Mily

I like to fan girl | 22 | writing account @mily_writes_stuff

[chestharrington]

things can only get better || part six

Previous Parts: one || two || three || four || five

Fic Rating: Explicit (18+)

Chapter Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Warnings: depictions of grief/depression, parenthood, pregnancy (scare?), tw murray bauman, canon compliant/canon adjacent, relationship struggles

Chapter Summary: eighteen months after the start of quarantine, things change, for better or worse.

Fic Summary: You and Steve can't stand to be around one another... but you have to learn to coexist and raise your goddaughter together in the face of the apocalypse.

You would never admit it to Steve, but you had begun to wonder if the crawls had ever been worth it. It had been nearly eighteen months, and there hadn't been a peep. No demogorgons, no demodogs, no demobats, and, most importantly, no Vecna.

Quarantine was beginning to feel like a tightening noose. People pretended things were normal so that they could stomach it, like holding your nose to eat something repulsive. But there were cracks, just as deep as the fissures in Hawkins.

Luxury goods were few and far between. It had been months since you'd gotten your hands on a sleeve of Oreos, and even if they were delivered, someone always managed to get there first. Potato chips, candy, cosmetics, condoms… catching a restock was like winning the lottery.

Lately, it felt like your luck had run out in more ways than one.

"Steve," you whined, looking up at him with sheer exasperation as you placed an antenna headband into Samantha's hair. She grappled with your hands, smacking yours away and tugging at the springs that made the felt balls on the end wobble around. "It's Halloween, can't you tell Jonathan to drive the van?"

Steve sighed and knelt beside Sammie so he could push the headband back while her attention was split. He clipped it down with barrettes and kissed her forehead.

"I really wish I could, but Jonathan and Nancy are working on maps, or something."

You huffed, annoyed, because that was a bullshit reason and everyone else would know that too. "Well, Lucas and Mike both have their drivers licenses," you pressed. "And Dustin should technically have his, but he keeps skipping his stupid drivers ed classes. They're all very capable teenagers."

Steve made a face as he looked up at you, brows drawn together. "Okay, one, Mike and Lucas are on lookout as usual. And two, what if I don't go, something goes wrong, and they're out there alone?" He pushes, an argument you'd heard a million times over, each time a crawl interfered with your plans.

Date night, dinner with your parents, holidays. All of it could so easily get foiled by Nancy Wheeler ringing the house to say the military was doing a burn.

What did the burns do? What did the crawls accomplish? Lately, it seemed like absolutely nothing except stealing Steve away when you needed him.

"What if it's totally fine, nothing happens, and it's another huge waste of time?" You argued, lifting Sam onto your hip so you could carry her into the living room. Steve trudged behind, following you downstairs and into the living room.

You'd had this argument before, and you both knew that it pissed you off to no end. Because you knew that Steve wanted to stay with you and Sam, and you knew that he could ask, but he wouldn't. You had told him before that he was surprisingly selfless, but this was just needless.

Steve stood behind you with his arms crossed, watching you pose Sammie in front of the Halloween decorations on the fireplace for pictures. In between making silly noises so she'd look at the camera, he would huff and watch you through narrowed eyes. "This sucks for me too, baby," he insisted, and when you didn't respond, his jaw ticked and he pressed on. "You're acting like I want to miss tonight. It's totally unfair. I helped you make her outfit, I helped make our matching costumes, and you actually think I'm bailing because I don't care, or something?"

He ran a hand through his hair as you picked up Sam, who was getting uncomfortably heavy in your arms as she neared her second birthday. With a tiny whine, she snuggled against your shoulder, clearly feeling the tension between the two of you.

"I'm not fighting you about this," you said finally, which was your best way of communicating that you were pissed, but didn't want to drag it out in front of Sam. "Go on the crawl, and when you all come up dry again, don't tell me that you wished that you had stayed with us."

Steve left at five, with a quick peck on Sam's cheek and your forehead. He tried to rub his thumb between your brows and smooth out the crinkles there, but you narrowed your eyes at him and pulled back. "Don't be cute," you warned, and then his expression fell and you felt your heart thawing out. "Just be safe tonight, okay? It's a holiday, so the MPs are probably out in droves."

He nodded and slipped out to the driveway. Already, kids were beginning to roam the streets, seeking out the bigger houses with hopes that they might have managed to get their hands on some candy.

Your parents' porch light was off, so you figured that they hadn't had any luck either. Whatever candy there was, if any at all, had been snatched up before you'd even caught wind of it hitting the shelves. The likelihood of Sam getting any candy was abysmal, and, frankly, even if she did get any, it wouldn't even be for her, it would be for you.

Claudia joined you for the neighborhood walk, but the number of dark houses was a total mood killer. Most kids were ambling around like the living dead, trying to find a house that still had stock of whatever treat they'd prepared. You would wait in line at those rare doors with Claudia, only to be told they were saving their treats for bigger kids this year who could actually eat it.

"Well, this is no fun," Claudia said as you looked into Sam's bucket at the end of your fourth street. She had accumulated two oatmeal raisin cookies (from Claudia), a pair of crayons tied with a ribbon, a bookmark, a bag of trail mix, and a popcorn ball. "If Halloween is this bad, I can't even imagine Thanksgiving in these conditions."

You grimaced, not even wanting to think about it. Last year had already been rough, but with restocks at the store getting worse and worse, you couldn't even be sure you'd be able to throw together a decent meal at all. How long did you have until Hawkins was on rations?

"Maybe it'll all be over by then," you said, giving a half-smile. You wished you believed what you were saying, but you were just kidding yourself. You figured the military was in the same grim situation as your friends— searching futilely for something that wasn't there.

You gave up on Halloween after walking down a block of dark houses. Sam was asleep in her stroller anyway. The felt spots that Steve had glued on her little red crewneck were peeling off, fluttering in the breeze.

By the time Steve got home, you were dozing on the couch, lit by the broadcast of The Birds on a local station. You stirred a bit when you felt the blanket being pulled up around your shoulders, squinting up at the blurry shape of your boyfriend.

"What time is it?" You murmured, blinking until the sight of him became clear.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," he said, then glanced down at his watch. "10:15. Not too late."

You sat up, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders. It was already so cold in Hawkins, and you were longing for the heat of summer that you'd spent months complaining about. "Trick or treating was a total bust," you admitted with a sigh. "How was the crawl?"

Steve sat down beside you on the couch, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. "Well… Vecna is definitely not in sector H2," he said with a sidelong glance at you. "But… Murray smuggled something in for us."

You sat up, eyes wide as he pulled out a plastic pumpkin bucket filled with candy. You exhaled slowly at the sight and swallowed. "Is that all he brought?"

Steve's brows furrowed and he nodded. "Uh, yeah," he said with a teasing grin. "This is a ton of candy, baby. Don't be ungrateful."

You brought a smile to your lips and took a Krackel from the bag. "I'm not ungrateful," you insisted, trying to play off your disappointment. "I just asked him for a bag of Doritos two weeks ago and I'm still waiting."

Steve shrugged and grabbed a Mr. Goodbar. "Yeah, well, you know how he is," he said. "He likes to make you wait so you forget what you asked for and he can play hero. Here, put your feet in my lap."

You obliged, leaning back against the throw pillows as Steve moved your socked feet into his lap and began to rub them carefully. You sighed, peering over at him as you melted into the cushions. You couldn't even stay mad at him for going on the crawl, because your own plans had proved equally futile. Besides, he was so eager to get back on your good side.

It made you feel a little worse about lying. Well, not lying, exactly. Withholding the truth… actually, withholding a few truths. But that was fine, really. No one is ever totally, completely honest in a relationship.

"How's that feel?" He asked, and you hummed softly as his thumbs pressed into the arch of your foot. They were kind of sore from walking all the way to Dustin's street, then all the way around that branch of the suburbs.

"Really good," you sighed, melting into the cushions. "Next year, you're taking Sam and I'm handing out candy." He laughed and shook his head, but didn't argue. You just hoped that everything would be wrapped up by then.

"Next year," Steve mused, the corner of his mouth twitching down for a moment as he stared at the screen. You wanted to pull at that thread— just unravel his brain before you so you could know everything that he was thinking. His breath caught like he might have wanted to say something, but he held back.

It didn't matter what either of you wanted— your reality was completely out of your hands. A freaky monster could burst through your wall and rip you to pieces at any time, and you couldn't even stop it. No amount of crawls seemed to be able to stop it, but the party was convinced that if they stopped pushing that rock up the hill, it'd roll back and crush them all.

"I'm really sorry I missed tonight," he said, and you shivered as his hands moved up your calves, thumbs gliding along the muscle. You sighed softly, visibly deflating. "I don't like when you're mad at me. Things have just felt off for the past few weeks."

"I'm not mad, baby," you murmured, guilt itching under your skin. "I'm just tired, and stir crazy, and I hate my job, and I'm really fucking jealous that you get to, like, fuck around at the station all day."

Steve made a face. "I told you that if you wanted, I could get a job." Which was technically true, but practically out of the question. The party would blow a fuse if Steve ditched his responsibilities at the Squawk, even though Jonathan was plenty capable of running sound effects.

And it was the way he worded it too. If you wanted, like he had to pin it all on you. Of course you wanted him to get a job, so there wasn't so much pressure on your back to schmooze for tips so you could buy food and clothes for Sam. And you were lucky. Steve still got an allowance, and you lived in a fancy house rent free.

You'd just been feeling so angry lately. At the circumstances, at your finances, at the constant stream of people pulling Steve away and away and away. And maybe that was putting a strain on the two of you, a coldness.

Steve stood behind you in the mirror, watching as you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed. You could feel his gaze as much as you could see it, like a shock of electricity every time your gaze met his in the glass.

"Steve," you said firmly, but with the toothbrush in your mouth it came out more like shteef.

When you leaned down to spit the foam out, he leaned over you, kissing between your shoulder blades. You sighed softly, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his forehead to the top of your spine.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured. His hands came down on either side of you on the counter, caging you in beneath him. He was so warm where he pressed against you, a living furnace. "Let me make it up to you."

"Not tonight, baby," you said softly, turning to kiss the side of his face. "I'm exhausted."

And, to Steve's credit, he never pushed, never demanded. He kissed your shoulder tenderly, then kissed your temple as he stood. "I love you," he said, and you shivered as he combed his fingers through your hair. "I promise this'll all be over soon."

A sad smile twitched on your lips. You'd been wanting the quarantine to end for over a year, so why did the idea of things changing soon feel like a dagger in your gut? This was you and Steve in a fancy house that you knew you'd never have been able to afford on your own. You and Steve and your little peanut, who was only ever going to get bigger and bigger. It was the strange circumstances that made you feel like you were living your life in a snow globe— this little family disturbed by an invisible creature shaking things up.

You wanted things to change, you wanted them to stay the same. And, above all, you felt uncomfortably confused about how you felt about anything at all.

On Tuesday, you stared at the ceiling for a while before you had to finally get up and grab Sam. You watched the ceiling fan whirling lazily, always on even in the winter since Steve ran so hot. When he left, he had jostled the bed a bit and woken you up, and you hadn't managed to fall back asleep, which was a total bummer.

Your thoughts weren't very Vecna-safe lately, which you were trying to find ways to remedy. You'd grabbed some sort of grief-counseling, depression cure book from the secondhand store a month back, but there wasn't anything of use inside. Until you found one that covered losing your best friends in a tragic, inter-dimensional disaster, getting custody of their baby, and being trapped inside of your town while holding the secret of said inter-dimensional disaster, you'd be on your own.

It was just something about the distance. The night before their date, with all the crazy shit going on in town, you'd hunkered down in their living room and spent the night on their couch. You watched stupid slashers that Tommy had picked and ate some weird casserole that Carol had made.

You couldn't even remember what it was anymore, even though you'd made fun of her failed attempt at being Julia Child for that entire night. You couldn't remember the story Tommy was telling you about work, or why he'd been mad at his Dad that weekend.

The picture of Carol in your mind was getting fuzzy. Sometimes she was your Carol— the one who'd grinned at you in the doorway and told you not to wait up as she climbed into the passenger's seat. And sometimes she was different. She was Carol from Sophomore year, or summer camp. Blurred around the edges, overexposed like she was shot on bad film.

Steve had found you crying in the closet in March, flipping through your photo albums like memorizing her face again was an act of penance. He sat next to you on the floor and pointed to his favorite pictures, asking you about certain days until you were laughing more than you were crying.

He was good about that, but there were some things he just couldn't fix. Not for you, not for Dustin, not for anyone. Not yet, at least.

Sam stirred over the monitor— you could hear the creak of her standing up and leaning on the crib bars over the shitty speakers, and you were paranoid that she'd fall through one day and hurt herself. With a sigh, you stood and trudged upstairs.

She was waiting for you when you opened the door, her hair messy from sleep and sticking to her chubby face. The gloominess of the morning melted away as you took her into your arms and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Can you say, good morning?" You encouraged as you carried her over to the changing table. "Good morning, mama." She babbled something close enough, which you took as a win.

Mornings were always good. You made breakfast and watched Sesame Street together. Even though it was a bit chilly outside, you both went for a walk and pet Ms. Phillips' golden retriever when it poked its head through the fence.

As the afternoon rolled around, you got her fed, changed, and loaded into the car so that you could drive her to the station and drop her off with Steve.

Work continued to be a sore spot. It was far from glamorous— a waitressing gig at a little diner just outside of the military containment zone. But it was free lunch, a meager wage, and tips. You'd gotten good at guilting people into leaving you a few bills on the tabletop.

Nancy and Robin were already standing outside of the station when you arrived— arms crossed, gaze fixed skyward. You unloaded Sam and joined them, trying to follow their gaze. "What's going on, why's the station dead?" You asked. Sam reached over for Nancy, tugging on her hair for attention until she finally relented and moved her into her arms.

"Something with the remote radio head," Robin said, shielding the sun with her hand as she looked up at the tower. Before you could ask, hey, what's a remote radio head, you craned your neck and saw Steve and Jonathan racing up the ladders to the top.

Jesus Christ. "I'm gonna be late for my shift, and Mr. Matthews already hates me," you groaned, crossing your arms as you watched Steve rush up the ladder.

The height alone made you feel queasy, and you had to turn away from the sight before you sympathetically puked. In the distance, a large truck kicked up dust on the road. You shielded your eyes and squinted, brows furrowing.

"He's back early," you noted with a quick glance back at Nancy.

A shadow crossed her face as her expression went steely. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Yeah, he is."

While Nancy and Robin hurried over to greet Murray, you took Sam back into your arms and watched anxiously as Steve pressed a button, or something, then raced Jonathan back down. He smiled at the sight of you waiting and jogged over even though he was already out of breath.

"Murray's back," you said as he took Sam into his arms. He greeted you with a quick peck on the lips, and only then seemed to process what you said.

"That's really soon," he said with a small frown. With Sam on his hip, he hurried over, and you could do little more than follow along to where Murray was already handing out his presents.

Boppers for Steve, Telemetry tags for the next crawl, a cassette for Jonathan and— "Doritos for the lady." You accepted the bag, already opened and chip-clipped back together, with a tight lipped smile. "I hope you'll forgive me, they really tested my self control."

A frown turned at your lips at his crushing lack of subtlety. With an exaggerated wink in your direction, he moved onto Nancy, with smuggled in details of the military's premature venture into the Upside Down. Steve, if puzzled by the fact that Murray had seemingly eaten your gift, said nothing. The group's focus was now on a surprise military burn, which meant you had the chance to slip away unquestioned.

Hastily, you kissed Steve's cheek and nodded towards the car. "Steve, I've gotta go," you said, your grip death-tight on the bag of chips. "I can't be late again, and I'm already…" you glanced at your watch and swore colorfully. With an exasperated sigh, Steve covered Sam's ears. "Fuck, I'm really late. You'll call the diner if something comes up, yeah?"

Before he could even respond, you had kissed Samantha's forehead and jogged to the car. "Great, perfect, I'll see you tonight!"

The only reason you'd been able to get a job at the diner was because Tina's family owned the place and her mom had always had a soft spot for you. It didn't, however, protect you from ire whenever you darted in fifteen minutes after your shift was supposed to start.

"This is the third time you've been late this month," Mr. Matthews lectured as you darted in the back door and grabbed your server book as you clocked in. "We have people waiting, get out there."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you murmured, giving your best pleading look as you hit the floor. "Samantha had a rough morning, I promise I got here as quickly as I could."

Working was a great way to turn your brain off and slip back into the easy charm you'd carried yourself with in high school. The charisma and saccharine sweetness you'd used to get out of any trouble that Carol got you in… most of the time.

At least you weren't being fake to the sweet old people at the tables. They gushed over the (strategically placed) Polaroid of Sam you kept clipped to your book, right in their sight line as you took their order. Everyone was a regular, especially in quarantine where options were limited, so you milked their familiarity and empathy over your plight for your monetary benefit.

By the time the lunch rush ended, your feet hurt and your body ached as you sat at the corner booth and picked at a turkey club. The tinny speakers of your Walkman played a new mix that Steve had made. Songs for you, Fall '87.

None of the songs were actually from Fall of '87, lots of them weren't even from the eighties at all. So you listened to Mrs. Robinson and wondering if lying by omission was just as bad as bold faced lying.

The restaurant was pretty dead, which meant you could run out to the car, grab the test, and lock yourself in the employees bathroom for the next thirty minutes. If you wanted to, that was. Which you absolutely didn't.

That left taking it at home and finding thirty minutes alone that Steve wouldn't question you about, or burst in for. You loved Steve a lot, but he could be clingy when he wanted to be, which was often.

"Hey, your loverboy is on the phone, says it's a babysitting emergency?"

You sighed and stood, offering a quick apology to Mr. Matthews as you shut yourself into the back office and put the receiver to your ear. "Babysitting emergency, huh?" You asked. "A bad one?"

Babysitting emergency was the easiest cover for Steve to call with any upside down related news, because he'd never call watching Sam babysitting, and he was competent enough to figure things out without having to ask.

Steve sighed, and you could just picture him leaning against the grimy fridge in the station's kitchen and running his hands through his hair. "Mhmm, seems like it," he said. "I mean, I didn't think so, 'cause it's just the sector that has the Circuit City and Bradley's, but Nancy and the kids think it's pretty important. Y'know, they think every crawl is the one."

You chewed your lip and exhaled slowly. "Alright, just radio me tonight if you need me. I'll come and get Sam after my shift, and I can bring you over something to eat while you're driving around if you want."

"My usual?" When you hummed in affirmation he gave a dramatic sigh. "I wish you could come with me tonight. We can have Claudia watch Sam, get some alone time. I could make up for bailing on Halloween."

You snorted and rolled your eyes. "I'm not allowed to go on crawls with you anymore, remember?" You said. "I mean, god forbid we try to pass the time."

Steve laughed, and you felt an easy smile splitting your features. There was something about just hearing his voice that made your life feel a little more pleasant, despite every single complication that seemed to stack up against you.

"Ugh, I should get back," you sighed, even though you made no move to end the call. "I love you, baby."

"Yeah, I love you too. I'll see you after your shift."

Working as a waitress had never been your dream. Carol had done a stint of food service at Benny's before he'd died, and you always relished in the discounts and freebies she'd given while you loitered at the counter during her shifts, but you didn't respect it very much.

Summer between Sophomore and Junior year, she pulled strings with Benny to get you a job, but you'd resisted with a wrinkled nose and an insistence that you didn't want to smell like deep fryers all day. It went over about as well as it deserved to.

Both of you fought constantly over stupid, petty bullshit. When she spilled beer on your favorite suede jacket, or when you knocked over a bottle of red nail polish on her carpet. Anything could blow up between you two, but it didn't usually have the staying power.

But that fight hadn't been stupid. You sat on her bed and ate the food she brought back from her job and talked down on it like it was beneath you. She thought you were a spoiled brat who didn't know anything about what it was like to have to work for a living… and you got defensive because she was right.

You weren't like Steve, whose parents gave love in tithes. A couple of hundred dollar bills on the counter when they left town, an automatic deposit in the bank account. But you had been raised to see yourself as better than being a waitress or a shopgirl.

Why would you have to work when they could provide anything you needed? Actually, didn't it make them look bad if their little girl was waiting tables or folding clothes? Unbecoming.

You walked to your car after your shift with mustard staining your crewneck and the stench of deep fryer clinging to your hair. You reached into the Doritos bag and felt your stomach drop as you felt the cardboard of the box against your fingers. With a hard swallow, you skirted it and grabbed a chip instead.

It was late, so you figured you'd get a couple of hours with Sam awake, then a couple of hours of privacy while Steve was on the crawl. That was good. That gave you time, and it gave you a delay.

The squawk was buzzing with activity when you pulled up. Your nose wrinkled at the boxes of ammunition on the floor, the schematics on tables and drawn out on white boards. Sam was partitioned off away from it, closed into the manager's office with Steve, playing with My Little Ponies across the desk.

You knocked on the window and he looked up with a smile, giving an easy wave before he scooped up Sam, her toys, and joined you in the fray.

"This is crazy," you said with a nervous laugh. "Has it been like this all day?"

"Yeah, and Henderson's a no-show," he said with an eye roll. "Y'know, that kid is really on my last nerve. The attitude, the snark. And now he's bailing on a crawl?"

You eased Sam into your arms and shook your head. "Well, that's not really like him," you said with a frown. "Is he okay? Did you call Cl—"

"Claudia thinks that he's with Mike. You drove by the cemetery on the way here, did you…?" You shook your head and he sighed. "Well, he'd better show up. I don't want to be stuck in the car with Byers. You sure you can't find a sitter and ride around with me?"

You laughed and shook your head. "Keep it in your pants," you teased. "And can you not be a dickhead to Jonathan, please?"

He had the audacity to look abashed. "Hey, he's the one who has the problem with me," he said, his pitch raising with defensiveness. "I'd like to see you drive around with Mr. doom and gloom all night. 'Steve, change the tape, this song sucks. Steve, I don't want to listen to The Bulls. Steve stop chewing so loud.'"

A scoff escaped your lips. "Oh, boohoo, poor baby." He rolled his eyes and kissed your forehead. "Your dinner's on the couch, hot and greasy."

"Love you, keep the walkie on in case I get bored." He slapped your ass about as subtly as he could in a room full of people. You pecked his lips once, twice, and grabbed Sam's diaper bag by the door on your way out.

One thing that you hated about winter was the darkness. As you unloaded Sam from the car in the driveway, you felt hyper-aware of the night around you— encroaching, suffocating. The strangest feeling that something was out there watching you.

You didn't know why, but your heart thrummed in your chest, the strangest tugging feeling behind your ribs. Instinct, pure and primal, that made you hurry inside and lock the door.

It's just because of the crawl, you told yourself. Because Steve is occupied, and everyone seemed so serious, and it's so soon after the last, and you're all going stir crazy and hoping that it's the one.

But you didn't hope that it was the last, because that would mean they found Vecna, which would put them all in danger. But at the same time, you wanted it all to be over. It was a dizzying contradiction that made your brain lock up. Steve had walked out of each brush with the Upside Down with new scars, you didn't want to see what would happen this time.

Crawl 36, fifteen months since the first. Eleven months of dating Steve, officially. Eighteen months of Sam.

It was crazy how much older she felt than this time last year. There she was, walking freely, talking semi-coherently, able to play pretend with a toy kitchen and keep herself occupied. Last year, she'd been mostly-wordless, ate mush, and could hardly stand without wobbling.

She liked to play by herself, sometimes. She'd be pretending with spare pots and pans and wooden foods, and when you'd try to join you she'd give you this incredulous look, like you were in the way. But other times she'd be so clingy and affectionate— curling at your side on the couch, pleading for another story… and another one… and another one… and just one more.

She was as spoiled as a little girl growing up in Quarantine could be. You and Steve wouldn't have it any other way.

By nine, she was dozing at your side on the couch, long eyelashes fluttering as she fought sleep. Her face was awash in pastels as you both watched the Care Bears movie for what had to have been the hundredth time. She had her favorites, even if you and Steve had tried to get her to love the Muppet Movie as much as you did.

"Ready to go to bed, Peanut?" You asked, rubbing her back gently. She shook her head, but couldn't fight the yawn that escaped at the mention of sleep. "Yeah, I think you are. Should we go get our jammies?"

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded and looped her arms around your neck so that you could carry her upstairs. Steve hated the staircase, and had considered moving Sam's room into his dad's old room multiple times to keep from hauling her up and down.

Those stairs were the reason that Steve had installed a permanent baby gate in her doorway, so in case she did get out of her crib, she wouldn't get far enough to hurt herself. As soon as you put her down, she ran to her dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas.

"These," she said, her words coming out more like deese on lips that were still learning how to say what she wanted. As a second thought, she hurried to her bookshelf to get her favorite bedtime story… then another. "These."

Bossy. You smiled and knelt down to help get her ready for bed. She was a fun age, where she was starting to have a big personality and the words to express it. All of her expressions were purely Steve, and she'd started copying his hands-on-hips stance when she was feeling particularly grumpy.

When she was all settled, you pulled her into your lap and opened the first book. With each glance down at her, you watched her eyes grow heavier and heavier, until she was fighting the heavy lids closing over her eyes.

Halfway through Baby Fozzie is Afraid of the Dark, Sam was dozing against your chest. Over the past few months, you'd become an expert at getting her into the crib without waking her up. With a soft shush as she stirred in your arms, you laid her down and pulled her quilt over her to keep her warm. Around her, muppet babies and care bears stood sentry.

The crawl was going to go well, no one would get hurt, and you and Sam were perfectly safe. But… maybe you'd sleep in her room tonight.

Steve called you on the walkie while you made a late-night cup of tea. As his voice rang over the speakers, you jumped onto the counter and sat cross-legged. "Mhmm?"

"Dustin was a no-show," he said in lieu of greeting. "I mean, what a little asshole."

You shrugged, nails tapping on the plastic casing of the radio. "He probably has a good reason, Steve. Like, what if he's dead in a ditch somewhere? You'd feel awful."

Steve scoffed. "Well, he'd better be, otherwise I'll make sure he is before the night's over." You rolled your eyes at his dramatics and swirled your spoon around the hot tea, watching the sugar granules inside dance around. "How'd Sam do?"

"Good," you replied. "She's always good, you know that. She just went down for the night, and I'm about to break out the Atari and beat your score on Ms. Pac-Man. How's Jonathan?"

"Jonathan can hear you," Steve replied. "And he's fine. We're parked and waiting for the go-ahead."

You nodded. You knew he was bored just sitting there waiting. Usually Dustin provided a bit of entertainment, or at least a verbal spar that passed the time. With Jonathan in the back, it must've felt like a cold war in there.

So you drank your tea and spilled about your day at the diner— the weird flirty old man that had given you a fifteen dollar tip, the nice little grandma who needed someone to mow her lawn for extra money, which you volunteered him for. Stacey Cooper came in to get lunch for the disgraced former-mayor Kline, and Danny came in for dinner and avoided eye contact.

He knew you didn't love your job, and that making yourself leave the house every day to go clean tables and take orders was like torture. And he also knew that you tried to pretend like it wasn't mind numbingly awful so he didn't feel too guilty.

But what other choice did you have? Beg your parents for money? Beg his for more?

"Ugh, this tea went right through me, I'm gonna go," you said. "Call me if you need me." You both said your goodbyes and you steadied yourself with a deep breath.

Empty house, hours of freedom, a Doritos bag staring at you from across the kitchen. With a huff, you stood and wrenched it open so you could grab the seasoning-dusted box from within. It felt so heavy in your hands despite weighing next to nothing at all.

Your stomach roiled with implacable emotion as you locked yourself in the bathroom and laid out the contents of the box on the counter. In your heart, you knew that you should have told Steve by then— when your period was late, when you asked Murray to smuggle you in the test, when you snuck it away from him in a fucking Doritos bag.

You thought maybe you should have called him then, but Jonathan was in the van, and a crawl was going on, and there were a million things you didn't want to interrupt.

Maybe it was because you respected the sanctity of what they were doing. Or maybe it was because you were scared that no matter the result, you'd both be disappointed. You'd prefer to save him from that, if you could. What good would knowing do?

You opened the instructions and felt the pit of anxiety in your stomach threaten to swallow you entirely. It was easy enough. Carol told you that one time Debbie thought she was pregnant and got this insane glass tube laboratory setup she had to mail off for results because she was scared their family doctor would narc to their parents.

At least it wasn't that hard anymore. Small blessings.

It would take thirty minutes total. Pee on the sampler, put it in the first well, then wait. Move it to the second, wait. And finally the third. Wait. And that's where you were— waiting.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub and twisted your ring around your finger, just watching the kitchen timer on the counter ticking closer and closer to zero. Any other day, you might have craved a cigarette.

Well, you did, but given the circumstances it felt a little inappropriate to sneak one, even if you were eyeing the pack that you'd hidden behind a collection of decorative candles on the countertop.

You weren't sure if you were pregnant, or if stress had finally taken its toll on your body and made you all irregular and off. What you did know was that you were never particularly strict about safe sex with Steve, you weren't on the pill, and you were scared that trying meant an easy opportunity for a new doctor to narc to your parents for brownie points.

And, really, you knew it was a stupid excuse. You'd been pushing your luck for months out of sheer irresponsibility. Every missed restock at the store of condoms, or time when you told Steve he should pull out, but wrapped your legs around him even tighter as you got both close. It felt like it was finally time to pay the piper.

As you sat there picking at your nails, the lights began to flicker, then flash. The radio on the countertop powered on, flipped through stations in a staticky screech, then it all went dead entirely.

You went to the wall and flicked the light switch, until suddenly the lights turned back on as normal. Across the house, you could hear Sam starting to cry. If the power had gone wonky downstairs, it had likely gone haywire in her room too.

The egg timer ticked down five minutes, but you couldn't even bear to look at the sampler where it precariously balanced in the well in case it had already shifted colors. On instinct, you grabbed the walkie as you crossed the house to the stairs, hurrying up to comfort the crying baby.

Upon entry, the air smelled singed. It didn't take long to notice the black char on the inside of her ceramic nightlight where the bulb had blown out. The speakers on the shelf played soft classical music from the naptime cassette Steve had made during a slow day at the station, apparently having remained on after the power surge.

As you swept Sam into your arms, you shushed her gently and swayed. Sam was easy most of the time, but when her sleep was interrupted she could be an absolute terror. The next few minutes were crucial if either of you were going to sleep at all.

The radio crackled to life in your grasp. "You there?" Steve's voice rang through, more fraught than it was with the usual crawl hiccup.

"Yeah, I'm here," you said. "There was a weird power surge here, did you—"

"Yeah, it fried the van's battery so we're sitting ducks out here. Can you give us a boost?" There was something else beneath his request, an urgency that made a chill run down your spine. "Please?"

Something in your gut told you that Nancy was right, that this was the big crawl. The lights had never done that before, and Steve had never seemed so scared, not even when Sam got a bug a few months back and you had to take her to the hospital for a high fever.

"Yeah, just give me time to bundle Sam up and get her in the car. Where are you?"

The line went quiet as he presumably looked for some sort of landmark. "We're on Cornwallis about… five minutes down the road from the old Shell station where we used to buy beer."

Sam was grumpy and squirmy as you changed her into something a little cozier, but what choice did you really have? With her in one arm, you grabbed a care bear absently as you hurried out the door and down the stairs.

Just as you were about to grab your keys, you heard the shrill sound of the kitchen timer going off across the house and dropped them back onto the table with a dull thump. "Sorry, baby, I'll get you in the seat in a second, I promise," you apologized to your fussy daughter as you crossed the house towards the bedroom and bath.

After Carol got pregnant, in the brief stretch of Summer before you ran out of Hawkins without looking back, you'd asked her what it was like to have a baby growing inside of her. Just the thought of it had deeply disturbed you— a little parasite draining your nutrients to grow itself.

"Well, when you say it like that, it's really weird," she said, her expression wrinkling with distaste. "Actually, don't talk about that medical shit anymore, you'll give me nightmares."

You turned onto your stomach,relishing in the heat of the summer sun on your back while she hid her fair skin beneath an umbrella. "I can't help it," you said. "It's just… medically freaky. Like, there's something living inside of you right now, suspended in amniotic fluid, and it looks like a little alien."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, now it sounds like you're watching too many scary movies," she said with a dismissive scoff. She pulled her sunglasses down her nose and leveled you with her gaze. "I don't even feel it inside of me yet, so I don't think about it like that. It's just… something that's happening to me. And I'm not upset that it is."

It didn't make sense to you. Your mother complained about her pregnancy with you every year on your birthday. The long labor, the sickness, the bed rest, the aching feet and headaches. You couldn't imagine giving up so much of yourself thanklessly to a little creature that might grow up to wish you never had.

But Carol was happy, and you didn't have to understand.

When you came back from fall break, her skin was radiant, her hair was full, and she looked perfectly blissful. She showed you everything they ordered for the nursery, and you didn't critique the color choices once even though you really wanted to. She left to pee when she was in the middle of pointing out everything she'd gotten from the shower, and you were left standing in this baby's room with indescribable feelings of sadness.

It felt like, once again, you had been left behind. Your best friends were moving on without you, into this new phase of life that you weren't sure you belonged in. Staring at the crib, decorated with an ugly peach and teal quilted liner, you wanted to just go back to that tiny bed in her parents house and read Teen Beat until you fell asleep.

On the couch, while you curled up beside her and watched a rented tape of A Chorus Line, she moved your hand to her stomach and you grimaced at the feel of a kick. "Oh, that's so weird," you said with a shake of your head.

"Yeah, you were right all along. It is pretty freaky. This baby is fucking killing me."

You didn't look at it as you turned off the timer with unsteady hands. Your nail polish was chipping— that was something to fixate on. Red cracking off in messy flakes to reveal bare nail beneath.

You took the sampler out of the well and dropped it onto the counter without fixing your gaze downward. You didn't have to look yet. You could have a minute more. Maybe a few.

But Sam was squirming and irritable and Steve and Jonathan needed a jump start and maybe the crawl was going wrong and every second you wasted because you were scared was another opportunity for something bad to happen.

You glanced down at the test stick and exhaled shakily, feeling a strange pang of grief and relief all at once. You wanted a moment to sit with it, to really process it, but you didn't have the luxury. So you shifted Sammie higher on your hip and left to rescue your boyfriend.

She cried in the backseat as you drove through the night. No radio to listen to, no sound of Steve's voice to fill the car. It was just you and the thoughts racing through your mind as you drove across the city.

You were going to tell Steve about the test. You had to tell Steve— it wasn't something that could just wait for better circumstances. Lying by omission was still lying, and you knew that.

Your thumbs drummed against the steering wheel as you drove, enveloped on all sides by bumpy road and stretches of forest. Before long, your headlights caught the blue paint of the van, so you pulled over in front of it.

As soon as you got out of the car, Steve squeezed you tight in his arms, crushing you in his grip. You gave a weak laugh, brows furrowed as you wrapped your arms around him and hugged back. It lasted longer than usual, until you wanted to wriggle out, but decided that maybe he needed it more than you needed to breathe fresh air.

When he pulled back, you gave a weak frown. "Things are going bad, huh?" He swallowed and nodded. "Jump the car, you can catch me up."

You rocked Sam back and forth in your arms, hugging her tight to ward off the cold, while Steve and Jonathan worked on getting the van jump started. And while Jon hooked up the jumper cables to your clunker, Steve told you everything.

Hopper was missing in the Upside Down, a Demogorgon had attacked the military convoy, then the Wheeler's. And they knew that because Will had seen it, which was weird enough. And it took Holly after all of that. It looked bad for the Wheeler's. Things were bad.

"It's not safe at home anymore," he said, his lips twitching into a frown. "I don't know why it wanted to take Holly, or who it might take next, but I want you and Sam with me."

"Is that safe?" You asked feebly, swallowing hard. "I mean… the track record for people who get close with all this stuff isn't reassuring." Barbara, Bob, Billy, Eddie, Max.

Then again, the track record for people who stayed away wasn't the best either. Benny, Heather, Chrissy, Carol and Tommy. People stayed clueless and detached and bad shit happened regardless.

You stay home and you're monster food, you get too close and you're collateral damage. There was no safe path, there was only a coin flip and a desperate hope that you'd chosen correctly.

"You're safer with me, I promise," he insisted. "I wouldn't let anything happen to either of you, you know that."

And you did know that. You knew Steve, and you knew he'd do whatever it took to make sure you and Sam made it out without a single scratch, even if he killed himself in the process. That's how much he loved you both, and you hated that you were so cowardly in comparison that you couldn't start a scary conversation.

Steve could be brave. You could be brave. You wanted to be brave.

"Steve, there's something we should probably talk about, but I don't know if this is a really good time or a really bad time, so…" But his gaze was behind you, staring at the side street feeding into Cornwallis.

Because there was Dustin Henderson, bloodied and battered, wheeling his bike towards the van. Steve sighed, shoulders slumping as Dustin lifted his hand in a lazy wave. "Put a pin in that?" You nodded feebly and brought a strained smile to your lips. "And do you have your—"

"The first aid kit? Yeah, it's in the trunk. It's always in the trunk." Sidebar— you were playing nurse again because Dustin Henderson ran his mouth and got his ass beaten. You didn't need to hear the lie he'd tell this time, you just knew.

Dustin didn't want to talk about it, and you tried not to needle him about it. You ran into the Shell up the street to fill up a styrofoam cup full of fresh water… then grabbed a cold can of soda from the fridge for good measure. Dustin held the icy can to his cheekbone while you gingerly cleaned the cuts on his face.

"I told Steve not to be mad that you didn't show," you told him, sitting in the back of the van while Steve and Jonathan fussed with the battery and passed Sam between themselves. Dustin winced as you wiped at the bridge of his nose, and you frowned sympathetically. "Bike crash?"

Dustin shrugged. "I wasn't watching where I was going." You hummed softly and held your tongue. Bike crashes didn't do this. It went quiet between the two of you as you worked, but Dustin spoke up finally. "What were you like in high school? I know what Steve used to be like, but…"

A tiny smile played on your lips. "I was just another popular asshole," you said with an eye roll. "And look where it got me. I'm not exactly going to, like, end world hunger or cure cancer because I was Miss Hawkins '85."

His eyes widened, and you could tell that the expression of surprise physically pained him to make, as involuntary as it was. "You were Miss Hawkins? How did I not know this? Do you still have the crown?"

You rolled your eyes. Of course you still had the crown, but you'd never let him know that. "I was a very gracious leader. People loved me, which was weird because no one really thought much about me until Junior year." You cleared your throat and tried to ignore that soft spot that refused to fortify itself. "I also knew your friend Eddie."

Your gaze flicked down to his torn Hellfire Club shirt and you knew exactly how he wound up sitting in the van and being patched back up. "Well… I guess I didn't know him that well. First we had Homeroom my Junior year. And then in '85 I had two months of lunch detention and Eddie couldn't find a scene partner, so Mr. Hirsch told me if I did the scene and performed it for Senior Showcase with gusto he'd call it even."

Eddie wanted to do The Taming of the Shrew, which you were ideologically opposed to. But he promised it would be fun and subversive, whatever the hell that meant, and you thought you looked pretty in the musty old costumes you'd pulled from the full racks in the theater's basement. So, whatever.

He was over the top and loud, and you got the feeling he didn't think very highly of you. He'd make these little digs about you being a princess, or about how rich you were, which irked you. But Mr. Hirsch wanted gusto, so you performed with gusto.

You didn't ever talk to him again, even when you passed him at school, but he didn't make an effort to say hi either. You were never meant to be friends, and neither of you were inclined to change that. It made you a little sad, considering how great everyone who actually knew him said he was.

"How'd it go?" Dustin asked as you put the bloodied cloth down and surveyed your work. Battered, bruised, and definitely scar-worthy… but he wasn't going to get an infection.

A coy smile played on your lips. "Eddie got an A, I got out of detention, and Mr. Hirsch told me it was a real shame that I hadn't considered theatre before." Dustin laughed, just a bit, and you tossed him a bottle of Advil. "Did you at least get a good punch in?"

Dustin swallowed and nodded, and you could read the, don't tell Steve, look in his eyes as plain as day. You tossed him the WSQK crewneck and gave him a small smile. "Attaboy."

By the time Steve finally got the car cranked, you had done your best to fill Dustin in on the events of the night. It probably wasn't the most effective summary, given you'd heard it all secondhand from Steve, but he seemed to understand well enough.

"We're going to go try to find Hopper's signal," Steve said, giving you a peck on the cheek. "Why don't you and Sam head up to the station?"

You frowned, crossing your arms. "It's not exactly the best place for a toddler to sleep," you said. "How long are we going to be away from home?"

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I dunno… we'll figure it out as we go. All I know is that there was a rift in the forest, a tunnel under the backyard, and a rift at the bottom of the pool. I don't like thinking that a demo can crawl back through while you're home alone."

Spending the night at the Squawk wasn't your ideal night, especially with Sam in tow, but what choice did you have? Maybe home was unsafe, and maybe being at the station was the best place for Sam.

So you kissed him, told him to please drive safe, and made your way to the radio station, with the strangest feeling that it might have been the beginning of the end.

In the morning, you heard the van pull up to the Squawk and rubbed at your eyes. Sam had slept peacefully on the couch for most of the night, only waking a few times because her blanket had fallen off of she was missing one of her stuffed animals, but she was adaptable.

You, on the other hand, were notably not adaptable. You couldn't sleep on the springy, smoky couch, and you really couldn't let yourself sleep while worrying about Sam rolling off the couch and onto the tile floor. And worrying about Steve circling Hawkins all night in the unreliable Squawk van. And thinking that every tiny bump and squeak was a demogorgon just waiting to carve you up.

But at least Sam got good sleep. That was something.

"You're both good?" Steve asked when he made it inside, leaving the kids and Nancy outside. "Sleep okay?"

"She did," you told him, and leaned into his chest lazily. He wrapped you up in a hug and rested his chin on the crown of your head. "Watch her so I can grab something to eat? And coffee?"

He nodded and you trudged into the makeshift kitchen, a space which had been overtaken by stacks of studio junk you didn't understand. You rooted through the messily stocked cabinets and fridge until you found a half-empty, very stale box of Golden Grahams. The milk was nearly empty in the fridge, and the coffee machine gurgled in protest as you set a pot on to brew.

You grabbed one of the Boppers that Steve had gotten yesterday and took a bite, grateful to have something filling your empty stomach. With an exhausted huff, you leaned against the ancient refrigerator and watched Steve brushing Sam's hair from her face as she slowly woke up.

"Hey, morning Peanut," he greeted, and his voice was so soft that it made your heart ache. She sat up and looped her arms around his neck in a hug, and he didn't even wince at her terrible morning breath when she pulled back to say good morning.

Steve was a really, really good dad. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the kitchen. "Anything we can get to tide her over?" He asked, peering at the cabinets. "I usually hide a container of oatmeal somewhere, I can make some in the microwave. And there should be a passable banana somewhere to mix in."

You kissed his cheek and shook your head. "Why don't you go take a quick power nap and let me handle it?" You asked with a tiny smile. "What good are you to anyone if you're a total zombie?"

He kissed your forehead, eased Sam into the booster seat at the janky dinette, and left you to make breakfast out of the random assortment of stuff from the cabinets. Oatmeal was hidden behind a stale box of Cheez-Its and a can of field peas. The passable banana was beneath a grapefruit that you would claim for yourself.

Steve had crashed by the time the rest of the party walked into the station. Samantha lit up at the sight of Dustin, and reached for him across the room, squirming in her seat. "Dusty! Dusty!" He came over and knelt by her chair, wincing as she poked at his bruised cheek. "Ouch."

He gave a wry laugh. "Yeah, ouch. Don't touch."

"Sit with her for a second?" You asked. When he nodded, you crossed the room to wrap Nancy in a tight hug. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed in your arms. You could smell the metallic, coppery smell of blood, maybe in her hair, even if there was no visible trace on her hands and her clothes. "How are you doing, Nance?"

She pulled back and gave an attempt at a smile. "About as well as I can be, I guess," she said. She shifted herself out of your hug and put a little bit of distance between you, and looked like she was going to turn and leave before adding, "Um, do you know Dr. Richards? He's the doctor in charge of the ICU, I guess. I guess I'm just wondering if he's good."

Your expression softened and you shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, he's a total chauvinist dickhead, but he's a pretty good doctor," you replied. "Hawkins Memorial is, like, the best place for your parents to be. And if it got really bad, they'd bring in the super good military doctors to patch them up. "

Nancy nodded and headed for the dinette, pausing just before she could cross the threshold. "How are you doing?" She asked, narrowing her brows.

You glanced at a sleeping Steve and back at her, narrowing your eyes right back. "Fine."

She cocked her head. "Yeah? No update about what we talked about last week?"

You brought an easy smile to your lips and shook your head. "I'm fine, Nance," you insisted. "I've got this handled."

Maybe Nancy Wheeler wasn't the best choice of a person to go to when you were in a crisis. Nancy wanted answers. Nancy needed solutions. So when you called her, panicked, two and a half weeks prior about a very late period and never followed up, she couldn't let it lie.

In all fairness, could anyone? But no one else had Nancy's perception and uncanny ability to read people, like she could see the truth in your eyes. And in that moment, you were about as challenging to read as a picture book.

Steve got a thirty minute nap before the rest of the group shook him awake. You stayed in the managers office and entertained Sam with copy paper and toddler-sized crayons. While the rest of the group planned… whatever beyond the doors, Sam drew what looked like a multicolored sea urchin… and you drew a remarkably uncanny cartoon of Steve holding the rubber chicken.

You finally crashed on the couch, cuddled up with a napping Sam. You felt drowsiness like a wave, pulling you under until it washed over you entirely. A couch that smelled like smoke, the scratchy cushions, the soft cadence of your daughter's breathing. It didn't matter that the sun was out, you slept better than you had in days.

You dreamed of Carol and Tommy, of hanging out in Tommy's bedroom and smoking cigarettes out of the window. It slipped away when Steve gently nudged you awake, but there was an impression of them behind your eyes. Equal parts comfort and longing.

With a few slow blinks, you brought yourself back to life, groaning at the sunshine. You glanced down and frowned at the sight of Sam missing beside you, but Steve didn't seem worried. "How long was I out? Where's Sam?"

"Robin's letting her play with the control deck in the studio," he said, with a casual glance through the glass over your head. "You looked like you could use some sleep while we got everything ready for tonight. Murray's bringing supplies, and shit. I didn't want to wake you up to ask, so I just told him to grab you a candy bar from a gas station if he stops."

You yawned and scrunched your face as you sat up. It was getting closer to midday, which meant you had been asleep for longer than you liked. It felt a little embarrassing to think about you totally passed out asleep on the couch while everyone did official business. "What's there to get ready?" You asked.

Steve shrugged and reached over to play with your fingers, twisting your ring around and around. "Well, we think Vecna's coming for this kid, Derek, I guess," his mouth twitched a little, anxiously. "So, long story short, we're drugging and kidnapping him and his family so we can set a trap for the demogorgon, tag it, and track it."

The last part of the plan came out in a sudden rush, and you could do little more than just scoff in surprise. "Steve, what the fuck."

"I know, but I can explain everything in the car," he insisted. "It's totally foolproof."

It was, remarkably, not foolproof. Robin was stealing drugs from the hospital your parents worked at, Nancy was going to have to shoot a stupid, scary monster, Lucas was in harms way throwing water balloons at the thing, and Erica had to drug an entire family.

Your fingers drummed on your thigh as Steve drove back to the house. Outside the windows, it was just another nice day out. Chilly, but sunny. Kids played at the park, old men walked their fluffy little dogs.

You wondered where you'd go when things were over. Carol and Tommy's place had been foreclosed on after sitting on the market for so long without payments, and you weren't really sure if that affected your credit or not, since it was technically two dead people's house.

Maybe Daniel and Sylvia would let you stay in the house. Maybe you could find a nice rental by your school and Steve could get a job nearby and Sam could stay at the campus daycare. You did want to go back to school, for sure, but the question of finances made your stomach turn.

Or maybe you were just hungry again. Steve pulled into the driveway and leaned over to kiss your cheek. You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, relishing in the proximity. If things were perfect, you could just stay there. Lean over, wrap yourself up in him, and let the rest of the world melt away.

"What are you thinking about, huh?" He asked, mumbling against your skin. "Don't worry about anything, honey. Things are going to turn out just fine."

You rushed ahead of him in the house with the excuse that you really had to pee and take a shower, definitely before he did. He didn't question it. You tossed all of the evidence of the test you took, and turned the shower to the hottest it could go.

The guilt gnawed at you, making your stomach turn, but what choice did you have? Holly was missing, El was lost with Hopper somewhere in the Upside down… it wasn't the time for distractions. Maybe if you told him he'd get in his head about it and he'd get distracted and then things would go wrong and the plan would fail or they'd all get arrested. It'd all be your fault. You'd ruin everything. They'd hate you.

So you wouldn't say anything. You could wait a few more days, easy.

The wind whipped around you as you walked up the steps to the Perkins' house. Sam's cheeks were pink from the cold, even just from the short walk. The weather had turned as the sun got low, and you tugged your trench coat around yourself as you knocked on the door and waited.

Mrs. Perkins smiled as soon as she caught sight of her grandbaby, and you gave an extremely grateful smile. "Thanks so much, Mrs. Perkins, you're a lifesaver," you insisted. "It's just that Steve's come down with the flu, and you know she just had that stomach bug two months ago and it was so hard on her."

Mrs. Perkins eased her into her arms and gave you a smile. "Don't mention it. We always love having our sweet Samantha over," she insisted. You followed her into the house, lugging her diaper bag and overnight bag with you.

Their house was just as you remembered it. You followed Mrs. Perkins as she walked you deeper into the house and pushed open the door where Carol's bedroom used to be. Your heart ached, twinging as you looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and the crochet quilt at the foot of the bed that Mimi Perkins had made. Where Carol's vanity used to be, there was a clearly secondhand crib with a green quilt that clashed terribly with the yellow paint on the walls.

You swallowed down a lump in your throat and blinked away the persistent sting in your eyes. "Um… I packed her favorite stuffed animals. She always sleeps with her Bedtime Bear and the gorilla. She calls it scary dog, I don't know why. And I packed her favorite books, she loves the Muppet Babies. And I have a cassette Steve made her for bedtime that always knocks her right out."

Mrs. Perkins put two hands on your shoulders and gave you a reassuring smile. "It's just a couple of days, honey," she said gently. "She'll be alright."

You nodded and sniffled a little as you leaned forward to kiss Sam's forehead. "Mama loves you so much, okay?" You said gently. She nodded and knocked her forehead to yours. "Be an angel for Nana Perkins."

You knew she would, and you knew she'd be fine, but leaving her behind felt like a betrayal. She'd already lost two parents, and there you were, following Steve into danger. But you wanted to see things through with your own eyes— you wanted no question that your girl was going to grow up safe.

You drove to McCorkle farm and wiped your eyes before you got out of the car. Being emotional wouldn't serve anyone, least of all yourself. You sniffled and leaned your forehead against the steering wheel as you tried to collect yourself. This was right, you were doing the right thing.

When you finally gathered your wits enough to join everyone else, you found Steve leaning against the Beamer, arms crossed, with a frown etching his features.

"Still pouting about your car?" You asked, flicking the metal satellite. Steve scoffed, scuffing his feet on the ground. He was well and truly pouting, and it struck you how young both of you still were, even if you felt like you'd aged decades in the past eighteen months. "Hey, it's fun, maybe we can start a ghost hunting task force after all of this."

Steve glared over at Dustin, but broke his stare to look at you. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly, and you felt his gaze tracking over your watery, red eyes. "You've been crying," he noted, and his words were soft where his tone was still sharp. "Did she not want to go?"

You sighed and shook your head. "No, it's not that. It's just always hard to leave her alone, especially with all of this—" You gave a vague wave of your hand where the kids loaded up in the Squawk van and stocked up with axes and tools. "I just want to make sure both of us come home to her."

Steve swallowed and closed his eyes for a second. His chest rose and fell with a deep, slow breath. Maybe he felt dumb for being so upset about his car when there was a lot more at stake. You knew the feeling.

"Hey, we're just driving around," he insisted. "Worst that'll happen is we get a ticket."

That wasn't the worst. In your brain, you traced the millions of ways that this could go wrong and wind up with the two of you rotting in a military prison, dead, or worse. And you tried to stay optimistic anyway— so far, Steve had survived a fight with a demogorgon, being swarmed by demodogs, Russian torture, a giant gooey flesh monster, being swarmed by bats, and attacking Vecna in person… that was a pretty good track record.

Maybe a drive around Hawkins wouldn't be too terrible.

Steve nudged your shoulder with his arm and you reluctantly cracked a smile. "I really love you," He said, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Things have just been so off between us lately, y'know? And I know it's because of the job, and money, and a million other things, and I should be there for you more, but I promise it'll get better."

Your lips twitched into a frown. "Steve, you're just fine," you insisted. "I swear, it's not any of that, it's…" The words died on your tongue as Steve looked at you expectantly. You could taste the words on your tongue, so close to just spilling out, but you just couldn't. "It's not as important as this. Like… Property damage, breaking and entering, drugging, kidnapping… That's a lot for a rap sheet."

Steve chuckled under his breath. Across the farm, Lucas whistled and slapped the side of the van. Dustin, Nancy, and Jonathan headed for the Beamer. "We'll be fine. Take shotgun? I'm still mad at Henderson."

When you finally parked across the street, you watched in awe and terror as Erica cried fake tears and lied her way into the house with the drugged pie. She was a thoroughly terrifying little girl, and equally impressive.

"Y'know…" you said in the quiet of the car. "I should feel bad about being a part of all of this, but when I was going door to door for Mondale, they were such assholes. Major fucking republicans, by the way. Like… mouths surgically attached to Reagan's ass—"

"Okay, ew," Steve groaned. "We get the picture, and it's disgusting."

You sighed and knocked your head against the door. "Do you think the old lady that Robin took the meds from is going to be okay?" You asked again, to be met with silence. "'Cause, like, imagine she's in serious pain and that's the only way she can sleep, and the nurse on duty just thinks that she's a junkie and took it all and can't have anymore."

Dustin put a hand on your arm. "Yeah, we don't usually talk this much." You gave a sheepish smile and held your tongue as you watched the silhouettes of the Turbow's and Erica eating the pie through the drawn curtains. Your nails drummed on the window, and when that felt too loud, you drummed them on your knee.

Finally, the garage opened and the group jumped into action. You scrambled to follow behind, tossing your purse into the car so you could hurry across the street. The Squawk van was in the drive… it wasn't exactly subtle. You looked at your surroundings, praying that no neighbors chose that time to look out their windows, and frowned as you slipped into the garage.

They had their marching orders, and you did your best not to get in the way. Moving furniture, helping set traps. When Dustin handed you an axe, you looked at him incredulously.

"I can't use this," you said with a weak laugh, nudging it back towards him..

Dustin pushed it back into your grip. "Figure it out, Miss Hawkins."

You huffed and looked at Steve, who shrugged. Figure it out. You swallowed and carried the axe into the living room, feeling like a bunny in a lions den.

You were spoiled, and coddled, and babied. You were so out of your depth that you felt embarrassed just standing there among them. You raised the axe and slammed it down onto the white chalk mark on the ground. The wood splintered around the impact point, and you wrenched the blade free with shocking ease.

Turns out, lifting and carrying a toddler around for hours every day did wonders for your upper body strength. There was something cathartic about it too— seeing this perfect, beautiful wood floor that the asshole boot-licking losers paid thousands for destroyed at your hand. To see anything destroyed, like a manifestation of everything you'd been holding in for months.

You lost yourself in that catharsis until everyone else stopped and you looked up. Steve Harrington. Your boyfriend, the total show off. He was a showman, revving the chainsaw like he was in a horror movie before he took the tool to the hardwoods that you'd all barely put a dent in.

Afterward, when the floor caved in, you watched him panting across the room. He dropped the chainsaw, pulled back the goggles, and tugged at his sweater. He was annoyingly handsome, and you knew from the smile he sent you across the room that he knew it. The total asshole.

You two got to the car first, while Dustin did a quick pass at the traps to ensure everything was in order. "That shit with the chainsaw was super phallic," you said with a grin, nudging him across the center console. "You totally ruined my flow with the axe too. I was actually good with it."

He rolled his eyes. "If it looked like a dick it's because you wanted it to, perv." You shook your head and fought a grin. Maybe he was a little right. Whatever. "How did Dustin find out about you being Miss Hawkins?"

You felt your cheeks going a little warm with sudden humility. "I… was trying to bond with the kid," you said. "He asked what I was like in high school."

Steve nodded, lips twitching. "And you started bragging?"

You rolled your eyes. "I was not bragging. I was actually being kind of self-deprecating, so…"

You reached into the glove box and grabbed a Bopper. You hadn't eaten since you'd stopped at home, and your stomach was starting to growl. Steve leaned over and took a bite from your hand. It was weird, being included— the rush and the fear and the excitement.

"You said you wanted to talk to me about something last night," he said, wiping crumbs from his mouth. "I didn't forget, y'know. Things have just been so… but yeah, did you want to talk about it now, or…?"

You thought about it, really. But one glance over his shoulder, and you saw Dustin jogging back to the car. "It's not bad," you said quickly. "Just maybe not a conversation to have around Henderson, y'know?"

He nodded and gave your hand a squeeze. "Yeah. Duh."

Dustin slid into the backseat, eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of you two making eyes at each other. "Can you detach, please?"

With a grin, you glanced back at him. "Dustin, we're literally just sitting together."

"Doesn't matter, I'm nauseated, and we need to focus." He glanced out the window, watching the streetlights disappearing up the hill in the distance. You swallowed your defensiveness and turned your gaze out the window too.

The three of you sat in silence, watching lights that didn't flicker, didn't pulse. You leaned your head onto Steve's shoulder, almost lulled by the sound of Robin rambling on the other end of the radio. Something about the hospital and stealing the meds, and fingerprints, and sentencing, and Steve's uncle.

You watched a streetlamp flicker and held your breath. And they were moving, tracing a sparkling path to the Turnbow house. You sat up in your street, watching the lights in the house dance as the demogorgon made its way through the upside down.

Through the window, you saw something. An imposing height, gray, muscular flesh. Michael Jordan tall. Face like a flower with teeth. Sure, Will had drawn you a picture, but seeing it made it real. It wasn't pencil on paper or exaggerated words. It was alive, and it was in the house with people you cared about.

"Buckle up, honey," Steve said, but your gaze was glued to the window, where you watched the figure stalking towards Lucas. You flinched when he reached over you to buckle you in himself. "Hey, can you do this?"

Do what? Ride in a car near danger? If you couldn't say yes you'd be totally humiliated… and left on the side of the road in Loch Nora next to an active B&E case. So, even though you were unsure, you nodded quickly.

You screamed when Nancy and Jonathan banged on the car windows to get in, which definitely didn't help your, totally handling it, case. While Steve drove through backyards to chase down a creature that didn't care about traffic laws, you white knuckled the door handle and kept your eyes squeezed shut.

If the monster didn't kill you, the Beamer careening off the road and into a tree would. Then who would raise Sam? Debbie? Your parents? Worse… his parents? He hit a bump and you jostled, eyes peeking open to see woods passing by so fast that it looked like you were at hyperspeed.

You were going to puke. You were going to puke and probably die in this stupid fucking car.

McCorkle farm came into view and your stomach turned. The demogorgon had found Derek. It was going to capture him, which meant the plan had failed. You watched the demogorgon flip— tearing out of an oak tree on the side of the road and leaving glowing red sinew in its wake.

Steve shifted gears, trying to catch up to the impossibly fast monster. He turned fast and your head knocked into the glass of the window with a dull thud, making your head go a little fuzzy.

The demogorgon clawed at the barn doors, and you could sense Steve hesitating. Idling as he watched.

"Steve, floor it!"

"Drive, Steve!"

"C'mon, man, that's my family in there, hit it!"

It was all distant in your ears. You weren't built for this. You had wanted in because you didn't want to be left out, but you were so far out of your depth that you were choking on your fear.

Steve hit the gas, the monster slammed into the front of the car and you flinched as you heard it rolling over the roof. They were all alive with adrenaline, laughing and cheering, but your veins were ice as it stood to its full height in front of the car— bloody and visceral. Its face opened as it shrieked, and you squeezed Steve's arm so hard that you thought you might leave a bruise.

It was fast, so fast it could have easily reached through the window and killed you all for sport. But it just went still, and that was the scariest part of all, like it was thinking. You made a soft, wounded sound akin to a whimper and turned away from it, just as it turned and ran towards the silo and ripped a rift into the sheet metal like it was tissue paper.

Steve's hesitation was like a sixth presence in the car, fingers twitching on the gear shift, heart thrumming— you could feel it just like you could feel your own terror. His eyes flicked between the gravel path to the glowing silo. As he turned to Dustin, his eyes met yours, wide like a prey animal.

And you just knew that Steve, this man that you loved so much that it felt like an ache, was going to get you killed. Get all of you killed. Their conversation was muffled behind the pounding of your heart, because Steve wanted to go through that, to follow it on its turf.

"We can't," you muttered, at the same time that Jonathan argued against the suicide mission. "Steve, we can't. We can't, we'll die."

"It's fine," he insisted. "We've done it before, we'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen to us." The signal was getting weaker, and Nancy just wanted to get to her sister. Maybe you couldn't blame her for giving Steve the permission he was waiting for, you just wished you would have gotten out of the car first.

While Dustin and Jonathan panicked and begged Steve to stop the car, you squeezed your eyes shut and held onto the door handle, unable to watch the rift drawing closer and closer. The tires ground against the gravel road, spitting it out as it sped forward.

It wasn't until you heard Steve sigh in relief that you opened your eyes to see Hawkins leached of all color and light. Your brows furrowed as you peered out, watching that same weird snow that fell after the quake floating by as you drove through.

You looked in the side mirror, brows furrowing as you watched the gate closing entirely. A claustrophobic feeling settled over you, like the time you'd been shut into your trunk as a prank at camp.

The "door" had closed firmly behind you, and the only other one you knew of was in the middle of the Mac-Z. The five of you were stuck in the Upside Down with no way out that didn't lead to immediate detainment and jail time.

Your forehead thumped against the window as you looked outside, watching red lightning flash and illuminate the sky, listening to the roar of thunder that sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once.

The demo had a head start, so that was a relief, at least. You didn't have to watch its gray skin stretching and moving around corded muscles as it ran. Steve's nightmares made sense to you now— how could you close your eyes when you might dream that you're here, in this place, with those things?

"You're quiet," Steve said, glancing over at you. "I thought you'd have more to say about all of this. Are you catatonic over there?"

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, still staring out the window outside as you passed the Hagan's. Tommy's stupid dirt bike was outside, parked crooked in the driveway, covered in the same freaky, slimy vines that everything else was. Just as fast as you saw it, it disappeared into the shadowy darkness behind the car.

He squeezed your hand. "Hey." It snapped you from your thoughts and into a very upsetting present. "Are you with me?"

You pulled your hand from his and stared out the window. He didn't push, for the moment, which was a relief. His hand moved back across the center console, and twitched against the gear shift.

"Going left, towards Lancaster." Dustin's voice became background noise as he navigated Steve through the upside down after the demo.

All the while, you watched the bad version of Hawkins outside, frozen in 1983, and wondered what you'd find if you went back to your room on that day. One of Steve's Queen casettes thrown at the wall, still in plastic chunks on the carpet and surrounded by flecks of chipped paint. Your diary and every shameful, hurt thing you'd scrawled in pen.

Carol had stayed over the same night that Will went missing— you'd driven her and Tommy to school in the morning. Would her pendant be on the nightstand? The same one that she'd been wearing the night that she died?

Were they in here? Your jaw worked as you finally let yourself think about what had happened to them last March. Did the rift burn through them like Lucas saw happen to that Jason guy? Did they die from the fall through? Could that even kill a person? Did they starve? Did they get hunted by something like the monster you were chasing? Were they alone and rotting somewhere while you were living their lives?

Had Steve ever looked for their bodies so he could bring them home? Didn't they deserve a resting place better than this?

You hadn't realized you were picking your cuticles until Steve pulled at your hands again. It was a bad habit, one of Steve's that you had unconsciously mirrored. When you glanced down at your hands, your thumbnail was outlined in blood.

"Talk to me," Steve said again. "This is serious stuff, I can't have you freaking out on us."

"You drove through a fucking gate into this place," you accused, finally whirling around to face him. "We're stuck in here because you're impulsive and selfish."

"I'm selfish?" He scoffed, glancing between the road ahead and your fiery expression. "I'm doing this because Holly's alone in here."

"Yes, you are selfish, Steve," you argued, your voice raising more than what was comfortable in the cramped car. "We had a plan, and you disregarded it and threw yourself— no— all of us into danger because you think you're a Hawkins loser who has to prove himself by being a hero. But you're not a hero, Steve, you're just an idiot."

Steve's grip went white on the steering wheel, and you knew you'd said a terrible thing just to sink your claws in. The car went quiet, interrupted only by Dustin throwing out directions for Steve to follow with a noticeably feeble tone.

"You know what?" He finally said, when he decided he couldn't just bite his tongue and let you wound him anymore. "I asked you if you could handle this. You could've gone home and stayed with Sam, but you didn't. You begged to know everything, because you're so goddamn scared of being left out all of the time. And maybe, just maybe, you were always left out because you can be a really miserable person."

You felt your eyes go watery, and your lip start to wobble, but you couldn't just take it lying down. "I'm miserable? For being the one to point out that you didn't think this through and now we're stuck with no way out?" He huffed, gripping the wheel tighter. "If I'm so miserable and off base, I want to know your plan. How are we going to get back to Sam? Our daughter, in case you forgot."

Steve scoffed and looked over at you. The muscles in his jaw went tight, and his gaze went hard. "You don't trust me to handle it? You don't think I would do whatever it takes to get us home? Do you think I'd just let you die in here? Is that it?"

"Turn right!" Dustin piped up from the back, and Steve turned sharply onto the side street with barely a glance at the road. The sign for the Roane Cemetery whipped past the window, not that either of you were paying attention.

"I think you can't admit when you're wrong. Which you are."

"I think you need to be right all of the time. But what do I know? I'm just a Hawkins loser."

A laugh escaped you and you exhaled sharply through your nose. Nancy and Jonathan were mumbling something to each other, or maybe your blood was pounding so hard in your ears that it was muffling them. You couldn't tell, and you really didn't want to hear their input on your relationship anyway. Glass houses and stones and what not. "Okay, fine."

"Fine?"

"Yeah, fine. I'm a miserable bitch and you're a Hawkins loser and none of it is going to matter when we die in here."

"Stop the car, Steve!" Nancy yelled from the backseat.

The two of you turned towards the windshield at once, and you froze at the sight of a giant hulking wall taking up your entire field of vision. Steve reacted fast, shifting gears, slamming on the breaks, but you continued to careen towards it, fishtailing as the car struggled to stop.

You felt the initial impact like a rattle in your bones— the sudden pressure of a speeding car flying towards an immoveable object dispelling through you. The windshield shattered into jagged crystals that spilled across the dashboard and your lap.

When car slammed to a stop, your head smashed into the dash with a dull, stinging thud. You felt something slick and hot, going from your forehead to your hair, but mostly you just felt exhausted, like you'd run a marathon. You thought you heard the horn going off, distant and far away, but then there was nothing at all.

A/N: Yayyyy so as you can tell, tcogb6 was getting WAY too long to post in one part, so I decided to split it up into two! Part 7 is underway now :) Please message me any thoughts, feelings, or theories that you have... i'm very very curious to know your thoughts after this one >:)

Thank you for reading!!

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[notmily]

Holy shit guys lizzy mcalpine is releasing another album, we’re so fucked.

[notmily]

She’s…in love holy shit

[notmily]

Re watching the McMillions documentary and I can’t stop thinking of the idea of FBI Agent! Steve Harrington and Mobster/mob daughter! Reader….

[dreamyelectronicmusics]

[levanswrites]

fighting the monday blues with steve x single mom!reader thoughts...

i'm just thinking about reader who hasn't slept with anyone in... god, you can't even remember how long. life became work and daycare pickups and doctor's appointments and making sure you had dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets stocked in the freezer.

somewhere along the way, you stopped thinking about yourself as someone who could be wanted.

and then steve harrington happens.

this ridiculously handsome, ridiculously thoughtful guy who's technically a whole five years younger than you.

"what?" he'd laughed when you brought up the age difference. "c'mon, we're basically the same age."

easy for him to say when he looks like that.

you keep trying to convince yourself it would never work anyway. he's gorgeous, charming, effortlessly good with people. women probably throw themselves at him.

meanwhile, your life comes with baggage: a kid who isn't his and a calendar built around school drop-offs and bedtime routines.

you assume that, eventually, he'll realize this isn't the kind of life he pictured for himself.

except steve doesn't see a list of reasons why it won't work.

he sees you.

and then, somehow, before you can even process it, he's gone and won over your daughter too.

you find him sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, letting her attempt to braid his floppy hair while she giggles herself silly. she tugs a little too hard and he throws his head back dramatically.

“owww, you're so mean to me.”

she erupts into laughter, immediately asking if she can try again.

“i guess,” he sighs dramatically, “if i have to.”

those stupid, warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at your daughter, looking at her like she’s the most important person in the room.

which, to him, she is.

and so is her mom.

you keep waiting for the catch. for steve to realize there's a whole world beyond yours—a world where he gets to be young and carefree and unburdened, instead of choosing a life that already comes with so many responsibilities.

and every time he looks at you with that soft, awestruck expression, you have to look away because surely this isn’t real. no one has ever looked at you like that before.

yet despite your best efforts to push him away before things can get any more serious...

he gets you into bed.

it's terrifying.

you're more nervous than you've ever been with anyone—even more than your first time—because this isn't just about being physically vulnerable anymore.

it's the way he looks at you.

at the scars and stretch marks. the body that carried your daughter, that carried you through the hardest years of your life. the body you've spent the last decade treating like something practical, something that only mattered because it kept you moving.

never something to be cherished or wanted.

except steve doesn't look at you like that.

his gaze is nothing short of overwhelming.

there's an intensity to it that makes your heart stumble, something instinctive and undeniably hungry, but it's softened by so much warmth and affection that you can't bear to meet his eyes.

you glance away, folding your arms across your stomach and trying to make yourself a little smaller.

except steve won't let you disappear.  

he waits.

gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, kisses your cheek while he’s got two fingers lazily fingering your pussy, stroking deep and knowing and good because “I’ve gotta make sure you’re ready for me, hm?”  

and oh, did you mention he was hung, too?  

stretches you to the limit every time. he can fuck you for hours, though he makes you come at least three times before he even thinks about pulling his dick out.

and when he tells you you're beautiful in bed with a completely straight face, you believe he means it.

it's not a line. he says it the way someone says the sky is blue.

like it's simply, undeniably true.

and he's just... too much.

because the men you've been with before never paid even a fraction of the attention he does. no one slowed down long enough to notice when you got tense, or checked in just because they wanted to know how you were feeling.

but steve does. constantly.

he notices every tiny shift in your expression, every shaky breath and every little gasp.   

he's endlessly patient with you, spending hours on his knees at the foot of your bed, blinking up at you with his nose buried in your pussy. cheeks tinged pink, glistening with your slick, hair a complete mess because he'd wanted you to stop worrying about being so careful with him. because he'd wanted you to grip onto him and show him what felt good.

and the whole time, he's looking at you with this expression that's almost impossible to describe.

wonder and gratitude. a kind of open, wholehearted adoration that feels too big to hold.

like he's trying to memorize the details of this moment because he still can't believe he gets to love you.

and all you can think is...

how?

how could someone so kind, so heartbreakingly good, look at you like you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to him?

what you don't realize is that he looks at you and wonders the exact same thing.

[notmily]

[notmily]

Holy shit guys lizzy mcalpine is releasing another album, we’re so fucked.

[notmily]

Can’t remember the last time I wrote a x reader thing but rockstar!steve won’t leave my brain…

——————

Like I can just imagine him and his band getting ready for a gig in this venue. It’s their first sold out show after playing here for a while and the band is buzzing. Then all the sudden Max, who plays bass, come barreling into the dressing room tell Steve Eddie is sick.

“Sick what do you mean sick? We have a sold out venue to play tonight!?”

“I mean he’s sick Harrington, like pale laying on the couch in his apartment shivering.”

So Steve starts pacing trying to figure out what they need to do. Sure he plays guitar but he doesn’t know all of Eddie’s parts. He could ask Mike but no offense to him, he’s just not ready to be on stage like that.

Steve has freaking out as he tries to keep prepping for the show while trying to solve this crisis. Robin comes in to say something about the set list and Steve’s asking her is she can play Eddie’s parts in the keys which she says no, not without practice if they want it to be good.

And he’s worried, and worried but then all the sudden and angel walks in.

You’re working sound for the venue. You’ve only come back to ask the band to do sound check when you hear Steve’s spiral.

“I can play,” you say, making Steve and Robin slowly turn to you.

“You can?” Steve asks slowly, drinking in your figure. He feels his mouth go a little dry seeing you but the crisis in front of him makes his need dwindle.

You’re not even sure what possessed you to say that because now Steve Harrington, the guy every girl in the underground music scene has been crushing on, is now looking at you. And you can tell his checking you out but you push past that because this is your chance to get to play on stage with the hottest upcoming indie band storming the New York Music scene in the early 90s.

Crushed Velvet is all anyone can talk about in the last couple months since they arrived into the city.

And sure yeah, you’ve seen them play…okay you’ve seen them play every night since they started their residency at Mercury Lounge and have definitely not been crushing hard on their lead singer but that’s besides the point.

This is your chance.

“Yeah, I-uh- I’m also in a band- or was until everyone else went their own ways but I still play like a lot and I’ve heard you guys play a couple times now and I know all the songs-“

“You know all the songs?” Steve asks, a bit unbelieving.

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I’ve seen you guys play like every night since you started.”

Robin raises her brows before turning to Steve, “I mean, she sounds like she’s confident and we don’t really have anyone else?”

Steve pulls his lip into a line and then looks back to you, taking you in again. His stomach does that little flip thing when his eyes meet yours and then he’s grabbing his guitar and handing it to you.

“Play me something.”

“Like what?”

“Anything, wow me, princess.”

You try not to blush at the name as you pull the guitar strap of the acoustic over your head. But it’s easy to forget about Steve staring once you get into the music and play something you’ve been writing.

An intricate melody with bouncy chords and nice plucking that has Steve suddenly feeling like he’s going to fall over.

Whoever your are, where ever you can me from, he’s sure you’re sent from heaven.

-

You’re not really sure what did it but 45 minutes after that conversation you’re on stage with Crushed Velvet playing guitar for their poor sick guitarist Eddie.

And Steve thinks he’s in love.

You just play so beautifully, like yeah you’re a kick ass guitarist, you know your shit, but the way you move while you play seems to put Steve and the audience in a trance.

At one point during the set, doing a more rock cover of the Bee Gees “How Deep Is Your Love”, Steve finds himself falling to his knees in front of you while you play a lick on the guitar.

His eyes shine as they look up at you, singing into the mic the chorus. And you completely lean into it, playing to just him and Steve all the sudden thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

He’s leaning into you, breathing slightly heavy as he lets you take the solo. And you find yourself leaning down to him, lips becoming closer and closer and the audience is losing it.

He can feel the heat radiating off you, your lips so close to his. Your hand that was strumming comes up to his face as you let the last note of your solo ring out as you hook your finger under his chin.

For a moment, he thinks he’s gonna get kissed in this stage in front of everyone by you but then the song picks up again and he knows it’s his cue to start singing again.

But your lips look so pretty and plump and red from the lipstick Max had thrown on you before the show to make you look more like the rockstar you are. So he’s leaning into it, eyes closed and ready to feel your lips, when he’s suddenly diverted and pushed back to his mic, where his snaps out of it and starts singing again.

He’s slept with a lot of people in the rise to stardom he’s having with his friends, he’s seen a lot of beautiful women come through the Mercury lounge, but no one has ever looked like you.

And after the show everyone in the band, Max, Robin, and Dustin (who’s surprisingly good at drums) are all gushing over the performance and how amazed they were with you.

But Steve just can’t stop staring from across the room and feeling the hunger and desire rising in him.

You catch his gaze while chatting with Max, eyes sparkling in the low light as you don’t miss the hunger in them.

You stomach erupts in butterflies as you blow him a kiss before turning with Max to head out to the bar.

And when he approaches you later at the bar, hand sliding across your hip and whispering into your ear…

“You really had me in a spell up there, trouble.”

“Trouble? What makes you call me that?”

His lips pull into a smirk against your temple.

“I dunno, maybe that little stunt you pulled in stage.”

You lean into his touch, turning slightly to look at him better. “Well if this is the only time I get to play with Crushed Velvet then I have to make it memorable.”

Steve raises his brows, “Oh believe me baby, this will not be the last time you play with us if I have anything to say about it.”

“Oh?”

Steve leans forward his lips grazing over yours, drunk on tequila and your proximity. “Uh huh.”

His lips capture yours in a hungry, slow kiss. His hand spread on your hip pulls you in more, spinning you around. Your lower back digs into the bar top as your hands come up and wind into his hair.

His tongue slides across your lips and you open up allowing him to slid it in and taste your mouth fully. His groans are swallowed by the sounds of the late night band playing and your mouth.

And that’s how you end up at the second guitarist for your boyfriend’s band Crushed Velvet.

[harringtonsugar]

DJOTIME UR FREAKY AS HELL OH MY GOD

[mily-writes-stuff]

If Chapter 4 Savior Complex!Steve heard this song, I think he’d combust.

TikTok - Make Your Day

[notmily]

WHY DOES NO EVER WANT TO ENTERTAIN MY SAVIOR COMPLEX IDEAS PLEASE GUYS STEVE AND DOVE MEAN SO MUCH TO ME YOU HAVE NO IDEA

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

[morganbritton132]

Fic where Steve's dad finds out about the Russian torture but not the upside down because Steve 'don't talk to cops without a lawyer' Harrington and Robin 'be honest, what really happened to JFK?' Buckley won't tell the FBI what happened to them without a lawyer despite the fact that-

"You're not being arrested," The agent in front of them repeats for the hundredth time. "You're not being interrogated. This isn't an interrogation. It's an interview. We're gathering information on what happened tonight."

"That's what I'd say if I was interrogating someone," Steve shrugs. He turns to Robin and says, "That's how they get you."

"We're not trying to 'get you,' we-"

"They want to frame up for the mall burning down," Robin accuses. "You think you're so smart with your mind tricks. Well, we solved a Russian code with-"

"Robin."

"Oh," She's stops. Narrows her eyes. "Tricky."

"You already told us about the - what did you call it? The Mind Flayer."

"The flesh monster."

"Yes."

"We signed an NDA about upside down bullshit already so we talked about it. This is different. Duh."

Robin echoes, "Duh."

"Okay," The agent says. "Just tell up what happened when you were underground and-"

"Not without a lawyer."

The agent sighs.

The agent thinks they should've went to nursing school like their mother wanted.

The agent thinks the lord above that Mr Harrington and Miss Buckley's lawyer - Mr Harrington (father) - finally finished filling out his paperwork.

Steve's father looks pissed right up until he sees his son beaten half to hell. He opens his mouth to ask what the fuck happened when Steve turns to the agent.

"My dad-lawyer is here," He announces. "We can tell you about the torture now.."

[mily-writes-stuff]

Savior Complex Exert

'kay so if you read savior complex, you should know I'm going back and rewriting previous chapters cause the story has evolved and I couldn't let it be like it was in the beginning anymore.

anywho this is an exert from chapter four "The Graduation Party" and I think this scene is so much better now then it was before and had to share it on it's own.

------

(to set the scene if you don't know or don't remember, Dove and Steve have just graduated and are at a classmates graduation party on Lover's Lake)

The dock is long as it is wide and sometimes they feel the thudding of feet as someone launches themselves in the water off of one side close to the ladder. The two of the sit on the end, far enough away that they can talk to each other. They sit side by side, legs dangling in the water just up to their calves. Dove laughs when a boat comes by and sends small waves of water up, dampening Steve's rolled up jeans. 

It's the first time all evening Dove has gotten Steve alone. When they arrived everyone had stopped him with some comment or story of something. Which was fine, great even. Dove was happy Steve hadn't been completely outcasted from the his prior social life. But God was it annoying just standing behind him as someone slurred out "Duuude! D'ya member that party you threw in '83 where the cops got called? Man that S'wild!"

But finally, after what felt like hours (in reality it was only 57 minutes to get from the front door to the backyard) Dove finally had a moment with Steve. Their hands rest on the dock between them, pinkies barely touching. They laugh as Michelle Wilson launches herself into the water fully clothed with Matthew. 

It's fun. They've enjoyed sitting here people watching and the few people that stopped and said hi to Dove from the volleyball team had been enjoyable. But now she had plans, or an idea of plans, or...okay well she's not really sure what she wants to happen now, she's been going back and forth in her mind on what to do. It's starting to make her dizzy. And then Steve smiles that stupid boyish smile making her more dizzy and the breeze sends the smell of him to her senses and—

“Hey! Harrington!” a voice calls from the backyard.

Dove stomach sinks in disappointment as the alone time she had very clear plans for (obviously) were suddenly interrupted. That feeling quickly shifts though when she twists to look behind them to see the culprit in calling Steve's name.

Tommy Hagan runs from the yard and bounds down the dock, his footsteps echoing against the wood as he approaches. Dove watches Steve fight an eye roll before plastering on that charming, king Steve smile. 

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

“We’re about to do a keg stand and wanted to see if you would join?” Tommy asks, squatting down behind where Dove and Steve sit on the dock. “I know you want to reclaim that title one more time since Hargrove took it on Halloween. You know, unless you're too busy with your new...friend.”

Ugh.

Dove fights her own eye roll at the stupid smirk on Tommy's face. She'd been listening to him poke Steve since Christmas about his new "friends". He'd caught them one time outside of the arcade, which is located right next to family video (conveniently where Tommy and Carol get their movie for their own Friday date nights), and spread it around the whole school that King Steve could only become friends with thirteen year olds since his fall from grace. Then of course came the jokes about him needing to get some from Dick-Biting Dove because Nancy Wheeler dumped him for Jonathan Byers and, ugh Dove can't even think about it it pisses her off so much. 

Tommy Hagan is an asshole who just wanted to stay at the top of the food chain when it came to popularity. Billy Hargrove seem to be his best friend now but he and Steve had been friends for years before Billy came into town so Dove suspects this is his last attempt to try and rekindle something with him. She can admire that in principle, but he's still a stupid prick in her eyes.

But then Dove watches as Steve's eyes flicker between her and Tommy, a small smile rising on his lips before saying "No thanks, man."

Tommy gives him an unimpressed look before chucking and lightly punching Steve's shoulder. 

“Come on, Steve. You’re really gonna go out being friends with a bunch of thirteen-year-olds and dick-biting Dove?”

Dove watches Steve’s jaw clench. She watches him mull over the responses in his head and sucking in his bottom lip. 

“Oh my god,” Dove interjects before Steve can say something in her defense. “Is this you trying to win Steve back? After months of making fun of him and kissing Billy's ass?”

Tommy turns to her and lets out a sharp, annoyed laugh. “Alright, Jones. How about you just keep your mouth shut?”

“You first.”

Tommy shifts toward Dove, a quick movement that makes Steve uncomfortable. His hand reaches out and grips Tommy's shoulder, holding him back from doing anything. 

“Oh, defending the little Russian bird now, huh, Harrington?” Tommy shrugs Steve’s hand off, looking back to Dove. “You know, maybe you and your communist mommy should just go back across the Atlantic, yeah? This continent would be better for it.”

“Tommy, seriously, man,” Steve says, but the words fall flat as Dove’s face flushes red with anger.

If there's one thing that will light a fire inside Dove it's someone bad mouthing her mom. 

"Wow! I'm surprised you even know what a continent is," Dove quips as she stands. She dusts her hands off as well as the back of her overalls. "And you know, at least my mommy actually gave me attention so I didn't latch on to someone else's nipple for attention." 

Steve snorts before he watches Tommy's face flush red with anger, popping up to stand just a few inches taller then Dove. Steve pops up as well, water slushing over the edge of the dock as he moves with haste. 

"Watch it, Jones," Tommy snaps, a finger going into her face. 

Dove looks at it with a raised brow, "Oh and what are you gonna do about it? Call Billy over?"

"Dove," Steve whispers, a little shocked she would say that. Dove's honestly a little shocked she even said it herself. 

"I bet you'd like that wouldn't you, Jones? Bet you'd just love for another dick—"

"Dude," Steve tries to interrupts but Tommy keeps going. 

"To suck 'cause you're just a slut who wants some male attention—"

"Oh I'm a slut?" Dove's voice raises, a finger going into her own chest as she laughs incredulously in his face. "You know what, Tommy? Sure, yeah, I'm a huge fucking slut! You got me! But at least I'm not an asshole latching onto someone else's popularity 'cause he doesn't have a personality."

Tommy moves closer to her, arms crossed, staring her down. Dove's chin tips up, not backing down from the fight. Bark loud.

“You’re a real piece of work, Dove Jones. You know that, right?”

His response makes her laugh.

“Yeah for sure Tommy, but hey, at least my head isn't that far up my own ass."

Tommy's hands come up quick, plating on Dove's shoulders and shoving her backwards into the lake. He laughs loudly as she hits the water and some on lookers who overheard the argument "oohhh" as the splash erupts. 

"Enjoy the slut, Harrington! I'm sure she's nice and ready for you now!" Tommy yells as he walks away. 

By the time Dove surfaces, water sputtering out of her mouth, she's just in time to stop Steve from going after Tommy. 

“Steve!” she yells, stopping him in his tracks before he can pick a fight. “He’s not worth the trouble.”

She can practically see the steam coming out of Steve's ears. That short temper of his being really tested as he looks between Tommy's back and Dove's bobbing head in the lake. HIs chest rises in falls as he slows his breathing, letting out a final huff and walking to the edge of the dock, hand outstretched to help Dove out. 

For a brief second, she considers tugging him in with her, but she decides against it when she notices how far the sun has started to dip below the horizon.

Once she’s back on the dock, she starts wringing out her clothes, hating the way the fabric clings to her skin.

“What an asshole,” Dove laughs as she squeezes the water from her hair.

Steve watches her in silence, his expression unreadable.

“What?” she asks.

Something crosses his face; pride, fondness, and something else? She feels the setting sun on her back, haloing her frame as water dripping from her clothes and hair.

He shakes his head quickly. “Nothing. It’s just… you didn’t have to—”

“Stick up to that prick for you?” she says. “I know. But his voice annoys me, and I couldn’t just let him go on like that.”

"He called you a slut," he practically seethes. 

"Yeah, I heard, it's okay, Steve, not the first time I've heard it," she says, giving him a soft smile. 

It's true, she's heard the name be thrown at her multiple times throughout high school. Since she decided to deny one guy a blowjob and suddenly her sex life became everyone's business.

"But it's not okay," he breathes out, eyes shining as he looks at her. 

"Steve, seriously, you think I was just going to let him talk to you like that? No way," Dove says, twisting the ends over her hair to try and get as much water out as she can. 

His expression stays unreadable when she meets his eyes. 

“Yeah, but you always do that. Like, you stick up for me even though I… don’t necessarily deserve it.”

Dove's heart sinks at the confession. Of course she knew Steve was coming out of his high school royalty haze, she'd seen it happening over the course of the school year. But he'd never really voice how much his prior behavior had affected him.

“I mean, Tommy was my best friend, and I didn’t realize how much of an ass he was until Nancy showed me,” Steve continues. “And then that only came from me and Jonathan Byers fighting, but—” he exhales, huffing out a breath, “—I probably never would’ve fully gotten out of being an asshole if it wasn’t for you. So, uh… thank you. I owe you. Like, a lot.”

Warmth floods her chest, crawling up her neck and over the back of her head. She's blushing, she knows it. Because Dove has known just how much Steve has come to mean to her, but she'd never gotten to hear about how much she's meant to someone else before. And to have that feeling reciprocated, well it just has her staring blankly at him as water droplets fall from her overalls and onto her feet. Each drop feeling heavier as she doesn't respond.

“I, um…”

Say something you idiot, this is something you've always wanted!

“Well… it’s the least I can do. Since you’re always there for everyone else. And the kids. And, uh… me. So, yeah.”

Wow, real articulate there, Dove.

Steve swallows, looks down, then lifts his eyes back to hers. The eye contact makes Dove suddenly aware of how heavy the overalls feel, soaked through and cold. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and she wonders if that is the look she’s been waiting for. Surely not.

She lets out a laugh and turns her head away, breaking the gaze before her heart can race any faster.

“Hey, let’s go get ice cream or something.”

Her suggestion seems to snap Steve out of it. He shakes himself, then nods with a small smile.

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

[noorgee]

I need this picture tattooed on the inside of my eyelids

[cheugy-djobe]

oh teacake… 🚬

[mily-writes-stuff]

Okay guys, I am going back and rewriting/fixing inconsistencies in previous chapters of Savior Complex bc it morphed into something different later on and I can’t let the beginning be like it is anymore. So if you feeling like going back and rereading I’d recommend bc I think previous chapters are getting better and explain more about Dove and Steve now. Nothing changes in terms of the actual storyline but we get more of a understanding of the characters now and their relationships cause I totally rushed the beginning to get to the part I was excited about (whoops). Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

[thumping-whumper]

Love going to bed with a new, good daydream scenario fresh in my mind. Like yes girl, movie night!