#k1ngdingus

snarls interrupt the night around them, a night otherwise so eerily silent even the crickets had stopped chirping. nancy has a theory they’ve finally taken note of the major disruption in whatever balance hawkins’ ecosystem had managed to keep since that first rotting portal. since that first rip through the earth that’d torn their world apart. for the first few nights after the earthquake, they were still there. filling the deafening silence between conversations nancy couldn’t take part of yet. they, like the rest of the living still damned to stay in hawkins, were trying to pretend it was still normal. the first night the first monster crossed the threshold of their new gateway into the real world, the crickets stopped. monsters, creeping out of the shadows and into the light. much the opposite of what they do now, the sound of claws scraping against pavement punctuated by sickening noises of splintered faces opening and closing. shadows move rapidly around them, sharks circling their prey. she’s backing herself further into the corner they’ve stumbled into, cursing herself over and over. she knows this street better than the back of her hand; not in the way she may have claimed to before. before, of course, nancy still would’ve claimed the same thing. there wasn’t much in hawkins she had missed, growing up here her whole life -- the one thing she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint back then were the party spots. that felt like a given. but now? now, nancy has committed every inch of this pavement to memory. every loop around, every dead end, every house and every door left unlocked. holy shit, they’re learning their routes, aren’t they? “steve?” nancy’s voice is a cry, body scrambling back as she searches blindly behind her. hand makes contact with his forearm, clutches around it as she stumbles into him. “steve,” her tone says something else now, something even nancy isn’t sure she understands. she spares a glance toward him when she loses sight of the last demodog. terror has an iron grip on her lungs, breath coming in ragged, irregular waves as it begins to sink in. she thinks of the trusty nail bat, split in two after a particularly difficult encounter only twenty minutes earlier. she looks at the shotgun in her free hand, officially rendered useless after exhausting the last of its ammo on ( what they’d thought was ) the last demo of the night. there were never this many together. they’d been packing to go home. they’d been ambushed. there’s no getting out of this one. “i’m sorry.” it says too much, yet she knows the second it hits her ears it’s not nearly enough. it’s an apology that spans years, an apology for everything she hasn’t had the courage to address. for the fact that she never will. it’s an apology to herself, too -- for wasting so much goddamn time.  slick black flesh finally steps into the low light in front of them: one of the demodogs that’d been pursuing them since cherry lane. only one. taunting. but they’re both too smart to assume the others are gone. just as the thought crosses her mind, nancy hears chittering coming from closer than before. coming from somewhere in the shadowy yard on their right side. in the same moment, she hears a crash to the left. the creature in front of them begins its slow descent upon them. nancy abhors the knowledge that, somewhere in the pits of hell ( the upside down is practically synonymous with it, at this point ), henry creel is laughing at them. if there’s one thing that’s become abundantly clear about that demon’s mentality, it’s that he enjoys the chase. he enjoys the fear. “i love you, nance. i’ve always loved you.” it’s such a blatant admission, one that steals her breath entirely as wide eyes find the back of his head. he’s saying it like a reminder; as if this is something she’s always known, as if it’s as natural a choice for his final words as any. steve says it while standing in front of her, one arm stretched uselessly in front of him as the other reaches back, holds against nancy’s waist. he’s doing his best to shield her from the encroaching beasts. she recognizes the gesture, as futile as it seems, as an act of that love. take me first, it says, take me first to spare her the pain, even if it’s for a split - second. and she can’t believe it’s taken her this long to hear it. she’s never been so infuriated and so stunned at the same time. “i--” whatever response she was about to give ( it would’ve been a surprise to each of them, because it’s gone again in the flood of relief sweeping through her body ) is cut off by the squeal of brakes, by the sight of headlights slicing through the dark. the danger around them is revealed to be even more than she’d anticipated; practically a pack of the unnatural animals flanking them from each side. they’re undeterred by the new arrivals. “hey, assholes!” dustin’s voice rips through the air as glass makes contact with the ground a few feet away from the furthest demodog, and the flames erupting are enough to grant them a reprieve. several strange heads swivel toward the impact, just enough of them abandoning their mission to go after the truck waiting at the end of the cul - de - sac to leave an opening. one opening. one chance. nancy uses the hold she has on steve to push him through first ( she really doesn’t have the time to consider how hard that was, how solid, how sturdy he’s become in their years apart ) with the intent to follow directly behind. there’s a brief pause as she repositions the shotgun in her hands, firearm turned blunt weapon as she tees up and swings. the smile on her face shouldn’t be as excited as it is once the butt of the gun makes contact with a closed - mouthed demo, sends it skittering across pavement just long enough to give her room to follow the path she’d forced steve through. she finds the warmth of his hand in the dark as if it’s calling out to her.

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“     HAPPY BIRTHDAY,   DINGUS.     ”      2 weeks after the mall burned down,   2 weeks since your vow of never becoming friends with steve ‘the hair’ harrington was broken.    ᴬᴺᴰ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴵᵀ'ˢ ᴴᴵˢ ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴᴰᴬʸ,   felt like an admission of something,    how easily enemy turned to friend and is slipping into best friend.    ASK ME TOMORROW,     an invitation.     you don’t think you had spent a day without him since,    but you supposed being interrogated,  then drugged,   then almost dying from some massive shadow monster and the guy from your ³ᴿᴰ ᴾᴱᴿᴵᴼᴰ history class did that to people.      you knew it was his birthday,   not from anything said,   but from the triple underlined date in your sophomore year journal— -   ‘JULY 20TH.   it’s harrington’s birthday today,     i heard tammy talk about it when she came to see a film.  i’m sure his hair looks extra stupid,   enough product to ᴰᴵˢᵀᵁᴿᴮ some ecosystem somewhere.’         look at you now,   a year’s gone by and your standing at his door,    shoddily wrapped present in hands.     you didn’t even know what he liked,    what do you get something for someone who appears to have everything?     inside the box:      a copy of karate kid ⁽ᴬ ᴺᴼᵀᴱ: if i’m going to hang out with you,  you need a better movie taste),     russian: ᶠᴼᴿ ᴮᴱᴳᴵᴺᴺᴱᴿˢ,  just in case you found yourself in that situation again,   better you both learned?      and the polaroid from the first day you worked together,  you in front with a grin,   him sulking in the background,     unaware that a month later,  your life would be forever changed.            

a year on, months after the world (the town..?) died,   the air thick and acting as a constant reminder of that day,    of the deaths that weighed on you...&ᴴᴵᴹ.     it still didn’t feel right to celebrate anything,    but the day couldn’t just pass by.     you aren’t good at buying gifts.    ᴬ⁾   you had no money.    family video hadn’t exactly been getting a lot of business with the end of the world and all.     ᴮ⁾    you can’t ask your parents,   they had long set off to texas to stay with your grandparents,    asked you to pack up the house for them before they try and sell.      THEY DID ASK YOU TO LEAVE WITH THEM,   that counted for something,   right?       but that was never an option,    you weren’t going to leave the kids,   the town that you hated,    or steve..       ᴶᵁᴸʸ ²⁰ᵀᴴ ¹⁹⁸⁶.     it was just you and him in his apartment,   something that felt strange these days,   so used to the constant presence of the kids just needing somewhere safe.    you had gotten up at 6am,    tried, and failed to cook breakfast,   presented him with burnt toast, runny eggs, and soggy cereal paired with out-of-date milk.      the cake at dinner time turned out better,    having since went for groceries as a way to ᴺᴼᵀ ruin the entire day,   and beg the pizza shop a town over to enter hawkins.      a week earlier,   you had to beg nancy to drive you to indianapolis to find a copy of 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚣𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚊,   scraped together whatever savings were left to buy it + the gas money,   but it was worth it.

the last part of your gift had taken the longest,   but you were suddenly grateful for your incessant need to not just enjoy a moment but to photograph it too—    a scrapbook with memories created over the last year,   not just you two but the kids as well,   placed inside a shoe box with miscellaneous items.     a rock that would have been round if not ˢᴼᴹᴱᴴᴼᵂ attached to another—    (steve said it was you and him,    you compared it to his hair.)       ticket stubs from the best movies over the year,  marked with your rating 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝟷𝟶,      a copy of fast times   (already set to 53 minutes and 5 seconds),     and a custom mixtape of his favourite songs that you complained about every car ride.              the bottom of the box was the last picture before the world went to hell,   march 10th,    your 18th birthday,   but the note inscribed on the back was more recent.

dear steve,     ( @k1ngdingus​ )                  if you find this box before your birthday,   please act like you’ve never seen it,  but truthfully?   i wanted to have it ready before then.   we don’t know what’s going to happen,  we don’t know when he’s going to come back,  and frankly?     ᴵ'ᴹ ˢᶜᴬᴿᴱᴰ  i’m scared i’m not going to be there to see your stupid face open it,   but i don’t want to focus on that reality.      because i’m going to be there,  and so are you,  and so are the kids because if i can see them,  i know that they’re safe,   and i know that you’re as happy as you can be right now.     you might not remember me from mrs click’s class,  but i remember you.   i told you before,   it was like this obsession,   that if i could just yell at you and shake some sense into that pea sized brain of yours,   you might see that tammy wanted you,    how could you have been so blind?     obviously then i realised that i wanted to be you,    not ᴹᴿ ᴾᴼᴾᵁᴸᴬᴿ but someone who was liked.      i thought that summer was going to be my own personal hell,    seeing your stupid hair over the booth,      being told that hey,  it’ll bring in customers.   barf,   a whole summer of watching steve harrington flirt?     but believe it or not,   you weren’t a total asshole,      i was mean to you every single day,   and yet you didn’t seem to care.       you became my best friend that summer, steve.   and i don’t think i’d trade it for anything,     even if it meant i’d be oblivious to the upside down and secret russians and girls with superpowers.    my life became more interesting the day i met you.      happy birthday steve.            love,   robin                    P.S.     if it’s ᴺᴼᵀ july 20th and you got this far,   i’m going to kill you.

steve had become somewhat of a safety net,   for you,   for everyone— -      had only found your voice since around ᴴᴵᴹ,    talked about the weight on your chest,    how stupid it was for you to even enter the house with the veins wrapped around staircase bannister and how it breathed across the floor.     valuable minutes,    seconds— -      it all could have been avoided.   and he was there,     a shoulder when you needed it most.

❝    why    do    you    act    like    you’re    genuinely    surprised ?    when    have    i    ever    trusted    you ?   ❞    it    comes    out    almost    harsh,    but    jonathan    knows    that    steve    can    tell    when    he’s    trying    to    be    a    dick    intentionally by this point .    this    is    not    one    of    those    times.    in    fact,    jonathan    has    lost    track    of    how    much    faith    he    has    poured    into    steve .    but    it’s    not    like    he    could    tell    him    that .    he    finds    it    hard    to    even    breathe    around    steve    sometimes ,    let    alone    pay    him    a    compliment .    ❝    it’s    just,    i    don’t    know    what    we’re    doing    here    anymore,    man .    the    world    is    falling    apart,    and    i    want    to    believe    that    you    can    fix    it,    i    really,    really    do .    but    i    don’t    think    anything    can .    ❞

 ❛ but don't go asking me any of them weird questions like you used to got it ? ❜ his face turns into something serious but there's still something teasing playing across his features.  ❛ i didn't answer 'em then & i'm not answering 'em now. this one's ... different & if we get out of this, i'm hoping it's forever. ❜