#dingus

The tank hummed low as it rolled, tires chewing over frozen gravel. Snow streaked sideways across the viewports. From the outside, they looked like any other armed patrol unit, clad in enough mud and frost to mask the missing decals and the bullet-scorched paint job.

Inside? Civilians, fugitives, young kids with rifles and trauma for breakfast.

You were sitting close enough to Steve that your shoulders touched every time the vehicle bumped. Your pulse had just jumped again, your body reacting before you could stop it.

Steve noticed.

He didn’t say anything. He just tapped his thigh twice and waited. When you didn’t answer, he leaned close, his lips brushing your ear.

“Talk to me,” he murmured. “Rate it.”

“Six,” you whispered. “Maybe seven. It’s spiking. Cold’s not helping.”

He nodded, jaw tight, and didn’t argue. Just slid his arm around you beneath your thick parka and pulled you flush against his side, like his body heat could bargain with your heartbeat.

“Hey,” Eddie piped from behind, gaze flicking down to your hand. “You good, or are we prepping for CPR?”

You shot him a wry glare. “I’m fine.”

“She’s not fine,” Steve corrected bluntly. “She’s surviving. That’s different.”

“Still hot,” Eddie muttered.

Steve shot him a look. “Don’t talk about my girl like that.”

Eddie just smirked. “Didn’t say it wasn’t hot because she’s surviving.”

“Gross,” Robin groaned, but even she smiled.

“He’s just tryna lock lips with me again," you grinned smugly.

Oh that did it. 

The way Steve turned to look at you so slowly, so audaciously, so absolutely downright agape in all his pretty boy glory… 

You snorted. Worth it. 

“Goddayum,” Eddie wheezed. “That’s savage.”

“You tryna get me irate?” Steve squinted.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, leaning in to kiss his neck. Then right behind his ear. “Like seeing you all hot and bothered.”

A crooked smile flickered at the corner of Steve’s lips, even as he glared over your shoulder while your lips worked. “You make jealousy your play thing,” he murmured helplessly.

“Ah, so you are jealous.”

“No.”

“Mm.”

“Of Munson? No.”

“S’alright, Harrington,” Eddie sighed lackadaisically, cracking his neck with a smirk. “I dig cougars anyway.”

You and Steve reeled back and made a face.

Robin gaped. “What?”

“What??” That was Dmitri.

Then the tank jolted.

Outside, the wind howled low through the dying remnants of suburbia. Barren gas stations. Empty Waffle Houses. Strip malls where the mannequins inside stood like forgotten gods.

Joyce’s voice crackled softly through the comms. “Visual on the supply depot. About eight hundred yards. Looks like a storage lot off I-64. Could’ve been FEMA. Could’ve been Walmart. Hard to tell now.”

“Any movement?” Hopper’s voice followed.

A pause. Then Jonathan’s voice chimed in: “None visible. But it’s wired. Fencing and floodlights. At least two cameras. We’ll need to cut through or jam it.”

You straightened. “Dmitri?”

“I can get us in,” he said from the rear. “But someone will have to climb. Disable from the inside.”

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“No,” Steve and Eddie both snapped.

“Guys, I’m the smallest,” you argued. “And I’ve done worse.”

“Um—schyeah,” Eddie huffed incredulously. “Like the last climb?! Before you came tumbling down harder than Humpty Dumpty. Your climbing days are over, dude.”

You sighed, grimacing with self-disdain.

Eddie shrugged at Steve, who was glaring at him. “If you haven’t learned I’m morbidly humored by now and that’s my default? I can’t help you.”

Steve just shook his head, no actual heat behind his sharp exhale — now looking back at you.

“I didn’t fall,” you reminded calmly, eyes on your man. “I got hooked on the wire with the extra backpack, then got zapped. This isn’t the same thing.”

Eddie immediately interjected. “Mmmm, maybe not—but?! You’re not gonna give us reason to shit our pants worrying about you when we got more people here to do it. You’re the only one here who keep can keep your head on straight.”

“You’re also the only one with an unstable heartbeat,” Steve added, deadly quiet. “You so much as sneeze wrong, and we’re on the floor doing mouth-to-mouth while the National Guard kicks in our teeth.”

“I already packed lip gloss,” Eddie offered dryly.

“Eddie, I swear to God,” Steve growled.

Robin held up a hand. “Look, I love this death-match over who gets to sacrifice themselves, but can we table it until we’re not within sniper range?”

Eleven sat cross-legged near the hatch, eyes closed. “I can disable the cameras.”

You glanced at her. “From here?”

She nodded once. “From anywhere.”

Steve met your eyes, then hers. “Okay. That gives us a window.”

“Then I’ll climb,” Jonathan declared.

“You sure?” Hopper asked.

“I got backup now and I don’t glitch when it’s cold,” he replied, now meeting your eyes meaningfully. “You’ve done enough. My turn to pull rank.”

You didn’t argue. Just sighed and gave him a grateful nod.

Steve’s grip on your hand didn’t loosen. You gladly let it stay.

11:21 AM • Abandoned Storage Lot, North Shiloh

The snow was too loud. 

That was the first thing you noticed. It didn’t crunch. It crackled, like stepping through glass.

Jonathan was a shadow, slipping through the fence gap that Dmitri cut. Eleven’s eyes fluttered open just as the cameras above began to spark and glitch.

“Window’s open,” she said.

The whole frontlines crew moved.

Eddie and Steve stayed in tight formation with you, flanking your sides. Robin and Joyce watched the rear, rifles low. Hopper and Dmitri, disguised beneath scavenged tactical gear, took point.

You held your breath every time your heart kicked double-time. You couldn’t stop it. Not out here. Not when your body had decided it was allergic to survival.

But nobody called you out.

Not even Steve.

He just brushed his knuckles against yours every few steps like a heartbeat made of skin.

Inside the depot was a graveyard.

Shelves of untouched cans. Boxes of powdered food. Fuel drums, mostly sealed. A miracle in the making—if they could pull it off.

“Joyce, Argyle—” Hopper barked softly, “—start inventorying and loading crates. Robin, back gate. Dimitri, cover Steve while he fuels the tank.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You think I can’t fuel it myself?”

“I think I don’t like you exposed for more than ninety seconds,” Hopper countered. “I’d rather lose the tank than you.”

That shut him up.

You and Eddie took the far side, scouting more uniforms, fuel packs, weapon caches. He helped you over a rusted shipping crate, then slid beside you.

“Your heart’s doing that thing again,” he muttered, sing-song.

“You heard it?”

“I felt it, boo,” Eddie said, looking at you hard. “You’re humming like a goddamn power line.”

You didn’t comment on that, eyes downcast.

“Does he know?” Eddie asked, nodding back toward Steve quietly. “How bad it’s getting…?”

“Not all of it.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Eddie sighed, but his voice wasn’t cruel. “A brave, gorgeous, stupid dumbass.”

You almost laughed. “I’ll tell him tonight,” you promised. “We’re not even halfway done.”

“Better not be done at all,” Eddie scoffed. “I’m not raising your six traumatized preteens on my own. I can’t even boil rice. And your boy’s not gonna love another, so. I’m shit outta luck.”

You squeezed his arm with vigor. 

God, you loved this dude.

He squeezed right back. 

Then he turned and froze.

You followed his gaze, spitting what he saw, breath catching.

Two figures.

Far edge of the lot.

Both armed.

Both watching you.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed. “Civilians.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Let’s boogie.”

“Everyone, down,” Steve’s voice ordered through the comms. “We’re made.”

You hit the ice-covered pavement as the first shot rang out.

11:26 AM • Mobile Panic

The firefight didn’t last long.

It didn’t have to.

It was over almost before it began, because Eleven didn’t hesitate. Not for one goddamn second. She moved first, flicking her telekinetic hand in one lithe, sharp, lethal motion that was so precise, so instinctive, it looked more like breathwork than combat. The air snapped.

The man on the far left lifted off his feet like he’d been hit by a wrecking ball and slammed into the snowbank. A loud, wet crack echoed across the lot. He didn’t resurface. Just vanished into a puff of powder and bone and silence.

The other moved to fire… and was shot in the thigh by Joyce before he even finished turning.

No words. No warning. Just one clean shot, dead center, and he collapsed into the gravel with a scream that went ragged halfway out.

Then Dmitri surged forward like a wolf cut loose. 

No wasted motion. No hesitation. 

His boots barely crunched against the ice-crusted gravel as he moved, wind slicing sideways over the lot. He hit the ground low, fast, and brutal, restraining them both.

One unconscious, the other whimpering. 

Bound and gagged with clinical efficiency.

Joyce stood off to the side now, chest rising, her big doe eyes round but fierce. Her hands didn’t shake. Nor did she frown, or show any sign of remorse.

None of you did.

No one was shaken.

Except your heart.

“Goddamnit,” you hissed, breath fogging in short, uneven bursts.

You were crouched behind a rusted barrel that stank of motor oil and piss, one boot half-slid off the ice, the other anchoring your body like your bones couldn’t quite remember which direction was up.

Your pulse was everywhere.

You could feel it pounding in your wrist, in your jaw, in your goddamn toes. It was rising in your ears like a siren under your skin, skipping beats, doubling up, then stalling. 

Stalling. 

Stalling... 

Then thudding forward again, crooked and breathless.

The edges of your vision were starting to feather.

Then Steve was there. There, like gravity remembered had you. He dropped to his knees in the slush beside you, heedless of the fact that the ground was frozen, muddy and laced with oil.

“Hey—hey, look at me,” he pled, voice low and slicing through the static.

His hands were already on you, cradling your face like he’d been doing it for years. Warm, urgent, steady. Palms on your cheeks. Fingers sliding to the back of your neck.

You shook your head between his hands, jaw clenched tight against the world trying to spin sideways. “It’s not stopping,” you rasped. “S’bouncing—it’s...”

“Fuck,” he breathed. Not in fear. Not even in anger or fury. Just the dread of knowing. “You’re gonna pass out.”

“No,” you gritted.

“Yes,” he said, already moving. “You are.”

You didn’t get to argue.

He pulled you into his lap like your weight meant nothing and everything at once. Like you were his, and he was tired of the universe pretending otherwise. His arms came around your body in a way that was practiced. Familiar. Protective down to the marrow.

“And if you’re gonna, then it’s gonna be right here,” he added, winded and focused.

Your head forced itself to nod against him, warming at his touch from the inside out, the pain worth it.

“Asshole arrhythmia,” you muttered bitterly to yourself. “Stupid, it’s—stupid…”

Steve curled himself around you, shielding you from the harsh wind, the cold, the staring eyes of the rest of the world. His hot breath and mouth pressed to your temple. 

And in a low, fierce, urgent voice against your skin…

“Don’t say shitty things about my girl’s heart. She’s a fighter. She’s pissed. And she’s mine.”

It was the heat of it that cracked through you first. Not his body, but his voice. It burned straight through the tremors wracking all of your limbs. It flooded every half-failed beat inside your chest with something molten and electric. Not adrenaline. Not even hope.

Just him.

God, you loved him.

You’re so in love with Steve Harrington, you can’t even see straight.

The thought hit you mid-staggered inhale. It wasn’t clean or poetic. It just was. Like a fact of nature. Like wind chill. 

Like death and everything you’d fight to survive for.

You were shaking like a leaf in a wind tunnel. But you smiled. Goddamnit, you smiled.

“I’m pissed,” you whispered. “You’re damn right I’m pissed.”

Steve firmly kissed your forehead again. Hard. Tight. A tremble underneath it like he was trying to keep you together by sheer will.

“That’s my girl.”

He didn’t say you’re okay. He never lies.

But he never lets go.

12:03 PM • Supply Lot Extraction

They got everything.

Somehow.

Fuel. Several drums worth. All sealed up and frozen at the top, but workable. Clean enough to keep the RV and both tanks running long enough to get somewhere beyond frostbite and pipe dreams.

Extra food rations. 

Shrink-wrapped pallets of cans and powdered soups, energy bars and high-calorie bricks that tasted like cardboard and survival. Everything counted now. Every damn calorie.

Backup weapons, too. Mostly rusted. Some clean. Joyce and Robin were already whispering about repair logistics, oiling kits, inventory tags.

And then the jackpot.

Uniforms.

Actual military issue. 

Layers of body armor. Cargo vests. Tactical boots. Gas masks and helmets. And somehow, intact ID cards. Hopper would be able to forge new names over old ones with the gear he and Murray had stashed. You all knew it. 

All of you just didn’t say it out loud.

It was the best haul any of you had ever managed.

You’d even left the civilians alive.

The one Eleven threw was still breathing, but barely. The one Joyce shot had been stabilized by Argyle and Dmitri, left with bandages, water and a weapon tossed far enough to give you time but giving them some, too.

They were bound. Gagged. Anonymous.

But they weren’t dead.

It mattered. More than you could say, and far more than any of you could afford.

Still, no one talked about it.

Nobody talked about what would happen if the Winnebago got found. If the IDs didn’t hold. If the National Guard caught wind of the new patrol unit with too many civilians in the passenger count. If the kids—

Nope, scratch that. If your heart didn’t stabilize.

No one said any of this out loud, but you all felt it in the silence between every exchange.

Nobody talked about how close you all had come to damn near losing everything. Again, just like that.

But when you all pulled away in the tank, one of two now, the second vehicle a rust-battered M113 with salvageable treads and a miracle of working hydraulics… you sat beside Steve in the new driver’s seat.

He didn’t speak.

He just held your hand the whole way back.

His glove was off.

So was yours.

Bare palms, fingers laced, the creak of leather and cracked knuckles. Every mile back was bone-shaking terrain, every bump threatening to throw the world off balance again. But your hand stayed wrapped in his. Like your pulse was his compass.

He wasn’t tracking the road.

He was tracking you.

And as you rounded the final bend into the woods — RV ahead, kids waiting, the glow of string lights blinking once in the distance like a beacon — the faint sound of Murray cussing at a tree drifted over the comms.

You laughed under your breath.

Relief didn’t hit all at once. It was slow. Creeping. Something you didn’t know how to feel anymore. But it was there. In the way Robin exhaled like she’d been holding her lungs hostage. In the way Eleven leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. In the way Dmitri finally relaxed his grip on the rifle in his lap, and Hopper held Joyce with a pensive expression.

Steve leaned over, lips brushing your ear.

“Hey.”

Your lips twitched. “Hm,” you murmured, not quite a smile, but close enough.

“You get one fainting spell,” he said, voice dry. Cool. His. “After that? I’m cuffing you to me.”

You smiled, slow and tired. “Kinky.”

He raised a brow, glancing at you sideways. “Try me.”

“Maybe later,” you whispered, biting your lip, anticipation your eyes.

Because for the first time since the entire world collapsed, since everything cracked open and fell through, you believed in later.

And your heartbeat, fucked up and all, agreed.

Chapter Fifty-Nine Blood Orange Reentry

12:52 PM • Winnebago Perimeter

You’d pulled off a fucking miracle.

Not a pretty one. Not a clean one. But a miracle nonetheless. And now, you were all coming home.

Well… home, in the most unorthodox sense.

The term was laughable when it applied to a partially buried RV surrounded by ice-packed trees, covered in miles of brush, with makeshift tarp-netting woven into the canopy above. But it was safe. It was quiet. It was alive.

And it belonged to this family.

Two tanks moved like wolves across the white terrain. Slow. Intentional. Tires groomed their own tracks with precision, Eleven floating the snow back over them from the rear just as you cleared it. Not enough to erase you completely, but enough to make your trail unreadable by aerial heat sensors and satellite drones.

Steve drove one tank. Robin drove the other.

“Dingus 1, and Dingus 2,” they’d both snickered snugly before fist bumping and doing a stupid jig in their fake uniforms that’d actually managed to make Dmitri snort. 

Hopper had tried (and failed) not to laugh before you all divvied up the tank groups. 

Inside Dingus 1: Steve at the wheel next to you, with Dmitri up front with the mounted scope. Jonathan and Argyle took the back, both of them somehow stoned on adrenaline and stolen vending machine beef jerky. 

Inside of Dingus 2: Eddie at the wheel with Robin, while Eleven kept watch from the back with Hopper and Joyce. Their group is a lot more quiet than yours during the haul back, however that didn’t make them any less deadly… guns low and humor lower.

You gripped the rusting dashboard with both hands. You were still cold from the arrhythmia. Still a little sweaty. But also… still alive. Every muscle on high alert.

Steve didn’t take his eyes off the road, didn’t release your hand either. Just rested it on the tank’s gear lever, thumb sweeping over your wrist in a rhythm he didn’t even know he was making.

And then you saw it.

A glint of aluminum tucked deep under frost-covered branches.

The Winnebago. Still standing.

“Fuck yes,” muttered Jonathan behind you.

“Would’ve sucked if we brought all these snacks and no house party,” Argyle murmured, chewing.

Steve raised a cocky eyebrow as your nose scrunched up with fond amusement. Dmitri didn’t smile. But you were ninety-nine percent sure he blinked like he wanted to.

Both tanks slowed to a crawl.

Then, as your boots hit the ground?

WHAP.

A snowball collided directly with the side of Steve Harrington’s pretty face and you both jolted like you’d been clocked. 

Steve reeled, you stumbled and Dmitri raised his weapon in one breathless flash… only for Jonathan and Argyle to yank both of you back behind the tank.

“What the—”

All five sets of eyes simultaneously locked onto the sight of the world’s greatest cynic, standing in broad daylight like he wasn’t wearing a bullet-colored trench coat and holding up a thermos bigger than his head: Murray Reginald Bauman.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve hissed, palm still on his cheek. “I almost shot my future in-law.”

“You’d miss,” Murray called. “You’re still closing your left eye when you aim. It’s embarrassing.”

You stared at him. Then burst out laughing.

It was immediate, involuntary, like the release of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. And suddenly, you and Steve were both doubled over. Not even because it was funny, but because it was the only possible response to being alive.

But then…

Ohhhh, here they come. Like a fucking stampede.

Mike, Dustin, Will and Lucas all spilled out from the Winnebago like they were late for a comic-con panel. Lucas was already sprinting. Dustin was flailing with both arms. Mike tripped and still made it look graceful. Will, wide-eyed and soft-voiced, just smiled as he caught up. And they were on you, all at once.

“YOU GOT A SECOND TANK?!”

“IS THAT BLOOD?”

“ARE YOU DYING?!”

“DID ELEVEN KILL ANYBODY? BECAUSE SHE TOTALLY WOULD—”

“ARGYLE, IS THAT FREAKING JERKY?!”

You were surrounded. 

You were buried. 

You were blessed.

“Okay, okay—calm down,” Steve barked out, although he was grinning like a lunatic. “One damn question at a time!”

“Nah, seriously—” Dustin ignored him completely, reaching for your hand. “Seriously, though—your heart?”

You blinked at him, already wheezing with a half-laugh. “She’s bouncin’,” you said. “But she’s in there.”

Will’s hand found your elbow. Dustin’s was on your shoulder as he gave you a toothy smile, as Lucas clapped your back twice, and hard, all while Mike hovered nearby, slim jaw twitching like he was trying not to show how relieved he really was.

“Hey,” a voice piped behind you.

You turned.

And your stomach flipped.

Max.

She was standing. Standing, Max was actually standing beside Dr. Owens, wearing three big layers of mismatched winter gear and a scowl that was more sunbeam than snarl. Her flame-hair was all tucked underneath a black knit beanie that used to be Eddie’s, and her hands were clenched white on the top bars of custom, hand-carved wooden crutches.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Steve inhaled sharply beside you. His eyes glassed over, just a little, as he watched from beside Dustin, head-locked under his muscled arm and now smiling bright.

Owens looked tired, but proud. “Made ‘em last night,” he said quietly. “She’s still getting used to ‘em, but she insisted on—”

“I gotta be ready,” Max grinned with a shrug, slightly wincing.

You barked out another laugh, hand flying to your chest but not because your heart was being an asshole this time. This wasn’t anything to do with that.

“Max,” Lucas called out, beaming. “You look like a Christmas tree, baby.”

“Eat snow,” she snapped, but her grin cracked right on through, crooked and lopsided, gorgeous in its imperfection.

And then Eleven appeared.

She didn’t say a word. She just ran.

Max braced herself. And then the two girls collided together in a giggling, lopsided hug that had the emotional weight of an earthquake.

Girlhood at its finest.

Now your heart — your fuckin’ bitch of a heart — jumped out like it couldn’t handle it. You clutched your chest hard.

Steve’s strong arm wrapped around your waist again as his mouth dipped to your ear. 

“She’s pissed,” he murmured, teasing. “Told you.”

You leaned into him. “Don’t talk dirty to me unless you’re gonna finish that sentence.”

He smirked, kissed the curve of your jaw and gave your ass a light smack. “Later,” he promised. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

“I would’ve been expelled immediately.”

You sighed, still looking at Max. So was he. “Yeah, because you’d have bought out my entire cookie stand just to flirt with me and call me a fraud.”

“Mmm,” he squinted, watching Max and El pass you both. “Not if there weren’t Tagalongs.”

You smirked. “Basic.”

Behind you, Max rolled her eyes. “You two are disgusting.”

“I agree,” Murray deadpanned, sipping from his thermos. “Also? She’s totally your kid. Got your attitude and all.” He gave you a very wry grin, tilting his head. “Felt like babysitting you all over again.”

You turned, and gave him a look… and saw the faintest crack of emotion in his expression. Your throat caught.

Then you took a breath, ready to launch yourself at him… But before you could even throw your arms around the paranoid bastard, Steve had already beat you to it.

He now enveloped Murray in a bone-crushing hug so abrupt it knocked the whole damn thermos loose. 

Oddly? Murray didn’t even flinch, he just froze up like someone had hacked into his spine with aggressive affection, and patted back awkwardly.

“Okay,” he grumbled. “Alright. Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s already weird,” Steve said, releasing him and clapping him on both shoulders. “Thanks for watching our spawn.”

Then, with perfect timing, he dumped a handful of snow directly onto Murray’s head.

Murray stood still. 

Closed his eyes.

“This,” he muttered, “is why I never had children.”

“Hope you’re ready to be our nanny,” you grinned at him.

“Ah, hell no.” 

1:15 PM • Unloading Zone

The gear came off in waves.

Everyone worked in unison, like clockwork. 

You and Steve, side by side. Hopper and Joyce, directing with military precision. Robin barking numbers. Dmitri scanning the treeline, with Nancy covering the ridge. Jonathan and Argyle hauling crates and cracking jokes. Eddie trailing behind, lifting impossible weight like it was cardboard.

And the kids?

Goddamn unstoppable.

Lucas and Mike were arguing over the structural integrity of all the ammo crates. Will was carefully organizing everything into stacks. Eleven kept telekinetically catching supplies that were almost dropped and pretending it was accidental. Dustin made three spreadsheets on a broken Etch-a-Sketch.

And Max, still working the crutches, insisted on helping Owens check all of the stock of fuel canisters. “Ya can’t keep me down forever, Doc.”

“No,” he replied. “But I can keep you alive. Fair trade?”

She grinned. “Just keep me awake, and we’re set.”

“Done,” he grinned back with a wink.

You paused halfway through offloading a box of water purifiers, watching them… and your eyes prickled quickly.

“Don’t cry,” Steve warned softly behind you. “I’m already losing that bet.”

“I’m not crying,” you murmured, wobbling.

“You’re definitely crying.”

Your wet chuckle confirmed, betraying you. "Just sweating through my eyes, baby.”

“Jesus, I love you...”

You turned in surprise, smiling through the blur as he stared at you with smitten, awestruck wonder.

“C’mere,” he whispered, already pulling.

He kissed you. Right there, in the middle of the snow-covered woods, while everyone around you unloaded survival gear. And whenever he pulled away, you grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him back in.

“Not done,” you said.

He groaned, low and throaty, smiling like a bastard.

Robin passed by with a crate just in time. “If you two start making out again, I’m putting actual bleach in your water rations.”

Neither one of you let up.

And she didn’t mask her grin at all.

1:56 PM • Departure Prep

The sun was bleeding into the horizon.

Orange stained the big sky like rust, heavy and smeared like something wounded. Snow flared pink and gold around your boots, sugar-glass reflections of a world that had gone sharp, strange and silent. It was beautiful. It was wrong. 

It was the end of the world.

And it was time to move again.

Steve ran a gloved hand down the Winnebago’s driver-side door, his breath puffing faintly in the frigid air. You stood beside him, both of you layered in your ragtag uniformed winter gear, stitched-together camouflage and insulated wool, with hand-cut gloves and thick scarves with frayed edges. His hand lingered a moment on the cold metal as if it were something sacred.

As if he was saying goodbye to something.

Goodbye to a world he no longer knew, and hello to the one he would now live in with you until he was dust.

Behind both of you, the full convoy had fallen into a hush of preparation. Engine murmurs, crunching snow, whispered chatter filled the woods and tenderly chanted with hope.

“Listen here,” Robin adjusted the harness on her shoulder, looking like a feral raccoon in combat boots and a too-large army jacket. She pointed her index finger like a pretend gun toward Eddie. “If I so much as hear a power chord outta your mouth while driving? I will throw you out of the tank myself.”

“You love when I hum Judas Priest,” Eddie argued, already slinging himself into the passenger side with flair. “Keeps us centered.”

“I will center your ass into the snowbank.”

They waddled like penguins over to Dingus 2, where Joyce was finishing a map spread over the hood of the tank, fingers tapping over scrawled routes and code markings in red grease pencil. 

“What’s the word, Mrs. Byers?” Eddie jutted his chin.

“We head north,” she told him, eyes flicking up. “To the old hydroelectric dam. About eighty miles from the border.”

Robin leaned against the beast. “I like the sound of that.”

Joyce nodded. “No way they’d think we’d try to hide there.”

“And if they do?” Hopper asked, his burly arms folded, jaw set.

Joyce shrugged. It was effortless. Fierce. Her classic smug Joyce Byers expression was now sharpened with battle-worn resilience. “Then we make ‘em regret it,” she finished simply.

Hopper smirked, completely gone for her. “Right answer.”

“She’s never wrong,” Nancy passed behind them with her rifle slung tight across her back, snow in her boots, but her chin up and winking over at the lovebirds.

She paused briefly near Jonathan, who was fastening the last of the gear on one of the tank’s external storage racks. Without even looking at him, she said, “That’s a smart way to anchor it.” 

Jonathan’s head snapped up, now looking caught somewhere between speechless and lit up. 

Nancy only smiled. “You’ve always been good with balance.”

“I—uh—thanks,” he muttered. Then he blinked. Then blinked again. And then one more time, for good measure.

Before he could say anything else, she was already walking away, tucking a scarf beneath her chin as she fell into stride beside Dmitri. The two of them moved with tactical symmetry, falling into position without speaking. Dmitri handed her a spare clip and she accepted it like clockwork.

Jonathan did not even watch them with bitterness this time. It didn’t erase everything stirring up inside of him, but the storm had settled into a soothing swell. 

Argyle walked to stand beside him now, munching on the last of something mildly edible and definitely stolen from a vending machine. He raised an eyebrow. “Dude.”

Jonathan looked at him, eyebrows raising and creasing his dry forehead beneath his flop of messy hair.

“She just complimented your gear arrangement like it was a love confession from a spy movie.”

Jonathan swallowed. “She did not.”

“She did,” Argyle countered simply, the most nonchalant little shrug lifting his shoulders. “And now she’s walking in slow-mo with a Russian mercenary.”

Jonathan squinted at her retreating form. “You think she’s messing with me?”

Argyle clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I think she’s opening the board, my man.”

His best friend pulled a face. “What board?”

“The emotional chessboard of second chances.”

Jonathan, despite himself, looked helplessly hopeful. Of all the things Argyle could’ve said, that actually made something in his gut feel like there truly was hope for the two of them after all…

But the moment passed.

The second tank, now fully armed, was parked like a goddamn prize stallion, coated in salt spray and frost, its tracks gleaming like new sharp teeth. It looked like something that shouldn’t be allowed to exist in a post-suburban world, but there it was. And it was theirs.

But the path ahead?

Uncharted territory.

“We’ll go full mobile fortress,” you said, nodding toward the RV. “Float it when we need to.”

Eleven raised her hand in a salute, a quiet fire behind her eyes. “Copy that.”

Dmitri rolled his shoulders with a low grunt. “We stay unseen. We stay alive.”

“We stay metal,” Eddie added, 

Robin leaned in. “We stay quietly metal.”

“No screamo?”

“No screamo.”

Lucas climbed into the Winnebago with an impressive amount of energy considering the bitter cold and the tension. “Are you kidding? I’m about to become a crutches-wielding baby girl and weapons engineer. Let’s go.”

Max beamed at that. “Baby girl…?”

“Bauman calls you that,” Lucas shrugged. “I can, too.”

“Not the same thing,” she chuckled.

“Definitely not the same thing,” he winked flirtatiously.

“Yeah, well,” Mike pushed him aside to squeeze into the RV first, eyes bright. “I claimed shotgun for watch-post two days ago, and if anyone tries to contest that? I will throw you like a javelin.”

Dustin huffed as he followed them in, muttering something about “rank violations” and “morally bankrupt shotgun theft.”

Will, trailing behind them, glanced back with a soft smile and a look that lingered somewhere between awe and cautious joy. 

“We’re back,” he said. “We are really back.”

“Back and better than ever, William,” you ruffled his hair.

He smiled as you climbed into the RV beside Max, who was now curled up near the window with one crutch propped beside her and the other held between her hands like a lance. Will and Eleven flanked her, both leaning into her like satellites. As they all three settled in, El whispered something into Max’s ear that made her laugh, snort, and then shove her playfully.

You glanced out one last time at the trees.

Blood orange above. Ice blue below.

And somewhere in between?

Hope.

Steve slid in next to you, warm from the tank, his breathing still tinged with adrenaline. He reached for your hand and you gave it freely, palm cold but steady. His fingers curled through yours with that same iron-laced gentleness, the way someone holds something precious in a burning building.

He leaned in, lips brushing your temple.

“Ready to float?”

El looked over at you both with the most devilish final girl smile in the world, already cracking her knuckles.

You smiled. “Let’s fly.”

forever dedicated to @silkholland + @aloneinthehellfire

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