#ornithopterwrites

"Shit, man! You alright?! Lemme give you a hand. This patch of sidewalk is particularly slippery and, no offense, but you weren't looking too steady on your feet even before you decided to reenact a pratfall from the silent film era."

His witness was Eddie the Freak. Of course.

At least the snow cushioned his fall well enough that he was now pretty sure he hadn't made his injuries worse. It was bad enough that the little twerps were now giving him shit for mistaking Mike for Nancy in the car when he first regained consciousness. If he'd been dazed enough to call Munson Nancy or, worse, Angel, he might have seriously considered running away from Hawkins.

Steve groaned and stubbornly pushed his head back into the snow. Maybe if he ignored him, he'd go away. The ice kind of felt nice on his bruised body anyway.

"I'm fine. I can get up on my own," Steve groused, batting away the hand Eddie had extended to help. This proved false as his feet scrabbled to make purchase on the slick pavement.

Eddie had moved aside to watch him struggle, so Steve was forced to squint against the bright sunlight amplified and reflected by the surrounding snowy landscape and making his residual headache worse.

"Ok, Harrington. I can only stand by and watch so much pathetic flailing. Come on." This time, Steve allowed him to grab his arm and lift.

Unfortunately, Eddie had misjudged his own stance on the icy patch and fell victim himself to this clearly cursed stretch of sidewalk. Instead of getting Steve to his feet, his own slipped sideways dropping Eddie half in the snow beside Steve and half on Steve's torso.

Both released a reflexive "ow" in stereo.

Neither moved for long, awkward moment.

"Is this your idea of help, you spaz?" Steve finally wheezed out.

Eddie pushed his upper body away, shaking his head vigorously to dislodge any snow and grinning madly. "You just looked so comfy, I thought I'd give it a try." He paused in consideration. "Mmmm, nope. Staying in fourth period would have been better. Less cold and wet."

As Eddie started to army crawl his way further into the snow searching for a less slippery area in which to stand, Steve let out a laugh.

The brief snatches of conversation he could recall before finding himself across the street from the movie theater serve as his only clue as to how he wasn't still trapped in that perpetual nightmare of blind paralysis and distorted underwater sounds. His rescuers, whoever they were, thought they'd found a way to save the world, but they needed a test subject—their very own Laika to sacrifice on a one-way trip just to prove it was safe for the real heroes. Their plan seemed flawed to Eddie since they had no way to know he survived. He was certainly no longer lying on a gurney doing his best impression of leftover monster food.

Then again, maybe they'd failed, and Eddie was in heaven. The air was crisp and clear, no one was chasing him down with murder in their eyes, and he was graced with the sight of Steve Harrington ascending a ladder in a very flattering pair of jeans.

With a manic grin, a healthy Eddie stepped off the curb only to narrowly miss becoming roadkill. He crossed the street waving off irate shouts from passing traffic and thinking that the colorful epithets made heaven seem less plausible. Purgatory was also dismissed when he saw which films were listed on the marquee and what words were spray painted below.

He remembers this sign. He remembers seeing it two or three years ago.

As impossible as it sounds, Eddie thinks—no, he knows—he's been sent back in time.

Reaching the entrance, Eddie gawked up at Steve scrubbing at the graffiti. One side of Steve's face was freshly battered with blood still seeping from cuts surrounding his left eye. Steve ignored both the pain and his audience focusing solely on fixing what he and his friends had vandalized.

Steve didn't know about the monsters yet, but he was already trying to make things better. Steve couldn't erase his past decisions, but Eddie could completely alter his future. If Eddie runs, just grabs Wayne and leaves Hawkins, Steve and the others would probably live their lives the same as before—until Chrissy dies. Would they learn about Vecna without Dustin searching for Eddie? Was Eddie brave enough to stay? Could he be like Steve and just help?

The theater manager interrupted Eddie's spiraling thoughts. "Are you here to buy a ticket?" The man eyed Eddie as though he might whip out another can of paint.

"Not today. Just here to help a friend." Eddie stepped forward to steady the ladder and allowing the other usher to go back inside.

If there was one thing Steve Henderson knew about himself, it was that he never got motion sick. Until now.

Ordinarily, a two hour drive wouldn't phase him, but despite being arguably the tallest one in their family, Steve had somehow wound up crammed in the back seat of his mother's station wagon while Dustin, his younger and much shorter brother, enjoyed the fresh air and extra space of one of the full-sized passenger seats in the middle row.

Even the cramped space and sideways angle (they'd had to shove some of their smaller moving boxes into his footwell) shouldn't have caused a problem, but the unending wall of trees on either side of road was starting to feel like it was closing in on them as the sun sank below the treeline. Puffs of D'art's foul breath—and really, Dustin, when was the last time you brushed your dog's teeth—also wafted in his direction more and more frequently as the animal grew more antsy the closer they got to their destination.

Steve would have suggested making another pit stop to let D'art work off his extra energy if they hadn't just passed a modestly sized "Welcome to Hawkins" sign.

The sudden lurch in his gut and increased perspiration were simply due to being carsick (and homesick). It had nothing to do with the fact that someone had spray-painted "Hell" over "Hawk" on the front and "Murder Capital of the World" on the back.

Thanks for the enabling encouragement! It's 3:30 AM now, so the other requests will have to wait until tomorrow : )

Most people couldn't tell though. He was pretty good at not showing his emotions—he just needed to keep his head down and speak only when spoken to and he'd make it through the day. If he, Will, and El could just keep from doing or saying anything really weird on this first day of school in California, people would be willing to get to know them slowly. Normally. They would have a chance to, maybe, fit in.

If any of them said or did anything abnormal, well, first impressions tended to stick.

As he drove up to the high school campus and looked out at the colorful clothes and permed hairstyles of their fellow classmates, Jonathan realized they were already at a disadvantage. Their family's thrifted and slightly out of date clothes combined with their very obviously done-at-home haircuts were already going to draw eyes. Apparently, lower-middle-class Californians were much more trendy than their rural counterparts in Indiana.

It was just one day. They'd all survived worse.

Maybe he could take the kids to the local shopping center to pick out one or two new things after they got out of class. He had a little money saved up, and it might be worth it if it would save his brother and new sister from four years of alienation from their peers. He could handle being alone, sometimes he even preferred it, but he knew they needed friends.

Surprised to find a space partially under a tree near the edge of the lot, Jonathan backed in to try to position the rear window under the canopy and, once parked, started to put up his new sun shade for the windshield. They'd only been in Lenora for a week, but they'd quickly discovered how insanely hot the interiors of their cars could be if left completely exposed to the sun even in slightly cooler months. In August, the car would be a veritable oven by the time school was let out. At least with the shade, he might be able to touch the steering wheel within five minutes of getting back in the car.

As he adjusted the shade's position, he knocked into the rearview mirror and let out a surprised yelp as he saw a large black mass quickly move in and out of view.

Once he'd looked out the back and returned the mirror to its regular position, Jonathan was quick to reassure the kids that it was nothing. "A raven just flew past the car and startled me." He could see the bird perched in the lowest branch just outside, watching them.

Will and El, being the resilient and at this point unflappable people they were, nodded and quickly exited the vehicle. Their trepidation only showed for a moment before they squeezed each others' hands once, hoisted their bookbags, and started for front entrance.

"Hang on a minute—" Jonathan's protest was cut off by Will.

"Don't worry. Jane and I can handle it. We'll head to the admin office to check in and get our locker assignments and schedules. Then, we'll meet you back here at three. If any clubs sound interesting we'll talk to mom about it later to figure out the pick up schedule for those days."

Eleven, Jane—he was still struggling to adjust to the name change after only hearing about her from the periphery for over a year, suddenly stepped back and enveloped Jonathan in a quick hug. "You are a good guardian. We will be OK. You can 'take a breather' without us." Jonathan could hear the slight pause around the idiom. She'd been experimenting with all the colloquialisms and casual language that she'd been hearing on TV, but it still wasn't entirely natural. He hoped her classmates wouldn't notice it too much. Behind her, Will shifted his weight anxiously, probably embarrassed by the overt display of familial affection.

Almost as though she could read their thoughts, Jane backed away and said with a mischievous gleam, "No more hugs now. Mike says that hugging siblings is for babies or emergencies… and since we are not in danger and can take care of ourselves, we have to be grown ups now."

Jonathan could hear Will start to complain that there was more nuance to relationships and "just because Mike is embarrassed to be seen with Nancy doesn't mean we have to be" as the pair weaved in and out of the parked cars to get to the entrance. He let out a huff of amusement and decided that he had just enough time to grab a quick smoke before braving the halls of his new school himself.

The loud quark from behind nearly startled the cigarette out of his mouth as he lit it.

"What? You don't like smoking?" He lifted the now smouldering source of nicotine up for the raven to see. "I just need something to calm down. Thought I'd only need to get used to high school once, but here I am again."

Speaking more to himself than the black bird tilting its head at him, he continued, "New school, new life. It'll be good for them. Safe. And I can help provide that safety and stability. Just gotta… chill for a minute."

A rustle of feathers drew his eye back to the bird. It had moved from the tree and was now on the ground hopping closer.

"Chill. You like that word? Definitely a California bird. Can you say, 'totally tubular'?" He took a few drags and found himself in a staring contest with the raven. As he pocketed the lighter, he noticed it follow the motion. "You know, you're lucky. You don't have to deal with being a teenager. I wish I could be as carefree as a bird--just watch the days go by, eat good food, and watch whatever shiny new thing caught my eye."

He ground the half-smoked butt under his heel. He'd be late if he finished the whole thing.

"Hang on," he addressed his feathered companion, reaching back into the car. The other day, he'd let Will finish a can of pop while sitting in the front seat. He'd remembered to throw away the can, but he'd pulled off the tab and left it in the ash tray. Jonathan fished it out, then crouched down a few feet in front of the raven and tossed it onto the asphalt between them. "Thanks for being a good listener. You guys like shiny things, right? Take it."

The bird let out another squawk before flying back up into the tree and then out of sight behind him. "Or don't, I can throw it away later if it's still there." Brushing his pants, Jonathan stood back up, grabbed his bag, and locked the door.

Before he'd taken three steps away he heard what sounded like someone jogging up breathlessly from behind his car.

"Hey wait up, man!" The most brightly dressed person Jonathan had ever seen was just rounding the back of the vehicle. He was covered in pastels and neons that somehow didn't clash, but most striking was his long, shiny black hair. "Oh, look. A tab! I think those are lucky if you find them, right dude?" The new person, whose accent was almost a parody of the stereotypical surfer bro, snapped up the little piece of metal Jonathan had left for the raven and stashed it in one of his many pockets.

"Uh, maybe?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is. And if not, well, I'm cleaning up little and keeping the land clean, you know?" Surfer dude slung an arm around Jonathan's shoulders and started walking towards the school. "So, what's your name, dude?"

Jonathan wasn't used to people just bulldozing up to him like that, so he floundered for words for a second. "I'm Jonathan. Jonathan Byers."

"Well, Jonathan Byers, what say you show me around these hallowed halls of learning?"

"Oh, I'm new here—" he tried to correct the guy, but his attempt was waved off.

"No worries, man. I'm new, too, so we can brave it together, right? Safety in numbers, birds of a feather, yeah?"

Jonathan found himself nodding, "Sure. Wait, what's your name?"

"Hmm?" New Guy suddenly danced ahead and, walking backwards, tilted his head as though he hadn't quite heard the question. They'd entered the hallway and were surrounded by other students now. Jonathan saw New Guy's eyes dart over to a girl's diagonally checkered skirt before beaming. "Argyle. My name's Argyle."

Jonathan barely digested that information before Argyle had once again draped an arm over his shoulders, this time on the other side. As the man had spun around, his hair flared out and Jonathan could have sworn he saw a black feather drift out and away. It was probably a trick of the light as they walked under the harsh interior fluorescents.

They made their way to admin office, Argyle chattering in Jonathan's ear the whole time. When they gave their name at the desk, the woman was able to find Jonathan's information right away, but seemed to have trouble with Argyle's at first. After less than a minute, Argyle reached across the desk to tap at a folder.

"I see it. It's right there."

The woman stopped rifling through the files and looked where he'd indicated. "Well, how odd. I could have sworn that wasn't there before!" She handed them their schedules and locker combos with a smile and wished them both good luck on their first day.

Argyle held up their documents and exclaimed, "See, I told you that tab was lucky! We've got the same classes, and our lockers are close to each other."

Jonathan laughed, "Yeah, man. Though you might want to reserve judgment until you get to know me better. You might get sick of me before too long." He said it jokingly, but he couldn't help but wonder if it would be true. Argyle seemed cool—too cool to hang around with Jonathan Byers. He'd be sure to start hanging out with the popular crowd soon enough.

Argyle tipped his head back to consider him seriously, but the corners of his mouth twitched as though threatening to grow into a smile. "Nah. You're a good dude, Jonathan Byers. I can tell. You may need to relax more though." He leaned in conspiratorially to say, "I may have something that will help with that," while patting his shirt pocket which, to Jonathan, looked flat and empty. He then reached inside to reveal a pre-rolled joint.

Jonathan's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he grabbed Argyle's hand, which fortunately dropped the joint back in his pocket, and dragged it down to his side, shushing him. He couldn't believe that someone would be so brazen as to come to school carrying drugs like that.

Argyle then lost his battle against his smile as it burst forth, blinding in its intensity. "See, you look out for people. I can look out for you, too. I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

@acasualcrossfade @lightoftheseraph @medusapelagia @devondespresso @tinytalkingtina

@oh-stars @thefreakandthehair @momotonescreaming @augustjustice @dreamwatch

@sunflowerharrington @vthx @tea42 @chaosgremlinmunson

He wasn't cold or warm.

He was alone--floating in an infinite expanse of darkness.

As he tentatively moved a foot to step forward, half expecting himself to fall, he noticed ripples of what looked like water emanating from his movements. Steve reached down to touch the surface, but it just felt like more nothing.

Laying his hand flat on the surface of the water, he noticed his reflection come into focus as the ripples stilled. Without warning, the doppelgänger's hand enfolded his own in a crushing grip and yanked him through the watery floor.

It happened too quickly to follow the motion, and this place seemed to make even less physical sense than the Upside Down, so Steve found himself now standing upright again, but this time he was staring at his twin who was still doing his best to break the fingers in his hand.

"What the fuck?!" Was thisdeath? Or hell? Was he in a coma?!

Not-Steve smirked as he pushed Steve away. Steve shook out his abused hand while his possibly evil twin started to circle him--first moving clockwise, then after a complete circuit, reversing direction only to repeat the process over and over.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Harrington." Before Steve could snark back, the thing continued, "I'm you. A better, stronger, and faster version, of course. It's just like you learned in school: everything's better with teamwork."

Not-Steve's face morphed into a number of different visages all in the space of an instant before resettling into the familiar face he knew from the mirror.

"Ok, maybe that's not exactly true. Maybe it's more accurate to say, you're us. It took a while, but we got there in the end, didn't we?" Not-Steve crowed before continuing.

"We weren't sure at first what to make of you, you know?" Steve felt like prey in a tiger's cage; the predator circling and searching for the perfect angle for ambush. "You hurt us with the bat and trap in Will's house that first year and then again with that fire stunt in the tunnels, so you should have just been food, providing nourishment and allowing us to spread ever faster. The funny thing about being in a collective is that sometimes whole groups can start to, hmm, how to word this so your primitive individualistic brain can understand, dissent if they stay isolated from the rest for too long.

"You were pretty close in your guesses about 'Dart'. That Dustin kid helped us grow. When you're part of the hive, you help the hive, thus, Dustin must be part of the collective hive. Dustin's friends--you--must also be part of his group. Or at least that was the logic." Not-Steve stopped behind him and slung an arm around Steve's shoulder in a mimicry of the kind of amicable pose he or Tommy used to use with one another growing up. "It was a little faulty, but Dart was too isolated and underdeveloped to understand.

"So, fast forward to your body finally getting to be useful to us by getting yourself stuck in our home, and… suddenly, a quick meal just didn't seem as satisfying anymore. You were so willing to share with us, with Dart, we thought we might do you the honor of letting you join us properly.

"Sadly, you humans are too used to being in your own minds all the time, and your fatalistic and depressed attitude dampened our drives, but oh! That rage and despair you felt at the end when you saw that 'rescue' for what it was? Mwah!" Steve pushed his doppelgänger away in disgust as the other mimed a chef's kiss and danced back laughing.

"Our dad's right, Steve: we're holding ourselves back. You always have to be Mr. Funny, Mr. Cool. Always have to be nice and well-liked. We've been so afraid of scaring people away by being too much or too weird that we've locked ourselves up in a tight little box and thrown away the key. You couldn't even fight back properly to protect Lucas and Max from Billy--you've made up your own rules of engagement and they've hobbled you. We feel that underlying rage, that strength and we've tapped into it. Together we can protect our people. They can join us. You'll never be alone again."

Steve could feel his heart pounding. Lunging forward, he grabbed at Not-Steve's lapels shouting, "What the hell does any of that mean?!" He knew. He just didn't want to acknowledge it.

Not-Steve laughed again. "You really shouldn't play dumb so often. We'll start to believe it. Anyway, it'll be better if you drive for a while. Here. We'll let you catch up on what you missed before we hand over the reins."

Not-Steve roughly pulled their heads together. Steve felt as though he were falling into the other's eyes and then he was looking out from those eyes. He was looking out from his own eyes as events played out at a breakneck speed, his body's experiences distilled into a series of images and sensations as if life was a tape that could be fast-forwarded.

(Credit: Alduade -- If you like it, please check out his art on the original post.)

His body, securely strapped to a table in what looked like a surgical theater, thrashed and seized as blood samples were drawn and drugs were administered. Myriad electrodes dotted his form collecting information on his heart, his brainwaves, and every movement of his body. He was left to pace inside a cell alone. His cage was placed beside Dart's. Another contained a miniature vortex of Upside Down particulates. Interrogators came and went. Some stuck to mind games; others resorted to torture.

Not-Steve pulled their heads apart as Steve shook and bent over to heave nothing but not-air onto the not-ground.

"All caught up now? Good. We're supposed to be charming, right? So go be charming, Товарищ."

Steve blinked up at the bright laboratory lights. Voice rough from days of screaming, he said intelligently, "What?"

A mousey looking man in a lab coat with a pocket protector looked up from his clipboard and said with a heavy accent, "Товарищ means 'comrade'. Sorry, I forget that you Americans do not know or use this word the way we do. You are all too much individuals. Me me me."

"No before that. I think," Steve couldn't believe he remembered this but he kept speaking anyway, "you were telling me a story. I'd asked about the word on the side of that machine, but I started to doze." More like he was possessed, but potato, tomato, demonic tornado--which he could feel was about 30 yards to the west.

"Hm? Ah, yes. Mikula Selyaninovich," he acknowledged by glancing at the Cyrillic stenciled to the side of one of the computers, "the plowman. I was telling you of his exploits as a warrior and folk hero. He and Volga Svyatoslavich, the sorcerer, are common characters that people like to invoke to, ah, what's the word, emulate? What do you think, are you more a warrior or sorcerer?"

While the Russian absentmindedly spoke, Steve had discovered that he'd dislocated his left thumb, presumably before the hive had allowed him to return to full consciousness. Taking advantage of the other man's distraction, he had wiggled his hand out of the restraints on that side.

More quickly than Steve thought he'd been able to move before, he ripped open the straps holding down his right arm while hissing, "Warrior, obviously." He grabbed the man and tossed him onto the table before locking him in his former restraints, completely reversing their positions. "But I know a sorcerer and, trust me, I've seen her work. She'll be worse."

Steve wasn't too sure if he said that because of what he'd seen El do to the mothergate, or if that was the hive talking about how she'd tossed democreatures around like they were tissue paper. He supposed it didn't matter, he agreed, El was a badass.

Badass or not, El wasn't here. It was up to Steve to fix this mess. He tried not to think about the fact that "fixing" it might involve allowing the mind flayer to infect more people. They were angry and wanted revenge on the people in this base, but they also wanted to spread, so the gate needed to stay open.

Steve could feel reinforcements coming from all over town.

While he'd been spending months in the Upside Down wallowing in despair and only connecting with Dart, the rest of the hive had been busy recruiting townsfolk. Their induction to the collective was more heavy-handed--they were little more than puppets and raw materials.

Steve still wasn't sure why he was being given so much autonomy, but it didn't matter. Hive or no hive, the Russians needed to go. He could worry about whether he would be able to shut down their gate, however they opened one, later.

If he left, this guy would start shouting for help right away. Steve couldn't see anything that might work as a gag, so he ripped off one of the lab coat's sleeves and used it to tie around the scientist's head. It wasn't perfect, but hopefully, if anyone heard the muffled cries, they would just think Steve was the one making them.

He could feel his thumb heal and shift back into position on its own. That… could be handy.

His captor secured, Steve peeked out the door to see what lay beyond. If he could get to Dart and the captured mind flayer particles, he could set them free. Together they might be able to kill or turn enough people to control the base. Which was what this clearly was.

So much for small town America. Steve wondered if the local tourist board would ever consider updating their advertising campaigns. Come to Hawkins, Indiana for the All-American apple pie. Stay for the communist invasion! And by communist, we mean both Russians and a sentient collective-based alien species from another plane of existence. Both are hostile.

Yeah. No amount of fine print and fast talking would make that sound good.

There didn't appear to be much traffic in the hallway, so Steve waited until there was a complete lull, quietly left the room, and started walking toward the area where he knew the rest were held. By some miracle, he was able to duck behind crates and other obstacles to make it undiscovered.

As he entered the containment facilities, however, a lone guard shouted at his arrival and lunged for what looked like an alarm button. Steve reached the man first, taking him to the ground in a flying tackle.

Steve could see what he was doing, but he wasn't so sure he was the one in control. Strikes were too sure. Too efficient. The guard was knocked out in seconds, and he was using the man's belt to tie him to some railing nowhere near the alarm before he even registered his actions.

Weapons of various kinds lined the far wall. Steve almost reached for what looked like a cattle prod when he saw his nail bat propped up in the corner. No, if he wanted to dance, he needed a partner he could trust.

Bat once more in hand, Steve gave it a few experimental twirls before smashing the glass containing the Upside Down particles. Klaxons and flashing lights announced to the base that trouble was coming, but it was too late. The cloud dispersed into the ventilation, and presumably would find isolated workers to infect.

Dart's cage was next. Steve knew it was the same animal, but the Russians must have been feeding him well. The dog had finally moulted and was now a fully-grown demogorgon.

The part of Steve that still appreciated humor thought the yellow splotch on the monster's butt looked pretty funny and detracted from its overall intimidation factor. Then again, if an adult democreature tries to eat someone, Steve would guess they'd be more focused on the mouth than its backside.

Together Dart and Steve moved through the base sowing chaos and destruction in their wake. Dart slaughtered soldiers; Steve smashed consoles and burned records. Slowly, their numbers grew as newly possessed Russians joined the mayhem and let the gathering crowd of flayed Hawkins townsfolk in through the mall's supply elevator.

Steve stepped over the remains of the individuals who had been in the gate control room to view the artificial tear in reality being created and kept open by the specialized generator at the center of the room below. It looked as beautiful and terrible as the gate that had been in Hawkins Lab.

Dart left the control room to patrol the area around the generator. Steve could feel the others starting to clean up the facility to make it habitable again. They would be able to use this base as a staging location for their expansion into this world.

"Steve?"

The voice behind him didn't come from part of the collective. His hand tightened on the bat preparing to swing at the head of the interloper once he had turned around, but something made him pause mid-step.

"Steve! It's you! It's really you! I--" the familiar voice cut itself off when Steve refused to turn.

Steve could feel all the members of the hive converging on the control room to protect the gate. He would distract the interlopers while guards came. Steve turned around.

Behind him stood Hopper, El, and his mother.

His mother was involved now; he hadn't wanted to put her in danger. Steve felt so detached, he simply stared at the trio, waiting for an explanation, waiting for backup, waiting for condemnation or absolution. Waiting.

Overcome with emotion, the Harrington matriarch clutched at her chest and tried to stifle her cries by covering her mouth with her other hand. Both she and Hopper were wearing Russian uniforms, but El looked like she'd survived another battle. Blood ran freely from her nose, dirt and grime covered most of her clothing, and a large gash in her leg had been hastily bandaged with what looked like a trendy shirt from the Gap.

Though, of the trio, she looked to be in the worst shape, Steve knew she was the greatest threat. Almost as though she could hear his thoughts, El nodded and said, "You've got more control than most, Steve. You have to fight. It doesn't belong here, and I'm closing the gate."

Steve almost lost his grip on reality. The world flickered briefly between the control room and the pitch black void, before settling back in the underground facility.

"Are you going to help or get in the way?"

Maybe it was the hardened look in his eyes that gave his intentions away, but El raised her arm faster than Steve could swing. She had lifted him into the air and held him immobile and spread-eagled two feet off the ground.

Hopper shouted at Steve's mother, "The key! Now!" Hopper opened a small case and tossed one of the keys in her direction. They both moved to opposing sides of the room to look for the deactivation panels.

Steve seethed. Backup was just around the corner, and…

"I'm sorry I didn't look for you sooner," El spoke, "because you're one of us. You're one of the party, and we don't leave the party behind."

Steve choked out, "It wasn't your job to save me. Mine was to protect you."

Dart could sense what was coming. Dart was tangentially part of the their party too, but he couldn't survive here when the gate was closed. Using their bond, Steve could feel the demogorgon approach the glowing membrane. Dart paused once more with his head pointed in Steve's direction before pushing through to the other side.

As soon as he was through, the keys were turned and the force of the spinning turbines suddenly being ground to a halt caused parts of the machine to break initiating a feedback loop leading to catastrophic failure. In seconds, the machine exploded, killing anyone in the room below instantly. With the beam no longer powering the gate, it snapped shut, the edges of the wall fusing together. Around the base, people were collapsing. The newly possessed simply passed out with a trickle of dark sludge leaking from their nose or ears. Those who had been flayed longer died intact or dissolved into piles of tissue.

Though Steve had been infected longest, the method of infection was different, and he simply passed out as El released him from her hold.

Much later, in the hospital, Steve Harrington held his mother's hand, and huffed out a tired, "I told you so."

Not understanding where this came from, his parents questioned the sentiment.

"Concussions and injuries. You said I'd get hurt playing sports, and I said that I was just as likely to be hurt without joining a team. I think I've proved my point," Steve drowsily smirked as he looked at his immediate family and also took in the wall of cards and flowers from his friends (even the pint-sized ones who adopted monsters).

He hoped he'd never experience anything like that again, but if he ever needed to make a choice once more, he'd be the protector every time.