something important, but—”

“Dustin, come on,” Jonathan cuts in, impatient.

“Meet us!” Nancy adds.

“Meet us at Roane Cemetery church, please,” Dustin says into the radio.

“Roane Cemetery? How the hell are you contacting us from there?” Hopper asks.

“Right. You don’t know. We’re in the Upside Down,” Dustin replies.

A beat.

“What?”

“Long story short, we’re here to track a Demogorgon using our telemetry tracker, only to then hit a wall. Literally. Now, Steve’s beamer is stuck, so we need El to come and pry it loose using her powers so we can resume the search for said Demogorgon which will, in theory, lead us to Holly. Does any of this make sense? Do you need additional details? Questions? Concerns? Over,” Dustin rushes out.

“You hit a wall? What kind of wall, exactly?” Hopper asks.

Dustin glances up, and all of you instinctively turn your flashlights back toward it, beams catching on the slick, pulsing surface.

“Uh… it’s a bit… hard to describe. Sort of—” Dustin starts.

“Huge?” Nancy offers.

“Disgusting,” you add, still staring at it.

“Smells like Henderson’s armpit,” Steve mutters beside you.

You barely register it.

Your focus stays on the wall.

“We hit the same thing, but not at the Roane Cemetery. We hit it a quarter mile southeast of the old Hagen Bridge,” Hopper explains.

“That’s the opposite side of town,” you say, your head turning slightly.

“Fascinating,” Dustin mutters.

“We don’t know what it is, but we think Holly’s behind it. Don’t bother trying to break through. You can’t. We’re working on a solution,” Hopper continues.

Before Dustin can respond, Nancy steps forward and grabs the walkie from his hand.

“Solution? What kind of solution?” Nancy demands.

“Wait, what kind of solution? Hopper!” she presses.

“Listen, we gotta keep the airwaves clear, all right? We’ll come get you. Just stay put,” Hopper replies.

And then—

static.

The line cuts.

Silence settles over all of you again, heavy and uneasy as you look between each other, the weight of it pressing in.

Because whatever this is—

this wall—

it’s bigger than any of you expected.

____________________________________

Dustin doesn’t stay.

The moment Hopper’s voice cuts out and the static settles back into silence, he’s already turning, heading straight back toward the BMW with the walkie still in his hand—muttering something about signal loss, interference, and needing to “figure this thing out.”

No one stops him.

Because everyone else is… stuck.

The church offers some kind of shelter, even if it’s barely more than a shell—peeling wood, broken glass, the air thick with dust and something older that clings to the walls. The faint red glow from outside seeps in through the cracks, casting everything in uneven shadows as the four of you move inside.

Nancy and Jonathan gravitate toward the front almost immediately.

They don’t sit.

Nancy paces instead, her arms folded tight across her chest, her thoughts clearly running faster than she can keep up with. Jonathan stays close, watching her more than anything else, occasionally saying something low—quiet enough that it doesn’t quite carry—but it’s clear what they’re talking about.

Holly.

What now.

What the hell they’re supposed to do next.

Behind them, further back in the church, you sit down on one of the pews with Steve.

Or rather—he sits, and you end up tucked into him before you even realise it.

His arm wraps around you automatically, pulling you closer, one hand resting against your side while the other comes up, gently brushing along your arm like he’s checking—still checking—that you’re actually okay.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks quietly, his voice softer now, the edge from earlier completely gone.

You let out a small breath, leaning into him slightly.

“I’m okay,” you murmur again.

He doesn’t look convinced.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words slipping out like he hasn’t even decided to say them. “I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t have driven us into that—”

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh.

“Steve.”

But he keeps going, shaking his head slightly.

“I just— I brought you back here and—”

“Steve.”

He exhales sharply, still tense, still caught in it.

“I’m serious, I—”

“If you apologise one more time, I will smack you.”

That stops him.

Completely.

He blinks at you, caught off guard, and for a second—just a second—the tension cracks.

You shift slightly, taking his hand and pulling it properly into your lap, grounding him in the movement. Your other hand lifts, brushing a piece of hair back from his face, tucking it gently behind his ear.

“We are going to do this,” you say, steady now, meeting his eyes. “We are going to find Holly, figure out how the hell to destroy Vecna, and then we get to walk out of here.”

Your grip tightens slightly around his hand.

“Together.”

He doesn’t look away.

“And we start our lives. Okay?” you continue softly. “None of this has ever been your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”

Something in his expression shifts.

The tension eases.

Not completely—but enough.

He smiles at you then, properly, something warm and real breaking through everything else, and before you can say anything else, he leans in and presses a quick, grateful kiss to your lips.

A quiet thank you.

And for a moment—

just a moment—

everything feels still.

Until—

“Working on a solution?” Nancy’s voice cuts through from the front of the church.

You both look up.

Nancy is pacing again now, faster this time, agitation clear in every step. Jonathan sits nearby, leaning forward slightly, watching her.

“I mean, if Hopper has a solution to get through this and to get to Holly, he should—he should share it with us!”

“I just say we ignore the old man,” Steve calls back, shifting slightly but not letting go of you completely. “We keep moving. Look for a door or something.”

Jonathan lets out a short breath, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah, and just curious—this door of yours, it’s soft like a Peanut Butter Bopper?”

Steve’s expression tightens immediately.

“You got something to say, Byers, why don’t you say it?”

You sit up slightly, already hearing where this is going.

“Steve…” you warn quietly, your hand tightening slightly around his.

Jonathan doesn’t back down.

“I’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t be making the calls from now on.”

Nancy turns sharply.

“It was not just his call,” she says, firm, cutting through the tension. “It was mine. And Y/N’s.”

She gestures slightly between the two of you.

“Because it’s my sister. And I agree with Steve. Okay? We can’t just sit here. I don’t know about a door, but this wall can’t go on forever. There has to be a way around it.”

Before anyone can respond—

footsteps.

Quick.

Rushed.

“There isn’t.”

All of you turn as Dustin re-enters the church, slightly out of breath, a folded map in his hands and his flashlight already angled toward it.

“This wall,” he continues, moving toward the nearest surface to spread it out, “is a circle.”

He unfolds the map and flattens it against the table, the beam of his flashlight illuminating the rough drawing.

“A circle completely surrounding the Upside Down.”

Steve pushes himself up from the pew, walking over.

“Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”

Dustin doesn’t even hesitate.

“Because unlike you, I didn’t sleep through Algebra 1.”

You almost smile at that.

Almost.

Everyone gathers around now—Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, and you—leaning in slightly as Dustin points to the map.

“My telemetry tracker picked up a weird frequency coming from the wall,” Dustin explains, tracing along the markings. “And it took me a bit to place, but I’ve heard it before. Rather—we have.”

He glances up briefly.

“Remember when we were out looking for Hop, and you heard that sound off of Irwin Road?”

Jonathan nods slowly.

“Yeah. You said it was interference.”

“It was. But this interference—it wasn’t coming from a military broadcast or an EMI,” Dustin says, tapping the map. “It was coming from this wall.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to follow.

“Which is important,” Dustin continues, “because that gives us three known locations. So, I connected the dots, measured the midpoints, drew the perpendicular bisectors—”

“All right!” Steve cuts in, holding up a hand. “Yeah, we’re not your teachers. We don’t need to see your work. We get it.”

He gestures vaguely.

“You think it’s all a big circle.”

With that, he turns and walks back toward the pew, dropping down onto it again.

Dustin doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t think,” he says firmly. “I know.”

He taps the map again.

“I triple-checked. My calculations are correct.”

Steve exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

“Jesus… whatever. I still don’t see how this gets us closer to finding Holly.”

Dustin steps forward slightly, pointing directly to the center of the map.

“Because it’s not about the circle.”

He looks up at all of you.

“It’s about the center.”

You reach out, taking his flashlight without thinking, angling it more clearly over the map as you lean in closer alongside Nancy and Jonathan.

Your eyes land on it instantly.

“The DOE,” you say quietly. “The Department of Energy.”

Jonathan’s expression shifts.

“That’s—”

“Hawkins Lab,” Dustin finishes, tapping the spot.

“What are the chances that the center of this wall happens to be in the place where all of this started? Where the Upside Down was created?”

Your grip tightens slightly on the flashlight.

“So the lab created the wall?”

Dustin shakes his head.

“No idea.”

A beat.

Then—

“But I think we should find out.”

He looks between all of you.

“Don’t you?”

________________________________________

No one argues.

Not after the map.

Not after the quiet, sinking realization of what sits at the center of everything they’ve just uncovered.

There’s no debate about staying. No second-guessing Hopper’s instructions. No one even says it out loud—but it’s there, hanging between all of them as they step out of the church and into the open again.

They don’t have time to wait.

So they move.

Out into the Upside Down once more, the air pressing in around them, thick and heavy, like it resents their presence. The sky above churns in muted reds and blacks, lightning flickering in the distance without sound, casting brief, distorted shadows across the ground as they begin the long walk toward the Department of Energy.

Toward Hawkins Lab.

Nancy leads without hesitation.

She doesn’t slow, doesn’t look back, doesn’t falter for even a second. There’s a rigid determination in every step she takes, her posture tight, her focus locked so far ahead it almost feels like she’s already there. Everything about her movement is driven by the same thing—

Holly.

Behind her, Dustin walks with his head slightly lowered, the folded map still clutched in his hands, his thumb absently rubbing along its edge as if grounding himself in something logical. His mind is clearly somewhere else entirely, racing ahead, piecing together patterns, connections, possibilities—trying to make sense of something that doesn’t want to be understood.

And then, a few steps behind—

you.

With Steve at your side.

And Jonathan just on your other.

The three of you fall into step together, close enough to feel familiar, but not quite settled yet. There’s a quiet tension in the space between you and Jonathan, something that hasn’t been addressed, hasn’t been named—but hasn’t gone away either.

For a while, no one says anything.

The only sounds are your footsteps crunching softly against the dead, uneven ground, the distant hum of something shifting far off in the distance, and the quiet rhythm of your own breathing slowly evening out after everything that just happened.

The ache in your head has dulled to something manageable now, but it’s still there—a reminder, lingering at the edges.

You glance sideways.

“Hey.”

Jonathan looks over at you, almost like he hadn’t fully registered you were there until you spoke. His expression softens slightly when he meets your eyes.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice quieter than you remember it being.

You walk in silence for a few more steps after that, neither of you rushing to fill the space. It’s not awkward, exactly—just… unfamiliar. Like trying to step back into something that used to come easily, and now doesn’t quite fit the same way.

“You know…” you start after a moment, your voice softer now, more careful. “I really missed you. When you went to California.”

Jonathan’s gaze shifts forward again, but he nods, slow and small.

“I missed you too,” he says, but nothing more follows.

The words are honest—you can hear that—but they don’t go any further than that. They don’t explain anything. They don’t fix anything.

They just sit there.

You slow your pace slightly without thinking, just enough that he has to adjust with you, the distance between you stretching for a second before settling again.

“What happened?” you ask, more direct now, but still gentle.

He exhales, the sound quiet but heavy.

“To us?” you press, glancing at him. “Come on. We’ve been friends since first grade, and you can’t even look at me.”

Jonathan drags a hand over the back of his neck, his shoulders lifting in a half-shrug that doesn’t quite hide the tension underneath.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I just… things are complicated.”

You let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“Don’t get me started on complicated,” you say, gesturing vaguely around you—at the broken landscape, the wrong sky, the entire Upside Down stretching endlessly in every direction. “Jonathan, everything we’ve been through is complicated.”

You slow just enough to turn slightly toward him.

“What’s really up?”

He hesitates.

For longer this time.

And then—

“I don’t get what you see in him.”

The words land heavier than you expect.

Your eyes flick instinctively toward Steve, just ahead of you now, walking a few steps out of earshot, his attention forward but his presence still close enough that you can feel it.

You look back at Jonathan.

“What does that mean?”

Jonathan exhales again, sharper this time, like he’s been holding it in for longer than he meant to.

“He used to treat us—people like us—like shit,” he says. “And now you look at him like he hung the moon and the stars.”

You stop walking properly this time.

Not abruptly—but enough to make him stop too.

“Jonathan,” you say, your voice steady, grounded, not rising to the frustration you feel, “you’re the one who told me years ago that Steve seemed like he was changing.”

He doesn’t argue.

Doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been by Steve’s side for years now,” you continue, softer now but no less certain. “Fighting this… all of this… but also watching him change.”

You glance ahead again, just briefly.

“He treats me so well. He’s caring. He’s kind. And not just to me—to everyone. Especially those kids.”

You meet Jonathan’s eyes again.

“You need to open your eyes and see that.”

A pause.

“Please,” you add quietly. “I want you to be happy for me.”

That’s what makes him really look at you.

Not just a glance. Not just acknowledgment.

A real look.

Then his gaze shifts past you, toward Steve, watching him for a second longer than before—like he’s actually seeing him this time, not just remembering who he used to be.

Jonathan exhales slowly.

“I’ll try,” he says at last. “But I still hate his music taste.”

The tension breaks.

You laugh—properly this time—and step closer, linking your arm through his without hesitation.

“You’re not the only one,” you grin.

For a moment—

it feels like something settles.

Not perfectly.

Not completely.

But enough.

Enough to feel like you’ve found your way back to each other, even if it’s not exactly the same as before.

You walk like that for a few steps, side by side, the familiarity easing back in quietly.

Then you glance at him again.

“How’s it going with Nance?”

Jonathan’s expression shifts again, softer, more complicated in a different way as he looks ahead to where Nancy continues walking, still leading, still focused.

He lets out a quiet breath.

“Now that’s too complicated to talk about.”

You smile at that, gently slipping your arm from his and reaching up to ruffle his hair the way you always used to.

“After all this is over?” he adds.

You nod, stepping back into place beside Steve, your shoulder brushing his slightly as you fall back into step.

“After this is over.”

_____________________________

You’ve been walking for what feels like hours.

Time doesn’t move properly here—stretches and folds in on itself—but the exhaustion in your legs, the slow ache settling into your body, tells you it’s been a while. Long enough that the silence between all of you has settled into something heavy and familiar again.

Long enough that the reality of where you’re going has started to sink in.

Hawkins Lab.

Any second now.

You drift a little closer to Steve without really thinking about it, your shoulder brushing his as your hand finds his. His fingers slot easily between yours, like it’s second nature now, grounding and steady in a way everything else around you isn’t.

The anxiety is there.

Thick.

Unspoken.

Because none of you know if this is going to work.

If you’re even right.

If whatever is waiting for you at the lab is something you can actually face.

Steve feels it.

He always does.

His thumb brushes lightly against the back of your hand, a quiet, absent motion, before he leans slightly toward you and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his tone casual—too casual for where you are—“when we get back, I’m going to ask Mrs. Byers how she makes her eggs. They’re so good.”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift.

“What?” you let out, a small laugh slipping through before you can stop it.

Steve shrugs slightly, glancing down at you with a faint grin.

“I’m just saying, they’re really good. She makes them so fluffy,” he continues, like this is a completely normal conversation to be having in the middle of the Upside Down. “Oh—and I’m gonna ask her how she folds the sheets so well. It’s like she has superpowers.”

You laugh again, softer this time, the sound easing something tight in your chest.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Steve just smiles, clearly pleased with himself for getting that reaction out of you.

“You know, I want to know how to do all that stuff,” he goes on, his voice quieter now but still light, like he’s talking more to you than to anyone else. “Domestic stuff. How to fold sheets right, how to make breakfast perfectly…”

He glances ahead briefly, then back at you.

“And then our kids not even wanting any of it. Wanting chocolate or candy or something else and getting mad at me about it—”

You stop him there, your brows lifting slightly.

It hits you harder than it should.

“Our kids?” you repeat, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You think about that stuff?”

Steve freezes.

Just for a second.

“Yeah,” he says, a little more uncertain now, but still honest. “I—I do.”

And there it is.

That look.

Soft.

Open.

So completely him that it makes your chest ache in a different way entirely.

“Well,” you say, your voice gentler now, but still teasing, “they’re not getting chocolate in the morning.”

The tension melts out of him instantly, something warm settling in his expression.

“They will if they ask me,” he shoots back, a small grin returning.

“Steve, absolutely not,” you laugh, shaking your head.

He huffs a quiet laugh of his own, shaking his head before slipping his arm more securely around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer as he presses another soft kiss to your hair.

For a moment—

just a moment—

it almost feels normal.

Like there’s a future waiting on the other side of all of this.

Like they might actually get there.

And then—

“Guys.”

The thunder rolls again, low and distant, and suddenly the lab feels less like a place and more like a wound.

Dustin’s voice cuts through it.

Not loud.

But enough.

You look up.

And there it is.

In the distance.

Through the shifting dark, under the low, rumbling thunder of the Upside Down sky—

Hawkins Lab.

It rises out of the landscape like something wrong, looming and still, its shape unmistakable even in the distorted world around it.

Everything inside you tightens.

The group slows.

Stops.

No one speaks for a second as all of you take it in, the weight of what it represents settling heavily over the moment.

Then, almost instinctively, you all glance at each other.

And Nancy steps forward.

“Come on.”

There’s no hesitation in her voice.

No fear she’s willing to show.

She turns, already moving again.

And one by one, you follow.

Steve’s hand tightens slightly around yours as you step forward with him, his grip firm—steady—as you walk toward whatever is waiting for you next.

-----------------

taglist: @mhayes777 @jorden710 @scaramou @feathersmcgee230 @serena6728 @hopeofwinter @lilulo-12 @torntaltos @mirellef2001 @ophirei @purplerainx1 @1iliaanxz @lily-liketheflower @raajali3 @katiebby04 @lauraashley93 @matt-manhattan @that-b-word-lol

[thelastcitysposts]

chapter one: the crawl

steve harrington x fem!reader (word count: 10100)

summary: eighteen months after everything changed, hawkins is still standing—but only just. as the group settles into a dangerous new routine under military watch, a sudden disruption at the squawk pulls them back into action. but when their latest crawl begins, it quickly becomes clear that whatever they’ve been searching for… might already be watching them back.

warnings: trauma, mentions of death, cursing

note: welcome to season five!!! <3

series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>

--------------

The first thing you feel is the pull.

It’s sudden and violent, something wrapping tight around your ankle and dragging you backward before you can even catch your balance, your hands scraping uselessly against the ground as you’re yanked off your feet. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, your body slamming hard against something rough and uneven, the force of it leaving your head spinning as the world snaps violently into place around you.

Dark.

Red.

Wrong.

The Upside Down stretches out in every direction, the air thick and suffocating, the ground beneath you slick with something that doesn’t feel real but still clings to your skin all the same. Your chest heaves as you try to pull in a breath, your body slow to respond, like everything is just slightly out of sync.

And then you hear them.

The screech comes first—high-pitched, sharp enough to cut straight through you—followed by the heavy, frantic beat of wings.

Too many.

You push yourself up too quickly, your arms trembling under your weight as your vision struggles to focus, just in time to see the first demobat dive toward you.

You don’t get out of the way fast enough.

It hits you hard, claws tearing into your side as the force of it sends you stumbling backward, pain flaring sharp and immediate as something hot and wet spreads across your skin. Your breath catches, a broken sound tearing from your throat as you try to shove it off, your movements sluggish, delayed.

Another one follows.

Then another.

They circle you, fast and relentless, wings beating violently as they close in from every direction, their screeches overlapping until it becomes noise—too loud, too close, too much.

You swing blindly, your hands catching nothing but air, your body reacting too slowly as one of them slams into you again, knocking you off balance completely this time.

You hit the ground hard.

The impact rattles through you, your head snapping back as your lungs struggle to catch up, your body refusing to cooperate no matter how hard you try to force it to move.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t—

“—go—!”

The sound cuts through everything.

Faint.

Distant.

Your head turns instinctively, your vision blurring as you try to focus past the chaos, past the movement, past the shadows—

And then you see him.

Eddie.

He’s on the ground.

Not moving the way he should be.

Not getting up.

The bats are already on him.

Too many of them.

They swarm over him in seconds, a dark mass of wings and claws and teeth, tearing into him as he struggles beneath them, his movements frantic at first—then slower—

“No—”

The word barely leaves you.

Your body doesn’t move.

You try.

You try to get up, to push yourself forward, to do something—but it’s like your limbs aren’t listening, like the world is holding you in place just long enough to make sure you see it.

To make sure you don’t miss it.

“Eddie—!”

Your voice breaks this time, louder, sharper, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s still there.

Still on the ground.

Still—

The bats close in tighter.

You can’t see him anymore.

The sound is what stays.

The tearing.

The movement.

And then—

Nothing.

Your chest tightens painfully, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts as something inside you twists hard enough to make your vision blur.

You should be moving.

You should be helping—

You should be doing something—

Another demobat slams into you.

Your back hits the ground again, harder this time, your head ringing as your body jerks under the impact, claws digging in as you struggle against it, your hands weak, uncoordinated as you try to shove it away.

More of them circle overhead.

Closer.

Lower.

Your breathing stutters, panic rising fast now, your chest tightening as the space around you closes in—

There’s no one here.

No one to pull you up.

No one to—

The red pulses around you, brighter now, bleeding into everything until you can’t tell where the ground ends and the sky begins, your hands slipping against something wet as you try to push yourself up again—

You can’t get out.

You can’t—

The alarm slams off beside your head.

Your body jerks violently as your eyes snap open, your breath catching sharp in your chest as the nightmare clings to you for just a second longer, the sound of wings still echoing faintly in your ears before it all crashes away at once.

“Hey—hey, hey…”

Steve.

His voice.

Right there.

Real.

His arms are already around you, pulling you in before you can fully register it, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as the other wraps tightly around your side—careful of where you’re still healing, even after all this time.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady in that way that immediately starts pulling you back into yourself. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He’s said it enough times now that your body almost believes him before your mind catches up.

Your hands grip at his shirt without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric as your breathing stutters, your body still halfway caught between now and then.

It takes a second.

A few uneven breaths.

The feel of him—solid, warm, here—before the panic starts to loosen its grip.

You nod against him.

You don’t trust yourself to speak—not yet.

“…Nightmares again?” he asks quietly.

You nod again.

You don’t trust your voice yet.

You don’t need to.

His hold tightens just slightly, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he presses a soft kiss into your hair.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He never really does in these moments.

He just stays.

Lets you come back at your own pace.

After a few minutes, your breathing evens out properly, your grip on him loosening just slightly as the last of the tension drains from your shoulders.

Steve shifts just enough to look down at you, his hand brushing lightly along your arm.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, softer now, the edge of sleep still lingering in his voice. “We better get to the Squawk before Robin kills us.”

You let out a quiet groan, your face pressing further into his chest.

The last eighteen months flash through your mind in one tired, continuous blur—planning, scouting, running crawls, mapping routes, sending Hopper in and pulling him back out—over and over again, trying to find something, anything that would lead you back to Vecna.

It never really stops.

“…Five more minutes,” you mumble.

Steve huffs out a quiet laugh above you, the sound warm and familiar as his hand slides up to the back of your neck.

“Yeah, that’s what you said yesterday,” he says, leaning down to press another kiss to your hair. “And the day before that.”

You tilt your head up just enough to look at him, already leaning in before you fully think it through, your lips brushing against his.

It’s soft at first.

Sleepy.

Easy.

But it doesn’t stay that way.

His hand shifts slightly, fingers curling at your side as he leans into it properly this time, kissing you back with just enough pressure to make your chest tighten, your hand coming up instinctively to rest against his jaw.

You feel him smile faintly against your mouth.

“…You’re trying to distract me,” he murmurs.

You don’t pull back.

“Worked yesterday,” you whisper.

That’s all it takes.

His hand slides a little more firmly against your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, slower but heavier now, the kind that lingers just a second longer each time.

For a moment—

everything else fades.

No planning.

No Upside Down.

No Hawkins tearing itself apart.

Just this.

Just him.

Then—

BANG.

The noise is loud enough to make you both jolt slightly, the sudden crash echoing through the hallway just outside your bedroom.

“Will—move!”

“I was here first!”

“Jonathan, seriously—!”

Steve groans immediately, dropping his head back against the pillow.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, the sound softer than it used to be, but real.

“Well then,” you say, pushing yourself up carefully despite the lingering stiffness in your body.

Steve watches you for a second, still half sunk into the mattress.

“…How much longer are they staying with us?” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face.

You shoot him a look over your shoulder as you swing your legs off the bed.

“They’re not guests, Steve,” you point out. “They’re family.”

And they always have been.

They’ve been here long enough now that it doesn’t feel temporary anymore. Just… how things are.

He sits up slowly, already reaching for you the second you’re just out of reach, his hand catching yours loosely.

“They could be family… at a different house,” he argues, voice still rough with sleep. “We could go to my place? My parents aren’t even there.”

You raise a brow at him.

“…But Miss Byers gets better snacks,” he adds, completely serious.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it.

“Come on, Romeo.”

You tug his hand, pulling him up with you.

He follows without protest.

He always does.

The two of you move toward the door, the noise outside getting louder the closer you get—Jonathan and Will still arguing, Joyce trying (and failing) to mediate somewhere in the middle.

Steve glances at you briefly before you reach the handle, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

Grounding.

Always.

You open the door.

Jonathan and Will both freeze mid-argument, standing just outside the bathroom, both looking like they haven’t slept nearly enough.

“…Sorry,” Jonathan says immediately.

“Yeah—sorry,” Will adds, rubbing the back of his neck.

You glance between them, then back at Steve, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“…Morning,” you say.

And just like that—

the day starts.

_____________________________

The car hums steadily beneath you as it rolls through Hawkins, the low vibration of the engine filling the quiet space between you in a way that almost feels familiar.

Same drive. Same road. Same routine you’ve followed almost every day for the last year.

The cassette clicks—

And then—

“Woah, we’re halfway there—”

You don’t even hesitate.

“Oh, come on,” you groan, letting your head fall back against the seat as Livin’ on a Prayer fills the car. “Steve, seriously? Again?”

Steve barely spares you a glance, one hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against it in time with the music.

“It’s a classic,” he says, like that settles it. “You just don’t appreciate good music.”

You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I appreciate good music,” you shoot back. “This is just… overplayed. Change it.”

“No.”

“Steve.”

“Nope.”

You lean forward, reaching toward the cassette deck, but his hand is already there, catching yours easily before you can get anywhere near it.

“Don’t even try,” he says, not even looking at you this time.

You huff, dropping your hand back into your lap.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“If you wanted better music,” he adds casually, eyes still on the road, “you could’ve waited for Jonathan and Nancy to take you.”

A small laugh slips out before you can stop it, your head shaking slightly.

“Oh yeah, because Jonathan’s playlists are just thrilling,” you say. “Nothing like staring out a window while someone plays the saddest song ever written on repeat.”

Steve snorts quietly.

“Exactly.”

The argument dissolves just as quickly as it started, settling into something softer as the music carries on in the background. Your gaze drifts out the window, watching Hawkins pass by in slow, familiar stretches.

It’s different now.

Not empty—but quieter.

Tighter.

Military trucks sit parked along certain roads, stationed more like checkpoints than patrols, their presence constant without being overwhelming. A few soldiers move in the distance, posted near barricaded areas where the ground still hasn’t been fixed—where it can’t be fixed.

The town feels… held together.

Like something waiting.

Your eyes catch on it without meaning to.

The MAC-Z.

The fencing is the first thing you notice—tall, reinforced, stretching around what used to be the library, cutting it off completely from the rest of Hawkins. Beyond it, the ground still looks wrong, uneven in a way that doesn’t belong, like something beneath it is still shifting, still there even if you can’t see it.

Floodlights tower over the area, even now, turned off in the daylight but still looming.

Watching.

The car doesn’t slow as you pass.

But you do.

Your thoughts quiet.

Your gaze lingers just a second too long before you force yourself to look away, your fingers curling slightly in your lap without thinking.

Like if you stare too long, it might look back.

The song keeps playing.

Steve doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to.

You feel his hand before you see it, sliding over yours where it rests, his fingers threading through yours easily, like it’s second nature now.

Like it always has been.

His thumb brushes slowly across your skin.

Grounding.

You glance over at him briefly.

He’s still focused on the road, his expression calm, steady—but his grip tightens just slightly around your hand.

You squeeze back.

Just once.

And that’s enough.

The tension loosens.

The moment passes.

Hawkins fades behind you as the road begins to climb, the town slowly dropping away below as the car winds up the hill. The familiar structure of WSQK comes into view ahead—isolated, standing on its own like it’s been placed just far enough away from everything else to stay untouched.

The tower rises high above it, cutting into the sky, wires stretching out in long lines that hum faintly when the wind hits them just right.

Steve pulls into the lot, the gravel crunching softly beneath the tires as he parks.

The engine cuts.

Before you can even reach for the door—

He’s already out.

You blink, watching as he shuts his door and moves around the front of the car without hesitation.

“Steve—”

But he’s already there.

Your door swings open, and he offers you his hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You stare at him for half a second.

Then roll your eyes.

But you take it anyway.

“Such a gentleman,” you mutter as you step out carefully, your balance still not perfect, your body reminding you of that in small, quiet ways.

“Always,” he replies easily.

You lean in just slightly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before he can say anything else.

It’s brief.

Soft.

But it lingers just enough to make him pause for a second.

“C’mon,” you say, pulling back, already turning toward the building. “Before Robin actually kills us.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, his hand brushing lightly against yours as he falls into step beside you.

And together—

you head inside.

Another day. Another shift. Another attempt at figuring out what comes next.

_____________________________

The door barely has time to swing shut behind you before—

“—Hurry up, lovebirds, we go live in twenty seconds!”

Robin’s voice cuts across the room immediately, fast and sharp, already halfway through setting something up as she glances over her shoulder at the two of you.

You roll your eyes instinctively, shooting Steve a look as he just grins, completely unfazed.

“Good morning to you too,” he mutters, already being pulled toward the sound booth.

“Don’t start with me,” Robin shoots back, pointing toward the door. “Inside. Now. I need sound effects and I need them good.”

Steve gives your hand a quick squeeze before slipping away, letting himself get dragged into the booth as Robin shoves a pair of headphones at him.

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you move toward the couch just outside the glass, dropping down into it as you pull a stack of maps into your lap.

The paper is worn.

Folded too many times.

Marked up in pen, pencil, anything you could find during the last crawl—routes, dead ends, places you swore you’d seen something move.

Your fingers trace the same marked route for what feels like the hundredth time.

Inside the booth, Robin adjusts the mic, flicking a switch—

A soft click.

Then—

“Good morning, Hawkins! This is WSQK The Squawk!”

Steve immediately hits a button.

A loud, ridiculous rubber chicken squawk blasts through the speakers.

You snort quietly, shaking your head as you glance up through the glass, catching the way Robin closes her eyes for half a second like she’s reconsidering all of her life choices.

“It’s looking like a regular day in Hawkins,” she continues, recovering quickly. “Fifty-five degrees, low chance of rain, medium chance of arrest, high chance of helicopters.”

Steve taps something else.

A faint whistling sound effect cuts in.

You lean back slightly into the couch, arms folding loosely as you listen, your gaze drifting between them and the maps in your lap.

“But general banality aside,” Robin continues, slipping into her rhythm easily now, “it’s an exciting day for me, your friend, entertainer, and DJ, Robin Buckley… Nice to meet you! …AKA Rockin’ Robin.”

She cues music briefly, letting it play before cutting it again.

“And why is it a big day for me, you ask? Well, it’s my 500th broadcast. Yeah, you heard that right, folks. Five-double-O!”

Steve hits another button.

Applause fills the room.

You roll your eyes again, though there’s no real annoyance behind it, just something warm and familiar as you glance over at him.

He catches you looking.

Smiles.

Just a little.

Then looks back to the board like nothing happened.

“…Which means it’s been even longer since you’ve heard the sultry voice of Jimmy ‘Fast Hands’ Lee,” Robin goes on, pacing slightly as she talks. “But while Jimmy was fleeing Hawkins even faster than he moves those hands—”

Steve hits the scream sound effect.

Robin doesn’t even pause.

“—yours truly was watching slackjawed as the earth split open beneath her feet and coughed up that tsunami of mysterious dandruff.”

Your eyes flick back down to the map.

Your fingers still slightly.

“…And now, I’m stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots,” she continues. “And if I can be brutally honest, I couldn’t be happier.”

Steve takes a sip of his coffee between cues, completely casual.

“Because when you really think about it,” Robin says, leaning into the mic, “why would you want to live anywhere else? I mean, what town on Earth can match our very impressive military-to-civilian ratio?”

A whistle sound cuts in again.

You glance up, shaking your head faintly.

Robin gestures vaguely as she talks, completely in her element.

“And those free, mandatory medical checkups? I mean, very cool. ‘Cause after we inhaled those springtime snowflakes, who knows what’s wrong with us? Maybe we’re fine, maybe not.”

Steve presses another button.

A coughing sound plays through the speakers.

Robin points at him without looking.

“Exactly.”

Your lips twitch slightly.

“After all,” she continues, “this was a ‘natural phenomenon never before seen by man.’ A phenomenon now covered up by a giant metal Band-Aid. Quite the eyesore, but hey—great for sledding.”

She leans closer to the mic.

“Though seriously, kids, stop sledding on the giant steel Band-Aid. You are going to kill yourselves. Also, the men with guns.”

Steve taps something again.

Robin nods, satisfied.

“They don’t like it. Not one bit.”

Your gaze drifts again, back to the map, your thumb pressing lightly against a section you’d marked weeks ago.

Still nothing.

Still no answers.

“While we’re on the subject of things not to do,” Robin continues, “please steer clear of the Military Access Control Zone, aka the MACZ—or as I like to call it, the Big Mac.”

You don’t look up this time.

But your hand pauses.

“I have no idea what’s going on in there,” she adds, “but I have a gut feeling there’s a pretty good reason they’d like you to stay away.”

A beat.

“But hey, the rest of Hawkins is still there for you to enjoy.”

Inside the booth, Steve glances toward you again.

This time he lingers.

Just for a second longer.

You feel it.

You don’t look up.

But you feel it.

“Someday soon, they’re gonna let us out of here,” Robin says, more lightly now.

Steve hits a bell sound.

“In the meantime,” she continues, “be thankful this is your home, study for that test, enjoy that TV dinner, and go on that date.”

She pauses.

Just long enough.

“…Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight.”

Steve immediately hits the rubber chicken again.

Robin shoots him a look.

You finally glance up—and there it is.

That look on Steve’s face.

Soft.

Amused.

And when his eyes flick toward you this time, there’s something else there too—something quieter, something that makes your chest tighten just slightly before you look back down at the map.

“That’s right,” Robin continues, ignoring him now. “Rockin’ Robin has a date, ladies and gentlemen.”

Steve taps the button again.

Another ridiculous squawk.

Robin exhales through her nose.

“And now, who is this lucky someone? Well, don’t be so nosy, kids. They know who they are.”

She leans closer to the mic, voice dropping just slightly.

“That is, if you’re listening… which I hope you are.”

A beat.

“Because this next one—”

She reaches for the switch.

“—it’s for you, babe.”

Music kicks in.

Louder this time.

Filling the space—

And then—

It warps.

The sound distorts suddenly, the music stretching unnaturally before collapsing into harsh, crackling static that cuts through the room sharp enough to make you flinch.

Your head snaps up.

Inside the booth, Robin frowns, adjusting something quickly.

“Whoa—” she says, pulling one side of the headphones off. “What’s going on?”

The static spikes again.

Louder.

Sharper.

“What the hell—?”

Your grip tightens on the map in your lap as you sit up slightly, your eyes locking onto 

___________________________

The music cuts wrong.

Not clean.

Not intentional.

It stretches for a second—warped, distorted—before collapsing into harsh, crackling static that fills the entire room.

You sit up immediately.

Inside the booth, Robin freezes mid-motion, her head tilting slightly as she pulls one side of her headphones off.

“Whoa—what’s going on?” she says, frowning. “What the hell? What the hell—?”

Steve turns at the same time, both of them looking down at something you can’t see from where you’re sitting.

Then they move.

Fast.

The booth door swings open as they rush out, Robin heading straight for the wall of equipment, already reaching for the controls like she knows exactly where to go—even if she doesn’t know what’s wrong.

You’re up just as quickly.

The map slips from your lap as you cross the room, closing the distance in a few quick steps as the static continues to spit and crack through the speakers.

“What happened?” you ask, moving in beside her.

“I don’t know,” Robin says quickly, her hands already moving over the dials, twisting one, then another. “It just—went—”

The sound spikes again—jagged this time, biting through the room.

You flinch slightly, reaching up to steady one of the switches she just adjusted as it flicks back harder than it should.

“That didn’t do anything,” you say, glancing between her hands and the panel, trying to follow what she’s changing.

“I noticed,” she mutters.

Behind you, Steve hovers for a second before backing off, his attention already shifting elsewhere.

“I told you to stop thumbing your nose at the military,” he says, heading for the coffee table.

“I was reiterating their goddamn rules,” Robin shoots back, not even looking at him. “Encouraging compliance.”

“Right. No sarcasm there.”

“Says the dingus with the rubber chicken.”

“These are very serious people, Robin!”

You roll your eyes faintly, your focus staying on the panel as Robin keeps adjusting things that don’t seem to be helping.

“Can you two argue after it stops screaming?” you mutter, reaching to turn one of the knobs she missed.

“Working on it!” Robin snaps, though there’s no real bite behind it—just tension.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—”

Steve grabs the walkie.

“Henderson, you copy? Henderson?”

You glance over briefly, then back to Robin as another burst of static rattles through the room.

A crackle answers him.

“Yeah, I copy. God, you sound swell,” Dustin’s voice comes through, slightly distorted. “Let me take a wild guess. You’re not calling to wish me good morning.”

“It’s not exactly a good morning,” Steve says quickly. “We’ve got a situation at the Squawk. The signal—it’s… it’s gone all wonky. I think Robin finally pissed ’em off.”

“Doubtful,” Dustin replies. “She was encouraging compliance.”

“Told you!” Robin shoots back immediately.

You lean in slightly, watching her hands move again, following what she’s doing without interrupting this time.

“The remote radio head’s the more likely culprit,” Dustin continues.

Steve pauses.

“The remote what?”

“Just read the manual, Steve.”

You straighten slightly at that.

“Got it.”

Steve groans.

“C’mon, man, that thing might as well be in Greek.”

You’re already moving, stepping away from the panel and heading straight for the filing cabinet, pulling it open and flipping quickly through the folders until you find the one you’re looking for.

Behind you—

“Then learn Greek!” Dustin snaps through the walkie. “I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Steve.”

You grab the manual and turn back, moving quickly across the room—

Just in time to hear:

“Henderson? God—” Steve lowers the walkie slightly, looking over at you as you approach. “ ‘Learn Greek.’ You heard that tone. You heard that, right?”

You stop in front of him, holding out the manual.

A small shrug.

“I think he believes in you,” you say.

Steve stares at you for a second.

Then exhales, taking the manual.

“…Unbelievable.”

Behind you, the static crackles again.

Still loud.

And still not stopping.

___________________

The back office feels too small for this.

Not because of noise—

but because of the way everything has tightened.

The broadcast is still running out there, still bleeding static into the airwaves, but back here it’s quieter—too quiet—like you’re working in the eye of something you can’t quite see yet.

The sound isn’t in the room.

Just the knowledge of it.

Robin paces anyway.

“I swear to God,” she mutters, dragging a hand through her hair, “this stupid thing does not exist.”

You barely look up from the manual spread out in front of you, your finger tracing down the page as you skim, trying to make sense of something that feels deliberately impossible to follow.

Steve stands close beside you now, one hand braced lightly against the desk as he leans in, scanning the same page from over your shoulder.

The door bursts open.

You all look up.

Jonathan and Nancy step in quickly, both of them slightly out of breath, eyes sharp as they take in the room.

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan asks immediately.

Nancy’s gaze flicks between you, Steve, Robin.

“Is the signal still out?”

Robin turns toward them, already shaking her head, the panic sitting just beneath her words.

“I don’t know—I don’t know, it just cut and then the static and—just—help me find something. Anything.”

Jonathan doesn’t hesitate.

As he moves past you, his hand comes up instinctively, squeezing your shoulder—quick, familiar, grounding in a way that doesn’t need explanation.

You glance up at him for half a second.

He gives you a small nod.

Then he’s already reaching for another manual, flipping it open as he leans against the desk.

Nancy moves in beside him, grabbing a second stack of papers, scanning quickly.

Jonathan glances up.

“Can someone try Dustin again?”

Robin shakes her head.

“He turned off his walkie.”

Nancy’s brow furrows slightly.

“What’s up with him lately?”

Steve exhales quietly beside you.

“Don’t get me started.”

Robin points at him without looking.

“Yeah, please don’t.”

You flip another page quickly, your eyes catching on something—something that feels familiar, something Dustin had mentioned earlier—

Your focus sharpens. “Hey—!”

Jonathan looks over immediately.

“What?”

Your finger presses against the page. “Got it.”

Steve leans in further, his shoulder brushing yours as he looks.

“Wait, wait, wait—” he says. “There it is, yeah. Remote radio head, yeah.”

Robin steps closer instantly, peering over the edge of the desk. “And, uh—where exactly are we gonna find this remote thingamajig?”

_______________________________

Stepping outside feels like a reset.

The air is cooler, clearer—free of the low tension that had been building inside the station. Out here, it’s just the open space around the hill, the faint sound of wind moving through the trees, and the towering structure of metal rising above all of you.

The radio tower stretches impossibly high, its frame cutting up into the sky until the very top is almost hard to make out. You tilt your head back along with the others, eyes tracing the wiring, the beams, trying to pick out anything that looks out of place.

Robin squints beside you, one hand lifted to shield her eyes.

“I don’t see it.”

You narrow your focus, following the lines more carefully, scanning where something could have come loose or shifted. “It’s up there somewhere.”

Robin lets out a breath, already gesturing vaguely upward like that somehow helps.

“It’s gotta be. So, I guess somebody’s gotta climb to the tippy top of this bad boy and…” she trails off, mimicking a squeaky tightening motion with her hands.

Nancy shifts slightly at your side, arms folding loosely as she studies the height of it again. “Without a harness or anything, it seems kind of dangerous.”

There’s a brief pause—just enough for someone to make a decision.

Steve steps forward. “AKA job for good old Steve Harrington.”

Jonathan steps in then, a little too quickly, his voice cutting across the moment, already peeling his jacket off. “I, uh… I actually think this might be a better job for Jonathan Byers."

Steve interjects. "I’m like one quarter monkey, dude. I got this. Don't sweat it” Peeling his own jacket off and passing it to you kindly with a smile.

Before anyone can properly react, he’s already moving, heading toward the base of the tower like it’s settled.

Robin points toward the base of the tower.

“Uh, voltage! Unless you wanna fry.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not an idiot,” Steve shoots back, already disappearing into the small structure beneath the tower.

You shift your weight slightly, watching the doorway, the moment stretching just enough to notice.

Then—

a low hum fills the air.

It vibrates faintly through the ground, through the metal structure above you, before—

The silence that follows is immediate.

Steve steps back out—and stops.

Your gaze follows his.

Jonathan is already heading up the ladder.

You let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and something more tired.

“Whoa, dude, what are you doing?” Steve calls up.

Jonathan doesn’t look down.

“I got this, dude. Don’t sweat it.”

Steve exhales sharply, frustration flashing across his face.

“Son of a…”

And then he’s moving again—quickly this time—cutting across to the other side of the tower and grabbing onto the ladder without another word, starting up after him like there’s no version of this where he lets Jonathan do it alone.

You sigh properly this time.

Robin watches them climb, clearly trying to piece together what just happened.

“What is up with them?”

You shake your head slightly, still looking up as the two of them move faster than they need to, neither giving the other an inch.

“I don’t even know. Jonathan has been acting weird to Steve ever since he moved in with us.”

Nancy barely reacts, her attention already drifting away from the situation.

“I don’t really care to watch these two.”

Robin nods immediately.

“Me neither.”

Above you, the metal ladder rattles faintly under their pace, both of them climbing like it’s some kind of competition neither one is willing to lose.

You watch them for a second longer—just long enough to make sure they’re steady—

before something else pulls your attention.

The low rumble of an engine.

You turn, the sound cutting through the quiet hilltop as a Bradley’s Big Buy truck pulls up beside the building, tires crunching against the gravel before it rolls to a stop.

Robin frowns.

“I thought grocery delivery wasn’t until tomorrow?”

Nancy glances over.

“Me too.”

You look at the truck, recognition settling in almost immediately.

Murray.

You don’t say it out loud.

You don’t need to.

You just turn and start walking toward it.

Robin and Nancy follow without hesitation, the three of you leaving the boys to the tower as you head across the gravel toward whatever Murray has brought with him this time.

_________________________

Gravel crunches under your shoes as you, Robin, and Nancy make your way toward the truck, the engine ticking as it cools. Behind you, the faint clatter of metal from the tower continues—Steve and Jonathan still somewhere up there—but your attention shifts the moment Murray climbs out of the driver’s side.

He straightens, brushing his hands together like he’s just arrived at exactly the right moment, eyes scanning over the three of you before landing on you specifically.

“Well, well—if it isn’t my favorite group of government-adjacent delinquents,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. Then, without missing a beat, “And my sweet child—”

You roll your eyes immediately.

“Still calling me that.”

He ignores you completely, already moving toward the back of the truck as if he didn’t hear a word.

“—you’re welcome.”

Robin lets out a quiet breath beside you, something between amusement and disbelief.

Murray swings open the back doors with a flourish and climbs inside.

“All right.”

There’s the sound of things shifting as he moves around.

“Santa’s brought a full sack today.”

He drags a large, worn sack toward the edge before reaching inside it, pulling something out and hopping down.

“A fresh telemetry tag.”

He hands it straight to Robin, who takes it carefully, already turning it over in her hands.

“Scarcer than hen’s teeth, these things.”

He doesn’t stop moving, reaching back into the sack again.

“Enough bullets and shells for Hop to start a small war—if he should so choose.”

Nancy grabs hold of the two ammunition cases, her expression tightening slightly as she looks down at it.

Then Murray pulls out a head of lettuce and waves it directly in your face.

“Anyone order a salad?”

You stare at him, unimpressed.

He turns back, grabbing something else.

“Grenade salad?”

He holds up a grenade like it’s the punchline to the world’s worst joke.

You, Robin, and Nancy all exchange the same look—polite, confused, not entirely sure how to respond.

“I hid the grenades under the, uh, lettuce,” he adds, like that explains everything.

He reaches back in again.

“Okay. Gatorade for El’s battery.”

Before he can even finish the sentence, Steve’s voice cuts in as he and Jonathan come around the side of the truck.

“Did someone say Gatorade? Let me get one of those.”

Murray tosses one without hesitation. Steve catches it easily, already grinning.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Murray replies, already digging through the sack again.

“But I don’t think it’s gonna go too well with… peanut butter!”

He tosses another pack toward Steve.

“Boppers! Hey! God, I missed these things. Thanks.”

Steve looks genuinely pleased, already opening them as Murray lets out a satisfied little laugh.

Then his attention shifts back to you.

“And of course, for my sweet child, something sour to match your attitude.”

He throws a sour patch kids bag your way.

You catch it without thinking. “Thanks, Bald Eagle.”

Murray pauses.

Stares at you.

Completely unimpressed.

Then moves on like he refuses to give you the satisfaction.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Byers. I got you a present too.”

He pulls out a cassette tape and waves it in Jonathan’s face.

“I know you’re allergic to jazz, but just give it a whirl. I think you’ll find it quite engaging.”

He winks.

Jonathan takes it quickly, clearing his throat as he looks away.

Murray doesn’t linger. He grabs a document envelope and turns toward Nancy.

“And for the station manager—”

He taps it lightly against her head before handing it over. “—the reason for my premature delivery.”

Nancy takes it immediately, already opening it as Jonathan steps in beside her. You shift closer too, the group naturally tightening as all of you look over the pages.

Her eyes move quickly.

“A burn? Tonight? But that’s—”

“Too soon, I know,” Murray says, nodding toward all of you now, his tone sharpening just slightly.

“Whatever they’re doing in the Upside Down evidently needs serious resources.”

Nancy flips the page.

Your eyes catch the numbers, the listed shipments, the scale of it.

“That’s a lot of cargo,” you say quietly.

“I figure a supply drop this big takes two hours, minimum.” Murray adds. 

Nancy nods once, already putting it together. “Which gives Hopper plenty of time for a crawl.”

Murray’s gaze hardens just slightly. “Maybe tonight’s the night we finally find that bastard and end this.”

__________________________________

The shift happens fast.

One second you’re outside, Murray’s words still hanging in the air, the weight of tonight settling in—and the next, everyone is moving.

Back inside.

Doors opening, voices overlapping, footsteps quick against the floor.

Murray doesn’t follow.

He’s already turning back toward his truck, shouting something about good luck, but no one really responds. There’s no time to. The plan has already started moving, and all of you fall into it like it’s second nature now.

Inside the station, everything tightens into motion.

Nancy is already talking, handing Robin a folded piece of paper covered in quick, precise notes.

“Stick to this,” she says, pointing at specific lines. “Timing matters. Don’t rush it.”

Robin nods, scanning it quickly as she walks, already half in performance mode.

“I got it, I got it—just don’t make me do math on air.”

You move ahead of them, slipping into the sound booth first.

The equipment is still slightly out of place from earlier—the broadcast cutting out, the static—and your hands move quickly, adjusting dials, resetting switches, checking levels like muscle memory. The familiar routine steadies you, even as everything else speeds up.

Behind you, the others file in.

Nancy near the back, close to the door. Jonathan beside her, already watching everything, tracking. Robin steps up to the mic, rolling her shoulders once like she’s shaking out the nerves before they settle.

Steve lingers for half a second as he steps in behind you.

You barely have time to turn before his hand brushes lightly against your arm, grounding, familiar—and then he leans in just enough to press a quick kiss to your head.

It’s brief.

Soft.

But it lands.

“Got this,” he murmurs, more to you than anyone else.

Then he’s gone, moving past you to the sound effects deck, already flipping switches, preparing tapes.

You take a breath.

Then step back, just behind him.

Everything clicks into place.

Robin leans toward the mic.

“Hey there, friends, this is Rockin’ Robin. Sorry about the abrupt departure. I hope you survived without me. We had some annoying technical difficulties.”

Steve hits the first set of effects—glass shattering, followed by the sound of a baby crying—layered just enough to feel chaotic without overwhelming her voice.

“But to make it up to you, we have a very special treat that’s sure to turn your day upside down…”

Music kicks in.

“Upside Down” by Diana Ross fills the room, the beat instantly shifting the energy as it carries out over the broadcast.

Robin settles into it, voice smooth, easy—like none of this is anything more than another morning show.

“Now, before you start bumping, here’s a few fun facts about the Boss. She was born Diane in the North End of Detroit. Berry Gordy, that’s Gordy with a G, signed her to Motown in 1961. And one is the key number, because between 1964 and ’67, the Supremes had ten songs hit the top of the charts. That’s right, ten.”

You watch her as she speaks, the rhythm of it familiar now—the way she weaves it in, the way the code hides in plain sight.

“Then in ’78, she tried to make it big in the movies with The Wiz, which was a colossal floparoonie. But, in my personal opinion, I still dig it. Michael Jackson as a scarecrow? Give it a chance.”

Behind you, Steve adjusts another dial, glancing briefly in your direction before refocusing.

“But make sure you bring your supersized popcorn, because this movie has a run time of over two hours.”

Nancy shifts slightly at the back, eyes flicking between Robin and the clock, tracking every second.

“All right, class dismissed. I hope you were taking notes. There will be a test later. Take it away, Diane.”

The song swells.

♪ Upside down ♪

And just like that—

the message is out.

__________________________

The moment the broadcast ends, everything moves again.

No hesitation.

Robin pulls back from the mic, Steve already stepping away from the sound deck, Nancy reaching for the door before anyone else has fully spoken. You follow with the others, the group slipping out of the booth in practiced motion, the station still humming faintly behind you as if nothing has changed.

But everything has.

You move quickly down the short hallway, turning into a back room that looks, at first glance, like nothing more than storage—boxes stacked unevenly, old equipment pushed into corners, shelves cluttered with things no one has touched in years.

Nancy doesn’t slow.

Her hand is already in her pocket, pulling out a small set of keys as she crosses to the back wall. She reaches one of the shelving units, pushing a box aside with ease, revealing a small, almost hidden lock embedded into the wall behind it.

She unlocks it quickly.

There’s a quiet click.

Jonathan steps forward immediately, gripping the shelving unit and pulling it aside with a low scrape against the floor, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.

No one hesitates.

Steve gestures slightly for you to go ahead, his hand brushing briefly against your back as you start down, the others following close behind. The space shifts as you descend—cooler, quieter, the noise of the station fading above you.

Once everyone is down, Steve reaches back up, pulling the shelving unit back into place, sealing the entrance behind you.

The room below is bigger than it should be.

Not polished. Not clean. But lived-in.

Chairs that don’t match. Old tables dragged into place. Pieces of furniture that look like they’ve been borrowed, repurposed, or salvaged. It’s not much—but it’s theirs.

Their real base.

Nancy moves straight to the corner, already lifting the overhead projector into place. You follow her instinctively, helping steady it as she sets it down and slides a map across the glass.

The light flicks on.

The map spreads across the wall in front of you.

You stay beside her, close enough to follow every movement as she picks up a meter ruler, already shifting into planning mode.

Robin and Steve take seats nearby, both leaning forward slightly, while Jonathan lingers further back, arms crossed, watching.

Nancy taps the projection once.

“All right. So, assuming Murray’s intel is correct, the supply convoy is set to reach Hawkins at 10:00 sharp.”

Everyone nods.

She steps closer, ruler in hand, pointing precisely.

“Meaning I want Hopper in the tunnels and en route to MACZ no later than 9:00.”

The ruler taps firmly against the map.

You step in beside her.

“Mike and Lucas will take their usual observation post.”

Nancy continues without missing a beat, shifting the ruler across the map.

“Barring unusual traffic, I expect the convoy to reach MACZ at 10:15.”

Your eyes follow the route as she traces it.

“Once the burn starts and there’s sufficient cover, the boys will signal Hopper, who’ll make his move.”

“And now the crawl begins,” Nancy continues, guiding the ruler along the road. “Hop is now in the Upside Down, traveling at what I hope to be a gentle 30 miles an hour, which will allow—”

“…Me, you and Dustin to follow along in the Rightside Up,” you finish, glancing toward Steve.

He nods once in acknowledgment.

Nancy continues, already moving forward.

“I expect the convoy to take the same route as last month. Main to Cornwallis, one turn. But if you guys hit any red lights…”

“I’ll blow right through,” Steve says.

You immediately turn your head toward him.

“Only if there’s no MPs around,” you say firmly. “Remember, if we get pulled over, we lose Hop, we’re toast.”

Steve lifts his hands slightly.

“I got it.”

He throws you a quick wink.

Nancy continues, pointing further up the route.

“You’re gonna travel up Cornwallis for about six miles. And as the convoy reaches this Shell station here…”

“We radio Hop to disembark.”

“Which will drop Hop at the border of G1.”

Nancy steps back slightly now, a small, confident smile pulling at her expression.

“Where he’ll have two whole hours to search for Vecna, which is ample time. He’s cleared zones much faster. So, all in all, signs point to another successful crawl.”

She reaches toward the light—

“—”

Jonathan clears his throat.

Nancy pauses.

“Is there a problem?”

Jonathan shifts slightly, arms still crossed.

“Um… No. No, I mean, I think it’s good.”

You move away from the projector then, crossing the space toward Steve, who’s now sitting on the edge of a table, arms folded, clearly still thinking it through.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good,” Steve says. “It’s really good. It’s just, um…”

Robin leans forward, picking up where he leaves off.

“Zone G1 is not that exciting or Vecna-y. What does it have? A Circuit City, a couple of houses, and a… Big Buy? What are the chances Vecna’s shopping for Lucky Charms?”

Nancy’s expression tightens slightly.

“It doesn’t matter. We stick to the plan. We break into the Upside Down the only way we can, through the MACZ gate, under the cover of a burn. Once inside, we search one zone at a time, methodically, until we figure out where he’s been hiding.”

Steve leans forward slightly.

“Unless… he’s already dead.”

You and Nancy both look at him immediately.

“Again, your plan is great,” he continues. “It’s just… This is crawl what? Are we in the 30s now? And not a single baddie in sight? El can’t find him in her bath, and Will hasn’t had his goosies since the shake ‘n’ quake.”

Jonathan frowns slightly.

“Goosies?”

“And last we saw Vecna, he was roasting like a turkey and pumped full of lead,” Steve continues. “That was before he fell three stories. So you ever think we’re scouring a battlefield that we already, like, won?”

Jonathan steps forward slightly now.

“Have you forgotten what he showed Nancy? Hawkins on fire. Karen, Holly, everyone dead.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Yeah, man. He also showed Max her brother walking around with a hole in his chest. That’s what he does. He gets in your head and tries to scare you.”

Nancy exhales sharply, frustration cutting through.

“Yeah, but he did a good job because I am scared. And you should be scared too. Because if he’s still out there, he’s planning to end our world, so—”

You step forward.

“We don’t stop looking.”

The words come out steady.

Certain.

You move closer to her, standing beside her again.

“Even if it takes 100 more crawls, 1,000. We don’t stop until we’re goddamn sure that wrinkled, nose-less, rotting bastard is dead and gone and never coming back.”

The room stills.

“Everyone in?”

Steve looks at you first.

Really looks.

Then nods.

Robin follows.

Jonathan too.

And just like that—

the plan holds.

_________________________

The light has started to change.

It’s softer now, stretching long across the ground, the sky dipping slowly toward evening. The kind of time where everything should feel quieter—winding down, settling—but instead it just sits there, heavy.

Waiting.

You stand just outside the station with Steve, Lucas, Will, and Mike, the five of you spread loosely across the gravel. No one’s really talking. No one’s moving much either. Every now and then, someone glances down the road.

Still nothing.

Your arms are folded, more out of habit than anything else, your gaze fixed somewhere past the hill, like if you look hard enough he’ll just appear.

Dustin should’ve been here by now.

He’s always here by now.

Lucas shifts beside you, already lifting the walkie-talkie again, his thumb pressing down harder than necessary.

“Dustin, this is Lucas. Do you copy? Over.”

The static crackles back at him.

Nothing else.

He exhales, trying again.

“Dustin, do you copy? Over. Dustin, you’re an hour late, man. You’re making us nervous. We need you here at the Squawk. Dustin, if you can hear us, please respond. Over.”

You glance at Steve.

He’s staring straight ahead, jaw set slightly tighter than usual, one hand resting on his hip while the other rubs absently at the back of his neck.

He doesn’t say anything.

But you can feel it.

The shift.

Footsteps break the stillness.

Robin comes rushing out from inside the station, breath slightly uneven like she’s been moving too fast, too long.

“I got off the phone with his mom,” she says quickly. “She hasn’t heard from him.”

That lands.

You feel it settle somewhere in your chest, sharper than before.

Steve exhales, running a hand through his hair.

“Christ, Henderson,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. 

Will adds, “He’ll show. He always shows. Try him again.”

Lucas doesn’t hesitate.

He lifts the walkie again.

“Come in, Dustin. Are you there? Earth to Dustin. This is serious, man. Quit playing. We can’t wait around.”

You shift your weight slightly, your arms tightening where they’re crossed, your eyes flicking once more toward the road.

Still nothing.

Lucas presses the button again, voice rising now.

“Get your ass to the Squawk. We can’t wait around. We need you here now. This is not funny. Are you there?”

Silence.

Static.

The kind that stretches just a little too long.

Behind you, there’s movement.

You turn.

Hopper, Joyce, and Eleven are making their way up from the direction of the tunnels, dust still clinging faintly to their clothes, the weight of what’s coming already sitting on them.

Mike doesn’t hesitate.

He takes off immediately, crossing the space quickly and pulling Eleven into a tight hug the second he reaches her, like he’s been holding that in all day.

You glance at them for a second—

then back to Lucas.

He lifts the walkie again, voice quieter this time, but no less urgent.

“Dustin… is everything okay?”

_____________________________

The van feels wrong without him.

It’s the first thing you notice the second you climb in.

You’re so used to Dustin being here—talking, explaining, adjusting things before anyone even has a chance to ask—that the quiet feels out of place. Too still. Too empty.

You settle into the passenger seat anyway, pulling the door shut as Steve slides in beside you, the engine not even started yet. For a second, neither of you says anything.

The back of the van sits open behind you, gutted completely—no seats, no clutter, just a carpeted floor lined with equipment. Wires, monitors, dials, all pieced together into something that somehow works. The telemetry tracker sits mounted among it all, designed to pick up the signal Hopper will carry in the Upside Down.

And above it—

the crank.

Dustin’s “wheelie thing.”

The one he never let you touch.

Steve glances over at you.

“You know how to use all that?” he asks, nodding toward the back.

You shake your head immediately.

“No.”

You don’t even hesitate.

“I’m usually just on comms… or lookout. Dustin never really let me near it.”

Steve exhales quietly through his nose, nodding once like that confirms exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah. Sounds about right.”

He pushes the door open again and climbs into the back, dropping down onto the carpet and looking over the setup like he’s trying to piece it together from memory.

You twist slightly in your seat, watching him as he reaches for the crank, testing it, adjusting something near the base of it.

He knows enough.

Just not all of it.

You reach over and grab the radio Robin left for you, bringing it up as the familiar crackle comes through.

Robin’s voice follows almost immediately.

“Y/N, you getting any signal? Tag is active.”

You glance back at Steve, who’s already trying to turn the wheel.

“Yeah, just give us a second.”

The crank doesn’t move.

Steve frowns slightly, putting a bit more force into it, but it barely shifts.

You lean back slightly, calling out toward the station.

“Hey, anybody know how Henderson’s wheelie thing works?”

Robin’s voice comes back quickly.

“There should be a safety lock under the wheel.”

“Okay, hold on.”

Steve shifts, finding the latch beneath it.

“Safety lock,” he mutters. “Real necessary.”

There’s a click. Then the wheel finally gives, turning under his grip.

He adjusts it slowly, watching the dials, the monitors flickering to life with a weak, uneven signal.

He glances toward you. You bring the radio up.

“Okay. Okay, getting a signal. It’s pretty quiet, though.”

The faint pulsing begins—soft, uneven at first.

Steve keeps turning.

The signal sharpens.

The pulsing grows stronger, more consistent as the numbers climb.

“Okay,” you say, watching the readout. “Signal’s holding a steady 90 dB. I am going to have to drive.”

Steve doesn’t even look to you.“Absolutely not. Last time you drove we got pulled over by the MPs.”

You roll your eyes immediately.

“Okay, then how are we supposed to monitor this and drive without Henderson?”

There’s no answer to that.

Just the quiet weight of it sitting between you.

Dustin should be here.

Steve finally exhales, letting go of the wheel before climbing back toward the front, dropping into the driver’s seat with a slight shake of his head.

The radio crackles again.

“Jonathan is coming up.”

“Copy,” you respond, glancing toward Steve.

He lets out a breath.

“Great. That’s gonna make this experience much smoother for me.”

You give him a look.

“Steve, it’s just Jonathan. You see him every day at home.”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.

Just reaches for the keys, settling into place behind the wheel as he waits.

You sit beside Steve in the front, the soft hum of tracker filling the space where Dustin’s voice should’ve been. Every now and then, your eyes flick to the side mirror, then back to the station door, like that’ll somehow make Jonathan appear faster.

Steve drums his fingers once against the steering wheel, then stops, exhaling quietly as he leans back slightly in his seat.

Suddenly, the back doors creak open.

You both turn slightly.

Jonathan climbs in without a word, pulling himself up into the back and shifting quickly onto the carpeted floor, already reaching for the equipment like he doesn’t want to waste a second.

You turn just enough in your seat to watch him settle, glancing once at the dials before focusing in properly.

Steve twists slightly in his seat, leaning his arm over the back of yours so he can look at him.

“You comfortable back there, Byers?” he asks, just lightly enough to pass as casual. “Or you want me to get you a pillow?”

Jonathan doesn’t even look up as he pulls the headphones on.

“Just focus on driving.”

There’s a brief pause.

Steve presses his lips together, like he’s biting back a response, then turns back around, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah, okay.”

He reaches forward, turning the key.

The engine rumbles properly to life this time, louder, steadier, the van shifting as he flips it into gear.

You settle back into your seat, one hand still loosely holding the radio as the van starts to move.

And just like that—

you’re rolling.

__________________________

Night settles in fully by the time you’re in position.

The van is tucked into a narrow alleyway, hidden just enough from the main road to avoid attention. The engine is off now, the quiet heavier than before, broken only by the faint crackle of the radio and the occasional distant hum of a passing vehicle somewhere beyond.

You sit in the passenger seat, radio in hand, your gaze flicking between the windshield and the side mirror out of habit. Beside you, Steve leans back slightly in his seat, one arm resting loosely near the wheel, the other holding onto a half-open pack of Boppers.

Behind you, Jonathan is crouched over the equipment, headphones on, one hand already resting on the dial, waiting.

Joyce’s voice cuts through the radio.

“Squawk to Crow’s Nest, anything? Over.”

Mike answers almost immediately. “Negative, not a peep.”

You shift slightly in your seat, your fingers tightening just a little around the radio.

“We got action. Four trucks, outer east gate on Main.”

Everyone stills.

You glance at Steve. He’s already looking forward, focused now.

A few moments pass.

“Burn commencing in five, four, three, two, and boom!”

The word lands with a weight you can almost feel.

“Trucks moving in.”

There’s a beat.

“Am I clear?” Hopper’s voice comes through.

“East is clear.”

“And to the west?”

“We got a straggler.”

A pause.

“Clear.”

Another second passes—

“He’s in.”

You lean forward slightly without thinking. “He’s flipped.”

Joyce’s voice comes through again, sharper now.

“Y/N, are you guys getting a signal?”

Behind you, Jonathan moves immediately, turning the dial, adjusting the tracker as the faintest crackle begins to bleed through the speakers.

He glances up giving you a quick thumbs up.

You bring the radio up. “Snagged it.”

Steve glances at you, then up into the rearview mirror, watching Jonathan work.

“Should I move?”

Jonathan’s voice comes from the back, focused.

“No. Hold.”

The signal is faint.

Uneven.

“Hold.”

It strengthens slightly.

“Hold.”

Steve takes another bite of the Bopper, chewing loudly.

The pulsing grows sharper.

“Hold—”

A beat—

“Go!”

Steve reacts instantly, throwing the van into gear. The engine roars to life as he pulls out of the alleyway and onto the road, following the route they’d mapped out earlier.

You steady yourself slightly, lifting the radio.

“Van is on the move.”

“Good, good. Okay, hard part’s over,” Joyce says.

Hopper lets out a small breath through the radio.

“I mean, speak for yourself. I still gotta jump out of this thing. And is it me, or are we moving faster than normal?”

“A little faster. Just aim for the grass.”

“I was gonna go for the asphalt, but now that you mention the grass—”

The sound cuts.

Something sharp bursts through the radio—loud, sudden.

You flinch slightly, your head snapping toward Steve.

Joyce’s voice comes through immediately.

“What’s going on? Hopper?”

Behind you, Jonathan’s movements change.

“We’re losing him!”

Steve’s grip tightens on the wheel.

“Wait, what?”

You grab Steve’s arm. “Steve—wait! Stop! Stop!”

He doesn’t hesitate.

The brakes slam hard, the van lurching forward as he pulls off to the side of the road. The sudden stop sends everything shifting slightly, the equipment rattling behind you as Jonathan immediately adjusts the dial again, trying to catch the signal before it disappears completely.

For a second—

nothing.

Then—

The pulsing returns.

Stronger.

“We got him.”

Jonathan exhales, the tension breaking just slightly as he looks toward the front.

You don’t realize how hard you were holding your breath until it comes back, your shoulders dropping as you glance at Steve.

He exhales too, a short, relieved huff, before looking back toward the road, still not moving yet.

“Hopper, do you copy? Hopper!” Joyce calls.

“Yeah, I copy.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. We just slammed to a stop.”

You glance between Steve and Jonathan. “Why would they stop?”

The answer doesn’t come.

Instead—

the radio distorts.

A low, disorienting sound pushes through, warping the signal.

Then—

roaring.

Screaming.

Voices breaking apart into something unrecognisable.

The sound crackles, stretches, tears through the speakers as the signal begins to spike wildly.

Your grip tightens around the radio.

“What the hell is happening?!”

You turn toward Steve, your expression tightening, the worry no longer subtle.

At the same time, the van reacts.

Lights flicker.

The equipment behind you starts going erratic, dials jumping, the tracker spiking in uneven bursts.

Steve turns sharply in his seat.

“What the hell’s happening, man?”

Jonathan shakes his head, eyes locked on the readings as they shift too fast to follow.

“I don’t know.”

And then—

nothing settles.

Nothing resolves.

Just the sound of everything going wrong.

-----------------

taglist: @mhayes777 @jorden710 @scaramou @feathersmcgee230 @serena6728 @hopeofwinter @lilulo-12 @torntaltos @mirellef2001 @ophirei @purplerainx1 @1iliaanxz @lily-liketheflower @raajali3 @katiebby04 @lauraashley93 @matt-manhattan @that-b-word-lol

[thelastcitysposts]

chapter zero: the prologue

steve harrington x fem!reader (word count: 9900)

summary: six months after everything fell apart, hawkins is still standing—but barely. under military watch, the town rebuilds, and so do you and steve, finding something steady in the chaos. but as a new plan begins to take shape—one that leads back to the upside down—the fear of losing everything again becomes harder to ignore.

warnings: mentions of death, trauma

note: just a prologue before we get properly into season five lovelies <3

series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>

--------------

The house is quiet in a way that doesn’t feel like rest.

It settles too heavily into the walls, stretching into every corner until the silence feels less like peace and more like something waiting—like the kind of stillness that comes right before something shifts.

The clock on the wall reads just past three in the morning.

It always seems to be around this time when you wake up.

Or don’t sleep at all.

It’s been like that for months now—six, if you actually count it properly, though the time hasn’t really felt real since everything split open and refused to close again. The days blur together, the nights stretching longer than they should, broken up by the same restless thoughts that never quite settle.

You stopped expecting sleep to come easy a long time ago.

The couch beneath you is familiar now, worn in the way it wasn’t before, like it’s learned your shape over the last few months. You sit curled slightly into the corner, one arm resting across your middle, the other tucked loosely beneath it, your gaze fixed on the window across the room.

Outside, Hawkins barely resembles itself anymore.

The street is dim, washed in the distant glow of floodlights that don’t belong to any house, any porch, any normal part of town. They sit further out, closer to where everything broke open, bleeding pale light into the sky in a way that makes it impossible to forget what’s still there—what hasn’t gone away in the six months since.

A low hum builds in the distance.

It grows steadily, familiar now, something you’ve heard often enough that your body barely reacts to it anymore as the sound vibrates faintly through the glass. A helicopter cuts across the sky, its searchlight sweeping slowly over the town below like it’s searching for something it never seems to find.

Another follows.

Then another.

They move with quiet precision, methodical, constant—like they’ve been doing this every night for the last six months.

Because they have.

You watch them pass, your eyes tracking the movement until the light disappears beyond the edge of the window, leaving your reflection faintly staring back at you in the glass.

For a moment, you just sit there, your breathing slow, your thoughts drifting in that dangerous way they tend to at this hour—unfocused at first, and then suddenly too clear.

You shouldn’t have left.

The thought slips in quietly.

Familiar.

Unwelcome.

Six months later, and it still sounds the same.

You shouldn’t have left him.

Your fingers press harder into your sleeve, nails catching slightly in the fabric like you’re trying to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore.

Your chest tightens before you can stop it as your gaze drops from the window, like looking away might stop it from continuing.

It doesn’t.

It never does.

Eddie is there whether you want him to be or not.

On the ground.

Not getting up.

Not—

You inhale sharply, the breath catching halfway as you force yourself to stop, your jaw tightening as you press your lips together, holding it there like that might be enough to keep everything else from following.

It doesn’t change anything.

It hasn’t changed anything in six months.

Your hands rest loosely in your lap, still for a moment before your thumb shifts slightly against your palm, grounding yourself in something small and real.

If you had stayed—

If you had just—

You close your eyes briefly, your head tipping back against the couch as the thought lingers, unfinished, because there’s no version of it that ends differently. No version that doesn’t bring you back to the same place.

The same outcome.

Your mom.

The memory comes slower, quieter, threading its way in between everything else.

A phone call from months ago—your uncle’s voice cutting through the static, telling you she was with him now, just outside Indiana. Safe. Away from Hawkins. Away from all of this.

You remember the way they’d asked if you were coming.

If you wanted him to come get you.

There had been a pause.

A long one.

Long enough for the answer to settle fully before you ever said it out loud.

You couldn’t leave.

Not after everything that had happened.

Not when Hawkins still looked like this.

Not when—

Your gaze drifts, almost without thinking, toward the staircase, your focus lingering there just long enough for the thought to settle properly this time.

Steve.

He’s still here.

The realization lands differently than everything else—quieter, steadier, something that doesn’t tighten your chest so much as anchor it, just slightly.

You exhale slowly, your shoulders easing a fraction as your attention returns to the window, the quiet settling around you again in a way that feels… familiar now.

Not comforting.

Just known.

Six months of this.

Six months of nights like this.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there when you hear it.

The soft shift of movement behind you.

Familiar.

Your body tenses slightly before you turn, your eyes adjusting to the low light as your gaze lifts toward the stairs.

Steve is already partway down, barefoot, quiet in the way he always is when he comes looking for you like this. His hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes heavy, unfocused for a second before they land on you—and then sharpen just enough to take you in properly.

He doesn’t ask anything right away.

He just crosses the room.

Closes the distance like it’s nothing.

His arms slide around you from behind, slow and careful, pulling you back against him as his chin settles lightly against your shoulder, his warmth immediate, grounding in a way that cuts through everything else without effort.

“Hey…” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep. “You okay?”

You nod before you even think about it.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m fine.”

The words come out easily.

Too easily.

But he doesn’t call you on it.

He never really does.

Instead, his hold tightens just slightly, his hand finding yours where it rests in your lap, his fingers threading through yours as his thumb brushes slowly over your skin in that familiar, absent motion.

You lean back into him without thinking, your head tilting just enough to rest against his, your eyes slipping shut for a second as you let yourself settle there.

With him.

He stays like that for a moment, quiet, steady, like he’s waiting for something in you to ease—even just a little.

Then you feel him shift slightly behind you, his lips brushing softly against your temple.

“C’mon,” he murmurs gently. “Let’s go back to bed.”

______________________________

The alarm goes off loud.

Too loud.

It cuts sharply through the quiet of the room, dragging you out of sleep far quicker than you’re ready for, your body still heavy, still caught somewhere between rest and the lingering edges of everything that had followed you through the night.

You barely react at first.

There’s just a soft groan beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as Steve shifts, still half-asleep as he leans over you, one arm braced against the bed while his other hand reaches blindly toward the alarm clock.

It takes him a second—his fingers fumbling before he finally finds it—

click.

Silence returns just as quickly as it left.

You let out a slow breath, your eyes opening properly now as the room settles around you, the early morning light filtering faintly through the curtains, soft and muted.

Steve lingers where he is for a moment, still leaning over you, his hair a mess, his eyes heavy with sleep as he blinks down at you like he’s still catching up with being awake.

“Good morning, honey,” he murmurs, voice rough and quiet.

You smile.

It’s small, a little tired, but real.

“Morning,” you answer softly, your voice still thick with sleep as you shift slightly beneath him.

He doesn’t move away straight away.

Instead, he lowers himself beside you, his arm sliding around you instinctively as you turn into him without thinking, your body fitting easily against his, your head tucking beneath his chin like it’s second nature now.

Because it is.

Your hand comes to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your palm as his fingers settle at your back, holding you there without pressure—just enough to keep you close.

You close your eyes again for a moment.

Not to sleep.

Just to stay.

To hold onto the quiet while it’s still soft.

Neither of you speaks.

The silence sits differently like this—less heavy, less empty. Something shared instead of something you’re carrying on your own.

A few minutes pass before reality slowly starts to settle back in, the weight of the day waiting just outside the edges of it.

Steve shifts slightly, pressing a soft kiss into your hair.

“We should probably get up,” he murmurs.

You groan quietly, your grip tightening just a little.

“Or,” you mumble, voice muffled against his shirt, “we don’t.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and familiar.

“Tempting,” he says softly.

Neither of you moves right away.

Then, slowly, you both do.

Getting out of bed feels heavier than it should, your body still carrying the exhaustion from the night before as you move through the motions—grabbing clothes, changing in quiet familiarity, brushing past each other in the small space without needing to think about it.

By the time you make your way downstairs, the house is already awake.

Voices carry from the kitchen before you even step into it, overlapping slightly, familiar in a way that makes something in your chest ease without you fully realising it.

“…I’m just saying, we can’t have eggs again,” Jonathan’s voice cuts through, edged with tired frustration.

“They’re not just eggs,” Joyce argues, already halfway through doing something at the counter. “They’re protein.”

“They were protein yesterday.”

“And the day before,” Will adds, quieter but no less present.

You step into the doorway just as Joyce turns, her expression softening immediately the second she sees you.

“There she is,” she says warmly, crossing the space in a few quick steps before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Morning,” you say softly, leaning into it for just a second.

It still feels a little strange sometimes—how natural it’s become, having them here. The house fuller, louder, lived in again in a way it hadn’t been for a while.

But it had made sense.

There hadn’t really been another option.

Not after everything.

Not after they’d come back to Hawkins and found there wasn’t anything left for them to come back to—not properly. Not with the town under lockdown, parts of it sealed off, others barely functioning. 

So they’d stayed.

And you hadn’t thought twice about it.

They were family.

Jonathan glances over from where he’s standing, giving you a small wave.

“Hey.”

His eyes flick briefly toward Steve behind you.

There’s a pause.

Subtle, but still there.

“…Hey,” he adds again, a little more reluctant this time.

Steve nods once in return, easy, like he’s used to it by now.

Which he is.

It’s not what it used to be—not sharp, not hostile—but it hasn’t completely settled either. Not after everything that came before. Still, there’s effort there now. Quiet, unspoken, but real.

They’re trying.

That’s enough.

“Sit,” Joyce says, already turning back toward the stove. “Before they start arguing again.”

“We’re not arguing,” Jonathan mutters.

“We’re discussing,” Will corrects.

“You’re arguing,” Joyce says firmly.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you move further into the kitchen, dropping into a chair at the table as the familiar rhythm of it all settles around you.

Steve sits beside you without hesitation, close enough that your knees brush lightly beneath the table.

Jonathan watches the two of you for a moment—not judging, not sharp like it used to be, just… aware. Like he’s still getting used to it. Like he’s trying to understand where Steve fits now in a space that he hadn’t ever been imagined in before.

The conversation continues around you—easy, domestic, almost normal in a way that still feels slightly surreal after everything that’s happened.

You’re quieter.

The exhaustion lingers, heavier now, settling into your shoulders, the way your posture dips slightly, the way your gaze drifts unfocused for a second too long.

His attention shifts to you without hesitation.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just reaches for your hand beneath the table, his fingers slipping easily between yours, his thumb brushing slowly across your skin in that same familiar, grounding motion.

Your breath softens slightly at the contact, your grip tightening just enough to respond.

You don’t look at him.

You don’t need to.

Because he’s already there.

__________________________

Breakfast settles into something easy.

Not quiet, not loud—just lived-in.

Plates shift across the table, cutlery scraping lightly, the low murmur of conversation filling the space in a way that almost feels normal if you don’t think about it too hard.

Will is the first to break away.

“I’m gonna be late,” he says suddenly, already pushing his chair back as he grabs his bag from where it’s been resting against the wall.

“You’ve still got time,” Joyce calls after him, though she’s already moving too, crossing the kitchen to grab something off the counter and press it into his hands. “Eat this on the way.”

Will barely glances at it before stuffing it into his bag anyway, his attention already halfway out the door.

“I’m biking,” he adds quickly. “I said I’d meet Mike and the others—”

“I know,” Joyce says, softer now, reaching up to fix his collar in that automatic way she always does. “Just—be careful, okay?”

Will nods. He doesn’t argue and he doesn’t linger either.

He’s out the door a second later, the sound of it shutting behind him echoing lightly through the house before everything settles again.

For a moment, Joyce just stands there, watching the space he left behind like she’s still expecting him to come back through it.

Then she exhales.

“Alright—” she says, more to herself than anyone else, already turning back toward the counter. “I’ve got to meet Hopper.”

Your head lifts slightly at that.

Joyce is already moving again, quicker now, grabbing her keys, her jacket.

“He wants to go over something with Eleven—said it couldn’t wait,” she adds, glancing between you, Jonathan, and Steve. “I won’t be long.”

“You say that every time,” Jonathan mutters.

Joyce gives him a look.

“Be nice,” she says, but there’s no real weight behind it.

She leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as she passes, her hand squeezing your shoulder briefly.

“I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “See you.”

And just like that—she’s gone too.

The house falls quieter in her absence.

It leaves just the three of you at the table.

Jonathan.

Steve.

You.

The shift is immediate.

Jonathan leans back slightly in his chair, his fork resting loosely in his hand as his gaze drifts toward the table, not quite looking at either of you. Steve sits beside you, posture relaxed but not careless, his attention flicking briefly toward Jonathan before settling somewhere neutral.

No one says anything.

The silence stretches just long enough to become noticeable.

You glance between them once.

Then again.

Before deciding to break it.

“So…” you start, your voice soft but enough to cut through it. “What are you up to today?”

Jonathan looks up at that, like he hadn’t expected the question.

He shrugs.

“Dunno,” he says, pushing lightly at his plate with his fork. “Probably just… hang around for a bit. See what Nancy’s doing later.”

You nod.

It makes sense.

That’s been most days lately—waiting, figuring things out as they come.

Before you can say anything else—

The phone rings.

Sharp.

Loud.

All three of you jump slightly, the sudden noise cutting straight through the quiet.

Steve recovers first.

“Jesus—” he mutters under his breath, already pushing his chair back as he stands and crosses the room.

You watch him go, your attention following as he reaches for the receiver, lifting it to his ear.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“Yeah—yeah, okay, hi to you too,” he says, his tone shifting immediately into something more familiar.

You exchange a quick glance with Jonathan.

Robin.

“Alright, slow down,” Steve adds, pacing slightly now, running a hand through his hair. “What’s going on?”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

His brows pull together slightly.

“…What is that?” he asks.

You lean forward just slightly, trying to catch something from his side of the conversation, but all you get is the faint, distant sound of Robin’s voice on the other end—too muffled to make out.

Steve exhales.

“Okay, yeah, yeah—hold on—”

He pulls the receiver slightly away from his ear, glancing back toward you and Jonathan.

“She’s saying to grab you two and meet her and Nancy at—” he hesitates, frowning slightly. “WSQK?”

Jonathan straightens slightly at that.

Steve lifts the phone back to his ear.

“…Yeah, no, I don’t know what that is,” he says.

A beat.

Then he winces slightly.

“Okay—alright, jeez—”

Robin’s voice comes through louder this time, even from where you’re sitting—

“Just tell Jonathan, he should know where it is. Come quick!”

The line clicks dead before Steve can respond.

He lowers the receiver slowly, staring at it for a second before setting it back in place.

“God,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “She has no manners.”

A small breath leaves you, something between tired and amused.

Steve turns back to you and Jonathan, already shifting into motion.

“C’mon,” he says. “Get ready. Robin wants us.”

Jonathan is already pushing his chair back.

You follow a second later.

The quiet of the morning breaks just like that—

replaced by something else.

Something moving.

Something starting.

_____________________________

The car ride starts quieter than usual.

Not silent—just… stretched.

Jonathan sits in the back, one arm resting against the door, his gaze fixed out the window as Hawkins passes by in slow, uneven pieces. Steve drives with one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting where it always seems to settle now—warm, steady, against your thigh.

You don’t look at it.

You don’t need to.

The contact is enough.

Grounding in that quiet, familiar way that’s become second nature over the last few months, especially on mornings where your thoughts still feel a little too close to the surface.

Outside, the town feels… different.

Not empty.

But watched.

Military vehicles sit parked along the roads more often than anything else now, their presence constant, cutting through the normal rhythm Hawkins used to have. Soldiers move in small groups, stationed at corners, near barricades, near places no one really goes anymore unless they have to.

It’s subtle, in some ways.

But it’s everywhere.

Steve doesn’t comment on it.

He just drives.

The cassette clicks.

And then—

“I feel a hunger, it’s a hunger…”

You don’t even have to look at him to know.

“Seriously?” you say, glancing over anyway as Take Me Home Tonight fills the car.

Steve doesn’t even try to hide his grin.

“What?” he says. “This is a good one.”

From the backseat, Jonathan lets out a quiet, unimpressed breath.

“Your definition of ‘good’ is questionable at best.”

Steve scoffs.

“Oh, here we go—”

“I’m just saying,” Jonathan continues, leaning forward slightly, “you play the same five songs like they’re the only ones that exist.”

“They’re classic,” Steve shoots back. “Sorry you don’t appreciate good music.”

Jonathan leans back again.

“I appreciate music,” he mutters. “Just not… whatever this is.”

Steve exhales sharply through his nose.

“Then walk,” he says flatly.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips, your head shaking slightly as the two of them continue, neither of them really meaning any of it, but not backing down either.

“Next time,” Jonathan says, “I’m driving.”

“Next time,” Steve fires back, “you can shut up, for once.”

You snort quietly, the tension easing just slightly as the argument fades into the background, the music carrying on as the car turns, the road beginning to slope upward.

The town slowly drops behind you.

The hill rises ahead.

WSQK comes into view at the top, standing alone like it always has, the tall radio tower stretching high above it, cutting clean into the sky.

Steve’s hand shifts slightly against your thigh as the car slows.

Not gripping.

Just… there.

You rest your hand over his briefly.

Just once.

And he squeezes back.

They’re already there when you pull in.

Robin is pacing slightly outside the building, her hands moving as she talks animatedly about something you can’t quite hear yet, while Nancy stands beside her, more still, but just as focused.

The second the car stops—

Jonathan is out.

The door swings open and shuts again almost immediately as he crosses the distance quickly, heading straight for Nancy like he’s been waiting the entire drive to do exactly that.

He reaches her in seconds, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her cheek, his hand brushing lightly against her arm as she turns toward him.

You and Steve take your time.

The car door opens more slowly this time, Steve already stepping out before you can reach for yours, circling around the front without hesitation.

You watch him approach, that familiar, almost fond exasperation settling in before you even say anything.

He opens your door.

Of course he does.

“Careful,” he murmurs, offering his hand.

You roll your eyes lightly, but there’s no real protest as you take it, letting him help you out even though you don’t need it—not really. Not anymore.

The injuries have healed.

Mostly.

What’s left are scars.

Steve still treats you like they aren’t.

Like you might still break if he’s not paying attention.

And somehow—

you love him more for it.

“Steve,” you say, a quiet laugh in your voice as your feet hit the ground, steady. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” he says easily.

But his hand doesn’t leave yours straight away.

It lingers just a second longer.

Then he lets go.

The two of you fall into step beside each other as you head toward the others, the gravel crunching lightly beneath your feet.

Robin spots you first.

Her entire expression lights up immediately, her hands lifting slightly like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“There you are—” she says, already stepping forward, barely giving you time to fully reach them before—

“We have a plan.”

________________________

Robin doesn’t wait.

The second you’re close enough, she’s already turning, motioning for all of you to follow as she heads straight for the door.

“Okay, so—long story short,” she starts, already halfway inside, her words coming fast, overlapping slightly as you step into the building behind her. “Jimmy ‘Fast Hands’ Lee? Gone. Skipped town the second things got weird—honestly, can’t blame him—but that means—”

She throws her arms out slightly as she walks backward for a step, gesturing to the space around you.

“—this is ours.”

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, the inside of the station opening up around you—wires, equipment, the faint hum of something always running in the background.

“Free use,” Robin continues, already moving again, leading you further in. “No one checking in, no one asking questions, no one telling us to leave—which, considering literally everywhere else in Hawkins right now—huge win.”

You exchange a quick glance with Steve as you follow, your shoulder brushing his lightly as the group moves together through the building.

Robin doesn’t slow down.

“And it gets better,” she says, turning down a hallway, pointing vaguely as she goes. “It’s isolated, which means less attention, but not too isolated—which means we still have access to everything we need, and—”

She turns, walking backward again.

“—radio station,” she adds, like that alone should explain everything. “Which means communication. Like, actual communication. No more relying on walkies that cut out every five seconds—this is real, this is range, this is—”

“Robin—”

Steve cuts in gently, not harsh, just enough to stop her before she builds too much momentum.

She pauses mid-step, blinking at him.

“…Right,” she says, like she forgot there were other people here.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips, but it fades just as quickly as Nancy steps forward slightly, picking up where Robin left off—calmer, more deliberate.

“It’s also close to the tunnels,” she adds, her voice steady, her eyes flicking between all of you. “The ones Will mapped out a few years ago. We’ve been cross-referencing them with what we know now, and—it gives us a better chance of getting where we need to go without being seen.”

The room feels a little quieter after that.

Your gaze drifts briefly, taking in the space properly now—the equipment, the layout, the way everything has been claimed and repurposed into something else entirely.

Not just a station anymore.

A base.

Nancy exhales softly, then says it plainly:

“It’s the perfect place to plot getting Vecna.”

The words land heavier than anything Robin said.

The air shifts.

You feel it immediately, your chest tightening just slightly as your thoughts catch up with the reality of what she’s saying—not just planning, not just preparing, but going back.

Back to him.

Back to all of it.

Your steps slow without you meaning them to.

Beside you, Steve does the same.

You don’t look at him.

But you feel it.

The way he stops.

The way everything in him goes just a little more still.

And for a moment—

the excitement in the room doesn’t quite reach you.

You hadn’t realised how much of you had been hoping you’d never have to go back—

Because this isn’t just a plan.

It’s a return.

______________

The main room of WSQK settles into something that feels almost like a meeting.

Not formal.

Not organised.

But focused.

Maps are spread across the table, some of them yours, others marked up in different handwriting—routes, notes, crossed-out paths that didn’t lead anywhere. The air hums faintly with the equipment still running somewhere deeper in the station, a constant reminder that this place isn’t just abandoned—it’s active now.

Yours.

Robin talks as she moves, pacing slightly, pointing things out again even though she’s already said most of it.

“…and if we reroute through here,” she says, tapping a section of one of the maps, “we can avoid the areas that collapsed after—well. Everything.”

Nancy stands opposite her, arms folded, focused.

Jonathan leans back slightly in his chair, watching, quieter than usual but present.

Steve sits beside you, close enough that your knee brushes his under the table, his attention split between the conversation and you in that subtle way you’ve come to recognise.

You listen.

You follow.

You try not to think too far ahead.

“…which means we’d have a clear entry point—”

The door opens.

The sound cuts through the room just enough to pull everyone’s attention toward it.

Hopper steps in first.

His presence fills the space immediately, heavy boots against the floor, his expression already set like he’s halfway through ten different thoughts at once.

“This better be good,” he says, looking between all of you, his voice rough, direct. “Otherwise we just risked the military spotting El for nothing.”

Joyce steps in behind him, her eyes scanning the room quickly, taking everything in at once.

And then—

Eleven.

She moves quieter than the rest, stepping inside with a stillness that somehow holds just as much weight as Hopper’s voice, her gaze flicking briefly across all of you before settling.

Robin straightens slightly, her energy shifting just enough to meet the moment.

“It’s good,” she says quickly. “I promise—it’s good. Okay—so—”

She gestures around again, pulling them further inside as she launches back into it, her explanation moving fast but clearer now, more intentional.

“The station’s empty. No one’s coming back, no one’s checking in, and it’s far enough out that we’re not drawing attention every five seconds,” she explains. “We’ve got space, power, equipment—actual communication equipment—and—”

She points toward the maps.

“—it’s close to the tunnels.”

Nancy picks it up from there, calmer, steady.

“We’ve been mapping potential routes,” she says, her eyes moving between the group. “The tunnels are empty. We can move through them without being seen.”

Robin nods quickly, jumping back in.

“It means we’ve got a way around the military,” she adds. “In and out of places we shouldn’t be, without getting spotted every five minutes.”

Nancy gestures lightly to the maps again.

“We don’t have to rely on open ground.” she finishes. 

Hopper lingers for a second, his gaze sweeping the room, measuring it, weighing it.

Then he nods.

Slow.

“This is good,” he says.

A beat.

Then—

“Then we can start the crawls.”

Steve shifts slightly beside you.

“Crawls?” he repeats.

Hopper looks at him.

“The only way we’re finding this piece of shit,” he says bluntly, “is if we go back in there and search.”

The words settle over the room.

No one argues.

No one questions it.

They just… accept it.

You feel it in yourself too—the flicker of nerves that rises immediately, sharp and familiar, tightening in your chest before you can stop it.

Going back.

You swallow it down just as quickly.

Because there isn’t another option.

There never really was.

You straighten slightly in your seat, your gaze dropping briefly to the map in front of you before lifting again.

You can’t afford to hesitate.

Not now.

Not when it matters.

They have to do this.

They have to win.

Hopper shifts his weight slightly, already moving on.

“I’ll get Murray to bring supplies,” he adds, glancing around the space again. “We’ll set this up properly. Make it a base.”

He turns then, his attention landing on Steve.

“And you,” he says. “Get Dustin in here. See if he can rig something up—communication, whatever the hell we need to make this work.”

Steve nods without hesitation, already reaching for his walkie.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll call him.”

He glances at you briefly as he lifts it, just for a second.

Checking.

Grounding.

Then he brings it up.

“Henderson, you copy?”

_____________________

By the time the sun starts to dip, the station doesn’t feel empty anymore.

It feels… alive.

Voices carry from room to room, footsteps echoing through the hallways, the constant hum of equipment blending with the sound of people moving, talking, thinking. It’s messy, unstructured—but purposeful in a way that makes it feel like something is actually starting to take shape.

Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and Will had arrived not long after school let out, their energy cutting straight through whatever quiet had been left in the building.

Now, everyone is here.

Spread out.

Working.

Trying.

In the main area, the five of you sit gathered around the table again—maps pushed aside slightly to make room for notebooks, loose papers, half-finished ideas scribbled down in different handwriting.

Robin is mid-thought, pacing slightly as she talks.

“Okay, so—hear me out,” she says, gesturing vaguely as she moves. “We don’t just use the station—we become the station.”

Steve leans back in his chair slightly.

“That sounds… ominous.”

“It’s not ominous,” Robin shoots back quickly. “It’s smart.”

Nancy nods slightly, already following.

“She means we use it as cover,” she clarifies. “Keep it running. Make it look normal.”

“Exactly,” Robin says, pointing at her like she’s just proven her point perfectly. “We’re not hiding—we’re broadcasting.”

Jonathan shifts slightly beside you.

“And you’re the voice,” he says to Robin.

Robin grins.

“Obviously.”

You glance between them, leaning forward slightly, your arms resting loosely against the table.

“And how would we talk to each other?” you ask. “You’d work it into the broadcasts?”

Robin nods immediately.

“Yep. In code. Subtle enough that no one else notices, obvious enough that we do.”

Steve huffs quietly.

“Subtle and obvious,” he repeats. “Great plan.”

“You know what I mean,” Robin says, waving him off.

Nancy taps lightly against the table.

“It works,” she says. “We control timing. Movement. When crawls happen.”

You nod slowly, your thoughts already turning it over, fitting it into everything else.

Undercover.

Communication.

Movement.

It makes sense.

The sound of the front door slamming open cuts through the room.

Loud enough that everyone pauses.

Footsteps follow immediately after—fast, purposeful, unmistakable.

Murray bursts into the room like he owns it.

“Alright, boys and girls—” he announces, already halfway across the space. “You are all going to love me.”

He slams a clipboard down onto the table with enough force to make a few of the papers shift.

Dustin lights up immediately.

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Murray barely acknowledges him, already flipping the clipboard around so everyone can see.

“I have,” he says, dragging out the words slightly, “successfully inserted myself into a very boring, very bureaucratic system run by men who think clipboards are a personality trait.”

Steve blinks.

“…What?”

“I hacked it,” Murray says simply, like that explains everything.

Of course he did.

Your eyes drop to the papers in front of you as he taps a section with his finger.

“This,” he continues, “is the military’s schedule for controlled burns inside the MAC-Z.”

The room shifts slightly at that.

More focused.

More serious.

“The gate in the town centre,” Nancy says quietly.

Murray nods.

“The big one,” he confirms. “Their pride and joy. Fortified, monitored, crawling with soldiers—and occasionally, they set it on fire.”

Lucas frowns.

“…They set it on fire?”

“Scientific curiosity,” Murray says flatly. “And probably a lack of better ideas. But I think for the most part, they are doing something in there”

He straightens slightly, his expression sharpening.

“But that is where we come in.”

He taps the paper again.

“They follow a pattern. A schedule. Which means—” he gestures vaguely between all of you, “—we can work around it.”

Your gaze flicks to Hopper briefly, then back to Murray as it clicks into place.

“You’re saying—” you start.

“We coordinate,” Murray cuts in smoothly. “You create a distraction, or better yet—nothing at all—and we move when they’re already occupied.”

Hopper nods slightly.

“Gets me in,” he says.

“And out,” Joyce adds quickly.

Murray gives a vague shrug.

“We’ll aim for both.”

A small, tense silence settles over the group.

Because everyone understands what that means.

Hopper is going back.

Into the Upside Down.

To search.

To find something.

To end this.

Your chest tightens slightly, but you push it down, your focus sharpening instead of drifting.

There’s no point hesitating now.

There isn’t another option.

You lean forward slightly, your eyes still on the clipboard.

“…Okay,” you say. “But how are we going to be in contact with him down there?”

Murray pauses.

Slowly looks up.

And then—

smiles.

“I was hoping someone would ask that, my sweet child.”

You blink.

Your head turns immediately toward Steve, your expression shifting into something between confusion and mild concern.

He looks just as unimpressed.

You glance back at Murray.

“…Please don’t call me that.”

He reaches into his coat anyway, pulling out a small device and placing it carefully on the table.

“This,” he says, tapping it lightly, “is a telemetry tracker.”

There’s a beat.

Then—

Dustin leans forward so fast he nearly knocks his chair back.

“No way.”

Mike and Lucas immediately follow, crowding in closer, Will not far behind, all of them staring at the device like it’s the most interesting thing they’ve seen all day.

“That’s—” Mike starts.

“—insane,” Lucas finishes.

Dustin looks up at Murray, then back at the device.

“This is perfect,” he says, already reaching for it like he wants to take it apart and understand it immediately.

You sit back slightly, watching the shift in the room—the way the energy changes, the way the plan starts to feel less like an idea and more like something real.

Beside you, Steve’s hand finds yours again under the table.

You hold onto it.

Just a little tighter this time.

Because now—

it’s really starting.

________________________

The station slowly turns into something else.

Not all at once.

Not in a way you can point to.

But piece by piece—wire by wire, table by table—it starts to feel less like a slightly abandoned building and more like something being built from the inside out.

A base.

You’re in the sound booth with Robin when it really starts to settle.

The space is smaller than the rest of the station, closed in by glass and equipment, the faint hum of the system running constantly beneath everything as Robin leans over the console, adjusting something with quick, practiced movements.

“No, okay—if I do it like this,” she mutters, flipping a switch and watching the levels shift slightly, “it’ll carry better. Less distortion.”

You lean against the edge of the desk, arms loosely folded, watching her work.

“And the codes?” you ask. “You’re going to just… slip them in?”

Robin glances at you, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Slip is a strong word,” she says. “I prefer strategically embed.”

You raise a brow.

“Subtle,” she adds.

Nancy, just outside the booth, doesn’t look up from the notes she’s writing.

“Not too subtle,” she says. “We still need everyone to understand it.”

Jonathan sits nearby, flipping through a stack of papers, scanning and cross-referencing, quieter but just as focused.

“We’ll need consistency,” he adds. “Same phrasing, same structure. Otherwise it’s just noise.”

Robin points at him.

“Exactly. See? He gets it.”

You push off the desk slightly, stepping closer to the console, your gaze flicking over the controls.

“So—phrases, then,” you say. “Not numbers. Easier to remember.”

Nancy nods.

“Locations tied to everyday language,” she says. “Something that sounds normal if someone else hears it.”

“Like weather updates,” Jonathan suggests.

Robin lights up immediately.

“Yes. Yes—okay, that’s a good idea. That’s really good.”

She turns back to the mic, already testing something under her breath, slipping into a rhythm that sounds almost natural—like she’s done this before, like she’s already figuring out how to make it work.

Outside, through the glass, you can see movement—people crossing back and forth, the rest of the group splitting off into their own tasks.

Hopper, Joyce, and Eleven had left not long ago, heading out behind the station where the ground dips just enough to give them cover. From what Hopper had said, they were starting there—digging, clearing, mapping out ways to reach the empty tunnels without drawing attention.

A way for Eleven to move.

Unseen.

Safe.

Your gaze shifts slightly, drifting past the glass, past the room, toward the outside.

Steve is out there.

You don’t even have to look properly to know.

But you do anyway.

The van sits just off to the side of the station, its back doors open, equipment spread out around it in pieces that don’t quite look like they belong together yet. Dustin is crouched halfway inside it, already elbow-deep in something, talking quickly about wires and signals while Mike and Lucas hover nearby, handing him whatever he asks for.

Steve stands just outside, leaning slightly into the frame of the van, listening—actually listening—as Dustin explains something, his attention steady, focused in that way he only really gets when it matters.

He glances up briefly.

Like he feels you looking.

Your gaze flicks away before he can catch it properly.

“Okay.”

Nancy’s voice pulls you back.

You turn.

She’s looking at all of you now—Robin, Jonathan, you—her expression set, certain in a way that settles the room immediately.

“We start tomorrow,” she says.

There’s no hesitation in it.

“First thing.”

Robin straightens slightly.

Jonathan stops flipping through the papers.

You hold her gaze.

“Murray will come by in the morning,” Nancy continues. “He’ll give us the burn schedule. We plan around that.”

She nods once toward Robin.

“You broadcast the codes.”

Robin nods back, more serious now.

“And we begin,” Nancy finishes.

The words land.

Simple.

Final.

You nod.

Slowly.

Because there’s nothing else to say to it.

Because this is it.

This is where it stops being preparation.

And starts becoming something real.

Your gaze drifts again—this time not stopping at the glass.

You move.

Pushing open the door, stepping out of the booth, then through the main room, your steps quiet against the floor as you head for the exit.

The air outside feels different.

Cooler.

Open.

The sound of tools, voices, movement carries across the space as you step out, your eyes finding them immediately.

Dustin is still talking.

Mike and Lucas are still trying to keep up.

And Steve—

Steve is still there.

You watch him for a moment, the way he leans slightly closer to whatever Dustin is showing him now, the way he nods, the way his hand lifts absently to rub at the back of his neck as he listens.

Steady.

Present.

Here.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t need to.

You just stand there for a second, watching—

before everything starts.

________________________________

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there until he looks up.

Steve’s attention shifts from whatever Dustin is saying, his head turning slightly—just enough—and then his eyes find you.

It’s immediate.

The way his expression changes.

Softens.

He says something quick to the others—something you don’t quite catch—before stepping away from the van, crossing the distance between you like it’s instinct.

Like it always is.

“You good?” he asks as he reaches you, his hands already settling at your waist, pulling you in before you can properly answer.

You nod automatically, your hands coming up to rest lightly against his chest.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

He studies you for a second longer than necessary.

Then he leans in.

The kiss is quick at first—

and then it’s not.

It deepens without warning, his hand tightening slightly at your side as he pulls you closer, like he needs to feel you there properly, like the distance between you—even for a few minutes—had been too much.

You barely have time to react before you’re kissing him back, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt, your body leaning into his without thinking.

“—Okay, nope, nope—”

Lucas’ voice cuts in from somewhere behind him.

“Dude, seriously,” Will adds, a little quieter but just as unimpressed. “We’re right here.”

You pull back slightly, breath catching as Steve lingers for half a second longer before finally letting you go.

He doesn’t look even remotely sorry.

“Why don’t you all go back to that,” he says over his shoulder, gesturing vaguely toward the van, “and get off my back?”

“Gladly,” Lucas mutters.

You let out a small breath, something between a laugh and something softer as Steve turns back to you, his expression shifting again—less teasing now, more focused.

“You okay?” he asks again, quieter this time.

You nod.

It’s the truth.

Mostly.

There’s still that tightness sitting just under the surface, that nervous edge that hasn’t really gone away since Nancy said the words we start tomorrow.

But you don’t say that.

You just nod.

Steve watches you for a second, like he knows there’s more there.

Like he always does.

But he doesn’t push.

Instead, he leans in again, pressing a softer kiss to your forehead this time, his hand lifting briefly to the back of your neck.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

A beat.

“Or anyone.”

You smile.

It’s small.

But it stays.

You lean into him just slightly before pulling back, your gaze drifting past him again, back toward the van.

Back to them.

Dustin is still inside.

You notice it more now that you’re actually looking.

The way he moves.

Quieter.

More contained.

Not the same constant energy, the endless stream of words and excitement that used to fill every space he was in.

It’s still there.

Just… dimmed.

You understand it.

More than you want to.

Your chest tightens slightly as you watch him for a second longer before you step away, Steve falling into place beside you without question as the two of you head back toward the van.

The closer you get, the louder it becomes again—tools, voices, Dustin explaining something under his breath as he works, Mike trying to follow along, Lucas handing him whatever he asks for.

Steve moves toward the side of the van, picking up where he left off without hesitation, already grabbing one of the tools Murray had brought, positioning himself at the roof.

“You got that?” Mike asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, adjusting his grip. “Just—hold it steady.”

Metal scrapes lightly as he starts cutting into the roof, careful, controlled, the sound sharp but steady as he works.

You don’t stay there.

Your attention is already shifting back to the open doors.

To Dustin.

He barely looks up when you step closer, his hands still moving quickly between wires and small devices spread out in front of him.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey,” he replies, just as quiet, not looking away from what he’s doing.

You hesitate for a second.

“How are you?” you ask.

It feels like a simple question.

It doesn’t land like one.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Too quick.

Too automatic.

You study him for a second, your brow pulling slightly.

You don’t like it.

“Dustin…” you say gently, stepping a little closer. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

That gets his attention.

He looks up, just for a second—long enough for you to see it. The shine in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding something in place.

And for a second—

just a second—

you see it.

The way his eyes catch slightly, something glassy there, something he’s not letting sit long enough to actually feel.

He nods.

But it’s small.

And it doesn’t quite reach anywhere real.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

A beat.

Then he looks back down.

“I just—I need to finish this.”

The words are quiet.

Final.

Not pushing you away.

But not letting you in either.

You understand.

You nod once, stepping back slightly.

“Okay,” you say softly.

And you leave him to it.

______________________________

By the time they stop, the light has started to fade.

Not completely gone—but softer, stretched across the sky in that quiet way that makes everything feel slower, like the day is finally giving in.

The van sits open behind them, tools scattered, wires half-tucked into place, the beginnings of something that almost works taking shape inside it. It’s not finished.

But it’s enough.

For now.

Steve steps back from the roof, wiping his hands against his jeans as he glances over what they’ve managed, his head tilting slightly like he’s already running through what still needs to be done.

Dustin is the last to climb out, careful with the equipment still resting inside, adjusting something one last time before stepping down.

“That’s as much as we’re getting done today,” he mutters.

No one argues.

They’re all tired.

The kind of tired that settles into your bones without asking.

Behind you, the door to the station creaks open.

Robin steps out, pulling it shut behind her before locking it, testing the handle once like she doesn’t quite trust it yet.

“Alright,” she says, turning back toward the group, brushing her hands together lightly. “That’s us.”

Her gaze flicks between you, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow morning,” she adds, pointing between you. “Bright, sharp, and early.”

There’s a collective groan from somewhere in the group.

But no one disagrees.

“Yeah,” Steve says, glancing toward her. “We’ll be here.”

Nancy nods once, her focus already shifting forward again, like she’s mentally stepping into tomorrow.

“Remember to have the radio on,” she says, looking toward the boys. “Just in case.”

Mike straightens slightly.

“Got it.”

“Come back tomorrow afternoon,” she continues. “We’ll go over positioning properly.”

Lucas nods.

“Yeah.”

Will glances between them, then nods too.

Mike looks around at all of you, something sharper settling into his expression.

“Let’s get this bastard,” he says.

It lands.

Simple.

Direct.

Everyone nods.

No hesitation.

You feel it too—that shift, that quiet agreement that this is happening, that there’s no more waiting around it.

Your gaze drifts to Jonathan.

“Do you need a ride?” you ask.

He shakes his head immediately.

“Nah,” he says, glancing briefly toward Nancy. “I’ll go with her. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nod, stepping forward just enough to pull him into a quick hug.

“See you,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs back.

Will lingers for a second before stepping closer.

“I’m gonna stay with Mike,” he says, like he’s checking it’s okay.

You smile softly at him.

“Okay,” you nod. “Be safe.”

He nods back, a little more certain now.

The group starts to shift then, breaking apart in small, familiar ways, each of them falling back into their own directions.

Robin claps her hands together once.

“Great,” she says brightly, turning toward you and Steve. “You can drive me home.”

Steve rolls his eyes immediately.

“Of course we can.”

He doesn’t argue.

He just turns, already heading toward the car.

Robin follows right behind him, practically skipping to keep up.

You linger for a second longer.

Your gaze shifts.

Dustin is already by his bike, Lucas beside him, the two of them adjusting things, getting ready to head off.

You step closer.

“Do you need a ride?” you ask.

Dustin shakes his head without looking up.

“No… thanks.”

It’s quiet.

Not dismissive.

Just… distant.

You nod anyway.

“Okay.”

Lucas gives you a small nod in return as he swings onto his bike.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

“Yeah,” you answer.

Dustin doesn’t say anything else.

He just pushes off, Lucas following beside him as the two of them ride off down the road, their silhouettes fading slowly into the dimming light.

You watch them for a second.

Then you turn.

Steve is already by the car, Robin leaning against it, talking about something you can’t quite hear from here.

You take a breath.

And follow after them.

____________________________________

Robin talks the entire drive.

Not about the crawls.

Not about Vecna.

Not about anything that had filled the last few hours.

No—she talks about the radio.

About the station.

“I’m telling you, I need an opening line,” she says, half-turned in her seat, her hands moving as she talks like she’s already behind the mic. “Like something iconic. Something people hear and immediately go—oh, yeah, that’s me.”

Steve glances at her briefly, one hand on the wheel.

“You already have one,” he says. “You say your name like five different times.”

“That’s branding,” Robin shoots back immediately. “Very important.”

You sit beside him, your shoulder resting lightly against the door, your gaze fixed out the window as the town drifts past in quiet stretches of shadow and dim streetlights.

Robin doesn’t notice.

Or maybe she does and chooses not to.

“I’m thinking—music rotation,” she continues, already moving on. “We keep it varied. A little bit of everything. Not like someone I know—”

She gestures vaguely toward Steve.

“—who plays the same three songs like they’re a personality trait.”

“They are good songs,” Steve argues.

“They are the same songs,” she fires back.

You hear it.

You follow it.

But you don’t really engage.

Your attention stays outside.

The road stretches ahead in long, quiet lines, the occasional military vehicle passing in the opposite direction, headlights cutting briefly through the darkness before disappearing again.

Your thoughts drift.

Forward.

Tomorrow.

The plan.

The crawls.

Everything that’s about to start.

Your fingers rest loosely in your lap, unmoving as the weight of it all settles somewhere just beneath the surface—familiar, but heavier now that it’s real.

Steve notices.

He always does.

He doesn’t interrupt Robin.

He doesn’t call your name.

He just lets one hand slip from the wheel for a second, settling lightly over yours where it rests, his thumb brushing once across your skin.

Grounding.

You don’t look at him.

But your fingers shift slightly beneath his.

That’s enough.

“—and then I can do, like, themed segments,” Robin is saying, still mid-thought. “Like ‘Mornings with Robin,’ but not that because that’s terrible—but you get the idea.”

“Truly groundbreaking,” Steve says dryly.

“Thank you,” she replies, completely serious.

The car slows as you turn onto her street.

She’s still talking when you pull up outside her house, the porch light already on, casting a soft glow across the front steps.

Steve barely has time to put the car in park before she’s already reaching for the door.

“Okay—so tomorrow, we start,” she says, half-turning back toward you both. “Big day. Big energy. Big everything.”

She swings the door open.

Then pauses.

“And seriously—think about the opening line,” she adds, pointing vaguely between you.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Steve says.

Robin nods, satisfied.

Then hops out.

“See you both at six!” she calls, already heading toward the house.

The door shuts behind her a second later.

And just like that—

it’s quiet again.

The car idles softly, the hum of the engine filling the space where her voice had been seconds ago.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first.

He just shifts slightly, his hand finding yours properly this time, his fingers threading through yours as his thumb strokes slowly across your skin.

You let out a quiet breath.

He glances at you briefly.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod.

It’s small.

But real enough.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

He watches you for a second longer, like he’s deciding whether to push it further.

He doesn’t.

Instead, his grip tightens just slightly around your hand.

And then he pulls the car back onto the road.

The drive home is quieter.

Slower.

The town stretches out around you again, dim and still, the weight of it settling back in—but softer this time, dulled slightly by the steady presence beside you.

Steve doesn’t let go of your hand the entire way back.

And you don’t ask him to.

__________________________________

The house is quieter when you get back.

Not empty—just… still.

Will and Jonathan are gone, probably already settled in at the Wheelers, and Joyce isn’t back yet. The lights are low, the air cooler than it had been earlier, like the house has been waiting for you to return to it.

Steve closes the door behind you, the familiar sound of it clicking shut echoing softly through the space.

He moves without thinking.

Keys out of his pocket.

Dropped into the bowl by the door with a quiet clatter—something he does every time now, like it’s always been his place to come back to.

Like he belongs here.

Your gaze lingers on that for just a second.

Then shifts back to him.

He turns to you, already stepping closer, his arms sliding around you easily, pulling you into him like the distance between you—even the short one from the car—had been unnecessary.

“Food?” he asks.

You nod.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t let go straight away.

Just holds you there for a second longer before stepping back, his hand brushing lightly against yours as he turns toward the kitchen.

You follow.

The routine is familiar.

Simple.

He pulls a couple of TV dinners from the fridge, setting them down with a quiet clink before sliding them into the oven, moving through it all with an ease that feels… normal.

Even if everything else isn’t.

Food is harder to come by now.

Everything is.

But this—this still works.

A few minutes later, the two of you sit at the table, the soft scrape of cutlery the only sound filling the space as you eat.

You’re quieter.

Your thoughts are already drifting again, pulling you back to earlier—to the station, the plan, the way everything had started to feel real in a way it hadn’t before.

Steve notices.

He always does.

He watches you for a second, his fork pausing halfway before he sets it down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You nod.

It’s subtle.

But enough.

You take a small breath.

“I just…” you start, your voice quieter than you expect. “I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

You don’t need to say more.

He understands.

You don’t want anyone to get hurt.

You don’t want anyone to—

Your chest tightens slightly.

Eddie.

Steve nods slowly, his expression softening as he watches you.

“I know,” he says.

He pushes his chair back.

Stands.

Before you can even question it, he’s moving around the table, his hands settling at your waist as he gently pulls you up from your chair and sits down again, guiding you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t resist.

You settle against him easily, your hands instinctively coming up to rest against his shoulders as his arm wraps securely around you.

“I know,” he repeats, quieter this time. “But honey… if anyone can do this—”

He shifts slightly, his hand brushing up your back.

“—it’s us.”

You nod.

Slowly.

Your hand lifts, cupping his face, your thumb brushing lightly along his cheek as you hold his gaze.

Your voice catches slightly before you can stop it. “I don’t want to lose you either,” you say softly.

There’s no hesitation in it.

No deflection.

Just truth.

Steve looks at you like the words matter more than anything else in the room.

Like they always have.

“At this point,” he says, a faint smile pulling at his lips, “I don’t think anything could take me away from you.”

A beat.

“Not even Vecna.”

A quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, the tension easing just slightly as your head dips for a second, your forehead brushing lightly against his.

He watches you, something softer in his expression now—something steadier.

“Do you remember that dream I told Nancy about?” he asks.

You lift your head, nodding.

“Yeah.”

“The six little nuggets,” he continues, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “The RV. The beach.”

Your lips curve faintly.

“Well,” he says, his voice gentler now, more certain, “both you and I have to be there to make that happen.”

His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you there lightly.

“And I’m not letting that dream go.”

Something in your chest loosens at that.

You smile properly this time, your fingers slipping into his hair, your thumb brushing slowly along the back of his neck.

“Does it have to be six, though?” you ask, just lightly enough to shift the moment.

He laughs.

Soft.

Real.

“We can talk about that,” he says.

You smile.

Then lean in.

The kiss is slower this time.

Not rushed.

Not desperate.

Just full of everything you don’t need to say out loud, your hands holding onto him as he pulls you closer, like he’s memorising it, like he always does.

Like it matters.

Because it does.

When you pull back, you stay close, your forehead resting lightly against his, your breathing steady, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt.

Outside, the world hasn’t changed.

The military is still there. The gates are still open. Vecna is still waiting.

But here, right now—

it’s just the two of you.

And tomorrow— everything begins.

-----------------

taglist: @mhayes777 @jorden710 @scaramou @feathersmcgee230 @serena6728 @hopeofwinter @lilulo-12 @torntaltos @mirellef2001 @ophirei @purplerainx1 @1iliaanxz @lily-liketheflower @raajali3 @katiebby04 @lauraashley93 @matt-manhattan

[discodjo]

Temporary Fix | Steve Harrington

Chapter Six - Nothing It Looked Like

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, jealousy, tension, manipulation (lying), character being an asshole, emotional conflict, miscommunication

word count: 5.5k

series masterlist

summary: you and steve were friends first, and that was the part that mattered. everything else, the late nights, the quiet routine, the way he kept showing up, didn’t mean anything. it was easy. something the two of you fell into without really thinking about it. something that didn’t need to be explained. because as long as it stayed like this, nothing had to change. right?

an: hii omg, sorry for the late update! going forward, i'm not too sure if i'm going to be able to keep my posting schedule for the story. i have so much going on irl and i don’t want to keep posting it a day or two late. so if it's okay, i'll just be posting it when the latest chapter is ready! but anywhoooo this chapter was so fun to write i’m not even going to lie likeeeeee… this is probably one of my favorite dynamics so far. & before anyone asks no this is not going to be a love triangle, but i'm going to have fun with this. enjoooooyyyyy......mwah 💋

reblogs are appreciated <3

🎧

supercut - lorde

take on me - a-ha

jessie's girl - rick springfield

everywhere - fleetwood mac

eyes without a face - billy idol

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

Nothing was working.

You stood in front of your closet longer than you meant to, fingers dragging through hangers, pushing things aside only to pull them back a second later like maybe you’d missed something the first time. A shirt you’d worn a hundred times suddenly didn’t sit right. A skirt you used to love felt off the second you put it on. Even the easy outfits, the ones you never had to think about, weren’t landing the way they usually did.

You changed once. Then again.

And again.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have anything to wear. You did. You always did. You were the kind of person who could throw something on without thinking too hard about it. Jeans, a fitted tee, something thrifted that looked like it had a story before it got to you. It had always been enough. It had always felt like you.

You’d never thought this hard about it before.

Usually it was easy. You picked something you liked, something that felt right, and that was it. No second-guessing. No standing in front of the mirror longer than you needed to. No changing twice, or three times, or stopping to fix things that didn’t actually need fixing.

Lately you’d noticed it more, but tried not to pay too much attention to it. The way things fit. The way they looked. The way they might be seen. It wasn’t for anyone, or at least that’s what you told yourself. Sure, the group might’ve noticed once already, but it just… mattered more than it used to.

You grabbed your bag off the chair by your door, checking for your keys out of habit before heading out. Your room stayed behind you exactly as it was. Clothes scattered, half-finished decisions left where they landed.

The house was quieter than usual. You could hear the TV faintly from the other room, something low and familiar playing in the background. You moved through it without stopping, slipping your shoes on near the door, adjusting the strap once before reaching for your jacket again.

“Ready?”

You glanced up as your mom stepped into the hallway, keys already in her hand.

“Yeah,” you said, a little too quick, then softened it. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

She smiled a little at that. “You look cute.”

You huffed lightly, but there was a small smile there too. “Thanks.”

“Do you have everything?” she asked, already reaching for the door.

“Yeah, I checked,” you said, lifting your bag slightly.

“Okay, good,” she nodded. “Let’s go.”

The night air hit you the second you stepped outside. Cool, a little sharper than you expected. You pulled your jacket in closer without thinking, your fingers brushing briefly against the fabric like you needed something to do with them.

The car ride started the same way most of them did. The radio playing low, something soft and familiar, your mom tapping lightly against the steering wheel as she drove. You leaned back in your seat, your gaze drifting toward the window, watching the lights pass by in streaks of gold and white.

You were meeting them there.

Eddie had found the place, some karaoke spot with private rooms you could rent by the hour, which apparently made it “better” than a normal bar. Less people, less awkwardness which meant more room to be loud without anyone telling you to shut up.

Robin had immediately loved the idea. Nancy said it sounded fun. Jonathan agreed, mostly because she did. And Steve had just nodded, like he always did, like he didn’t mind either way.

You told them you’d meet them there. Said you had school stuff to finish, which you somehow managed to get done without getting distracted.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

Outside, the glow of neon started to come into view, soft colors bleeding into the street as the car slowed. The place came into focus slowly. Lights in the windows, people moving in and out, the faint sound of music spilling out every time the door opened.

“Text me if you need a ride, babe,” your mom said, pulling up along the curb.

“I will,” you said, reaching for the handle, then pausing for a second. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” she said, giving you a quick smile. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will, love you.”

You stepped out, the door shutting behind you. The car pulled away not long after, leaving you standing there alone.

For a second, you didn’t move.

The music was louder now, voices overlapping, laughter cutting through it in bursts. It felt different standing here by yourself. Like you were about to walk into something instead of already being part of it.

You adjusted your jacket, smoothing it down, then pushed your hair back over your shoulder, quick and automatic.

Then you turned and headed inside.

The hallway was dim, lined with doors and soft colored lights, each one glowing faintly with muffled music behind it. It felt quieter here, the noise contained, like everything was happening just out of reach.

You knew which room they were in before you even got to it, you could hear them.

Robin, loud and unmistakable. Eddie right behind her, probably talking over whatever song was playing. It made something in your chest loosen just slightly, familiar in a way that didn’t ask anything from you.

You pushed the door open, and the sound of music, voices, and laughter spilling into the small space hit you all at once. The room was warm, the screen glowing at the front, the table cluttered with drinks, the mic already in someone’s hand.

Eddie looked up first, pointing at you immediately. “There she is.”

“Relax,” you said, stepping inside. “I told you I was coming.”

“You’re late,” he shot back, grinning.

“I had stuff to finish.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved it off. “You missed my performance.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Barely,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly, slipping into the open space on the couch, the seat warm from where someone had been sitting before. It was crowded, bodies close, the kind of space where everyone ended up leaning into each other without thinking about it.

And then—

Steve looked at you. Not too long, not too obvious.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Like nothing had happened.

Like last night in his backseat didn’t exist.

You reached for a drink on the table, your fingers wrapping around the glass as you leaned back slightly, letting the noise fill the space before anything else could.

Robin didn’t even notice you at first.

She was standing way too close to the screen, mic gripped in one hand like she was on an actual stage, completely committed to whatever song she’d picked. The opening synth of “Take On Me” filled the room, bright and dramatic, and she hit the first line with way more confidence than accuracy.

“Talking away—” she sang, already off-key, pointing at the screen like it had personally wronged her. “I don’t know what I’m to say—”

Eddie was losing it beside her.

“No, no, you had it, go back!” he laughed, grabbing the second mic like he was about to jump in and somehow make it worse. “You skipped a whole part!”

“I did not skip anything!” Robin shot back, not even looking at him, still trying to keep up with the lyrics as they moved too fast across the screen. “The song is moving too fast!”

“That’s literally how the song goes!”

Jonathan leaned back against the wall, shaking his head with a quiet laugh, while Nancy sat beside him, smiling in that softer way of hers, watching it all play out like she’d seen it a hundred times before.

You sank a little further into the couch, the noise settling around you in a way that felt easy. Familiar. Your drink was cold in your hand, condensation gathering against your fingers as you watched Robin absolutely butcher the chorus.

“Take on meee—” she dragged out, her voice cracking just slightly as Eddie jumped in way too loud beside her.

“TAKE ME ON—”

“—no, you’re yelling!” she snapped, laughing through it now, shoving at him without completely losing her place. “You’re not even singing!”

“I am singing!”

“You’re shouting!”

You huffed a quiet laugh into your drink, shaking your head slightly as the two of them kept going, completely off rhythm now but somehow still having the time of their lives.

You leaned forward just slightly, setting your drink down on the table as Robin finally gave up halfway through the last chorus, laughing as she dropped the mic onto the couch.

“I hate that song,” she said immediately.

“You chose it,” Nancy pointed out.

“I regret everything.”

“You say that every time,” Jonathan added.

“Because every time is worse,” Robin shot back, collapsing into the seat beside you.

Eddie grabbed the mic again like he wasn’t done, already scrolling through the next song. “Okay, okay—my turn. We’re fixing the energy.”

“Oh, this is about to be worse,” Robin muttered.

“Excuse you,” he said, offended. “I have range.”

“You absolutely do not.”

Their voices overlapped again, easy and loud, filling the space without effort.

You leaned back into the couch, your shoulder brushing lightly against Steve’s for half a second before you shifted just slightly, like it hadn’t happened at all.

Your fingers curled loosely in your lap, your gaze drifting back toward the screen as Eddie kept talking, already too invested in his next performance.

Beside you, Steve didn’t say anything.

But you could feel him.

The way he hadn’t moved either.

And for a second—

you almost looked at him.

Almost.

But you didn’t.

You just kept your eyes forward.

Like everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

The next hour blurred together in that easy, messy way it always did when no one was really paying attention to time.

Eddie took over not long after Robin finished, immediately queuing up “I Was Made for Lovin’ You” like it was a personal mission. He didn’t just sing it, he performed it, fully committing to every second. Air guitar, air drums, air bass, switching between them like he was actually in a band, dragging everyone into it whether they wanted to be or not. At one point he pointed at each of you, assigning instruments without explanation, and somehow you all went along with it, half-laughing, half-playing from your seats like it made perfect sense.

The room got louder after that, looser. 

Jonathan, somewhere between high and drunk, probably both, ended up on his feet next. Whatever hesitation he usually had was gone, replaced with something lighter, easier. He picked “Rock the Casbah” and leaned into it fully, not overthinking it, just moving with the music in a way that made it hard not to watch. It wasn’t polished, not even close, but it didn’t need to be.

Nancy sat back at first, arms loosely crossed, already shaking her head like she’d seen this coming. She hated The Clash. Hated it. And she definitely hated when Jonathan got like this, but there was a smile there anyway, breaking through every time he got a little too into it. She drank more, though. Not in a concerning way. Just enough to take the edge off.

At some point, she leaned in closer to you, her shoulder brushing yours as she tilted her head just enough to be heard over the music. “Do you like The Clash?”

You glanced over at her, a small smile pulling at your mouth. “Honestly? I don’t mind them.”

She gave you a look.

You nudged her lightly. “C’mon, Nancy. You know you wanna dance.”

She huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head like she was about to argue, then didn’t.

You let yourself stay there, leaning into the small talk just enough, even if somewhere in the back of your mind something lingered. The way she’d said things before. The way it had all been framed just slightly off.

But it didn’t stick.

You didn’t let it.

Not with the music this loud. Not with the drinks in your system, warming everything just enough to take the edge off.

It faded into the background, just like everything else.

The songs kept coming, one blending into the next, the room never fully settling before something else started up again.

By the time Nancy finally stood, taking the mic with a small shake of her head like she couldn’t believe she was doing it, the energy in the room had changed to something more lighter.

She picked “Uptown Girl.”

She didn’t make a big deal out of it. No announcement, no buildup. Just a quiet breath as she stepped closer to the screen, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear like she needed something to steady herself before the music started.

The opening notes filled the room, lighter than everything that had come before, and for a second, she just stood there.

Then she started singing.

Her voice was soft but steady, the kind that didn’t try too hard but still held its place. There was something almost shy about it at first, like she wasn’t used to having the attention on her like this.

But it didn’t last long.

By the second verse, she relaxed into it, a small smile slipping in like she’d forgotten to hold it back.

Jonathan watched her the whole time.

Didn’t even try to hide it.

And when she glanced over at him, just for a second, something in her expression shifted. Warmer. Softer. Like the rest of the room had faded out completely.

It was easy to watch.

Easy to sit back and let it happen without needing to say anything at all.

She finished the last line with a small breath, her voice softening at the end like she didn’t need to push it any further. The music faded out, and for a second, there was that quiet pause before the room caught up again.

Eddie clapped first, loud and immediate. “Okay—what? Since when do you sing like that?”

Nancy rolled her eyes, already handing the mic back like it hadn’t been anything. “Relax.”

Jonathan smiled, shaking his head a little, still watching her like he hadn’t quite come back down from it yet.

Robin didn’t let the moment settle for long.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands once as she pushed herself up from the couch. “Enough of that. I’m jealous. Harrington, you’re up.”

Steve blinked, like he hadn’t been expecting that. “What? No.”

“Yes,” Robin pointed at him. “You’ve been sitting there this whole time doing absolutely nothing.”

“I have not been doing nothing.”

“You have been doing nothing,” Eddie backed her up immediately.

“I’ve been supporting,” Steve argued, already shaking his head. “Big difference.”

“Get up,” Robin said, grabbing the mic and holding it out toward him. “Pick a song.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly into the couch. “I don’t even know what to pick.”

“Then figure it out.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” he muttered, glancing toward the screen like that would somehow help. “Nothing’s—”

He stopped, just for a second, then looked at you—not quick, not accidental, but intentional.

He tilted his head slightly, pointing at you with a small, almost casual motion. “Do it with me.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard for half a second before it settled. “Huh?” you said, letting out a small laugh. “What, why?”

Steve’s mouth twitched slightly as he pushed himself up from the couch. “C’mon.”

You shook your head immediately, leaning back a little. “No, this is your moment. Don’t drag me into it.”

“My moment?” he repeated, like that was ridiculous.

“Yes,” you said, gesturing toward him. “You’ve been sitting there all night doing absolutely nothing. This is your big break.”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, Harrington, don’t be shy.”

“I’m not shy,” Steve shot back, grabbing the mic from Robin without really thinking about it. Then he looked at you again, more pointed this time. “You’re still doing it with me.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, a smile pulling at your mouth despite yourself. “I literally just said no.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I heard you.”

“And?”

“And you’re still coming.”

Robin leaned over, nudging you lightly. “Go,” she said under her breath, already grinning.

You let out a quiet huff, shaking your head as you pushed yourself up from the couch anyway. “You’re annoying.”

Steve’s smile was small, but it was there. “You’ll be fine.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him as he turned toward the screen, already scrolling through the songs like he’d made up his mind.

“Okay, but if this is bad,” you muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, “I’m blaming you.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s not gonna be bad.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

You glanced at him once, quick, before looking away again like it didn’t matter.

Steve didn’t look at the screen again.

Instead, he glanced over at Eddie, already holding the mic loose in his hand. “Eddie,” he said, nodding toward the system, “you know what song to pick.”

Eddie’s grin spread immediately, like he’d been waiting for that. “Oh, I definitely do.”

Robin leaned forward. “Wait—what song?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie shot back, already clicking through the list. “This is a classic.”

You didn’t think anything of it at first.

Not until that familiar pause, the split second before the music starts. And then it hit you. You didn’t need to hear it. You just knew.

 Your stomach tightened slightly, something quiet and immediate settling in your chest before you could stop it. You glanced at Steve without meaning to, he was already looking at you. Not smiling, not teasing, just… looking. Like he knew you’d get it. You looked away first, your grip tightening slightly around the mic as the first notes finally started to play.

Steve didn’t wait.

The second the music started, he stepped into it like he already knew exactly how this was going to go, lifting the mic just slightly as the opening line hit. And he didn’t play it off—didn’t joke, didn’t hold back—he actually sang it, voice steady, a little rough around the edges in a way that made it feel real instead of perfect.

“Jessie is a friend…”

Eddie immediately lost it. “Let’s go!” he yelled from the couch, followed by a sharp whistle that cut through the room.

Nancy laughed, shaking her head, already leaning back into Jonathan as he started tapping out a beat against the table like he had drums in front of him.

You couldn’t help it.

You laughed too.

Not at him, just… at the moment. At how into it he already was, how seriously he was taking it, how it somehow didn’t feel embarrassing at all. Your smile pulled wide, almost disbelieving, like you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it.

Steve glanced at you for half a second when you laughed. Just enough to catch it. Catching your reaction, the way your face lit up.

By the time the chorus hit, you didn’t even think about it.

You stepped in beside him, lifting your mic as your voice came in with his, the two of you falling into it easily, like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“I wish that I had Jessie’s girl—”

The room got louder around you, but it didn’t feel overwhelming. Eddie was already fake-strumming an invisible guitar from his seat, Jonathan fully committed to the drums now, tapping out the rhythm against his knees, while Robin grabbed Nancy’s hands and pulled her up, the two of them swaying and laughing as they moved to the beat.

It wasn’t chaotic.

It was… alive.

And you were in the middle of it.

The second verse came, and Steve stepped back just enough, turning slightly toward you. The smallest nod, like he was handing it off without making it a thing and you took it.

Singing alone now, your voice steadier than you expected. A little lighter, but still landing where it needed to. You didn’t overthink it, it just made you follow the rhythm, the lyrics coming easy, like they’d been sitting there waiting.

And then the pre-chorus hit.

He stepped back in, closer than he had been recently.

Your voices blended again, the space between you smaller now, the energy going into something tighter, more focused. You could feel the way your timing matched, the way you moved in sync without trying, like you were both just locked into the same moment.

Your eyes met and this time you didn’t look away right away. Not because you forgot, not because you didn’t know better, just because for a second, it didn’t feel like something you had to avoid.

The chorus came again, louder this time, both of you leaning into it, your voices overlapping, the room clapping along now. Robin and Nancy fully dancing, Eddie on his feet at some point, still playing guitar like he was in his own concert.

Everything blurred into the music and rhythm. 

Into this one moment that felt bigger than it should’ve.

And then—

the guitar solo.

Steve didn’t even hesitate before he dropped down onto the floor like he’d been waiting for it, landing on his knees with a small thud. He leaned back, arching slightly, one hand gripping the mic like it was a guitar, head tipping back as he committed to it completely. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

You laughed, shaking your head but you didn’t step away. 

If anything—

you leaned in more.

The energy pulled you with it, the two of you caught in the same ridiculous, perfect moment, like nothing else existed outside of it. And for once, you didn’t try to make it smaller. You just stayed there with him, smiling, singing, letting it happen exactly as it was.

The last chorus hit harder than the rest of it. Not louder, just fuller, like everything had built into it without anyone really noticing when it started. Your voices overlapped easily, neither of you holding back now, the room clapping along, the beat steady under everything else. Steve stayed close, closer than he needed to be, and you didn’t move away.

By the final line, you were both laughing through it, a little breathless, a little off-timing, but still there, still in it. The song ended almost abruptly after that, the music cutting out as the room filled the space immediately.

“OH MY GOD—” Eddie shouted, clapping way too loud. “That was insane.”

Robin was already laughing, grabbing Nancy’s arm again. “Wait—no—that was actually so good.”

Nancy shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

Jonathan let out a quiet laugh, nodding once like he agreed.

You lowered the mic, your hand still wrapped around it for a second longer than necessary, your chest rising just a little faster than usual. The room felt warm, louder than it actually was. You glanced at Steve, and he was already looking at you. Again.

The moment lingered for half a second longer than it should have, then you let out a small breath, looking away first as you set the mic back down on the table.

“Okay,” you said lightly, like it hadn’t been anything. “That was… not terrible.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh under his breath. “Not terrible?”

You shrugged, reaching for your drink. “I’m being generous.”

“Wow.”

You smiled faintly, taking a sip, letting the coolness settle something that had started to rise. It was fine. It was just a song, just something fun, just nothing. And just like that, the room moved on.

Voices overlapped, conversations picking up where they’d left off, the energy settling into something looser now that no one was trying to perform. The next song started playing, Talking Heads, but no one reached for the mic this time. It just filled the background, something to move to, something to talk over.

You leaned back into the couch, your shoulder brushing lightly against Steve’s again before you turned your head just enough to look at him. “I didn’t know you had that in you, Harrington.”

Your tone was light, easy, teasing in the way it used to be. Like nothing had changed.

Steve glanced over at you, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, tilting your head slightly. “My god, you can make angels cry.” You laughed.

He let out a quiet huff of a laugh at that, shaking his head. “That’s not even a compliment.”

“It is,” you said, already smiling into your drink as you picked it up again. “You just don’t get it.”

“Right,” he muttered, still amused. “That must be it.”

You took a sip, setting the glass back down as the conversation around you kept going, easy and uninterrupted.

He glanced at you again, still a little amused. “So what, you’re just gonna insult me and call it praise?”

You shrugged, casual. “I’m not insulting you. I’m saying you were… moving.”

“Moving,” he repeated, like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Emotionally devastating, actually.”

“Wow.”

“I’m serious,” you added, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “That guitar solo thing? Really something.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back slightly into the couch. “You mean when I carried the entire performance?”

“Is that what you think you did?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I know that’s what I did.”

You shook your head, looking away for a second like you couldn’t even argue with that, but the smile stayed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he said lightly. “You love it.”

You paused.

Just for a second.

Then you picked your drink back up instead, taking a sip like that had been your plan the whole time. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Too late.”

You set the glass back down, turning your attention back toward the room, toward the noise and the movement and anything that wasn’t him. But you could still feel it, the way the conversation lingered just a little longer than it should have.

Not happening.

You leaned forward instead, scanning the table like you’d just noticed something. “Do we have any water?”

Eddie didn’t even look up from the remote. “That’s what the alcohol is for.”

“That is not how that works,” you said, already pushing yourself up from the couch.

Robin glanced over. “Wait, yeah, lowkey I need water.”

Nancy nodded slightly. “Same.”

Jonathan lifted his drink. “Probably a good idea.”

You grabbed a couple of empty glasses from the table, stacking them without thinking. “Okay, I’ll go get some.”

“You want help?” Robin asked, already half shifting like she might get up.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’ve got it.”

Eddie pointed at you with the remote. “If you don’t come back, I’m picking your next song. Metallica.”

“That’s actually a threat,” you said, already moving toward the door.

“Watch it.”

You pulled the door open, the music and voices spilling out into the quieter hallway as you stepped through. The sound muffled almost immediately once it shut behind you, leaving just the low hum of other rooms, other songs bleeding faintly through the walls.

You exhaled softly, adjusting your grip on the glasses as you made your way down the hallway, following the pull of noise toward the main bar area. The lights were brighter out here, the space more open, people scattered in small groups, drinks in hand, conversations overlapping in a lower, steadier way than inside the booths.

You stepped up to the bar, setting the glasses down lightly against the counter. “Hi, can I just get—”

“What can I get you?”

The voice cut in easy.

You looked up.

And your stomach dropped.

Billy.

For a second you didn’t say anything, didn’t move. Just looked at him like your brain hadn’t caught up yet.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows pulling together just enough to notice. “You good?”

You blinked, the moment snapping back into place. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. I just didn’t—” You let out a small breath, shaking your head once. “Didn’t expect you.”

“And where would you expect me?” he asked, already reaching for the glasses you’d set down, turning to fill them without another thought.

You watched him for a second, quieter now, your fingers resting against the edge of the counter.

Then—

“You look familiar.”

He said it like he was still figuring it out, glancing back at you briefly.

Your jaw tightened slightly. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He turned back to face you fully this time, looking at you a little more closely. “No, you’re—”

“Yeah,” you cut in quickly, before he could finish. “Long time ago.”

Something shifted in his expression. Not confusion, not exactly.

Interest.

“Right,” he said slowly.

You nodded once, like that settled it, even if it didn’t.

He slid the first glass back toward you, then the next. “You gonna tell me your name this time?”

You picked one up, your fingers wrapping around it, the coolness grounding in a way you needed more than you wanted to admit. “…you’ll figure it out,” you said lightly.

His mouth twitched slightly at that, like he wasn’t bothered by it. If anything, he liked it.

You grabbed the rest of the glasses, turning before the moment could stretch any further.

“Careful,” he added, casual, as you stepped away. “Wouldn’t want you spilling anything.”

You didn’t look back. You just walked.

Back down the hallway, the music getting louder with every step, the glow from the booth doors flickering across the floor as you passed them. The glasses clinked softly in your hands, water shifting with each movement, and suddenly you were hyper-aware of everything, your grip, your pace, the sound of your own footsteps.

Billy is here.

The thought landed sharp.

My friends are here.

Another step.

Steve is here.

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening just slightly around the glasses before you forced them to relax. Okay. This will be fine. It had to be. There was no reason it wouldn’t be. They just couldn’t see each other. That was it.

You just had to walk back into the room, set the glasses down, act normal, and nothing would happen. Nothing would be weird, everything would be normal. You nodded once to yourself, small, like that settled it. Then you reached the door and pushed it open, the noise hitting you all at once again.

Music, voices, laughter, louder than before, or maybe it just felt that way now. The room looked the same. Nothing had changed. Eddie was still talking over the music, Robin half-listening while arguing back, Jonathan leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Nancy tucked beside him.

Steve was where you left him.

You stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind you with a soft click, balancing the glasses carefully as you crossed the small space. “Okay,” you said lightly, setting them down on the table. “Water. Because none of you know how to function like normal people.”

Robin immediately reached for one. “Thank you, I actually needed that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved it off, grabbing one anyway. “Hydration is important or whatever.”

Nancy smiled slightly, taking one from you. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Jonathan nodded in agreement, already sipping from his.

You stayed standing for a second longer than necessary, your hands empty now, your eyes flicking briefly around the room like you were checking that everything was exactly where it should be.

Then you sat back down, your knee brushing the edge of the table this time, your body angled just slightly away as you reached for your drink again like you hadn’t just left, like nothing had happened in between.

“Okay,” Eddie said, already grabbing the mic again. “We need another group moment. That last one set a standard.”

“You’re the only one holding yourself to that standard,” Robin said, sipping her water.

“I’m a performer,” he shot back.

“You’re a problem.”

Nancy laughed softly at that, shaking her head.

You leaned back into the couch, your fingers curling loosely around your glass, your gaze settling on the screen without really focusing on it.

Eddie didn’t last more than a few seconds before grabbing the mic again.

“Okay, no, I’ve got it,” he said, already scrolling like his life depended on it. “We need something everyone knows. Something we can all ruin together.”

“That’s your specialty,” Robin muttered.

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

He ignored her, of course, already too locked in. The next song started up almost immediately, louder than the last, something upbeat enough that it didn’t need convincing. Robin groaned but still got up anyway, Nancy laughing as she followed, Jonathan dragging himself up a second later like he had no real choice in the matter.

You stayed where you were for a second, your fingers tracing the condensation on your glass, the coolness grounding in a way you needed more than you wanted to admit. You could feel him next to you, not touching, just there, like before, like always. You lifted your glass, taking another sip, letting your eyes drift toward the screen, toward the group, toward anything that didn’t require you to look at him. But it was harder now, because you knew, because just down the hall—

You pushed the thought away immediately, your jaw tightening slightly before you forced it to relax. Not happening.

You leaned forward instead, setting your glass down and pushing yourself up from the couch like you’d decided something. “Okay, move,” you said, nudging Eddie lightly as you stepped into the space.

“Finally,” he grinned. “There she is.”

“I’ve been here,” you shot back.

“Physically,” Robin said. “Mentally? Questionable.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, letting yourself fall into it, into the noise, into the movement. You clapped along to the beat, singing just enough to blend in, not enough to stand out. You laughed when Eddie messed up a line, shoved him lightly when he got too close, slipping back into something familiar without thinking too hard about it.

The night blurred after that in the best way, one moment folding into the next, music bleeding into laughter, voices overlapping until it all felt like one long, continuous thing instead of separate pieces. At some point, Jonathan pulled his camera out, already half-smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing, snapping pictures without warning. Eddie mid-performance, Robin mid-laugh, Nancy looking over her shoulder like she’d just been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

You didn’t even have time to react before he pointed the lens at you.

“Don’t—” you started, but it was too late.

Click.

Robin leaned in right after, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek just as the camera went off again, your laugh caught halfway through it.

“Robin—” you said, but you were already smiling.

“Sorry,” she grinned. “Not really.”

You grabbed the camera from Jonathan a second later, turning it on him before he could stop you. “Your turn.”

“Wait, no—”

Too late.

You angled it just right, catching him as Nancy leaned in, her hand brushing lightly against his arm before she kissed him. It was quick, but not quick enough to miss.

And for a second, the whole room clocked it.

Eddie made a noise immediately. “Oh my god—”

Robin gasped. “Wait, hello??”

Nancy pulled back with a quiet laugh, already shaking her head like she knew that was coming, while Jonathan just smiled, a little sheepish, a little proud.

You laughed, lowering the camera slightly before turning it back toward yourself. “Okay, wait—one more.”

You stepped into the middle this time, barely giving anyone time to question it before you grabbed Robin’s wrist, pulling her in on one side, then glancing at Steve on the other. “C’mon,” you said, already lifting the camera.

Robin didn’t hesitate, leaning in immediately, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

And Steve—

There was a second.

Just a second.

Then he leaned in too.

Close enough that you felt it before anything else, the warmth, the brush of it, quick and light against your other cheek as the camera clicked. You laughed again, pulling the camera back, not looking at him, not letting yourself. Just something to laugh and think about later.

Time slipped without asking and the night kept going after that, like it always did. More songs, more drinks, more of that loose, easy energy settling into everyone just enough to soften the edges. No one was too far gone, just buzzed enough to let things feel lighter, easier to fall into.

Until—

knock knock.

The sound cut through it.

The music kept playing, softer now, like it had stepped back just slightly, and the room didn’t stop, but it paused. Just enough for a few heads to turn toward the door.

Eddie glanced over first. “Uh, come in?”

The handle turned. The door opened.

And then—

you saw him.

Billy.

For a second, your brain didn’t catch up. It was just recognition, quick, sharp, immediate before anything else could follow. Your hand stilled slightly at your side, your shoulders going just a little too still before you could stop it.

He stood in the doorway, not stepping in all the way, one hand resting against the frame, his gaze moving over the room like he was taking it in.

Not because he didn’t recognize them, because he did. 

A faint shift in his expression. Something unimpressed. Something familiar.

“Just checking in,” he said, flat. “Make sure nothing’s getting out of hand.”

Eddie lifted his drink slightly. “We’re under control. For now.”

Billy didn’t acknowledge it.

His gaze moved again.

And landed on you.

“You.”

Recognition.

Robin’s head turned immediately, her eyes flicking between you and him, already trying to piece something together. “Wait—”

“He works here?” Robin said, more to the room than anyone else.

You didn’t answer. You kept your expression easy, unaffected, like this didn’t matter.

Billy’s attention didn’t leave you right away. But when it did, it shifted to Steve.

Something in his posture changed, just enough to notice.

“Harrington,” he said.

Steve leaned back slightly, not moving much. “Hargrove.”

Billy’s eyes flicked between the two of you, slower this time, then around the room again.

“Didn’t know you were still hanging around this crowd,” he said, tone edged just enough to land. “Thought high school was over.”

Eddie rolled his eyes slightly, muttering something under his breath, but didn’t push it.

You stepped in before anything could stretch too far. “It’s not that serious,” you said, light, brushing it off like it wasn’t worth anyone thinking about twice.

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

Billy’s mouth twitched. “Right,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, his gaze dragging over the room again before landing back on you. “Funny group you got here.”

Robin’s brows pulled together. Eddie straightened just a little.

You kept your expression the same, unbothered. “Funny?” you echoed lightly.

“Yeah,” Billy shrugged. “I feel kind of sorry for you girls.”

Your jaw tightened, just for a second, before you forced it to relax. Then Nancy stepped in before you could say anything, “Well, thanks for the concern, but we’re just fine.”

Billy huffed a quiet breath through his nose, like that amused him more than anything. “Mmm,” he hummed, glancing briefly toward Steve again. “King Steve’s looking out for you three.”

Steve subtly moved before you could. Just enough to sit forward, his elbow resting against his knee, his gaze steady when it landed on Billy.

“You sure have a lot to say,” he said, voice even, “for a guy that’s banging my best friend.”

A wave of heat shot through you, sharp and immediate.

Oh.

He’s playing this and he’s playing it so well.

The room went still, Nancy’s eyes widened immediately. Robin blinked. Eddie’s head snapped between the two of you like he was trying to keep up in real time. 

Billy didn’t move.

He just looked at Steve for a second, then back at you in confusion. Like he was trying to figure out if he’d missed something. Your heart was beating a little too fast now, your body still catching up to what just happened, but you didn’t let it show. You didn’t break.

Because you couldn’t.

Because now,  you had to play too.

And you were going to make sure you won. 

Steve glanced at you, just for a second.

A small nod.

A quick wink.

Asshole. 

Billy’s gaze snapped back to you, sharper now, something questioning sitting behind it. “You got something to tell me?” he asked.

You held his gaze, then nodded like it wasn’t a big deal. Before anyone could question it, you pushed yourself up from the couch, the movement smooth enough to look intentional even if your heart was beating a little too fast.

You could feel everything, the room watching, the shift in the air, the way the energy had tightened without anyone saying it out loud. Steve watching. You didn’t let yourself think about that part for too long. You couldn’t, if you did, you’d hesitate, and you didn’t have time for that.

So you moved.

Straight toward Billy.

He didn’t move to meet you, but something in his expression shifted as you got closer, his brows pulling together slightly like he was trying to figure out what the hell you were doing. You didn’t slow down. You didn’t second-guess it. You just closed the distance like you meant to, like you’d planned this all along.

And then you were right in front of him.

Close, too close for your own liking. Close enough to feel the heat of him, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his body went just slightly still as you stepped into his space like you belonged there. Like this wasn’t insane. Like this was normal.

You leaned in, slow and deliberate, just enough for your lips to brush near his ear, your voice low, barely there. “I’ll explain later.”

It was quick. Soft. Gone the second it left you.

You pulled back, but not all the way. Just enough to meet his eyes again, your expression steady even if your pulse wasn’t. And this time, your voice was louder. Clear.

“Stop bothering us,” you said lightly, but there was something under it now, something teasing, something intentional. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The words landed exactly how you meant them to.

Billy didn’t move right away. Something in his expression shifted, confusion still there, but now mixed with something else. Interest. Curiosity. Maybe even a little disbelief. Like he wasn’t sure if you were serious or just completely out of your mind.

Behind you, the room had gone quieter. 

You didn’t turn. You didn’t look at anyone else.

But you knew.

You knew Steve was watching.

And for a second, you let it sit there. Let it stretch. Let it mean whatever it was going to mean. Then you stepped back, it hadn’t meant anything at all.

Billy didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it, if this was a game, or if you’d just stepped into something you couldn’t take back. His jaw shifted slightly, a quiet breath leaving him through his nose as something almost amused flickered across his face.

 “…right,” he said finally.

Not buying it but not calling you out either. His eyes flicked past you then, just briefly toward the room, toward everyone watching, toward Steve then back to you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, sharper now. “Didn’t take you for that kind of girl,” he added, lower this time. “To share that to your friends.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He stepped back after that, finally breaking the space between you, one hand brushing the doorframe as he turned. “Try not to break anything.”

The door shut behind him.

The energy had shifted, not loud, not obvious, but there. Heavy in a way that didn’t settle, lingering in the space between everyone in the way no one immediately filled it, in the way everything that had been easy just a few minutes ago suddenly wasn’t. You could feel the attention, the questions, the way the moment had landed and stayed. But you didn’t let it touch you. You moved first, stepping back into the room fully like nothing had happened, like it hadn’t meant anything, like it was already over, like it was nothing. The adrenaline was still there, though. Sharp. Buzzing under your skin. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides before you forced them to relax, your breathing evening out just enough to steady yourself before anyone could notice it wasn’t.

Obviously you were not going to see him tonight, you were never going to touch him. You made that promise to yourself right when you said his name. 

You didn’t look back at the door,  the real shift wasn’t there anymore, it was behind you. Steve’s body language was still, unreadable. He was still leaning back slightly into the couch, but something about him had changed. Subtle, but there. The kind of shift you wouldn’t notice unless you knew him. And oh, you did. His hand dragged through his hair again, slower this time, like he was buying himself a second. His jaw tightened just briefly before he forced it to ease, his shoulders settling back into something that pretended to look relaxed. Like he was trying to shake it off, like it didn’t matter, like none of that just happened. He nodded once to himself, small, like that was enough, like he’d decided something. And just like that, he leaned back into it, into the room, into the noise that hadn’t quite returned yet. Like it was already over, just like it had meant nothing at all.

The music came back first, soft at first and then louder, like the room was trying to remember what it was supposed to be. Someone reached for the remote, someone laughed too quick, and it caught on just enough for the rest of it to follow, voices filling the space again in that familiar way, overlapping like nothing had happened at all. You reached for your drink, your fingers steady now, bringing it to your lips like it was the most normal thing in the world, the coolness grounding you in something simple, something easy to hold onto as the night tried to move forward, and it did, of course it did, it always did.

You didn’t look at Steve, not again, not once, because you didn’t need to. You could feel it anyway. The space between you, different now. Not bigger, not smaller. Just… different. You swallowed, setting your glass back down, your gaze settling somewhere ahead of you without really focusing on anything at all. It had been fun. That’s what this was supposed to be. Just fun. Just a night. Just something that didn’t mean anything. 

But something had changed. You felt it. And this time, it didn’t go away.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊

an: i kinda have no words bc writing this i was internally freaking out but pls i love hearing your thoughts like always. but billy showing up like that? yeah. i’m not sorry i feaarrr!

taglist- comment 2 be added!

@drmscomet  @stoneyggirl2 @lauraashley93 @solynoche @purplerainx1 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @iwrotethissky @ur-djoking @sadiea20 @strangegirl26sff @loonylups @djotimestyles @torirachel @fantasyreader130 @swirledyouintoallmypoems @starryymeg @djolover4ever @literal-tv-menace @eller41 @tankajahari09 @sanriwhores @annievolume6

[thelastcitysposts]

chapter ten: the epilogue

steve harrington x fem!reader (word count: 10400)

summary: in the aftermath of the battle, nothing feels the same. as hawkins begins to fracture—literally and emotionally—you and the others are left to pick up the pieces. between hospitals, loss, and quiet moments of survival, some things break… and some things finally fall into place.

warnings: injured reader, death, panic and trauma, cursing

note: and that's a wrap on season four everyone <3, last season coming soon

series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>

--------------

The inside of the Winnebago feels too small for everything that’s happened.

Too quiet, but somehow still too loud at the same time.

Every rattle of the road hums through the walls, through the floor, through your bones as the van pushes forward through Hawkins—back on the right side now, but nothing about it feels right anymore. Not after everything. Not after tonight.

You’re laid out across the back bench, barely aware of how you got there. Every part of you aches—deep, heavy, bone-tired pain that settles into your limbs and refuses to leave. Your side burns where the bites tore through, your ribs protesting every shallow breath you take, your body still running on whatever adrenaline hasn’t fully drained yet.

But it’s fading.

Steve is right there.

He hasn’t left you.

Not once.

He’s sitting beside you, half-turned toward you even as the van moves, one arm braced behind your shoulders to keep you steady with every bump in the road, the other resting lightly over your hand like he’s afraid if he lets go, even for a second, you’ll slip away.

His thumb keeps brushing over your knuckles.

Over and over.

Grounding.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, voice low, rough around the edges but steady where it counts. Close enough that you can feel it more than hear it. “You’re okay… we’re almost there, alright? Just—stay with me.”

You don’t know if you respond.

You try to.

Your fingers twitch faintly under his, your head shifting just enough that it brushes against his shoulder, but even that feels like too much effort.

The rest of the van is… quiet.

Not peaceful.

Just… broken.

Nancy is driving, hands tight on the wheel, eyes locked on the road ahead like if she looks anywhere else, everything might fall apart again. She hasn’t said a word in minutes—maybe longer—but you can see it in the way her shoulders are set, the way she doesn’t slow even when the road gets rough.

Lucas is a few feet away, sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the cabinet as he cradles Max in his arms.

She’s still.

Too still.

Her head rests against his chest, her limbs slack, her face pale in a way that makes your stomach twist even through the haze of pain. His hand stays locked around hers, his other arm wrapped tightly around her like if he just holds on hard enough, she won’t slip away.

He hasn’t spoken either.

Not once.

Dustin sits across from them, his leg stretched out awkwardly, hastily splinted, his hands resting uselessly in his lap.

He’s not crying.

That’s almost worse.

He’s just… staring.

At nothing.

At everything.

Like the world hasn’t caught up to him yet, like the moment hasn’t landed fully, like if he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t breathe too hard—maybe it won’t be real.

No one knows what to say.

There’s nothing left to say.

The only sound inside the van is the road, the engine, and Steve’s voice—quiet, constant, meant only for you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, leaning a little closer when your breathing stutters. His hand shifts, careful as it cups the side of your face for just a second before dropping back to yours. “You’re okay… I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And he means it.

You know he does.

The Winnebago hits a rough patch of road, the whole van jolting slightly, and Steve’s grip tightens instinctively, his arm steadying you before the movement can jostle you too much.

You let out a small breath, your eyes slipping closed for a second—

Then—

“Nancy…”

Robin’s voice cuts in from the front, quieter than usual, edged with something you don’t quite catch at first.

Nancy doesn’t respond.

“Hey—Nance…”

There’s something in her tone this time that pulls at you, even through the fog, and your eyes flutter open slightly.

The van slows.

Not much.

Just enough.

“…What is that?” Robin breathes.

Steve shifts slightly beside you, his attention lifting toward the windshield, his hand tightening around yours without thinking.

You feel it before you fully see it.

The change.

The air.

Something wrong.

“Hawkins—” Nancy starts, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve leans forward just slightly, his gaze catching on whatever’s ahead—

And then—

“Holy shit…”

You force your eyes open.

Just enough to see past the front seats, through the windshield—

And your stomach drops.

The ground is split open.

Not cracks.

Not damage.

Rips.

Massive, jagged tears carved through the earth like something clawed its way up from beneath it. They stretch across the road, across the town, glowing deep red from within—like veins of something alive, something bleeding through.

Smoke curls from the edges.

The light pulses.

Wrong.

Everything about it is wrong.

You push yourself up instinctively, your body reacting before your brain can catch up—

Steve’s hand is on you immediately.

“Hey—hey, no—don’t—” he says quickly, firm but gentle as he steadies you, guiding you back down before you can strain anything further. “Don’t move, okay? It’s nothing—you’re okay—just stay down—”

“It’s not nothing, Steve—” Robin mutters under her breath, eyes still fixed out the window.

Nancy doesn’t slow.

She can’t.

The roads are barely holding together as it is.

Cars are scattered. Some abandoned. Some half-crushed where the earth has split beneath them. Sirens wail in the distance—loud, constant, overlapping in a way that makes it hard to tell where one ends and another begins.

The town is… broken.

Completely.

Steve’s hand hasn’t left you.

His thumb brushes over your wrist now, slower, grounding, even as his eyes flick back to you, checking, making sure you’re still there.

“We’re almost there,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s trying to anchor both of you to that one fact. “Hospital’s not far. Just—stay with me, okay?”

You nod—barely.

It’s all you can manage.

The Winnebago lurches slightly as Nancy turns sharply down another street, the hospital coming into view—

And it’s worse.

So much worse.

Lights flood the front entrance, harsh and blinding against the dark. Ambulances line the curb, doors thrown open, people moving fast—too fast—stretchers being wheeled in and out, voices overlapping, shouting, calling for help, for supplies, for anything.

There are too many people.

Too many.

Injured.

Bleeding.

Crying.

The doors barely stay closed long enough to matter.

Nancy slows hard, pulling the van up as close as she can, the engine barely cutting before everything outside rushes in—noise, chaos, panic.

Steve’s already moving.

Careful.

Quick.

“Hey—hey, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his arm sliding under you as he shifts, lifting you just enough to move you without hurting you more, his movements protective, precise despite the urgency.

“I’ve got you.”

And even with everything falling apart around you—

You believe him.

______________________

The second the Winnebago stops, everything moves at once.

Steve doesn’t wait.

He’s already shifting toward you before the engine even fully cuts, one arm sliding carefully beneath your back, the other under your legs, lifting you like you weigh nothing at all despite the way his hands tremble slightly from everything—adrenaline, exhaustion, fear.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, like he hasn’t said anything else for hours, like the words are the only thing holding him together.

The door is thrown open.

Noise crashes in.

Sirens. Shouting. People crying. The sharp, overwhelming hum of too many voices layered on top of each other as the hospital spills out onto the street, barely containing the chaos inside.

Steve jumps down with you held tight against his chest, not even hesitating before pushing forward.

“Hey—HEY—!” he calls out, trying to be heard over everything, his voice rough, strained. “We need help—she’s hurt—!”

No one stops. No one even looks.

There are too many people. Too many injuries. Too much happening all at once.

Behind him, Robin is half-carrying Dustin out of the van, his arm slung over her shoulders, his weight uneven as he tries to keep up despite the splint on his leg. Erica is already moving ahead of them, pushing through the crowd, clearing space as best she can.

“Move—move—let us through—!”

Lucas runs past all of them.

Max in his arms.

He doesn’t slow.

Doesn’t stop for anyone.

“HELP—!” he shouts, his voice breaking as he forces his way toward the entrance. “SHE’S NOT WAKING UP—!”

The doors barely have time to open before all of you are swallowed inside.

And it’s worse. So much worse.

The hospital is overflowing.

Every chair is taken. Every inch of wall space filled. People are sitting on the floor, leaning against each other, bleeding, crying, calling out for help that isn’t coming fast enough. Stretchers line the hallways, nurses rushing between them, doctors shouting orders that get lost in the noise.

Pure panic.

Steve pushes through it anyway.

“Excuse me—hey—please—” he tries again, his voice strained, desperate now as he adjusts his grip on you when your head lolls slightly against his shoulder. “She’s bleeding—she needs help—!”

Still nothing.

No one can stop.

No one has time.

For a second, it feels like you’re just… lost in it. Like you’ve made it this far only to get swallowed by something just as bad.

Then—

“Hey!”

A voice cuts through.

Sharp. Focused.

A nurse.

She’s moving fast, eyes scanning, taking everything in at once—and then she sees you.

Sees the blood.

Sees the way your shirt is soaked through, the rough, rushed bandaging barely holding together over your stomach.

Her entire expression shifts.

“Okay—okay, I’ve got you,” she says quickly, already turning, grabbing a wheelchair and wheeling it over. “Put her down—carefully—”

Steve doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t argue.

He lowers you into the chair as gently as he can, one hand still braced behind your head, the other lingering on your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go completely.

“I’m right here,” he mutters, more to you than anyone else.

The nurse is already moving.

“Follow me.”

And Steve does.

Right on her heels as she pushes you down the hallway, weaving through people, past curtained-off beds, past chaos that doesn’t slow, doesn’t quiet, doesn’t give any of you a second to breathe.

You’re pulled behind a curtain.

Just like that, the noise dulls slightly—still there, still loud, but distant now.

Contained.

The nurse is all focus.

“Alright—let’s see—” she says quickly, hands already moving as she gently—but efficiently—pulls back the makeshift bandages wrapped around your torso.

The fabric peels away.

And even she pauses.

Just for a second.

“…Jesus.”

The bites.

The claw marks.

Angry, deep, torn across your skin in uneven patterns, some already dried with blood, others still seeping faintly.

Her eyes flick up to Steve.

“What happened?”

It’s instinct. The lie comes out before he can think too hard about it.

“She—she got crushed,” he says quickly, his voice tight, uneven. “There was—stuff falling—debris—she got pinned—”

The nurse doesn’t look convinced.

Not even a little.

But she doesn’t push it.

There’s no time.

“Alright,” she says instead, already reaching for supplies. “She’s going to need stitches. A lot of them. But—”

She glances back at the wounds again, assessing quickly, clinically.

“…She’ll be okay.”

The words land.

Hard.

Steve exhales like something in his chest finally gives, his shoulders dropping just slightly as he nods quickly.

“Okay—okay—”

The nurse works fast.

Gloves. Gauze. A syringe already in hand as she leans in.

“This is going to sting,” she warns, though her voice is gentler now, directed at you as she begins administering local anesthetic around the worst of the wounds.

You barely react.

Everything feels distant.

Muted.

Steve steps closer instead.

Right beside you.

His hand comes back to you immediately, cradling the side of your head carefully, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple, grounding, steady.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, his voice softer now, but no less urgent. “You’re okay… you’re okay…”

It’s quieter now.

Just the two of you in this small space behind the curtain, even with everything still happening outside.

The nurse continues her work, methodical, precise.

But Steve doesn’t look at her.

He doesn’t look at anything else.

Just you.

“You’re okay,” he whispers again, leaning his forehead briefly against yours, his voice catching slightly at the edges despite how hard he tries to keep it steady.

More for himself than you.

“I’ve got you.”

_____________________________________

By the time the nurse finishes, everything feels strangely distant.

Not quiet—not really—but dulled, like the chaos of the hospital has been pushed just far enough away that it can’t quite reach you anymore. The sting of the stitches lingers, a sharp, pulling ache every time you shift even slightly, but it’s manageable now. Contained.

Steve doesn’t wait.

The second the nurse steps away, he’s already there, carefully helping you sit up, his hands steady and gentle as if you might break under too much pressure. He moves like he’s thinking about every single point of contact, every inch of you he touches, making sure it doesn’t hurt more than it has to.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like the words are something he needs just as much as you do.

He eases you into the wheelchair, adjusting the blanket over your lap, his hand lingering at your shoulder for a second longer than necessary—just checking, grounding, making sure you’re still there.

Then he’s pushing you out.

Back into the noise.

The hospital is just as overwhelming as before—people packed into every hallway, voices overlapping, doctors rushing past without looking, stretchers being wheeled through spaces that aren’t big enough to hold them. The air is thick with panic, with exhaustion, with something that feels too close to grief.

Steve keeps moving anyway.

He doesn’t stop until you’re outside.

The moment the doors swing shut behind you, the noise drops—not completely, but enough that you can finally breathe without feeling like the world is pressing in on all sides.

He guides the wheelchair further away from the entrance, away from the crowd gathered outside, until the chaos dulls into something more distant, something survivable.

Robin and Nancy find you there.

They look just as wrecked as you feel—faces pale, eyes tired, clothes still streaked with dirt and blood that doesn’t belong to them. For a second, none of you say anything. You don’t have to.

Steve is the first to speak.

“Dustin?” he asks, his voice low but urgent, like he’s been holding the question in since the moment you left the van.

Robin answers quickly. “He’s okay. They’re setting his leg now—he’s… he’s alright.”

Steve nods, a small, tight movement, but his shoulders ease just slightly.

“And Max?”

That one lands heavier.

Nancy hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, and that’s all it takes.

“She’s alive,” she says carefully. “But… she’s not awake.”

A pause.

“She’s in a coma.”

The words settle into the space between all of you, heavy and immovable.

Steve swallows, nodding again, slower this time. There’s nothing else to say to that. Nothing that would make it better.

Robin steps a little closer, her expression softening as she looks between the two of you.

“You guys should go,” she says gently. “It’s insane in there. We’ve got it covered.”

Nancy nods in agreement. “Yeah. We’ll stay with them. Make sure everything’s handled.”

Steve hesitates, his eyes flicking between them, like he’s trying to decide if he should stay, if he should help—but then his hand finds yours again, instinctively, grounding himself back where he already knows he needs to be.

“…Okay,” he says quietly.

Robin gives him a small, tired smile. “Go.”

So he does.

He doesn’t look back.

He just starts walking, hands steady on the wheelchair as he guides you away from the hospital, away from the lights and the noise and the constant rush of people. The further you get, the quieter it becomes, until it’s just the sound of his footsteps on the pavement and the faint hum of a town that doesn’t feel like itself anymore.

He doesn’t have a car.

Neither of you really think about it.

He just keeps going.

“…You okay?” he asks after a while, his voice softer now, careful.

You nod.

It’s automatic. Empty.

Because you don’t even know how to answer that question anymore.

Everything feels too big. Too much. Eddie’s face, the sound of the bats, the way the ground split open beneath Hawkins—it all sits heavy in your chest, unmoving, unresolved.

Steve glances down at you, like he knows the nod isn’t real, but he doesn’t push.

“We’re almost there,” he says instead, quieter. “We’ll just… get you home.”

Home.

The word doesn’t feel the same anymore.

By the time your street comes into view, the silence is almost unsettling. No cars moving. No people outside. Just the faint glow of distant fires and the low, constant hum of something broken stretching across the town.

And then you see it.

Your house.

The driveway.

Empty.

Your brows pull together slightly, your gaze fixing on the space where your mom’s car should be.

“…Steve,” you murmur, your voice rough.

He slows immediately. “What?”

“My mom’s car…”

It’s gone.

The absence of it feels louder than anything else.

Steve’s grip on the wheelchair tightens slightly, his posture shifting as he looks toward the house.

“…Let’s just go inside, okay?” he says gently.

But you’re already pushing yourself up.

Too fast.

Pain shoots through your side, sharp and immediate, your body protesting as your legs wobble beneath you—but you don’t stop.

“Hey—hey, easy—” Steve is right there, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you before you can fall. “Careful—”

“I’m fine,” you insist, even though you’re not, your voice thin as you move toward the door.

He doesn’t argue.

He just stays with you.

The door swings open without resistance.

Unlocked.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

“Mom?” you call out, your voice echoing faintly through the space.

Nothing answers.

No footsteps. No voice. No movement at all.

You step further inside, Steve close behind you, his presence solid and steady at your side as his eyes scan the room instinctively.

And then—

The note.

Sitting on the dining table.

Your breath catches as you move toward it, your fingers trembling slightly as you pick it up. You recognize the handwriting instantly.

Rushed. Uneven.

“I’ve gone with the others. I didn’t know if you’d be home, but I couldn’t wait. Please—if you see this, leave. Get out of Hawkins. I love you.”

The words don’t fully register at first.

You read them once.

Then again.

And then it hits.

She’s gone.

She left.

Eddie is gone.

Max is barely holding on.

And now—

There’s no one here.

The paper slips from your hand.

You don’t even feel it fall.

Your knees give out beneath you, your body collapsing to the floor as everything you’ve been holding in finally crashes down all at once. The sob that tears out of you is sharp, uncontrollable, your hands coming up to your face as the weight of it all becomes too much to carry.

“She’s gone,” you choke out, your voice breaking around the words. “She’s just—gone—”

Steve is there before you can even fully fall.

He drops with you, pulling you into him without hesitation, one arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head as he holds you close.

“I know—I know,” he murmurs, his own voice unsteady now, his cheek pressed against your hair. “I’ve got you—I’ve got you—”

You cling to him, your fingers gripping his shirt like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

Everything hurts.

Everything is too much.

And he doesn’t let go.

Not even for a second.

________________________________

Steve doesn’t let you stay on the floor for long.

Not because he’s rushing you—never that—but because he can feel it, the way your body is starting to fold in on itself, the way the weight of everything is dragging you somewhere he doesn’t want you to go alone. His hands stay gentle as he helps you up, one arm firm around your waist, the other steadying your back as you push unsteadily to your feet.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, quieter now, like the words are something constant between you.

You lean into him without thinking.

There isn’t anything left in you to hold yourself up on your own.

For a moment, he just keeps you there—close, grounded against him—his chin brushing lightly over your hair as his grip tightens just slightly, protective in a way that feels instinctive now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. “I’ll stay. As long as you’ll have me, okay? You’re not doing this alone. Not now. Not ever.”

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small nod against him, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

He exhales, almost like he’s been holding that in.

“Okay,” he says gently. “Let’s just… try a bath, yeah? Carefully. We’ll clean you up, watch your stitches, and then we’ll lay down. Just… one thing at a time.”

Another nod.

It’s all you can manage.

He doesn’t push for more.

He just shifts his grip slightly, guiding you toward the stairs, moving slowly—matching your pace without ever making it feel like you’re struggling. Every step is careful, deliberate, his arm tightening instinctively whenever you falter even a little.

He knows this house.

That much is obvious.

He doesn’t hesitate when he leads you down the hall, straight to the bathroom like he’s done it a hundred times before—because he has. Nights sneaking in through your window, quiet laughter, falling asleep beside you when the world felt a little too loud.

It feels different now.

He helps you inside, easing you to a stop near the sink before stepping back just enough to give you space.

“I’m gonna grab you some clothes,” he says, voice soft but steady. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You don’t answer.

You just nod faintly, your gaze unfocused as the door clicks shut behind him.

For a moment, you just stand there.

Still.

The adrenaline is gone now. What’s left is something heavier, slower—shock settling into your bones, into your chest, into every quiet space in your mind. Your hands hang loosely at your sides, your breathing shallow, uneven.

You don’t even realize how long he’s gone.

Until he’s back.

The door opens again, and Steve steps in, a small bundle of clothes in his hands—something soft, familiar. Yours.

He sets them down carefully on the counter before turning on the tap, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease, his fingers testing the water like he’s done this before too.

“Not too hot,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You’ll feel it more with the stitches.”

The sound of the water fills the room, steady and grounding as the tub begins to fill.

He turns back toward you then, glancing over like he’s about to step out—to give you privacy, space—

But your hand moves before he can.

Your fingers wrap gently around his wrist.

He stills instantly.

“…Hey,” he says softly, his voice dropping, concern threading through it as he looks at you.

You swallow, your grip tightening just slightly.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper.

It’s quiet. Fragile.

But it lands.

Something in his expression shifts immediately, softening in a way that’s almost painful to look at.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says again, this time without hesitation.

He steps back toward you, slower now, careful, giving you time as his hands come up—light, hesitant at first—before settling against your arms.

“Okay?” he adds gently. “We’ll do this together.”

You nod, your breath catching slightly as you let him help you.

There’s nothing rushed about it.

Nothing careless.

Every movement is slow, deliberate, his hands careful as he helps you out of your clothes, pausing whenever you tense, adjusting when something pulls too sharply against your injuries. He keeps his focus on you—on your comfort, your breathing, your balance—like nothing else exists outside of this moment.

When it’s your turn to help him, it’s the same.

Quiet. Simple.

Nothing more than what it needs to be.

The water continues to rise behind you, steam curling faintly into the air as the room fills with warmth.

Steve glances back briefly, reaching to turn the tap off just before it gets too high, his hand testing it once more.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy.”

He steps closer again, one arm wrapping securely around your waist as he guides you toward the tub, the other steadying your arm as you carefully step in.

The heat hits your skin instantly.

Not painful—just enough to make you exhale, your shoulders dropping slightly as your body begins, slowly, to let go of some of the tension it’s been holding.

Steve stays with you.

He doesn’t step away.

He helps you lower down carefully, making sure you’re settled, making sure the water isn’t pulling at your stitches too much, his hands still gentle, still grounding.

And even once you’re in—

He doesn’t let go.

Not really.

He stays right there beside you, close enough that if you reach for him, he’s already there.

Like he promised.

His hands linger at your sides, steadying you as you lower into the water, his touch careful—always careful—like he’s still half-expecting you to slip through his fingers if he lets go for even a second. The heat curls around you slowly, easing into your muscles, softening some of the sharp edges of the pain, but it doesn’t take everything with it.

Nothing really could.

You shift slightly, a quiet breath leaving you as the water settles around your ribs, your stomach, the bandages beginning to loosen at the edges where they meet the surface. For a moment, you think maybe he’ll step back now. Give you space.

He doesn’t.

There’s a brief pause—just long enough for him to glance at you, like he’s silently checking if this is okay, if you’re still with him—before he moves again.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly. “Scoot forward a little for me, okay?”

You do, slowly, your body heavy and tired, your movements small and careful as you shift further into the tub. The water ripples around you, quiet and warm.

Then you feel it.

The slight dip of the bath behind you.

The water rising just a little higher.

Steve slides in behind you, slow and controlled, making sure not to jostle you as he settles himself against the back of the tub. One arm comes around you almost immediately, not tight—never tight—but secure enough that you don’t have to hold yourself up anymore.

“Easy,” he whispers, his voice right by your ear now.

You let yourself lean back.

Your head tips against his shoulder, your back pressing fully into his chest, the solid warmth of him grounding in a way nothing else has been able to all day. His other hand finds your arm, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin, like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

That you’re here.

That you’re okay.

Or at least… going to be.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The only sound is the quiet slosh of water, the faint creak of the house settling around you, the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing slowly beginning to match his.

Steve’s chin rests lightly against the side of your head, careful not to put too much weight there, his hold shifting just slightly when you adjust—always adjusting with you, always paying attention.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like it’s just for you. “You don’t have to hold it all together right now.”

Your fingers curl faintly against his forearm where it rests across your middle, your grip weak but there.

He doesn’t move it.

Doesn’t pull away.

He just stays.

One hand comes up slowly, brushing gently through your hair, pushing it back from your face in slow, soothing motions. It’s not rushed. Not forced. Just… there. Something steady in the middle of everything that isn’t.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, the words quieter now, more for himself than anything else. “You’re right here.”

Your eyes fall shut.

The warmth of the water, the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, the way his arms stay wrapped around you like he’s not planning on letting go anytime soon—it all starts to blur together into something softer.

Not better.

But… softer.

And for now—

That’s enough.

_____________________________

Steve keeps everything slow.

Even now—when the immediate danger has passed, when the door is shut and the world outside feels a million miles away—he doesn’t rush a single movement. His hands stay steady, careful as they dip into the water and come back up, letting it run gently over your shoulders, your sides, washing away the dirt and dried blood in soft, quiet motions.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmurs, his voice low near your ear.

You shake your head faintly.

It doesn’t—not like before. The sting is still there, the ache deep and constant, but the way he moves… it doesn’t pull, doesn’t press, doesn’t make anything worse. He’s thoughtful about it, deliberate, brushing water over your skin instead of scrubbing, his touch more about comfort than anything else.

The grime fades slowly.

The streaks of red thin and disappear into the bathwater, the evidence of everything you’ve been through washing away piece by piece until what’s left is just you. Bruised. Exhausted. Alive.

His hands linger for a second longer at your arms, like he’s making sure he hasn’t missed anything, before he finally lets them fall back into the water.

“Okay,” he breathes softly. “That’s… that’s better.”

He takes a moment for himself after that, quick in comparison, rinsing off what he can without moving too far from you, without ever fully letting go. It’s quiet. Unspoken. The kind of closeness that doesn’t need to be acknowledged to be understood.

And then he’s back where he was.

Behind you.

His arms wrap around you again, settling across your chest, careful of your injuries, holding you close as your back presses fully into him once more. The water has cooled slightly now, but the warmth of him makes up for it, grounding you in a way nothing else has.

For a while, you just sit there.

Breathing.

Listening to the quiet rhythm of each other, the rise and fall of his chest behind you, the way his fingers shift slightly against your skin every now and then like he’s reassuring himself you’re still here.

That you didn’t disappear the second he looked away.

Your throat tightens.

Your throat tightens, the words sitting there for a second before they finally slip out.

“…I’m sorry.”

You feel him still slightly behind you, not pulling away, not tightening—just pausing, like he’s giving you the space to say whatever you need to say.

“What?” he asks quietly.

You turn your head just enough to look at him, your cheek brushing faintly against his as your eyes find his. There’s something fragile there, something you’ve been holding back for longer than you want to admit.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, softer now, your voice barely above the sound of the water shifting around you. “For not telling you sooner… for not letting you in properly when I should have.”

For a moment, he just looks at you.

Then—

“Shhh.”

His hand comes up gently, his thumb brushing along your cheek in a slow, grounding motion that immediately pulls you back from wherever your thoughts were starting to spiral.

“We don’t need to talk about this right now, okay?” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, leaving no room for you to keep apologising yourself into something heavier.

He leans in slightly, his forehead resting against yours, the contact warm and familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“We’ve got time,” he adds quietly. “We have all the time in the world.”

There’s a softness in the way he says it—not naive, not blind to everything that’s happened—but intentional. Like he’s choosing to believe it anyway. Like he’s choosing this moment over everything else.

Your fingers curl loosely around his wrist, holding onto him just enough to anchor yourself there.

And for once…

You don’t argue.

You don’t pull away.

You let yourself believe him.

Even if it’s just for now.

His lips find yours a second later—slow, gentle, lingering in a way that feels completely different from everything that came before. There’s no urgency behind it, no fear of something ending. It’s just… certain. Steady. Real.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His arm settles around you again, guiding you back against him as easily as breathing.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly.

You sink into him without hesitation, your head resting against his shoulder, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion that’s been waiting for you to stop moving.

His hand finds yours beneath the water, threading through your fingers, holding you there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room quiets.

The water settles.

And slowly, your breathing begins to match his—steady, even, grounded.

Steve’s chin rests lightly against the side of your head, his hold tightening just enough to reassure himself that you’re still there.

That you didn’t disappear.

That this is real.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He doesn’t need to.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he murmurs. “Get you dry, get you laid down.”

You nod, your fingers tightening slightly against his arms for just a second before you let go.

He moves first, carefully shifting his grip so he can help you sit up, his hands steady as he guides you through it, making sure you don’t twist too much, don’t pull at anything that’s still healing.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats softly.

And you believe him.

As he helps you stand, the water slipping away, the warmth fading but not completely gone, he stays right there—one arm wrapped securely around you, the other reaching for a towel.

He doesn’t let you go.

Not once.

__________________________

You wake up too fast.

Your body jerks slightly, breath catching sharp in your chest as your eyes snap open, your mind scrambling to catch up with where you are before everything from the night before crashes back in all at once.

The house.

The quiet.

The ache in your body.

Steve—

Your head turns instinctively.

The space beside you is empty.

Cold.

Your stomach drops so fast it almost makes you dizzy.

“Steve?”

Your voice comes out rough, barely there, but in the silence it feels louder than it should.

No answer.

The panic hits immediately.

Too fast. Too familiar.

You push yourself up without thinking, the sudden movement pulling hard at your stitches as pain flares sharply through your side—but it barely registers over the way your chest tightens, your breathing already starting to come too quickly.

“Steve—?”

You’re already moving before you can stop yourself.

Your feet hit the floor unevenly, your balance faltering as you grab onto the wall, steadying yourself just long enough to keep going. The hallway feels longer than it should. The house too quiet. Too still.

Your mind is already racing ahead of you.

He left. Something happened. He’s not here—

“Steve!”

You make it halfway down the stairs before—

“Hey—!”

His voice.

Close.

Real.

Everything in you stutters.

You freeze mid-step, your head snapping up—

And there he is.

Standing in the kitchen.

Alive. Fine. Completely okay.

A mug in his hand.

Looking at you like you’ve just scared the hell out of him.

Relief hits you so hard it almost knocks the breath out of your lungs.

“…Hey,” he says again, softer now, already setting the mug down as he moves toward you quickly. “Whoa—hey, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be moving like that—”

“I thought—”

The words don’t come out properly. They catch somewhere in your throat, incomplete and unnecessary all at once.

You don’t need to explain.

He understands anyway.

His expression shifts immediately, something soft and steady replacing the brief flash of concern.

“Oh—hey…” he murmurs, closing the distance between you without hesitation.

His hands come up gently, settling against your arms, steadying you before you can lose your balance again.

“I’m right here,” he says quietly. “I just went downstairs. That’s all.”

Your shoulders drop slightly, your breathing uneven as you nod, trying to calm the sudden spike of panic that hasn’t quite left your chest yet.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just—”

You trail off.

He doesn’t push.

He doesn’t ask.

He just stays there for a second, one hand sliding down to take yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin in that same familiar, grounding rhythm.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Sit. Please.”

You don’t argue.

Not this time.

He helps you the rest of the way down the stairs, slower now, more careful, like he’s recalibrating everything around you again. His hand never leaves you as he guides you into the kitchen and pulls out a chair.

You sit.

He moves without thinking—grabbing the second mug, placing it in front of you, adjusting it slightly so it’s easier for you to reach.

Then he sits across from you.

For a moment—

it’s just quiet.

Not empty.

Not awkward.

Just… still.

You wrap your hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into your fingers, your gaze dropping to the surface as your thoughts slowly begin to catch up with everything that’s happened.

You can feel him watching you.

But he waits.

Gives you the space.

Then—

“I’m sorry.”

Your head lifts slightly.

His eyes don’t leave yours.

“For what I said,” he continues, quieter now. “Before. When we fought.”

His hand shifts slightly on the table, like he’s resisting the instinct to reach for you again.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” he says. “Or made you feel like you had to figure everything out on my timeline. That wasn’t fair.”

Your chest tightens immediately.

“Steve—”

“I mean it,” he adds quickly, shaking his head slightly. “You had everything else going on, and I just kept—adding to it.”

There’s no defensiveness in it.

No hesitation.

Just honesty.

You reach across the table before he can keep going, your hand settling over his, stopping him gently.

“No,” you say softly.

His eyes flick down to your hand, then back up to you.

“I’m sorry,” you continue, your voice steadier now, even if your chest still feels tight. “For shutting you out. For pretending like I didn’t feel it when I did.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around his.

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. “Because if I let myself have you… it meant I could lose you.”

The words settle between you.

Heavy.

Real.

Steve doesn’t pull away.

If anything, his hand turns beneath yours, holding it properly now, like he’s not letting you take that back.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he says softly.

You let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh but without any real humor behind it.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I know,” he says.

A beat.

“But I can promise I’m not going anywhere by choice.”

That lands deeper than anything else.

Your eyes soften, your grip tightening slightly.

“I love you.”

The words come out quieter than you expect.

But there’s no hesitation behind them.

Steve stills completely.

For just a second, he looks at you like he’s trying to process it—like he’s making sure he didn’t imagine it.

Then something in his expression breaks open.

“I love you too,” he says immediately. “I think I have for a while—I just… didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

Your chest tightens at that, your thumb brushing lightly over his hand.

“You always were.”

That’s all it takes.

He’s moving before you can think about it—standing, stepping around the table, his hands coming up to your face carefully, like he’s still aware of every injury, every bruise.

And then he kisses you.

Not rushed.

Not hesitant.

Just full.

Certain.

Everything you didn’t say before—everything you almost lost—settling into one moment that finally feels like yours.

Your hand lifts instinctively, gripping lightly at his shirt as you lean into it, your body still tired, still healing—but right now, none of that matters.

Because he’s here.

Because you’re here.

Because you made it.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing a little uneven now.

Neither of you moves.

Neither of you needs to.

Because this—

this is it.

Neither of you moves right away.

The world outside still feels broken, unfinished, waiting for whatever comes next—but here, in this small space, it’s quiet.

Steve’s hand doesn’t leave yours.

And for the first time since everything happened—

you don’t feel like you’re about to lose him.

__________________________

Two days later, Hawkins doesn’t feel like a town anymore—it feels like something hollowed out.

The roads are quieter, but not peaceful. Cars pass in a constant stream, packed to the brim with suitcases, people leaving with no intention of coming back. Every now and then, the ground still looks wrong—split open in jagged lines, faint red light bleeding up from beneath like something is still alive down there, still waiting.

And you stayed.

You had the chance not to.

You’d called your uncle—hands shaking slightly as you held the phone, the line crackling with distance—and he’d passed it to your mom. The second you heard her voice, something in your chest had almost given out completely. She’d begged you to leave, told you she was safe, just outside Indiana, that you could come to her.

Steve had said he’d go with you.

Without hesitation.

But you hadn’t.

Because deep down, something didn’t sit right. Not with the way the earth had split open. Not with the way everything still felt… unfinished.

The Upside Down wasn’t done.

And neither were you.

So you stayed.

Now you’re standing in the Wheeler’s driveway, the late afternoon light too bright for everything that’s happened, your body still aching in ways that don’t let you forget any of it. Every movement pulls slightly at your stitches, a dull, constant reminder that you shouldn’t really be doing any of this at all.

And yet—

You are.

“Hey—no. No, no, no.”

Steve’s voice cuts in immediately as you reach for another box, his hand catching your wrist before you can even properly lift it.

“You are not carrying that.”

You roll your eyes, already trying to pull away. “Steve, I’m fine—”

“You are not fine,” he shoots back, not harsh—never harsh—but firm in that way that makes it very clear he’s not budging. “You rip one stitch and I swear—”

“I won’t rip a stitch,” you mutter, but there’s no real fight behind it.

Not when he’s looking at you like that.

Not when you know he hasn’t let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time since the hospital.

He softens almost immediately, his grip loosening but not fully letting go, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist.

“Just—let me do it, okay?” he says quieter. “Please.”

You huff a small breath through your nose, but you nod.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and before you can even react, he leans in—quick, soft—pressing a brief kiss to your lips.

It’s so natural it almost catches you off guard.

You barely have time to respond before he’s already pulling away, grabbing the box you were about to lift and turning back toward the car like nothing happened.

“Show-off,” you mutter under your breath, but there’s no bite to it.

Not when your chest feels just a little lighter.

Not when he’s right there.

Still.

Always.

Nancy is a few feet away, sorting through another box, her movements slower than usual, more thoughtful. There’s something quiet about her too, something that hasn’t quite settled since everything that happened—but when she looks up at you, there’s a small, reassuring smile there.

Robin is arguing with Dustin about how to fit another box into the already overflowing trunk of Steve’s car, and for a second, it almost feels normal.

Almost.

Then—

Karen’s voice carries from behind you.

“Someone order pizza?”

Dustin’s head snaps up immediately. “Pizza??”

Your attention follows everyone else’s, your gaze lifting toward the top of the driveway—

And then you see it.

A van?

It rolls to a slow, creaking stop, dust kicking up around the tires as the engine idles for half a second too long before it finally cuts.

No one moves.

Not at first.

It feels like the entire world pauses in that moment, the air thick with something you can’t quite name.

The door slides open.

And then—

They step out.

Mike.

Will.

Jonathan.

And—

Eleven.

For a second, it doesn’t feel real.

Like you’re still in the Upside Down, like this is just another version of something that isn’t supposed to exist anymore.

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides, your body going still as your eyes lock onto them—really seeing them for the first time in what feels like forever.

Alive.

They’re alive.

Beside you, you feel Steve shift, just slightly closer without even thinking about it, like he’s grounding himself the same way you are.

And just like that—

Everything changes again.

______________________

The distance between you all closes fast.

No hesitation, no second-guessing—just movement, feet carrying you forward before your brain can even catch up, like something instinctive has taken over. Like you need to get there, need to see them up close, to make sure they’re real.

Voices overlap, shoes scuff against pavement, arms collide—

And suddenly, everyone is there.

Karen rushes straight to Mike, pulling him into a tight embrace, her voice already rising with relief and frustration all tangled together. You barely register it, barely hear the words, because your focus has already landed somewhere else.

Will.

He’s standing just a few feet away, looking just as stunned as you feel, like he doesn’t quite know where to start either.

You don’t give him the chance to think about it.

You close the distance in seconds, your arms wrapping around him tight—careful of your injuries, but not enough to stop you from holding on properly, from grounding yourself in something that feels like home.

“Where the hell have you been?” you breathe out, half a laugh, half something far more emotional as you pull back just enough to look at him.

Will lets out a small, breathy laugh, his hands still gripping your arms like he doesn’t want to let go either.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he says, softer.

There’s something in his eyes—something that says he’s been through more than he’s saying out loud—but right now, that doesn’t matter.

He’s here.

Alive.

You squeeze him once more before letting go, your chest still tight but lighter than it was a moment ago.

And then—

Jonathan.

You don’t even think.

You just turn and go straight to him, closing the distance just as he’s pulling away from Nancy. Your arms wrap around him immediately, tight—fierce—like you’re making up for every second he wasn’t there.

“Oh my god—” you breathe, your voice breaking slightly despite yourself. “Where the hell have you been? You haven’t answered my calls in months.”

Jonathan doesn’t answer right away.

He just hugs you back.

Just as tight.

Stronger than you expect, like he’s been holding onto something too and this—this is the first chance he’s had to let it go.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice rough. “I’ve been an idiot—I know, I know—”

You huff out a small, emotional laugh, your grip tightening just slightly before he pulls back enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms like he’s checking you over without even realizing it.

And then—

A hand claps against his back.

“Hey—!”

Steve.

You feel him before you even fully register him, his presence sliding in beside you as he gives Jonathan a firm, friendly pat—just a little too firm to be completely casual.

“Glad you’re back, man,” Steve says, a half-smile on his face—but there’s something else in it too. “But maybe don’t hug her that tight, yeah? She’s kinda… one bad move away from falling apart.”

You roll your eyes immediately.

“Oh my god, I’m fine—”

But Steve’s already leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he pulls back.

Jonathan’s eyebrows shoot up.

You catch it instantly.

“Don’t,” you warn him, pointing slightly, already rolling your eyes again as heat creeps up your neck.

He just grins, a little stunned, a little amused, like he’s putting pieces together in real time.

“Okay—wow. Alright,” he mutters under his breath.

You nudge him lightly, trying (and failing) to hide your own small smile before your attention shifts again as voices nearby change tone—

Dustin.

Eleven.

“Where is… Lucas?” Eleven asks, her voice quiet, uncertain.

Dustin’s expression falters immediately, something heavier settling over his features.

“He’s… still at the hospital.”

Eleven’s face tightens. “He is… hurt?”

“No—no, he’s—” Dustin starts, but then he stops.

And something in the air shifts.

“Oh. God,” he says under his breath. “You don’t know…”

The warmth of the reunion fades just slightly.

Not gone.

But… fragile now.

Because whatever comes next—

Isn’t going to be easy.

__________________________________

You linger a second longer than you probably should.

Jonathan’s hand squeezes your shoulder before he lets go, that familiar, grounding kind of touch that makes your chest ache in a completely different way than it has all day.

“Later,” you say softly, nodding toward him. “We’ll… actually talk. Everything.”

He huffs a small breath, half a smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah. We really need to.”

“And you’re explaining everything,” you add, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but there’s warmth there, relief too. “I owe you that.”

Your gaze flicks briefly toward Steve—just for a second—and Jonathan catches it immediately, something amused and knowing settling into his expression.

You roll your eyes before he can say anything.

“Later,” you repeat, softer this time.

“Later,” he agrees.

And then you’re turning away, moving back toward Steve, Robin, and Dustin as they head for the car.

Steve’s already watching you.

Of course he is.

He doesn’t say anything when you step beside him, just reaches for the lighter box in your hands without even asking, swapping it for something smaller—something easier.

You give him a look.

“Steve—”

“You’re carrying that,” he cuts in, nodding toward the smallest box like it’s a final decision.

You sigh, but there’s no real argument behind it anymore. Not when he’s been like this for two days straight. Not when part of you… doesn’t mind.

“Fine,” you mutter.

He presses a quick kiss to your temple in response, like he’s rewarding you for agreeing.

“Thank you.”

You roll your eyes again—but your lips twitch slightly anyway.

______________________________

The drive to Hawkins High is quiet.

Not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.

The closer you get, the more it shows. The damage. The cracks in the roads. The way people move now—faster, more urgent, like everyone’s trying to stay ahead of something they can’t see.

Steve pulls up outside the gym, the car barely settling before he’s already moving, popping the trunk and grabbing what he can.

“Careful,” he murmurs as you step out, his hand hovering at your back like he’s ready to catch you if you so much as stumble.

“I’m fine,” you say again, softer this time.

He doesn’t argue.

He just stays close.

Inside, it’s worse.

The gym doesn’t look like a gym anymore.

Rows of cots stretch across the floor, every single one occupied. Families packed in tight, belongings shoved into corners, voices overlapping—some quiet, some breaking. A baby cries somewhere to your left. A woman is trying to soothe a child who looks like she hasn’t stopped shaking.

Your chest tightens.

This is what it’s done.

Not just the cracks in the ground. Not just the fire and the smoke.

This.

Dustin slows beside you, his eyes catching on the wall lined with missing posters. So many faces. Too many.

You don’t say anything.

None of you do.

You just keep walking.

The four of you reach the donation table, setting the boxes down carefully in front of the volunteer. You shift your grip as you lower yours, your muscles protesting slightly, but you don’t let it show—not fully.

Robin’s already talking.

“Blankets and sheets here— toys in there— clothes there.”

The volunteer lights up immediately, relief flashing across their face. “Wow— already so organized, we appreciate that! Do you want a tax receipt form?”

Robin shakes her head quickly. “Nah, that’s okay. But—”

She glances back over her shoulder, taking in the full scope of it all again. The crowd. The noise. The need.

Then she turns back.

“Is there anything else we could do to help?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“Yes,” you add immediately, stepping slightly forward despite the way Steve’s hand instinctively tightens at your arm. “Anything. We—we’ll do whatever you need.”

Your voice is quieter than Robin’s, but just as firm.

You mean it.

You need to mean it.

Because standing here, doing nothing—after everything—

That feels worse.

Steve glances at you, something soft flickering across his expression. Not worry, not this time. Something closer to understanding.

He doesn’t stop you.

He just shifts closer instead, his hand brushing lightly against yours for a second—just enough to remind you he’s still there.

And then he looks back at the volunteer.

“Yeah,” he adds simply. “Whatever you’ve got.”

Because right now—

Helping is the only thing that makes any of this feel even slightly bearable.

__________________

The cafeteria is just as overwhelming as the gym.

Tables have been pushed together into long rows, every surface covered in piles of clothes—shirts, jackets, jeans, tiny socks that don’t seem to have pairs, everything mixed together in a way that makes it feel impossible to even know where to start.

Steve stands in the middle of it like he’s been dropped into another dimension.

“Okay so first we need to make sure everything’s folded,” the volunteer is saying, already moving faster than he can track. “Then we’re sorting by age—baby clothes go here—ages three to five here, six to eight over there—”

Steve blinks.

Then blinks again.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow, a quiet laugh slipping out before you can stop it.

He glances at you, a little helpless. “I have no idea what she’s saying.”

“I know,” you murmur back, amused. “Just—nod. You’re doing great.”

He nods.

Very seriously.

Like that’s going to fix anything.

“—and if you’re unsure, just check the tag for sizing,” the volunteer finishes, already stepping away to help someone else.

Steve watches her go.

“…We’re doomed,” he mutters under his breath.

You smile, shaking your head slightly before stepping forward.

“C’mon,” you say softly. “We’ve got it.”

And just like that, you move.

It’s automatic for you—hands finding a rhythm quickly as you start folding, smoothing out fabric, sorting piles into something that actually makes sense. You shift clothes into the right sections, adjusting stacks, checking sizes, building order out of chaos piece by piece.

Steve tries to follow.

He really does.

But it takes him a second.

“Okay—so this goes…” he trails off, holding up a shirt like it might tell him the answer.

You glance over, biting back another smile.

“Six to eight,” you say, nodding toward the right side. “And fold it—like this.”

You step closer, showing him quickly, your hands careful but efficient despite the slight pull in your side.

He watches you for a second longer than necessary.

Then copies you.

Badly.

You reach over without thinking, fixing it, smoothing the fold down properly.

“Close enough,” you tease quietly.

He huffs out a breath. “I feel like I’m failing a test I didn’t study for.”

“You are failing,” you reply, deadpan.

That earns a small, surprised laugh out of him.

And for a moment—it feels normal.

You fall into it after that.

Working side by side, moving steadily through the piles, occasionally correcting him when he puts something in the wrong place, occasionally bumping shoulders as you both reach for the same thing at the same time. The noise of the cafeteria fades a little, replaced by something quieter, something more manageable.

And then—

You feel it.

His attention.

You glance up.

Steve isn’t folding anything.

He’s just… looking at you.

You pause slightly, brow lifting. “What?”

He blinks, like he didn’t realize he got caught.

Then shakes his head, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Nothing,” he says, softer now. “Just… it’s nice to see you smile again.”

The words hit you gently.

Unexpected.

You feel the warmth rise to your cheeks before you can stop it, your gaze dropping quickly back to the shirt in your hands as you try to focus on folding it.

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, but there’s no bite to it.

Not even close.

He doesn’t push.

He just smiles a little to himself and picks up another shirt, finally going back to work.

And you do too.

Still smiling.

_______________________________

The rhythm settles again.

Clothes. Fold. Stack. Repeat.

It’s almost peaceful now—the kind of quiet that doesn’t erase everything, but softens it just enough to breathe through. Your hands move on autopilot, smoothing fabric, aligning edges, placing each finished piece neatly into its place while Steve works beside you, still a little slower, still occasionally getting it wrong—but trying.

Always trying.

You’re halfway through another shirt when you feel it—his elbow nudging lightly against yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

You glance up. “What?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking past you.

“Look.”

You follow his gaze across the cafeteria, past the rows of tables, past the volunteers moving between stations—and then you see them.

Robin.

Vickie.

Standing side by side in the kitchen area, hands brushing occasionally as they work, talking—really talking this time. You can’t hear a word, but you don’t need to. The nervous energy, the way Robin’s shoulders are a little too tight, the way Vickie keeps smiling even when she trips over her words—

It’s obvious.

You feel your lips curve before you even realise it.

Steve lets out a quiet breath beside you, something soft and relieved. “About time.”

You nod slightly, watching them for a second longer, that small flicker of something good settling in your chest.

Finally.

Then your attention drifts back.

Back to him.

He’s already looking at you again.

Not the chaos. Not the work.

Just you.

You frown slightly, amused. “What?”

But this time—he doesn’t brush it off.

He sets the shirt in his hands down slowly, like the moment matters more than what he’s doing, and before you can even question it, his hands find your hips, grounding, warm, steady.

Your breath catches a little.

“Steve—?”

“You know,” he starts, voice quieter now, but sure. “Despite everything… everything that’s happened—everything from the last two years…”

His thumbs shift slightly against your sides, like he’s anchoring himself there.

“I met you,” he finishes softly. “And you are everything to me.”

The words don’t hit all at once.

They settle.

Warm. Certain. Real.

Your hands move without thinking, sliding up his sides, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt before resting around the back of his neck, holding him there like he might disappear if you don’t.

A small smile tugs at your lips, even as your chest tightens.

“Well,” you murmur, tilting your head just slightly, “be happy while you can, Harrington.”

His brows lift.

“I might just go back to hating your guts.”

A soft laugh escapes him, shaking his head a little, his forehead almost brushing yours.

“I’d love to see you try.”

And then he leans in.

The kiss isn’t rushed.

It isn’t desperate like before.

It’s steady. Warm. Full of everything that’s still there—everything that survived.

You feel it in the way he holds you, careful but certain, like he’s memorising this. Like he’s choosing this.

You kiss him back just as gently.

Just as sure.

And when you pull away, it’s not abrupt. Not heavy.

Just… quiet.

You rest there for a second longer before stepping back, your hands slipping from him as naturally as they found him.

And then—

You go back to folding.

Like nothing just shifted.

Like everything just did.

You smooth out another shirt, folding it carefully, placing it into the right pile with steady hands.

And when you look up—

That’s when you see him.

Dustin.

Standing a few rows away.

And beside him—

Wayne Munson.

Your chest tightens instantly, the air catching somewhere between your lungs and your throat as you watch the way Dustin stands there, small in a way you’ve never seen him before. The way Wayne holds something in his hands—something small. Something important.

You don’t need to hear it.

You don’t need to be close.

You know.

Because you were there.

Because you watched him choose not to run.

Your heart cracks quietly in your chest.

Steve notices it too—your stillness, the way your hands stop moving—and his hand finds yours again without hesitation, fingers threading through yours in silent understanding.

Across the room, Dustin’s shoulders shake.

Wayne sinks.

And the world doesn’t stop.

It keeps moving.

People talking. Walking. Helping. Breathing.

But something shifts anyway.

Something heavier.

Something final.

And as you stand there, Steve’s hand wrapped tightly around yours, watching grief unfold across the room—

The quiet settles back in.

Not peaceful.

Not anymore.

But real.

And somewhere beneath it all—under the grief, under the cracks splitting the earth open—you can feel it.

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

-----------------

taglist: @mhayes777 @jorden710 @scaramou @feathersmcgee230 @serena6728 @hopeofwinter @lilulo-12 @torntaltos @mirellef2001 @ophirei @purplerainx1 @1iliaanxz @lily-liketheflower @raajali3 @katiebby04 @lauraashley93 @matt-manhattan

[ler0y-m3rl1n]

joe keery characters fic recs pt. 2 !

✿・・───・・just another collection of djo (steve for the most part to be honest) fanfics i read late 2026 anddd there's gonna be a whole lot of friends to lovers in this one because i have a problem :3╰(*´︶`*)╯

_ _　　+ some thoughts and light commentary

fandoms included: stranger things [✿] fluff [✦] angst [★] smut fic rec list pt. 1 !

divider creds to @mang0smoothie and @strangergraphics !!

steve harrington:

[✦] [✿] there is no other love (it's only yours) by @keeryhours | word count: 8k

　　summary: You and your best friend are constantly mistaken for a couple - sometimes you have a little fun with it. Or, 5 times you were mistaken for Steve Harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were. 　　thoughts: this is the first fic i read on this acc after my old one got hacked :p and this i recall i've reread so many times HIHI the best friends to lovers trope just gets me too hard (and that's gonna be a recurring thing throughout this fic rec list)

[✦] [✿] [★] lean on me by @levanswrites| word count: N/A

　　summary: touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it. steve harrington is affection-starved. love-starved. he’s been handing out pieces of his heart for years, getting nothing but scraps back. now, he clings like glue—always leaning, always touching, like his body craves closeness and he never learned how to pull back. and it would’ve all been fine… if this wasn't supposed to be just a casual thing. if he hadn’t said I love you, with his whole heart, mid-fuck. 　　thoughts: this is filled to the brim with love and vulnerability and it's all sappy despite it initially not supposed to be that; it is, and it just gets me so so well :( i love love this so very much. sappy fwb fics are a newfound favourite HIHI

[✦] [✿] [★] blue christmas by @agreeewrites| word count: N/A

　　summary: You and Steve were casual fwb in high school. You're back in town for Christmas, having just broken up with your college boyfriend. You pick up a sad Christmas movie at Family Video, and Steve refuses to let you wallow alone. 　　thoughts: exes to lovers might just be the end of meeee this fic is too 🥹 i iwsh steve was real arhghh

[✦] romantically, maybe by @ddejavvu| word count: 9.1k

　　request summary: MAMA 😊 can i request a blurb for steve harrington where the reader has a really big and bold personality but when he's around she kind of shuts down and goes quiet which makes him all sad and confused because he thinks she hates him but everyone is like hello she likes u 　　thoughts: this one was so so so cute hehe :3 also this reader reminds me so much of me 　　　　𓂅 [✦] frog and the toad by @/ddejavvu| word count: 1.6k

　　request summary: N/A 　　thoughts: waaiit the domesticity on this is just so :3 it's just so stinking cute !!!!

[✦] [✿] [★] can we always be this close? by @upsidedownwithemmy| word count: 22.4k

　　summary: A biggie. Best friends to lovers, summer, childhood, pining, crushes, a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, the last cherry popsicle and three promises. 　　thoughts: EEEEEEEEK childhood bestfriends to lovers trope is top tier but even more so in this fic. kind of awakens my desperation to be wanted and the overall want to be someone's no.1 person and this is such a heart crunch when you read it ACKK

[✿] the things we do for love by @stevebabey | word count: 4k

　　summary: Quarantine blows. Marginally less so when you're with your boyfriend, but, hey, even that isn't without it's whinging and complaints. You decide it's worth risking an encounter with Murray (ugh), if it means getting the chance to surprise your love. It just doesn't occur to you that someone else might have the exact same idea. 　　thoughts: the murray slander is honestly real SHHSAHS this is so so sweet just like a peanut butter bopper they're so so cute !

[✿] lay all your love on me by @sainzzreputaticn | word count: 5.5k

　　summary: steve and you are idiots who don’t confess your feelings to each other for a very long time 　　thoughts: i love it when people in fanfics are the biggest dummies and in love it's just so :3 LIKE JUST KISS ALREADY (this is said with the most affection)

[✦] [✿] six little nuggets by @suprclark | word count: 2.3k

　　summary: you overhear steve talk about the future and realize the version of it you imagined yourself in might not exist. turns out you were wrong. painfully, beautifully wrong. 　　thoughts: another thing that gets me is when people see you in their future even when you think otherwise this made my heart just CRAZY like lemme tell you this. ARGHHHHSFA i want a steve harrington so bad i'm going ballistic here

[✦] [✿] [★] edge of seventeen by @levanswrites| word count: 12k

　　summary: five-year-old steve harrington hates the hamptons—until he meets a barefoot girl with a bucketful of shells and becomes stevie. a coming-of-age story about first friendships, pinky promises, and falling in love, one summer at a time. 　　thoughts: THIS GOT ME RIGHT IN THE FEELS. you just captured the innocence and pure joyous wonder of being a kid while growing up with emotionally distant parents too well AND BRO their friendship is so so stinking cute :( like everything just falls into place just right like they fit too well together and the YEARNING. THE silent longing even after all those years. it's just ADBWHJAB i love this :3

[✿] real girlfriend by @imsogonesposts| word count: 2.1k

　　summary: In an effort to look cool in front of his students, Steve lies and says his best friend is actually his girlfriend and his date to the Snow Ball as he chaperones. 　　thoughts: SO STINKIN CUTE. steve valuing what his students think of him so precious :(

[✦] [✿] fifteen seconds to fall in love by @allforhee| word count: 1.9k

　　summary: stuck looking for answers in the upside down's hawkins lab, dustin purposefully leaves you and steve alone. the risk of an apocalypse nearing forces the two of you to finally open up and maybe solve a rubik's cube in the process. 　　thoughts: dustin is a rascal is all i can say 😭

[✿] i like jocks by @buckyarchives| word count: 6k

　　summary: Steve beats himself up over the fact that you’re Eddie’s type, and Eddie is totally your type as well, and absolutely not Steve’s. 　　thoughts: jealous!steve has a special place in my heart also sometimes makes me wanna wack him over in the head and yell out 'SHE LIKES YOU DUMBASS !!'

[✿] (not) your sweetheart by @marvelwitchergilmore| word count: N/A

　　summary: Since you'd first met Steve Harrington, he'd had one nickname for you. One that you'd denied for years, until the day came where you admitted how it made you feel. 　　thoughts: yeah... i really want a steve harrington in my life. PLEASE WHERE CAN I GET ONE OF HIM???

Masterlist recs !!

　　・┈・┈・ sanguineterrains's masterlist by @/sanguineterrain

　　・┈・┈・ supernovafic's masterlist by @/supernovafics

　　・┈・┈・ limeletter's masterlist by @/limeletters

　　・┈・┈・ katyswrites’ masterlist by @/katyswrites

　　・┈・┈・ c4tluver02’s masterlist by @/c4tluver02

[hexyissy]

Chapter 3 - Haunted (mini-series)

characters: steve harrington x fem!reader, platonic stobin, dustin & erica, eddie munson, max mayfield, mike wheeler

wc: 3.7k

warnings: college au, found family (scoops troop), strangers to friends, rivals to lovers, morally gray characters (not them, i love them), crime/mystery.

summary: eddie drags them into a haunted building. Something inside answers back.

taglist: @lauraashley93 @batmanssssss @gojogirliee @imani4reading

⪻────𖤓────⪼

The Scoops Troop had claimed their usual table in the cafeteria—half-eaten lunches, scattered trays, and the kind of noise that made their conversations feel louder than they actually were.

Steve leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs, while Dustin rambled about something no one fully understood.

Robin poked at her food.

Erica scrolled through something on her phone, unimpressed.

And then chair scraped loudly against the floor. They all looked up. Eddie Munson dropped into the empty seat like he’d always been part of the group, slinging an arm over the backrest with ease.

Dustin lit up instantly. “Eddie!”

“Dustin, my favorite prodigy,” Eddie said dramatically. “Tell me, are you free tonight, or are you busy saving the world again?”

Steve groaned. “Oh my god.”

Eddie pointed at him. “Ah, Harrington. Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Hard pass,” Steve said immediately. “Whatever it is.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”

“I don’t need to.”

Robin smirked. “He’s got a point.”

Eddie leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly like he was about to share something important. “This isn’t my usual campaign,” he said. “No dice, no dragons.” he stopped. “We’re going ghost hunting.”

Silence.

Erica didn’t even look up. “No.”

Dustin blinked. “Wait—what?”

Eddie grinned, clearly enjoying the attention now. “The old east building,” he continued. “You know the one—abandoned, locked up, definitely cursed.”

“Definitely not cursed,” Erica muttered.

Eddie ignored her. “Students have been hearing things,” he said. “Scratches,  knocking. Three nights straight.”

Robin straightened slightly. “See?” she said, pointing at Steve. “That’s what I was telling you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s rats,” he said. “or bats. or whatever lives in creepy, abandoned buildings.”

“Nope,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “Different.”

Dustin leaned forward now, intrigued. “What do you mean different?”

Eddie’s grin widened. “They say it sounds like someone’s trying to get out.” That earned a pause.

Even Erica looked up this time.

“‘kay, that’s a little creepy,” Dustin admitted.

“It’s also probably fake,” Erica said.

“Only one way to find out,” Eddie shot back.

“I’m out,” Steve said immediately.

Robin turned to him. “You already said yes.”

Steve froze. “no?”

“Last night,” Robin said. “You told me not to go alone.”

Dustin pointed at him. “Ooooh, you’re locked in now.”

Steve groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

Eddie clapped his hands once. “Perfect, then it’s settled.”

He stood up, already backing away from the table. “Tonight. 8PM. Don’t be late. I have more friends with me.” And just like that he was gone.

Erica leaned back in her chair. “we’re really doing this?”

Robin grinned. “Yes.”

Steve sighed. “This is a terrible idea.”

Dustin, on the other hand, looked thrilled. “This is gonna be awesome.”

Steve shook his head, then hesitated. “Should we invite her?”

Robin raised an eyebrow immediately. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t,” Steve said quickly.

Erica smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

Robin tilted her head, studying him. “There’s definitely something going on there,” she said. “Like… authority clash.”

Steve scoffed. “There’s nothing going on. I just want to prove you’re all being stupid.”

“Of course you do,” Erica said flatly, taking a sip of her drink.

Dustin shrugged. “I don’t think ghost hunting is her thing,” he said. “Also… she might actually have important stuff to do.” Steve didn’t respond right away.

⪻────𖤓────⪼

8 PM came faster than expected.

The campus had emptied, leaving dim streetlights and long shadows stretching across the pavement. The old east building stood at the far end—quiet, abandoned, and wrapped in yellow caution tape that fluttered slightly in the night breeze.

DO NOT ENTER.

That didn’t stop them. One by one, they slipped past the barrier. Inside the perimeter, the air already felt different—colder, heavier, like the building itself was holding its breath.

The Scoops Troop approached the entrance where a few familiar figures were already waiting.

Robin squinted. “Max?”

Max Mayfield turned, completely unfazed. “Oh, please,” she said. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” She gestured lazily toward Eddie. “I made a deal with him.”

Dustin perked up. “What kind of deal?”

Max grinned. “He’s starring in my next film project.” A momentt. “It’s a romance.”

Eddie groaned immediately. “I regret everything.”

Erica snorted. “Yeah, you should.”

Steve’s attention shifted. “Mike?” he said.

Mike Wheeler stood a little awkwardly off to the side, holding a notebook in one hand, his phone in the other. “Nancy forced me to be here,” he admitted. “She said if anything happens—good or bad—I should document it.”

He clicked his pen absentmindedly. “She doesn’t want to miss anything.”

Robin huffed lightly. “Of course she doesn’t.”

Erica crossed her arms. “See? None of us are actually here for ghosts.”

Eddie stepped forward, shaking his head. “Speak for yourselves.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “The note says otherwise.”

That caught everyone’s attention. Steve took it from him, unfolding it carefully. His expression shifted almost instantly.

“no way,” he murmured.

Robin stepped closer. “What is it?”

Steve turned the paper toward them.

I WARNED YOU, S.T. – M.M.

Silence.

Dustin frowned. “…M.M?”

Steve nodded slowly. “Paula said it,” he said. “Right before she—” He didn’t finish the sentence, he didn’t have to.

Robin swallowed slightly. “It’s Latin,” she said. “Memento mori.”

Erica glanced at her. “And that means…?”

Robin hesitated for just a second. “remember you must die.”

The words settled over them like a weight. No one spoke. The wind picked up slightly, brushing against the broken edges of the building.

For a moment even Steve didn’t have a comeback. Then a cllap. Eddie broke the silence, rubbing his hands together.

“Well,” he said, almost too loudly, “that just means this isn’t a waste of time.”

Dustin blinked. “That’s your takeaway?”

“There’s something in there,” Eddie continued, pointing toward the dark entrance. “And I’m telling you right now—it’s not bats.”

Max was already digging through her bag. “Oh, I’m definitely filming this,” she said, pulling out her camcorder. “Worst case, I get something for a thriller project.”

Mike clicked his pen again, flipping open his notebook. “Nancy’s gonna love this,” he muttered, already writing something down.

Steve scoffed, stepping forward. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah,” Robin added quickly. “Probably just… pipes. Or wind. Or—”

“Or you’re both scared,” Erica cut in.

“We are not scared,” Steve said immediately, but his grip on the flashlight tightened slightly.

Dustin turned his on. “So we’re doing this?”

A silence. No one said no. One by one, beams of light flickered on—cutting through the darkness ahead.

The entrance loomed in front of them. Wide open, silent, and waiting, they step inside and the door behind them creaks softly, as if something had just let them in. 

⪻────𖤓────⪼

The first floor felt… empty. Not just abandoned but hollow.

Rows of old lockers lined the walls, their metal doors rusted and slightly ajar, creaking softly whenever the wind slipped through the broken windows. Dust hung in the air, visible in the thin beams of their flashlights.

They walked too close together. Their footsteps echoed louder than they should have. Then Something darted across the floor.

.A blur of fur.

“Aaah—!” Dustin jumped back, nearly colliding with Steve.

“Jesus, Henderson!” Steve snapped.

“What the hell, Dustin?” Erica added.

Max snorted behind the camera. “Wow,” she said. “You scream like a girl.”

“I don’t like rats!” Dustin shot back, pointing at where it disappeared. “That thing was huge!”

Steve shook his head. “Relax. It’s just a rat.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dustin muttered.

They moved from room to room. Each one worse than the last. Old chairs overturned. Tables layered in dust. Cobwebs stretched across corners like something had claimed the place long ago and never left.

A stack of books collapsed slightly when Robin brushed past it, the sound echoing down the hall. Everyone froze for a second then exhaled.

Max slowly circled them with her camera. “So,” she said, voice low but amused, “how are we feeling?”

“Bored,” Steve said.

“Terrible,” Robin added.

“Thriving,” Erica muttered.

Dustin glanced around. “…Uncomfortable.”

Max grinned. “Perfect.”

The silence stretched again, too long and quiet.  Mike stood off to the side, scribbling in his notebook, the scratch of his pen oddly loud in the stillness.

Then—psssht.

The sound of a can opening made everyone turn. Eddie stood there, holding a soda like nothing was wrong.

“What?” he said. “You guys didn’t bring snacks?”

Steve stared at him. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Dustin, meanwhile, crouched near a corner. “Guys… look at this.” He picked up a spray can, touching the nozzle.

His expression shifted. “It’s still wet.”

That made everyone pause.

Mike frowned. “Maybe other students hang out here,” he said. “You know—skip classes, mess around—”

“Or,” Erica cut in, “someone’s been here recently.”

“Guys.” Robin’s quiet voice made them turned.  She stood near the far wall, her flashlight steady. Erica stepped beside her, adding more light.

And there it was. Painted in red. Uneven. Fresh.

GO AWAY

No one spoke. Eddie let out a small breath. “Okay… that’s new.” “Probably some freshmen trying to claim the place,” he added quickly. But it didn’t sound convincing.

“I think we should go,” Erica said. For once, no one argued.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed.

They backed out of the room slowly, Steve pushing the door closed behind them. It let out a long, dragging creak.

Silence stretch for half a second before they heard…

knock.

Everyone froze.

scratch… scratch…

The sound echoed down the hallway, not loud but deliberate.

Max slowly lifted her camera again. “Oh, this is good,” she whispered. “This is really good.”

Mike swallowed. “Fuck.”

“I am not dying today,” Erica said flatly.

Robin tightened her grip on her flashlight. “Rats and bats,” she whispered to herself. “Just rats and bats.”

Dustin nodded quickly. “Yeah. Totally. Rats. Definitely rats.”

Steve didn’t say anything he was already moving. “Come on,” he said.

They followed the sound. Step by step.

The hallway stretched longer than it should have. The noise grew clearer. Closer. Until they reached the last room near the stairs. The door was slightly open.

Steve and Eddie exchanged a look a silent agreement. Steve stepped forward first. Pushed the door open.

“Show yourself,” he said, voice steady. “This is restricted property.”

“Y-yeah,” Eddie added behind him. “Show yourself.”

A moment. 

“What the hell?”

A raccoon.

Digging through scraps of old metal and trash, completely unbothered by their presence.

The scratching.

The knocking.

Solved.

Steve exhaled. “…Great.”

“Mystery solved,” Erica said dryly.

Max lowered her camera. “This is so disappointing.”

Mike flipped his notebook shut. “I wasted ink for this.”

Dustin sighed. “I hate this place.”

Their flashlights drifted upward almost at the same time, as if something unseen had pulled their attention to the ceiling. For a brief second, nothing happened—just darkness, dust, and silence pressing in around them.

And then it broke.

A violent rush of movement burst from above, wings beating against the stale air as a swarm of bats erupted from the rafters. The sharp screeches filled the room, piercing and chaotic, as dark shapes dove and circled in every direction.

“AAAAAHHH!”

Panic hit all at once. They scattered without thinking, stumbling over each other in their rush toward the door.

“Shit shit shit!” Dustin yelled, ducking as something brushed past his head. “Check me for bites! Oh my god!check me—”

Robin grabbed his arm, pulling him along as they ran. “You’re fine! Check me—I think one hit me—don’t bats carry rabies?!”

“I wish I was dead!” Eddie shouted, nearly tripping over a broken chair as he bolted after them.

They didn’t stop until they were back out in the hallway, the noise fading behind them, replaced by the sound of their own ragged breathing. For a moment, no one spoke.

 They just stood there, catching their breath, hearts pounding hard enough to feel in their throats. Then, one by one, they started checking each other—arms, necks, faces.

“No bites,” Dustin said after a second, still slightly breathless.

“No blood either,” Robin added, running a hand through her hair.

Just panic. And the slow, creeping embarrassment that followed. Silence stretched for a beat before they all turned—slowly, in unison—to Eddie.

He raised both hands immediately. “Okay—okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.” There was a pause.

Then Max let out a breathy laugh, followed by Dustin, then Robin—until the tension cracked and they were all laughing, the sound shaky but real.

“This is insane,” Max said, lowering her camera slightly.

“What a night,” Mike added, shaking his head as he tucked his notebook away.

Steve exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s just go,” he muttered.

No one argued. They started toward the exit, their steps lighter now, the earlier fear fading into something almost ridiculous. Relief settled in, quiet and fragile, like the worst of it was finally over.

Then—a knock. They stopped. It wasn’t loud, but it was clear.and it didn’t echo through the hallway like before. It came from above.

Slowly, all of them lifted their heads toward the second floor. A faint scratching followed—drawn out, deliberate. Not quick and frantic like claws against metal. Not the erratic scurry of small animals.

Heavier.

Measured.

Wrong.

No one laughed this time. They all froze. For a moment, no one spoke—just exchanged glances, the same question passing silently between them.

Do we leave… or do we check it out?

The sound came again.

A knock.

Then another.

Then another.

Followed by a slow, dragging scratch.

Then silencebefore it repeated.

“I think we should really go,” Eddie said, his voice lower now, less certain than before.

Steve didn’t look at him. “No,” he said. “That’s not the same as earlier. That’s… different.”

Robin frowned, glancing at him. “Steve, two minutes ago you were ready to sprint out the door.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, eyes fixed upward, “I changed my mind.”

“Guys quiet.”

Dustin’s voice cut through them, sharper than usual. “Just listen,” he said, raising a hand.

They did. The sound came again.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “It’s a pattern,” he said quickly.

Mike blinked. “What pattern?”

“Shh,” Dustin shushed him, already thinking.

The sound repeated again—steady, deliberate, almost… intentional. Dustin grabbed Mike’s notebook and pen without asking, quickly scribbling.

Dots.

Dashes.

Dots again.

“Oh,” Erica said, leaning in. “That’s Morse code.”

“Yes!” Dustin said, almost excited now. “Three knocks, three scratches—that’s three dots, three dashes. (••• ––– •••)”

Robin leaned closer. “So that means…?” Dustin hesitated for half a second.

Then Steve spoke, quieter than expected. “SOS.” They all looked at him. “It’s a distress signal,” he added, jaw tightening. “Someone’s asking for help.”

A silence followed that felt heavier than anything before.

Eddie swallowed. “So… someone’s actually up there.”

“And they’re alive,” Max said, already slinging her camera back into her bag. “We’re not leaving.”

No one argued this time.

The second floor felt worse. The air was colder. Stiller, like it hadn’t been touched in years.

They split up instinctively, moving in pairs, flashlights cutting through the dark as they checked rooms one by one—empty desks, broken shelves, dust thick enough to leave footprints.

“Anything?” Robin called softly.

“Nothing here,” Mike answered from down the hall.

“Same,” Erica said.

“Guys!”

Steve’s voice echoed sharply. “Over here—lockers!”

They rushed toward him.

The row of lockers stood against the far wall—taller than the ones downstairs, heavier, almost industrial. Most of them were shut tight, rust lining the edges.

Robin stepped closer, running her flashlight along the surface.

“These are… different,” she murmured.

“Bigger,” Dustin added.

“Whoever’s inside,” Steve said, stepping forward, “if you can hear us—make a noise.”

For a second—

Nothing.

Then—

A faint tap.

Weak.

Barely there.

But real.

Dustin’s breath caught. “Did you hear that?”

“It came from this one,” Max said, pointing.

Steve grabbed the handle and pulled.

Locked.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

“Move.”

Eddie stepped forward, already rolling up his sleeves slightly. “I know how to pick locks.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” he shrugged. “Don’t ask.”

“I need a bobby pin.”

Erica didn’t even hesitate she pulled one from her hair and handed it to him.

“Don’t break it,” she said.

“No promises.”

The hallway went quiet again as Eddie worked. The faint metallic clicks sounded louder than they should have. Seconds stretched, then a minute.

Dustin shifted nervously. “Hurry up, man.”

“I’m trying,” Eddie muttered.

Another click, next a heavier one. The lock gave.

Eddie pulled back slightly. “Got it.”

No one moved at first. Then Steve stepped forward, gripping the locker door.

“Ready?” he asked.

No one answered he opened it anyway. the door creaked slowly,revealing a figure crammed inside.

Tied.

Wrists bound tight.

Ankles the same.

Duct tape pressed over their mouth.

Skin pale.

Eyes half-lidded, exhausted but awake.

Alive.

For a second no one breathed.

Then—“Oh my god”

It was you.

⪻────𖤓────⪼

Steve didn’t hesitate.

The moment the locker door opened, he was already moving—hands quick and careful as he peeled the duct tape from your mouth, wincing slightly at how harshly it had been pressed against your skin. He worked on the ropes at your wrists next, fingers fumbling just a little in his urgency.

“Hey hey, you’re okay,” he said under his breath, more to himself than to you.

The rope loosened before he could reach your ankles you moved. Your arms came up weakly, wrapping around him as a broken sob escaped your throat—dry, shaky, real. Steve froze for half a second, then immediately steadied you.

“Hey… hey,” he murmured, softer now.

Across the hall, Erica covered her mouth, eyes wide. Robin stood still, her expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. 

Dustin was already pulling out his phone. “I’m calling an ambulance—hold on just—hold on—”

Eddie lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah… okay… so this just went from Scooby-Doo to something way above my area.”

No one laughs. His smile falters slightly. “…right. Not funny.”

Max hugging her bag, her expression shifting from curiosity to something sharper. “This isn’t random,” she mutters. “No one just… leaves someone like that.”

She glances at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “This was planned.”

Mike grips his notebook a little tighter, flipping it open like it might help him make sense of things. “This doesn’t line up,” he says quickly. “If someone wanted to—” he stops, glancing at you, then away. “…why leave her alive?”

“Shh,” Steve said gently, one hand coming up to the back of your head. “We’re here now. You’re okay.”

“I—I was scared,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said quickly. “I got you. I’m here.”

There was something different in his tone now—firm, protective.

Without waiting, he slipped an arm under your knees and lifted you carefully.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. Your grip tightened slightly against him And then everything went black. .

The walk back felt longer than before, quieter, heavier. Their footsteps echoed again as they made their way down to the first floor, but this time no one joked, no one complained.

Everyone was listening. Or Watching.

Dustin slowed near the entrance, his brows furrowing. “Guys.”

They stopped. He pointed toward the door. “Did you open that again?”

Robin frowned. “No, Steve closed it. I saw him.”

The door stood slightly ajar not wide. Just enough. like someone had pushed it open and left.

A silence fell.

Eddie let out a breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, no,” he said, voice tight. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

⪻────𖤓────⪼

It was nearly 1 a.m. by the time everything settled.

Eddie, Max, and Mike had already left, still shaken, their usual energy dulled into quiet exhaustion.

The Scoops Troop remained. The campus hospital was dim, calm, almost too peaceful after everything that had happened.

They stayed close, waiting, and guarding. 

You stirred. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the soft light. “Where am I?” you asked, your voice faint.

They were at your side instantly. “You’re in the campus hospital,” Erica said gently. “We found you.”

You winced slightly, bringing a hand to your head. “Oh… right.”

Steve leaned forward a little. “What happened?”

You hesitated, like you were piecing it together. “After… the lab,” you said slowly, “I was heading back to my dorm when someone came up behind me.”

Your fingers tightened slightly against the blanket. “They covered my nose with something… a damp cloth. I got dizzy.”

“Chloroform,” Dustin said quietly.

You nodded faintly. “Did you see their face?” Steve asked, his voice sharper now, eyes focused—almost intense.

You shook your head. “It was dark.”

Something flickered across his expression—frustration, maybe. Or something deeper.

“Alright,” Robin said gently, stepping in. “You should rest. We’re right here.”

You looked at all of them, something softer in your gaze.

“thank you,” you said.

Later, Erica stayed behind with you while the others stepped out for coffee. The night air outside was cool, quiet.

Dustin shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you think… this M.M. person did that?” he asked.

Robin didn’t hesitate. “Definitely.” She glanced back toward the door of your room. “I think we just made an enemy.”

Steve exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. “Memento mori,” he muttered.

His gaze hardened slightly. “We’re going to find them,” he said. “I’m done with this.”

⪻────𖤓────⪼

Two days later.

The campus felt… normal again. Dustin wandered across the grounds that afternoon, his mind still stuck somewhere between clues, codes, and unanswered questions.

That’s when he saw her. A girl lying on the grass—directly under a sign that read:

DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS.

“Uh…excuse me,” Dustin called out, walking closer. “I don’t think you’re supposed to”

He stopped.“—shit.”

The girl jolted upright, startled, a spray can slipping slightly in her hand. “Oh my god—I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You scared me.”

Dustin blinked. Recognition hit instantly.

Jane Hopper, Chief Hopper’s daughter. Head of costume design in Teatro Hawk. Max’s best friend. And, unfortunately for Dustin, his crush.

“No no, it’s fine,” Dustin said quickly, wiping a bit of paint from his hand. “My fault, really.”

Jane smiled slightly, brushing grass off her clothes. “I’m Jane, by the way,” she said, extending her hand.

“I know…uh, not like that…I mean—” Dustin stumbled over his words. “I saw your show. The one where you were uh—the tree?”

He winced internally. “Max made me watch it,” he added quickly. “Not that it was bad—it was great I mean—” He stopped. “…I’m Dustin.”

Jane laughed softly, shaking his hand. “Well, Dustin,” she said, “we’ve got another show in two weeks.” She tilted her head slightly. “You should come.”

Dustin nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

Jane grinned. “You better.” She gathered her things, giving him one last smile before heading off. Dustin stood there for a moment longer. smiling like an idiot.

chapters and taglist