M. ♉︎

November 3rd, 1987.

The rush of blood pounds against your ears, deafening the silence in your head. With every uneven breath, your heartbeat steadies itself. Inside your lungs resides the cold sting of the air, reminding your body of the hill still ahead of you. 

You stare at it, hunched over your knees as you struggle to return the much needed air into your lungs. The steep hill of a road has long since been worn down due to use. Its concrete cracked and freckled with debris. Your mother once told you it was the oldest road in Hawkins. The unimportant fact was once the only thing you knew about the road. 

Then one November night Will rode his bike down this very hill, before disappearing, changing everything you once knew. 

You stare at the stretch of road before you. Every morning you run the same path over and over again. Around Lover’s Lake, through the woods, past the Byers’ old home, before finally coming to the hill. Its steep surface always taunts you. 

It knows the reason why you run. It’s embedded with the remnants of the nightmares from the night before. 

Running has become all you have left to burn off the exhaustion that follows. 

Your legs scream at you to rest. The lactic acid within them burns, but you’ve grown used to the sensation. Struggling to catch your breath, your fingers dig into your knees and your head falls. The lack of sleep snaps every muscle in your body. 

Yet you force your legs to push off the concrete, running as hard as you physically can. You have to finish the hill. You have to keep running. It’s the only thing that drives out the screaming within your head. 

“Y/N!”

Your mother’s voice causes you to trip. The landing isn’t graceful by any means. You scrape your knees, cutting the inside of your palms and fingertips.

“Oh, sorry, sweetie!” Your mother shouts from the car, parking herself next to you. You hadn’t even heard her driving so closely to you. “Though, I do feel that I need to remind you that this is exactly why I hate you running in the road. There are plenty of perfectly good sidewalks all around Hawkins.”

“Thanks for the concern, mom,” you mumble, slowly wiping your hands off on your leggings as you evaluate whether or not you can stand. The blood that spills from your knees makes you wince. They’ll be a bitch to heal. Sighing, you look up at your mother, “What do you need?”

She sticks her head out of her window even further, doing her best to make eye contact with you from the awkward angle. She flashes you an apologetic smile that you don’t trust. “Well, my sweet girl, I need your help.”

Immediately you know what she wants you to do. “No.”

Your mother pinches her cheeks. “Y/N, dear, I really need to get to work and I’ve already tried–”

“I’m not waking him up.”

“He’s your brother.”

“And he’s your son.”

“Y/N,” your mother’s usually patient and sweet voice turns fatigued. “Please.”

Sympathy floods through you. You know she’s had yet another unpleasant morning trying to wake your brother up for school. Dropping your head, you stare down at the ground. “Fine.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” Relief floods your mother’s voice. She then puts on her sunglasses, fixes her hair, and honks a friendly goodbye as she leaves. Before rolling up her window she shouts, “and please don’t get hit by any cars! Have a great day!”

Claudia Henderson speeds away in her car, leaving you to deal with Dustin all on your own. 

As usual.

The walk back down the hill serves as a small grace period before the inevitable storm. You dread what will come when you walk through your front door and into Dustin’s room. 

You used to love waking him up for school. You’d have pancakes ready for him on the table by the time he finished getting dressed. 

Now you stand before Dustin’s bedroom door, hesitant to even breathe too deeply in case he hears you. 

Fist hovering over the door, you brace yourself for impact. You knock gently the first few times, hoping the tenderness of the knocks will convince Dustin to finally let you in. “Dustin, you awake in there?”

But all that can be heard on the other side is silence. 

You’ve come to expect Dustin’s silence. 

Frustrated, with little patience left for the silence, you straighten your shoulders and start pounding on the door. Your fists turn red at the harshness, but you don’t care. The sting in your knuckles gets lost in the insistence that maybe today Dustin will open the door for you. You don’t care whether he gives in due to annoyance or to something else. 

All you want is for your brother to let you in again. 

“C’mon, Dustin,” you call through the door, voice edging on irritation. “It’s time to get up. You know mom doesn’t want you missing any more school.”

No response. 

Your palm slams against the door. “Dustin!”

Yet it all amounts to nothing.

Exhausted from more than just your run, you press your head against the door and softly say, “I love you, you know.”

Silence echoes back at you.

Forcing down the tears that threaten to spill over, you close your eyes. “I’ll wait as long as you need me to for you to come back.”

It’s what you did for me.

Though it goes unspoken, you know that Dustin hears it. 

“Come back, please.” Your fingers trace the ridges in the wood of the door. Faint, worn initials are carved into it, down near the hinges: D.H. He used to be such a lively, excited kid. 

Grief took him away. 

“I miss you.” You exhale softly, before pressing one final kiss against the door that your brother refuses to open. Swallowing down the grief, you know that you’ve done all you can. At least for now. “Have a good day at school, Dust.”

From the kitchen rings the telephone. You glance at the watch on your wrist, though you already know the time. Steve always calls just before he leaves his house to come pick you up. An old, familiar routine. 

Though your fingers linger on Dustin’s door. Steve will be expecting you to answer any second, but you can’t bear to leave your brother just yet. But his room remains silent and you know that it’s useless pulling a response from him. 

“Hi, angel.”

Steve’s voice is honey. It soothes the wounds in your skin, grazing over the cuts on your knees and the scrapes on your hands. Honey. An old remedy for childhood aches. 

“Hi, honey.” Your finger twirls around the phone’s cord. Another familiar routine. 

“You guys all set for me to be at yours in fifteen?”

You look at Dustin’s door one last time, biting your lip. It remains silent. Dustin won’t be ready in time for Steve to drive him to school. “It’ll just be me, actually.”

“Oh. Interesting.” Steve clicks his tongue. “That’s the sixth time in two weeks, angel.”

“Yeah.” Your eyes close. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Steve winces. “Sorry, I know it’s been hard–”

“I should get ready.” You interrupt your boyfriend, though not unkindly. The conversation just makes you miserable and you still need to shower. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Steve mumbles softly. There’s more he wants to say, but he knows that now just isn’t the time. 

The line disconnects. You don’t have any time to ruminate over the morning’s events as you quickly get ready. You’d hate to keep Steve waiting. Not when your skin buzzes at the idea of being near to him after a night apart. 

True to his word, Steve arrives in your driveway soon after. He beams at you through the windshield, winking playfully as he parks the car and gets out, eager to open the passenger door for you because he knows it makes you laugh. 

But as you giggle over how ridiculous Steve looks, sprinting over before you can beat him to the car’s door, movement behind the front porch catches your eye. You stop, squinting to figure out what lies behind the brustle, only to catch Dustin trying, and failing, to sneak off on his bike before either you or Steve spot him. 

At first you’re stunned, and relieved, he’s even awake and heading to school.

Then you see that he’s wearing Eddie’s old Hellfire Club shirt and immediately you’re pissed off that your brother could be so stupid and infuriating.

Dustin Henderson’s specialty. 

“Dustin!” You shout after him. You must not mask your anger very well given the fact that the kid nearly topples over on his bike. Worried you’ll only upset him further, you quickly run after him. “Wait, no. I’m not angry, I-I just wanted you to hitch a ride with me and Steve!”

“Fat chance.” Dustin shouts over his shoulder, already beginning to pedal away. “No way in hell I’m third wheeling with you and Harrington for the millionth time.”

“But–”

“Bye, Y/N.” And then Dustin is gone. 

You stand in the driveway, watching him disappear down the hill. At least he’s going towards the high school rather than away. 

How depressing it must be that your once prodigious brother now having a dwindling attendance record makes you grateful. 

“Is your brother seriously wearing that Hellfire shirt?” Steve scoffs next to you, squinting at the sun.

“It’s been a rough morning.”

“Aren’t they always rough?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, harshly squeezing your eyes shut as if that will somehow dim the sun and diminish your growing resentment. “Not now, Steve.”

“Listen, all I’m saying is–”

“Get in the car before I leave you.”

“What?” Steve whips around to face you, baffled. “I’m the one who drove here, how could you even–”

“You have five more seconds to get in the car before you find out exactly how I’ll leave you behind.”

He drops his head, slowly walking back to the car, though not without mumbling under his breath, “have fun opening your own car door.”

You smile. “I heard you.”

“Didn’t intend for you not to.”

“Start the car, smartass.”

“Yes, dear.”

– 

When you first heard of New York University, you’d been twelve. Jonathan had tugged you through the woods, swatting away bugs before they could get to you. It had been the early stages of your first summer in Hawkins.

He dragged you through the thick leaves and tall grass and brought you to a giant field that slowly ascended into a hilltop. Embedded in its weeds were beautiful yellow dandelions and their white seeds. 

Jonathan, long past his shyness around you, tackled you to the ground and laughed over your surprised squeals. He had made sure that your head would land on hand, safe, soft. He’s always been soft with you. 

It was that day that Jonathan confessed to you that he’d always wanted to attend NYU. Showcase his photography, something he picked up earlier that winter. He asked whether you’d thought about college yet, where you wanted to go. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t ever thought about your future. 

But then Jonathan had smiled at you, plucking a dandelion seed out of your hair as he did so, and you knew then that you’d never be able to leave him. His dream became yours, though in the end it was only yours to have.

Until Hawkins fell under quarantine and any chance of escaping its nightmares became a dream in itself. 

You would’ve been a sophomore at NYU by now, had you stopped Vecna.

Except you didn’t. 

Instead, Max lies in a coma while you sit in a formerly abandoned radio station amongst everyone else suffering the consequences of that bastard’s victory. 

“Count me in, pretty girl.” Robin’s gentle voice breaks you out of your spell. She looks at you expectantly, though with a fondness that makes you ache. 

You’d gotten lost in your own thoughts. Again. 

“Right, sorry.” You clear your throat, ignoring Steve’s concerned eyes as you straighten in your seat. Fingers hovering over the radio’s control panel, you adjust your headphones and give Robin a thumbs up. “You’re live in three… two…”

You mouth the final number before pointing both fingers at Robin, her designated signal that the show has begun, and she smiles wide. 

“Good morning, Hawkins!” She greets enthusiastically. “This is WSQK The Squawk.”

Quickly you flash a notebook page at Steve, which simply has the words chicken! now! scrawled on it. He salutes you and rushes to punch the poor rubber chicken wired to a mic. It’s a job he takes very seriously. 

When Robin first started her show, she was in charge of both directing Steve’s sound cues and hosting. A daunting task, but she managed to make it work. 

Then Steve accidentally cued up an applause track for someone’s funeral announcement rather than the mournful piano Robin had originally wanted. 

After that she dropped the cue job onto you, all but forcing you to join the production. While you protested and tried to get out of it, secretly you were relieved to have something to do in the mornings to distract yourself. 

It also helps that the sound booth is so small that you have to practically sit in Steve’s lap in between cues and that he always kisses the base of your neck in an attempt to get you to break out into giggles that the entire town will hear.

Robin hates it.

It’s her fault for forcing you into the job. 

“It’s my 500th broadcast,” Robin spins around in her chair after having made her usual announcements regarding the weather and cues up a celebratory song while you motion to Steve for applause. “Yeah, you heard that right, folks. Five-double-O!”

The cheesy audience applause plays over the broadcast and you can’t help but laugh. Who knew Robin Buckley would one day terrorize the town with 500 days worth of broadcasts in the midst of a military coup? 

Robin goes into the monologue she’s been writing all week full of not so subtle jabs at all Hawkins has been through this year and the unrealistic regulations you’ve been forced to endure since then. 

“And now, I’m stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots.” Robin says, snickering when you salute at her like the diligent soldier Hawkins expects you to be. “And, if I can be brutally honest, I couldn’t be happier. Because when you really think about it, why would you want to live anywhere else?”

You cue to Steve for a booing crowd, but Robin sees and reaches over to tear the page out.

Absolutely not, she mouths at you, eyebrows furrowed. 

Lame, you mouth back. 

Steve watches the interaction in amusement, deciding to resolve the issue with a sliding whistle he found the other day. Its unexpectedly pathetic sound distracts you long enough for Robin to continue her spiel.

The traitor took her side. 

With a sigh, you walk over to Steve and help him find the rest of the tracks needed for the broadcast. The two of you work fluidly together, always anticipating the other’s needs and moving just where needed. He hands you a freshly brewed cup of coffee after a sickly cough tape plays and you couldn’t be more grateful for him as the liquid warms your ever cold hands. 

You’re quiet for the rest of Robin’s broadcast, content simply handing Steve the necessary tapes and ordering him around via cues. 

“And go on that date! Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight.”

A loud, shocked gasp slips from your lips before you can stop it. Embarrassed, you clamp your hands over your mouth and pray that it escaped Robin’s notice. 

You should know better by now. 

Hearing your shock, Robin spins in her chair and grabs her chest, feigning pain. “Did you hear that cute little gasp, folks? It seems that Hawkins’ sweetheart is surprised that I have my own sweetheart. Or, maybe…” she leans in close to you now, wiggling her eyebrows at your horror of being publicly denounced, “she’s just jealous that she isn’t the only person in town who gets serenaded via broadcast.”

Steve just barely suppresses his laughter with a cough, which only mortifies you more. Pinching his side, you harshly whisper at Robin, “I’m not jealous! I just didn’t think you’d announce your relationship so openly!”

“Regardless,” Robin ignores your frantic explanation and cues up her next song. “This one’s for you, babe.”

Some new song plays, but you don’t hear it over your struggle against Steve’s hands around your waist preventing you from jumping over the tape player and tugging Robin’s headphones off in retaliation.

“Let go of me!” You whisper as loud as you dare, trying to twist out of Steve’s grasp.

“Not worth it, angel,” he sighs into your ear. “I’ll help you sneak coffee grounds into her shoes after this but–”

Suddenly the broadcast begins cutting in and out. Static leaks into the audio as you and Steve look at each other in alarm. Then, at the same time, you both run to the control panel, hitting every button you can think of in a vain attempt to fix whatever has gone wrong. 

Probably not the most efficient method, but the two of you have never been the best under pressure together. 

“What the hell?” Robin shouts, watching you and Steve running around like headless chickens. “What did you guys do?”

“Nothing!” You both exclaim in unison, just before the broadcast completely shuts off. 

“Oh,” you wince. “That can’t be good.”

Robin tears off her headphones. “Shit!”

She runs out of the sound booth with you and Steve close behind. Irritation and disappointment radiates off of her skin while remorse coats yours. You can’t imagine how excited Robin had been to play her song for Vickie. 

“I told you to stop thumbing your nose at the military.” Steve berates as Robin scours the station for any sign of technical issues that can quickly be resolved. 

“You really think the military did this?” You ask, scrunching your nose. “I mean, Robin wasn’t as snarky as she could’ve been. I thought it was relatively tame.”

“Thank you, pretty girl.” Robin slams her hand against one of the station’s panels. “Seriously, I was just reiterating their goddamn rules, encouraging compliance!”

Steve sighs. “Right. No sarcasm there.”

“Says the dingus with the rubber chicken.”

“These are very serious people, Robin.”

“They’re morons, not ‘serious people’.” You scoff, but when you see the panic growing in Robin’s eyes, you tuck your hair behind your ears and exhale slowly. There’s only one person you know who’ll be of any use. “Listen, I’ll radio Dustin and see what he thinks.”

Robin doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said, focused on turning some random dial she’s found over and over again without any luck. 

It’s Steve who hears you, and he’s the one who grabs the walkie before you can. 

“You sure you want to call the kid right now?” He asks you, holding the device over your head. “I mean, no offense, but do you really think he’ll answer after the psychological warfare I witnessed this morning?”

“He’s my brother,” the excuse has become an old friend on your tongue. You’ve repeated it every day, every time, for months now. “We have to at least try before Robin loses her mind.”

Steve wants to argue further, but Robin’s voice starts to raise and you both know she’s five seconds away from a breakdown. Reluctant, he grabs the nearest walkie and extends its antenna. “Henderson, you copy?”

You hold your breath at the silence that follows. Steve looks at you, shaking his head slightly when still no response comes. Growing anxious at the silence, you grab the walkie from him. “Dustin? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He sounds tired, edging on the annoyance you’ve become familiar with.

Yet hearing Dustin’s voice, regardless of the displeasure that intertwines within his cadence that stings your skin, causes you to exhale in relief.

“Hey, buddy. Listen, we’re having some trouble with the tower.”

“Took you long enough.” Steve snatches the walkie from you, frustration cutting through the room. 

“God, you sound swell.” You can practically hear Dustin rolling his eyes at Steve’s impatience. Something you find yourself doing as well. “Let me take a wild guess, you and my sister aren’t calling to wish me a good morning.”

“You’re the one who refused to ride with us,” you snatch the walkie back from Steve, now annoyed with both of the boys. “And I know you heard me standing outside your door this morning.”

“Are you seriously calling just to berate me? Jesus, can’t you just–”

Steve cuts in before Dustin ever growing resentment spikes. “Alright, we really don’t have time for this seeing as how we’ve got a situation down here at the Squawk. The signal’s gone all wonky.”

“I was getting there,” you say through gritted teeth, glaring at your boyfriend. He takes a cautious step back. A wise choice. Exhaling the last of your frustration, you continue. “But Steve’s right. We think Robin finally pissed off the higher ups.”

“Doubtful. She was encouraging compliance.” 

“Told you!” Robin shouts, which Steve waves an annoyed hand at. 

Biting back a smile, you press for more. “That’s what I figured, but the broadcast suddenly went out and we can’t get the signal back. Any ideas?”

“Check the remote radio head.” Dustin suggests. Faintly you can hear a mixture of voices behind him. He must’ve just arrived at the school. 

Steve crosses his arms. “What the hell is a radio head?”

“Remote radio head,” your brother sighs tiredly. “Just read the manual, guys.”

To be completely honest, you had no idea that the radio tower came with an instruction manual. 

“Sure, we could read it, but…” You pause, trying to find the right words. “You know I’m pretty horrible with AV stuff. Maybe you could walk us through the more complicated parts? Help us with the terminology?”

Selfishly, you just want to hear your brother’s voice for a little while longer. Even if all he does is give curt, short responses. 

You miss him. 

“Find a dictionary and learn the terminology yourself.” Dustin huffs into the walkie. You flinch at the tone. “I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Y/N.”

Steve bristles next to you.

You try to still the slight tremor of your hands. 

Despite how many times Dustin has rejected you, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how deeply the sting cuts into your pulse. 

“But what if I always want you to be there?” You hate how small your voice sounds. How, even with how hard you try for it not to, the waver in your vocal chords reveals the hurt. 

A beat of silence passes. Dustin doesn’t say anything. 

Instead the walkie shuts off. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve runs an angry hand through his hair. “Does he seriously have to ignore you every time you try to reach out to him?”

He throws the walkie onto the couch and paces the room. “It’s his tone. It’s always his goddamn tone!” 

Robin turns to you, eyes weary as Steve continues to pace around the room and mumble angrily to himself. She silently asks what you want to do, but you just shake your head. 

You’re familiar with Steve’s anger directed towards your brother.

You despise it. 

“I don’t know how you aren’t sick of it by now, Y/N.” Steve laughs humorlessly. “I sure as hell am.”

And there it is. The insistence that you be in the middle of Steve and Dustin constantly arguing. As if you aren’t already dangerously close to losing your little brother in his grief. As if you want to constantly be begging for Steve’s understanding and Dustin’s vulnerability. 

But as Steve tugs at his hair and continues to talk a mile a minute about how much your brother pisses him off, you just choose to bite your tongue. Like you always seem to do these days. 

“We should look for the manual.” You say instead, needing something to distract yourself with.

Steve’s footsteps falter, having not expected you to move on from Dustin’s dismissal so quickly, but Robin seems to sense what he can’t and nods eagerly. “I couldn’t agree more!”

Before Steve can say anything else, Robin takes your arm and drags you away from him, the two of you giggling at Steve’s almost immediate protests.

It’s enough to distract you. If even for a little while.

– 

Finding the instruction manual turns out to be a shockingly difficult task. 

With how large the radio station’s infrastructure is, trying to find some ancient document is like trying to find a needle in the haystack. 

“I swear to God this stupid thing does not exist.” Robin slams yet another filing cabinet closed. Seems her search through the office hadn’t gone well. 

“It fucking better exist.” You roll your shoulders in an attempt to lessen the tension within your spine from crouching over a rack of files. “This really isn’t a pleasant experience.”

Jonathan snorts next to you. He’d shown up alongside Nancy just as you, Steve, and Robin started scouring the tower for the alleged manual. While Nancy chose to search through the bookshelf, Jonathan announced that he would search alongside you.

Something that Steve narrows his eyes at. 

You choose to pretend that you don’t notice. 

“Can you try Dustin again, bug?” Jonathan asks after rifling through the fifth file without any luck. 

“He turned off his walkie!” Robin answers for you, rushing over to search through yet another pile of boxes. 

“What’s been up with him lately?” Your head falls against the wall at Nancy’s question. Hearing your defeat, she hums to herself. “Noted.”

Eventually Nancy manages to find the manual, which ends up being a giant binder held together with a rather concerning amount of paperclips and tape. She holds it up gleefully and beckons everyone over to a table, dropping the thing down. 

You all crowd around Nancy as she quickly flips through the pages, searching for anything that even remotely resembles what Dustin had been talking about. 

“Wait, there it is,” Steve reaches over to point at a figure, inadvertently placing the majority of his body against Nancy’s as their hands graze. She tenses at the touch. “There it is. Remote radio head.”

It takes Nancy a second to respond. You watch as she swallows nervously, obviously uncomfortable with how close Steve has become. A thick, dark cloud of uncertain tension ebbs off them, and an unpleasant taste sours your mouth. 

The taste only bitters more when you notice the way Jonathan’s disdainful eyes linger on Steve. 

He knows just as well as you do why Nancy shifts away from your boyfriend. While you trust Steve more than anything, Jonathan doesn’t. 

The small, innocent touch will be yet another rift between Nancy and Jonathan. It will become yet another thing you have to pretend you don’t notice. Something you can’t talk about. Not with anyone. 

Steve hasn’t quite forgiven Jonathan for the phone call. 

Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?

And Jonathan hasn’t quite forgiven Steve for falling in love with you. 

I’ll always love you the most, bug.

Lost in your thoughts, you miss Robin asking how to find the remote radio head and Nancy’s terrifying, yet genius mind coming up with the solution: the radio tower itself. 

– 

Immediately you hate the plan. 

You’ve never stepped foot anywhere close to the radio tower due to its unnatural size and the unease it brings you. 

As you stand before the tower alongside the others, squinting against the harsh sunlight and height, you’re reminded yet again of how much you loathe the ideas Nancy comes up with. 

“It’s up there somewhere,” she says, squinting at the sun as well. “It’s gotta be.”

“Are we going based on fact or a hunch?” You ask. “Because as much as I adore you, I’m getting nauseous just looking at this thing.”

Robin pokes your side. “Scared of heights, pretty girl?”

“As if you would climb up there.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Robin laughs, looking around at everyone else. “But, that does beg the question of who will climb to the tippy top of this bad boy.”

Nancy studies the tower, unsure. “Without a harness or anything, it does seem kind of dangerous.”

You choke back a scoff. “Kind of dangerous? C’mon, Wheeler. It’s a death trap.”

“Sounds like a job for me.”

Immediately you grab the back of Steve’s jacket and yank him to your side. “I’ll kill you.”

“Sounds pretty death trap-y to me.” He smirks at you, grabbing the hand that holds him back to kiss the inside of your wrist. He caresses the skin tenderly, amused by your reaction. “Relax, angel.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t actually want to climb the tower. Steve only volunteered because he thinks you’re adorable when you fret over him. He’s about to say as much when Jonathan suddenly steps forward and puffs his chest. 

“I actually think this might be a better job for me.”

What little rationality that Steve has quickly gets forgotten when Jonathan opens his mouth. 

“I got this Byers,” Steve throws his jacket off and slams it against the other’s chest. A small rush of satisfaction courses through him when Jonathan grimaces at the force. “Don’t sweat it.”

“Steve Harrington.” His name barrels through your gritted teeth. You know that he’s only trying to show off for you. “Don’t you dare.”

Hearing the finality in your voice is almost enough to get Steve to back down. But then Jonathan starts taking his jacket off as well and walks towards the tower and Steve really does wish he knew how to not make stupid decisions based around his pride. 

“I’ll be fine, angel.” He calls over his shoulder, unable to turn fully to look at you in fear that your beauty will break him. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t forget about the voltage, dingus.” Robin shouts at him. “Unless you want to fry.”

Embarrassment washes over Steve. He can feel your eyes burning into his back and how eagerly you want to scream “I told you so”. 

He’s in way too deep now to back down.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve directs his path towards the tower’s electricity shed, pretending it had been his plan the entire time. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“You sure?” You call out, annoyance clear in your voice. 

Steve ducks his head and continues walking. He knows it’s best not to keep engaging with you. You’re already pissed off at him as it is. 

Finding the necessary dial to shut off the tower’s power surge, he turns it all the way to the left until the faint electric hum shuts off. One step down. Pleased with himself, Steve exits the shed and is about to brag before he sees Jonathan dangling off the tower’s ladder like a fucking idiot. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I got this, dude.” Jonathan’s smug face pisses Steve off even more. “Don’t sweat it.”

And the race is on. 

Steve runs towards the tower’s ladder and throws himself up, climbing as fast as he physically can to make up for Jonathan’s head start.

You watch from the ground, not even bothering to try and stop what’s happening. It’s embarrassingly immature. While you understand Steve’s feelings towards Jonathan, you hate how he feeds into them. Anyone can see how fragile Jonathan’s relationship with both you and Nancy has become, and everyone knows that you’ll always be Steve’s.

Yet instead of having a conversation about it, or even allowing himself to be the bigger person, Steve feeds into Jonathan’s insecurity like he’s chasing after the high. 

Nancy turns away in disgust as Jonathan and Steve race to the top of the tower, and her sigh echoes your own disappointment. 

“How committed are the four of you to monogamy?” Robin throws her around you and Nancy, squeezing the two of you together with a glint in her eyes.

You shove her away. “Please stop talking, Robin.”

She pinches your cheek as she grins wickedly, far too amused with the situation. “Aw, c’mon, I’m sure there’s plenty of room for more in your relationship–”

The rev of an engine cuts Robin off, its harsh sound loudly announcing Murray’s arrival. He waves excitedly from his giant cargo truck and for once in your life you’re relieved to see the bastard. 

“I thought the next delivery was scheduled for tomorrow?” You tilt your head in confusion. 

Nancy’s eyes draw together. Concern sketches her features. “Me, too.”

Your teeth scrape over your lips. While you’re grateful Murray’s arrival has given you an excuse to turn away from your idiotic boyfriend and best friend, you know that Murray’s early delivery can’t mean anything good. 

Something is about to happen. You’re sure of it. 

Murray waits for you down the hill. He rubs his hands together in anticipation, eager to show what he’s smuggled in this time. 

“Ladies, hello!” He cackles in glee, yellow teeth and all. “Always a pleasure to see your beautiful faces.”

You don’t bother to mask your disgust. “Yeah. Right back at ya.”

“Santa’s brought a full sack today.” Murray ignores your indifference and opens the truck’s backdoor in a flourish. He grabs a large sack of supplies and throws it onto the ground before you. “A fresh telemetry bag. Scarcer than hen’s teeth, these things.”

He hands you the box and you carefully inspect the thing. “This is what Dustin wanted, right?”

“Correct, little miss. His requests are always the most annoying things on God’s green earth to find.” The disdain in Murray’s voice pleases you. He then turns to Nancy and hands her two large metal containers. “As for you, here are enough bullets and shells for Hop to start a small war, if he so chooses.”

Nancy accepts the containers with a small nod. 

“And did someone order a salad?” Murray holds up what you sincerely hope isn’t a grenade, but when he smiles wide with a crazed look in his eyes, you know it can only be a lethal weapon he’s playing with in his hands. “A grenade salad. Ha! Get it? I hid the grenades under the lettuce, and–”

“Is there anything else?” You interject, long fed up with the man’s horrible jokes and monologues. 

Murray glares at you. “You know, I work really hard to provide for your needs. A little respect wouldn’t hurt.”

You shrug. “I think I’ll pass.”

Robin snickers behind you and Nancy covers her mouth, hiding a pleased smile. Knowing he’s outnumbered, Murray purses his mouth and finishes his haul. “I also brought Gatorade for El’s battery, in case anyone was wondering.”

“God, please toss me one,” Steve slides next to you, severely out of breath and apparently alive with Jonathan, who doesn’t look any better. “I’m dying here.”

Murray happily complies, tossing the Gatorade bottle in the air, not anticipating that you’d intercept it and take the drink for yourself. “Thanks, Bauman.” 

“What the hell, Y/N?” Steve exclaims, choking on his own shock and eliciting several dry, overexhausted coughs after you elbow him in the ribs. “Fuck!”

“On a tight leash, Harrington?” Murray clicks his tongue, smug. 

Unscrewing the cap off the bottle, you flick the small piece of metal at the guy’s head. “Aren’t you a grown man?”

Murray steps closer to you, eyes seething and on the brink of losing all composure. “Alright, listen here, you little shit–”

“Is there anything else?” Nancy clears her throat expectantly. While she understands your prolonged annoyance for Murray, she wishes you’d piss him off after he’s delivered everything, rather than during. “We were kind of in the middle of something.”

The man inhales sharply for a moment, clenching his jaw as if to steady himself. You watch the overdramatic show of patience in obvious amusement. “Yeah, anything else, Bauman?”

“No,” Murray spits out venomously. “At least, not for you.” He turns back to his truck and fishes out an old cassette tape and dangles it in Jonathan’s face. “As for you, Mr. Byers, I know you’re allergic to jazz, but just a whirl. You might find it rather engaging.”

He then proceeds to use his entire face to wink at Jonathan, laughing to himself over a joke none of you seem to understand. Jonathan quickly snatches the tape from Murray and shoves it into his pocket, face red in embarrassment. 

Jonathan’s reaction unsettles something within your chest. The strings snap together in a brutal crescendo, pricking your skin as the lines break apart inside your ribcage. Jonathan keeps his eyes down, low enough that you can’t look into them. 

You dislike the way Murray presented the cassette tape. The words he used. 

But it all gets forgotten when the man hits Nancy’s head with an envelope of papers. “And for the station manager, the reason for my premature delivery.”

She snatches the envelope and fingers through its contents without hesitation. You all crowd around her, silent. You’ve become familiar with the envelopes and what they bring. 

The crack in your left ribcage seeps open. 

Dread creeps in. 

“A burn? Tonight?” Nancy asks, shaking her head. “But it’s–”

“Too soon. I know.” Murray’s normally overzealous nature falters. Even he can’t mask the worry. “Whatever they’re doing in the Upside Down evidently needs a serious injection of resources.”

Nancy flips through the pages of the leaked document. All crowded with numbers and orders, you’ve lost count of how many correspondences you’ve read through by now. They blur together, yet even as the numbers become harder to decipher due to how quickly Nancy rifles through them, you know why Murray came when he did. 

“They’re requesting more supplies than they normally do,” you peer over Nancy’s shoulder, face twisting in concern. “The supply drop could take hours.” 

Murray shrugs. “Two, at the minimum.”

“Which gives Hopper plenty of time for a crawl.” The rough timbre of Nancy’s voice reveals more than her words do. 

The dread seeps into your lungs. Thick like molasses, you know there isn’t any use trying to escape it. 

“Maybe tonight’s the night we finally find that bastard and end this.” 

Murray’s words hang in the air. 

End this.

But will it ever really end?

You’ve long stopped believing in miracles or that retribution can exist alongside the cruelty that predates it. 

Except Nancy’s hands remain steady, without any tremor, still somehow always firm in her belief that one day Vecna’s blood will finally cease the nightmares. 

You wish you had her faith. 

But for now, all you can do is prepare for yet another crawl. 

–

The beginning is always the same. 

Nancy’s quick eyes skim through the document’s pages as instructs you to write down every piece of information she deems relevant to the crawl. What time it will begin, how many men will be sent, which route they’ll take. 

Once completed, the two of you then pour over the details and try to piece them into a jigsaw code of a puzzle only few will understand. 

Steve adds in pieces of his own humor in an attempt to mask the code even further, while Jonathan selects the music that will play and alert the rest of the party to be ready. 

Then all Robin has to do is go on air as Rockin’ Robin with her script in hand and deliver the code while you and the others sit quietly behind her, bracing for what’s to come. 

The beginning has always been the easiest. 

In the midst of creating ciphers and analyzing complex military documents, you can usually convince yourself that maybe this time it’ll be different. Maybe this time the crawl will amount to anything other than disappointment and frustration. 

But then you’re perpetually reminded that you will never get what you want.

Nancy always insists that she have you, Robin, Steve, and Jonathan go over what you’ve found in the documents together in the radio station’s basement with nothing but a projector to light the room. 

Though you understand why she remains adamant about going over the details and plan, it's become the thing you hate most about the crawls. Being stuck in the dark, rotting basement going over the same gridlines of Hawkins that you memorized well over a year ago as Nancy recites the same plan she always does creates a misery you never thought possible. 

“If Murray’s intel is correct, the supply convoy is set to reach Hawkins at 10:00 sharp. Meaning I want Hopper in the tunnels and en route to MAC-Z no later than 9:00.” Nancy motions to the military base on the gridmap with a pointer Robin jokingly got her months ago that she still hasn’t thrown away. 

Nancy conveys so much confidence as she speaks. It’s a shame it centers around a topic you really, really hate. 

“Barring any delays, I expect that the convoy will reach MAC-Z by about 10:15.”

“And the crawl begins." You finish for Nancy with a sigh.

Her pointer now aims at you. “Exactly, meaning Hop will be going a gentle 30 miles per hour while you, Dustin, and Steve do your best to keep up with his telemetry tag’s signal.”

“I’ll blow through any red lights we come across so we stay within range.” Steve nods to himself, satisfied with his own plan that he spoke with no one else about. A terrible plan, at that.

Your foot kicks the edge of his chair fondly, getting his attention. “And that’s why I’ll be the one driving.”

“Oh, in your dreams, angel.” He sticks his tongue out at you childishly, leaning back in his chair so his hair splays across your lap. “My car’s too pretty for you to drive.”

“More importantly,” the slight rise in Nancy’s voice is enough to snap Steve’s chair back to the ground, forcing his attention back to her. “We’ll lose Hopper if you get pulled over,” she then looks pointedly at you, “Regardless of who’s driving.”

Steve waves his hands up in surrender, knowing better than to argue with the girl. You simply place your chin in your hand, bored. Beneath the table you sit at hides your clenched fists. “Carry on, Wheeler.”

She purses her lips and exhales curtly before continuing. “As I was saying, Hop will have two whole hours to search for Vecna, which is ample time. He’s cleared zones faster, meaning all signs point to yet another successful crawl.”

Successful.

“An interesting word choice.” The molten dread within your chest solidifies to bitterness, and you don’t realize you’ve voiced your resentful thoughts until Nancy’s contempt eyes bear into yours. 

“I’m sorry?” She asks defensively, arms crossed over her chest. “Is there a problem, Y/N?”

Awkwardly you clear your throat. “Nothing, it’s just…”

“We’re good.” Jonathan shuffles his feet, anxious to move onto a different conversation. He can feel a shift in the air, the charged static forming between you and Nancy that he desperately wants to avoid. “Promise.”

“We definitely aren’t good. I mean, no offense, but Zone G1 is not that exciting or Vecna-y.” Robin’s bluntness cuts through the room, voicing what you’ve been too afraid to.

Taking the risk, you swallow down your own hesitations as well and bite the bullet that Robin has inexplicably shot. “There’s nothing in the zone, either. Nowhere he could hide in that Hopper wouldn’t be able to find.”

The stiffness in Nancy’s posture sends pins through your body. Her eyes, always cunning and alert, darken into something malicious, almost even protective. She doesn’t say anything, though. She simply sets her cold gaze on the room, studying everyone before her. 

“Or maybe…” Steve’s loose arm around you flicks in the air, indifferent. “He’s already dead.”

Robin shot the gun, you bit its bullet, and Steve echos its finality. 

“Your plan is great, Nance, but this is crawl what? Aren’t we in the thirties now?” He continues, voicing the dread and contempt that has consumed you for months.

“Thrity-three,” you speak slowly, quietly. As if it will hide the pain that the knowledge plagues you with. You’ve written to Max thirty-three times now about the crawls. “This would be crawl thirty-four.”

Steve’s hand rubs up and down your back. Only he knows why you’ve counted each and every crawl. Why their every failure cuts deeper and deeper into your chest, like a landmine waiting to blow. 

“El can’t find him in her bath and that Will and Y/N haven’t felt Vecna since the world basically fell apart,” Steve scratches his face, worried he’s overstepping with the reminder that you’re still marked, still a target. “Don’t you feel like we’re scouring a battlefield that we already won?”

“Have you forgotten what he showed Nancy? Hawkins on fire.” Jonathan stands in for Nancy’s silence, infuriated. “Karen, Holly, everyone dead.”

“And what about what he showed me?” Your anger flings from your throat harsher than you intend for it to. The anger rings throughout the room, forcing everyone to stand in its messy wake, silent. Fingers digging into your palms, your eyes close and exhale slowly. “He showed me my father. He made me relive Will’s disappearance and-and…”

Your voice trails off as Nancy’s eyes avert yours. She shifts ever so slightly, the only indication of her unease, and you choke back your own discomfort at the memory you both share.

Did you really think I’d forget her, Y/N?

The venom that had laced Steve’s voice will always fester your skin, no matter how many nights you’ve spent trying to forget them. 

I can’t. At least, not as easily as your dad forgot you.

You wonder if Nancy has forgotten the venom, or if it haunts her, too. 

“What I’m trying to say is that Vecna only shows your worst fears,” your fingers scratch the tabletop beneath you, unable to look at anyone. “He’ll do anything to get into your head and scare you.”

“Yeah, well he did a good job because I am scared.” Nancy blurts out, her composure finally gone. “And you should be scared, Y/N. Because if he’s still out there, I can promise you that he’ll finish you off and end our world.”

As soon as she’s said it, the fire in Nancy’s eyes dims. A frail hand covers her mouth, but the damage has been done. She drops her head in shame. “I-I’m sorry. That was unfair.”

So deeply you want to scream at her how exhausted you are of trying to hold onto a hope that refuses to be grasped after every failed crawl. You want to scream at Nancy that every morning you run until you can’t breathe because it’s the only sensation similar enough to the death that took Max from you. You want to scream that you’re sick of pretending you don’t have the same bloodlust for Vecna’s body, a yearning so intense that it terrifies you. 

Above all, you just want to scream at Nancy that all your life all you’ve ever done is fail again and again in what matters the most, in protecting who you love. 

To expect you to want to endure it all over again is a fate much more cruel than Vecna’s curse. 

But rather than scream until your throat becomes a bloodied mess of vocal chords, you just stare back at Nancy’s mournful eyes and force a smile.

“It’s alright,” you tell her, too tired to mask the apathy. You’re sick of pretending. “Let’s just stick to the original plan for tonight.”

The frown line between Nancy’s brows only deepens. “Are you sure? If you really feel strongly about something, you know I’d trust whatever call you make.”

“I want him dead.” The words come out softly, an exhale more than anything. But they’re the only semblance of truth that you can provide Nancy. 

She studies your face, eyes silently caressing the silhouette of your body. The gaze lingers on your chapped lips, your nailbeds that have been picked raw, the way your hair hides more of your face than it used to. 

“Then it’s settled,” she eventually announces, gesturing to the others. “Tonight, kill Vecna.”

The declaration should provoke celebration and inspire awe. But no one stirs. Steve remains lock-jawed by your side, fingers pressed lightly into your skin to calm his own uncertainties. Jonathan keeps his head down, caught between relief and mourning. You’re no better, gnawing at your lip until you taste the familiar metallic consequence while Robin picks at her own nails and shifts in her seat, never one for being in a stuffy room for long. 

She breaks first. 

“Well, this was certainly a pleasant and absolutely not at all uncomfortable conversation,” Robin jumps up from her seat, wringing her hands out as if it will disperse her nausea. “And while I totally long to stay here with you guys, I unfortunately have to go make a rather doomed phone call and cancel a date that I was actually really looking forward to.” 

Hand at her temples, Robin salutes the room and leaves you stranded with the ensemble to your estranged love triangle that you want no part of. 

Lovely. 

“I should go, too.” Desperate for air, you quickly stand and head for the staircase. “Need to call Dustin and make sure he has everything for the crawl tonight.”

Steve jumps to his feet as well. “I’ll help you call him–”

“I’d rather do it alone, actually.” You don’t mean to interrupt him, but it’s obvious how anxious Steve is to go with you and while you adore how tenderly he treats you, you’re terrified that he’ll start yet another argument with Dustin and become the crux of your brewing breakdown. 

Seeing the disappointment on Steve’s face, you kiss the crown of his head, stroking his cheek. “I’ll be right back, honey. Promise.” 

He sighs into the touch, mumbling softly enough so that only you will hear, “Can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with Byers and Nancy.”

“Why do you think I want to leave?” You whisper, laughing under your breath. 

Steve’s eyes shine back, full of the ever present boyish charm that you stood no chance of surviving. 

– 

You radio Dustin a total of fourty-nine times.

Not once does he answer. 

Steve finds you in a spare closet, screaming into a walkie over and over again demanding that your brother respond. 

“Dustin Henderson, I swear to God if you don’t answer me I will shove Tew’s litter down your pillowcase and make sure you get pinkeye for the rest of your life!”

“What did the kid do now?” Your boyfriend comes up behind you, wrapping a loose arm over your shoulders. 

You brush him off, too worried and overwhelmed to stand still. “He’s not answering.”

Steve snorts. “Shocking.”

“I’m serious, Steve.” You spin around, facing him with anxious eyes. “I’m starting to worry. He’s never been radio silent like this.”

“Are you forgetting what happened this morning? The little shit totally shut you out. Again, might I add. Like he does every time. I’m not surprised he’s decided to go full AWOL.”

“He always answers eventually.” You argue weakly, knowing how pathetic it sounds. “Dustin’s never just gone completely silent without warning.”

“The kid also never used to spit profanities at you until one day he thought it’d be a brilliant idea,” Steve shrugs. “Now it’s all he does.”

Your eyes sting in frustration, though you have nothing left to say. Not to Steve, anyways. He used to be the only other person in your life who truly understood your brother, but lately you wonder if Steve ever knew Dustin at all. 

“Y/N? Steve?” A hesitant knock sounds against the closet door. “You guys in there? And, uh, are you… decent?”

Will’s shy voice accompanies the knock, and you swing the door open without second thought, startling both him and Steve. 

“Where’s my brother?” You demand immediately, not bothering to acknowledge Will’s previous implications. 

He stumbles back, slightly alarmed. “Dustin isn’t here yet?”

It’s the absolute worst thing Will could’ve ever said. 

You barrel out of the doorway, ignoring Steve’s small yelp of pain when you accidentally elbow his chest trying to get out of the closet. Instead you start scouring the radio station, slamming every door open and shouting Dustin’s name until your tongue goes numb. 

On your rampage you run into Mike and Lucas in the field, both attempting to radio your brother as well. Seeing them prompts bile to rise in your throat. 

They don’t know where he is, either. 

“When was the last time you saw Dustin?” You demand the minute you’re close enough to the boys, Will and Steve struggling to keep up behind you. “Why didn’t you guys bike here with him? Where did he go?”

“Woah, slow down.” Mike throws his hands up in defense. “We just got here and I can guarantee that we know shit else like you.”

Lucas rubs the back of his neck. “We gotta tell her about Andy, man.”

“Who the fuck is Andy?” Heart rate spiking, you almost pass out from how fast you turn to face Lucas. “What the hell is going on?”

“I just got off the phone with Mrs. Henderson.” Robin joins the group, unaware of the argument unfolding. “She hasn’t heard from Dustin all day.”

“No way we’re telling Y/N about Andy.” Mike scoffs at Lucas, ignoring what Robin has said. “You know that Dustin would kill us.”

Lucas slaps the kid’s shoulder childishly. “We have to! He almost gave Dustin a black eye today for wearing that stupid Hellfire shirt–”

“Where’s my brother?” 

Your shout echoes off the woodline. Its reverberation cascades down your spine. 

Yet no one can expel the remnants of the outburst with any semblance of what you want to hear. 

“We don’t know, Y/N.” Mike murmurs, his careful hand grazing yours. He doesn’t want to give you unnecessary false hope. He understands better than anyone how painful it can be. “He didn’t meet us after school. That’s all I can tell you.”

“But he’ll be here soon.” Will offers, trying to comfort you as best as he can. “Dustin always shows up for a crawl.”

The tall grass beneath your feet tempts you to lay amongst them. You’re so exhausted from it all. “He should be here by now.”

“Yet he’s an hour late.” Robin not so gently reminds you. 

“So we go and look for him.” It’s the only answer you’ll accept. You’re not going on a goddamn crawl without knowing whether or not your little brother is okay. 

But a look gets passed between the boys. An underlying understanding seems to connect the three of them together, unifying against you before you can even come up with a defense. 

“You know we don’t have time, Y/N.” Lucas says delicately, eyes apologetic. 

“But–”

“Dustin would want us to do the crawl without him.” Mike cuts in, not unkindly, though firm. “Look, we’re all worried about him, but this is our shot at Vecna that we can’t miss. And if we don’t have your brother… someone has to step in for him.”

They want you to take your brother’s place.

Steve carefully takes your hand, risking everything when he says, “Dustin isn’t a kid anymore, angel.”

I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Y/N.

But what if I always want you there?

The silence that followed had been Dustin’s answer. 

You just have to accept it. 

“Fine,” you spit out, always prone to succumbing to the needs of others. “But the minute we’re done with this, we’re looking for Dustin.”

“No member of the party gets left behind.” Mike interlocks his pinky with yours. “Promise.”

While the gesture warms your skin, you wish you could believe that its sentiment was sacred and untouchable. 

Instead it leaves a hollow pit in your stomach.

– 

Everyone gathers their things in silence. No one needs to ask what to bring or where to go. You all have your designated areas and tasks from dozens of crawls before. 

Nancy and Will help Mike and Lucas ready their gear for the stakeout. While you’ve always hated sending them so close to MAC-Z, you’re at least comforted by the fact that you were able to secure Bookstrordinary as their base, providing them with information about where to hide and how to escape the building quickly if they were to get caught. 

Joyce helps Hopper with his bullet proof vest and readies his gun, Robin readies the radio signal, and Jonathan prepares the telemetry tracker.

You sit in the WSQK van with Steve, going over Dustin’s detailed instructions about how to signal for the tracker.

“Jesus, this kid has awful handwriting.” Steve sighs under his breath, eyes straining at your brother’s messy scrawls. 

“No one in our family has nice handwriting.” You sort through your own papers, making sure you have all the necessary data from last week’s crawl. Dustin insists that you help him track the exact distance of each route for crawls as a way to compile more data that could help in the future. 

You think it’s unnecessary, but arguing with Dustin never ends well. 

The reminder of him tugs at your chest. You wish he was here, you wish you knew where he was and why he always chooses to run away these days. 

Steve playfully tosses a pen at you. “I like your handwriting.”

“You’re easy to please.”

“Watch it, angel.”

You giggle despite the grief in your chest, tossing the pen back at him, and for a moment you’re just two kids in a car, happy and in love. 

“Harrington, Henderson, you guys getting any signal? Tag is active.” Robin’s voice interrupts from the walkie. 

“Yeah, just give us a second.” Steve bites the pen in his mouth and grabs the walkie. He then throws his legs over the driver’s seat and crawls towards the back of the van where the hatch to the antenna resides. He frowns for a moment, unsure what to do next. “Any idea what to do next, Henderson?”

You shake your head. Dustin never taught you. “Maybe twist it?”

Steve spits the pen out and sighs, fixing his hair. “Well, here goes nothing.”

He grabs the handle to the wheel and attempts to turn it. Except it never moves. He tugs at it with more force, but the wheel remains locked. With a frustrated huff he grabs the walkie again. “Anybody know how Henderson’s wheelie thing works?”

Robin takes a moment to respond. “Uh, there should be a safety lock under the wheel.”

“Safety lock, real necessary.” Steve laughs in disbelief, but when he sees your pointed glare, he drops the subject and tries the wheel again. This time, it moves. He turns the antenna towards the station as you hand him a pair of headphones to put on. 

“Okay,” he says into the walkie. “I’m getting a signal. It’s pretty quiet, though.”

Steve slowly turns the wheel’s handle, eyes steady on the decibel meter attached to the van. “Okay, signal’s holding a steady 90 dB… But how am I supposed to monitor this and drive without Henderson?”

“Isn’t Y/N already with you?” Robin’s confusion rings clear through the static. 

You crawl over to Steve and take over the walkie. “I have to track the route and time how long it takes us. Dustin uses it to calibrate the telemetry tags.”

The walkie goes quiet. 

“Robin?” You look down to see if the signal somehow has been cut off. “Hello?”

“Guess they didn’t consider who to send beforehand.” Steve yanks the headphones off. “They must’ve thought Dustin would show by now.”

“He still might.” You aren’t sure why vehemently insist on believing the impossible.

Steve spares you pity, choosing to change the subject. “Who do you think they’ll send, anyways? I mean, no one really understands this stuff like Dustin does.”

“Nancy should be able to do it.” You say hopefully. “She’s smart enough to figure it out quickly.”

“As if Byers would let her anywhere near me–”

The van’s backdoors swing open.

You turn, expecting to find Nancy climbing through them, but when you see Jonathan, you freeze. 

“Oh,” the words tumble out on their own as you stare at him. “They sent you.”

He fixes his jacket, eyes avoiding yours. “Don’t sound too excited, bug.”

In the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s fingers clenching the steering wheel at the nickname. You hadn’t even noticed he went back to the driver’s seat. 

Knowing that nothing you can say will alleviate the already choking tension, you force a smile at Jonathan before crawling back to the passenger seat. 

“You comfortable back there, Byers?” Steve asks, innocently enough. For a moment you think he’s playing nice, trying to appease you, but instead he turns to look at Jonathan with cruel, teasing eyes. “Or do you want me to get you a pillow?”

Jonathan forces the headphones on. “Just focus on driving.”

Your head drops to your hands. Running on little sleep and emotionally drained, you aren’t sure you’ll make it through the night trapped in a van with the two idiots. 

From the rear window you spot Mike on his bike alongside Lucas, waving his hands in the air to signal that they’re ready to head towards the meeting point.

It’s time. 

Fingers grazing over the knives in your back pocket, you turn to Steve. “Let’s go.”

He nods, starting the engine.

The crawl has begun. 

–

Waiting in the hidden alleyway with Steve and Jonathan quickly becomes a nightmare.

While no one talks, the silence weighs so heavily within the van that it cracks open your chest and steals any oxygen left in it. 

Your fingers trace over the papers for the crawl, scratching at the ink splotches of numbers and miles written within it and trying to busy your mind to prevent yourself from spiraling.

Steve busies himself with a snack he stole from Murray. He eats messily, noisily, and with every grotesque swallow you can feel Jonathan’s patience waning. 

You dread the inevitable explosion. 

“We got action.” The crackle of the walkie coming to life with Mike’s voice startles you. You’d almost forgotten why you were even stuck in the van in the first place. “Four trucks, outer east gate on Main.”

Jonathan’s hand comes up to his headphones, the other to the wheel. He readies himself for a signal. He knows how crucial the timing is. 

You hold your breath as Mike counts down to the burn. If all goes well, you should be driving in minutes. 

“Hopper’s in.”

You allow yourself to exhale. All Hopper has to do now is get through the gate undetected. Your eyes close, silently hoping your luck hasn’t run out just yet as you whisper, “C’mon, Hop.”

Seconds later Mike announces, “He’s flipped.”

Steve fist bumps the air. “We’re in!”

But his celebration is short lived once Joyce takes over the walkie, directing the attention to her son. “Jonathan, signal?”

Jonathan turns the wheel painstakingly slowly, careful not to go over or under. Once he finds Hopper’s signal, he walkies back to his mother, “Snagged it.”

“Should I go?” Steve asks, mouth full of food.

“No… hold.” Jonathan shakes his head. His eyes never leave the monitor as his fingers twist the wheel. You can see he’s holding his breath. “Hold… hold… Go!”

He locks the antenna’s wheel before he can lose Hopper again and Steve speeds off, flinging the van sideways at the abrupt turn. You brace yourself on the dashboard, forcing down the nausea so that you can monitor the car’s speed. You still have a job to do. 

You’ve driven this route a dozen times. Looking at your notes, you notice that every time prior the military tanks consistently drove slower. Yet tonight the van flies down the route, struggling to keep up with the telemetry tag in the Upside Down. 

At first you think you’ve miscalculated something. Maybe you started the stopwatch too soon, or maybe the speedometer in the van has malfunctioned in some way.

That’s when it all goes wrong. 

“We’re losing him!” Jonathan shouts from the backseat, alarmed. 

“How?” You spin around in your seat, fearful that he’s simply misread the decibels.

“I-I don’t know–” Jonathan’s eyes suddenly widen. “Wait, stop! We need to stop!”

Steve flings an arm over your chest as he slams on the brakes, the force nearly sending you through the windshield. He looks at you in concern. “Christ, are you alright, Y/N?”

Except you don’t hear him. Your head swarms with dread as you stumble to your feet and kneel besides Jonathan. “What the hell is going on?”

He doesn’t answer you, too busy forcing the antenna whatever way it will go in a desperate attempt to locate Hopper again. Your teeth dig into your lips. 

You can’t lose him. Not again. 

“We got him.” Jonathan’s relief rivals your own as you both breathe heavily against each other.

You cling to his knee, unsteady as all the dread that built its way to the crevice of your collarbones spikes your blood.

Steve’s gentle voice attempts to coax your heartbeat back down. “Breathe, angel. We got Hop, it’s okay.”

Your nails dig into Jonathan’s skin. “Then why are we stopped?”

Neither Steve nor Jonathan can give you an answer. The three of you sit in silence, all unable to voice what you desperately hope isn’t true. 

Suddenly the lights in the van begin to flicker.

The rapid flash of light elicits a sickening sense of deja-vu. It’s happening again. It always happens again. 

Something has gone wrong. 

“What’s going on?” Steve exclaims, now rushing to join you and Jonathan in the back. “What the hell is this thing doing?”

You lunge for the walkie, shaking as you scream, “Joyce? Joyce?”

No one answers. 

“Answer me!” Your vocal chords strain against your screams. “Someone answer! What happened to Hopper?”

But all contact has been lost. The radio station’s power must have gone out.

Back pressed against Steve’s chest, you sit in complete shock as the terror consumes you. You’re helpless against it. That’s all you ever are.

Helpless. 

Muffled, static filled panic screeches from your bag. 

“Y/N? Do you–copy?” Barely able to decipher the words, you scramble to the bag and find the source of the voice. Dustin left his personal walkie. Robin must’ve remembered.

“Robin?” The panic in your shrill voice nearly deafens you. 

“There’s a–demogorgon–” Whatever Robin is saying is barely audible. The walkie isn’t within its normal range. Static infiltrates every word that comes through.

You bring the walkie closer to your lips. “Robin, I-I can’t understand what you’re saying–”

“The Wheelers!” She screams at you, loud enough that the static doesn’t drown her. “There’s a demogorgon–running towards–Wheelers!” 

A metallic ringing pierces your ear drums. 

The Wheelers are in danger. 

Adrenaline infiltrates your veins. Every one of your senses sharpens. 

You’re not far from their home. A mile, maybe even less. 

You’ve spent all summer running. You could be there within minutes if you left now. 

The only thought running through your head as you fling open the van’s doors is Holly, alone without her siblings in the home. She needs you. 

They need you. 

“Y/N, where are you going?” Steve shouts after you, already stumbling to his feet to follow you into the dark. 

Jonathan isn’t any better as he tears his headphones off and nearly falls out of the van. “What the hell?”

“Nancy and Mike need me!” You’re standing in the middle of the road, torn between staying or leaving. But it was never really a decision. “Stay here, alright?”

“Didn’t you hear Robin?” Steve reaches out for you, tries to pull you back into the van. “There’s a demogorgon out there, no way am I letting you go by yourself!”

“I’m going.”

And before Steve’s hand can land on your wrist, you run. 

All you do is run.

-

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