𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒆𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒕
contains: mentions of alcohol, smoking, parental neglect and sibling loss/grief
word count: 2.1K words
synopsis: Tash seeks comfort in Steve, rejects his attempted kiss, and leaves. Steve, hurt, goes to Nancy’s and finds her comforting Jonathan instead.
Tash dressed slowly, as though every piece of clothing weighed ten pounds. The morning felt muted, heavy, like the air itself knew what the day held. She pulled on a dark, knee-length dress—simple, soft fabric that didn’t cling—and a cream cardigan her mom said made her look “gentle.” She didn’t feel gentle. She felt hollow, her chest tight with a grief that wasn’t technically hers but pressed into her as if it were. She brushed her hair into loose waves, applied barely-there makeup, and stared at herself in the mirror, wondering how a day could already feel wrong before it even started.
At the Byers’, she immediately spotted Lonnie. His presence was sour in the room, like cigarette ash soaked into old carpet. When he looked at her, she didn’t bother with politeness. “Didn’t think you’d bother showing up,” she muttered, brushing past before he could respond.
Jonathan stood by the counter, wrestling with his tie—fingers fumbling, jaw tight. “Come here,” she whispered. He didn’t argue. She stepped close, smoothing the fabric, looping it neatly while his eyes stayed fixed on her face. “You okay?” she asked softly. “No,” he admitted. “But… you’re here.” Her heart tugged. She fixed the knot and let her fingers linger. “Always,” she murmured.
At the funeral, she stood just behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Nancy Wheeler watched them from the row ahead, eyes flicking back with something tight—almost jealous.
Afterward, Jonathan and Nancy huddled near the trees, talking urgently about whatever had taken Barb. When Tash walked over, Nancy’s posture stiffened, closing the circle. “What’s going on?” Tash asked. “It’s nothing,” Nancy said quickly. Tash frowned. “Jonathan?” He snapped—loud, sharp, unlike him. “Tash, not everything is about you. Just—go.”
The words hit like a slap, leaving her frozen in place as he turned back to Nancy without hesitation.
---
Tash barely made it two steps into the house before she heard it—crashing, splintering, the sound of something heavy being shoved across the floor.
“Dad?” she called, already breathless.
No answer.
She ran into the living room and froze. Hopper was tearing the place apart—cushions ripped open, drawers overturned, the lamp nearly ripped from the ceiling. His jaw was clenched, movements sharp and furious.
“Dad, what are you doing?!” she cried, grabbing his arm. “Stop—stop! You’re wrecking everything!”
He didn’t even look at her.
He yanked the living room light fixture down, metal snapping as it hit the floor, and rummaged his hand deep inside. When he pulled it back out, a small black object—wrong, sleek, terrifying—sat in his palm.
A bug.
Someone had been listening.
Tash’s stomach dropped. “Dad…?”
He said nothing. He just stared at the bug, breathing heavy, eyes distant and dark.
Tash backed away, shaken. “Fine. I—I’m gonna change.”
She fled to her room, pulling on jeans and Steve’s oversized Hawkins High sweatshirt. She needed to talk to someone who wasn’t currently ripping the house apart in a paranoid frenzy. Someone who wasn’t Jonathan, who’d bitten her head off. Someone who wouldn’t scare her half to death.
She was still by her mirror when—
BANG BANG BANG.
“Whoa. Hey, Chief!”
More knocking. Harder.
Tash stepped halfway down the hall as Powell and Callahan let themselves in.
“Jesus, Chief. You all right?” Powell asked, eyes wide at the wrecked living room.
Hopper looked up slowly. “What are you doing here?”
“We tried calling, but—”
“Yeah, the phone’s dead,” Hopper muttered.
Callahan cleared his throat. “Hey, so… Bev Mooney came in this morning all upset. Said Dale and Henry went hunting yesterday and didn’t come back home.”
“She thought they were on another binger,” Powell added, “but now she’s not so sure.”
“I think this whole Will Byers thing has everybody on edge.”
“Where was this?” Hopper asked.
“At the station.”
“No, no,” he snapped. “Where did Henry and Dale go hunting?”
“Oh. Uh… out near Kerley.”
“Mirkwood,” Callahan muttered.
“What?”
“Okay.” Hopper rubbed his face. “You go back to the station. I’ll take care of this, all right?”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Leave it.”
“Oh—hey,” Powell added hesitantly, “they found Barbara’s car.”
Hopper’s head lifted. “What?”
“Barbara Holland’s car. Seems she ran away after all. Staties found it late last night at a bus station.” Powell laughed weakly. “Funny, right? They keep doing our job for us.”
“Yeah,” Hopper said flatly.
Tash had heard enough.
She grabbed her jacket and stormed toward the door.
“Dad!” she shouted. Hopper looked over, startled. “I’m going out. I’ll be back later!”
She didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t wait for him to argue.
She slammed the door behind her, breath shaking.
She needed someone—anyone—who wasn’t falling apart. Someone who made her feel grounded.
And right now, that someone was Steve Harrington.
---
Tash found Steve at Benny’s—the only place in Hawkins that smelled like grease, burnt coffee, and some kind of comfort.
He was in a booth with Tommy and Carol, fries scattered between them, Carol’s legs draped lazily across the seat. All three looked up when Tash pushed through the diner doors, the bell jangling.
Steve’s expression softened instantly. “Tash?”
She didn’t answer. She just crossed the room, slid into the booth right beside him, and let herself slump against his side—cheek to his shoulder, breath unsteady. Steve stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, wrapping an arm around her without needing an explanation.
“Uh… long night?” Tommy smirked around a mouthful of fries.
Carol arched a brow. “Or did the Byers freak show keep you up again?”
Steve shot them both a look, but Tash didn’t flinch—she didn’t even have the energy.
Tommy laughed. “Bet Jonathan’s still lurking in the woods somewhere. Creeper.”
Carol giggled. “Probably taking more pictures.”
Steve’s arm tightened around Tash. “Knock it off.”
Tommy lifted his hands. “Whatever, man.”
They slid out of the booth, clearly bored, and trotted off toward the door—tossing one final, “Say hi to your boyfriend, Tash,” over their shoulders.
The bell jingled behind them, and suddenly the diner felt quiet. Much quieter.
Steve glanced down at her. “You okay?”
Tash exhaled shakily. “Not really.”
He didn’t tease. Didn’t push. He just nudged her closer until her head rested fully against him.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly.
Tash hesitated. “Everything’s… falling apart. My dad, the Byers, the cops… I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Steve let out a breath—slow, thoughtful. “Hey.” He tilted her chin up gently with two fingers. “You’ve got me, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
She blinked at him, surprised by how much she wanted to believe that.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The hum of the diner faded away, leaving only the warmth of Steve’s shoulder against hers.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Steve smiled—embarrassed, shy in a way he never was around anyone else. “Yeah. Anytime.”
Tash leaned in again, and he rested his cheek lightly on top of her head.
And for the first time all day, she felt the world stop spinning.
---
The two of them wandered out of Benny’s once Steve threw some bills on the table, the cold evening air hitting them like a reset button. Hawkins was quiet—too quiet for Tash’s buzzing nerves—but walking beside Steve calmed her more than she expected.
They didn’t say much at first. Just strolled down Main Street, past the darkened storefronts and flickering streetlamps, their shoulders brushing every few steps. Steve kept pace with her easily, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, eyes flicking toward her every now and then as if checking she wasn’t about to disappear.
“You seem better,” he said eventually.
Tash huffed a small laugh. “That diner booth nap kinda helped.”
“That wasn’t a nap,” he nudged her lightly. “That was a collapse.”
She nudged him back. “Shut up.”
They kept walking—their breath clouding in the cool air—until they reached the corner near the abandoned RadioShack. Steve kicked a pebble across the pavement before glancing over at her, almost shyly.
“So, uh… my parents are out of town again.” He said it casually, but his voice dipped, like he was trying not to sound like he cared too much about her answer.
Tash raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Big surprise.”
“Hey—don’t judge the Harringtons’ extensive vacation schedule,” he joked. “Anyway, I was thinking… maybe you wanna come over? We could watch something.”
He tried to sound smooth, but the hopeful edge gave him away.
Tash looked up at him, exhausted but warmed by the invitation. “Like… a movie?”
“Or TV,” he shrugged. “I’ll even let you pick. Even if you choose some pretentious artsy crap with subtitles.”
She laughed—really laughed—for the first time that day. “Tempting.”
“So is that a yes?” Steve asked, bumping her shoulder with his.
Tash hesitated only a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. I could use… something normal.”
Steve grinned—wide, relieved, a little breathless. “Then let’s go.”
He offered his hand. She took it.
And together, they headed toward the Harrington house, the night suddenly feeling a little less heavy.
---
Tash sat curled into the far corner of Steve’s couch, knees drawn to her chest, hair still damp from the shower she’d taken at his place. Some sitcom rerun flickered silently on the TV, but neither of them had paid attention for at least an hour.
Steve sat on the other end of the couch, turned toward her, elbows on his knees. He’d kept a careful distance the whole night—close enough to feel like support, far enough not to push.
“You’ve been chewing on something since the diner,” he said gently. “Wanna spit it out?”
Tash stared at her socks for a long moment. Then, voice low: “It’s Jonathan.”
Steve blinked. “Byers?”
She nodded, ashamed at how hot her cheeks felt. “I don’t… know what’s going on between us. I mean, I thought I did, and then he snapped at me, and I—” Her voice cracked. “I think maybe I imagined everything. The hug, the kiss. Maybe he was just… grieving.”
Steve watched her closely—too closely, like he was trying to read every breath she took.
“Tash,” he began softly, “Byers is going through hell. That doesn’t mean he didn’t feel something with you. It just means he’s messed up right now.”
She looked up at him, blue eyes wet. “So what am I supposed to do?”
He shifted closer, slow enough that she didn’t flinch. His voice dropped to a warm, low murmur.
“You let him deal with his stuff. And you don’t put your whole heart in someone who’s drowning.” A small smile flickered onto his lips. “You deserve someone who actually looks at you. Right in front of him.”
Her breath hitched, the room suddenly too warm. “Steve…”
“Just saying,” he whispered, leaning in just a little more, “someone’d have to be an idiot not to—”
He moved closer, his hand brushing her jaw, and for a split second she leaned into it—warm, familiar, safe—
Then panic surged.
“No,” she blurted, pulling back so fast she nearly knocked over the popcorn bowl. “I—I can’t. I’m sorry, I just—”
Steve froze, hurt flickering across his face before he masked it with a crooked, too-casual smile. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Totally. My bad.”
Tash’s chest clenched. “Steve, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly, standing too fast. “Really. You should—uh—you should get home. It’s late.”
The rejection hung thick in the air, suffocating.
Tash grabbed her jacket, heart pounding. “Steve—”
But he only gave her a tight smile, eyes somewhere over her shoulder.
She left. And the minute the front door latched behind her, Steve sagged against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Smooth, Harrington,” he muttered.
He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t breathe. So he grabbed his keys and drove.
To Nancy’s.
Her house glowed warm in the cold night as he climbed through her bedroom window like he’d done a hundred times. He needed comfort—familiar, easy, uncomplicated. Something to drown the sting in his chest.
But the second he swung his leg inside, he froze.
Nancy wasn’t alone.
Jonathan Byers stood in her room, eyes red, shoulders shaking as Nancy wrapped her arms around him. He folded into her, their silhouettes soft in the lamplight, her hand on the back of his neck.
A private moment.
An intimate moment.
Steve’s stomach dropped straight through the floor.
“Are you kidding me…” he whispered under his breath.
But they didn’t hear him.
Jonathan held Nancy tighter. Nancy whispered something into his shirt.
And Steve Harrington—still smarting from Tash’s rejection—stood half inside a window, watching the girl he liked comfort the boy who had just shattered Tash’s heart.
For a moment, he couldn’t move.
Then, jaw clenched, he backed out of the window, climbed down, and walked into the night feeling worse than before.
authors note: episode five is done!
episode four: link
episode six: link
