Synopsis: What starts as a simple repair turns into late-night diner runs, coffee deliveries to the garage, and a growing attachment neither of you expects. Logan likes that you talk too much when you're nervous. You like that Logan becomes softer when nobodyâs watching.
But as pressure mounts with Logan's hockey career and real life starts pulling at you from opposite directions, you begin to wonder if youâre just a temporary stop in Loganâs fast-moving future.
And Logan realizes far too late that somewhere between oil stains and midnight drives, you became the closest thing heâs ever had to home.
ââ john logan x graham!reader ; wc 3.5k
tw ; mention of parental abuse ( phil graham ) , secret relationship/brothers best friend , kissing , unedited
You should have been asleep.Â
Honestly, you had every intention of staying asleep.
You'd barely stirred when Logan carefully untangled himself from around you a few hours earlier. The second Logan's warmth disappeared from around you, sleep had abandoned you completely. You remembered the sleepy press of lips against your temple, remembered him whispering something about emergency practice before disappearing back through the bathroom with more effort than a six foot hockey player should have needed to move quietly.Â
You had laid there for nearly twenty minutes staring at the ceiling while cold air slowly replaced the heat his body had left behind. That had been the end of sleep.
Eventually, you gave up and grabbed your laptop instead.Â
Which was how you ended up cross legged in the middle of your unmade bed at six in the morning, drowning in English literature notes while wearing one of Logan's old briar jerseys like a sleep shirt.Â
The sleeves hung past your wrist, and the stitched hem brushed against your thighs whenever you shifted beneath the blankets. Your laptop sat balanced on your knees in front of you while color coded note card littered the comforter around your legs in chaotic little piles.Â
The room smelled faintly like vanilla coffee creamer and Logan's cologne. The thought probably should have bothered you more than it did. Garrett would lose his fucking mind if he saw this.Â
The thought flickered through your head so automatically it barely registered anymore. By now sneaking around with Logan had become muscle memory. You were half way through rereading your notes on gothic symbolism when the bathroom door connecting your room to his clicked softly.Â
You barely looked up. That alone probably should have been alarming. But the only people who used that bathroom were you and Logan.
He paused halfway through the doorway, one hand still resting against the door knob as surprise crossed his face. His dark hair was damp from a rushed shower after practice, curling slightly at the ends, and heâd traded his gear for gray sweatpants and a black Briar Hockey hoodie that looked like heâd pulled it on without fully drying off first.
âYouâre awake?" His hockey bag hit the bathroom floor softly behind him as he nudged the door shut with his foot.
You hummed absently, eyes still scanning the highlighted paragraph glowing on your laptop screen.
A beat of silence passed.
âTell me I didnât wake you when I left.â
That finally dragged your attention toward him.
You scrunched your nose automatically, guilt flashing across his face the second he saw it.
âOh, baby,â he groaned quietly.Â
You shrugged one shoulder, trying to dismiss it, but Logan already looked annoyed with himself as he crossed the room.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight when he dropped onto the bed beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours immediately. Warmth radiated off him in sleepy waves, carrying traces of cold winter air, clean soap, and lingering hockey equipment beneath it all.
âIâm sorry.â
"You're loud," you mumbled, teasingly.Â
"I was not loud."
"You're, like, genetically incapable of being quiet."
"That is offensive."
âWhatâd they drag you guys in so early for anyway?â you asked, eyes drifting back toward your screen.
Logan rested his chin against your shoulder, close enough that his voice vibrated lightly through your skin when he answered.
âCody got drunk at a frat and fell off a table. Dislocated his shoulder.â
You snorted softly.
âAnd you have a game tomorrow,â you murmured, piecing it together out loud. âHence the emergency practice.â
He hummed against your shoulder in confirmation, the vibration making you shiver slightly before his mouth followed after it, pressing a lazy kiss against the fabric stretched over it.
Then another.
Then another higher up near your neck where the oversized collar slipped low against your skin.
Your fingers paused over the keyboard.
âCome on,â Logan mumbled against your throat. âTake a break?â
You ignored him on purpose.
It was almost impossible to study with Logan around. Not because he was obnoxious about it but mostly because he wanted your attention with the same attention he wanted ice time, and when John Logan wanted something, he tened to throw his whole body at it.Â
Which, unfortunately for your GPA, usually worked.Â
He sighed dramatically.
âBaby.â
âLogan.â
His mouth curved against your skin at the warning in your voice.
Logan lifted his head just enough to pout at you, and unfortunately for your concentration, he looked unfairly good like thisâfresh from practice, slightly sleepy, soft around the edges in a way nobody else ever got to see.
He knew it too.
âI missed you,â he added, pouting still. You laughed quietly before you could stop yourself, turning your head enough to look at him properly. Logan immediately brightened like heâd won something. âYou were at practice for like two hours.â
âHey,â he said, nudging your knee with his. âDonât be mean just because I like you.â The teasing grin lingered for only a second before something softer settled over his face.
His hand slid over your thigh absentmindedly, thumb brushing against the bare skin beneath the hem of his jersey. âIâm serious, though,â he said quietly. âI really like you.â
The words still did strange things to your chest no matter how many times he said them. Not because you doubted him. But because part of you still wasnât entirely used to being wanted this gently.
You looked at him fully. âI know,â you said softly. âI like you too.â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
His entire face changed.
It hit you suddenly sometimes, how different he was with you compared to everybody else downstairs. The version of Logan most people got was loud laughter, easy flirting, cocky one-liners, and chaotic energy spilling into every room he entered.
With you, he was soft in a way nobody would believe if they only knew him from hockey games and party stories and whispered puck bunny gossip around campus.
This version belonged only to you.
Before you could process the thought too deeply, Logan reached over and closed your laptop. âHey,â you protested immediately. âIâm studying.â
âNuh uh.â He grabbed the laptop before you could reclaim it and set it carefully on the nightstand. âBreak time.â
âLogan.â
But he was already gathering your note cards into one messy stack, ignoring your increasingly offended expression entirely.
âYou are the worst,â you informed him.
âMm. Keep talking. Gets me all hot.â He tossed the final stack of cards aside before turning back toward you fully. Your pout barely lasted two seconds before he kissed you.
Heat crept into your face immediately. You hated how easily he could still do that to you. Logan was your first relationship.
Briar had been your first real school, your first time living around people your age instead of watching normal life through windows and secondhand stories from Garrett.Â
Your first sememster had felt like everybody else had recived some invisible handbook you'd somehow missed entirely. Parties, flirting, hookups, dorm drama, it all seemed to come naturally to everyone exept you.Â
Especially hockey culture.Â
You still remember Garrett standing in the kitchen before the semester started, arms crossed while Dean snickered into a beer beside him. "No hockey players," Garrett had said flatly.Â
You remember rolling your eyes so hard it hurt. Dean had immediately pointed at himself and Tucker. "What about us?"
"You especially,"Â Garrett had laid the law. At the time, you'd thought it was stupid, embarrassing overprotective older brother bullshit. You'd assumed Garrett simply didn't want to hear locker room stories about his little sister from his teammates.Â
Now, with Logan's mouth brushing yours softly while morning light spilled gold across your tangled bedsheets, it almost felt funny.Â
Logans kisses were slow, not rushed the way your kisses sometimes became when you were sneaking around the house trying not to get caught.
This kiss felt like exactly what heâd said earlier.
I missed you.
Your fingers curled automatically into the front of his hoodie as he kissed you deeper, patient and unhurried as he pulled you closer across the mattress.Â
Even now, months into sneaking around, it still caught you off guard sometimesâthe way he touched you carefully without making you feel fragile, the way he held your waist like it belonged beneath his hands naturally, the way he kissed you like he genuinely missed you after only a few hours apart.
Your hands slid into his damp hair as he shifted closer, and suddenly your laptop and exam and notecards felt impossibly far away. âMissed you so much,â he mumbled again against your mouth.
You smiled helplessly into the kiss. âNeedy.â
âFor you? Yeah.â
Somewhere between one kiss and the next, you ended up in his lap.
One second he was beside you and the next his hands were spread warm against your waist, guiding you over his thighs while your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of him. The position pulled a quiet sound from him, one that made your pulse jump embarrassingly fast.
The jersey had ridden dangerously high up your legs by now.
Logan noticed. His hands slid carefully from your waist to your hips, fingertips brushing beneath the hem just enough to make your breath catch against his mouth.
The look he gave you afterward nearly unraveled you completely.
Your heart hammered hard enough to make your chest ache. Maybe this would be the moment. The thought arrived suddenly and stayed there.
Heat bloomed low in your stomach when Logan kissed you again, slower this time, one hand slipping up your spine while the other settled low against your hip.
The knock at your bedroom door barely registered. You froze. Neither of you had time to move before the door opened.
Garrett stepped inside.
For one horrible second, nobody moved.
His gaze swept across the room slowly. The abandoned study notes, Loganâs practice bag at the foot of the bed, your bare legs over Loganâs lap, his jersey hanging off your body, Loganâs hands still spread across your body.
The silence turned suffocating.
You scrambled off Logan immediately, yanking the jersey down your thighs as heat flooded your face. Garrett looked stunned until his expression twisted. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
The words cracked through the room so sharply that it felt like the temperature dropped with them.
Garrett stood frozen in the doorway, broad shoulders filling the frame completely, hockey hoodie half-zipped. His eyes moved once more across the scene in front of him like he still couldnât quite make sense of it.
You in Loganâs jersey.
Logan sitting on your bed.
His practice bag on your floor.
Your flushed face.
The way Loganâs hands had only just left your body.
You and Logan began speaking at the same time. "Garrettâ"
"Gâ"
"No," Garrett snapped immediately, voice rough enough to cut skin. "Don't 'Garrett' me right now." Logan stood slowly from the bed to stand beside you.Â
Garrett laughed once under his breath, but there was nothing amused about. "How long?" The question was simple enough but neither of you answered fast enough.Â
Garrett looked at you then. Anyone else might have mistaken his expression for just pure rage, but you could see the fear in his eyes. "You promised me."
Your stomach twisted. Because you remembered it. You remember Garrett standing in this exact house, telling every guy under this roof to stay away from you and more importantly you had promised, no hockey players.Â
"G, listen, manâ"
"Do not call me that right now!" Garrett barked. The force of it made silence slam back into the room. Then Garrett looked at Logan fully for the first time since walking in, betrayal twisting ugly across his face.Â
"Out of every girl at Briar," he started harshly, "you just had to pick my baby sister to get you fucking dick wet?"
"What the fuck, bro?" And again, you and Logan spoke simultaneously. "Garrett, back off!"
The second the words left your mouth, Garrett went still. Something flickered across his face so quickly most people probably wouldn't have caught it, but you knew Garrett too well not to.Â
It was shock. Not because you had yelled but because you had defended Logan. And suddenly Garrett was looking at the two of you like a pissed off older brother anymore.Â
Logan stepped forward slightly. "I swear it's not like that, man," his voice was strained now, confused and defensive all at once, "we haven't had sex."
You actually thought, for one horrible second, that maybe that would help. Maybe if Garrett understood that this wasn't just some reckless hookup, he'd calm down. Maybe if he understood that Logan cared about you, really cared about you, the situation would stop spiraling so fast.Â
Instead Garrett covered his whole face with both hands. "Jesus fucking Christ."
You chest tightened, you hated what this secret had done. "I really care about her, G," Logan confessed.Â
Garrett dropped his hands slowly, then he laughed. Not because anything was particularly funny, but because he knew he was on the brink of loosing control. The sound had come jagged and breathless and it had made a knot form in your throat.Â
"You care about her?"
Logan frowned immediately, he was really trying to not get worked up. But his defensiveness got the better of him as he yelled, "Yeah," he shot back. "I really fucking do."
The volume of it bounced off the bedroom walls. You recoiled, but the only person who saw was Garrett because Logan stood in front of you. The motion had practically confirmed every fear that Garrett was trying to prevent.Â
And then suddenly he wasnât standing in your bedroom anymore.
You could see it happen in real time.
His eyes stopped focusing properly. His jaw locked so tightly a muscle ticked there. Whatever Garrett was seeing now wasnât you and Logan anymoreâit was memory layered over reality until he couldnât separate the two.
âWhat happens after a bad game?â
âGarrettââ
âWhat happens when your pissed off and she the only one home?â
Your blood ran cold. Logan's brows furrowed in confusion. âGarrett.â You try to pull his attention to you, anything to get him to stop talking, but his sights are solely set on Logan. âWhat happens when you start drinking too much and she says the wrong thingââ
âGarrett!â
The shout ripped out of you loud enough to sting your throat.
Garrett sucked his top teeth with his tongue hard enough for you to hear it. It took him a second to drag his glare away from Logan and back toward you.
Beside you, Logan had gone very still.
âWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?â
But Garrett wasnât even looking at him anymore.
Your palms were slick with sweat now. Your heart hammered so violently it made your ribs ache. Logan was standing right there. Right there. And Garrett was too angry to stop talking and Logan was far too smart not to put the pieces together eventually.
One more sentence.
That was all it would take and the one person in the entire world you tried to shield this from, would know everything.Â
âYou think dad walked around acting like a monster all the time?â Your stomach dropped. âStop it, Garrett!â You stepped forward until you were standing in front of Logan, closer to Garrett. You don't know what you were going to do, but some insane part of you wanted to shield Logan even though he probably already understood what was happening.Â
âYou think mom didnât love dad once too?âÂ
The room tilted. You made the mistake of glancing toward Logan and immediately regretted it because there it was.
That look.
Your entire body flushed hot with humiliation so intense it almost made you dizzy.
âFuck you, Garrett!â
âWoah, babyââ Logan started but he was quickly cut off by Garrett.
âFuck me?â Garrett snapped, pointing at himself before swinging that same finger toward Logan. âNo, fuck him!â If not for pointing at Logan, you might have thought the him he was refering to was your father.Â
Your chest hurt.
You suddenly couldnât stand the way Logan was looking at you. Couldnât stand the fact that he knew now. Maybe not every detail, maybe not every ugly memory, but enough.
Enough to understand.
âI watched mom make excuses for him for yearsââ
âI know,â you fired back instantly, voice shaking now. âI was there too.â
Garrettâs expression cracked for half a second. Then hardened again. âThen why are you making the same mistakes she did?â
âShut up!â The words tore out of you so violently they almost sounded broken. Silence crashed over the room. Nobody moved. Your breathing sounded too loud. So did Loganâs.
Garrett stared at you like he wanted to say more and knew he shouldnât. Logan looked like somebody had knocked the air out of him entirely. You suddenly felt sick standing in Loganâs jersey.
Like your own skin didnât fit correctly anymore. âGet out,â you whispered. Garrett hesitated.
âGet out!â
The shout echoed off the walls.
Something ugly flashed across Garrettâs face then, anger winning over reason for one disastrous second. He slammed his fist into the hallway wall hard enough to shake the framed picture hanging beside your bedroom door.
The sound cracked through you instantly. You flinched before you could stop yourself. Tears burned your eyes immediately afterward, humiliation following close behind them. Because Garrett saw it. You knew he saw it.
Garrett looked horrified for exactly half a heartbeat. Then he walked out. The bedroom door stayed open behind him. Silence swallowed the room again.Â
Logan moved first, slowly and carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. âBabyââ You stepped backward immediately.
âOh my god,â you whispered, shaking your head before he could touch you. âJust please get out.â
He stopped a few feet away from you, chest still rising hard from everything that had just happened. His eyes flickered over your face quickly, like he was trying to figure out which version of this situation he was standing in now.
The girl heâd been kissing five minutes ago.
Or this one.
The one standing barefoot in the middle of her bedroom looking like the floor had dropped out from beneath her.
âBaby,â he said carefully, voice quieter than you had ever heard it. âPlease just let meââ
âGet out!â Your breathing shook. Logan froze completely.
Heat crawled viciously up your throat. You suddenly couldnât stand the feeling of the jersey against your skin anymore. Couldnât stand standing there wrapped in something that belonged to him while he looked at you like that.
Before you could stop yourself, your fingers hooked beneath the hem of the oversized Briar jersey and yanked it harshly over your head.
Loganâs eyes widened instantly.
The cold air hit your skin all at once, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra and underwear, chest heaving unevenly.
For one horrible second, nobody moved. Then you threw the jersey at him.
The fabric smacked against his chest before falling halfway down his arm, and Logan caught it automatically out of reflex more than anything else.
The expression on his face wrecked something inside you further. He was in complete and utter shock. Not because you were half-dressed, heâd seen you in less before.
Shock because he understood what you were doing.
Your eyes burned. âTake it,â you snapped, voice trembling despite your best efforts. âTake your shit and just go.â
âBabyââ
âNo!â
Your gaze caught on the hockey bag sitting at the foot of your bed. Still sitting exactly where he'd dropped it after practice because he had come straight here. Like this room had become home to him too.Â
The thought made something sharp twist painfully in your chest. Before you could think better of it, you grabbed the strap and hurled the bag toward him. It hit the floor beside his feet heavily with a dull thud, one skate shifting loudly inside the bag from the force.
Logan stared at it for half a second.
Then at you.
You hated how careful he looked now, how cautious. That look was exactly what you had spent your entire relationship terrified of.
Your throat tightened painfully. âPlease,â you whispered this time, weaker now. âJust leave.â
Something else flickered across his face but it wasn't pity like you expected. God, somehow that would have been easier, you think.Â
It was the look of pure heartbreak. Which was way way worse. Logan swallowed hard once before bending slowly to pick up his bag. He gathered the jersey after it, fingers tightening around the crumpled fabric for a brief second.
At the bathroom door, he hesitated but you couldnât look at him anymore so you kept your gaze on the floor.Â
and then, there was steve harrington - rewrite series masterlist
steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader
status: ONGOING
last update: 24 April â26
summary: being dustin hendersonâs older sister means one thing: steve harrington is always around.
heâs arrogant, annoying, and way too comfortable in your life.
youâre stubborn, impossible, and not impressed by his former âking steveâ reputation.
but between dustinâs matchmaking, demogorgon crises, and being constantly thrown together, hatred starts to feel a little too close to something else.
warnings: slow slow slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut much further down the track, cursing, canon-typical violence, angst (will add more warnings when necessary)
note: hey y'alllll - so my the thing we grow into series will be over soon (so sad lol), but as I said a week ago, I want to write another series rewrite. so!! this was the series you all voted for in my poll! due to start on the 17th of April <3 about a week after my other series ends.
absolutely love and adore the friendship between reader and barb, (I just know itâs gonna hurt her so much when she finds out what happened to barb)!!
loving the enemies to lovers plot for steve and reader!! just know come season two dustin is going to be enjoying every minute of those two together!!
Heâs in way too deep now to back down.
âYeah, I know.â Steve directs his path towards the towerâs electricity shed, pretending it had been his plan the entire time. âIâm not an idiot.âÂ
âYou sure?â You call out, annoyance clear in your voice.Â
Steve ducks his head and continues walking. He knows itâs best not to keep engaging with you. Youâre already pissed off at him as it is.Â
Summary: youve really enjoyed running away from your feelings, dustin is a pain in the ass but also so is steve, youre a part of a radio show for some reason, robin endorses polyamory, and you seriously consider jumping out of a moving vehicle because of idiotic men (typical).
Rating: general, some swearing
Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, trauma lol
Words: 11.4k
Before you swing in: well ,,,, this is it. the final season !!!! i apologize for the delay, i work full time and have been extremely busy but i am alive !!! heres the first chapter, i hope yall enjoy and excuse the probable typos as this wasnt proof read </3
â
November 3rd, 1987.
The rush of blood pounds against your ears, deafening the silence in your head. With every uneven breath, your heartbeat steadies itself. Inside your lungs resides the cold sting of the air, reminding your body of the hill still ahead of you.Â
You stare at it, hunched over your knees as you struggle to return the much needed air into your lungs. The steep hill of a road has long since been worn down due to use. Its concrete cracked and freckled with debris. Your mother once told you it was the oldest road in Hawkins. The unimportant fact was once the only thing you knew about the road.Â
Then one November night Will rode his bike down this very hill, before disappearing, changing everything you once knew.Â
You stare at the stretch of road before you. Every morning you run the same path over and over again. Around Loverâs Lake, through the woods, past the Byersâ old home, before finally coming to the hill. Its steep surface always taunts you.Â
It knows the reason why you run. Itâs embedded with the remnants of the nightmares from the night before.Â
Running has become all you have left to burn off the exhaustion that follows.Â
Your legs scream at you to rest. The lactic acid within them burns, but youâve grown used to the sensation. Struggling to catch your breath, your fingers dig into your knees and your head falls. The lack of sleep snaps every muscle in your body.Â
Yet you force your legs to push off the concrete, running as hard as you physically can. You have to finish the hill. You have to keep running. Itâs the only thing that drives out the screaming within your head.Â
âY/N!â
Your motherâs voice causes you to trip. The landing isnât graceful by any means. You scrape your knees, cutting the inside of your palms and fingertips.
âOh, sorry, sweetie!â Your mother shouts from the car, parking herself next to you. You hadnât even heard her driving so closely to you. âThough, I do feel that I need to remind you that this is exactly why I hate you running in the road. There are plenty of perfectly good sidewalks all around Hawkins.â
âThanks for the concern, mom,â you mumble, slowly wiping your hands off on your leggings as you evaluate whether or not you can stand. The blood that spills from your knees makes you wince. Theyâll be a bitch to heal. Sighing, you look up at your mother, âWhat do you need?â
She sticks her head out of her window even further, doing her best to make eye contact with you from the awkward angle. She flashes you an apologetic smile that you donât trust. âWell, my sweet girl, I need your help.â
Immediately you know what she wants you to do. âNo.â
Your mother pinches her cheeks. âY/N, dear, I really need to get to work and Iâve already triedââ
âIâm not waking him up.â
âHeâs your brother.â
âAnd heâs your son.â
âY/N,â your motherâs usually patient and sweet voice turns fatigued. âPlease.â
Sympathy floods through you. You know sheâs had yet another unpleasant morning trying to wake your brother up for school. Dropping your head, you stare down at the ground. âFine.â
âThank you, sweetie.â Relief floods your motherâs voice. She then puts on her sunglasses, fixes her hair, and honks a friendly goodbye as she leaves. Before rolling up her window she shouts, âand please donât get hit by any cars! Have a great day!â
Claudia Henderson speeds away in her car, leaving you to deal with Dustin all on your own.Â
As usual.
The walk back down the hill serves as a small grace period before the inevitable storm. You dread what will come when you walk through your front door and into Dustinâs room.Â
You used to love waking him up for school. Youâd have pancakes ready for him on the table by the time he finished getting dressed.Â
Now you stand before Dustinâs bedroom door, hesitant to even breathe too deeply in case he hears you.Â
Fist hovering over the door, you brace yourself for impact. You knock gently the first few times, hoping the tenderness of the knocks will convince Dustin to finally let you in. âDustin, you awake in there?â
But all that can be heard on the other side is silence.Â
Youâve come to expect Dustinâs silence.Â
Frustrated, with little patience left for the silence, you straighten your shoulders and start pounding on the door. Your fists turn red at the harshness, but you donât care. The sting in your knuckles gets lost in the insistence that maybe today Dustin will open the door for you. You donât care whether he gives in due to annoyance or to something else.Â
All you want is for your brother to let you in again.Â
âCâmon, Dustin,â you call through the door, voice edging on irritation. âItâs time to get up. You know mom doesnât want you missing any more school.â
No response.Â
Your palm slams against the door. âDustin!â
Yet it all amounts to nothing.
Exhausted from more than just your run, you press your head against the door and softly say, âI love you, you know.â
Silence echoes back at you.
Forcing down the tears that threaten to spill over, you close your eyes. âIâll wait as long as you need me to for you to come back.â
Itâs what you did for me.
Though it goes unspoken, you know that Dustin hears it.Â
âCome back, please.â Your fingers trace the ridges in the wood of the door. Faint, worn initials are carved into it, down near the hinges: D.H. He used to be such a lively, excited kid.Â
Grief took him away.Â
âI miss you.â You exhale softly, before pressing one final kiss against the door that your brother refuses to open. Swallowing down the grief, you know that youâve done all you can. At least for now. âHave a good day at school, Dust.â
From the kitchen rings the telephone. You glance at the watch on your wrist, though you already know the time. Steve always calls just before he leaves his house to come pick you up. An old, familiar routine.Â
Though your fingers linger on Dustinâs door. Steve will be expecting you to answer any second, but you canât bear to leave your brother just yet. But his room remains silent and you know that itâs useless pulling a response from him.Â
âHi, angel.â
Steveâs voice is honey. It soothes the wounds in your skin, grazing over the cuts on your knees and the scrapes on your hands. Honey. An old remedy for childhood aches.Â
âHi, honey.â Your finger twirls around the phoneâs cord. Another familiar routine.Â
âYou guys all set for me to be at yours in fifteen?â
You look at Dustinâs door one last time, biting your lip. It remains silent. Dustin wonât be ready in time for Steve to drive him to school. âItâll just be me, actually.â
âOh. Interesting.â Steve clicks his tongue. âThatâs the sixth time in two weeks, angel.â
âYeah.â Your eyes close. âThanks for the reminder.â
Steve winces. âSorry, I know itâs been hardââ
âI should get ready.â You interrupt your boyfriend, though not unkindly. The conversation just makes you miserable and you still need to shower. âIâll see you soon. I love you.â
âI love you, too.â Steve mumbles softly. Thereâs more he wants to say, but he knows that now just isnât the time.Â
The line disconnects. You donât have any time to ruminate over the morningâs events as you quickly get ready. Youâd hate to keep Steve waiting. Not when your skin buzzes at the idea of being near to him after a night apart.Â
True to his word, Steve arrives in your driveway soon after. He beams at you through the windshield, winking playfully as he parks the car and gets out, eager to open the passenger door for you because he knows it makes you laugh.Â
But as you giggle over how ridiculous Steve looks, sprinting over before you can beat him to the carâs door, movement behind the front porch catches your eye. You stop, squinting to figure out what lies behind the brustle, only to catch Dustin trying, and failing, to sneak off on his bike before either you or Steve spot him.Â
At first youâre stunned, and relieved, heâs even awake and heading to school.
Then you see that heâs wearing Eddieâs old Hellfire Club shirt and immediately youâre pissed off that your brother could be so stupid and infuriating.
Dustin Hendersonâs specialty.Â
âDustin!â You shout after him. You must not mask your anger very well given the fact that the kid nearly topples over on his bike. Worried youâll only upset him further, you quickly run after him. âWait, no. Iâm not angry, I-I just wanted you to hitch a ride with me and Steve!â
âFat chance.â Dustin shouts over his shoulder, already beginning to pedal away. âNo way in hell Iâm third wheeling with you and Harrington for the millionth time.â
âButââ
âBye, Y/N.â And then Dustin is gone.Â
You stand in the driveway, watching him disappear down the hill. At least heâs going towards the high school rather than away.Â
How depressing it must be that your once prodigious brother now having a dwindling attendance record makes you grateful.Â
âIs your brother seriously wearing that Hellfire shirt?â Steve scoffs next to you, squinting at the sun.
âItâs been a rough morning.â
âArenât they always rough?â
You pinch the bridge of your nose, harshly squeezing your eyes shut as if that will somehow dim the sun and diminish your growing resentment. âNot now, Steve.â
âListen, all Iâm saying isââ
âGet in the car before I leave you.â
âWhat?â Steve whips around to face you, baffled. âIâm the one who drove here, how could you evenââ
âYou have five more seconds to get in the car before you find out exactly how Iâll leave you behind.â
He drops his head, slowly walking back to the car, though not without mumbling under his breath, âhave fun opening your own car door.â
You smile. âI heard you.â
âDidnât intend for you not to.â
âStart the car, smartass.â
âYes, dear.â
âÂ
When you first heard of New York University, youâd been twelve. Jonathan had tugged you through the woods, swatting away bugs before they could get to you. It had been the early stages of your first summer in Hawkins.
He dragged you through the thick leaves and tall grass and brought you to a giant field that slowly ascended into a hilltop. Embedded in its weeds were beautiful yellow dandelions and their white seeds.Â
Jonathan, long past his shyness around you, tackled you to the ground and laughed over your surprised squeals. He had made sure that your head would land on hand, safe, soft. Heâs always been soft with you.Â
It was that day that Jonathan confessed to you that heâd always wanted to attend NYU. Showcase his photography, something he picked up earlier that winter. He asked whether youâd thought about college yet, where you wanted to go.Â
Truthfully, you hadnât ever thought about your future.Â
But then Jonathan had smiled at you, plucking a dandelion seed out of your hair as he did so, and you knew then that youâd never be able to leave him. His dream became yours, though in the end it was only yours to have.
Until Hawkins fell under quarantine and any chance of escaping its nightmares became a dream in itself.Â
You wouldâve been a sophomore at NYU by now, had you stopped Vecna.
Except you didnât.Â
Instead, Max lies in a coma while you sit in a formerly abandoned radio station amongst everyone else suffering the consequences of that bastardâs victory.Â
âCount me in, pretty girl.â Robinâs gentle voice breaks you out of your spell. She looks at you expectantly, though with a fondness that makes you ache.Â
Youâd gotten lost in your own thoughts. Again.Â
âRight, sorry.â You clear your throat, ignoring Steveâs concerned eyes as you straighten in your seat. Fingers hovering over the radioâs control panel, you adjust your headphones and give Robin a thumbs up. âYouâre live in three⊠twoâŠâ
You mouth the final number before pointing both fingers at Robin, her designated signal that the show has begun, and she smiles wide.Â
âGood morning, Hawkins!â She greets enthusiastically. âThis is WSQKÂ The Squawk.â
Quickly you flash a notebook page at Steve, which simply has the words chicken! now! scrawled on it. He salutes you and rushes to punch the poor rubber chicken wired to a mic. Itâs a job he takes very seriously.Â
When Robin first started her show, she was in charge of both directing Steveâs sound cues and hosting. A daunting task, but she managed to make it work.Â
Then Steve accidentally cued up an applause track for someoneâs funeral announcement rather than the mournful piano Robin had originally wanted.Â
After that she dropped the cue job onto you, all but forcing you to join the production. While you protested and tried to get out of it, secretly you were relieved to have something to do in the mornings to distract yourself.Â
It also helps that the sound booth is so small that you have to practically sit in Steveâs lap in between cues and that he always kisses the base of your neck in an attempt to get you to break out into giggles that the entire town will hear.
Robin hates it.
Itâs her fault for forcing you into the job.Â
âItâs my 500th broadcast,â Robin spins around in her chair after having made her usual announcements regarding the weather and cues up a celebratory song while you motion to Steve for applause. âYeah, you heard that right, folks. Five-double-O!â
The cheesy audience applause plays over the broadcast and you canât help but laugh. Who knew Robin Buckley would one day terrorize the town with 500 days worth of broadcasts in the midst of a military coup?Â
Robin goes into the monologue sheâs been writing all week full of not so subtle jabs at all Hawkins has been through this year and the unrealistic regulations youâve been forced to endure since then.Â
âAnd now, Iâm stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots.â Robin says, snickering when you salute at her like the diligent soldier Hawkins expects you to be. âAnd, if I can be brutally honest, I couldnât be happier. Because when you really think about it, why would you want to live anywhere else?â
You cue to Steve for a booing crowd, but Robin sees and reaches over to tear the page out.
Absolutely not, she mouths at you, eyebrows furrowed.Â
Lame, you mouth back.Â
Steve watches the interaction in amusement, deciding to resolve the issue with a sliding whistle he found the other day. Its unexpectedly pathetic sound distracts you long enough for Robin to continue her spiel.
The traitor took her side.Â
With a sigh, you walk over to Steve and help him find the rest of the tracks needed for the broadcast. The two of you work fluidly together, always anticipating the otherâs needs and moving just where needed. He hands you a freshly brewed cup of coffee after a sickly cough tape plays and you couldnât be more grateful for him as the liquid warms your ever cold hands.Â
Youâre quiet for the rest of Robinâs broadcast, content simply handing Steve the necessary tapes and ordering him around via cues.Â
âAnd go on that date! Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight.â
A loud, shocked gasp slips from your lips before you can stop it. Embarrassed, you clamp your hands over your mouth and pray that it escaped Robinâs notice.Â
You should know better by now.Â
Hearing your shock, Robin spins in her chair and grabs her chest, feigning pain. âDid you hear that cute little gasp, folks? It seems that Hawkinsâ sweetheart is surprised that I have my own sweetheart. Or, maybeâŠâ she leans in close to you now, wiggling her eyebrows at your horror of being publicly denounced, âsheâs just jealous that she isnât the only person in town who gets serenaded via broadcast.â
Steve just barely suppresses his laughter with a cough, which only mortifies you more. Pinching his side, you harshly whisper at Robin, âIâm not jealous! I just didnât think youâd announce your relationship so openly!â
âRegardless,â Robin ignores your frantic explanation and cues up her next song. âThis oneâs for you, babe.â
Some new song plays, but you donât hear it over your struggle against Steveâs hands around your waist preventing you from jumping over the tape player and tugging Robinâs headphones off in retaliation.
âLet go of me!â You whisper as loud as you dare, trying to twist out of Steveâs grasp.
âNot worth it, angel,â he sighs into your ear. âIâll help you sneak coffee grounds into her shoes after this butââ
Suddenly the broadcast begins cutting in and out. Static leaks into the audio as you and Steve look at each other in alarm. Then, at the same time, you both run to the control panel, hitting every button you can think of in a vain attempt to fix whatever has gone wrong.Â
Probably not the most efficient method, but the two of you have never been the best under pressure together.Â
âWhat the hell?â Robin shouts, watching you and Steve running around like headless chickens. âWhat did you guys do?â
âNothing!â You both exclaim in unison, just before the broadcast completely shuts off.Â
âOh,â you wince. âThat canât be good.â
Robin tears off her headphones. âShit!â
She runs out of the sound booth with you and Steve close behind. Irritation and disappointment radiates off of her skin while remorse coats yours. You canât imagine how excited Robin had been to play her song for Vickie.Â
âI told you to stop thumbing your nose at the military.â Steve berates as Robin scours the station for any sign of technical issues that can quickly be resolved.Â
âYou really think the military did this?â You ask, scrunching your nose. âI mean, Robin wasnât as snarky as she couldâve been. I thought it was relatively tame.â
âThank you, pretty girl.â Robin slams her hand against one of the stationâs panels. âSeriously, I was just reiterating their goddamn rules, encouraging compliance!â
Steve sighs. âRight. No sarcasm there.â
âSays the dingus with the rubber chicken.â
âThese are very serious people, Robin.â
âTheyâre morons, not âserious peopleâ.â You scoff, but when you see the panic growing in Robinâs eyes, you tuck your hair behind your ears and exhale slowly. Thereâs only one person you know whoâll be of any use. âListen, Iâll radio Dustin and see what he thinks.â
Robin doesnât acknowledge what youâve said, focused on turning some random dial sheâs found over and over again without any luck.Â
Itâs Steve who hears you, and heâs the one who grabs the walkie before you can.Â
âYou sure you want to call the kid right now?â He asks you, holding the device over your head. âI mean, no offense, but do you really think heâll answer after the psychological warfare I witnessed this morning?â
âHeâs my brother,â the excuse has become an old friend on your tongue. Youâve repeated it every day, every time, for months now. âWe have to at least try before Robin loses her mind.â
Steve wants to argue further, but Robinâs voice starts to raise and you both know sheâs five seconds away from a breakdown. Reluctant, he grabs the nearest walkie and extends its antenna. âHenderson, you copy?â
You hold your breath at the silence that follows. Steve looks at you, shaking his head slightly when still no response comes. Growing anxious at the silence, you grab the walkie from him. âDustin? Can you hear me?â
âYeah, I hear you.â He sounds tired, edging on the annoyance youâve become familiar with.
Yet hearing Dustinâs voice, regardless of the displeasure that intertwines within his cadence that stings your skin, causes you to exhale in relief.
âHey, buddy. Listen, weâre having some trouble with the tower.â
âTook you long enough.â Steve snatches the walkie from you, frustration cutting through the room.Â
âGod, you sound swell.â You can practically hear Dustin rolling his eyes at Steveâs impatience. Something you find yourself doing as well. âLet me take a wild guess, you and my sister arenât calling to wish me a good morning.â
âYouâre the one who refused to ride with us,â you snatch the walkie back from Steve, now annoyed with both of the boys. âAnd I know you heard me standing outside your door this morning.â
âAre you seriously calling just to berate me? Jesus, canât you justââ
Steve cuts in before Dustin ever growing resentment spikes. âAlright, we really donât have time for this seeing as how weâve got a situation down here at the Squawk. The signalâs gone all wonky.â
âI was getting there,â you say through gritted teeth, glaring at your boyfriend. He takes a cautious step back. A wise choice. Exhaling the last of your frustration, you continue. âBut Steveâs right. We think Robin finally pissed off the higher ups.â
âDoubtful. She was encouraging compliance.âÂ
âTold you!â Robin shouts, which Steve waves an annoyed hand at.Â
Biting back a smile, you press for more. âThatâs what I figured, but the broadcast suddenly went out and we canât get the signal back. Any ideas?â
âCheck the remote radio head.â Dustin suggests. Faintly you can hear a mixture of voices behind him. He mustâve just arrived at the school.Â
Steve crosses his arms. âWhat the hell is a radio head?â
âRemote radio head,â your brother sighs tiredly. âJust read the manual, guys.â
To be completely honest, you had no idea that the radio tower came with an instruction manual.Â
âSure, we could read it, butâŠâ You pause, trying to find the right words. âYou know Iâm pretty horrible with AV stuff. Maybe you could walk us through the more complicated parts? Help us with the terminology?â
Selfishly, you just want to hear your brotherâs voice for a little while longer. Even if all he does is give curt, short responses.Â
You miss him.Â
âFind a dictionary and learn the terminology yourself.â Dustin huffs into the walkie. You flinch at the tone. âI canât always be there to solve your problems for you, Y/N.â
Steve bristles next to you.
You try to still the slight tremor of your hands.Â
Despite how many times Dustin has rejected you, you donât think youâll ever get used to how deeply the sting cuts into your pulse.Â
âBut what if I always want you to be there?â You hate how small your voice sounds. How, even with how hard you try for it not to, the waver in your vocal chords reveals the hurt.Â
A beat of silence passes. Dustin doesnât say anything.Â
Instead the walkie shuts off.Â
âAre you fucking kidding me?â Steve runs an angry hand through his hair. âDoes he seriously have to ignore you every time you try to reach out to him?â
He throws the walkie onto the couch and paces the room. âItâs his tone. Itâs always his goddamn tone!âÂ
Robin turns to you, eyes weary as Steve continues to pace around the room and mumble angrily to himself. She silently asks what you want to do, but you just shake your head.Â
Youâre familiar with Steveâs anger directed towards your brother.
You despise it.Â
âI donât know how you arenât sick of it by now, Y/N.â Steve laughs humorlessly. âI sure as hell am.â
And there it is. The insistence that you be in the middle of Steve and Dustin constantly arguing. As if you arenât already dangerously close to losing your little brother in his grief. As if you want to constantly be begging for Steveâs understanding and Dustinâs vulnerability.Â
But as Steve tugs at his hair and continues to talk a mile a minute about how much your brother pisses him off, you just choose to bite your tongue. Like you always seem to do these days.Â
âWe should look for the manual.â You say instead, needing something to distract yourself with.
Steveâs footsteps falter, having not expected you to move on from Dustinâs dismissal so quickly, but Robin seems to sense what he canât and nods eagerly. âI couldnât agree more!â
Before Steve can say anything else, Robin takes your arm and drags you away from him, the two of you giggling at Steveâs almost immediate protests.
Itâs enough to distract you. If even for a little while.
âÂ
Finding the instruction manual turns out to be a shockingly difficult task.Â
With how large the radio stationâs infrastructure is, trying to find some ancient document is like trying to find a needle in the haystack.Â
âI swear to God this stupid thing does not exist.â Robin slams yet another filing cabinet closed. Seems her search through the office hadnât gone well.Â
âIt fucking better exist.â You roll your shoulders in an attempt to lessen the tension within your spine from crouching over a rack of files. âThis really isnât a pleasant experience.â
Jonathan snorts next to you. Heâd shown up alongside Nancy just as you, Steve, and Robin started scouring the tower for the alleged manual. While Nancy chose to search through the bookshelf, Jonathan announced that he would search alongside you.
Something that Steve narrows his eyes at.Â
You choose to pretend that you donât notice.Â
âCan you try Dustin again, bug?â Jonathan asks after rifling through the fifth file without any luck.Â
âHe turned off his walkie!â Robin answers for you, rushing over to search through yet another pile of boxes.Â
âWhatâs been up with him lately?â Your head falls against the wall at Nancyâs question. Hearing your defeat, she hums to herself. âNoted.â
Eventually Nancy manages to find the manual, which ends up being a giant binder held together with a rather concerning amount of paperclips and tape. She holds it up gleefully and beckons everyone over to a table, dropping the thing down.Â
You all crowd around Nancy as she quickly flips through the pages, searching for anything that even remotely resembles what Dustin had been talking about.Â
âWait, there it is,â Steve reaches over to point at a figure, inadvertently placing the majority of his body against Nancyâs as their hands graze. She tenses at the touch. âThere it is. Remote radio head.â
It takes Nancy a second to respond. You watch as she swallows nervously, obviously uncomfortable with how close Steve has become. A thick, dark cloud of uncertain tension ebbs off them, and an unpleasant taste sours your mouth.Â
The taste only bitters more when you notice the way Jonathanâs disdainful eyes linger on Steve.Â
He knows just as well as you do why Nancy shifts away from your boyfriend. While you trust Steve more than anything, Jonathan doesnât.Â
The small, innocent touch will be yet another rift between Nancy and Jonathan. It will become yet another thing you have to pretend you donât notice. Something you canât talk about. Not with anyone.Â
Steve hasnât quite forgiven Jonathan for the phone call.Â
Do you ever wonder if weâve made a mistake?
And Jonathan hasnât quite forgiven Steve for falling in love with you.Â
Iâll always love you the most, bug.
Lost in your thoughts, you miss Robin asking how to find the remote radio head and Nancyâs terrifying, yet genius mind coming up with the solution: the radio tower itself.Â
âÂ
Immediately you hate the plan.Â
Youâve never stepped foot anywhere close to the radio tower due to its unnatural size and the unease it brings you.Â
As you stand before the tower alongside the others, squinting against the harsh sunlight and height, youâre reminded yet again of how much you loathe the ideas Nancy comes up with.Â
âItâs up there somewhere,â she says, squinting at the sun as well. âItâs gotta be.â
âAre we going based on fact or a hunch?â You ask. âBecause as much as I adore you, Iâm getting nauseous just looking at this thing.â
Robin pokes your side. âScared of heights, pretty girl?â
âAs if you would climb up there.â
âOh, absolutely not.â Robin laughs, looking around at everyone else. âBut, that does beg the question of who will climb to the tippy top of this bad boy.â
Nancy studies the tower, unsure. âWithout a harness or anything, it does seem kind of dangerous.â
You choke back a scoff. âKind of dangerous? Câmon, Wheeler. Itâs a death trap.â
âSounds like a job for me.â
Immediately you grab the back of Steveâs jacket and yank him to your side. âIâll kill you.â
âSounds pretty death trap-y to me.â He smirks at you, grabbing the hand that holds him back to kiss the inside of your wrist. He caresses the skin tenderly, amused by your reaction. âRelax, angel.â
In all honesty, he doesnât actually want to climb the tower. Steve only volunteered because he thinks youâre adorable when you fret over him. Heâs about to say as much when Jonathan suddenly steps forward and puffs his chest.Â
âI actually think this might be a better job for me.â
What little rationality that Steve has quickly gets forgotten when Jonathan opens his mouth.Â
âI got this Byers,â Steve throws his jacket off and slams it against the otherâs chest. A small rush of satisfaction courses through him when Jonathan grimaces at the force. âDonât sweat it.â
âSteve Harrington.â His name barrels through your gritted teeth. You know that heâs only trying to show off for you. âDonât you dare.â
Hearing the finality in your voice is almost enough to get Steve to back down. But then Jonathan starts taking his jacket off as well and walks towards the tower and Steve really does wish he knew how to not make stupid decisions based around his pride.Â
âIâll be fine, angel.â He calls over his shoulder, unable to turn fully to look at you in fear that your beauty will break him. âDonât worry.â
âDonât forget about the voltage, dingus.â Robin shouts at him. âUnless you want to fry.â
Embarrassment washes over Steve. He can feel your eyes burning into his back and how eagerly you want to scream âI told you soâ.Â
Heâs in way too deep now to back down.
âYeah, I know.â Steve directs his path towards the towerâs electricity shed, pretending it had been his plan the entire time. âIâm not an idiot.âÂ
âYou sure?â You call out, annoyance clear in your voice.Â
Steve ducks his head and continues walking. He knows itâs best not to keep engaging with you. Youâre already pissed off at him as it is.Â
Finding the necessary dial to shut off the towerâs power surge, he turns it all the way to the left until the faint electric hum shuts off. One step down. Pleased with himself, Steve exits the shed and is about to brag before he sees Jonathan dangling off the towerâs ladder like a fucking idiot.Â
âWhat the hell are you doing?â
âI got this, dude.â Jonathanâs smug face pisses Steve off even more. âDonât sweat it.â
And the race is on.Â
Steve runs towards the towerâs ladder and throws himself up, climbing as fast as he physically can to make up for Jonathanâs head start.
You watch from the ground, not even bothering to try and stop whatâs happening. Itâs embarrassingly immature. While you understand Steveâs feelings towards Jonathan, you hate how he feeds into them. Anyone can see how fragile Jonathanâs relationship with both you and Nancy has become, and everyone knows that youâll always be Steveâs.
Yet instead of having a conversation about it, or even allowing himself to be the bigger person, Steve feeds into Jonathanâs insecurity like heâs chasing after the high.Â
Nancy turns away in disgust as Jonathan and Steve race to the top of the tower, and her sigh echoes your own disappointment.Â
âHow committed are the four of you to monogamy?â Robin throws her around you and Nancy, squeezing the two of you together with a glint in her eyes.
You shove her away. âPlease stop talking, Robin.â
She pinches your cheek as she grins wickedly, far too amused with the situation. âAw, câmon, Iâm sure thereâs plenty of room for more in your relationshipââ
The rev of an engine cuts Robin off, its harsh sound loudly announcing Murrayâs arrival. He waves excitedly from his giant cargo truck and for once in your life youâre relieved to see the bastard.Â
âI thought the next delivery was scheduled for tomorrow?â You tilt your head in confusion.Â
Nancyâs eyes draw together. Concern sketches her features. âMe, too.â
Your teeth scrape over your lips. While youâre grateful Murrayâs arrival has given you an excuse to turn away from your idiotic boyfriend and best friend, you know that Murrayâs early delivery canât mean anything good.Â
Something is about to happen. Youâre sure of it.Â
Murray waits for you down the hill. He rubs his hands together in anticipation, eager to show what heâs smuggled in this time.Â
âLadies, hello!â He cackles in glee, yellow teeth and all. âAlways a pleasure to see your beautiful faces.â
You donât bother to mask your disgust. âYeah. Right back at ya.â
âSantaâs brought a full sack today.â Murray ignores your indifference and opens the truckâs backdoor in a flourish. He grabs a large sack of supplies and throws it onto the ground before you. âA fresh telemetry bag. Scarcer than henâs teeth, these things.â
He hands you the box and you carefully inspect the thing. âThis is what Dustin wanted, right?â
âCorrect, little miss. His requests are always the most annoying things on Godâs green earth to find.â The disdain in Murrayâs voice pleases you. He then turns to Nancy and hands her two large metal containers. âAs for you, here are enough bullets and shells for Hop to start a small war, if he so chooses.â
Nancy accepts the containers with a small nod.Â
âAnd did someone order a salad?â Murray holds up what you sincerely hope isnât a grenade, but when he smiles wide with a crazed look in his eyes, you know it can only be a lethal weapon heâs playing with in his hands. âA grenade salad. Ha! Get it? I hid the grenades under the lettuce, andââ
âIs there anything else?â You interject, long fed up with the manâs horrible jokes and monologues.Â
Murray glares at you. âYou know, I work really hard to provide for your needs. A little respect wouldnât hurt.â
You shrug. âI think Iâll pass.â
Robin snickers behind you and Nancy covers her mouth, hiding a pleased smile. Knowing heâs outnumbered, Murray purses his mouth and finishes his haul. âI also brought Gatorade for Elâs battery, in case anyone was wondering.â
âGod, please toss me one,â Steve slides next to you, severely out of breath and apparently alive with Jonathan, who doesnât look any better. âIâm dying here.â
Murray happily complies, tossing the Gatorade bottle in the air, not anticipating that youâd intercept it and take the drink for yourself. âThanks, Bauman.âÂ
âWhat the hell, Y/N?â Steve exclaims, choking on his own shock and eliciting several dry, overexhausted coughs after you elbow him in the ribs. âFuck!â
âOn a tight leash, Harrington?â Murray clicks his tongue, smug.Â
Unscrewing the cap off the bottle, you flick the small piece of metal at the guyâs head. âArenât you a grown man?â
Murray steps closer to you, eyes seething and on the brink of losing all composure. âAlright, listen here, you little shitââ
âIs there anything else?â Nancy clears her throat expectantly. While she understands your prolonged annoyance for Murray, she wishes youâd piss him off after heâs delivered everything, rather than during. âWe were kind of in the middle of something.â
The man inhales sharply for a moment, clenching his jaw as if to steady himself. You watch the overdramatic show of patience in obvious amusement. âYeah, anything else, Bauman?â
âNo,â Murray spits out venomously. âAt least, not for you.â He turns back to his truck and fishes out an old cassette tape and dangles it in Jonathanâs face. âAs for you, Mr. Byers, I know youâre allergic to jazz, but just a whirl. You might find it rather engaging.â
He then proceeds to use his entire face to wink at Jonathan, laughing to himself over a joke none of you seem to understand. Jonathan quickly snatches the tape from Murray and shoves it into his pocket, face red in embarrassment.Â
Jonathanâs reaction unsettles something within your chest. The strings snap together in a brutal crescendo, pricking your skin as the lines break apart inside your ribcage. Jonathan keeps his eyes down, low enough that you canât look into them.Â
You dislike the way Murray presented the cassette tape. The words he used.Â
But it all gets forgotten when the man hits Nancyâs head with an envelope of papers. âAnd for the station manager, the reason for my premature delivery.â
She snatches the envelope and fingers through its contents without hesitation. You all crowd around her, silent. Youâve become familiar with the envelopes and what they bring.Â
The crack in your left ribcage seeps open.Â
Dread creeps in.Â
âA burn? Tonight?â Nancy asks, shaking her head. âBut itâsââ
âToo soon. I know.â Murrayâs normally overzealous nature falters. Even he canât mask the worry. âWhatever theyâre doing in the Upside Down evidently needs a serious injection of resources.â
Nancy flips through the pages of the leaked document. All crowded with numbers and orders, youâve lost count of how many correspondences youâve read through by now. They blur together, yet even as the numbers become harder to decipher due to how quickly Nancy rifles through them, you know why Murray came when he did.Â
âTheyâre requesting more supplies than they normally do,â you peer over Nancyâs shoulder, face twisting in concern. âThe supply drop could take hours.âÂ
Murray shrugs. âTwo, at the minimum.â
âWhich gives Hopper plenty of time for a crawl.â The rough timbre of Nancyâs voice reveals more than her words do.Â
The dread seeps into your lungs. Thick like molasses, you know there isnât any use trying to escape it.Â
âMaybe tonightâs the night we finally find that bastard and end this.âÂ
Murrayâs words hang in the air.Â
End this.
But will it ever really end?
Youâve long stopped believing in miracles or that retribution can exist alongside the cruelty that predates it.Â
Except Nancyâs hands remain steady, without any tremor, still somehow always firm in her belief that one day Vecnaâs blood will finally cease the nightmares.Â
You wish you had her faith.Â
But for now, all you can do is prepare for yet another crawl.Â
â
The beginning is always the same.Â
Nancyâs quick eyes skim through the documentâs pages as instructs you to write down every piece of information she deems relevant to the crawl. What time it will begin, how many men will be sent, which route theyâll take.Â
Once completed, the two of you then pour over the details and try to piece them into a jigsaw code of a puzzle only few will understand.Â
Steve adds in pieces of his own humor in an attempt to mask the code even further, while Jonathan selects the music that will play and alert the rest of the party to be ready.Â
Then all Robin has to do is go on air as Rockinâ Robin with her script in hand and deliver the code while you and the others sit quietly behind her, bracing for whatâs to come.Â
The beginning has always been the easiest.Â
In the midst of creating ciphers and analyzing complex military documents, you can usually convince yourself that maybe this time itâll be different. Maybe this time the crawl will amount to anything other than disappointment and frustration.Â
But then youâre perpetually reminded that you will never get what you want.
Nancy always insists that she have you, Robin, Steve, and Jonathan go over what youâve found in the documents together in the radio stationâs basement with nothing but a projector to light the room.Â
Though you understand why she remains adamant about going over the details and plan, it's become the thing you hate most about the crawls. Being stuck in the dark, rotting basement going over the same gridlines of Hawkins that you memorized well over a year ago as Nancy recites the same plan she always does creates a misery you never thought possible.Â
âIf Murrayâs intel is correct, the supply convoy is set to reach Hawkins at 10:00 sharp. Meaning I want Hopper in the tunnels and en route to MAC-Z no later than 9:00.â Nancy motions to the military base on the gridmap with a pointer Robin jokingly got her months ago that she still hasnât thrown away.Â
Nancy conveys so much confidence as she speaks. Itâs a shame it centers around a topic you really, really hate.Â
âBarring any delays, I expect that the convoy will reach MAC-Z by about 10:15.â
âAnd the crawl begins." You finish for Nancy with a sigh.
Her pointer now aims at you. âExactly, meaning Hop will be going a gentle 30 miles per hour while you, Dustin, and Steve do your best to keep up with his telemetry tagâs signal.â
âIâll blow through any red lights we come across so we stay within range.â Steve nods to himself, satisfied with his own plan that he spoke with no one else about. A terrible plan, at that.
Your foot kicks the edge of his chair fondly, getting his attention. âAnd thatâs why Iâll be the one driving.â
âOh, in your dreams, angel.â He sticks his tongue out at you childishly, leaning back in his chair so his hair splays across your lap. âMy carâs too pretty for you to drive.â
âMore importantly,â the slight rise in Nancyâs voice is enough to snap Steveâs chair back to the ground, forcing his attention back to her. âWeâll lose Hopper if you get pulled over,â she then looks pointedly at you, âRegardless of whoâs driving.â
Steve waves his hands up in surrender, knowing better than to argue with the girl. You simply place your chin in your hand, bored. Beneath the table you sit at hides your clenched fists. âCarry on, Wheeler.â
She purses her lips and exhales curtly before continuing. âAs I was saying, Hop will have two whole hours to search for Vecna, which is ample time. Heâs cleared zones faster, meaning all signs point to yet another successful crawl.â
Successful.
âAn interesting word choice.â The molten dread within your chest solidifies to bitterness, and you donât realize youâve voiced your resentful thoughts until Nancyâs contempt eyes bear into yours.Â
âIâm sorry?â She asks defensively, arms crossed over her chest. âIs there a problem, Y/N?â
Awkwardly you clear your throat. âNothing, itâs justâŠâ
âWeâre good.â Jonathan shuffles his feet, anxious to move onto a different conversation. He can feel a shift in the air, the charged static forming between you and Nancy that he desperately wants to avoid. âPromise.â
âWe definitely arenât good. I mean, no offense, but Zone G1 is not that exciting or Vecna-y.â Robinâs bluntness cuts through the room, voicing what youâve been too afraid to.
Taking the risk, you swallow down your own hesitations as well and bite the bullet that Robin has inexplicably shot. âThereâs nothing in the zone, either. Nowhere he could hide in that Hopper wouldnât be able to find.â
The stiffness in Nancyâs posture sends pins through your body. Her eyes, always cunning and alert, darken into something malicious, almost even protective. She doesnât say anything, though. She simply sets her cold gaze on the room, studying everyone before her.Â
âOr maybeâŠâ Steveâs loose arm around you flicks in the air, indifferent. âHeâs already dead.â
Robin shot the gun, you bit its bullet, and Steve echos its finality.Â
âYour plan is great, Nance, but this is crawl what? Arenât we in the thirties now?â He continues, voicing the dread and contempt that has consumed you for months.
âThrity-three,â you speak slowly, quietly. As if it will hide the pain that the knowledge plagues you with. Youâve written to Max thirty-three times now about the crawls. âThis would be crawl thirty-four.â
Steveâs hand rubs up and down your back. Only he knows why youâve counted each and every crawl. Why their every failure cuts deeper and deeper into your chest, like a landmine waiting to blow.Â
âEl canât find him in her bath and that Will and Y/N havenât felt Vecna since the world basically fell apart,â Steve scratches his face, worried heâs overstepping with the reminder that youâre still marked, still a target. âDonât you feel like weâre scouring a battlefield that we already won?â
âHave you forgotten what he showed Nancy? Hawkins on fire.â Jonathan stands in for Nancyâs silence, infuriated. âKaren, Holly, everyone dead.â
âAnd what about what he showed me?â Your anger flings from your throat harsher than you intend for it to. The anger rings throughout the room, forcing everyone to stand in its messy wake, silent. Fingers digging into your palms, your eyes close and exhale slowly. âHe showed me my father. He made me relive Willâs disappearance and-andâŠâ
Your voice trails off as Nancyâs eyes avert yours. She shifts ever so slightly, the only indication of her unease, and you choke back your own discomfort at the memory you both share.
Did you really think Iâd forget her, Y/N?
The venom that had laced Steveâs voice will always fester your skin, no matter how many nights youâve spent trying to forget them.Â
I canât. At least, not as easily as your dad forgot you.
You wonder if Nancy has forgotten the venom, or if it haunts her, too.Â
âWhat Iâm trying to say is that Vecna only shows your worst fears,â your fingers scratch the tabletop beneath you, unable to look at anyone. âHeâll do anything to get into your head and scare you.â
âYeah, well he did a good job because I am scared.â Nancy blurts out, her composure finally gone. âAnd you should be scared, Y/N. Because if heâs still out there, I can promise you that heâll finish you off and end our world.â
As soon as sheâs said it, the fire in Nancyâs eyes dims. A frail hand covers her mouth, but the damage has been done. She drops her head in shame. âI-Iâm sorry. That was unfair.â
So deeply you want to scream at her how exhausted you are of trying to hold onto a hope that refuses to be grasped after every failed crawl. You want to scream at Nancy that every morning you run until you canât breathe because itâs the only sensation similar enough to the death that took Max from you. You want to scream that youâre sick of pretending you donât have the same bloodlust for Vecnaâs body, a yearning so intense that it terrifies you.Â
Above all, you just want to scream at Nancy that all your life all youâve ever done is fail again and again in what matters the most, in protecting who you love.Â
To expect you to want to endure it all over again is a fate much more cruel than Vecnaâs curse.Â
But rather than scream until your throat becomes a bloodied mess of vocal chords, you just stare back at Nancyâs mournful eyes and force a smile.
âItâs alright,â you tell her, too tired to mask the apathy. Youâre sick of pretending. âLetâs just stick to the original plan for tonight.â
The frown line between Nancyâs brows only deepens. âAre you sure? If you really feel strongly about something, you know Iâd trust whatever call you make.â
âI want him dead.â The words come out softly, an exhale more than anything. But theyâre the only semblance of truth that you can provide Nancy.Â
She studies your face, eyes silently caressing the silhouette of your body. The gaze lingers on your chapped lips, your nailbeds that have been picked raw, the way your hair hides more of your face than it used to.Â
âThen itâs settled,â she eventually announces, gesturing to the others. âTonight, kill Vecna.â
The declaration should provoke celebration and inspire awe. But no one stirs. Steve remains lock-jawed by your side, fingers pressed lightly into your skin to calm his own uncertainties. Jonathan keeps his head down, caught between relief and mourning. Youâre no better, gnawing at your lip until you taste the familiar metallic consequence while Robin picks at her own nails and shifts in her seat, never one for being in a stuffy room for long.Â
She breaks first.Â
âWell, this was certainly a pleasant and absolutely not at all uncomfortable conversation,â Robin jumps up from her seat, wringing her hands out as if it will disperse her nausea. âAnd while I totally long to stay here with you guys, I unfortunately have to go make a rather doomed phone call and cancel a date that I was actually really looking forward to.âÂ
Hand at her temples, Robin salutes the room and leaves you stranded with the ensemble to your estranged love triangle that you want no part of.Â
Lovely.Â
âI should go, too.â Desperate for air, you quickly stand and head for the staircase. âNeed to call Dustin and make sure he has everything for the crawl tonight.â
Steve jumps to his feet as well. âIâll help you call himââ
âIâd rather do it alone, actually.â You donât mean to interrupt him, but itâs obvious how anxious Steve is to go with you and while you adore how tenderly he treats you, youâre terrified that heâll start yet another argument with Dustin and become the crux of your brewing breakdown.Â
Seeing the disappointment on Steveâs face, you kiss the crown of his head, stroking his cheek. âIâll be right back, honey. Promise.âÂ
He sighs into the touch, mumbling softly enough so that only you will hear, âCanât believe youâre leaving me alone with Byers and Nancy.â
âWhy do you think I want to leave?â You whisper, laughing under your breath.Â
Steveâs eyes shine back, full of the ever present boyish charm that you stood no chance of surviving.Â
âÂ
You radio Dustin a total of fourty-nine times.
Not once does he answer.Â
Steve finds you in a spare closet, screaming into a walkie over and over again demanding that your brother respond.Â
âDustin Henderson, I swear to God if you donât answer me I will shove Tewâs litter down your pillowcase and make sure you get pinkeye for the rest of your life!â
âWhat did the kid do now?â Your boyfriend comes up behind you, wrapping a loose arm over your shoulders.Â
You brush him off, too worried and overwhelmed to stand still. âHeâs not answering.â
Steve snorts. âShocking.â
âIâm serious, Steve.â You spin around, facing him with anxious eyes. âIâm starting to worry. Heâs never been radio silent like this.â
âAre you forgetting what happened this morning? The little shit totally shut you out. Again, might I add. Like he does every time. Iâm not surprised heâs decided to go full AWOL.â
âHe always answers eventually.â You argue weakly, knowing how pathetic it sounds. âDustinâs never just gone completely silent without warning.â
âThe kid also never used to spit profanities at you until one day he thought itâd be a brilliant idea,â Steve shrugs. âNow itâs all he does.â
Your eyes sting in frustration, though you have nothing left to say. Not to Steve, anyways. He used to be the only other person in your life who truly understood your brother, but lately you wonder if Steve ever knew Dustin at all.Â
âY/N? Steve?â A hesitant knock sounds against the closet door. âYou guys in there? And, uh, are you⊠decent?â
Willâs shy voice accompanies the knock, and you swing the door open without second thought, startling both him and Steve.Â
âWhereâs my brother?â You demand immediately, not bothering to acknowledge Willâs previous implications.Â
He stumbles back, slightly alarmed. âDustin isnât here yet?â
Itâs the absolute worst thing Will couldâve ever said.Â
You barrel out of the doorway, ignoring Steveâs small yelp of pain when you accidentally elbow his chest trying to get out of the closet. Instead you start scouring the radio station, slamming every door open and shouting Dustinâs name until your tongue goes numb.Â
On your rampage you run into Mike and Lucas in the field, both attempting to radio your brother as well. Seeing them prompts bile to rise in your throat.Â
They donât know where he is, either.Â
âWhen was the last time you saw Dustin?â You demand the minute youâre close enough to the boys, Will and Steve struggling to keep up behind you. âWhy didnât you guys bike here with him? Where did he go?â
âWoah, slow down.â Mike throws his hands up in defense. âWe just got here and I can guarantee that we know shit else like you.â
Lucas rubs the back of his neck. âWe gotta tell her about Andy, man.â
âWho the fuck is Andy?â Heart rate spiking, you almost pass out from how fast you turn to face Lucas. âWhat the hell is going on?â
âI just got off the phone with Mrs. Henderson.â Robin joins the group, unaware of the argument unfolding. âShe hasnât heard from Dustin all day.â
âNo way weâre telling Y/N about Andy.â Mike scoffs at Lucas, ignoring what Robin has said. âYou know that Dustin would kill us.â
Lucas slaps the kidâs shoulder childishly. âWe have to! He almost gave Dustin a black eye today for wearing that stupid Hellfire shirtââ
âWhereâs my brother?âÂ
Your shout echoes off the woodline. Its reverberation cascades down your spine.Â
Yet no one can expel the remnants of the outburst with any semblance of what you want to hear.Â
âWe donât know, Y/N.â Mike murmurs, his careful hand grazing yours. He doesnât want to give you unnecessary false hope. He understands better than anyone how painful it can be. âHe didnât meet us after school. Thatâs all I can tell you.â
âBut heâll be here soon.â Will offers, trying to comfort you as best as he can. âDustin always shows up for a crawl.â
The tall grass beneath your feet tempts you to lay amongst them. Youâre so exhausted from it all. âHe should be here by now.â
âYet heâs an hour late.â Robin not so gently reminds you.Â
âSo we go and look for him.â Itâs the only answer youâll accept. Youâre not going on a goddamn crawl without knowing whether or not your little brother is okay.Â
But a look gets passed between the boys. An underlying understanding seems to connect the three of them together, unifying against you before you can even come up with a defense.Â
âYou know we donât have time, Y/N.â Lucas says delicately, eyes apologetic.Â
âButââ
âDustin would want us to do the crawl without him.â Mike cuts in, not unkindly, though firm. âLook, weâre all worried about him, but this is our shot at Vecna that we canât miss. And if we donât have your brother⊠someone has to step in for him.â
They want you to take your brotherâs place.
Steve carefully takes your hand, risking everything when he says, âDustin isnât a kid anymore, angel.â
I canât always be there to solve your problems for you, Y/N.
But what if I always want you there?
The silence that followed had been Dustinâs answer.Â
You just have to accept it.Â
âFine,â you spit out, always prone to succumbing to the needs of others. âBut the minute weâre done with this, weâre looking for Dustin.â
âNo member of the party gets left behind.â Mike interlocks his pinky with yours. âPromise.â
While the gesture warms your skin, you wish you could believe that its sentiment was sacred and untouchable.Â
Instead it leaves a hollow pit in your stomach.
âÂ
Everyone gathers their things in silence. No one needs to ask what to bring or where to go. You all have your designated areas and tasks from dozens of crawls before.Â
Nancy and Will help Mike and Lucas ready their gear for the stakeout. While youâve always hated sending them so close to MAC-Z, youâre at least comforted by the fact that you were able to secure Bookstrordinary as their base, providing them with information about where to hide and how to escape the building quickly if they were to get caught.Â
Joyce helps Hopper with his bullet proof vest and readies his gun, Robin readies the radio signal, and Jonathan prepares the telemetry tracker.
You sit in the WSQK van with Steve, going over Dustinâs detailed instructions about how to signal for the tracker.
âJesus, this kid has awful handwriting.â Steve sighs under his breath, eyes straining at your brotherâs messy scrawls.Â
âNo one in our family has nice handwriting.â You sort through your own papers, making sure you have all the necessary data from last weekâs crawl. Dustin insists that you help him track the exact distance of each route for crawls as a way to compile more data that could help in the future.Â
You think itâs unnecessary, but arguing with Dustin never ends well.Â
The reminder of him tugs at your chest. You wish he was here, you wish you knew where he was and why he always chooses to run away these days.Â
Steve playfully tosses a pen at you. âI like your handwriting.â
âYouâre easy to please.â
âWatch it, angel.â
You giggle despite the grief in your chest, tossing the pen back at him, and for a moment youâre just two kids in a car, happy and in love.Â
âHarrington, Henderson, you guys getting any signal? Tag is active.â Robinâs voice interrupts from the walkie.Â
âYeah, just give us a second.â Steve bites the pen in his mouth and grabs the walkie. He then throws his legs over the driverâs seat and crawls towards the back of the van where the hatch to the antenna resides. He frowns for a moment, unsure what to do next. âAny idea what to do next, Henderson?â
You shake your head. Dustin never taught you. âMaybe twist it?â
Steve spits the pen out and sighs, fixing his hair. âWell, here goes nothing.â
He grabs the handle to the wheel and attempts to turn it. Except it never moves. He tugs at it with more force, but the wheel remains locked. With a frustrated huff he grabs the walkie again. âAnybody know how Hendersonâs wheelie thing works?â
Robin takes a moment to respond. âUh, there should be a safety lock under the wheel.â
âSafety lock, real necessary.â Steve laughs in disbelief, but when he sees your pointed glare, he drops the subject and tries the wheel again. This time, it moves. He turns the antenna towards the station as you hand him a pair of headphones to put on.Â
âOkay,â he says into the walkie. âIâm getting a signal. Itâs pretty quiet, though.â
Steve slowly turns the wheelâs handle, eyes steady on the decibel meter attached to the van. âOkay, signalâs holding a steady 90 dB⊠But how am I supposed to monitor this and drive without Henderson?â
âIsnât Y/N already with you?â Robinâs confusion rings clear through the static.Â
You crawl over to Steve and take over the walkie. âI have to track the route and time how long it takes us. Dustin uses it to calibrate the telemetry tags.â
The walkie goes quiet.Â
âRobin?â You look down to see if the signal somehow has been cut off. âHello?â
âGuess they didnât consider who to send beforehand.â Steve yanks the headphones off. âThey mustâve thought Dustin would show by now.â
âHe still might.â You arenât sure why vehemently insist on believing the impossible.
Steve spares you pity, choosing to change the subject. âWho do you think theyâll send, anyways? I mean, no one really understands this stuff like Dustin does.â
âNancy should be able to do it.â You say hopefully. âSheâs smart enough to figure it out quickly.â
âAs if Byers would let her anywhere near meââ
The vanâs backdoors swing open.
You turn, expecting to find Nancy climbing through them, but when you see Jonathan, you freeze.Â
âOh,â the words tumble out on their own as you stare at him. âThey sent you.â
He fixes his jacket, eyes avoiding yours. âDonât sound too excited, bug.â
In the corner of your eye you notice Steveâs fingers clenching the steering wheel at the nickname. You hadnât even noticed he went back to the driverâs seat.Â
Knowing that nothing you can say will alleviate the already choking tension, you force a smile at Jonathan before crawling back to the passenger seat.Â
âYou comfortable back there, Byers?â Steve asks, innocently enough. For a moment you think heâs playing nice, trying to appease you, but instead he turns to look at Jonathan with cruel, teasing eyes. âOr do you want me to get you a pillow?â
Jonathan forces the headphones on. âJust focus on driving.â
Your head drops to your hands. Running on little sleep and emotionally drained, you arenât sure youâll make it through the night trapped in a van with the two idiots.Â
From the rear window you spot Mike on his bike alongside Lucas, waving his hands in the air to signal that theyâre ready to head towards the meeting point.
Itâs time.Â
Fingers grazing over the knives in your back pocket, you turn to Steve. âLetâs go.â
He nods, starting the engine.
The crawl has begun.Â
â
Waiting in the hidden alleyway with Steve and Jonathan quickly becomes a nightmare.
While no one talks, the silence weighs so heavily within the van that it cracks open your chest and steals any oxygen left in it.Â
Your fingers trace over the papers for the crawl, scratching at the ink splotches of numbers and miles written within it and trying to busy your mind to prevent yourself from spiraling.
Steve busies himself with a snack he stole from Murray. He eats messily, noisily, and with every grotesque swallow you can feel Jonathanâs patience waning.Â
You dread the inevitable explosion.Â
âWe got action.â The crackle of the walkie coming to life with Mikeâs voice startles you. Youâd almost forgotten why you were even stuck in the van in the first place. âFour trucks, outer east gate on Main.â
Jonathanâs hand comes up to his headphones, the other to the wheel. He readies himself for a signal. He knows how crucial the timing is.Â
You hold your breath as Mike counts down to the burn. If all goes well, you should be driving in minutes.Â
âHopperâs in.â
You allow yourself to exhale. All Hopper has to do now is get through the gate undetected. Your eyes close, silently hoping your luck hasnât run out just yet as you whisper, âCâmon, Hop.â
Seconds later Mike announces, âHeâs flipped.â
Steve fist bumps the air. âWeâre in!â
But his celebration is short lived once Joyce takes over the walkie, directing the attention to her son. âJonathan, signal?â
Jonathan turns the wheel painstakingly slowly, careful not to go over or under. Once he finds Hopperâs signal, he walkies back to his mother, âSnagged it.â
âShould I go?â Steve asks, mouth full of food.
âNo⊠hold.â Jonathan shakes his head. His eyes never leave the monitor as his fingers twist the wheel. You can see heâs holding his breath. âHold⊠hold⊠Go!â
He locks the antennaâs wheel before he can lose Hopper again and Steve speeds off, flinging the van sideways at the abrupt turn. You brace yourself on the dashboard, forcing down the nausea so that you can monitor the carâs speed. You still have a job to do.Â
Youâve driven this route a dozen times. Looking at your notes, you notice that every time prior the military tanks consistently drove slower. Yet tonight the van flies down the route, struggling to keep up with the telemetry tag in the Upside Down.Â
At first you think youâve miscalculated something. Maybe you started the stopwatch too soon, or maybe the speedometer in the van has malfunctioned in some way.
Thatâs when it all goes wrong.Â
âWeâre losing him!â Jonathan shouts from the backseat, alarmed.Â
âHow?â You spin around in your seat, fearful that heâs simply misread the decibels.
âI-I donât knowââ Jonathanâs eyes suddenly widen. âWait, stop! We need to stop!â
Steve flings an arm over your chest as he slams on the brakes, the force nearly sending you through the windshield. He looks at you in concern. âChrist, are you alright, Y/N?â
Except you donât hear him. Your head swarms with dread as you stumble to your feet and kneel besides Jonathan. âWhat the hell is going on?â
He doesnât answer you, too busy forcing the antenna whatever way it will go in a desperate attempt to locate Hopper again. Your teeth dig into your lips.Â
You canât lose him. Not again.Â
âWe got him.â Jonathanâs relief rivals your own as you both breathe heavily against each other.
You cling to his knee, unsteady as all the dread that built its way to the crevice of your collarbones spikes your blood.
Steveâs gentle voice attempts to coax your heartbeat back down. âBreathe, angel. We got Hop, itâs okay.â
Your nails dig into Jonathanâs skin. âThen why are we stopped?â
Neither Steve nor Jonathan can give you an answer. The three of you sit in silence, all unable to voice what you desperately hope isnât true.Â
Suddenly the lights in the van begin to flicker.
The rapid flash of light elicits a sickening sense of deja-vu. Itâs happening again. It always happens again.Â
Something has gone wrong.Â
âWhatâs going on?â Steve exclaims, now rushing to join you and Jonathan in the back. âWhat the hell is this thing doing?â
You lunge for the walkie, shaking as you scream, âJoyce? Joyce?â
No one answers.Â
âAnswer me!â Your vocal chords strain against your screams. âSomeone answer! What happened to Hopper?â
But all contact has been lost. The radio stationâs power must have gone out.
Back pressed against Steveâs chest, you sit in complete shock as the terror consumes you. Youâre helpless against it. Thatâs all you ever are.
Helpless.Â
Muffled, static filled panic screeches from your bag.Â
âY/N? Do youâcopy?â Barely able to decipher the words, you scramble to the bag and find the source of the voice. Dustin left his personal walkie. Robin mustâve remembered.
âRobin?â The panic in your shrill voice nearly deafens you.Â
âThereâs aâdemogorgonââ Whatever Robin is saying is barely audible. The walkie isnât within its normal range. Static infiltrates every word that comes through.
You bring the walkie closer to your lips. âRobin, I-I canât understand what youâre sayingââ
âThe Wheelers!â She screams at you, loud enough that the static doesnât drown her. âThereâs a demogorgonârunning towardsâWheelers!âÂ
A metallic ringing pierces your ear drums.Â
The Wheelers are in danger.Â
Adrenaline infiltrates your veins. Every one of your senses sharpens.Â
Youâre not far from their home. A mile, maybe even less.Â
Youâve spent all summer running. You could be there within minutes if you left now.Â
The only thought running through your head as you fling open the vanâs doors is Holly, alone without her siblings in the home. She needs you.Â
They need you.Â
âY/N, where are you going?â Steve shouts after you, already stumbling to his feet to follow you into the dark.Â
Jonathan isnât any better as he tears his headphones off and nearly falls out of the van. âWhat the hell?â
âNancy and Mike need me!â Youâre standing in the middle of the road, torn between staying or leaving. But it was never really a decision. âStay here, alright?â
âDidnât you hear Robin?â Steve reaches out for you, tries to pull you back into the van. âThereâs a demogorgon out there, no way am I letting you go by yourself!â
âIâm going.â
And before Steveâs hand can land on your wrist, you run.Â
All you do is run.
-
â series masterlist
â if youd like to buy me a coffee âïž
â thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3
Steve in the beginning is very much based off of season one Steve!! But he will have an arc and become the pathetic loser we all love! <3
Use of yn for display/ usernames
In your first year of college, Steve Harrington had existed tangentially to your life. You heard bits and pieces about him through Robin. They worked together in the campus coffee shop. He was in a frat. He was single. It was all noise to you, he seemed like an asshole anyways, why waste your time?
Or,
you meet Steve at a frat party, he falls madly in love with you. âč àŁȘ Ë
Your profile!
Steve and Robins profiles!
a/n lowkey having terrible writers block rn so hoping this will get me out of it đ idk how often this will be updated! But if people like it I will try my best to make them frequent đđ
hi! can i ask for turnbow!reader x steve? like they're dating and steve never told her anything about the upside down stuff (he'd decided it would be better for her to be faaaaaar away from it) so when he found out about the turnbow trap and that he had to kidnap her family (people that he took so long to conquer and to be liked by) he was like devasted?? idk lol but i imagine he'd be against it ig?? also sorry if there's any typo xx
KIDDNAPPING FREAK
steveharringtonxfem!reader
desc- when the one person steve wants to keep furthest away from all the evil of the world ends up right in the middle of it all.
val speaks âčđ„ - hii thankyou for the request! i feel like i kinda rambled a bit and i had to make up some of the story line but i could totally do a pt2 if anyoneâs actually interestedđ i was also very tired n half asleep writing half of this but i had fun so i hope u like!
the map on the table was already covered in coffee rings and frantic scribbles when steve realised exactly where this conversation was going.
he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed so tightly it almost hurt, eyes flicking between nancy, robin, and dustin like one of them might suddenly say just kidding. the room buzzed with that awful, familiar tension.
âno,â steve said flatly.
robin blinked. âsteve, we havenât even finished explaining-â
âi donât care,â he cut in, shaking his head, already standing up. âno. absolutely not. we are not doing that.â
nancy sighed, rubbing her temple. âsteve, listen. vecnaâs already reaching out to her brother. itâs the same pattern. we donât have time to dance around this.â
his stomach dropped at the mention of you, even indirectly. of your little brother. steve paced the room like a trapped animal, hands running through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual.
âyou want to kidnap her family,â he said, voice low but sharp. âdo you hear yourselves? iâve spent months, months, trying to convince them iâm not some idiot jock with bad intentions. her dad finally offered me a beer last week. a beer. do you know how big that is?â
dustin shrugged. âkinda irrelevant if vecna kills her brother.â
steve spun on him. âdonât. donât you dare act like i donât know whatâs at stake.â
the truth was, that was exactly why his chest felt like it was caving in.
heâd kept you away from all of it so carefully. the demogorgons. the gates. the blood and the screaming and the way hawkins never really slept anymore. he told you half-truths, dumb excuses. late nights were âwork,â bruises were âbasketball injuries,â nightmares were just stress.
all because if you knew, youâd be in danger.
and now they were talking about dragging your family into it.
âwe donât tell her,â robin said gently, like she was trying not to spook a wild animal. ânot right away. we get them somewhere safe, somewhere warded. we protect them.â
steve laughed, short and humorless. âoh yeah? and when she wakes up and her and her family are tied up? what then, robin?â
silence settled heavy over the room.
nancy met his eyes, steady but apologetic. âsheâs going to find out eventually, steve. vecna wonât let her stay untouched forever. you know that.â
that was the part he hated most.
because he did know.
he slammed his hands onto the table, leaning forward, jaw clenched. âthere has to be another way. i will find another way. you donât get to make this call. not about her.â
âthis isnât just about her,â nancy said softly. âitâs about her brother. and if vecna gets to him through her family, we lose him, and more.â
steve swallowed hard, throat burning.
every instinct in him screamed to shield you, to keep you in the dark, safe and laughing and arguing with him over what movie to rent. to keep you far away from monsters and gates and a town that ate people alive.
but hawkins didnât care about what steve harrington wanted.
âi wonât be the one to tell her,â he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. âand i wonât help you scare her family.â
robinâs expression softened. âsteveâŠâ
âbut,â he added, straightening, eyes dark and determined, âif this goes wrong, if she gets hurt because of this, i swear to god i will never forgive any of you.â
no one argued.
because they all knew he meant it.
and somewhere across town, completely unaware, you were living your life. while a plan formed that would tear it open.
â
steve shows up at your place an hour earlier than usual.
he doesnât knock like he normally does- three quick taps, too loud, like heâs announcing himself. this time itâs hesitant. uneven. like he almost changed his mind halfway through.
when you open the door, heâs standing there with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders tense, hair not quite doing the thing it usually does. his smile is there, but it doesnât reach his eyes.
âhey,â you say, stepping aside. âeverything okay? you look⊠tired.â
âyeah,â he says too quickly, following you in. âjust- long day.â
you hum, not pushing it. steve has long days sometimes. everyone does. hawkins has a way of grinding people down.
he sits on the couch beside you, closer than usual, knee pressed against yours like heâs afraid you might drift away if he gives you space. his hand finds yours almost immediately, fingers lacing together tight.
you squeeze back. âsteve, youâre being overly clingy.â
he lets out a breathy laugh. âam i not allowed?â
âyou are,â you tease softly. âjust means somethingâs up.â
he shakes his head, staring at your joined hands. his thumb rubs slow circles into your skin, over and over, like heâs memorising the feeling.
âdo you ever think about,â he starts, then stops. swallows. âlike⊠what youâd do if someone really screwed up. someone you loved.â
you turn toward him, brows knitting together. âthatâs kinda random.â
âhypothetical,â he says quickly. âjust curious.â
you shrug, leaning into his shoulder. âi dunno. depends what they did, iâd probably hear them out if i loved them though.â
his jaw tightens.
âeven if they lied?â he asks quietly.
you tilt your head, thinking. âyeah. i mean⊠i donât love lying. but sometimes people lie because theyâre scared. or because they think theyâre doing the right thing. depends really.â
he goes very still at that.
for a moment, you think he might actually tell you something. his mouth opens, then closes again. instead, he pulls you closer, forehead resting against your hair.
âyouâre too good,â he murmurs. âyou know that?â
you smile, half-laughing. âyou say weird stuff when youâre tired.â
âyeah,â he agrees, voice rough. âtired.â
he asks to stay in tonight. no movies, no going out, just you and him. you donât question it. you curl up together on the couch, his arm wrapped around you like a shield, his chin resting on the top of your head.
he keeps kissing you, your temple, your cheek, your forehead, soft and lingering, like each one matters more than the last.
âsteve,â you laugh quietly. âwhat is this? am i dying or something?â
he stiffens slightly, then exhales. âdonât joke like that.â
âsorry,â you say, confused but gentle. âi didnât mean-â
âi know,â he cuts in softly. âi know.â
thereâs something in his eyes when he looks at you then. something heavy. like heâs already lost you somehow.
when he finally stands to leave, he hesitates at the door longer than usual. his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes.
âhey,â you say. âyou sure youâre okay?â
he nods, but itâs a lie. you donât see it, canât see it, but itâs there.
âno matter what happens,â he says carefully, âjust⊠remember i love you. okay?â
you smile, heart fluttering. âi know. i love you too.â
that almost breaks him.
he pulls you into one last hug, holding on a second too long, breathing you in like itâs the last safe thing heâll ever know.
and when he finally walks away, he doesnât look back.
because if he does, he might not be able to go through with it.
â
steve doesnât make it to the car.
he gets halfway down the block before his chest locks up like somethingâs snapped shut inside him. his breath comes out wrong and suddenly the world feels too loud, too much.
he braces his hands on his knees, hair falling into his face.
âget it together,â he mutters. âjust get it together.â
but his heart wonât listen.
every image of you crashes into him at once. your smile earlier, the way you laughed at his dumb jokes, the softness in your voice when you told him you loved him. the way you trusted him. the way you had no idea what he was about to let happen.
his hands start shaking.
he straightens, then bends over again as a sharp wave of dizziness hits. his lungs burn like theyâve forgotten how to work.
he stumbles back against the fence, fingers clawing at the wood like it might anchor him to reality.
his vision blurs. his throat tightens until every breath feels like itâs scraping its way out.
sheâll hate me.
the thought hits harder than any punch heâs ever taken.
sheâll look at me like iâm a stranger. like i betrayed her. like everything we had was a lie.
his chest aches, deep and sharp, and for one horrible second heâs convinced he might actually die right here, on a quiet suburban street, surrounded by perfectly normal houses, while monsters tear the world apart somewhere else.
âsteve,â robinâs voice cuts through the noise, suddenly right in front of him.
he hadnât even heard her approach.
she grabs his shoulders, steady and grounding. âhey. look at me. breathe. in. out.â
he tries. fails. tries again.
âi canât,â he chokes. âi canât do this to her, robin. i promised myself-i promised-â
âi know,â she says softly, pressing her forehead to his. âi know, you love her.â
his eyes burn. âwhat if this is the thing that breaks her? what if she never trusts me again?â
robin doesnât lie to him. âmaybe sheâll be furious. maybe sheâll scream. but sheâll be alive. and her family will be alive. that has to count for something.â
he squeezes his eyes shut, breath finally slowing just enough to not feel like heâs drowning.
alive.
he hates that sheâs right.
steve drags a hand down his face, swallowing hard. âif she gets hurt-â
âshe wonât,â robin says. ânot if we do this right. and not if youâre still here to protect her.â
he nods, once. barely.
because loving you means choosing the option that hurts him the most.
even if it costs him everything else.
â
your night starts normal enough that you almost forget steveâs weird mood earlier.
tea is brewing in the kitchen, the kind your mom insists on even when no one really wants it. your dadâs newspaper is spread across the table, tinaâs laughing about something dumb from school, derekâs sulking on the floor with his comics, feet kicking the coffee table every few seconds.
and then thereâs erica sinclair.
she stands in the doorway like she owns the place, pie tin balanced proudly in her hands.
âhi,â she says, sharp and bright. âi brought pie.â
your dad lights up. âoh, thatâs sweet! lucasâ sister, right?â
âthe only one that matters,â erica replies, already settling down.
you exchange a look with tina, suppressing a smile. âyour'e friends again?.â
âwe made upâ tina mutters back.
erica plants the pie on the counter like itâs a mission objective. thick and glossy, steam still faintly rising.
âyou should eat it,â erica says. âseriously. all of you.â
your mom laughs. âsomeoneâs eager.â
âyeah,â erica says. âi am.â
something about the way she says it makes your stomach flutter, but you brush it off. probably nerves. probably steveâs earlier words still echoing in your head.
you sit around the table together, family plus one. forks clink against plates, derek complains about not getting a big enough slice, your dad steals a bite off your momâs plate like he always does. everyone except tina digging in.
âthis is really good,â you say honestly.
erica watches. doesnât eat any herself.
she watches as you take another bite.
then another.
the room starts to feel⊠wrong.
not all at once. it creeps in. your limbs feel heavier, like gravityâs been turned up too high. the edges of your vision blur just slightly.
âhey,â your mom says, blinking. âis it hot in here?â
your dad presses a hand to his forehead. âi feel dizzyâŠâ
your heart starts to race. âwait-â
the world tilts.
your fork clatters to the plate. the last thing you see is erica hopping down from her chair.
âsorry,â she says quietly. âthis is the only way.â
then everything goes dark.
â
the upside down never comes quietly.
thereâs a sound first. wet, like something ripping through fabric and bone at the same time. the air turns cold. the lights flicker once, twice, then die completely.
steve is already moving when the demogorgon comes through the wall.
wood splinters explode outward, plaster dust choking the air. mike shouts something he doesnât hear. robin swears loudly behind him. lucas freezes for half a second too long before snapping back into motion.
the thing is massive, taller than steve remembers. skin stretched too tight over muscle, flowered face opening with a scream that rattles the windows.
âgo go go!â steve yells, charging forward.
he doesnât think. thinking gets people killed.
the bat connects with a sickening crack. the demogorgon roars, slashing wildly. furniture is destroyed in seconds. chairs overturned, the table shattered, pie smeared across the floor like some awful joke.
steveâs mind keeps snapping back to you.
passed out. somewhere nearby. defenseless.
the thought makes him reckless.
the demogorgon grabs him, claws digging into his jacket, throwing him across the room. he hits the wall hard, stars bursting behind his eyes.
âsteve!â lucas screams.
heâs back on his feet anyway. always is.
fire blooms as molotovs shatter, flames licking up the creatureâs side. it shrieks, stumbling, rage and pain filling the room.
ânow!â robin yells.
they drive it back through the tear it came from, fighting inch by inch until the gate collapses in on itself with a sound like a dying scream.
then- silence.
just smoke. broken furniture. heavy breathing.
steve doesnât wait.
he runs.
â
your house smells like smoke and something bitter when he reaches the living room.
youâre there.
all of you.
your parents are slumped against opposite walls, wrists bound gently but securely. tinaâs on the couch, derek curled beside her, both of them breathing steadily, drugged into deep unconsciousness.
and you-
youâre on the floor, head turned to the side, hair fanned out, chest rising and falling.
steve drops to his knees next to you.
âno no no,â he whispers, hands shaking as he brushes hair away from your face. âhey. hey. youâre okay. youâre okay.â
you donât wake.
his throat closes painfully.
this was never supposed to touch you. never supposed to reach this far.
he presses his forehead to yours, eyes squeezing shut.
âiâm so sorry,â he breathes. âi tried. i swear i tried.â
and the awful, sinking knowledge that when you wake up-
nothing will ever be the same.
â
you wake up slowly.
your head feels like itâs full of cotton, heavy and fogged over, thoughts sliding out of reach the moment you try to grab them. the air smells wrong. damp and earthy, like soil and old wood. hay pricks at your cheek.
you open your eyes just a crack.
a barn.
the ceiling looms above you, wooden beams dark with age. moonlight filters through the slats in thin silver lines. for a moment, panic flares sharp and hot, but you donât move. instinct tells you not to.
you listen.
voices.
your heart stutters.
you shift your eyes carefully, taking in the space without lifting your head. your wrists are bound behind you, rope biting into your skin. your ankles too. your parents are nearby, still unconscious, breathing slow and even. tina hasnât stirred either.
but derek-
your chest tightens as you spot him.
heâs awake. standing up on a raised ledge near the far side of the barn. his face is pale, eyes wide, but heâs trying to look brave.
heâs talking to someone.
you donât recognise the voices at first. low, urgent whispers drifting up toward him. you stay perfectly still, barely breathing, afraid even the sound of your heartbeat might give you away.
âweâre not here to hurt you or them,â a woman says quietly.
another voice- older, tired but kind. âwe just need your help, okay?â
you donât understand. none of it makes sense. your brain is still too foggy, still lagging behind reality.
then a familiar voice cuts in, sharp and no-nonsense.
âif anything happens to his family, this dealâs off.â
you know that voice.
nancy.
your pulse spikes.
what are they doing here?
you stay low, eyes darting as derek nods shakily, answering their questions. they keep their distance from him, you notice. like theyâre trying not to scare him.
and then-
a sound.
a low, wet clicking noise, coming from somewhere deeper in the barn.
every muscle in your body locks.
the voices stop.
you see it before you fully understand it.
something moves out of the shadows below the ledge. tall. wrong. its skin looks stretched too tight, like it doesnât belong on its body. it steps forward slowly, deliberately.
your breath catches in your throat.
its head opens.
not like a mouth should. not human. petals peeling back to reveal rows of teeth that glisten in the dim light.
your stomach lurches violently.
this canât be real. your mind scrambles for explanations. shock, hallucination, a bad dream? but the fear is too sharp, too real.
derek freezes.
âitâs okay,â someone whispers urgently. âjust stay where you are.â
you donât make a sound.
you donât scream. you donât call out. you donât move.
your fingers begin working at the rope behind your back instead, slow and careful, every motion measured. the knot is tight, skin-splitting, but your hands are slick with sweat. you tug gently. stop. listen.
the thing shifts, distracted by the voices above.
you pull again.
the rope loosens.
your wrists slip free.
you bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a noise as you work on your ankles, heart pounding so loudly youâre sure it must echo through the barn.
the creature lets out a low growl.
everyoneâs attention snaps to it.
thatâs your moment.
the rope falls away.
you donât look back.
you crawl through the hay, keeping low, body shaking, every nerve screaming. the side door is closer than you thought.
you slip through it, silent as you can manage, and the cold night air hits you like a slap.
you run.
only far enough to dive into a thick bush just behind the barn, branches scratching at your arms as you curl in on yourself. you press a hand to your mouth, forcing your breathing to slow.
from here, you can see the barn doors.
light flickers inside. shadows move. voices rise in urgency.
and that sound again. too deep, too wrong to be anything youâve ever heard before.
you squeeze your eyes shut, tears leaking despite your efforts.
you have no idea what that thing is.
no idea why steveâs friends are here.
no idea why your family is tied up inside a barn with a monster.
all you know is that the world you thought you lived in is gone.
and whatever this is-
itâs been there all along, hiding just out of sight.
â
the barn goes quiet.
not peaceful, never that, but quieter. the shouting fades. the horrible sound fades too, like itâs been dragged somewhere far away. your ears ring in the aftermath, your whole body buzzing with adrenaline and fear.
you stay in the bush longer than you think you need to.
long enough for your legs to cramp. long enough for your heart to stop trying to punch its way out of your chest. long enough to convince yourself that if you move, something will hear you.
eventually, headlights cut through the dark.
you tense immediately, shrinking back, until you recognise the car.
steveâs car.
your breath stutters.
itâs parked a little ways off, half-hidden by trees, like whoever left it didnât want it noticed. thereâs something wrong with it, though- something you canât place at first.
then you see it.
a long, makeshift antenna sticking out of the roof, ugly and very not normal.
âwhat the hellâŠâ you whisper.
no oneâs around.
no voices. no movement. just the car, idling softly, like itâs waiting.
your brain is screaming at you not to do this.
this is stupid. this is reckless. this is how people in horror movies die.
but then you think of the thing in the barn. of derek on the ledge. of steveâs face earlier, haunted and apologetic, like he was already saying goodbye.
and honestly?
if thereâs a monster out there, youâre probably dead anyway.
might as well die with answers.
you creep toward the car, every step careful, every shadow a potential threat. when you reach the back, your hands hesitate over the trunk.
âthis is the dumbest idea youâve ever had,â you murmur.
then you pop it open and climb inside.
it smells like gasoline and leather and steve. your chest tightens painfully at that. you pull the trunk closed just as footsteps approach.
voices.
your stomach drops.
âeveryone in?â dustin says, breathless.
âyeah,â nancy replies. âsignals destabilising- we donât have long.â
steveâs voice comes last. tight. focused. scared. âthen letâs go.â
the trunk slams shut.
and suddenly youâre moving.
the car lurches forward, acceleration pressing you back into the metal. you grab onto whatever you can as the engine roars louder, faster, reckless.
âsteve, slow down!â someone shouts.
âcanât,â he snaps. âif we miss it, we lose it.â
you donât know what it is.
you donât know where youâre going.
all you know is that the air changes.
ânow!â dustin yells.
thereâs a sound like the world tearing open.
and then-
everything lurches.
your stomach drops like youâve driven off a cliff. your ears pop painfully. the air inside the trunk turns icy, damp, wrong.
the car bursts through.
you donât see it, but you feel it.
like passing through a membrane. like being swallowed.
the engine screams. the car skids. metal groans.
from inside the trunk, you lie there shaking, eyes wide in the dark, every sense on high alert.
you have no idea where you are.
but you know, deep in your bones, that you are not in hawkins anymore.
and the worst part?
steve drove you straight into it.
the car doesnât slow down once itâs through.
it feels like steve floors it harder, if thatâs even possible, the engine screaming as the tires tear through something that isnât quite road. the air inside the trunk turns thick and damp, every breath tasting like rust and rot. the car swerves violently, and youâre thrown against the side, shoulder slamming into metal hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.
you bite back a cry, curling in on yourself as the car fishtails again.
theyâre shouting up front. you canât make out every word, just the panic threaded through it. directions being yelled, warnings snapped too late. something heavy thuds against the side of the car, hard enough to rock it, and your heart leaps into your throat.
whatever theyâre chasing is close.
you manage to brace yourself and carefully shift, peering through a gap near the trunk latch. the world outside is wrong in ways you donât have words for yet. dark and blue-grey, coated in something that looks like ash or snow but drifts too slowly to be real. twisted shapes loom where trees should be, stretched and skeletal, and for one terrifying second you see it.
the creature.
it moves impossibly fast, long limbs eating up ground as it runs, head snapping open as it lets out that awful sound. you recoil instantly, pressing back into the darkness, pulse roaring in your ears.
what the fuck is happening.
the car jolts again, swerving sharply as steve yanks the wheel. you slide hard across the trunk, knees knocking painfully as something inside the car crashes to the floor.
âsteve!â someone shouts.
too late.
the impact is sudden and brutal.
metal shrieks as the front of the car slams into a massive wall of something solid. concrete, maybe, or the ruined remains of a building. the force sends you flying forward, head snapping back as you slam into the trunk lid.
everything goes still.
for a half second, thereâs nothing but ringing in your ears and the taste of blood in your mouth.
then the doors fly open.
boots hit the ground. hurried breathing. frantic voices overlapping as they scramble out of the car, weapons clattering, someone swearing loudly.
no one checks the trunk.
you lie there, stunned, heart pounding, staring up at the dark metal inches from your face.
fuck it.
rage cuts through the fear like a blade.
you plant your feet and kick.
the trunk flies open with a loud metallic bang.
cold, dead air rushes in as you scramble upright, hair wild, hands shaking, fury written all over you.
every single one of them freezes.
steve turns first.
the color drains from his face so fast itâs almost impressive. his eyes widen, mouth falling open like his brain has completely short-circuited.
âwhat the fuck was that,â you demand, voice shaking but loud, raw and furious. âwhere are we, why does the world look like itâs rotting, and why the hell was i kidnapped?â
nancyâs jaw drops.
dustin lets out a small, horrified sound. âoh my god.â
jonathan just stares at you like youâve crawled out of a grave.
steve takes a step toward you, hands lifted instinctively, like you might bolt or break. âyou-you werenât-how did you-â
âin your trunk,â you snap. âbecause apparently monsters are real and you all thought tying my family up in a barn was a normal thing to do.â
his face crumples.
âi was trying to protect you,â he says, voice breaking around the edges.
you laugh, sharp and incredulous, tears burning in your eyes. âyou drugged us, you dragged us out here and i watched a thing with a flower face try to kill my brother. so forgive me if âprotectâ feels like the wrong word right now.â
the silence that follows is thick and suffocating.
the ash keeps falling.
somewhere nearby, something roars.
and steve stands in front of you, heart in his eyes, knowing there is absolutely no fixing this without finally telling you everything.
you donât wait for an explanation.
the silence stretches just long enough to make your skin crawl, ash drifting lazily around you like the world isnât completely ending, and something in your chest just snaps.
âokay,â you say, voice sharp, brittle. âcool. great. since nobodyâs gonna fucking say anything, iâll just figure it out myself.â
you turn on your heel and start walking. no direction, just away from them, away from the car, away from whatever nightmare this place is.
you get maybe three steps.
steve grabs your wrist.
itâs instinctive. desperate. too tight.
âno,â he says quickly. âyou canât- you donât know where youâre going, itâs not safe-â
you spin on him instantly, yanking your arm back like his touch burns.
âhands off me, kidnapping freak,â you snap.
thereâs a beat.
then dustin snorts.
like, actually snorts.
steve shoots him a look that could kill a man. âthis is not funny.â
âiâm sorry,â dustin says, biting his lip, eyes wide with barely-contained laughter. âitâs just kinda trueâ
you glare at him. âoh my god, hilarious. do you do birthday parties or just hostage situations?â
nancy presses her lips together, clearly trying not to smile and failing miserably.
steve looks like he might pass out.
âplease,â he says to you, quieter now. âyou canât just walk off. there are things here. bad things.â
you gesture wildly around you. âyeah, no shit, steve. i noticed the sky looks like itâs dying.â
you start walking again.
this time jonathan steps in front of you, holding his hands up. âokay, listen. i get that youâre freaked out, but you really donât want to be alone here.â
âwhy,â you demand, âbecause the murder dog might get me?â
everyone goes very still.
ââŠmurder dog?â dustin repeats.
âthe thing,â you snap. âwith the teeth. the flower face. whatever the hell that was. unless youâre about to tell me thatâs normal?â
steve swallows hard.
âitâs called a demogorgon,â he says.
you stare at him.
âof course it is,â you mutter. âbecause why wouldnât it be.â
you look around again, really look this time. the way the trees twist unnaturally. the vine-like growths creeping along the ground, pulsing faintly like veins. the air feels alive, watching you.
your anger wobbles, just for a second, threatened by something much closer to fear.
âso let me get this straight,â you say slowly. âmonsters are real. thereâs a weird hell version of hawkins. my family got drugged and tied up. my little brother is somehow involved. and you,â you jab a finger at steve, âhave known about all of this the entire time.â
steveâs eyes shine.
âi didnât want you anywhere near it,â he says. âi was trying to keep you safe.â
you laugh again, but this time itâs hollow. âyou drove me into another dimension.â
âthat was not part of the plan,â dustin says quickly.
you whip around. âoh, so sorry, was i supposed to stay kidnapped back there?â
âwe thought you were unconscious,â nancy admits.
âyeah,â you say flatly. âbecause that makes it better.â
a sound echoes through the ruins then. low, distant, unmistakably the same thing you heard in the barn.
your heart leaps into your throat.
everyone snaps into motion.
âitâs close,â dustin says.
steve steps in front of you without thinking, body angled like a shield. âstay behind me.â
you stare at his back, at the familiar shape of him in a place that feels so wrong, and for a moment your anger tangles painfully with something else.
fear. betrayal. love. all twisted together.
âdonât,â you warn quietly.
he flinches, but he doesnât move.
âiâm not losing you,â he says, voice low and firm. âeven if you hate me after this.â
you donât answer.
the ground trembles slightly beneath your feet.
and whatever explanation you were owed is going to have to wait,
because the monster you accidentally followed them into hell for is still out there. and apparently, much, much worse is too.
hopeless for valentine's day (pining!steve harrington x reader)
pairing: Pining!Steve Harrington x reader
summary: steve is in love with you, he just isn't ready to say it out loud. so he sticks to the closest thing: ditching his date to spend valentine's day with you at the squawk.
a/n: happy valentine's day, lovelies! be kind, your girl is rusty.
disclaimer: pining!steve aka his natural state of being, jealous!steve (because I can't help myself), slightly angst, comfort. they're idiots in love, you honor.
story's mixtape steve's masterlist taglist request nav
Steve Harrington lets out a long sigh, plopping down on Robin's mandatory chair. He can't help but feel like a kid sitting in his dad's office for the first time, picking out random papers and pretending to be importantâ until Danny Harrington screams for him to get out and stop bothering him.
There's no shouting this time, no noise other than "When You're Alone" by Bruce Springsteen playing for Steve and whoever else is lonely enough to stick near a radio for the night. Not an ounce of doubt that Buckley will kill him if she finds out he's putting on 'the blandest white man on Earth' (her words) during her Rockin' Robin segment but hey, Harrington is the only covering for her on Valentine's Day while she's out with on a date with Vickie.
A furtive grin spreads on his face; at least Robin is happy. Happier than he had ever seen her, to be honest. That's all he wants for her. Even if it means being alone at the station, bored and pathetically waiting for something that won't happen.
If it was a movie, they'd call Steve a hopelessly romantic and he'd get the girl before the credits started to roll. But in real life, it's just staying at work while the world ends, having your heart broken multiple times by hope and still clinging to it like a stupid dog who won't bark to another tree. Because that's his tree, alright? He likes his tree.
Okay, he's going crazy. Why aren't you here?
Steve groans, tapping his fingers against the wooden table to the song's rhythm. His mind wanders to what everybody else is doing: The Wheelers are throwing a thematic party for the whole family and the Byers. Nance had asked him to come over, but the last holiday they spent together was in 84â when they were still dating, and Harrington isn't really thrilled about having to see her with Jonathan all night. So, the former athlete thanked her and refused the invite, promising he'd show up the next day to snitch away some of Karen's famous cookies.
The Hoppers were probably there too. Henderson was having a movie marathon and a whole lot of food with his mom; which Steve also had declined because Dustin didn't seem to want to be around him all that much lately. The Sinclairs were most likely to be at a fancy dinner with the church folks, Lucas surely would be visiting Max later (to remember she's still in a coma makes his heart clutch, so he shakes his head and focuses on his own misery for a bit). Robin had reservations for Enzo's and planned on taking it to the next level with Vickie; the ladies man tried to give out some advice about that, but Buckley threatened to cut his tongue off and kill herself in front of him all at once.
When he asked you about your plans, you shrugged it off and said you'd probably be at the station. No dates in sight. One hour after the shift started and you still hadn't showed up, it was clear that your plans had changed. That annoyed guy from the convenience store that always got a little too friendly with you (even when Steve was by your side, mind you) probably worked out the guts to ask you out. And apparently you had said yes, God knows why. Whatever. Maybe Harrington should've asked you before like he wanted to, maybe you'd have said yes. He was sure it would be better than whatever you had going on with that douchebag. The point is, everybody is up to something, everybody has someone.
And Steve..
Steve is alone. Isn't it how he always ends up, anyway?
That's the thing about being a jack-of-all-trades. He just shows up at the right time by luck or miracle or the lack of importance in any other aspect, gets the job done, and his friends cheer about it. But then everybody goes home and the handyman is put on the shelf until he's needed again.
He isn't complaining, alright? It's better than having no at all. Steve would've known; he had been through it with his parents.
They asked him to tag along once the ground cracked open like something rotten that stayed under for too long. His mom and dad asked Steve to come with them with a disinterested facade, the same you flash someone with when you offer them food out of education and silently hope they won't accept it.
When their only son said no, the Harringtons smiled bigger than he remembered they could; it didn't take more than two hours for the bags to get packed up. They left before dawn and hadn't looked back once.
His mom calls each two months to make sure Steve is alive, but that's about it. Eventually, his dad chimes in the conversation, throwing a casual hello and an occasional scolding. Truth to be told, it isn't all that different from the time they were in town. Less arguing, for sure.
And more Springsteen blasting out.
When you're alone you ain't nothing but alone, Bruce sings like a mockery.
It could've been worse, Steve thinks to himself.
But it could also be better, that same old voice in his head answers.
Steve shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the quietude. The song is coming close to an end, so he sighs and leans in, looking for another tape that's at least close to the lovely spirit. I'll be alright without you by Journey, Harrington snorts. As if.
He continues his searching, flipping through the options. Right Here Waiting by Richard Max? That had to be a joke. If people want to hear about doomed romance and miserable love lives, Steve can just start broadcasting his daily life. Another peak, Countin' On A Miracle.
He scoffs. âWow, Springsteen. I thought we were buddies.â
Harrington settles down for 'Time After Time' and places his foot on the dashboard of the radio table. Robin would sweat his legs off if she was here, but she isn't.
Just him. Alone again.
Fucking sucks.
And it's all he's ever had. Come on, Harrington. You should be used to it by now. Who's a more loyal lover than loneliness for a guy like him?
Until he hears something.
Steve doesn't even turn around. It's too late for anyone to decide to check up on him between their lovey dovey errands, unless.. âRobin, I swear, if you stormed out in the middle of your date just because you don't think Bruce Springsteen makes good musicââ
âNot Robin.â Your voice piques his interest immediately and the honorary DJ turns around to face you, who is leaning against the cabin's door with an arched brow and a pinkish box in your hands. âBut she's right, Bruce Springsteen is bland, Steve.â
It's you.
He hides a smile and ignores thrilling sensation under his skin. Instead, Harrington rolls his eyes at your lighthearted judgment, but his undying affection stains his antics. Even if you are making fun of his music taste, at least you are here, and not with some idiot from the store. âYou and Robin are just heartless.â and then, Steve scrunches up his nose, âWhatever your weird, indie artists sing about?â
âThe same thing your American boy does, but with spicy and actual, real world problems.â
Steve shrugs, âI think we've got enough of those.â
Your features soften at his words as you nod. If anything, your little gang of friends had enough trouble to fill out an old Western movie script. Maybe even a trilogy.
Steve licks his lips, then scratches his eyebrow. What's he supposed to say? He's not one to get speechless, but he's trying a little too hard to seem nonchalant about the fact that you are here and that's pretty much all he has wanted the whole damn night.
So much for pretending it doesn't matter.
Honest to God, Steve knows he should've made a move on you by now. It's been months. But what good did it get so far? His track record isn't looking good. Besides, he doesn't want to be just another girl, he doesn't want to mess it up. Better to have her as a friend than nothing at all, you know? He had told Robin only a couple hours ago.
That's if you even want him. Why would you? You are amazing. Pretty. Selfless. Caring. Brave. And he's.. Well, Steve Harrington.
That name used to make women swoon back in high school, but nowadays it just means a guy in a dead-end job with a bunch of nasty scars underneath his shirt, and that has no prospect of future â also, his own best friend hates him and he's forced to watch his ex and the guy she left him for, who always calls him dumb and all the lovely names when Steve so much as voices an opinion. So yeah, things are not looking great for good old Steve Harrington.
You are the only good thing about quarantine and the mess he's in right now. Therefore, Steve sticks to stolen touches; brushing your hand when you point at something on the map, leaning in a little too close when you are talking, ignoring personal space and pressing his leg against yours on the couch, pulling you gently by the hand whenever you need to gather for a meeting, or offering to bring you water and snacks just so he can feel your fingertips against his when he hands the items to you.
It's enough. Steve can take the crumbs! it's all love has ever given him, anyway. He's used to it. That way, he won't lose you.
But sometimes, your gaze lingers too long. You grimace when he mentions a girl. You defend him when Byers is a bit too rude to pretend he doesn't hate Steve. You ask to tag along in the van to do nothing but drive around during crawls. You stay late at the station and place your legs in his lap while you both talk. Or you just smile a certain way and Harrington swears you might be falling for him, too.
Suddenly, something like the supermarket guy happens and he's in cold water again. Story of his life.
Steve peers at you, leaning back in his chair. âShouldn't you be out with.. Kiran?â
You huff. âKyle. And you know his name.â
âSure.â Steve drawls, and then points at the box in your hands, âDid he get you this? What is it?â
âBoppers.â You shrug, finally walking inside the booth and placing the food on the counter. âAnd no, he didn't. I got them for us.â
He blinks, dumbfounded. There's something inherently real, yet delicate in the way you say us and brings him his favorite snack. But Steve doesn't give shape to it, he doesn't want to shatter the moment.
âOh.â He mumbles instead, clears his throat, and grins at you, âThanks.â
âYouâre welcome.â You shoot him a beaming smile, and Steve's heart does a triple jump before falling face-first onto the concrete. How can someone be so in love that it feels like choking and breathing fresh air at the same time? If only he could reach over and touch you. âShouldn't you be with Amber tonight?â
He laughs. Because of course you'd bring out another girl while he's going insane thinking about pulling you close to him, âAnnie, and you know her name.â
âSure.â It's your turn to roll your eyes, âIt might have slipped my mind, so many girls lately.â
âTurns out, not really.â Steve admits. He turns around to open the box and grabs a bopper, stretching a bit to hand it to you. âBesides, I had other plans for tonight.â
You met him halfway, you always do. Harrington wonders if it means you crave those clandestine touches as much as he does. Your fingers brush on his and it sends a shiver down his whole body, and then you're gone, ready to munc on the sweetie before speaking.
âBeing alone and crashing the squwsk reputation with your questionable music choices?â you joke and he chuckles with a shake of head. Harrington grabs himself a donut, considering if he should say it or not.
He decides to be bold. It's Valentine's Day, after all.
âI thought you'd be there.â Steve says, plaid and simple. âAnd, you know, no one should be alone on Valentine's Day.â
You hold on to silence for a moment. Eyes set on him like you know what he meant. He knows you do.
Ultimately, you nod, voice coming out tenderly: âYeah, no one should.â
For now, you two just enjoy each other's company as Cyndi Lauper plays in the background. Fancy places, house parties, and expensive gifts.. you'd trade it all for this simple moment with Steve Harrington. And so would he. Donuts and music he doesn't care about make the perfect holiday if it means you are there, laughing at his dumb jokes and leaning in just a little too close.
Because there's always gonna be someone who loves you, even if they aren't ready to speak it out loud.
Did you like it? Comment and reblog! It helps me to know you want more content. Steve's masterlist with more stories! I recommend this for fluff and this for smut. Here if you wanna get real sad about it.
STEVE HARRINGTON TAGLIST & REQUESTS are OPEN!
steve's bat (taglist): @sunshine-daydreams0809
also tagging @artofwounding because I deleted the version you had liked before and this is a repost. sorry <3
Every day you fall in love with Steve just a little bit more. Your love for him has become an endless well, its depths unknown, yet inviting despite it all.Â
âI think thatâs a lovely idea, honey,â you bring his knuckles to your lips, kissing them softly. âThough Iâm a little upset I didnât think of it myself.â
âGotta find reasons for you to keep me around.â Steve winks. Heâs just relieved to see you smiling again.Â
Your face burns from how hard you smile. âIâll always keep you around, dummy.â
âGood. The dating scene is currently awful in Hawkins.â
Summary: steve decides hes an f1 driver, hoppers cabin becomes hawkins hottest club, you get terrible news and try to run away (as usual), you still unfortunately have to grow up despite being deeply traumatized, dustin decides he no longer likes being your brother, lucas gives you a pep talk, max becomes your penpal, nancy becomes the proud owner of a radio tower, and you collect a few charms as compensation for The Dread. what a year !
Rating: general, slight cursing
Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, descriptions of PTSD (slightly), swearing, immense grief and guilt, can be viewed as suicidal thoughts (but i promise they arent)
Words: 9.2k
Before you swing in: oh my god weâre BACK !!! ive missed you all so much and i especially missed bug <3 this chapter sets a lot up for season 5, and while i dont have it outlined yet, i knew i had to give yall the final chapter of season 4 as a special thanks for waiting so patiently and continuing to support this story. im so incredibly grateful. i really hope this chapter was worth the wait. enjoy :)
-
Puffs of air swirl around you, dancing with the fallen snow-like ash that settles quietly upon the crest of your cheeks. A blood rush pounding in your ears deafen the ever increasing unnerve within the crowd amongst you.Â
Bodies push against yours. Their sensation goes ignored.Â
The only movement you register is Dustinâs fingers interlocking through yours, terrified, afraid, lost.Â
Lost.Â
Youâve lost.Â
Watching smoke billowing through the sky of the hometown which once shielded you, you get lost in the ruin.
Steveâs hands force you back.Â
He shoves through the crowd, through the maze of people just as lost and terrified as you are, desperate to get to you.Â
âY/N!â His voice sounds faint through the pounding in your head. You almost donât register that itâs him, but then Steveâs hands wrap around your arms and the force of his grip rips you back into reality. âY/N, we need to leave.â
âWhatâs going on?â Dustin pulls you away from Steve, lost in his own panic as the sky darkens with smoke and the ground beneath begins to shake.Â
Steve grabs onto his jacket, hauling him back as he grabs you once again, colliding you against Robin, death gripped behind the older teen. âWe need to leave!â
The urgency in his voice shocks the remaining paralysis within you. Feet stumbling, you follow after Steve. You will always follow him.
âWhat the hell is happening?â Robin tries to pull away, but Steve only tightens his grip and knocks roughly into a group of strangers blocking his path.Â
âLetâs go!â
His brute force startles you. âSteve, where are youââ
But your words get drowned out by the monotony of others asking each other the same frightened questions. Children start to cry. Mothers and fathers huddle together and demand answers that no one can provide. Someone even begins to scream.
Thatâs when the first helicopter wails through the sky.Â
Its violent and ugly sound causes even more distress. The formerly stoic crowd Steve shoved his way through to get to you now becomes a mass panic. Red bleeds into the skyline and lightning strikes above.
The Upside Down has encased all of Hawkins.Â
Any minute the sky could fall upon you. You arenât sure if the sirens ringing in your ears are real or just another hallucination.Â
Military vans fly down the streets. Officers yell at innocent civilians to clear a path for uniformed soldiers and their tanks. You donât understand how so many appeared so quickly. As if they were expecting the snowfall.Â
Steve never once slows down. He weaves between people and holds onto you so tightly that it almost hurts. Your shoulder throbs from the bats you fought only days ago and Dustinâs limp slows the rest of you down.Â
Robin isnât doing any better, stumbling over her feet repeatedly until she finally has enough. Slamming to a stop, she yanks her hand from Steveâs. âWhere are you taking us?â
He frantically shakes his head, lunging at Robinâs hand as if afraid the crowd will swallow her whole. She screams at Steve for answers, protesting and violently trying to pull away from him, but already heâs arrived at his car and shoves Robin into the front seat.Â
âGet in.â
âAre you out of your mind?â Robin screeches, her panicked eyes looking to you for answers. âWe canât just drive in the middle of a goddamn nuclear meltdown!â
You donât say anything. While you may not understand what Steve is doing, you trust that whatever decision heâs come up with could save you and the ones you love the most. Thatâs all you have left.
Trust.Â
Tugging at Dustinâs arm, you pull him into the backseat with you and slam the door just as Steve starts the engine. Your brother tucks his head into your chest and tears shake his body. Your own tears soak his hair and neither of you can let go of the other.
Dustin canât lose you. Not like how he lost Eddie. But the sky erupts ash from the Upside Down and Steveâs reckless driving reminds him of the bats that swarmed Eddieâs dead body and all Dustin can do is close his eyes and hope that the blow of the end of the world will land delicately upon your face.
Steve jerks the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding other cars who seemingly had the same carnal desire to flee. âEveryone hold on!âÂ
You let out a sharp breath, bracing against the sudden turn of the car, while Robin covers her ears and flinches at the sound of oncoming cars honking at each other.Â
âSteve,â she gasps out, holding tightly onto the dashboard. Youâve never seen her so pale. âPlease. Where are we going?â
His eyes catch yours in the rearview mirror. He studies your face, the tension in your shoulders and exhaustion behind your eyes. Knowing heâs asking you whether you want to hear the answer, your head nods.Â
White knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Steve says one name. âHopper.â
Immediately everything within your body jerks awake.Â
The cabin.Â
Steve is driving to Hopperâs cabin.Â
Though long destroyed, the cabin may well be the only option the four of you have left. After years of fleeing to the woods, after the Demodogs, after the Mind Flayer and his army, Hopperâs cabin became the solace that the party desperately needed.Â
There are still weapons hidden beneath the floorboards. There are still memories within its walls that you know Mike and the others will run to as well.Â
Swallowing down the fear in your chest, you hold onto the trust that youâll find what youâre looking for in the cabin.Â
âTurn left,â you say, guiding Steve where to go. âThen follow the woods.â
The relief on his face tells you that all he has left is trust, too.Â
âÂ
Fraught with fear, the sight of Argyleâs obnoxiously hideous pizza delivery van parked outside the cabin almost makes you cry in relief.Â
Nancy and Jonathan are inside, somewhere alongside Mike and El and Will.Â
Theyâll know what to do. They have to know what to do.Â
With a frantic mind eager to find your friends, you run out of the car before Steve has even parked. You think you hear him calling after you, but it goes ignored in favor of making sure that the party is safe.Â
You donât see the unfamiliar black car parked next to the pizza van.Â
Instead your unstable legs carry you through the cabinâs door, shouting the only names you can think of. âJonathan? Will?â
Your Byers boys.Â
Steve stumbles through the doorway and rushes to your side, pulling you close as Dustin and Robin crowd near. But the cabinâs wrecked interior remains silent. A ghost of the home it once had been, your heart slams against your chest in anticipation of someone, anyone, to come home.Â
Then Nancy breaks through the backdoor, lost in her own fear, and seeing her eases the remaining chords of dread in your chest.Â
âNancy!â You stumble towards her, relieved to have someone to hold onto. âAre you okay? Is-is everyone alright?â
âY/N?â Sheâs out of breath, just as confused and overwhelmed as you are. Her eyes flicker to the others and worry edges her face. âWhat are youâ?â
Another body slams through the backdoor, only this time its inhabitant throws his arms around you fiercely and whispers only one name under his breath, âbug.â
Jonathanâs scent overwhelms you. Instinctively you melt into the embrace. âIâm okay, bee.â
âGod, I was worried about you,â he pulls away, eyes never leaving yours despite the fact that Steve stands not even an inch away. âThe roads, they arenât safe to drive right nowââ
âOh, itâs not like we had any choice.â Robin sarcastically slaps Steveâs back. âStevie over here decided it was a bright idea to drive amongst goddamn geysers. I mean, we were one pothole away from becoming flaming skewers.â
Steve rolls his eyes. âI had to get the three of you to safety.âÂ
âBy putting their lives in danger?â The clench of Jonathanâs fists foreshadow the argument soon to follow. âYeah, great thinking, Harrington.â
âOnly minor road laws were broken,â Dustin shoves Jonathan away, endlessly annoyed. âNow can we please focus on the fact that the world is seemingly ending?â
âThe world isnât ending.â El walks into the cabin, Mike and Will close behind her.Â
The moment you see them, everyone else goes forgotten. Youâre wrapped around them in seconds, exhaustion creeping through your relieved exhale, âYou guys are okay.â
For once Mike doesnât push you away. âWeâre fine, Y/N.âÂ
âBut Hawkins sure isnât.â Dustin again reminds the group. âCan someone tell me what the hell is going on out there?â
All eyes fall on El.
âIâŠâ Her voice breaks. âI donât know.â
The last fragment of stability collapses. Everyone begins talking at once in a cacophony of blinding incoherence.Â
âWeâre going to die.â Robin starts to dry heave. She paces the room and kicks at pieces of wood on the ground and it takes Nancy several attempts to even get her to listen to her reassurances.Â
Yet Jonathanâs voice rings loud above the others. âHow could you think that driving here was a good idea? The ground was exploding. You couldâve killed Y/N.â
Dustin shoves his middle finger at him. âI was in the car too, asshole.â
âSo was I,â Robin says in between dry heaves. âAppreciate the concern, Byers.â
âIs now really the time for this?â Steve waves his hands in the air, seconds away from giving Jonathan another bruise. âIs your ego really so far up your ass that youâre willfully blind to the fact that thereâs a very real possibility Y/N is still in danger?â
Jonathan bites back laughter and his response gets lost in the chaos within the cabin. Nancy tends to Robinâs unrelenting spiral, Dustin interrogates Mike and Will if theyâve seen anything, Steve barks out insults, and inexplicably Argyle walks through the door and worsens Robinâs already debilitating panic and it all builds into a crushing wail within your skull until a loud, familiar voice shoutsâ
âEnough.âÂ
The voice commands attention. It silences the room. The voice once told you that you were the best out of everyone before the July heat killed him.Â
Hopper.
He stands in the doorway, a shell of the man you thought you buried last summer.Â
Seeing him echoes old wounds.Â
Your skin flinches, tendons connected to nerves scream at you to run. The man standing before you isnât really Hopper. It canât be him. Jim Hopper is dead. He died in a blast so powerful that it could only be covered up with a mall fire.
Heâs just another hallucination.Â
If you try to embrace him, all youâll be met with is empty air.Â
Youâre in the dandelion field again. You can hear your father calling your name, only this time his voice sounds like Hopperâs and terror chokes your lungs. You try to scream, but all that comes out is a broken gasp.Â
Yet Hopper hears it. He grabs your shoulders, seeing the panic in your eyes, and forces you to look at him.Â
âKid, listen to me,â you never forgot the rough timbre of his voice. âThere isnât any time to explain. I donât know what happened to you out there, but right now I need you to help me get El to safety. Can you do that?â
A maternal palm rests on your shoulder, the hand small but fierce, and when you look up, Joyceâs tired eyes shine down at you.Â
âIs thisâŠ?â Your head spins, unable to coax your lips into forming the question that beats into your chest.Â
Steveâs hand lands on the small of your back. He understands more than you could ever ask him to. âThis is real, angel.â
Again, all you can do is trust him.Â
Squaring your jaw, you nod at Hopper. âTell me what to do.â
He doesnât hesitate. Spinning around, he faces the others. âI need everyone out.â
âWhat?â Dustin canât believe that the chief is sending everyone outside where all literal hell has broken loose. âAre you out of your mind?â
âThis cabin is the only location completely unknown by the rest of the world.â Hopper grabs your brotherâs shirt and yanks him to the door. Glaring at everyone else, he sends a silent warning not to argue any further. âIâd prefer to keep it that way.â
âBut is it safe outside?â Nancy presses, refusing to move just yet. Not when her brotherâs life may be at risk.Â
âLook,â Will suddenly steps forward, wringing his hands anxiously when the roomâs attention falls to him. âI-I canât feel Vecna. Or the Mind Flayer. It may not be much, but I can promise you that we arenât in danger. At least for now.â
The answer doesnât seem to satisfy Nancy. She bites her lip, uncertain, before looking to you for the final verdict. âY/N?â
Nancy will trust whatever call you make.
âWe need to listen to Hopper.â You say, grateful your voice doesnât shake. âEveryone get out.â
No one hesitates.Â
âGo home. Donât come back here under any circumstances.â Hopper takes point, directing everyone where to go and what to do from here as they exit the cabin. âPretend this place doesnât even exist.â
âBut what about El?â Mike protests immediately. âWhere are you taking her?â
âSheâs staying here,â Hopper responds, uncharacteristically soft. âI promise, alright? The minute I know she isnât in any danger, weâll find a way to establish communication.â
You ask the question that no one else will. âSafe from what?â
âYou hear those helicopters flying above that pretty head of yours? Theyâre all looking for El. Each and every one of them.â A humorless laugh falls from his chest. âThis isnât the end, kid. This is only the beginning.â
âÂ
The entirety of Hawkins shuts down. An infiltration of military officials and their safety protocols meant only to protect the upper hand and take over the once quiet town.Â
A quarantine goes into effect immediately. No one can leave.Â
It hits you harder than you expect it to.
Mrs. Waters calls you almost a week after the first military watchtower gets constructed in downtown Hawkins.Â
âHello, dear.âÂ
âMrs. Waters?â You almost donât recognize her voice when she first calls, the exhaustion aging her nearly a decade. âIs that you?â
âIt is,â the phone rustles on the other line. You can hear her heavy breaths, how she strains her body to continue. âListen, my dear. I have some rather unfortunate news.â
âAre you okay? Do you need me to get you anything?â You try to quell the roaring terror that rises.
âIâm alright.â Mrs. Waters sighs heavily. âNo need to worry. What I wanted to tell you is that⊠Well, Iâm afraid that I can no longer have you work at Bookstordinary.â
âIâm sorry,â youâre not sure you understand. âDid I do something?â
âOh, never. You could never do anything wrong.â More rustling, you think you hear the woman blow her nose. âMy dear Y/N, none of this is your fault. It was those wretched men outside. They took control of my store, claiming it to be their property because it happens to be too close to their silly science experiment.â
The final gate. The gate that took Max away from you.
Rusted nails line your throat. Swallowing down bile, you mumble a soft apology to Mrs. Waters. âI wish there was something I could do.â
âI know youâd do whatever you could.â The woman laughs softly. âThatâs what Iâve always loved the most about you.â
The sentiment burns. You know Mrs. Waters means well, but a large part of you feels that you donât deserve her kindness. Bookstrordinary would still be open if you hadn't failed to kill Vecna. Hawkins wouldnât be destroyed and Mrs. Waters would still have the store she loved so dearly.
âWell, dear,â the woman sighs one last time. âIâd rather not keep you. Just know that you were a wonderful employee and an even more wonderful young lady. Do visit me sometime, yeah? And bring along that cute young man of yours.â
When the dial tone sounds, an indescribable urgency to disappear overwhelms you.Â
So you run.Â
The brisk early winter air stains your cheeks red. Fallen autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet. Itâs been a long time since youâve run through these woods.Â
And itâs been even longer since youâve seen the Byersâ home.Â
Itâs still the place you run to. It will always be the home you run to.Â
Somehow the home survived the earthquakes and ruin of the town. The old porch creeks with every step you take, an old exhale of a welcome to a familiar friend. The front door sways in the gentle wind, its hinges unable to secure it closed. Beyond the door stands a still empty home, and despite the innate urge to run towards Jonathanâs old room and pretend youâre still a little kid, you remain on the porch, no longer naive to the passage of time and its wounds it brings.Â
You donât know how long you sit there, listening to the trees rustle above and relishing in the silence that has become rare within Hawkins. There are no military tanks nearby, no soldiers barking commands.Â
Itâs only you and the memories engraved within the Byersâ home.Â
âGet lost on the way home, bug?â
Of course itâs Jonathan who finds you. He will always find you.Â
He still knows you better than anyone.Â
âJust needed some air,â you respond, feeling Jonathanâs weight press against yours as he settles beside you. âFound myself here.â
He nods, able to understand through the little youâve provided him. âDo you often come here to breathe?â
âNot since the summer you left.â
âOh,â Jonathanâs exhale reflects sympathy rather than surprise. He looks at you, gaze lingering on the profile of your nose and the crest of your cheek. Your skin warms at the sensation, long used to his lingering eyes. He studies you for a moment, searching for answers you wonât give him. âWhat happened, bug?â
His question isnât meant to force a response. You know he only asks because he cares about you and knows how often you hide. Yet as Jonathan continues to stare at you, the warmth on your skin slowly comes to a burn.Â
Shifting away from him, you close your eyes and mumble, âThey took Bookstordinary.â
âBugâŠâ
âAnd thereâs absolutely nothing I can do about it.â Without meaning to, your voice rises and your heartbeat spikes. All the anger, all the resentment and pain and frustration seeps through your skin and comes spilling out before you can stop it. âI mean, those assholes come into Hawkins and what? Ruin our lives? All because they believe that hunting down an innocent sixteen year old girl is the answer?â
Pain pricks at your fingers, stabbed raw from the porch wood as your hands grip at whatever they can find. âPeople died,â Billyâs blue eyes flash inside your concave mind. The tears in Maxâs eyes when you last saw her. âPeople died⊠but not the ones who were supposed to. Not him,â Vecnaâs laughter, knowing heâd won in the end. âIt was supposed to be him.â
âY/N,â Jonathan tries to grab your hand, but you swat him away and stand up.
âItâs all bullshit! The military. The Upside Down. Vecna. All of it is bullshit.â All the fury that builds within your chest suddenly collapses, taking the air in your body with it. Dizzy, you nearly collapse against the porch steps. âI-I canât keep doing this, bee.â
Jonathan quickly pulls you to his chest, terrified. âWhat are you saying?â
âIââ Though despite how hard you try, you canât put into words the unrelenting dread that aches your bones. How the dread has been there ever since you were twelve hearing your fatherâs suitcase hitting the floor. How dread followed you when Will first disappeared, only getting worse with every year that passes. With every death that follows. âI canât keep being helpless.â
âYou arenâtââ
âI couldnât save Max. I couldnât save Hawkins or Bookstrordinary. I donât know where Vecna is or if heâs even still alive. I donât know anything. I-I donât have any sense of goddamn control, so how the fuck am I supposed to help anyoneââ
âEnough.â The fury in Jonathanâs voice breaks the remaining incoherence that drowns you. Like lifting your head from water, his presence serves as a lighthouse warning of what lies ahead. âEnough, Y/N.â
Pressed so tightly into his chest, you can hear how erratically his heart beats.Â
âI wonât listen to anything else you have to say, alright?â Jonathan brushes hair out of your face, gentle as always. âIâm sorry, but youâre wrong.â
You try to pull away. âButââ
âThereâs nothing that you couldâve done differently,â he says with a softened voice. He pauses, thinks over his words, before exhaling deeply. âAnd thereâs nothing you can do now except allow the time to pass.â
In his words, the last of your fight ebbs away. Body limp, you allow Jonathanâs fingers to press between your shoulder blades. Quietly, you confess, âI donât know how.â
âBy letting the time pass together,â Jonathan kisses your forehead. âAll we have left is each other, bug.â
âAnd the others?â
He nods. âAnd the others. Theyâre all we have left in this shitty town.â
For now, Jonathanâs words are enough. They may not remedy the wounds, but their burn becomes manageable.Â
In the distance, leftover smoke rises from the ground. The last of the fires. Its smoke darkens the midday clouds, leaves a trace of red behind, and its presence taunts what you already know.Â
This isnât the end. Only the beginning.
âÂ
You come to mark the passage of time through grief.
One month after Hawkins falls apart, the town holds a commemorative service for all the lives lost that day. Hawkins, though always a small town, somehow looks even smaller piled together within the cemetery amongst an endless sea of portraits of those never found.Â
You wear your motherâs favorite pair of mary janes. Tears sting your eyes, though they donât fall. Dustin stands next to you, unmoving, eyes never leaving Eddieâs forever nineteen-year-old smile. His portrait stands at the very end of the ceremony procession. Only Wayne Munson leaves a flower in his honor while the rest of the portraits receive bouquets.Â
Steve holds tightly onto your waist throughout the ceremony. His fingers melt against the overheated skin, but never once does he pull away. He insisted on coming along, not wanting to leave Dustin alone as he buried an old friend.Â
âWeâll get through this, you know.â Steve whispers into your ear during one of the speeches, feeling the tension in your ribcage and the familiar scar from when you were sixteen. âEveryone will be okay.â
You donât have the heart to tell him that youâve long stopped believing in fairy tales.
After the service, Steve drives you and Dustin home.Â
Itâs then that the onset of your brotherâs anger ebbs to the surface.Â
âI donât know why youâre crying, Y/N.â Dustin says from the backseat, breaking the silence that had once been there before. âYou never even liked Eddie, anyways.â
You flinch at his words, quickly wiping away the tears you thought heâd be unable to see. Surprised by the lack of venom in his tone, yet unnerved by the words themselves, you turn your head slightly and meet his gaze. âHe didnât deserve to die, Dustin.â
âYeah, no shit.â The kid huffs sarcastically. âGood to know you finally caught on.â
Your eyebrows furrow. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âIt doesnât matter anymore,â Dustin undoes his seatbelt and exits the car before Steve has even put it in park. âIâll see you guys inside.â He says, bored, before slamming the door shut.
Left alone with Steve, you sit in stunned silence.
Itâs Steve who breaks first. âWhat the hell was all that about?âÂ
âHeâs mourning.â Though even you canât quite believe the excuse.Â
Steve shakes his head furiously. âBullshit. The kid can mourn, but he canât lash out at you, either.â
Shame darkens your cheeks. Looking down at your hands, you feel small. âBut I did the same to him. Back when our dad left.â
âYou were twelve, angel. Heâs almost three years older now than you were then.â Steveâs hand settles upon yours. He traces the lines of your palm, slowly, carefully, long having memorized the way it can make you shiver. âWhat he said wasnât fair to you.â
But I wasnât fair to him, either.
Abandonment makes you cruel.
Your father taught you and Dustin that.
âHe just needs some time,â you exhale softly, Jonathanâs words from a few weeks prior echoing within your mind. âTime will pass, and Dustin will come back to us when heâs ready.â
âLike you came back?â
Just because dad left it doesnât mean you can be a bitch.
My sweet girl.
Youâre just⊠scary right now.
I miss you, ladybug.
Their voices swirl around in your head. Your brother and mother and father and all their pleas for you to come back to them when you were twelve and believed that cruelty could cure the bitterness of abandonment and longing.Â
âHeâll come back,â you finally respond, swallowing down unease. âHe has to.â
Steve bites his lip. Words unsaid threaten to spill out, but he swallows down his own unease and settles on admiring the way the moonlight shades your hair, making it ethereal. He will never get over your beauty.Â
âI love you, angel.â He whispers in the dark, not looking for anything other than the warmth of your smile.Â
And you do smile. Because how could you not, knowing how lucky you are to be loved? âI love you, too, honey.â
In the seclusion of Steveâs car, you find the solace youâve sought after ever since the fourth toll of the grandfather clock.Â
âÂ
A few months later, an unnamable sensation of grief hits you, seeing all the empty chairs during your graduation ceremony; students who never lived to see graduation.
âCâmon, angel,â Steve had said earlier that morning, tearing your blankets off your exhausted body with an infuriatingly charming smile. âCanât skip out on your own graduation. Especially considering you made me attend mine.â
You shouldâve known Steve would be an insufferable asshole about the whole âgraduationâ thing. The thought of not having El and Max in attendance was almost too much to bear, so when you told everyone that you didnât want to go to your ceremony, Steve had a bigger meltdown than your own mother.
âYour graduation wasnât set during the end of the fucking world,â you huffed, yanking the blankets back over yourself. âLeave me alone.â
âWe both know that Iâm incapable of leaving you alone.â He throws a pillow at you. âNow get up. Robin said sheâd only wait in the car for five minutes before storming your room to âsee what silks you slumber inâ. Her words. Not mine.â
You were about to throw the pillow right back at Steve, but then your eyes landed on the flowers heâd set on your desk, full of beautiful baby pinks and blues that matched the cardigan he once stitched his initials into, and you couldnât help but give into his charm.
Asshole.
In the end, Steve gently guides you out of bed. He helps you brush your tangled hair, neatly arranges your gown and the dress that your mom had worn to her own high school graduation, and even manages to convince Robin to cook breakfast so that youâd have extra time to get ready.
Sometimes your love for Steve is enough to forget the nightmares, at least for a little while.
The graduation ceremony itself is the first community wide event since the commemoration. Old friends and neighbors and coworkers sit in the bleachers eagerly, anxiously, awaiting the old tradition of a graduation ceremony. Itching for a sense of normalcy.
Yet on every side of the bleachers stands a private military party, watching their every move. Their guns shine cruelly in the May sunshine.
At the very last row of students, you catch Nancyâs eye and nod your head at the soldiers. She sees them, rolls her eyes, and then fake gags. Robin notices the interaction, seated just a row or so ahead of you, and she boos childishly at the soldiers.
The small act is enough to get you to laugh. You wish that it was Nancy and Robin seated next to you. You wish that you could hold their hands and seek the assurance that only they can provide.
Dressed in the tacky orange graduation gown provided by the school, you sit by yourself, surrounded by vacated seats, cannibalizing yourself on guilt.Â
You donât deserve to be the one left standing.Â
Then, tucked in the corner of your eye, you notice one solitary, bright sign waving frantically in the air.Â
Proud to be Y/N Henderson's.
Messily drawn arrows in multiple colors point down to the ensemble of young teens waving the sign up and down.Â
Dustin notices you looking first. He waves wildly and harshly jerks his elbow into Mikeâs side to get attention. Itâs been so long since your brother has smiled quite like is now.Â
âGuys! Y/N is looking!â
The two boys quickly quarrel, Mike hitting Dustin back and Dustin simply smacking his chest, before the two boys catch Lucasâ and Willâs attention and suddenly all four boys begin jumping excitedly, cheering, very nearly almost taking your motherâs eye out with the sign.
Yet she screams louder than anyone else, pointing at you and whistling and buzzing with so much energy that your brother has to hold down her shoulders before she knocks them both off the stands.
Jonathan stands beside your mother with a small, fond smile. He hadnât been able to graduate with you, Robin, and Nancy due to technically still being enrolled in California, yet he never once frowned or complained. Instead, he took your graduation portraits and in every picture, your smile is genuine.Â
And then you see Steve.
Standing in the sunlight, a vision of gold and honey, he is a warmth that can only be found in rhymes and enamoration.Â
Steve is all that love envies to be called.Â
He screams your name over and over again. A force of adoration that demands to be seen. That demands to be believed in. To be lived for.Â
Taut strings constrict your lungs seeing everyone youâve ever loved, adoring you just as fervently as you adore them. The strings ache with grief, too, from the absence of Max and El, and the grief intertwines so tightly together with love that you canât breathe, yet they reveal to you what you already know.Â
Tomorrow youâll mail the letter that sits at your bedside table at home. It was written after the very first time you saw Max in her hospital bed.Â
Addressed to New York University, youâve rescinded your enrollment due to "unforeseen circumstancesâ.
You can hear Dustinâs laughter in the crowd. Mikeâs taunts and Willâs fondness and Lucasâ intervention and Robinâs joy and Jonathanâs soft bug and Nancyâs quiet congratulations and Steveâs lovesickness and your motherâs pride.Â
Knowing Max wouldâve shouted your name louder than anyone else. That El wouldâve made her own sign for you.
How could you ever leave them?Â
How could you even think to?
You canât. Itâs as simple as that.Â
âÂ
July comes and before you know it youâre eighteen.Â
You spend the day in the hospital waiting room.
The plan was to wake up early enough so as not to alert your mother or Dustin before biking the three miles to the hospital, where youâd walk up to the front desk and declare yourself a visitor of Max Mayfield.Â
Except the minute you stepped foot inside the hospital, your entire body shut down.Â
You fell against one of the waiting room chairs, where you remain for the rest of the day. Every time you try to get up, to go and see Max after months of not visiting, nausea creeps up your throat and threatens to spill out.Â
The guilt eats you alive.
For hours you sit inside the waiting room. Blank, white walls surround you. Nurses walk past without a glance. Your muscles pull together, body begging to enclose around yourself, to protect yourself, and in fighting the urge to flee, exhaustion wins over.Â
âY/N?â The voice startles you awake. After years of never ending monsters and scars, you jolt upright and reach for your knives, aiming them towards the source of the voice, who exclaims, âItâs me, Y/N!â
âLucas?â You quickly put the knives away, embarrassed by your overreaction. âFuck, Iâm sorry!â
The teen tentatively lowers his hands. âItâs alright,â he breathes out, forcing a laugh. âI should be the one apologizing for scaring you.â
You shake your head, wincing. âYou know I hate when you boys apologize to me.â
âAnd you know that weâll always be doing something worth apologizing for.â Lucasâ laugh now comes genuinely as he takes a seat next to you. His shoulder presses against yours and he winks, all charm. âWhat are you doing here, anyways? Youâre an adult now. You should be off in a retirement home or something.â
Despite the knots in your stomach, Lucas still is able to pluck laughter out of you. âIâm eighteen, not eighty.â
âSame difference.â
A gentle silence follows. You havenât answered Lucasâ question, though he doesnât push you for more. Heâs always been smarter than the party gives him credit for. In the months Lucas has visited Max, he never once has seen you.Â
Now, the day you turn eighteen, he finds you shell shocked in the hospital waiting room.
Lucas doesnât blame you for not visiting Max. No one does. Itâs become an unspoken rule within the party not to mention the girl around you, something that Lucas mourns the most. He recognizes the signs of guilt. Theyâre the same signs that he finds within himself more and more every day.Â
âI donât blame you, you know.â Lucas says softly.
All the air gets knocked from your lungs. Youâve heard those words before. Once, exactly one year ago, Joyce had told you that she didnât blame you, either. She saw how deeply the scars of guilt etched themselves into your skin.Â
Your eyes close. Sometimes the dark makes it easier to hide from the truth. âMax almost died because of me.â
Lucas scoffs. âBullshit. It was Vecna. He was the one who tried to kill her.â
âBut I shouldâve done more.â The familiar grief chokes your words. When Lucas tries to refute what youâve said, you quickly shake your head. âI shouldâve been with you and Erica that night. Not Max. It shouldâve only been me as the bait.â
âWhat, and leave Max with the others in the Upside Down? Would that have been any better?âÂ
Your eyes widen. âGod, of course not, butââ
Lucas grabs your hand, voice harsh, yet gentle all the same. âY/N, you have to come back from the past.â
âI donâtââ
âYou keep saying that you shouldâve done more, as if you didnât put your life on the line to save Maxâs. As if you years prior you hadnât spent each and every day devoting yourself to the party and everyone else around you.â Lucasâ voice catches suddenly, choked and stifled. âYou almost died, Y/N, and if you had ended up like MaxâŠI donât think I wouldâve survived losing the two of you.â
Lucas clenches his jaw. He swallows back the tears. âWhenever I canât sleep, you let me call you, even when I donât say anything the entire time. You pack me snacks every time I visit Max. Every Friday you make sure that Iâm not alone on the weekends.â He swallows again, exasperated in fondness. âYou keep saying that you shouldâve done more, even though youâre already doing more than I could ever ask for.â
Eyes softening, Lucas twists your intertwined hands. âI mean, what else could I even want? Max still has a chance. She could come back to us any minute. And you? Youâre here. Youâre here, stuck in the present with me and the party, including your obnoxious brother, and Iâd consider myself a pretty lucky bastard because of it.â
Unable to bear the distance any longer, you fling yourself out of the hospital chair and into Lucasâ arms. Heâs grown so much taller in just a few short months. Heâs leaner now, stronger, far from the little boy you once met all those years ago, yet still entirely your dearest friend.Â
Lucas allows you to hold him for as long as you need. He ignores the tears that wet his shirt and the uncomfortable angle of his neck in favor of holding onto you as tightly as youâve always held onto him.
Eventually you let go, not bothering to wipe your eyes or hide the flush on your face. Never one for crying in front of others, you know that with Lucas, itâs safe to.Â
âIâll go get you some water.â He guides you back to your seat. âStay here, okay?â
You nod, falling back against the chair to rest your exhausted head. Your entire body aches, and everything that Lucas told you settles heavily in your chest.Â
âHere,â he returns quickly, handing you a styrofoam cup. You thank him, and he shrugs. âItâs the least I could do after snitching on you to Steve.â
You nearly spit out your water. âIâm sorry?â
âI called him, told him you were here and about five seconds away from a panic attack.â Lucas grins, not at all ashamed. âHeâll be here pretty soon.â
âLucas!â
âItâs not like I lied!â He holds his hands up in defense. âI love you, Y/N, but you canât stay in this waiting room all day. Go home. Celebrate your birthday. Allow yourself to feel literally anything other than guilt, alright?â
Exhaustion wins over your pride. Crossing your arms, you turn your head away from Lucas. âJust so you know, Iâd never snitch on you to Max. That was a low move.â
âYou wouldnât need to. She always finds out what Iâve done wrong before I can.â
Both you and the boy laugh, for once the warmth of Maxâs memory doesnât burn. It tickles your skin, cradles your heart. For now, you welcome the tenderness.
True to Lucasâ word, Steve arrives at the hospital within ten minutes.Â
âJesus, are you alright?â He rushes over, inspecting your body for any signs of injury or distress. Worry writes itself over his pretty face, and you hate that youâre the cause of it.Â
âIâm fine, honey.â You take his anxious hands into yours and steady them.Â
âI mean, are you sure? Lucas called and said thatââ
Rolling your eyes at Lucas, you tug Steve away. âHeâs a liar and unreliable narrator.â
Lucas waves goodbye. âI love you too, Y/N.â
âTell Max I said âhiâ!â You blow him a quick kiss before turning back to Steve. âCan we go home now?â
Steve swings your interlocked hands back and forth, relieved to see that youâre okay. âOf course we can.â
The second you exit the hospital, all the air returns to your lungs. You inhale sharply, the July sun beats down on your skin and welcomes you home.Â
An old Beatles song plays as you and Steve drive. He found the cassette at a garage sale and hasnât stopped playing it since, knowing that the songs put you at ease. You stare out the window, content to simply watch the trees go by, but Steve never allows you to hide. Not when you only end up hurting yourself.Â
âWhat happened back there, angel?â
Cold silver slides between your fingers, the charms of your bracelet worn smooth from the nervous habit. Feeling the pendants fall together soothes you. All the kids are still with you. Steve is still with you.Â
âI wanted to see Max.â You confess, eyes following the horizon outside the window. Youâre not quite ready to meet Steveâs gaze.Â
You hear the breath he lets out and the words he bites back. He has never fully understood how to approach the loss of Max with you. Some days youâre alight with her memory, sharing stories with Dustin and Lucas as you drive them to Mikeâs. Other days he finds you locked in your room, unable to move.Â
Steve knows that today you were paralyzed.Â
âHow long were you there for?â
You unconsciously pull at the knife charm. A gift from Max. âI donât know. Long enough for Lucas to find me, I guess.â
âIâm sorry, angel.â Steve doesnât know what else to say. You still havenât looked at him and he worries that any minute youâll break the charms off your bracelet with how anxiously you twist them between your fingers.Â
The sympathy washes over you in uncomfortable, overly warm waves. You never thought grief could be so stiflingly hot. Clenching your fists, you finally release the bracelet. âI just wish I could tell her that I miss her.â
I wish I could tell her how sorry I am. How much I wish I could trade places with her.
Though it goes unsaid, Steve hears it anyways.Â
He thinks for a moment, rolls your grief over and over in his head. Words have never been Steveâs friend, but he knows how easily you lose yourself in them. How desperately you cling to them for comfort, for joy and for love.Â
Then it hits him.Â
âWhat if you could talk to Max without ever actually having to see her?â
Finally your eyes find Steveâs. âWhat do you mean?â
âShe wrote us letters once,â he reaches for your hand, aching to hold you. âWhy donât you return the favor?â
Every day you fall in love with Steve just a little bit more. Your love for him has become an endless well, its depths unknown, yet inviting despite it all.Â
âI think thatâs a lovely idea, honey,â you bring his knuckles to your lips, kissing them softly. âThough Iâm a little upset I didnât think of it myself.â
âGotta find reasons for you to keep me around.â Steve winks. Heâs just relieved to see you smiling again.Â
Your face burns from how hard you smile. âIâll always keep you around, dummy.â
âGood. The dating scene is currently awful in Hawkins.â
You pinch Steveâs arm, causing him to yelp, and the two of you break into a fit of childish laughter that mends the remaining heartache in your ribcage.Â
âÂ
The letters you write to Max become your lifeline.Â
Every week you sit at your desk and play her favorite songs as you write to your long-lost penpal. As naive as it may be, the letters are enough to convince the hope-ridden part of your brain that Max is alive.Â
Nothing goes unsaid in what you write to her. For the first time in your life, you talk about anything and everything without the fear of being selfish.Â
Only Lucas knows what you write; heâs the one who reads them to Max.
In the letters you write endless lines about how much you miss Max and her wit. Often you beg her to wake up, to keep fighting, though you try to remind her of all the good, too.Â
You inform her of the food shelter that you now volunteer at, which started after you stress baked more cookies than anyone could ever eat, and how you now bake for the recipients every single week.
To include as much of the good as possible, you share stories about the party that you know sheâd love. Mike walking into the wrong homeroom his first day and embarrassing himself. Lucasâ growing talent for basketball and how proud you are of him. Will and how lovely it is to have him back, often helping you bake.Â
In the letters you try to paint Dustin in a light that isnât anger or resentment, though it gets harder with every passing day. Heâs stopped interacting with you or Steve, tired of the interactions somehow ending in an argument with Steve and worry from you.Â
What you write to Max instead are anecdotes of your brother. The brief moments of the little brother you miss dearly, like how he still prefers mint chocolate chip ice cream over vanilla and how he still smuggles your comics.Â
In these letters you tell Max about Hopperâs return and how hard El trains these days to outrun the endless hunting she endures and how much you wish she could just be a kid.
And as hard as you try to keep the letters a source of comfort and good, lately youâve found yourself scribbling about the goddamn crawls.Â
And you fucking hate the crawls.Â
They were Hopperâs idea. Which is never a good sign.Â
âWe need to figure out when those militaristic morons do their sweep of the Upside Down. They still think El is there somewhere.â Hopper announced to the group one day, crowding everyone inside the Byersâ abandoned home.Â
âBut what does that have to do with us?â Nancy asked, looking around at everyone.
âI go in after them.â
Immediately the house broke out into objections.Â
Hopper waved his hands up, demanding silence. âWe know more about the Upside Down than those assholes claim to know. We know that Hendersonâs radio tech can penetrate through underground facilities run by Commies. We also know that heâs annoyingly smart and can figure out a way to track me while Iâm tracking Vecna.â He then looked to Dustin. âRight?â
Your brother hesitated. âI mean, maybe, butââ
âYouâre out of your mind,â you scoffed at Hopper. âWe may not know much about whatever the hell theyâre doing in the Upside Down, but we know for a fact that youâd be outnumbered practically 100 to 1.â
Joyce had nodded, stepping next to you. âSheâs right, Hop. Itâs too dangerous out there.â
âNot if weâre smart about it.â Hopper motioned to the room. âFor this to work, I need everyone in this room to stay quiet, blend in, and focus on the crawls.â
ââThe crawlsâ? What, youâve already named this thing?â Mike crossed his arms. âNo way. We donât even have any way to contact the military. How the hell are we supposed to figure out their every move?â
âThatâs where Murray comes in.â Hopper smiled.Â
Dustin then stepped forward, getting everyoneâs attention. âAlright, no. For this to even hypothetically work, Iâd need something way stronger than Cerebro to make contact with the Upside Down. Now unless someone here has an ultra powerful HAM radio up their ass, I doubt this will even work.â
âI mean, itâs not shoved up my ass, but I may have a solution,â Robin suddenly spoke up. âMy neighbors, the Geralds, you know them? Super old, they kinda smell like canned corn, oddly enough. Anyways, they own the WSQK radio tower but Mrs. Gerald absolutely hates it when her husband climbs up the tower for maintenance work.â
Hopper stared at her. âWhat are you getting at?â
âWell, Mr. Cop, I think Iâd be able to convince them to give me access to the tower in exchange for Steveâs handyman abilities.â
Your boyfriend choked on his spit. âWhy am Iââ
âI can talk to them, too.â Nancy interrupted. âI can show them my resume, maybe convince them with my journalism background.â
âThe tower could work.â Dustin hummed.
And before you could stop it, the pieces fell into place.Â
In the end Nancy and Robin were able to sweet talk the Geralds into giving them the radio towerâs keys. With access to the tower, Dustin was able to figure out a way to both trace and track radio frequencies in the Upside Down within two weeks.Â
It takes several meetings between El, Hopper, Joyce, Nancy, Dustin, and Mike to figure out exactly how the crawls should work.
Within a month, Murray secures a web of information reliable enough for the first crawl to take place.Â
Somehow, it works.
And itâs the first time youâve felt true hope since Vecnaâs burning body fell to the ground.
Until one crawl becomes five without any answers as to where Vecna is. After the tenth unsuccessful crawl you stop holding your breath that heâll be found. When Hopper returns from the fifteenth crawl without his dead body, you stop holding any hope at all.Â
The crawls become an endless abyss of the reminder that you failed.Â
You fucking hate them.Â
The only good thing that the crawls bring you is The Squawk.
âWelcome back, Hawkins! Youâre listening to WSQK The Squawk!â Robinâs voice plays over the radioâs speaker placed on the table, followed by a loud squawk from the rubber chicken Steve found in the trash can one day and couldnât bear to leave. âToday was brought to you by yours truly, Rockinâ Robin, with my wonderful copilot Soundy Steve, who I should really come up with a better name for.â
You laugh to yourself, scribbling your final disdainful thoughts about the latest crawl to Max while sitting in the radio towerâs communal lounge.Â
Jonathan and Nancy sit to your left, reading over the newest map of the Upside Down with updated information from Hopper. Theyâre both quiet, though gentle with each other, and youâre secretly relieved to see them working together without any underlying tension.Â
Across from you Dustin hunches over the table, working on some tracking tag for the next crawl. He looks relaxed, young again, without the scowl that seems to mar his face these days.Â
You close your eyes for a moment, listening to Robinâs quips and Steveâs amusing sound effects. The moment is peaceful, almost even nostalgic. You hate how rare moments like these have become.
âNow, my dear listeners, I have a special final song lined up for today.â Robinâs smile is evident in her voice. âIt was requested for Hawkinsâ sweetheart. You know who you are, pretty girl. I was specifically told to tell you that this song is from your âsweetest admirerâ.â
Youâre an angel.
And youâre sweet honey.Â
Youâll never forget that night in Steveâs car, dressed for a Snowball and falling in love faster than you could ever imagine.Â
âThis song proclaims love, devotion, and all the other lovey-dovey synonyms that this admirer insists on making me say,â Robin continues. âItâs also tastefully written by a band named after a bug, which just so happens to be this pretty girlâs original nickname. Pretty ironic, if you ask me.â
Jonathan stiffens, fingers frozen above the map. Nancy catches the reaction and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. The tension returns. As it always seems to do. Neither look at you, despite how obvious it is that itâs you who Robin is talking about.Â
âAnyways, this sweetest admirer wanted me to deliver a message before the song begins. He proudly states âsorry about your brotherâ. Wow! How inspirational!â Robin drops the recordâs needle and the beginning notes of I Will play over the radio. âNow enjoy this bittersweet melody by the Beatles.â
Though you canât hear her above Dustin slamming down a piece of metal. âYour boyfriend is a jackass, Y/N.â
He leaves before you can stop him.Â
Tears burn your eyes. Unable to look at Jonathan and Nancy in fear of their reaction, you force your head down and scribble the final sentence to Max: Iâve come to measure the passage of time through grief.
The broadcast ends. Steveâs laughter echoes through the floorboards as he congratulates Robin on another successful show.Â
You remain where you are, too anxious and wound up to go upstairs and join them. Really, all you want to do is go home and crawl into bed, pretending that the last year and a half has all been an awful, horrible dream.Â
Instead Steve sprints down the stairs and grabs your hand, quickly forcing you to your feet before running with you outside. Heâs a mess of excitement and boyish charm. âCâmon, angel!â
The rush of it all coaxes a laugh out of your worried mouth. Dizzy from love and adrenaline, you follow after Steve.Â
How could you ever tell him no?
He guides you to a clearing near the radio tower. The early fall weather casts a honey-like glow over the fields, turning the green grass into melancholic gold. Birds sing above in the trees and soft dandelions dance around your ankles.Â
Steve finds a small patch of untouched grass and sits down, tugging you into his lap. His arms wrap around you and he rests the crest of his nose against your hair. He breathes in deeply, his chest rises with yours, and you allow the sun to kiss your skin.Â
âI got you something,â he murmurs against your shoulder.
You lean against his chest. âTell me.â
Steve removes an arm, rustles through his pockets, before opening his palm out to you. âFigured you had some space left on that charm bracelet of yours.â
The three small charms shine in the sunlight.Â
A bird, a mirror, and a record.
You donât have to ask who theyâre meant to represent. Carefully you touch the pendants, in awe of their beauty. âHow did youâŠ?â
âRobin has been begging me to give you the bird charm since we found it a few weeks ago. She claims sheâs long past due to be included in the bracelet.â Steve chuckles. âAs for Nancy, she took the mirror from one of her old charm bracelets. Said youâd understand why.â
âAnd Jonathan?â You canât help but want to know.Â
Steve bites his lip. âHe said that the two of you grew up with each otherâs music. He wanted it to mean something.â
âThey all mean something.â You gently remind him, looking down at the rest of the charms that all represent the children you so fiercely adore.Â
âI know,â he kisses your brow. âThatâs why I wanted them on your bracelet. Nancy and Robin and Jonathan. I⊠I know how hard all of this has been for you, so I figured this way, weâre all together.â
âTogether,â you echo softly, the memory of Jonthan once saying the same to you gently.Â
âItâs the only way weâll get through this.â Steve kisses your cheek, then your nose. âWe have to be able to do this together.â
You lean into the affection, warmth cascading through you. âThank you,â you breathe out, encased in the love that only Steve can make you feel. âThank you.â
He kisses you over and over again. He kisses your mouth, your hands, your wrists and your neck. In the field he whispers promises into your skin.Â
Together. Together. Together.Â
Over and over his lips seal the promise into your shoulders, your hair, your chin. Anywhere they can reach, anywhere the sun can kiss you as well.Â
Youâre all together now.Â
And you try to believe him.
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