the other ackerman @theotherackerman - Tumblr Blog

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧

𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚞𝚜!𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚎𝚞𝚛𝚢𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 act one - act two - masterlist - read on ao3

Summer sets in for Hawkins, and the Fourth of July Celebration is just around the corner. Though you're surrounded by friends, you've never felt so alone. The migraines don't help, and neither does the fact that Steve suddenly begins to pick up night shifts at the station. You trust Steve, Robin, and their your friends. But what you don't know won't keep you safe. word count: 8.7k (the longest chapter so far...) cw: trauma, arguments, language, angst but also joy, mentions of drinking, i know this took forever but i need to make sure y'all were fed, pg-13 content but prefer 18+

it's an old song, it's a sad song, it's a love song — and we're gonna sing it again!

Soon came the end of June, with midsummer sun and cool nights. The general public was gearing up for the annual Fourth of July Fair that the mayor’s office hosted. Of course, this year would be different as tension still lingered in the air from last July and the ongoing quarantine. Even the military had agreed to work with town officials to extend the curfew by an hour after sunset.

“Of course, we’re happy to spread the word,” You hummed to the woman on the other line, “And… you’re positive that there’s been no more attacks in the woods? It’s just… There seemed to have been a lot of activity, and now it’s just suddenly stopped?”

“Yes, ma’am. As I explained to Ms. Wheeler earlier this week, Animal Control has received no further reports of attacks or markings around Lover’s Lake or Forrest Hills. We should be so fortunate that whatever beast was tormenting Hawkins has either left or is at least satisfied with non-human prey for now,” The woman explained in exasperation, “Trust me, sweetheart – no news is good news.”

Defeat etched itself into your face—another mystery left unsolved.

You thanked the woman and returned the phone to the receiver. As you scribbled down the last few details, the ink from your pen ran dry. With a sigh, you tossed it in the trash, praying the last few words were legible enough for Robin. One final glance around the office, you flicked the lights off and exited into the studio area.

Dustin stood near the equipment rack, checking one of the meters that Steve reported as ‘wonky’. The boy had given you both an earful about technical terms and what you actually needed to radio him for versus what could wait. Steve ended up apologizing to you for Dustin’s tone, but you brushed it off, claiming that he was a kid clearly going through something.

“Hey, Dusty?” You called out to the boy as you sat up properly on the couch.

He didn’t bother to glance back at you when he replied, “Only my mom calls me Dusty.”

“Oh… sorry,” You were quick to apologize. Something that Steve, Robin, and really everyone else had noticed, only to tell you not to apologize for existing. But sometimes existing among Steve and his friends felt like walking into a party you hadn’t been invited to. It was hard to tell whether Dustin disliked you or had anything favorable to say about you. Steve had shared that Dustin had lost a close friend when the rift struck Hawkins, but didn’t elaborate further. You didn’t feel comfortable pressing anyone for the details either.

The boy sighed and got back up to his feet. He crossed over to begin packing away his tools in the bookbag sitting on the coffee table. Then Dustin offered you a quick glance and sighed, “What’s up?”

You leaned forward, placing your notepad on the table for him to see, “The town’s still hosting the Fourth of July fair this year. I think it’d be a great night for the whole gang!”

Dustin immediately cringed at the idea and watched your shoulders deflate at his reaction. He pressed his lips together before shaking his head, “I… appreciate the suggestion, but Steve and some of the others just… well, they don’t do well with fireworks.”

Confusion crossed your face. Neither Steve nor Robin had ever mentioned this to you, though they didn't necessarily have to. You were three months into living together, and presumed something like this would’ve been mentioned at least in passing.

“So he’s scared of fireworks?” You asked.

Your question lacked judgment, something that Dustin was slightly surprised by: “I don’t know if scared is the right word, but… last Fourth of July was a little… crazy, as you might know.”

“Because of the mall fire?” You pressed further. You didn’t mean to, but there was always the pile of unanswered questions that sat in the back of your mind, worrying you. It was silly to be so anxious, because of course the party would have stories they’d rather not share, but that knowledge didn’t help. The insecurity had already planted itself.

Dustin just nodded, exhaustion settling under his eyes, “Yeah, the mall fire. It just… It changed something in Steve, but don’t ask him about it, and please don’t tell him I said anything. I don’t need him on my ass more than he already is.”

You took the underlying hint in his phrase. With a smile and easy nod, you thanked him, “Of course, of course. We can always just hang out at Harrington’s pool, too. Nix the fireworks and load up on soda.”

That made Dustin crack a hint of a smile, and you’d accept the small victory.

The ‘ON AIR’ sign flashed once, then turned off completely, signaling that Robin and Steve were at a break in the broadcast. With a wave to Dustin, you made your way into the booth, your hip nudging the door open.

Steve was slipping off his headphones, and a wide grin stretched across his lips. That was something small you had grown to appreciate: the way Steve always smiled when you entered the room. Robin, on the other hand, looked practically miserable.

“Whoa! Rough night?” You asked as the door closed behind you.

Robin sighed and flung herself back against her designated rolling chair. The heels of her palms rubbed against her eyes, “Yeah, you could say that. My mom is a menace.”

You gave her a sympathetic look, knowing that the mother-daughter duo never truly had the best relationship. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. We can chat after the afternoon broadcast if you’d like? What about a movie night? We can kick Stevie out and watch Sixteen Candles, again.”

“Hey, it’s my house,” Steve interjected with a playful scoff.

“And?” You teased in retaliation, lightly slapping his bicep with the back of your hand.

Where you might have felt on the outskirts of the full party, it felt like home to be with Steve and Robin. Nancy and Jonathan were slowly warming up to you, but Robin had explained that they were amidst a ‘lover’s quarrel’. Despite the chaos that surrounded you, life was slowly morphing into a new normal.

“And you’re both a pain in my ass,” Steve huffed as he took a half step closer to you, your hips bumping as he snatched the note from your hands, “Whatcha got here?”

Steve’s other hand settled at your lower back, lingering there like it was the most natural thing in the world. You felt yourself freeze for a moment, the small action catching you off guard. Yet when his brown eyes trailed from your writing to find your gaze, the breath escaped your chest. A sense of comfort washed over you. These small, casual touches had slowly become part of your routine because Steve loved and cared for people. For him, being attentive to his friends was as natural as breathing.

“Oh, um, it’s from town hall,” Your fingers fidgeted with the rings that adorned them, “I asked about any further stranger sightings or reports to animal control.”

“And?” Robin perked up, as if your answer would make or break her day.

“And… nothing?” You answered, feeling your own excitement drain as Robin slumped once more, “Two weeks and no reports.”

“Well, no news is good news,” Steve shrugged, seemingly satisfied by your update. His soft gaze lingered on your face, “Anything else?”

“Oh, um, the actual reason they called was to say that the annual Independence Day fair is still happening, or Fourth of July carnival, whatever you call it…” You cleared your throat, feeling more flustered as you gestured to Robin, “Um, it’s all on the note. But they’d like you to announce it.”

“But we aren’t, like, required to attend, right?” She followed up, reaching for the paper. Steve’s hand rubbed a small circle against your back before he pulled away, arms crossing over his chest. Concern etched itself into his brow, and his eyes continued to shift between the two of you.

The tone in the booth shifted from playful to something you couldn’t quite identify. Your fingers fiddled with the cuff of your sleeve. You didn’t look either of them in the eye as you spoke, “Um, no, the station isn’t expected to bring the van or anything. Just to make the announcement.”

Robin simply nodded, checking her watch, “Good, cause we have plans.”

Your ears perked up, glancing between Steve and Robin. You nodded, not questioning the statement. Despite befriending them and living with Steve, you tried to respect their boundaries. It was a problem rooted in insecurity, though you often brushed it off as being considerate of their space. Usually, their plans also included the party, so you were slightly surprised that Dustin hadn’t mentioned it either. Your voice was clipped, “Cool.”

Silence filled the booth. Unspoken words hung in the air, but you couldn’t identify how to ask the underlying question. Instead, you’d just make yourself scarce; your shift would be over soon anyway. Your thumb gestured to the booth door, “I’ll leave you with that. See ya…”

Your quick goodbye caught Steve by surprise, yet he could do nothing to stop it, really. They were supposed to be back on air in two minutes. His eyes darted over to his co-host, his jaw tight, “You didn’t have to phrase it like that, Robin.”

The blonde-haired girl shook her head and settled into the rolling chair once more. Her tone was short, her irritation now directed at Steve, “Like what? You’re the one who said that everything has to stay under wraps.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you just cut her off. She’s still our friend, remember?” Steve huffed, moving between the soundboard and the stacked cassettes.

“Our friend, huh? And what else was I supposed to say?” Robin tried to school her expression so that you wouldn’t pick up on their quarrel from the opposite side of the glass, “Sorry, babes, no can do for the Fourth of July Fair! Besides the fact that our entire friend group has a lot of trauma and hates loud noise and crowds, we are actually planning to do an illegal covert operation to spy on the military because we are also fully aware of what is happening in Hawkins, and we actually faced the super scary bad guy who is the reason that your house fell into the Earth and your family abandoned you.”

Steve's jaw dropped, “Jesus, Robin. You have to get over this eventually. Everyone agreed. It’s safer—”

“Safer for who?” Robin cut him off, “Safer for Eleven? Safer for you?”

His finger dug into the wooden countertop that the cassettes sat on as he attempted to conceal his frustration, “It’s safer for her. We might’ve won a battle, but we lost a damn lot. Now we're heading straight into a damn war, and I’m not making her a target. Not for the military, not for the demogorgans, and certainly not for Vecna. Max—”

Steve’s voice cracked. Not talking about Max in front of you had been the hardest part, not just for him, but for the boys, too. Keeping Eleven a secret was natural; they’d all been doing it for years. It was different with Max. Because she wasn’t dead, thank god, but you couldn’t really say that she was living while stuck in a coma.

“Steve,” Robin was instantly back on her feet after queuing an additional song to extend their break. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug, “What happened to Max wasn’t your fault. We all knew the risks.”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to agree or deny the statement. He had too much guilt in his heart, and only Robin had really seen the extent of it. But then you walked in and read him like a book. Despite not understanding his world, you understood him, and Steve needed that now more than anything.

“Exactly,” he cleared his throat, thanking Robin with a nod of his head, “I know the risks. And I’m not taking them with her.”

— — —

A week later, you’ve got the Harrington House to yourself.

It’s the Fourth of July, and while last year you were smushed into the ferriswheel with your drunk friends, this year is silent. The sun had finally begun its descent into the horizon. While the military ordinance had ordered only Hawkins’ City Officials to set off fireworks, plenty of folks had made their own makeshift firecrackers and sparklers. Hawkins FD would certainly have its hands full this year.

As it turned out, the “plans” Robin and Steve had been for a night shift at the WSQK. Nancy had explained to you that the Mayor’s office called and asked that the evening broadcast be extended to include announcements and music from the fireworks show. You’d offered to assist anyway that they needed, but it was Steve who finally told you to take a night for yourself.

“You always work so hard. You deserve to relax,” Steve had consoled you in the entryway earlier, “I left twenty bucks on the counter for pizza. Robin and I will be home by the time you wake up.”

“I just… I can come with and just be at the station? I’ll stay out of the way,” You looked at Steve earnestly, hoping he would understand why you didn’t want to be left alone. It was a topic that you usually steered him and the others away from. Talking about the rift and the days that followed was understandably a sore subject for all parties.

He chuckled, brushing a hand over your bicep in soothing circles, “It’s sweet of you to offer, but everything will be fine. Besides, you’d be far more comfortable in your bed than on one of the station couches.”

Your eyes fell away from his face, flickering over towards the stairs. Your room, our house, home… These were all new additions to Steve’s vocabulary, like the idea that you living together was a natural thing that had happened. And though the small domestic expression made butterflies bloom in your stomach, there was the constant underlying anxiety that it could all be ripped away.

“Steve—” You made one last plea.

From outside, you both heard Robin laying on the horn of his Beamer, cutting off all conversation. Steve’s brow furrowed, a rough exhale escaping his nostrils. His eyes cut to the front door and back to you. With a final squeeze to your arm, he said his goodbyes, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

It took everything in him not to cave. To explain that it was safer for you just to be home by yourself tonight. That he was going fucking monster hunting while the party began their own campaign, they aptly named crawls. So Steve bit the inside of his cheek and kept walking, out the front door and to the Beamer, where Robin awaited in the passenger seat.

“Took you long enough,” She huffed, arms crossed over her chest, “I was worried I’d have to drag you out of the house, but I didn’t need to see you two just keep making the same googly eyes at each other.”

“What are you – five?” Steve rolled his eyes, putting the gear shift in reverse, “And I don’t— she doesn’t—”

Robin clutched the door handle, mocking your goodbyes to each other, “Oh, Steve, please don’t leave me! I’m sorry, but I must! But why? Why go when you could be here in my arms?” “Shut up, we don’t talk like that. No one does,” He shook his head as he turned out of the neighborhood. His elbow rested against the windowsill as they continued towards the station. Steve was quiet for a moment before giving Robin a double take, “Am I really that obvious?”

You lingered on the front porch, watching as the maroon car drove out of your field of vision. The sun would be down within the hour, and you would be alone inside with a bottle of wine and a copy of Fast Times at Ridgemont High to keep you company. Honestly, you still weren’t sure why it was a top 5 movie for Robin when you considered The Breakfast Club to be far superior.

But with your friends gone, the house was silent, like the very first night you stayed at the Harrington home. That was three months ago, and you hadn’t known your way around. Now, this was your home. Steve made it your home. But without him here, it was just another shelter from the gathering storm.

Two hours later, you were left with half a cheese pizza, an empty glass of wine, and the credits rolling. Outside, there was the occasional burst of fireworks or the screech from a roman candle. About fifteen minutes ago, a truck filled with teenagers loaded into the bed of it passed by, blasting Born in the U.S.A. You laughed, knowing the song's meaning definitely went over their heads. In some ways, life felt normal again, even if it looked a little different.

The VHS tape had begun to rewind itself, plunging the house back into silence between each distant thunder of the fireworks. The house was dimly lit, and the darkness outside did little to satiate your anxiety as your eyes flicked around to each corner. It had always seemed like something watched in the shadows, waiting for the next opportunity to strike. But you had to remind yourself that your mind was just tricking you; that it was all in your head.

At the next crack in the sky, you were on your feet, prodding towards the boombox sitting on the end table near the television. Even if you weren’t with your friend, you could at least listen to them. You turned the dial, yet when the index reached 94.5 FM, static hummed through the speakers.

An exhausted huff escaped through your nose as you adjusted the antennas, blaming the interference on the small dent in the metal. When the signal still didn’t catch, you picked it up and moved towards the breakfast nook near the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard—still nothing.

You switched it off and ran to the utility closet to find new batteries. When you returned with four fresh Type D batteries, you tested a couple of other stations in the surrounding towns. 88.9 FM. 101.5 FM. 97.3 FM. Hell, you even switched it over to 1450 AM for the military broadcast.

Each frequency was clear. You could even hear the murmur of the fairground crowd while they played America the Brave before announcing ‘One Hour To Curfew’.

Finally, you dialed it back to 94.5 FM, ready to hear Rockin’ Robin make some sarcastic comment about try-hard patriotism. Yet you were still met with static.

It didn’t make sense. If the military broadcast was running, why couldn’t you hear the Squawk?

Your eyes cut back to the emergency walkie that sat on the coffee table. You recalled Steve’s earlier instruction.

“I know you’re nervous about being alone at night,” he said, speaking to you with gentle reassurance. His knee brushed against yours as he presented the walkie to you, “But I’m one button away.”

“Why can’t I just call the station?” You asked as you accepted the walkie.

Steve gave you that half smile that appeared reserved only for you, “Because I’ll have my walkie with me in the booth. I’m being serious here.”

Your nose scrunched as you tried to hide your amusement, “So, just one click and you’re there?”

“Yep, but I am talking about emergencies. Like if a firework scorches the front yard or the military comes knocking – genuine emergencies,” His tone was sterner than he usually kept with you. Your eyes cut up to meet his, and for half a second, you thought you caught him glancing at your lips. But as his warm brown eyes held your gaze, he extended a pinky out to you.

Something softened in your chest as you linked your fingers together in a silent promise.

Now, looking at the same walkie, you wondered if you should radio him. Just to ask if everything was okay or if they were getting interference again. It was an emergency, but it also wasn’t—

The shriek of an injured coyote pierced through the night, the cry coming from the woods behind the backyard bush line. Your eyes cut towards the hedges, searching for movement in the shadowed treeline. Your heart hammered against your chest as you waited, finally shutting off the static from the radio.

Silence made it worse; it stretched each minute. A sudden sense of dread washed over you. You couldn’t explain it, but your survival instinct kicked in as you immediately shut all the blinds, blocking any onlookers. Next were the doors, both locks bolted shut on the front, back, and garage doors.

Finally, you grabbed the walkie off the kitchen table and sought refuge in your bedroom. You double-checked the door lock before you finally willed yourself to breathe. You were just scared. It was all in your head. You were safe.

The bedroom was dark, save for the small night light Steve had found in the attic for you. Outside, you heard a twig snap, and a bush rustled. You remained silent, ears tuned to listen for every small sound. A firework would burst against the night sky before the house plunged into stillness again, the difference almost deafening your senses.

A chittering purr hummed lowly, cutting through the stillness of the night. On the far wall, the night light blinked once. Then twice. Outside, there was the faint scuff of nails scratching against the siding of the house. The night light flickered more, alternating between dim and bright light.

You swooped to the opposite side of the room, yanking the light from the wall. The scratching continued; the instinct to hide took over all other rationality. You swiftly dropped to the bedroom floor, scurrying to conceal yourself under the queen bed. The chittering came again, now from outside your window on the second floor.

Your palm covered your mouth, eyes shut tight as you waited… and waited…

A crack whipped across the sky – a final firework. A screech echoed, and suddenly the world was thrust into silence again. You slept on the floor beneath the bed that Fourth of July.

— — —

The following days were tense. You were cordial with Steve and Robin. They had realized the next morning when you didn’t join them for breakfast or check on them in the booth during broadcast breaks. Any conversation was shut down before it could even start, and now, you chose to eat dinner in the Harringtons’ dining room instead of joining them on the TV trays in the living room.

It had been six days of silence from you. Robin stopped staying over, too, sensing the tension that lingered. Steve was fraying at the seams from worry.

You weren’t rude, you weren’t mean, just silent; Steve hated the silence. It was like all the progress you’d made had vanished overnight, and deep down, he knew it was partially his fault. That in his attempt to protect you from the reality of what Hawkins was facing, he was pushing you away.

Robin had called earlier, asking if you were around to talk, but you dismissed both of them, blaming it on a sudden migraine. It wasn’t a complete lie. You often had migraines these days, but the military doctors simply noted it as a reaction to pressure changes in the atmosphere.

It had been another silent dinner between the two of you. Steve attempted to extend the olive branch by joining you at the dining room table and telling you about a caller who reported that their neighbor’s hairless cat was harassing them. He awkwardly chuckled to himself as you pushed the food around your plate. The sound was as empty as the nonexistent conversation.

When you’d had enough of stale conversation, you swiftly stood, the feet of the chair scraping against the wooden floors. Steve’s eyes widened as they followed your retreating form into the kitchen. He watched as you tossed the remnants of your dinner into the bin before beginning to do the dishes.

Steve was on his feet before he could stop himself, “Hey, no, I’ll do—”

“What? The dishes? Don’t bother,” You snipped at him, “I should get used to doing them anyway, if these ‘night shifts’ are gonna start becoming a regular thing.”

Of course, it was about the new addition of night shifts at the station. Steve ran his palm over the lower half of his face, “I thought Nancy explained it to you. They’re only twice a month. Three at the max.”

“But I’m not part of the staffing for the night shift? You don’t think that’s strange?”

“I’m not the station manager,” He threw his hands up, exasperated by the subject, “You should be happy that you get to be in bed and not cramped up at the station.”

“Right, cage the carnarey,” you rolled your eyes, attention returning to the dishes.

Steve’s brow knitted together, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you griped.

“No, no. Please, don’t do this,” Steve reached for your forearm. You easily pulled yourself from his hold, ignoring the call of your name as you continued scrubbing the plates.

Steve jammed the heel of his palms against his eyes, pacing the floor of the kitchen as you simmered in your anger. A few moments later, his arms snaked around your waist, hugging you from behind. His forehead pressed once against your shoulder before he turned his head and buried it into the crook of his neck, nose lightly brushing over your soft skin.

You froze in place, the faucet still running. Your hands hesitantly placed the plate and sponge back in the sink, “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, but please, if you’re gonna be upset with me, at least don’t be upset with Robin or the others,” He murmured, keeping himself tucked closely, “You are smart and helpful and unbelievably gracious with me, with us, with all of us. So… trust me when I say I’d rather take the night shift and know that you’re home, safe and sheltered.”

The tips of his fingers gently pressed against your side, resisting the urge to pull you closer. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. A sigh fell out of your mouth as your hands settled on his forearms.

Together in the dim light of the kitchen, you swayed back and forth.

— — —

The air hadn’t settled quite yet, but it lacked the tension that had been wound tight between the party. Robin was all too excited when you and Steve picked her up the next morning, and you started the conversation about what to do after the broadcast. Steve silently smiled to himself as he watched the two of you chatter away in his periphery.

As July faded into August, Steve had decided to host Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan over at the house for some much-needed ‘recovery time’. You quickly learned that it was code for imbibing when neither the younger teens nor the real adults were around. It felt like being in high school again and sneaking out for the homecoming party without the worry of a noise complaint.

Nancy, with the assistance of Robin, carried in three bottles of wine and two six-packs of beer while Steve and Jonathan snuck into the backyard. The boys shared a knowing smirk as Jonathan explained the benefits of the purple palm tree delight.

Your gaze was torn from the back door when Robin placed a Coors Lite in front of you. You politely shoved the bottle back towards her, “Um, thanks, but I prefer wine.”

Robin chuckled, “It’s not for you.”

“Then who is it for?” You raised a brow.

“For Steve,” Your friend explained, nodding her head like you would telepathically understand her meaning.

“Okay…” You glanced between the bottle and Robin, “What’s that got to do with me?”

Nancy shook her head, trying to hold in her own amusement. Robin gestured towards you, though she was clearly speaking to Nance, “I told you. They’re hopeless.”

A huff of disbelief escaped your lips, “Excuse me?”

“No, no – it’s cute really,” Nancy smiled, something warm and playful, “You and Steve are just… how can I put it?”

“Oblivious,” Robin answered bluntly.

“Uh, oblivious,” You sputtered, feeling your cheeks heat up, “To what?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Nancy extended a hand towards Robin, grabbing her by the elbow. The blue-eyed girl couldn’t keep it in, “Are you and Steve like…?”

Both of them nodded towards you, hoping you would provide a final verdict to their question, “Are we… what? Together? I— please, we’re roommates.”

“And?” Nancy leaned forward against the granite countertops.

“And nothing,” You shook your head, dismissing their invasive questions, “Plus, didn’t you date Steve?”

Robin laughed at your boldness while Nancy’s nose scrunched, the tips of her ears turning pink, “Yeah, we did. But that’s water under the bridge. And he’s my friend. I like to see him happy.”

You stilled at that. Happy. Sure, amidst all the panic and insanity over the past few months, you’d felt happiness. In fact, you were happiest when you were with Steve. But of course, Robin was also typically around too, so you could argue that you were happiest when both your closest friends were around—

“Oh my god, you both are insufferable,” Robin pretended to bang her head against the counter, while Nancy kept a hand on her shoulder to make sure she accidentally didn’t do just that.

It was perfect timing for a change in conversation, because the boys walked in, and with them, the scent of the aforementioned purple palm tree delight. You thought you saw Nancy roll her eyes, yet she simply sipped from her wine as she reached for Jonathan’s hand. Steve placed himself next to you while he laughed at something Jon had said, cheeks dimpling and shaking his head.

Robin raised her brows, catching your attention. She pointedly glanced between you, Steve, and the beer bottle from earlier. Even though you hadn’t admitted to anything, you took the hint and slid the bottle towards Steve.

The scrape of the glass against the countertop pulled his focus from Jonathan, eyes landing on your face before following down to the drink. His smile was easy, rehearsed even, but Robin noticed how Steve leaned half an inch closer to you. With a polite nod, he accepted the beer. The cap popped off with practiced ease, and he had to resist the urge to see if you had been watching him as intently.

“I think we should watch Stand By Me,” Jonathan suggested with a shrug, glancing around for approval.

“No way, man,” Robin scoffed, her displeasure clear on her face, “We agreed on watching a comedy. And dark humor doesn’t count.”

“I told you I own all three Star Wars films. The little bears are funny,” Steve attempted to do an impression of an Ewok, only for it to earn a stifled chuckle from you. His eyes flicked down towards you, and though his tone was more serious, you knew he was just being his usual self, “Oh, yeah? And what do you think we should watch, missy?”

Before you could answer, Robin replied, “Don’t ask her that. She’s just gonna say Sixteen Candles again.”

You stuck your tongue out at her, “What’s wrong with John Hughes?”

“Nothing,” She threw her hands up, “Except for the fact that he has a million better movies! But even then, I’m gonna suggest Spielberg.”

“We could always just watch E.T,” Nancy added to the mix.

“Yeah, that’s a no,” Steve was quick to shut it down. Your eyes flicked over to him, confused by his tone. Steve opened and closed his mouth again, trying to find the right explanation without ruining his tough-guy persona. “He’s creepy.”

“It’s a puppet, Steven,” you snidely remarked, laughing with Robin.

He set the beer back down on the counter, hands settled on his hips as he floundered for words, “I– Well, yeah, I know that–”

“Do you?” Robin jeered, taking the first step towards the living room.

It took another fifteen or so minutes before you all settled on Top Gun. Robin was relaxed in Mr. Harrington’s old recliner, feet draped over the arm as her toe occasionally tapped Jonathan’s knee. Nancy was tucked into his side on the smaller couch, Jon’s arm slung around her waist. That left you and Steve on the larger couch, a scene similar to many movie nights before, but after your intervention with the girls in the kitchen, your stomach flipped.

You kept a respectable ten-inch distance; close enough for comfort, but not to draw attention. Attention to what, you weren’t sure. But you knew that you didn’t need to give your friends any ammunition. If Steve noticed, he made no complaint as he plopped down, casually man-spreading.

The minutes ticked by as the movie played on. Each of you laughed, the occasional person leaving to refill their snacks or use the restroom. But it felt normal. In another life, these were your high school pals you spent time with at the end of summer before you all went your separate ways for college. Despite the thought, you were glad to have each of them in this life.

Somewhere along the way, Steve had slowly made his way closer to your end of the couch. You hadn’t tracked the minor movements he made getting a beer or a fresh Coke for Robin, or scootching closer when accepting a snack from your plate. If the others had realized what Steve was doing, they made no notice of it. They barely noticed the distant roll of thunder, a sound that made both you and Steve a little on edge.

By the time the credits were rolling, it was obvious there would be another storm tonight. Steve was quick to his feet, “Alright. It’s past town curfew, so you’re all welcome to stay here if you don’t feel like getting pulled over by MP’s.”

The others groaned in agreement, shifting to start tidying their spots before heading upstairs. Steve’s eyes cut back to you, catching your attention with the gentle murmur of your name, “Mind helping me outside before the storm picks up?”

“Oh, of course,” You shyly smiled as he offered you a hand. He tugged you up in one swift motion, making your shyness melt with a giggle. You could feel Robin and Nancy's eyes secretly watching the moment, and you released your hold on Steve. “Let’s go.”

He simply nodded, taking the lead towards the back deck. When you turned to close the sliding glass door behind you, you shot your friends a glare, to which they smirked in amusement. The plastic pool furniture creaked as Steve closed the lounge chairs. He took two at a time, giving you a sheepish look at your admonishing glance, “Do not tear open those stitches again.”

“Ha, ha,” Steve huffed, storing the pieces under the deck, “Thank you, nurse, but they are in fact healed now.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, but Steve acted unaffected as he held your gaze.

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the poolside table and stowing it, “But don’t come crying to me when you pull a muscle or scratch your elbow—”

“Aw, you worry about me,” His smile stretched into that half smirk he reserved for you more often than not. Beneath it was the smugness you could recall from the stories of King Steve. But his smirk wasn’t a weapon; it was something genuine despite his sarcasm, “How sweet.”

You feigned a scoff, rolling your eyes at his taunt, “You know I do actually worry about you.”

“Oh, I know,” He chuckled, moving to grab the last of the lounge chairs before you could, “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” You asked, your tone more clipped.

Steve’s brow furrowed, catching your disgruntled question, “What’s wrong with being cute?”

“I– Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t see you calling Robin, or Nancy, or anyone else ‘cute’ unless you’re being sarcastic,” You clarified, dismissing the concern with a wave of your hand. You gave him a pointed glance, “Are you being sarcastic with me?”

“No, I, it was a compliment,” He attempted to explain, a languid sigh escaping him.

You shook your head and stepped back. You didn’t want to bicker over something so stupid as his vocabulary or the implication of his comment. So while Steve continued clearing the patio, you moved to dip your feet in the pool.

Once finished, his hands settled on his hips, eyes moving from the empty pool deck to observe your disposition. A stillness hung in the air as Steve watched you. Even in the reflecting light of the pool, you looked beautiful, but he could still see the scared girl he and Robin ran into all these months ago. He parted his lips to speak, only for you to glance back at him.

You simply sat by the pool in the cover of night, looking at each other in silence. The symphony of crickets and an owl played low beneath the tension of the moment. Steve looked as if he were doing everything in his power to hold himself back from speaking. Because maybe now was the moment to tell you everything. Well, not everything, but at least finally admit that there was something more happening between you both. Because friends didn’t cuddle on the couch, or hold each other in the kitchen, or dare to look at each other the way you both did.

Steve cleared his throat, “Right, guess it’s time for bed—”

“I asked Nancy to schedule me for the next night shift,” The admission tumbled from your lips before you could catch yourself.

Steve froze, eyes wide in disbelief and something you couldn’t name, “And what did she say?”

“No,” You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest, and you released a frustrated sigh, “of course.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to find the right words. He took a step forward with the gentle call of your name, “It’s really for the best. They’re exhausting, nothing fun happens, and Dustin—”

Your eyes instantly snapped back up to his face, brows furrowed, “Why is Dustin there?”

“I– He’s a genius, you know that. The station engineer or whatever,” Steve stammered for an answer to redirect the conversation into safe territory.

“He’s a child,” You corrected, posture straight as an ugly feeling spread through your chest, “You let a child work the night shift, but I can’t?”

Steve ran a hand over his face, realizing how badly he’d slipped up in mentioning Dustin, “It’s summer. It’s not like he has school or anything else to do.”

“I just… I don’t get it, Steve. I think we’re friends; I thought you liked me, but…” Your hand gestured outward, expressing the frustrated words you couldn’t quite spit out.

“But what?” Steve shook his head, trying to piece together what you weren’t saying, “We’ve been over all these things. I don’t understand why not working a night shift is such a burden to you.”

“Because what if I wake up one morning and you don’t come home, Steve? What if I’m alone again?” Your tone was clipped, but your anxiety was evident. You cut your gaze away, refusing to meet his concerned look as you laid your final card, “I think the worst part of it is that I still trust you. Even when all evidence shows I shouldn’t.”

Steve stilled for a moment, unsure how to swallow that admission and how heavily your accusation weighed on him. “What do you mean by that?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes as you released a heavy sigh, “The late-night broadcasts? They always cut out around 10 pm.”

His brown eyes darted across your face, obviously attempting to remain casual, “I– it’s probably just military interference. I can– I’ll have Dustin check the antenna and see if—”

“I don’t need Dustin to check the antenna or Nancy to call the house or Robin to distract me,” You cut him off, your emotions getting the better of you. Before you can think twice, you’re on your feet to retreat indoors. Your voice cracked from the weight of it all, “I need you to be honest with me.”

Steve was instantly at your side, his large hands settling over your forearms to prevent you from leaving. His lips tried to form words, not knowing if they would be the right ones when your eyes finally met, and the world stilled for a beat.

“I love you,” Steve spoke plainly, like it was completely obvious for you to have come to such a conclusion on your own. But his admission didn’t stop there, “And I know it might be crazy to admit that given everything that has happened and will happen. It’s silly, maybe it isn’t, but when I saw you alone at the gymnasium after Robin had found you, something clicked. I don’t know how or why, but it feels like you’re someone I have always known. Sure, in a way I have, but I have also spent every moment since that day learning you and who you are and how wonderfully made you are. You’ve seen the devastation, and every day I worry that it will get worse, or that fate will finally catch up to the kids, or Robin, or you; and I’m spiraling at these night shifts because all I want to know is that when the sun comes up you’re safe. Then I come home to you, and I forget about everything falling apart around us, and it feels like I’m holding the world in my arms. And I feel– I feel—”

“Alive.” You completed his sentence.

Steve nodded, speechless beneath your gaze. The tension in his shoulders dissipated as your own guard began to drop. His hands traced from your forearms, down to your hands, intertwining your fingers as he took a half step closer.

There were no words left to speak when his eyes said everything you needed to know. A glimmer of admiration danced in them as his head dipped closer. Before you could close the distance yourself, Steve closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to your own. Together, you breathed in tandem, taking in a brief moment of clarity in a chaotic storm.

“I’m gonna make it all up to you. I’m gonna fix all that’s wrong,” Steve hummed, the words hushed and meant solely for you, “You won’t ever be alone again. Not while I’m around. We just have to bide our time. The night shifts and the quarantine won’t be forever. And then I’m gonna hold you forever.”

Both of you chuckled at his words, even if they were cheesier than either of you cared to admit in the moment. Somewhere deep, you knew that the troubles he spoke about were greater than you knew. But if it helped him to know that these troubles couldn’t touch you, maybe it would be worth the nights alone in the Harrington home.

Steve opened his eyes once more, their gentle brown hues looking at you in adoration. He released one of your hands, moving to cup your jaw instead gently. His thumb smoothed over the line of your jaw, basking in the rawness of the moment, before he finally tilted his head to slot his lips over your own. The kiss was something gentle, like something inside him was still nervous about being wrong, and that you didn’t crave him as much as he needed you.

Yet when you reciprocated and lightly tugged him closer, Steve completely took the hint. You pressed harder against him, the gentleness giving way to need as your tongue briefly traced his lower lip. He whined into your mouth yet doubled his efforts, licking into your mouth as the tip of his nose smushed firmly against your cheek.

When you broke away for air, Steve continued to look at you with a deep admiration you’d never seen from another person. You hummed, gently brushing your thumb over his cheek, “I love you, too.”

Steve was lost for words, something new for a man who always had something to say. Instead, his arms circled your waist before lifting you in the air, spinning you around as the wind whipped through your hair and the first drops of rain pattered against the concrete and seeped into your warm skin. You laughed, and Steve realized that it was his favorite sound in the world.

When the rain began to pick up, he placed you back down on the ground, tugging you back towards the house to get inside for the night. Once safely inside, you were back in his arms, deft fingers pushing the few wet strands of hair from your face. He remained silent, eyes tracing each contour and curve of your face, committing the masterpiece of you to memory; his world, his muse.

“Earth to Steve, you still with me?” You gently asked him. Your hardened disposition from months of chaos and devastation faded as you trusted Steve with the light you had desperately tried to protect from the outside world. He simply nodded as he continued to hold you close.

The sound of the fridge closing pulled both of you from your trance. While it was your instinct to jump back, Steve hugged you tightly to his side as he stood slightly in front of you. In the kitchen entryway stood Nancy with a glass of water in her hand and a pleased smile on her face. The knowing look in her eyes made your chest burn, and Steve shyly chuckled, knowing that you two were finally caught red-handed.

“Need anything, Nance?” Steve asked to dissolve the awkwardness of being caught.

“Nope,” The girl shook her head and began to step towards the stairs. Both of you knew that Nancy was going to head right up those stairs and inform both Jonathan and Robin of what she saw before either of you had the chance to address anything. But that thought didn’t scare you because something finally felt right; something good happened despite the fate of Hawkins. She cast a final smile towards the two of you, offering a quick wave, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Both of you echoed in reply, remaining still until you heard the faint click of the door shutting.

A fit of giggles escaped you as you pulled away from Steve’s side. Steve flashed you a warm smile, shrugging his shoulders, “Well, so much for moving in our own time.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about them,” You hummed. Everything felt natural, the way you reached for his hand and moved towards the staircase, pausing to press a kiss to his cheek.

Steve chuckled, eyes squinting as he tried to distract you from the way his cheeks flushed pink, “You go on up to bed. I need to lock up and call Dustin. But in the morning, once they leave, I’m taking you out to breakfast. Jonathan can sub in for me during the morning broadcast.”

“Oh, really? So who’s actually gonna open up the station and get the coffee ready if I’m not there?” You questioned his plan.

He rolled his eyes, expecting the question and all too thrilled for this breakfast date already, “Nance, of course. Now off to bed with you.”

You nodded, eyes lingering on him as you moved towards the stairs. However, Steve caught your wrist once more, moving in to press another kiss to your lips. He mumbled against them before parting ways, “Good night.”

“Good night, Steve,” you waved from the stairway. With a final smile, you slipped out of sight towards your bedroom, heat blooming in your cheeks.

As he locked up for the night, Steve was reeling, already thinking of where he wanted to take you on all the unofficial dates that he hadn’t asked you for yet, but that he couldn’t wait to take you on. For the first time in a long time, some of the weight on his chest dissipated. Because someone loved him. Someone saw the scars and the tears and the flaws; yet loved him for it nonetheless.

Suddenly, his world fell right back into tune.

And while Steve would fall asleep with a new hope for tomorrow and the future, doubt comes in to plague your dreams.

— — —

Falling asleep had been easy; the easiest it had been in a long, long time. It was the kind of peaceful, almost dreamless sleep that urges you deeper. As you floated downward into the velvet darkness, a mangled hand reached out, and a flash of white filled your vision.

You woke with a gasp, breathing in as much air as your lungs would permit. The room was cold and stagnant. Far too cold for late July, even with the fan spinning. Your fingers curled into the duvet, tugging it closer to your shaking frame.

Despite waking up, your heartbeat refused to settle, and the sound of blood rushed in your ears. Before you thought better of it, you moved to your feet, swiftly moving into the attached bathroom. You twisted the faucet for cold water, hands dipping down to splash it across your face. Your palms pressed the cool rag against the warmed skin of your cheeks, offering some reprieve.

Once you caught your breath, you turned off the faucet and collected yourself. It’s just a dream, you assured yourself; it’s all in your head.

There was movement in the corner of your eyes – a spider on the wall. Fear coursed through you as you picked up the tissue box from the counter, smacking it right over the arachnid. Your chest rose and fell with bated breath as you withdrew your makeshift weapon, only to find no sign of the spider.

You stumbled back towards the bedroom, blaming the scene on your drowsiness. It was something so simple to imagine.

Your foot never hit the carpet. Instead, the patter of water sounded beneath your feet. Surrounding you was darkness, endless and vast. You could only make out your own reflection in the water that rippled with each step you took.

“Steve?”

“Robin?”

“Nancy?!”

“Steve!”

Only your echo responded in the void. You felt nothing, yet you felt everything. You were lost in a place that couldn’t quite be described as hell, nor would you claim it to be the peaceful afterlife you silently prayed for. No, this was purgatory.

“Steve?!”

A dull ache settled in your skull, making your body move sluggishly through the shallow water. One of your migraines again. You hardly took two steps further when a shiver passed through you.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

The fear was immediate.

You ran. You ran as quickly as your feet would carry you, running further into the endless abyss. There was no thought to it, only action, only fear. Could you even outrun what you could not see or know to be there?

“Your friends think they can stop fate, but they are fools in the might of Gods.”

The reflection of the scales halted your movements. There in the water, an albino rattlesnake coiled around itself, unassuming to your presence. Your body went frigid as its rattling stopped. The creature’s head lifted to stare at you, black eyes boring into you, fully aware that you were now prey.

It slithered towards you, and you were helpless to move, your body paralyzed. Its alabaster body curled around your foot, a faint hiss hanging threateningly low.

That’s when you heard it. In the distance. Your name and Steve’s voice. Hope blossomed in your chest.

The voice was quick to kill it again, “That boy cannot stop destiny. The vultures are already looming on the horizon, ready to pick you clean, little canary. But I can save you. The choice is yours… if you’re willing to choose.”

Before you could answer, the rattlesnakes dove into the shallow water below, swimming down with no resistance. In your shock, you stumbled back, expectant and ready to collide with the water or follow the snake down.

Only you awoke in your bed back in the Harrington home. You sat up, flicking the bedside lamp on. Your fingers flew to the wet feeling on your cheeks. Tears. You wiped at your face, your knuckles brushing against your nose.

And in the warm lamp light, you saw it smeared on the back of your hand — blood.

@cha0ticstranger

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

the other ackerman