With Love, always.

Chapter Twenty-four: Wacky Races

Dark brown eyes bore into yours from across the room. You couldn’t be sure if he was still convulsing or if it was you who was shaking. You knew Dustin and Erica were speaking — to you, or between themselves, you couldn’t be sure — but their conversation was swirling around you, echoing around the room and unable to penetrate your ears, leaving the words to blend together into nothing more than noise.

“Should I slap her? I should slap her, right? I don’t want to slap-”

“Hey!” Erica interrupted, grabbing your face in her small hands, forcing your attention onto her, “If we stay here, we’re gonna get caught, and then this stupid, half-assed plan of yours is for nothing. So pull up your big girl pants, get up off the floor, and get moving.”

Well, you certainly heard that.

Despite your chest still heaving, you nodded, wiping at your face only to wince at the pain that shot across it. Swallowing down your fear and panic, you knew Erica was right. If you fell apart now, Steve and Robin were as good as dead. Hell, this whole town would be.

“Gimme that,” you nodded toward the cattle prong that Dustin had taken a hold of to inspect as you made your way further into the room, trying your best to ignore the body not far from you. Peering behind the desk, you looked over the many screens with relief, “Security room. We just need to find where they’ve taken them-”

“Top left,” Erica pointed to the small quarter of the screen where a grainy image of two people in sailor outfits sat. You couldn’t make out much more than that, but considering they were tied up back-to-back, you could only presume it wasn't good.

“It’s here,” Dustin said, eyes focused on the map stuck to the wall behind the desk. “It’s not too far.”

“Okay,” you sighed, trying to will yourself to leave the room and begin your search as Dustin and Erica scanned the map, working out the safest route. You kept your eyes focused on the blurry image, if for no other reason than to keep them away from the guard on the floor, until you squeezed them shut, praying to whoever might listen that you would all make it out of here alive.

Find Steve and Robin. Stop the Russians. Get out alive.

That was the plan.

In the small amount of time that Steve and Robin had worked together, they’d formed an odd sort of friendship. They got on, clearly, but they also bickered like siblings. And somehow, even drugged out of their minds, they’d found something to argue about.

You’d managed to cause enough of a distraction by emptying the green chemical onto the floor in the hallway, which caused an alarm to blare, and staff to rush around like headless chickens.

You watched as someone who appeared to be some kind of commander rushed out, heading in the direction of the green bile, before you dropped from the vent you were hiding in. Thankfully, none of the guards took your abandoned golf buggy as they ran in the opposite direction. Pressing your ear to the door in an attempt to see if the room was now empty, Dustin pushed you aside,

“We need to hurry up!”

The door swung open so fast that it hit the wall hard; the loud crash of metal caused Steve, Robin, and, unfortunately, another man’s eyes to dart toward you.

The doctor reached behind him, an attempt to grab one of his several torture devices as a weapon. You swung the prod in his direction, but he caught it in his hand instead, a smug grin spreading across his face as he muttered something in Russian. A quick tug of war ensued, but the man was stronger. Flicking the switch, you turned the prod on before using his own momentum to thrust the prod into his chest as he released a guttural roar in pain.

His eyes widened as the electricity stuttered and cracked through the air, connecting with the man’s chest as he trembled, shaking to the floor. Dustin quickly made his way over, grabbing the prod and turning it off once more as you squatted down in front of Robin, Dustin making his way toward Steve and untying him.

“Holy-” Robin muttered under her breath, eyes wide as they peered at you.

Throwing his head back onto her shoulder in a futile attempt to catch a glimpse of you, Steve groaned, “I know, right?”

“Get ready to run,” Dustin told the duo whilst Erica checked the exits. The golf buggy was still there, thankfully, and you all made your way to it, shoving Robin and Steve — who were quite clearly drugged with something — into the small carry hatch on the back.

And now, in this time of desperation and anxiety, they were arguing about the Indy 500. And Steve was wrong, once again.

And then their arguing turned to giggling, and somehow, that annoyed you more.

Thankfully, Dustin’s awful driving — and eventual crash — caused the two to shut up.

Opening the hatch on the back, you practically pulled the two out by the legs as they remained horizontal and probably mildly concussed.

“Here goes nothing,” Dustin sighed, relief evident on his face when the key card worked, the little red light now flashing green.

The elevator ride up was somehow worse than its descent, but that might’ve been because of Dumb and Dumber, the two now unleashed and ready to cause havoc. Maybe there was a reason they were tied to the chairs after all.

“You look like you’re surfing!”

“Surfing! Yeah!” Steve agreed, laughing as he stood on top of a trolley, “I’m a natural, check it out!”

He then made the mistake of letting go of the bar and falling off the other end. If you weren't so wracked with nerves, you might've laughed.

“They seem drunk.”

“Why would they be drunk?”

“They’re not. I think… I think they were injected with something.”

“Something? Like what, a… a truth serum?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Either way… I don’t think the guards expected… this.”

“He’s burning up,” Dustin held his hand against Steve’s forehead as he remained on the floor, trying to push away the boy’s hand.

“You’re burning up.”

Steve’s hand pushed at Dustin’s face in vain as he checked him over, pulling back slightly when he realized his pupils were twice the size they should be.

“His pupils are super dilated.”

“Told you. Drugged.” You ran a hand over your face as Robin ungraciously slumped next to you, resting her head on your shoulder.

“Boop,” Steve giggled, pressing his finger to Dustin’s nose.

“Steve, are you drugged?” He asked, slapping the boy softly on the cheek to regain his attention.

“How many times, Dad? I don’t do drugs. It’s only marijuana.”

Jesus. Maybe they should go back to fighting and giggling. You knew Dustin felt the same when Steve tried to boop him once more, and instead gently slapped his face.

“God, move over,” you huffed, standing up and making your way toward the boy, despite Robin’s groans as she tried to attach herself to your leg, much like a baby koala.

You didn’t place her as a clingy drunk.

“Hey, Harrington,”

“Hey, you,” Steve giggled, his hand reaching out to boop you too, but you quickly swatted it away, grabbing it in your own and holding it down on his thigh. You were pretty sure your nose was broken at this point, and you might punch him right in his own nose if he tried again, “It’s been like… forever.”

Steve’s words were slurred as he smirked up toward you, and you could only hope he didn’t think he was being even remotely charming.

“Hey, Steve, listen to me, alright? What did they drug you with?”

“Are you going to die?” Dustin interrupted, concern pulling his brows together.

“We all die, my strange little child friend,” Robin smiled ominously as she played with her hair, “It’s just a matter of how… and when.”

You, Dustin, and Erica remained silent for a second, mildly disturbed by her delivery. You were sure she’d watched too many horror movies.

“Listen, Steve. These people are going to be looking for us when we get out of here, so I need to know where you parked your car.”

“You wanna go for a drive?” Steve giggled, making kissy noises at you before halting, his eyes turning serious, “Oh, can we make a pit stop at the food court?”

“I would kill for a hot dog on a stick,” Robin agreed, dreamily.

If the guards didn't kill them, you just might.

So, apparently, the Russians had taken Steve’s car keys. A fact that left you all a little more than fucked, considering you had only brought your bike. Robin, however, found it a little too funny, her giggling causing Steve to chuckle too.

Once the elevator reached the top, you all but fell out into the open air in the delivery area, Robin and Steve trying to gulp down air as they walked. They needed to sober up, and they needed to do it quick.

Before you could reach the large gates, two armed guards shouted out at you, causing you all to rush back into the building. And that’s how you ended up in screen room 1, forcing both Robin and Steve into chairs as the latter shoveled popcorn — you didn’t want to know where he got it from — into his mouth, as he complained about the seat availability.

“Then don’t watch the movie.” Dustin glared in the low light, unimpressed with the two of them.

“We wanna watch it,” Robin groaned, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoveling it into her own mouth.

“Then watch it!” Dustin quickly apologized for raising his voice and disrupting the man behind them. The last thing they needed was to be kicked out and hand delivered to the Russians, who were sure to be looking for them. “Whatever you do. Don’t. Go. Anywhere.”

“Fine, Dad.”

You left the two giggling between themselves, eyes rolling so far back in your head you couldn’t be certain that they’d ever return.

“I’m gonna find a payphone and call Hopper. Keep an eye on them.”

“I’ll come with you,” Dustin said, waving the radio about before following.

Erica remained at the other end of the row from Steve and Robin as you pushed your way back through the large doors, the light from outside blinding you.

Slamming the phone back onto the receiver a little harder than necessary, you ignored the stares sent your way as you grumbled under your breath. Hopper was MIA, nobody was picking up at the Byers’ house, and Mrs. Wheeler had informed you that Nancy wasn’t home. You barely had enough change on you to make one more phone call, and the only other number you knew was your own, which, even if your mother did answer the phone, she would be of absolutely no help.

“Fuck,” you muttered, taking a deep breath and trying to think of a new plan. Hopefully, Dustin had more luck contacting the gang.

Making your way back to the theater, you dodged the swinging doors, the frown on your face only deepening when you saw it was Erica and Dustin.

“We lost ‘em.”

It took a moment for your brain to catch up, your eyes widening, “How the hell do you lose two very loud idiots in matching sailor outfits?”

“Well, I was contacting Mike, and when I got back, Erica-”

“Oh, you are not about to blame me for Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dee going on an adventure. They’re your friends, not mine.”

You span on the spot, hoping to catch even a glimpse of blue, white, and red, but considering how empty the mall was, you presumed you’d been trapped underground longer than you’d realized, with 4th of July posters strung up everywhere. Everyone had some kind of red, white, and blue on.

“Okay, we need to be quick. I know whatever they drugged them with made them like Bambi on ice, but they’re slippery little bastards. We gotta find ‘em before the Russians do.”

“Have you… Ever been in love?”

Steve let out a long sigh. If the vomiting hadn’t sobered him up, that question alone probably would’ve. “Yep. Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.”

Imitating a gunshot, Steve then let out a small chuckle that held no humor.

“Oh, my god.” Robin rolled her eyes, “She’s such a priss.”

“Hm. Turns out, not really.”

Scoffing, Robin couldn’t help but push. She was curious about the boy she’d spent a fair amount of the summer with, and her preconception of him crumbled each and every day. He was an asshole in school, sure. But now? Whatever had happened in the last year or so, something had changed in Steve, and she wasn’t sure it was just because of his fall from grace.

“Are you still in love with Nancy?”

“No,” Steve answered, the conviction in his voice surprising even himself. Sure, she was still a touchy subject, but it felt more like an old bruise under the skin, a little sore when poked and prodded, but no longer visible for everyone to see. No longer thought about unless it was brushed upon. He just wanted her to be happy, and considering their second attempt last year hadn’t managed to achieve that, he realized that maybe it was for the best. She seemed happy with Jonathan, and the guy wasn’t too bad. Still a little weird but… He was decent enough.

“Why not?” Robin asked a little too quickly.

Swallowing the lump that seemed to form in his throat whenever he even thought of his current predicament, he forced the words out that he’d not dared to say aloud. Barely allowed himself to think of them. A lingering thought that he quickly squashed down late at night when his big house was too empty, and his hair still smelled of the chlorine from the community pool, his skin still warm from the Indiana sun that beat down on him as he drowned out the screaming kids and the blows of a lifeguard's whistle.

“I think it’s because I found someone who’s better for me.”

The silence settled between them for a little too long, the pause almost uncomfortable, before Robin found her voice again, “You’re not about to confess your undying love for me, right?”

This time, Steve’s chuckle pulled at the corners of his mouth, genuine laughter for what felt like the first time in forever, “No, you idiot. Not you.”

“I’m just making sure. Because you are really not my type.”

“Wow. Rude.” Steve scoffed, but the smile remained on his face.

“So why haven’t you made your move?”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair as his smile faded. Robin had asked, as if it was just… simple.

“You know, ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, ‘you know, you gotta find your Suzie’.”

“Wait… who’s Suzie?”

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest, I’m not 100% sure she’s even real. But that’s not… that’s not really the point. That doesn’t matter. The point is, this girl… It’s somebody that I didn’t even notice back in school. Took years for her to even be on my radar, and I’m pretty sure she hated my guts, anyway. And then when I did notice her, I… I don’t know. It was too complicated. But this summer, it’s been… It’s been the best summer of my life. I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard, like ever. And she never makes me feel dumb. Never tells me I’m an idiot. I mean, her face does. But she’s never… I don’t feel stupid around her, even though she’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And I thought that maybe… Maybe if I just gave it time, she’d see me how I see her, you know?”

When he remained quiet, Robin pushed one last time, “And?”

Steve chewed his bottom lip, wincing as his teeth aggravated the cut there, “And now it’s too late. She’s kinda seeing someone. Story of my life. No point wallowing in it, though, you know? She seems happy, and I just… I can live with that.”

This time, Robin remained quiet. She had definitely got Steve wrong; that was obvious by now. But she also wasn’t stupid. Or blind. “Well, you’re definitely gonna lose your job if you keep giving her free ice cream all summer.”

A soft smile crept onto his face, but his chest ached. It was a futile conversation because it wouldn’t lead anywhere beyond him sprawled in bed, another sleepless night as he thought about everything that had led him here.

Led him to you.

“What about you?” He choked out, hand running through his hair, uncomfortable with spilling his guts — both metaphorically and physically — in a dirty toilet stall in the mall. But Robin was silent, the air around them suddenly feeling heavy and tense. Like he'd asked a question he wasn’t allowed to know the answer to, “Robin, did you just OD in there?”

“No. I am… still alive.”

She watched as Steve squeezed himself under the gap that separated the stalls, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum flooring that made goosebumps pucker across her arms in the worst of ways, “The floor’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so… What’s wrong? I told you all about my pathetic attempt at a love life. Only fair you share, too.”

It wasn’t that Steve was nosy, or even desperate to know. At first, he just wanted to shift the conversation from himself and his unrequited feelings. But something had settled around them when he’d questioned her, something that felt too burdensum for her to hold alone, and too big to just bury under the rug. He’d dragged Robin into this whole Upside Down shit; it was only fair he was there for her, too.

“Do you remember what I said about Click’s class?”

Sure, Steve remembered. Something about how Steve would swan into her class, late and rowdy, basking in the attention he received from the other students. And how it made Robin hate him. But he didn’t understand what the hell that had to do with this.

“Tammy Thompson. She wouldn’t stop staring at you, and I… I wanted her to look at me. But she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair. And I didn’t understand because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor. And you asked dumb questions. And you were a douchebag. And you didn’t even like her and… I would go home and just scream into my pillow.”

“But… Tammy Thompson’s a girl…”

Robin’s voice had never sounded softer, more scared, than when she spoke his name once more, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she waited for him to finally catch on. It was a risk to tell him her secret, especially because they’d only known each other a few weeks, but she prayed she could trust him. That he wasn’t that douchebag anymore. That he was, in fact, a good guy.

Still, she watched him with bated breath, recognizing the cogs in his brain beginning to turn and connect the pieces.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” she repeated, watching as his face softened into one of acceptance. One she’d only ever seen once before when she’d uttered the truth to an old friend. An old friend whom she’d lost soon after.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah… Holy shit.”

“I mean… yeah. Tammy Thompson, you know, she’s cute and all, but… I mean, she’s a total dud.”

“She is not,” Robin scoffed, furrowing her brows slightly. She’d been worrying about him judging her for liking girls; she didn’t even think about him judging her taste in girls.

“Yes, she is,” he argued back, “she wants to be like, a singer. She wants to move to like, Nashville and shit.”

“She has dreams-”

“She can’t even hold a tune,” Steve scoffed, genuinely seeming offended, “She’s practically tone-deaf. Have you heard her? All the time. You see me now tonight, you see me…”

“Shut up,” Robin laughed as he began to sing, mocking Tammy, “She does not sound like that.”

“She sounds exactly like that. That’s a great impression of her.”

“She does not! You sound like a muppet.”

“She sounds like a muppet. She sounds like a muppet giving birth.”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Your voice bounced around the restroom. The two idiots sat on the floor in one stall singing, “You sound like Kermit the damn frog.”

When the two began to laugh even louder, you were sure steam was coming from your ears, “And get off the floor, it’s gross.”

After a moment, Steve’s laughter settled down, his eyes catching yours as he realized you were in no mood for jokes. Robin cleared her throat before pushing herself up and stumbling over him and toward Dustin and Erica, who stood in the doorway, ignoring your pointed glare in her direction as you stood with your hands on your hips like a disappointed mother. Steve, however, remained on the floor, glancing up toward you. If Robin didn't already know who he was talking about, well... The look on his face as he watched you would've given it away.

Once the bathroom door closed, your glare finally dropped, something softer settling in its place, “Are you both alright?”

Steve nodded, his eyes seeming darker in the unnaturally bright light of the bathroom, “Yeah. I think so.”

“You weren’t supposed to leave the theater.”

“Did you know the Mom was trying to bang her son?”

Your mouth opened for a second, bobbing like a fish before you closed it with a sharp snap, your jaw clicking as the glare returned, “No, Harrington. I didn’t. Because I haven’t been able to see it yet.”

Stepping forward, you eyed the dirty linoleum floor for a second before sliding down the wall and onto the floor, still warm from where Robin was sitting.

“You look like shit.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes softening as they turned to you, “Not looking so hot yourself. What happened?”

“Made friends with the barrel of a gun,” you picked at a loose thread on your sock, his stare a little too intense to meet, “turns out Russian spies aren’t very accommodating when you break into their secret lair.”

A small laugh fell from his split lip, “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

You both remained quiet for a moment, and it felt like the first time either of you had time to catch your breath since this whole shit-show began.

“So, what the hell did they inject you with?”

“God knows,” he huffed, shaking his head, “said it was some kind of truth serum. Whatever it was… I have never been so high in my life.”

Despite the pain it caused, you couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face, “You think it’s still in your system? Like, if I asked you a question, you’d have to tell me the truth?”

Steve swallowed thickly as your sneaker nudged his, a nervous laugh falling from his lips, “Uh, maybe. I guess. Shoot.”

Your eyes scanned his face, soft but unsure, your pause dancing on his already frayed nerves.

“Did you get highlights this summer?”

He balked, mouth opening and closing a few times as his brain caught up, trying to force his heart into calming down before it sent itself into cardiac arrest. He really wasn’t expecting that.

“You… What? Any question and that’s-”

“Gotta be honest, remember.”

His eyes narrowed as he fought off the impulse to run his hand through his hair once more, “No, I didn’t get highlights. I’ve just spent most of the summer at the pool with you. The sun always lightens it.”

A dusty pink settled over his freckled cheeks, his glare softening into a doe-eyed, beseeching gaze when your own fingers found the tips of his hair, grazing your fingers through it root to tip before pushing it back from his face, “Well, either way it looks good.”

“You know I had plans for the 4th.”

Maybe the serum hadn’t fully worn off yet, he thought to himself, panic flaring in his chest. He wasn’t sure what made him admit it, and he still had time to change his mind, to make up some dumb excuse about a date, or working late. Anything. Anything else at all that would keep those floodgates firmly shut and locked.

But Steve was tired. Not just physically, either. He’d thought he was going to die, that all of you might die, and he didn’t want to go out a coward. Even if it meant ruining one of the last good things he had left.

“So sorry the whole ‘evil Russian spies’ thing got in the way. Who was the lucky girl?”

His throat bobbed, a small part of his brain begging, pleading with him to just shut up and preserve your friendship. But Steve was a guy who followed his heart, not his head. No matter how foolish it might’ve been, and no matter how much it hurt him in the end.

“I was gonna ask you to the fair. Like, just us. No tag-alongs. Thought maybe I would buy you a pretzel, try and win you one of those giant stuffed animals that would take up my entire backseat just trying to get it home. And you’d say it was cheesy and that you hated it, but we’d both know better. And you’d name it something stupid, like Paul or Eric or something. And then I’d slip the operator some cash, and he’d stop the Ferris Wheel right at the top for us, just in time for the fireworks…”

Steve was unable to hide the wistful sigh that escaped him, his eyes focused on his Nikes as he scuffed them awkwardly on the floor.

You were stock-still, eyes boring into him as you tried to decipher what the hell he meant. Sure, you were friends. Begrudgingly — and you’d never admit it to him — he was one of your best friends. But that sure didn’t sound like something he’d do with a friend.

Steve Harrington wasn’t an over-complicated guy. He liked his coffee with milk and two sugars, his favorite ice cream flavor was vanilla, and he thought Tom Cruise was the best actor to ever exist. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and when he loved… Well, anyone with a pair of functioning eyes could tell he loved hard. Platonic, or otherwise.

“Kinda sounds like a date there, Harrington.”

His eyes finally returned to you, gentle and sincere, a silent plea begging you to just hear him out, “Yeah, well… It might’ve been.”

Before you could respond, the door swung open, colliding with the wall behind it with a loud thud. Dustin stood in the doorway, “We need to get going. Like now.”

Thankfully, the film had finished, and you managed to disguise yourselves in the ocean of people who’d just left the theater, all exclaiming how good the film was, which only grated on your nerves even more. But the plan was to catch the bus and head home. Easy enough.

“Uh, Dustin…”

“Yeah?”

“We might not wanna go to your house.”

“Why?”

“Well… I might’ve told them your full name.”

Dustin’s head snapped around at Steve, eyes wide, “What is wrong with you?”

“Dude, I was drugged.”

The two continued to argue as you made your way toward the exit, but Robin’s worried voice stopped you all in place. At the doors, checking bags, were two of the Russian guards.

“Abort. Abort!”

But it was too late. The man with the long, dark ponytail had turned his head, eyes falling over the small group, a flash of recognition in them. You all turned, running toward the powered-down escalators, sliding between them as the guards remained on your tail.

You’d ended up on the lower floor, the pink neon light of Sam Goody’s painting the room in an unnatural haze. More guards had turned up, their eyes scanning over every nook and cranny of the large food court.

Huddled behind the counter in ‘Great Cookie’, you pulled Dustin back down as he attempted to peer over the counter, “Stay down.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, one hand remaining on Dustin’s shoulder, the other pressed to the floor, pinky finger brushing against Steve’s every so often as the sound of footsteps approached, slow and steady, and you knew that they had found you.

Steve’s hand grasped yours, still pressed to the floor but now in each other's grip. You couldn’t force yourself to turn your head to the left to look at him, but you could feel his stare boring into your profile.

This was it. This was how you were dying.

The sudden blaring alarm made you jolt, your heart now lodged in your throat. Nobody knew you were here. It couldn’t be…

The sound of metal bouncing across the floor only confirmed your suspicions, and as you pulled yourself up to peer over the counter, you saw the four guards now lying flat, surrounded by a pool of their own blood as the car's engine steamed next to them, a wheel plate spinning for a few seconds before it fell to the floor.

Your eyes scoured the food court before you finally caught sight of the girl you were looking for. Up on the floor above, El stood, the rest of the gang surrounding her as she smiled down at you, a trail of dark blood dripping from her nostril, visible even from this distance.

“You flung that thing like a Hot Wheel!” Dustin laughed, rushing toward them as Mike held most of El’s weight, crashing into them both as his arms wrapped around them.

Once he released them, you moved toward the young girl, eyes inspecting her face, and only once you were happy that her only damage seemed to be the bloody nose she always got whenever she used her powers, you pulled her into a gentle hug, uncaring if the blood got on your top as you squeezed her gently.

“Your face,” she said softly once you’d pulled away, and in all honesty, you’d almost completely forgotten about your own bloody nose.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine. Believe me, this is the worst of our troubles.”

“What are you doing here?” Lucas asked, his brows raised high into his hairline.

“Ask them. It’s their fault.”

“True, yeah. Totally true. It’s absolutely our fault.”

“I don’t understand what happened to that car.” Robin spun on the spot, brows furrowing as everyone caught their breath.

“El has superpowers.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Superpowers. She threw it with her mind,” Steve told her, his voice a little too blasé for what he was telling her. But it was only fair after he dragged her into this. Her and Erica, both.

Everyone’s voices blended into one, neither group having any awareness as to what had happened to the other in the few days that had passed, but you kept your focus on El, who had slowly walked away from the group, more blood dropping from her nose and a thin film of sweat covering her forehead.

“Hey, El…”

You had only taken one step forward when her body suddenly dropped, the group ceasing their arguments as you all rushed toward her.

Apparently, you shouldn’t have stopped your check of her at her face, because as Jonathan pulled up her jean leg and Nancy pulled off a barely hanging on bandage, a large, bloody wound sat on her shin.

Panic ensued as she started to whimper, teeth grinding together in pain as something seemingly swam around under her skin, Mike’s voice raising every time he called her name until eventually a scream fell from her lips, piercing and shrill and heart-wrenching.

El had something rummaging around in her leg that she managed to rip from her own skin, glass shattering behind you all she screamed, only to throw the creature across the linoleum floor. Before any of you could think to move and squash the thing yourself as it began to slowly crawl away from you, a large boot stomped down, squishing it.

Hopper.

You sat around the fountain as everyone began to explain what had happened over the past few days, including Hopper and Joyce, who had been busy kidnapping a Russian scientist. El sat in the former’s arms as she slowly regained her energy with the help of a sugary soda, Joyce bandaging her wounded leg.

The man they’d arrived with — the same investigative journalist that Mr and Mrs Holland had hired after Barb’s disappearance — Murray had rushed off outside, returning soon enough with a bunch of drawn maps on paper.

“Okay, this is what Alexei called ‘the hub’. Now the hub takes us to the vault room.”

“Okay, where’s the gate?”

“Right here. I don’t know the scale on this, but I think it’s fairly close to the vault room, maybe 50 feet or so.”

“More like 500,” Erica made her way over, peering down at the map, “What, you’re just gonna waltz in there like it’s commie Disneyland or something?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Erica Sinclair. Who are you?”

“Murray… Bauman.”

“Listen, Mr. Bunman,” Erica started, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, a small sliver of empathy for the man as he stared down the proverbial barrel of Erica Sinclair’s smart mouth. You’d been there enough times before whilst babysitting her, and you braced yourself for-

“Uh, I’m 10, you bald bastard-”

There it was.

“Listen, she’s right.” You stood, ignoring the pressure that was building behind your eyes, the neon lighting surrounding you doing nothing to help ease it, “We were down there. We saw it… That room you’re looking at is a storage facility.”

“There’s a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system,” Dustin said as he joined you at the small table, peering over the drawings as he pulled a pencil from a pocket in his denim vest, drawing a long line across, towards the room with the weapon. “That will lead you to the base of the weapon. It’s a bit of a maze down there.”

“We can show you the way.” You shrugged, shrinking slightly as Hopper’s eyes narrowed at you, taking in your still slightly bloodied and bruised nose.

“You can show us the way?”

“Don’t worry, you can do all the fighting and the dangerous hero shit, and we’ll just be your… navigators,” Dustin added as Erica nodded along.

“No. Nope.”

Your mouth dropped open, bobbing like a fish as you watched Hopper come up with his own plan, searching a Russian guard and taking his gun.

Following close on his heel, you couldn’t help the venom that fell from your tongue, “What the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he sighed, checking the pockets of the dead man before moving toward another, “but it’s clear you do. So have at it.”

You were stunned into silence, but only for a moment.

“You’ve been gone for days, doing God knows what, and now you wanna step in? Tell us we can’t do something that we’ve already done once, without your help, even if you’re most likely going to die and take everyone down with you, without us? It’s bullshit, Hop.”

“It’s keeping you safe-”

“Bull. Shit.” You repeated, earning the attention of a few of the group, Joyce’s dark doe eyes looking like they wanted to step in, but not too sure whose side she was on. Making your way closer to the man and placing a hand on the handgun he’d found, you tried again, knowing that anger and yelling only ever got you more anger and yelling when it came to Jim Hopper, “Why can’t you just give us a chance? Give me a chance?”

He sighed before turning toward you, hands on his hips, whilst his eyes roamed your face, as if the injuries you’d acquired spoke enough for him, “I don’t want you getting hurt. More hurt.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring once you didn’t shrug him away, “You’ll get it one day, alright? But for now, I need you safe. All of you.”

“That’s a cop out, Hop. And you know it.”

Turning, you tried not to make too much of a scene as you made your way over to Steve, who had perched on the counter at Hot Sam’s Pretzel’s.

“This is bullshit.” You grumbled, leaning forward over the counter, your forehead resting against his raised knee, “He’s gonna get himself killed because he’s too pigheaded to let anyone help.”

“Sure sounds familiar,” Steve’s small smile dropped quickly when confronted with your icy glare, “Look, he just doesn’t want you to-”

“Get hurt? Yeah, I know, Harrington. Yet, here I am,” you waved your hand over your face, unbothered when his eyes softened at the sight, too invested in your annoyance, “Still hurt. But at least I’m alive. Which is more than he’ll be able to say if he doesn’t let us help.”

“I can hear you,” Hopper sighed, grabbing a radio from one of the guards as Dustin made his way over to you, maybe the only person there ready to argue in your corner.

“Good. I wasn’t whispering.”

You turned, leaning against the counter, Steve’s knee now pressed into your back. Almost comforting.

Pushing yourself from the counter, you patted Dustin’s shoulder as you walked past him, making your way toward El, who still didn’t look great. You caught Mike’s eyes as you approached, the young boy understanding that you wanted a moment alone with Eleven, stood and headed towards Lucas, Will, and Max.

Sitting down next to her, you took her hand into your own, squeezing it gently when she sent you a small smile, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Are you okay? Like, really?”

“Are you?” She questioned back, dark eyes peering up at you. She had you there.

“You’re exhausted, you need time to rest. If you don’t want to do this-”

“You said that before,” thinking back to the time in Hawkins middle school, when you sat in a classroom as Joyce searched for some science goggles, a small smile stretched across El’s mouth, “I’ll be okay. I can do this.”

“And you said that before,” you smirked, squeezing her hand a little tighter, “but I mean it. I feel like we rely on you for this shit way too much, and it isn’t fair. Especially when it hurts you.”

“It has to be me.” Her words were so final, you didn’t even try to argue with her about it. She knew it, and unfortunately, so did you. You all did. Without El, this town would be ripped apart at the seams within seconds.

Pulling the girl toward you, you pushed back the hair that stuck to her still clammy forehead and pressed a gentle kiss against it, forcing yourself to swallow down the impending temptation to bundle her up in bubble wrap, hot-wire Steve’s Beamer, and high-tail out of Hawkins, heading far, far away where nothing and no one could hurt her again.

“Heads up,” Hopper called, a radio thrown in your direction, “You can navigate, just from some place safe.”

“It’s not that simple. The signal won’t reach.” Dustin made his way over, taking the radio from your hands and looking it over, “You need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russians’ radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has seen both their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio tower-”

You watched as Hopper tried to keep himself composed, wishing Dustin would just get to the point because he didn’t have a god damn clue what the boy was blabbering on about, and his already minuscule patience was running thin.

“-Oh wait… that’s me.”

“You want us to navigate, you got us. But we need a head start… And a car.”

Turns out, Hopper could provide both.

Throwing you the keys, you turned them over in your hand, brows raised as a small huff of laughter fell from your lips, “Yeah… this could work.”

Before you could move, Steve snatched the keys from you and studied them yourself, holding them away as you reached for them with a glare, “What? I’ve seen the condition of your car. There’s no way I’m letting you take the reins on this baby.”

“Don’t be rude, Harrington. That was Billy’s fault.” Dustin and Erica rushed to catch up to the overzealous boy as you turned toward Robin, who looked a little uncomfortable surrounded by people she didn’t quite know. “You coming, Buckley?”

“Oh… uh-”

“C’mon,” you held out your hand toward her, aiding her small jump from the same counter you’d leaned against, “I can’t deal with those two meatheads. I need you.”

“Hey, Kid? A word.”

You smiled at Robin, silently telling her that you would catch up with them before making your way over toward where Hopper waited, hands on his hips.

“You know, it isn’t fair that we keep risking her life, time and time again, but you won’t let me-”

“I have to keep at least one of you safe, and sorry to say it, Kiddo, but she can’t exactly be benched.”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t care for another lecture, but Hopper’s strong grip on your wrist stopped you from being able to walk away, “Did, uh… Did she do that?”

Your brow furrowed as you stared at him blankly, only registering what he meant when his eyes skimmed over your nose, “Oh, no, I-”

“Listen, Kid… When all of this is over, I promise I’m gonna do something, alright? I’m… I’m not sure what exactly yet, but I’m gonna get you out of there. I’m gonna make sure you’re safe. Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

You tried to interrupt him, tell him that in this instance, it wasn’t your mother’s cruel and vicious hands that had bloodied and bruised you, but Jim merely shook his head before continuing, “Until then, I want you to know you can stay at the cabin for as long as you need. I’ll make the room. Hey, maybe you and El can be bunkmates.”

The side of your mouth turned up, a smile you could barely hold back, “I don’t think I could deal with your snoring.”

“Well, I’d offer you the trailer but uh…” his eyes roamed over to where Steve stood, arguing with Dustin as Erica and Robin looked on unamused, “Not happening. Not until you’re at least 30.”

“Well, I’m not gonna make it to 30 if I don’t get going, so…”

Hopper nodded, clearing his throat slightly, but before you turned away, you flung your arms around him, the peculiar and very un-Hopper-like shirt felt a little starchy against your cheek but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away when his own arms wrapped around you, holding you just a little too tight before he released you, a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, “Go on. I’ll see you when you’re back.”

“Be safe.”

“Right back at you, Kid.”

“Finally,” Dustin let out a frustrated sigh when you made your way over towards the small group. You were sure Steve’s bitchiness had rubbed off on the kid, despite being away at camp for a large portion of the summer. “Tell Steve here that it’s only fair that I get to drive, considering he let Max, of all people, drive his car.”

“I didn’t let Max do shit, Henderson. I was unconscious for the majority of that drive.”

“That can be arranged,” Dustin shrugged, shoving Steve gently in the shoulder as the older boy stole his cap before ruffling his hair, “I mean, even Jonathan-”

“Shut up,” Steve huffed, throwing open the large outer doors, the air outside a little warmer than the air-conditioned Mall.

“Oh, man, now this… this is what I’m talking about.” You knew Steve took care of his car, polishing it, buffing it, and God forbid you put your shoes on his dash… But you never knew he had an actual interest in cars.

“Todfather?” Robin grumbled, much less impressed.

“Oh, screw Todd! Steve’s her Daddy now!”

Your eyes met Robin’s over the roof of the Cadillac, matching expressions of disgust plastered to your faces as you turned your attention back to him.

“Please, never say that again.”

“Did you just talk about yourself in the third person?”

“I think he’s concussed. Maybe I should-”

Steve hopped over the door, not bothering to open it as the sunroof was open, and you settled into the passenger seat with Robin, Erica, and Dustin squeezing in the back, with annoyed grumblings and elbows shoved into each other's ribs.

It wasn’t that you’d ever doubted Henderson’s genius — the kid was annoyingly right about most things — but the fact that the radio tower he’d built did in fact reach all the way under the Mall felt like a miracle in itself.

You’d helped Murray as much as possible, ignoring Dustin’s tangent on My Little Pony, for the second time, when Steve had called your attention. Looking down over the hill toward the town, your blood ran cold.

“It’s found them.”

Your fingers grazed Steve’s for just a second before pure fear forced you to move. Dustin couldn’t get through to the Griswold team; instead, crackling and a loud, alien-like roar came through the radio.

“We need to go. Steve,” you pulled at the back of his shirt, no time to lose, “We need to go now.”

Racing back toward the car, you managed to slide into the driver’s seat, Steve sending you a slight side-eye, but too concerned to call it out. Sure, Steve liked cars. But you were fast. The collection of speeding tickets signed off by Hopper that was shoved in your desk drawer could attest to that.

Turning your attention toward the flashing lights of the Mall, your heart thumped against your ribs. The lights reminded you of the painted letters on the Byers’ living room wall. The strung-up, slightly early, Christmas lights flickering. Was it ever going to end?

Your fingers ached as you gripped the steering wheel tighter, pushing the throttle down just a little more. Dustin and Erica were to stay at the radio, so at the very least, they’d be safe and should hopefully be able to guide Murray along his way.

“Put your seat belts on.”

“What? Why?” Steve questioned, his eyes darting between you and the road, already knowing what you were planning. Still, he pulled his seat belt across, clipping it in securely.

“Just do it! Now!” You directed more so to Robin, the girl silently conforming as she eyed Steve anxiously.

'God bless George Cayley' was your only thought when your body lurched forward, the impact from t-boning Billy’s Camaro forcing your whole self forward, but keeping you firmly in the seat. The car spun once, front bumper totally destroyed, and the engine was smoking, but you had managed to stop Billy from colliding with Nancy and the rest of the Griswold team.

Taking a second to breathe — and make sure you had fully functional limbs — you turned toward Robin, “You okay?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” she sighed, softly, her already pale skin a whole shade whiter.

Looking over to Steve, the boy already watching you closely, your hand left it’s steel tight grip on the wheel, gently landing on the arm he’d thrown in front of you in a feeble attempt to stop your body slamming too hard into the dash. He was still panting, his swollen eyes darting across your face as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d lived through that experience.

“Was that Billy’s fault too?” He managed, causing a small huff of laughter to fall from your lips.

“Technically. And I watched a lot of ‘Wackey Races’ growing up.”

“You are terrifying,” he sighed softly, but it somehow sounded much more like a compliment than he probably intended it to.

With one last wide smile, you removed your hand from his arm and climbed from the Cadillac, distracted by a loud thumping noise, a distant growl that seemed to get carried by the wind.

“Oh, shit,” Robin mumbled, following your lead and spotting the large creature as it peered over the top of the neon Starcourt sign.

“Get in!” Jonathan honked, pulling up to the side of the now damaged car, and you followed Robin, squishing in the back between her and Steve. At least now they were totally sober.

Chapter Twenty-three: The Monster In Me

You had never known real gratitude — mixed with a healthy dose of fear — until you found the first crossroads, the sound of a golf buggy whizzing by in the distance, along with a somehow well-acquainted language that you still didn’t understand. At least you weren’t stuck in purgatory anymore, the grey, never-ending hallways enough to drive anyone insane.

Steve had been leading the group with you following up at the rear, trying to keep the kids — and Robin by default — safely encased by the two of you. A badly timed guard had caused you all to hide behind a large electrical unit, but as soon as the coast was clear, you were off again, praying that you were going in the right direction, which would eventually lead you up above ground.

“That was close,” Robin let out a small breath of air, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Too close,” Dustin agreed, his voice a little louder than necessary.

“Relax, alright?” Steve tried to reassure him, somehow the perfect picture of calm, “Nobody saw…”

His voice trailed off as he turned the corner, causing your brows to pull together as you approached him, your own eyes widening at the sight before you.

A large, two-level floor, busy with armed guards, people in lab coats and hazmat suits, and the same metal containers from the fake warehouse room, piled up ready to be taken to wherever they needed to go.

“Shit,” you grumbled, a hand on Erica’s backpack as you all darted towards your only cover.

“I saw it,” she whispered to you, shuffling a little closer, “first floor, northwest.”

“Saw what?”

“The comms room.”

“Are you sure?” Dustin questioned.

“Positive. The door was open for a second, and I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there.”

“That could be a hundred different things,” Dustin argued back, the positivity of escaping the hallways quickly evaporating.

“I’ll take those odds,” Robin shrugged, her eyes glued to Steve’s in an attempt to convince him.

The boy sighed, turning his attention toward you. Swallowing the lump that had been digging its way up your throat, you shrugged, “We’re sitting ducks here. It’s worth a try.”

With a quick glance toward the ceiling, as if he were praying to a God that you weren’t even sure he believed in, Steve finally nodded, and slowly but surely, you all began your journey to the door, ducking behind large pieces of machinery and hoping that you didn’t get caught. Once again, Steve took up the front, and you took up the rear, sandwiching the kids — and Robin — in as much safety as you could.

Once you’d all quietly ducked inside the comms room, disaster struck. Grabbing hold of Erica’s backpack, you pulled her behind you as your chest heaved. The security guard in the chair turned, quick enough to remove his headset and stand, but everyone stayed as still as mice. Maybe if you didn't move, he wouldn't see you.

Five idiots face to face with — hopefully — another idiot.

You were shit out of luck, however, when the panicked guard reached for his gun, causing Robin to step forward in an attempt to diffuse the situation, a rumble of Russian falling from her mouth effortlessly. Thankfully, one of you had remembered the words on the tape. You, however, only seemed to recognize the damn tune from that stupid Indiana Flyer ride.

The guard's brow furrowed slightly as Robin repeated herself, moving closer and closer, as you held back the impulse to grab her by the lapels of her uniform and tug her back to safety.

For a moment, the two conversed in Russian, leaving the four of you to stand around nervously, hoping that whatever she was saying, Robin had it handled. But when the man shook his head, a distrustful glare settling on his face as he grabbed for his gun once more, a blur of red, white and blue with suspiciously lighter hair than before summer whizzed past you, a loud yell echoing around the room as Steve all but tackled the guard around the waist, knocking him backwards and into the desk he once sat at.

It didn’t take long before the guard threw him off, and thankfully, he seemed to forgo his gun and instead swung at Steve, only to miss.

Throwing the boy around, Steve managed to elbow the guard in the ribs, before grabbing the closest item to him — a telephone — and swinging it, just as he’d done so with his nailed bat, connecting with the guard’s temple, which caused him to spin, the momentum too much to stay upright, as his head hit the desk and he collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Everyone remained still and silent, eyes wide as you all stared between Steve and the guard. It might not’ve been as impressive to Erica and Robin, who had only witnessed the boy win his first fight, but you'd seen him knocked on his ass by Jonathan Byers. So to see Steve successfully manage to overpower an armed guard… Well, color you surprised.

“Holy shit,” you were aware the words had fallen from your own slacked jaw, but you did nothing about it as your awed eyes were staring abashedly at the boy, meeting his own widened eyes, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. Your eyebrows raised softly as your brain begged you to close your damn mouth, but you both remained glued to the spot, staring each other down as his chest heaved, the flow of adrenaline slowly left his body.

“Dude!” Dustin yelled, the moment causing Steve to tear his eyes away from you, looking toward the rest of your party, “You did it! You won a fight!”

But even after Steve smiled softly at the group and Dustin grabbed the guard's key card — at least his brain was functioning at full capacity — you remained still, heart pounding against your chest as you watched the boy push his hair off his face.

“Are you okay?” You finally managed to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Nodding, a sweet pink began to color Steve’s cheeks as his eyes avoided yours, only to fall into a deep glare when your fist hit his shoulder, “Ow. What the-”

“Don’t do something like that again. He had a gun, Steve. He could’ve killed you.”

You stomped off toward the control desk, attempting to busy yourself whilst Dustin and Erica began to argue, but Steve’s heavy footsteps followed closely behind, agitation clear on his pinched face, “I think it was pretty obvious he was gonna kill us anyway.”

You could feel him hovering, close enough that you could feel the fabric of his shirt as you uncrossed your arms, spinning around to face him, eyes firmly set on his chest.

“That doesn’t mean you need to play hero. Last year with the Demodogs in the junk yard, and now this? I’m starting to think you have a hero complex, or a death wish, or something, Harrington.”

Steve’s mouth opened, a bitter retort on his tongue, but when your eyes finally connected with his, he couldn’t help the way his softened. You weren’t angry, you were scared.

So, instead of adding fuel to the fire, Steve swallowed it down and tried again, hands gently placed onto your shoulders, slowly tracing down until his fingers connected with your own. Both warm and clammy with fear, but entwined in a tight grip nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, alright? But I said I’d keep everyone safe, and I’m gonna do that. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The lump in your throat finally dislodged, slowly slinking back down toward your chest where it sat heavily. But you nodded, shoulders sagging slightly when he sent you a small, lopsided smile.

“Guys,” Robin interrupted, everyone's eyes turning toward her, “There’s something up there.”

Robin was, once again, correct. Even when you desperately didn’t want her to be.

Your small group peered through the glass windows, unsure of what exactly you were watching. All you knew was it sent a shiver down your spine in the worst of ways.

The room was drenched in an electric blue that would’ve been much prettier had your lives not of been on the line, as men in white lab coats pressed buttons at a control desk, safe behind their own glass windows as they watched people in hazmat suits wonder around a large electrical machine, implanting the jars of bright green liquid into the sides. So it was powering something.

The thrumming could be felt through the floor where you stood as they continued to power up their machine, the light from the other end only illuminating brighter with each second that passed.

Squinting, you tried to work out what they were doing, what they were aiming their machine at. Whatever it was, it was absorbing an insane amount of energy as it began to crack and tear apart. And that's when something clicked. Will's funeral. The discussion you had interrupted between the boys and Mr. Clarke.

“You’d need to create like… a massive amount of energy — more than humans are even currently capable of creating — to open up some kind of tear in time and space. You create a doorway.”

“Is that-” Steve asked, his breath hitting your ear as he crowded behind you, hands pressed on either side, almost caging you in.

“A gate,” you nodded, leaning back into the comfort of the boy’s chest, your voice weak and strained, “They’re opening a gate.”

Dustin and Steve explained what was happening as best they could to Robin and Erica as you descended the stairs leading back down to the comms room, your hand now firmly clenched in Steve’s as you remained silent.

How many times would you have to do this? To face the horrors that the Upside Down seemed to spawn effortlessly. How many times would El have to close the gap between that world and this world before it would finally remain permanently shut? How many more people would die before then? This other dimension had taken so much from so many of you. Barb, Will, for a time, Dale and Henry, who were caught out hunting, and Bob. Even Benny — who was only doing for El what he’d done for you all those years before — was collateral damage due to people thinking they could control whatever lay behind that gate. It had stolen lives and childhoods, and changed you indefinitely as a person, and you weren’t sure it was for the better.

This place had led you to slam a metal pipe into a man’s head. Not a monster, but a living, breathing human. A ‘bad man’ who was coming for El, all because she had an attachment to that place. You couldn’t bring yourself to regret that decision, because you knew you’d do a lot worse to keep those kids safe, but it didn’t mean that you weren’t haunted by his pale blue eyes, watching you from the bottom of your bed on the particularly rough nights. No matter what Hopper said, you had seen the man’s soul leave his eyes in the moments before he hit the ground. You had killed him, and Hopper was trying to preserve your sanity and humanity by taking the blame.

But both of those things felt like they were dwindling faster and faster, each time someone or something, opened a damn gate.

How much more could you take?

“Like end-of-the-human-race kind of bad.”

“And you know about this, how?” Robin screeched, not happy with only being told the bare minimum, especially now that her life — and apparently, the entire human race — was on the line.

“Um, Steve? Where’s your Russian friend?” Erica interrupted, halting the heated discussion surrounding you.

Looking down, you saw the blood splatter on the floor, but, as Erica had said, no guard. Before anyone could speak, a blaring alarm set off, flooding the room in an unflattering light.

Steve rushed toward the door, spotting said guard as he spoke quickly to a group, pointing toward the room with one hand as he held his head with the other. Time slowed down as the guards all looked up, directly making eye contact with Steve.

Then, time seemed to speed up a little too fast.

They ran toward the door, guns already cocked and ready, yelling at you all over the noise and disruption.

Steve slammed the door shut, cursing lowly under his breath before you all ran toward the only other door, ending up back at the viewing window where a group of scientists turned, staring at you in bewilderment.

Dustin rushed through, barely taking a moment to think it through as he started in another direction, leading everyone down the stairs and toward the machine. Halting on the ledge, your breath caught in your throat as you watched the gate groan and splinter further as Dustin shouted, cursing loudly.

“This way,” Steve shouted over the collective noise, taking you even further down the stairs and shoving a man in a hazmat suit out of the way, only to be met with more soldiers on the bottom floor.

The noise around you was deafening. The machine, the gate itself, the shouts of both guards and your own group all blended into one commotion, and if your adrenaline hadn’t been pumping through your body, you might’ve just sat down under the structure and screamed. Instead, Steve continued to lead you all toward another door, knocking barrels into the guards that chased you, and the scientists that stood around, astounded by the scene going on around them.

“This way!” Robin yelled, pushing through a door as you all followed. Steve kept his weight against the door as the soldiers began to bang on it from the outside, undoubtedly yelling at you in Russian to come out.

Both you and Robin turned at Steve’s pained huff as he tried his best to keep the door shut, despite the bodies now slamming against it in a desperate attempt to stop your rag-tag team of teenagers — and a 10-year-old — as if you were the US military.

Your combined weight was enough to keep the door closed for now, but the noise outside became louder, and you knew the guards were piling up.

Dustin and Erica looked around in terror, eyes wide and chests heaving as they tried to find any way out.

“Here!” Erica called, lifting a floor vent, “Let's go!”

“Come on!” Dustin called out, sweat pouring down his face as he watched the three of you struggle with the door.

“Go! Just get out of here!”

“Come on!” Dustin yelled, voice strained as he begged for you all to follow.

“You need to go with them.”

“No. No chance in Hell, Harrington. I’m not leaving-”

“You have to-”

“No. Not without you.”

A silence surrounded you both for a moment, despite knowing you didn’t have much time. Steve leaned closer, and keeping his body pressed against the door, his large palms settled on your cheeks, his eyes gazing over your face, “Hey, listen to me, alright? It’s gonna be fine. You got this. We got this, alright?”

“Please!” Dustin cried, eyes wide as he looked between you all.

“We got it, alright? You go. Keep ‘em safe. Get Hopper, get us help.” Robin nodded in agreement from her place next to Steve’s side.

“You won’t be able to keep the door shut for long-”

“That’s why you need to go, now!” Robin peered at you as best she could around the boy.

You understood why. You knew both Erica and Dustin better. You would protect them with your life, if needed. But it didn’t make leaving any easier.

Turning your attention toward Steve, you huffed, “I’m coming back, so you better stay alive. Both of you.”

Steve’s mouth opened, as if he were going to say something, but only a grunt fell from his lips as the guards continued to push at the door.

“We will, now go!” Robin said in his place.

Your eyes met Steve’s as you followed Dustin through the vent, wide and shiny and full of pain, knowing this could be the last time you ever saw him again. You didn’t stick around too long, not wanting to memorize his face as one of fear and anxiety, a small amount of gratitude that you had followed the kids down, knowing that someone would keep them safe and that they, and you, had a chance of escaping this.

Instead, you pictured every other instance that Steve Harrington had lived through that not many others could’ve.

Bloody and bruised after his fight with Jonathan when he turned up at the Byers’ residence, ready to apologize to him for being a horrible person, only to save your life as he swung a bat into the face of a Demogorgon.

The same nail bat swinging around as he whistled for the Demodogs at the junk yard. 'Human tastes better than cat, I promise.' God, you could’ve killed him that night.

Bloody and bruised once more, only this time his face was decorated with plasters that Dustin had found in Joyce’s first aid box. Not even a concussion after trying to fend off Billy’s attack could stop him from wrapping an arm tightly around your waist, your back pressed firmly to his chest as he turned you away from the pack of Demodogs that were bounding toward you, unaware that, thankfully this time, you weren’t their targets.

Steve had put his life on the line more times than you cared to count in an attempt to protect others. It did help you feel slightly more at ease, knowing he wouldn’t willingly drag Robin to her death if he didn’t think that he would somehow be able to escape this mess, with or without your help.

The hatch had barely slammed shut when the guards burst through the door, knocking the two teenagers to the floor, hands held up in surrender as they looked down the barrel of several guns.

Your mind raced at a million miles an hour as you led Dustin and Erica through the vents. Henderson’s stomach growled loud enough that you heard it from where you knelt, unscrewing a panel that controlled the large fan that blocked your way. You’d met way too many dead ends, or rooms filled to the brim with guards, and your escape and eventual rescue mission felt less likely as more time passed.

Taking a deep breath, you wondered what Hopper would do in this situation. How he’d react, how he’d get not only you guys, but Steve and Robin to safety.

Little did you know, the man was currently throwing a Russian scientist around a former investigative journalist’s living room over a strawberry-flavored Slurpee.

Dustin continued to explain to Erica about the past few years, everything from Will’s week-long vacation to the Upside Down, to the tunnels that were overrun with the Demodogs.

“I’m just being realistic. I mean, we’ve made it about point-three miles in nine hours. Then we had to walk three hours down that tunnel, so I’d estimate ten miles back to the elevator, which should take us approximately twelve-and-a-half days.” Erica sassed, watching as you slowly tried to unscrew the last remaining screw.

“I love that you just did that all in your head, little Sinclair, but please, for the love of God and my last remaining strand of sanity, shut up. For just a moment. Please.”

“Holy shit, you’re a nerd,” Dustin announced, eyes wide as he turned his full attention to the younger girl.

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “For someone who gives her brother a lot of shit… You really are throwing stones in a glass hous.”

“Come again?” She sassed back.

“You… Are… A… Nerd.” Dustin repeated, a sly smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth whilst the two argued back and forth about… My little pony, “Ergo, Erica…You are a nerd.”

“And how do you know so much about My Little Pony?” She sent the boy a dry smile, leaving Dustin to roll his eyes, as if only further proving his point.

“Because I’m a nerd.”

“Got it,” you sighed, wiping sweat from your brow after pulling the cover from the board and ripping out whatever wires your fingers found first, causing the fan ahead of you to slowly come to a stop as it powered down, “C’mon, let's go. Only twelve-and-a-half days left, right?”

You really hoped your plan was going to work, because otherwise, you might all just die in these vents from overheating.

If you thought the tunnels went on for an age, the vents only seemed to last longer. Still, the monotomous sounds of your crawling — along with the mass amount of panic of what to do next — were able to keep your mind at bay from whatever was happening to Steve and Robin. If they were even still alive.

Your wrist gave out slightly, causing you to jolt forward slightly before catching yourself before your face smashed into the metal floor.

“You good?” Erica asked, a brow cocked in concern.

How a ten-year-old managed to stay so calm and collected was beyond you. Still, you choked down your approaching panic attack and sent the girl a tight grin instead, before continuing down the never-ending vent system until finally you found an opening into an empty room.

Crawling out of the vent, you looked around at the large glass cases holding vials of the green goo, as Dustin rushed toward one of the carts, sliding into the driving seat. It would take some time off your journey.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Erica asked, watching as Dustin looked around for the key, only to come up empty-handed.

“Aw, come on…”

“You seriously thought they’d just leave keys in there?”

“There has to be a spare,” Dustin continued his search as you finally made your way down the few steps and joined them. Pulling out the small screwdriver, you opened a panel on the side, revealing a key as Erica continued to wander around the room, eyes glued to the large cages, only to almost electrocute the boy as she surprised him from behind with some kind of electric cattle prod.

“Could be useful.”

Dustin held out his hand, hoping you’d place the keys into his palm, but scoffed when you remained deadpan, “Really? You let Max drive Steve’s car!”

“Yeah, pretty sure that was during the worst concussion of my life, Henderson.” You rolled your eyes, waiting for the boy to scoot over and allow you to sit in front of the wheel.

Hands clenching around the leather, you took a deep breath, trying to decide between returning to the main floor and finding Steve and Robin, or trying to get out of there and find help, which by Erica’s estimation, would take way too long.

But who in their right mind could help? Except maybe El. Another situation she’d be dragged into, forced to use her powers and save a town that didn’t even know she existed.

Mind made up, you looked toward the kids as you climbed back off the cart and tossed the keys to Dustin, “I have an idea. It’s stupid, and reckless, but… I think it might work. You two can go, get out of here, if you want to. I’d totally understand.”

After a moment of silent stares between the two, Erica shrugged as Dustin spoke, “We’re in this together, right?”

Nodding, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or not to not have to do this alone, “I’m uh… I’m gonna need your backpack.”

“That’s your plan?” Dustin asked, one more time, just to make sure he was understanding how crazy you sounded.

“Yep, that’s about the gist of it.”

“And you’re sure you can find the room?”

Running a hand through your hair, you pulled the cart to the side, deciding it would be best to leave it where you could remember in an attempt to aid both your rescue mission and your escape. “I’m not sure of anything, Henderson. But I know if this plan is going to work, we need to be quiet.”

Erica carried her backpack with extreme caution, especially now that she’d witnessed what that green gunk could do, as you held a hand out to halt their motions, beginning to check out a room in case there were any guards. You weren’t sure if any of the soldiers were aware that it wasn't just Steve and Robin who'd infiltrated the facility, especially since the alarms had stopped blaring a long time ago. Either way, you didn’t want to take any chances.

Carrying the electric prod, you looked around the room as much as you could, considering you were peering through the small glass window. It was full of what looked like computers, all facing away from you, but nobody seemed to be in the chair behind them.

Deciding it looked safe enough, you pushed the door open as quietly as possible before making your way in. “We find an air duct, find where they’re keeping them, and then we-”

You almost choked on your words as your body was forced backward headfirst, landing flat on your back, causing your Walkman to break under your weight and the electric prod roll away from you.

Pain erupted instantaneously, the skin on your face suddenly feeling too tight and wet, but it took a moment for you to get your bearings, unable to focus on the repeated shouts from Erica and Dustin.

Your hand raised to cover your face, causing you to flinch and quickly pull it away, noting the blood that was now smeared over your hand. Your eyes darted over to see Erica and Dustin with wide eyes, backing away with their hands raised, but the shouts you could hear ricocheting around the room were not English…

Eyes darting up, you came to your senses when you saw the guard peering over you, the butt of his large gun held over you as he geared up to strike once more. Dustin calling your name seemed to force you out of your frozen state just in time, the man’s gun hitting the floor with a loud crack only microseconds after you rolled out of the way, scrambling to the side away from the kids, in hopes you could at least keep his attention on you, despite their shouting and — from Erica — name calling.

The gun had seemingly broken under the force of the floor, and as the guard disposed of it, throwing it to the side as he might a piece of trash, your eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything to protect yourself. Spotting the prod that had rolled under a desk, you tried your best to scurry toward it on your hands and knees, slipping slightly from the blood that covered your hand as you left prints over the floor. Before you could reach it, you felt a hand wrap around your bare ankle, and suddenly you were being dragged backwards, across the floor on your stomach.

You managed to roll over, struggling in the grip of the larger man as he pulled you closer, cursing at you in Russian as he tried to wrangle your squirming legs. Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, you pulled back the leg he couldn’t quite grab and kicked him, full force, in the face.

Maybe an eye for an eye would leave the whole world blind, but a broken nose for a broken nose sure felt fair enough.

The man fell backward, his hand pressed against his nose for a moment before he spat out blood, veins in his neck throbbing as he turned back to you, “Bitch.”

The soldier pounced on you, causing you both to slide backward slightly before his hands connected with your neck.

Your eyes were wide, feeling like they were going to pop out of their sockets at any moment as his grip tightened, Russian words falling from his bloodied lips.

The sounds of the kids' screams faded in and out as the soldier tried his best to choke every last bit of air out of your lungs. Your hands clawed and dug at his, trying in vain to pull them from you, but it wasn’t until he looked up toward Dustin and Erica, snarling something in Russian, which was definitely a threat, that you reached out, desperate to find the stupid cattle prod.

Your hands were slippery as they desperately searched the floor, fingertips just grazing the rod, but you realized that even if you were able to grab it, you couldn’t use it without electrocuting yourself, too. And from how strong it seemed when Erica scared Dustin with it earlier, you weren’t sure it was something you’d wake up from. It seemed much more likely that it was made for a Demogorgon rather than a human.

With the last of your energy, you shoved both of your thumbs into the man’s eyes, jabbing as hard as you could, causing him to shout and struggle, trying to move his head away from you as his vision blurred. His grip loosened slightly, allowing you to finally take in a breath, regardless of how much it hurt, and as he sat back on his haunches, you managed to free your legs, moving them up and between your bodies.

Finishing with a swift strike to the throat, followed by a couple of bicycle kicks that you’d seen whilst passing by a Jazzercise class at the mall, the man finally let go of your neck, and you continued to kick, this time at his face, until he fell to the side.

Scrambling upward, you managed to grab the cattle prod, jabbing it into the man’s chest.

His body continued to shake, even after you turned it off, froth from his mouth tinged by the red now pouring from his nose.

Dropping the prod, you pushed yourself backward, away from the man until your back hit a wall. Your lungs were trying to heave in oxygen, despite the burning sensation that occurred each time you did so, jumping slightly as Dustin rushed toward you, calling your name as he tried to break your trance, eyes glued on the most likely dead body in front of you.

The Upside Down created monsters.

Chapter Twenty-two: Mall Rats

After a long night of tossing and turning in El’s bed — thankfully, she was staying over at Max’s — you decided sleep just wasn’t going to come to you, and chose instead to get an early start, noting Joyce was still at the cabin waiting for Hopper to wake up.

Jim was still unconscious when you left for work, but Joyce had told you he’d been in and out all night, and that despite his battered and bruised appearance, he would be fine. She didn’t delve too much into what had happened to the man — whether that was because she wasn’t sure, or didn’t want to worry you, you weren’t sure — but her insistence that he would be okay and that she would stay with him until he woke up settled you enough to let you leave for a very boring morning at work.

The arcade’s customers had been dwindling since the Time-Out Arcade had opened up at Starcourt, not to anyone’s surprise. They had brand new machines, including ‘Karate Champ’ and ‘Super Mario Bros’, but you still had to kick the ‘Pac-Man’ machine to start it.

Time-Out also had a state-of-the-art air conditioning unit and was only one floor above the food court, practically right above Scoops.

Hell, with how deserted Downtown was, you might as well see if they had any job vacancies available. The only thing stopping you was the fact that Keith had handed in his notice already, which meant there would be a Shift Manager position available.

Either way, the morning was long and slow and hot enough that you were grateful to punch out and get into the fresh air. The July sun had just begun to poke its head out from the overcast clouds as you began the short walk to Starcourt, your Walkman safely tucked away in your back pocket as you listened to the Talking Heads tape you were certain you’d borrowed from Jonathan a while ago and had conveniently forgotten to return.

“Whatever is in this room, whatever is in those boxes, they really don’t want anybody finding it.”

“But there’s gotta be a way in,” Robin sighed, fiddling with the metal scoop in her hands.

Steve, who had been spinning the stupid sailor hat that he now refused to wear, sat forward in his chair, eyes glancing between Robin, who sat in front of him, and you and Dustin as you sat perched on the window counter,

“Well, you know… I could just take him out.”

“Take who out?” Robin questioned, not sure she was hearing the boy correctly.

“The Russian guard,” Steve rolled his eyes. If he were a bird, you were sure his chest would’ve puffed up.

“What, like, on a date?” You added, earning a snort from the younger boy who stood beside you.

Scoffing, Steve sent you a halfhearted glare, “I sneak up behind him, I knock him out, and I take his key card. It’s easy.”

“Did you not hear the part about the massive gun?”

“Yes, Dustin, I did. And that’s why I would be sneaking.”

“Well, please, tell me this,” Dustin sighed, crossing his arms and approaching Steve, “have you ever actually… won a fight?”

“Okay, that was one time-” Steve began, his cheeks heating slightly.

“Twice. Jonathan. Year prior.”

“Oh, Byers got you good. Kinda embarrassing.” Your smirk only grew when the boy sent you a now wholehearted glare, offended that you weren’t taking his side.

“Listen, that doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it count? Because it looks like he beat the shit out of you.”

“It was-”

“-You got a fat lip, crooked nose, swollen eye, a lot of blood-”

“-Things that all added up-”

Robin’s blue eyes turned toward you — obviously irritated by the boys' bickering — rolling dramatically before she stopped, still as a mouse, cogs in her mind beginning to spin as she mumbled to herself,

“That just might work.”

Rushing from the backroom with her bag, Robin shoved her hand in the shared tip jar, pulling out as many bills as she could, both confusing and annoying Steve.

“Half of that’s mine! Where are you going?”

“To find us a way into that room. A safe way. And in the meantime, sling ice cream, behave, and don’t get beat up. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

And with that, Robin turned and rushed from the Mall.

“You know, I’m sure they’d hire you. You got experience, and shit. And then we could like, carpool to work or whatever.” Steve shrugged, trying his best to act nonchalant when he caught you peering up at the arcade as you both made your way back toward Scoops, after grabbing a drink while the store was empty.

“I’m not looking for a new job.”

“I mean, it is way better than-”

“Shut up, Harrington.”

“You know, you should really be a little nicer to me, considering I give you way more free samples than company policy permits.”

“You copy that right out of Robin’s mouth, or did she write it down for you?” Without sparing the boy a glance, you walked back into the store, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter as you continued to sip at your orange juice.

“What’s your problem? You’ve been weird since last night.”

“I don’t have a problem, Harrington. But if you keep going on, I just might.”

“See, you’re… you’re doing that thing again.” When your face scrunched in confusion, Steve sighed and continued, “You’re doing the whole ‘last name’ spiel again. You only do that when you’re pissed at me.”

Rolling your eyes at the boy’s dramatics, you threw your now empty ‘Orange Julius’ cup into the trash, and slid off the window counter, “I’m not pissed at you. Not yet, anyway.”

“Bullshit, you’ve been weird since last night. If it was about what happened on the roof, it was an accident, but you can’t really-”

“Please stop talking,” you glared, “I don’t care what you do, alright?”

“What happened on the roof?” Dustin piped up, his eyes darting between you both like he was watching the US Open Tennis championships. If you were honest, you’d forgotten he was even there.

“Nothing-”

“I-”

“It is fascinating what 20 bucks will get you at the County Recorder’s Office,” Robin smirked as she passed by you, ignorant to the current tension between you and Steve as she began to unroll the long white sheet of paper onto the small break room table, “Starcourt Mall. The complete blueprints.”

“Not bad,” Dustin smirked, no longer bothered about whatever you and Steve were previously arguing about.

“So, this is us, Scoops.” Robin circled with her finger as Steve sat on one side of the table, and you on the other, “and this is where we want to get.”

“I mean, I don’t really see a way in.” If Robin noticed Steve’s soured mood, she didn’t bother to comment on it.

“There’s not, if you’re talking exclusively about doors.”

Shaking your head, you pushed back from the table slightly, ignoring the screeching from your chair, “Air ducts? That’s your plan?”

“Exactly,” Robin smiled, not quite catching your displeased tone.

Sure, it could definitely work. But that didn’t mean you had to be happy about rattling around through a gross, compact tunnel. Still, you let the girl continue as she grabbed the board pen, drawing a large line from one end of the paper to the other.

“Great plan, really. Can’t wait. But uh, you do realize how small those air ducts are, right? I’m not sure Dustin could fit in them, let alone us.”

Either way, Steve still grabbed the small screwdriver and step ladder from the storage closet, unscrewing the front panel before swapping it for the emergency flashlight in Dustin’s bag.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I think she has a point. I don’t know if you can fit in here. It’s like, super tight.”

“I’ll fit,” Dustin glared, waiting as Steve stepped off the ladder, allowing him to climb up in his place.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, he’s uh… Yeah, he’s got some disease. Chry, uh… It’s Chrydo- um… something.”

“Cleidocranial dysplasia,” you rolled your eyes, correcting Steve, “It affects parts of his skeletal system.”

“Yeah. He’s missing bones and stuff. He can bend like Gumbo.”

“You mean Gumby.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s Gumbo.”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter,” you sighed, holding the ladder as Dustin tried to shimmy into the vent, “Your mom is gonna kill me if she finds out I’m letting you do this.”

“Shut up and push me!” Dustin’s frustrated voice echoed.

Turning your attention to Steve, you gestured for him to step to the ladder. Because you were not crawling around dusty air ducts, nor were you shoving a teenager into one.

“By the way, it is Gumby,” you sent him a condescending smirk as he passed you, his brow furrowed as he made his way up the first ladder rung, trying to push the boy in by his shoes.

“Not my feet, dumbass. Push my ass.”

“What?”

“Touch my butt! I don’t care!”

The two idiots continued to yell at each other as Steve tried his best to shove Dustin into the vent to no avail. You continued to watch Dumb and Dumber, unsure of which one was the latter right now, as Robin turned as the store’s bell dinged, alerting her to a new customer.

“Ahoy, sailors! All hands on deck. Ahoy!”

Your head whipped around, noting the much smaller girl behind the counter, once more looking for free samples, before your eyes connected with Robin's.

This was not going to end well.

“Because, Steve, she terrifies me.”

“Please, she’s like, what, six?”

“She’s 10, and terrifying. Believe me, I babysat her for a while a few years back, and she locked me in a cupboard. For hours, Steve. If it wasn’t for Lucas, she’d have probably left me there until their parents got home. She’s an evil genius in a tiny little girl's body. Terrifying.”

Steve watched as your eyes left Erica, and instead gazed toward the car on show outside Sam Goody’s.

“You planning on hot-wiring it or something?” He tried to joke, but you were in no mood.

Scoffing, you folded your arms over your chest as your eyes narrowed in his direction, “Actually, I thought I might just buy it outright, you know, pay in cash. You got some change I could borrow?”

“Alright, if I’ve done something wrong, just-”

“Look, I’m not bringing a child into this shit, okay? It’s bad enough that Dustin is involved, but these guys… You saw their guns, Steve. I don't care what Dustin says, and I don't care if you're trying to impress Robin. If something happened to Erica because of us…”

“Something’s going to happen to her,” Steve sighed, a hand running through his already tousled hair, “something’s going to happen to everyone if we don’t at least see what's going on.”

Squeezing your eyes closed, you tilted your face toward the ceiling and let out your own long, exasperated sigh, “And what if we’re wrong? What if this is all nothing, and we just get everyone hurt instead?”

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders, jostling you slightly to get your full attention. As you peered back at him, a cinched brow causing a line to form between them, Steve’s own eyes softened at your hesitation,

“I’m not gonna let anybody get hurt, okay? It’ll be a quick in and out. And if we’re wrong… Well then, no key to the city for us. But if we’re right, and we don’t do something… Then all of the shit we’ve been through before, none of that matters. And I… I kinda really need it to matter.”

Your tongue poked out, slowly grazing along your bottom lip as your eyes darted back toward the store where the young girl stood, unaware of Steve’s doe-like eyes following its path across your mouth, swallowing suddenly becoming a little harder to do naturally for the boy.

“Fine. But in and out. And nobody gets hurt.”

“I promise. I’ll keep ‘em safe.”

Steve’s hands squeezed your shoulders as he sent you a reassuring smile, eventually leading you back into the store.

As expected, Erica was not going to help without some form of compensation. She might be evil, but hell, she was at least smart about it.

You sat opposite her, watching as Steve pushed another sweet treat her way, this time, a ‘U.S.S Butterscotch split’. Apparently, the other 16 items he’d tried to bribe her with weren’t sufficient.

“More fudge, please.” She demanded, pushing the boat back towards the boy, “Go on.”

As Steve got up to fulfill her request — a blank, disassociated stare on his face as he tried hard not to snap — Robin pulled out the blueprints, explaining the plan to Erica.

“And you say this guard is armed?”

“Yes, but he won’t be there,” Dustin tried to reassure her.

“And booby traps?”

“Booby traps?”

“Lasers, spikes on the wall?”

“There aren’t going to be any spikes on the wall. We’re in a mall, for God's sake.” Rolling your eyes, you slouched back against the red booth seating.

Erica, after sending you a glare, continued, “You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment.”

“We’ll be in radio contact with you the whole time-”

“Ah, ah, ah! Child. Endangerment.”

Turning your attention to Steve, who was looking no less frustrated than the rest of you, you tried to ignore the debate happening in front of you. Your head was beginning to pound behind your eyes, and you were starting to regret not just heading home after work. Even a fight with your mother would be less painful than this.

“Look, either help us, or don’t,” you sighed, snatching the almost-empty ice-cream float cup she was currently slurping from, despite it being practically empty, “Either way, stop wasting our time.”

A sharp pain exploded in your shin, no doubt a kick from Dustin under the table to go with the burning glare he sent you over it. He turned toward the girl, ready to beg, plead, and grovel if he had to, when Erica rolled her eyes,

“Can’t spell America without Erica.”

“So don’t do this for us. Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do this for America… Erica.”

“Ooh, I just got the chills,” her smirk disappearing as quickly as it had come, “Oh yeah, from this float. Not your speech. Know what I love most about this country? Capitalism.”

And with that, you had groaned, standing from the table and making your way toward Steve as he finished up with a customer.

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, hurry the hell up with that extra fudge.”

“That bad?”

“Worse. I hope you’re not attached to your job here, because I think she’s about to put you out of business. Or at the very least get you and Robin fired.”

“You think she’s gonna agree? I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

“She’ll do it. But… It’s gonna cost you.”

That evening, you waited until Starcourt had closed before heading to the roof and radioing Erica. She made her way through the air ducts without issue before opening the large door from the inside, allowing you all entrance.

Steve had tried his best to reassure you that everything was going to be okay, but you couldn’t help the heavy, sinking feeling that had settled into the pit of your stomach.

Steve opened the boxes one by one until eventually, you found something.

After a brief but dramatic argument between Steve and Dustin, the former pulled one of the small levers, revealing a cylinder container full of something that looked a little too radioactive for your liking.

“What the hell?”

Before any of you could get a closer look, the door slammed shut, jolting the entire room.

“Was that just me, or did the room move?”

“Booby traps,” the youngest of you whispered, her large eyes full of concern peering up at you.

Before you could try to reassure her, a loud, mechanical noise sounded from around you, and you swore you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Let's just grab that and go.”

Robin took the container as Dustin made his way to the door first, hitting the release button a few times, to no avail.

“Which one do I press, Erica?”

“Just press the damn button, nerd.”

“I told you, Steve. I said this was a bad idea, and now we’re stuck in this stupid room-”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, Steve moved toward the door, pushing Dustin to the side, jamming his thumb onto the Door Open button before wildly hitting all of the buttons in a panic.

The room turned to sudden silence as a large, red shutter rolled down, covering the door and blocking your only exit. Before anyone could speak, the lights began to flicker, and you felt the whole room shift under your feet, dropping down too fast like an elevator that had its cable cut. The silence turned to screams as you all scrambled around the room, trying to grab onto anything you could that might keep you upright. Unfortunately, Dustin had accidentally bumped into you, causing you to fall, and your bare knees collided harshly with the hard floor.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity falling into the pits of hell, the elevator came to a sudden halt. As Dustin helped Steve remove the large, heavy box that had fallen on him, you made your way over to Robin, helping her stand after receiving a bump to the head from the metal racking she was clinging to.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Just peachy.” You grumbled, handing Erica her fallen backpack.

“Yeah, I’m great,” Steve barked, his volume growing with every word he spoke, “now that I know that Russians can’t design elevators!”

Shoving Dustin out of his way, you watched as Steve made his way toward the door panel, pushing the buttons once more with a heavy-handedness that would surely do more damage than good.

“I think we’ve clearly established that those buttons don’t work.”

“They’re buttons, they have to do something.”

“We need a key card,” you sighed, hovering behind Erica after checking on the girl.

Turning around, Steve’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “What?”

“It’s an electronic lock. Same as the loading dock door. If we don’t have a key card, it won’t operate, meaning—”

“We’re stuck in here.” Dustin finished for you.

Running his hand through his hair, Steve was visibly distressed. He’d promised that nothing would happen to any of you, yet this wasn’t on his bingo card of ‘Shit That Could Happen’.

“Just so you nerds are aware, I’m supposed to be spending the night at Tina’s, and Tina always covers for me. But if I’m not home for Uncle Jack’s party tomorrow and my Mom finds out you’re responsible, she’s gonna hunt you down, one by one, and slit your throat.”

“I don’t care about Tina!” Steve shouted, his cheeks tinted with a dusty rose, “Or Uncle Jack’s party! Your Mom’s not gonna be able to find us if we’re dead in a Russian elevator!”

“Speaking of, maybe we should lower our voices,” you turned your attention toward Steve, noting the sweat on his brow, “and our tones. If they hear us, we’re as good as dead anyway.”

“Hey… what if we climbed out?” You followed along Dustin’s arm, looking toward where he was pointing at the small metal hatch.

“Thank you, Dustin. At least someone here has some semblance of a survival instinct.” You huffed, making your way over to peer up at the hatch, “C’mon, grab something to climb on.”

The hatch opened with no issues, and you watched as Steve followed Dustin out, the two planning on inspecting the situation. When they came back down, faces sour, you realized it was a no-go. Considering how far and fast you fell, it would take forever to climb up, and that was if there was even a ladder. Which there wasn’t.

Checking his watch, Steve let out a long sigh before rolling his head backwards, resting it against the metal shelf, “It’s been hours.”

Leaning over, you grabbed his left arm, pulling it over you so you could see his watch. It was a little past 4:00 am.

Sighing, you let go of the boy’s arm, resting your head on his shoulder, weariness creeping up on you, “We’re never going to get out of here, are we?”

“Maybe we could open up the panel. Pull a few wires and bingo, we’re outta here.”

Closing your eyes, you shook your head, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t keep spare screwdrivers in my pants.”

“Maybe you should get some rest?” Steve spoke softly as he placed his cheek against your head. It had been a long day for him, too, but he was too on edge to sleep. Too worried that the moment his eyes closed, the door would whirl open and you’d all be shot down by the Russian guards. His anxiety barely let him blink for too long.

“Don’t think I could if I tried,” you shuffled a little, getting more comfortable. Steve noted the pinch of your brows and, after checking that everyone else, especially Henderson, was asleep, he raised his arm over you, wrapping it over your shoulders and pulling you a little closer.

Your shoulders slumped slightly as you relaxed into him, but Steve had never felt more rigid. He worried that his heart would beat right through his chest, or worse, you would feel it pounding against his rib cage. It was stupid, Steve himself knew that. He was far from a blushing bride, and he’d been in much more compromising situations with girls with much less clothing, but something about this felt a little too intimate.

He’d do the same for Henderson, or even Robin or Erica, he tried to convince himself. If they needed comforting, he would comfort them. Because that’s what friends do, right?

But this didn’t feel quite so friendly anymore. You didn’t feel like just a friend anymore, which scared Steve.

He was more than aware that the common denominator in all of his failed relationships was him. Granted, he’d never really bothered with a serious relationship before Nancy. Girls came and went, a ‘new flavor’ every couple of weeks, as Carol would say.

Although Nancy had shown him that he could — and in fact, did — want a real relationship, he hadn’t pursued her with those intentions; it had just kind of happened. They hadn’t been friends beforehand, and if things had not worked out in the beginning, he had nothing to lose. But now, he knew what it felt like to lose someone you cared about, in an excruciatingly painful way. He’d had his heart ripped out and stomped on by Nancy’s size 6s, and that had hurt more than he’d ever care to admit.

But you’d grown so close and developed a real, true friendship that Steve wasn’t cognizant of before. With you, he had a lot more on the line, a lot more at risk. And the fear of losing you, of losing the friendship that had naturally blossomed between the two of you over the last year and a half, kept his mouth firmly zipped shut.

“-They will torture and kill us.”

“Hey,” Steve grunted, his head appearing through the hatch, “You gotta take it easy on that thing, okay? You’re gonna drain the battery.”

“The mall just opened.”

“So?”

“So, someone could be in range.”

“What do you think Petey the Mall Cop is gonna rappel down here and save the day?” Steve huffed, pulling himself through the hatch completely.

“All right, why are you such a cranky pants after getting to spend the night with-”

“Shh, Jesus Christ,” Steve interrupted, his glare on the boy fierce, paranoia nipping at his heels that you might hear the two, “Will you just stop? You don’t even want us together. Plus, she has a 'date' date with that Patrick guy. If you know, we don’t die in here, first.”

“I heard you guys talking all night.”

“Yeah, we were trying to figure out a way to open up the door while you children were sleeping. After eight hours, we’re still exactly nowhere, which is, you know, probably just a little bit of the reason why I’m feeling just a tad cranky.” Steve turned his back toward the boy, unzipping his shorts to relieve himself.

You were perched upon the large metal table, watching as Robin continued to fiddle with the door panel, a grimace on your face as you tried to ignore the sound of Steve peeing when the loud clangs of metal stole your attention. Turning quickly, you rushed toward Erica as she continued to bang the radioactive gunk against the metal paneling.

“Hey! Be careful! We don’t know what that is, and the last thing we need is for it to break and burn off your hand.”

“It could be useful,” Erica argued, glaring at you for snatching the jar from her.

“Useful how?” Robin questioned, finally giving up on the key card angle.

“We can survive down here a long time without food, but if the human body doesn’t get water, it will die.”

“Please, we have like, two and a half days before we need to worry about that. Plus, that isn’t water.”

“No, but it’s a liquid and if it comes down to me drinking that shit, or dying of thirst, I drink.”

“Why don’t you just collect Harrington’s pee instead? At least that won’t burn your esophagus on its way down- what are you doing?”

Turning your attention toward Robin, who had her ear pressed against the door, you watched her eyes widen, “We've got company.”

You huddled together above the elevator, watching with bated breath as two guards walked in, grabbing boxes.

Steve turned to you, a finger pressed to his lips in a silencing motion as he took the glass vial from Erica, ignoring your shaking of your head.

Steve waited as the men collected the last of their things, what sounded like a golf cart starting up before he slipped down the hatch, scrambling for the elevator door before it could close, shoving the vial between it just in time,

“Let’s go!”

You helped dangle Erica down after she threw her backpack to Steve, and waited until Dustin was down and out of the elevator door, gently pushing Robin ahead of you before scrambling through the small gap yourself. As Steve began to shuffle under, the sound of the glass vial cracking under the pressure of the large, heavy door caught your attention, causing you to grab his arm and tug him out of the way, flinching as the jar shattered only milliseconds later, the green goo oozing out, sizzling as it burned through part of the flooring.

Turning toward Erica, you cocked a brow, “You still wanna drink that?”

“Holy mother of God,” Dustin groaned, standing up from the floor.

Ahead of you was a long, narrow corridor, with no side exits and no escape hatches. If you were to come across any soldiers down here, you’d have nowhere to hide. But with the elevator door tightly closed, you had no choice but to begin the long walk and pray that you’d make it out alive. God, you needed Hopper.

“Well, hope you guys are in good shape,” Steve sighed as he made his way past the group, patting Dustin’s shoulder as he went, “Looking at you, Roast Beef.”

“I mean, you have to admit, as a feat of engineering alone, this is impressive.”

“What are you talking about? It’s a total fire hazard. There’s no stairs, there’s no exit, there’s just an elevator that drops you halfway to hell.”

“They’re Commies,” Erica scoffed, “You don’t pay people, they cut corners.”

“To be fair to our Russian comrades, I don’t think this tunnel was designed for walking. It’s the perfect system for transporting that cargo.”

“It comes into the mall like any old delivery.”

“And then they load it up onto those trucks and nobody’s the wiser.”

“You think they built this whole mall just so they could transport that green poison?”

“Governments have done a lot worse, for a lot less,” you shrugged, “But I doubt it’s just for the poison. It’s gotta be for something way bigger.”

“Or more valuable,” Dustin added, “Promethium or something.”

“What the hell is Promethium?”

“It’s what Victor Stone’s dad used to make Cyborg’s bionic and cybernetic components.”

“The D.C superhero?” you glanced toward Robin with a raised brow, unaware until now that Robin might fit in with your ragtag gang pretty well, before turning your attention back to Steve, “It’s a chemical element. All of its isotopes are radioactive, and it’s, like, super rare and expensive.”

Steve’s eyes were wide as he nodded his head, and you knew he had no idea what any of you were talking about.

“You’re all so nerdy, it makes me physically ill.” Erica held her stomach as she pretended to gag.

“No, no, no. Don’t lump me in with them, I’m not a nerd, all right?” Steve glared, a little insulted.

“Why so sensitive, Harrington? Afraid of losing cool points to a ten-year-old child?” Robin questioned as Steve tried to dodge your not-so-gentle punch to the arm.

“No, I’m just saying I don’t know jack shit about Prometheus.”

“Promethium,” Dustin corrected, “Prometheus is a Greek mythological figure, but whatever. All I’m saying is, it’s probably being used to make something.”

“Or power something.”

“Like a nuclear weapon?” Dustin asked.

“Totally,” you shrugged, heart sinking in your chest.

If you were correct about this, then Hawkins — America, in fact — was fucked.

Robin and Erica continued down the corridor, questioning why the Russians would target Hawkins of all places, but you, Steve, and Dustin had come to a complete stop, concerned looks being shared between you.

“Do you think they know about…”

“They could.”

“So it’s connected?”

“Maybe.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, a hand rubbing at your eyes, you really hadn’t managed a wink of sleep last night, “but it’s possible.”

“I’m sorry, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Robin called down as she and Erica turned to face the three of you, heads huddled together. Thankfully, she was interrupted by a static sound from the Walkie Talkie, a Russian voice eventually coming through.

Erica swung the bag from her back, opening it up and handing the Walkie to Robin as the three of you rushed to catch up with them.

You all sat around, listening to the unfamiliar words, when they started to catch your attention. It was the code.

“If there’s one thing we know about that signal…”

Chapter Twenty-one: Super Secret Spy Shit

By the grace of God, your mother was passed out, drooling face down on the couch by the time you returned home, and when you left that morning, she was in the same position, snoring louder than the birds that chirped their morning song.

You were grateful for a day off; the long summer days were still too hot in the crammed, smelly arcade, and it seemed they were only getting warmer. Today, however, you were out of plans.

Nancy and Jonathan were interning at The Hawkins Post all summer and, therefore, annoyingly busy, and you flat out refused to spend your entire summer break hanging out with a bunch of 14-year-olds.

And Steve… Well, Steve was currently working a long shift at the mall. The mall that had air conditioning that actually worked. And — with Robin’s back turned — free ice cream. So, unfortunately for him, Steve was your only option.

You did have one stop, however, before you cycled to Starcourt.

You’d biked all the way to Cherry Lane, but there was no Camaro parked outside, and Max — who at first was absolutely furious that you were there to see her step-brother of all people — told you that he had a shift at the pool.

“Neil is going to flip when he finds out what he did to his car.” Max’s voice was laced with a tinge of concern, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you were in the same boat as Billy once your mother awoke.

The community pool was already busy by the time you arrived; moms were lazing around the pool as kids continuously broke the 'no running' rule. And the 'no dunking' rule. And the 'no diving' rule.

God, you could only be grateful that Steve hadn’t got a job here because you absolutely wouldn’t be hanging around half as much.

“Hey, Heather? You seen Billy?”

The girl peered down at you from her lifeguard chair, removing her glasses to rest them on top of her head, “He’s on break.”

It took a moment for you to realize the girl wasn’t going to elaborate any further, and you decided to just find him without her help. “Yeah, okay… Thanks.”

Mrs. Wheeler’s appearance was common at the pool during the summers, especially now that Holly was old enough to get in the pool by herself. It gave Karen an excuse to be out of the house and lounge in the sun.

You didn’t expect her, however, to be lurking around in the pool’s storage area.

“Please, will you talk to me?” Karen asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

But as Billy turned around, his hair so damp it looked like he’d just been for a dip in the pool himself, his eyes focused on you for a moment as you peered around the corner.

“Stay away from me, Karen.”

The boy shouldered past her, walking right past you and back out toward the pool, Karen’s eyes widening as you entered her line of vision. Her mouth bobbed once, then twice, but before she could utter a word, you’d already rushed off, calling after Billy.

“Hargrove, I’m talking to you!”

You’d only caught up to him once he was halfway around the pool, your hand catching his forearm. “Hey, where did you run off to last night? You totally wrecked my car. Hopper said the tow-truck company practically laughed in his face when he asked if it was repairable.”

He didn’t respond, but you noticed his eyes flickering around the area as he continued to pant,

“Billy, are you okay? You’ve been acting weird since yesterday, and I-”

Your voice cut off, a small yelp falling from your lips as the boy suddenly released himself from your grip and instead grabbed your tricep, pulling you in closer as he leaned down to quietly speak in your ear,

“You need to leave me alone, got it?” His eyes, seemingly much darker than before, peered into your own, watching as your brow pulled in close and you struggled to shove him off. “Got. It?”

“Fine, God. I get it, alright? Now get off me, you psychopath.”

As soon as you were able to tug your arm from his grip, you stormed away from the boy, unaware of his shiny, blue Camaro that didn’t have a single scratch on it parked just a few feet away from your bike.

By the time you’d rode to the mall, your shirt was sticking to your back from the incessant summer sun, and you were almost foaming at the mouth in anger. Barely locking your bike up — something you probably should’ve been a little more careful with, considering it was now your only mode of transport — you stomped through the mall, pushing past idling teens until you finally reached the ice cream parlor.

“Oh, no. Not you, too. I already have her trying to eat this store into bankruptcy, I’m not dealing with-”

“Where is he?” You asked, ignoring the glares from Erica’s little demon friends as you pushed your way to the front of the counter.

“Uh, in the back. He’s-”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, ignoring Robin’s stuttering as you made your way out toward the stock room.

“Harrington-”

“Hey, you… Wow. You look… sweaty.”

Taking a moment, you decided it was in your best interest to not punch the boy for his comment, and instead, you grabbed the remainder of his banana, ripping it from his grasp and shoving the rest into your mouth as you glared at him.

His own cheeks resembled a hamster hoarding its food for the night, but you were in no joking mood to mention it.

“What happened to you?” Dustin asked, just before Robin pushed through the doors, annoyance clear on her face.

“All right, babysitting time is over. You need to get in there… Hey! My board! That was important data, shit birds.”

“I guarantee you, what we’re doing is way more important than your data.”

“The Russian thing?” You asked, dodging a swipe from Dustin.

“Really? You wanna just announce it on the P.A system instead? Let everyone know?”

“How do you know these Russians are up to no good anyways?”

When Dustin’s incredulous glare jumped from you to Steve, Robin huffed, “Please, I can hear everything. You are both extremely loud. You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country, on tape, and you’re trying to translate, but haven’t figured out a single word because you didn’t realize Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do? Sound about right?”

“Spot on, Buckley,” you sighed, picking up the book from the small desk where Dustin was sitting, “Think you can help?”

“Uh, no, this is extremely confidential- hey!”

Steve swiped the cassette player before Robin could get her hands on it, both himself and Dustin sending her an incredulous glare.

“Maybe I can help,” Robin shrugged. “I’m fluent in four languages, you know.”

“Russian?” Dustin asked, eyebrows raised in hope.

“Ou-yay are-yay umb-day,”

You couldn’t hold in the small snort of laughter and instead flicked through the book once more as Dustin and Steve stared at the girl, mouths open wide,

“That was Pig Latin, dingus.”

“Idiot,” Steve huffed, slapping Dustin with the empty banana skin you'd left on the table.

“But I can speak Spanish and French, and Italian, and I’ve been in band for 12 years. My ears are little geniuses, trust me.”

Steve still looked hesitant, his eyes darting between yourself and Henderson. He barely knew Robin, he wasn’t sure he could trust her with something like this. If this was even what Dustin claimed it to be. And yet, you needed all the help you could get. His eyes settled on you as if awaiting the final decision.

“Your turn to translate,” you settled for them, handing Robin the worn, red Russian-to-English dictionary, turning toward Steve, “your turn to sling ice-cream. I’m hungry, and she won't give me any more free samples.”

Robin held out the scoop, her big, blue eyes peering up at Steve, already knowing she’d won before he’d even handed her the cassette player.

“And then, he just… told me to get lost.”

“I don’t get it. Why did you even go see him in the first place?”

Placing the small tub next to where you were perched on the counter, you glared at the boy as he counted the change for a customer. “Because I was worried about him. I know, it’s stupid, but he seemed… I don’t know, he seemed different.”

“Rude and aggressive? Sounds just like Hargrove to me.”

“Yeah, well, he also totaled my car. That’s why I’m riding my stupid bike in this stupid weather.”

“Not got work today?” Steve asked, no longer interested in talking about Billy.

“No, we’re shut for the protest.”

Steve turned slightly, raising a brow, “And you're not there because…”

Sighing, you gently nudged him with your sneaker, “Because they don’t have a permit, dummy. And the last thing I need is Kline the Swine to get it shut down. Officer Greene is still on my ass, and I don’t need to give him any excuse to book me for… like, literally anything.”

“Why does he hate you so much?” Steve asked, leaning against the counter next to you as he grabbed your empty tub to throw away, but you merely shrugged, avoiding his curious glance, distracted by the new, familiar customers.

“Hey, you two,” you peered past Steve as El and Max came bounding up to the till, eyes wide as they gazed down at all of the different flavors of ice-cream, “Shopping?”

“Do you like it?” El asked, spinning on the spot to show off her new shirt as Max beamed at her.

Nodding, you sent them both a wide, proud smile. “Yeah. You look great. New shades, Max?”

The girl wiggled her brows at you as she placed them on top of her head. “Did you find Billy?”

“Ugh, please. I can’t listen to her moan about it… again.”

This time, your nudge to Steve’s side was a little harder.

“There’s more to life than just stupid boys,” El smiled, but the words sounded a little strange from her mouth.

“You know what, El? You’re so right,” you sent Steve an insolent smirk, batting your eyelashes as he glared back at you before turning around to face the girls.

“What can I get for you?”

Steve scooped the small vanilla swirl and strawberry ice creams into two cones, when the window behind you suddenly opened, Robin’s head poking out from inside,

“We’ve got our first sentence.”

“Seriously?” Steve asked, making his way back toward you, cones still in hand.

In an over-exaggerated accent, Robin announced, “The week is long.”

You both stared at her for a moment too long before Steve sighed, “Well, that’s thrilling.”

“I know. But, progress.”

With a loud slam, she was gone, and the window was once again closed.

“Okay, here you go. You got a strawberry, and then a vanilla with sprinkles, extra whipped cream.”

Steve handed the cones over to the girls, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked toward El, “Wait a second… Are you even allowed to be here?”

The two girls giggled as they ran from the shop, giving you their answer.

“And you’re not gonna do anything about that?” Steve asked, his hand shoved in the direction of the two girls.

Rolling your eyes, you jumped down from the small counter, accidentally bumping the boy in front of you slightly, “They’re teenage girls, Steve. What do you want me to do? Lock them away in a tower?”

“I’m pretty sure Hopper would be pissed if-”

“Hopper, Schmopper,” you groaned, eyes staring up at the boy, “She’s finally made a friend that isn't Mike Wheeler. Leave her alone. Now, I don’t think I’ve tried the mango sorbet yet…”

It turns out cracking a Russian spy code was much more boring when you had absolutely no idea what was going on.

The mall was already shut and had been for a while; the silence felt a little unsettling, but Robin had managed to decipher more of the message.

The week is long, the silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west.

Between the constant rewinding of the tape, the confusing translation, and the stupid music in the background, you felt like you were losing your mind. Thankfully, Steve wasn’t too far behind, either.

“It just can’t be right.”

“It’s right,” Robin argued back, barely waiting for Steve to lock up before you all began to make your way out.

“Honestly, I think it’s great news.”

“How is this great news?” Steve moaned as he began to walk next to you, “I mean, so much for being American Heroes, it’s total nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense-”

“It kinda sounds like nonsense,” you shrugged, avoiding Robin’s annoyed glance backward, “nonsense that’s gonna be going round, and round, in my head when I try to sleep tonight.”

“It’s too specific,” Dustin argued, “It’s obviously a code.”

“What do you mean, a code?”

“Like a super secret spy code.”

Steve continued to bicker, but Robin and Dustin held their ground. You just hoped if this was some kind of Russian spy shit, that it would be over and done with soon so you could hand over the evidence to… whoever, and get on with your life, never having to slowly die of boredom whilst Robin translates Russian letter by letter again. You weren’t any help, but Steve had offered to drop you — and your bike — home if you stayed. A decision you had progressively begun to regret with each passing hour.

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree with this strange child, but, yeah… totally. Evil Russians.”

You sent a gentle elbow into Steve’s ribs as he mocked the two, a feeble attempt at an apology sent your way in the form of a smile.

“So how do we crack it?”

Steve stopped, a hand on held out across your abdomen, causing you to stop and turn your attention back to him as he began to dig around in his pockets, eyes focused on the child’s ride in front of him, “Do you have a quarter?”

“Uh, no…” you scrunched up your nose, despite digging around in your pockets on the off chance that you did have change, “I think you’re a little too old for the ride, Steve.”

“I just… Hey, guys,” Steve called, causing Robin and Dustin to stop and turn, “Either of you have a quarter?”

“You sure you’re tall enough for that ride?” Robin joked, throwing the change toward him.

Steve inserted the coin, remaining crouched by the rocking horse. Rolling your eyes, you stepped forward, ready to tug him up by his ear, when the all too familiar music stopped you in place.

Steve’s eyes peered up toward you, wide and unbelieving. “You hear that, right?”

Robin interrupted, arms crossing over her chest in annoyance, “Uh, the music, Steve? Sure, everyone-”

But Steve’s focus remained on you, watching as the wheels began to turn in your brain, as Dustin shook his head, his attention turned to Robin, “They do this sometimes. It’s best to just let them get it out of their system-”

“Would you two just shut up and listen,” Steve huffed, finally pushing himself up to stand next to you.

“Holy shit,” you huffed out a humorless laugh, “the calls are coming from the house.”

“What are you-”

“The music!” Dustin caught on, pulling off his backpack to find the cassette player.

“I don’t understand,” Robin sighed, crossing her hands over her chest as she made her way toward you.

“It’s the exact same song on the recording.”

“Maybe they have horses like this in Russia?” Robin questioned, not sure she was willing to believe the evil Russians planned on taking over America via the Hawkins Starcourt Mall.

“'Indiana Flyer'? I don’t think so. This code it… It didn’t come from Russia. It came from here.”

You sat in the front seat of Steve’s car, bike haphazardly thrown in the back — something Dustin complained about the whole way to his house — staring at your living room window. The light was on, but there was no glare from the TV, meaning that your mother was home, and even worse, she was awake.

“You know, to go in, you actually have to, you know… go in,” Steve smirked, his dark eyes looking tired after a long day.

“I think she knows about the car,” you sighed, running a hand down your face and leaning further back into the seat. “I’m so dead.”

In any other situation, Steve would’ve rolled his eyes, told you to grow a pair, and told you to explain to your mother that it was an accident. An accident that wasn’t your fault. But Steve knew better.

God, you hated that he knew better.

“You’d have to be quiet, 'cause my folks are home, but… You can, you know, stay over if you’d prefer.”

Your mouth stopped mid-chew, hangnail half peeled off as you turned toward the boy, his eyes looking anywhere but at you, “Is that… I mean, are you sure?”

“Totally. If you’re free tomorrow, then we can hang out at Starcourt. I mean… I’ll be working, but you could come help us crack the code some more, you know? I could do with some company that isn’t Robin or Henderson.”

Your eyes scanned back towards your house, brow pinched together as you couldn’t help but wonder what awaited you inside. Maybe an extra day would help her calm down a little. Plus, she could always take the bus into work if need be, and you could call her from Steve’s and explain everything; at least that way, she could only verbally berate you.

Chewing at your bottom lip, you released a long sigh, feeling your shoulders slump in relief. “That, uh…that sounds good. Thanks.”

You didn’t intend to spend an entire day off at the mall, especially when Steve had to work, but everyone else was too busy to entertain you, and you were dead-set on not returning home for a while, hoping that if your mother had listened to the voicemail you’d left her last night from Steve’s home phone, maybe she’d calm down with a little time — and distance — between you both.

You knew you could only bury your head in the sand for so long, but you weren’t quite ready to face the music just yet.

So instead, you allowed Steve to drive you to Starcourt, where you remained in the back with Dustin, perched on the small chair as Robin and Steve took it in turns to face the unruly preteens looking for a sugar high.

Currently, however, dumb and dumber were out doing some recon — a pair of Dustin’s binoculars that made them look conspicuously shady — and you were twiddling your fingers in the back room, trying to make sense of whatever secret message the Russians were conveying.

But no matter how hard you stared at the whiteboard, the answer evaded you.

Stupid Russians and their stupid secret code.

When the small window opened and Robin’s head poked through, you couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, “Oh, thank God. I can’t work this shit out, so if-”

“Uh, someone’s here to see you.”

Peering at her skeptically, you pushed further, “Someone being who?”

“I don’t know, I’m not your secretary,” she shrugged, leaning in closer so her head was fully through the small window as she teased with a wide grin, “but it’s a boy.”

With pinched brows, you pulled yourself up from the uncomfortable chair and made your way out front, a familiar boy waiting off to the side who greeted you with a smile, “Hey. Got a new gig and didn’t tell me?”

“Hi, Patrick. What are you doing here?”

Patrick shrugged, his eyes darting down toward his shoes as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world, “I, uh, well, I went to the arcade first, in case you were working today, but the weird guy said you were off, so I thought I’d check here. You’re usually hanging out with Harrington, so…”

“Are you gonna order something? Because if not, scram.”

Turning your head, you saw the littlest Sinclair sibling, a perfected scowl on her face as she crossed her arms in front of her, eyebrow raised as if she were daring you to respond, but after babysitting the girl a while back, you knew better.

Pulling Patrick by the arm slightly so Erica could order her millionth free sample of ice-cream — if it wasn’t you, then it would definitely be Erica and her friends who put Scoops out of business — and moved toward the exit, barely sending a goodbye to Robin as you left.

“Instead of dating somebody because you think it’s gonna make you cooler, why don’t you date somebody you actually enjoy being around? Like me and Suzie.” Dustin sighed, as if he were a 40-year-old man schooling his stupid, teenage son about life and love.

“Oh, Suzie. You mean, ‘hotter than Pheobe Cates’, yeah, that Suzie. And let's think about how exactly you scored that beautiful girlfriend. Oh yeah, with my advice. Because that’s how this works, Henderson. I give you the advice, and you follow through. Not the other way around, all right, pea-brain?”

“Actually,” Dustin glared, pulling the binoculars away and holding them back toward Steve, “I took her advice. And I gotta say, it worked way better.”

Steve glared at the boy for a moment before snatching the binoculars from him, holding them up to where Dustin had been looking, and seeing you perched on the fountain next to Patrick Mckinney. A name that was beginning to taste a little sour on Steve's tongue.

“Yeah, well, what does she know?”

Dustin cocked an eyebrow, but it went unnoticed by Steve as he kept his eagle-eyed vision on you, “I mean, since she’s got a boyfriend and you’re still horribly, desperately single, I’d say she knows way more than-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the reins there, cowboy. She does not have a boyfriend. They’re just… I don’t know, they hang out sometimes,” Steve began to stutter when he finally returned his attention to the fed-up looking boy, “I mean, I hang out with her, too. Doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t wanna,” Dustin shrugged, leaving Steve to try and formulate a response in his head as his mouth continued to bob, eventually settling on a sharp glare before returning his attention to where you sat, a wide smile pulling at you lips as the boy’s leg bounced nervously, slightly knocking you every time.

“They’re friends, alright? And I never said I wanted to date her. It wouldn’t work out, anyway.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dustin snorted, matter-of-factly.

Steve looked away for a moment, brows pinched together as he glanced toward Dustin before once again returning his attention to you, his glare somehow deepening, “Uh, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the binoculars from Steve and half choking him with the band, Dustin sighed, ignoring Steve’s strangled voice as he stood up straight, “Hey, careful, dumbass. You almost took my head off!”

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t. Just… No. Okay? Don’t even think about it.”

“About-”

“You and her, dipshit,” Dustin sighed, nodding his head in your direction, “It’s not happening. Not a chance in hell.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve swallowed down the annoyance he felt bubbling up in his throat, causing him to be a little too defensive, “Please, we’re like, best friends, alright? That’s it.”

“Sure. That’s why you can’t stop staring at her and her boyfriend, instead of helping to find the actual Russian spies threatening to do God knows what-”

“Not her boyfriend. I’m her best friend, remember? She’d of told me.”

“Either way,” Dustin sighed, scanning the mall with his binoculars for anyone who looked remotely suspicious… Or Russian, “absolutely not. We all know you’d fuck it up some how, and then it’ll be awkward, and the whole group will have to pick sides — and it won’t be yours — and then we’ll be fucked the next time some intergalactic monster tries to destroy the town.”

Steve’s jaw was slack, offense and annoyance evident on his features. “Why are you so certain I’d be the one to mess things up? And who the hell is we? We don’t know shit.”

“Look, I’ve already told her before. It can’t happen. I’m not dealing with the fallout. I’m already a child of divorce; I don’t need you two adding to that trauma.”

“You know we don’t need your permission, right? Like, I could totally date her, and you couldn’t stop us.”

Dustin scoffed, a sarcastic laugh falling from his lips. “Thought you didn’t want to?”

Your eyes widened at the familiar voices you could hear bickering in the distance. You’d only been gone a short while, and Dustin and Steve couldn’t have even known you were out here. Jesus, they were terrible at recon.

Turning, you managed to catch a glimpse of them between the passing people, both stood behind a large plant with a pair of binoculars held out in your direction as they continued to argue animatedly. At least you knew there was no chance either of them was a Russian spy.

Eyes widened, you realized that Patrick had spotted them too. Sending the boy a tight smile, you excused yourself, “I’ll be right back.”

The boys were late to notice your quickening pace, but as soon as their eyes connected with your own, they jumped apart, Dustin pushing into the line for ‘Imperial Panda’ and receiving a fair amount of stern words from the hungry patrons, and Steve simply turning abruptly, hands on his hips as he refused to look in your direction. You could tell his cheeks had begun to bloom a deep red as he kept his back to you, pretending that you weren’t there at all.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You practically hissed, shoving the older boy in the back and causing him to finally turn around.

“Oh, hey! It’s you! Didn’t see you there.”

Pointing a finger and waving it between Steve and Dustin when he finally rejoined the group, looking a little like a puppy with its tail between its legs, you sent them a glare that should’ve put them 6 feet under.

“I know damn well you saw me, Harrington. Both of you. With your stupid little binoculars. What the hell are you two watching me for? Aren’t you supposed to be on a super secret-”

“Ah, ah ah!” Dustin yelled, rushing around the plant to hold a hand over your mouth as his eyes widened, “Secret being the pivotal word in that sentence. Plus, we are doing…that. You just happened to be in the way.”

Your eye twitched once, twice, three times, as you tried to remind yourself that it was not socially acceptable to bite a teenager, before Dustin quickly removed his hand, shoving Steve slightly with annoyance and irritation as he lowered his voice, “Dude, I told you-”

“You didn’t tell me anything, Henderson. Now drop it.”

Rubbing your hand over your forehead before chancing a quick glance back toward Patrick, the boy patiently waiting for you by the fountain, watching your heated exchange with the two boys, you tried your best to calm down a little.

“Look, I don’t know what you two are up to, and frankly, I don’t care. But stop. Being. Weird. Got it?”

“Mmhm,” Steve nodded, eyes wide and rounded as they peered at you, “got it.”

“Yep. Yes, Ma’am.”

“Now I’m gonna head back over there, and I’ll meet you at Scoops once you’ve finished this stupid spy recon… shit. Okay? Now, smile and nod.”

It would’ve been comical to see their matching strained smiles, had you not have felt incredibly embarrassed by their behavior. Thankfully, as you returned toward Patrick, you didn’t see Dustin’s arm raise, sending an overzealous wave to the boy, only to have his hand quickly slapped away by Steve,

“Don’t wave at him, dude.” Steve sighed, his brows slightly furrowed as his own eyes connected with Patrick’s across the walkway.

“Come on,” Dustin interrupted Steve’s one-way glaring contest, “we have a Russian spy to find.”

Scoops had calmed down as it got later in the afternoon, and you found yourself doodling on Robin’s converse as she sat re-reading her notebook aloud and checking the dictionary before slurping her milkshake after every line.

“The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice if you treat lightly… This is so infuriating. Couldn’t they have just not made it into a stupid secret code?”

“A trip to China does sound nice right about now…” you sighed, shrugging as the girl glanced up at you, “What? I’m hungry. And Imperial Panda do these amazing noodles-”

A loud knock interrupted you mid-sentence, and Robin hopped through the open window with a roll of her eyes. Signing the paperwork for the delivery, you noticed Robin standing stock-still for a moment, staring at the man’s hat. Eventually, he went his own way, and Robin quickly rushed out of the door to watch as he left.

“Jesus, got a crush or something, Buckley? I thought my taste in guys was weird.”

“The silver cat…” Robin muttered, her eyes wide as the clogs in her mind began whirling, “Silver cat!”

Rushing back through the door she grabbed your arm and pulled you from the counter, practically dragging you out of the shop, pushing past Steve and Henderson who returned looking rather defeated.

Leaping up onto a small ledge surrounding a ridiculously large plant, you watched as she continued to mumble to herself out loud, “A trip to China sounds nice…”

“Imperial Panda is that way.” You tugged slightly at her blue shorts, pointing toward the small stand, feeling your stomach begin to rumble.

“A trip to China sounds nice!” Robin glanced at you as you finally joined her on the ledge, beginning to connect the dots.

“If you tread lightly… shoes? A shoe store?”

“Kaufman shoes…” the girl’s eyes widened, gasping slightly when she found the shop, gesturing toward the store, “if you tread lightly.”

“When blue and yellow meet in the west,” you both span around, like two broken compasses trying to find the right direction, stopping as your eyes fell on the large clock,

One hand blue. One yellow.

“9.45,” you mumbled, eyes drawn to Robin.

“And you said we had to act normal? What are you two doing?” Steve interrupted your silent conversation with Robin, peering up at you both with a furrowed brow.

“We cracked it.” Robin joyfully sighed, not quite believing her own words.

“Cracked what?”

“The code, Steve,” a small laugh fell from your mouth as you stepped down from the ledge, the boy’s arms already out to steady you, “She cracked the code.”

“We totally cracked it,” Robin smirked as she too jumped from the small ledge.

“Oh please, that was basically all you. Lynx deliveries, 'the silver cat'. Genius.”

“You with ‘a trip to China’ and the shoes!”

“We never have to hear that stupid phrase ever again. I could kiss you right now, Robin Buckley, I swear to God!”

Robin’s cheeks tinged a pretty pink, the flush blooming across her entire face and finding its way down her neck as she smiled wide at you.

Steve rolled his eyes as Dustin simply looked on in astonishment, still not quite getting it but happy that you were both certain of your victory. “Look, I’m glad you two are like… bonding, or whatever. But can you just explain what the hell you’re talking about? What does it even mean?”

Nightly storms weren’t an odd occurrence during the long hot summers in Hawkins, but something about this one, the way the rain socked through to your bones, the thunder clapping loudly against the dark clouds… It made everything feel a little more ominous.

“Look for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes.” Robin practically shouted over the rain.

The four of you had been perched on the roof just after 8.30pm, awaiting some kind of movement in the delivery bay.

Dustin struggled to see through his binoculars, and you couldn’t hold in the slight giggle as Steve continued to brush back his long, wet hair from his face, “You look like a drowned rat, Harrington.”

The boy glared at you, half out of irritation, half from trying to keep the rain from his eyes. Thankfully, your jacket had a hood. Well, technically, it was Steve’s jacket that he had let you borrow earlier that morning.

“Is that really what’s important right now?” He scoffed, returning his attention to the guards in the bay, trying to find anything moderately suspicious.

“Absolutely,” you smirked, shoving his shoulder slightly. “We all have bad hair days, Steve. It’s fine.”

Before Steve could respond, the sound of high-pitched whistling sounded, a man in a yellow poncho began to wheel out some boxes. Imperial Panda boxes.

“They’re with that whistling guy, ten o’clock.” Dustin watched closely as the man received a nod from a guard before making his way toward another door.

“What do you think is in there?”

“Guns, bombs?”

“Chemical weapons?”

“Whatever it is, security is tight. They’re armed to the teeth,” you sighed, eyes focused on a bald-headed man guarding a door.

Now, he looked like a Russian spy.

“Great,” Steve sighed, once again wiping the rain water from his eyes, “that’s just great.”

The man was given clearance to get into the guarded warehouse, and you all squinted to try and get a better look inside.

“What's in there?”

“It’s just more boxes,” Dustin confirmed, sighing.

“Let me check it out,” Steve grumbled, grabbing the binoculars from Dustin as the two began to argue, each tugging at them.

“No, I’m still-”

“Let me see it.”

A large bang echoed around as the binoculars hit the panel, causing the attention of the heavily armed guards to turn upward in your direction.

The four of you ducked, your heart beating in your ears as you prayed you were quick enough to not be seen. As your breathing began to calm, you noticed Steve’s arm slung across your front, part of your jacket in his clenched fist as he must’ve tugged you down, but his other hand…

His other hand was grasped tightly in Robin’s. Fingers clasped, as if in a shared prayer.

Lightly shoving Steve’s arm away from you seemed to pull the boy out of his terrified trance, his head turning to you as his Adam’s apple bobbed. He quickly turned toward Robin, finally noticing his grip around her hand, and the two let go. When Steve turned back toward you, you were instead staring directly ahead, refusing to meet his concerned gaze.

You heard one of the guards yell and took that as your cue to leave quickly, managing to make it back inside and down one of the long hallways with ease.

The joke about Steve looking like a drowned rat wasn’t so funny anymore as the four of you made your way back toward Scoops, drenched to the bone.

“Well, I think we found your Russians.”

The car ride was — as expected — full of conspiracy's and chatter as Steve drove everyone home. Dustin and Robin led the conversation as you settled into the back seat of the BMW, uncomfortably wet and desperate to get anywhere that was warm and dry, and more importantly, not this car.

“You wanna sit up front?” Steve asked, turning to face you once Dustin was safe inside. “Heater works better.”

“No, I’m good.”

Steve watched you for a second longer as you kept your eyes on Dustin’s house, watching as his bedroom light flickered on, before letting out an exasperated sigh and pulling away.

“You know, that was really smart of you. Figuring out the code-”

Rolling your eyes, you kept your focus on the rain as it hit the window, rolling down before quickly being replaced by another droplet. “That was pretty much all Robin.”

“That’s not what she said,” Steve mumbled, but accepted the silence you returned, even if only for a minute or so.

“So… What did that McKinney kid wanna talk to you about? I didn’t realize you were so close.”

Shrugging, you ignored the first part of his question. “We’re not. Not really.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” Steve pushed, his eyes finally meeting yours in the rear view mirror as he pulled up to a stop sign, “You’ve hung out a few times, right?”

“We’re friends, okay? I’m allowed other friends that aren’t you, even if they’re guys. Same as you and Robin, right?”

Steve’s jaw slackened at your blunt, abrasive tone, his hands squeezing the leather of his steering wheel as he forced down the bitchy response that crawled up his throat, the ‘Old Steve’ threatening to make a reappearance. But he had worked hard to be better, and just because you were taking out your bad mood on him, it didn’t mean he had to reciprocate.

But silence made Steve uncomfortable, and his brain reacted a little slower than his tongue. He might be a little nosey, but he also might be a little masochistic.

“So… What did he want?”

“It’s not important-”

“It seemed pretty important when you rushed me and Dustin and gave us a talking to.”

“That’s because you two were acting like idiots.”

“Never seemed to care before,” Steve shrugged, noting your glare through the mirror. “What? I’m just saying. If you’re worried about what he thinks, then maybe-”

“He asked me out. Like, on a real date- Jesus Christ, Steve.” you cursed when the boy stepped on the brake slightly, causing the car to jolt harshly.

“Sorry, I, uh… I thought I saw a deer.”

You glared at the boy as you rubbed your neck, hoping that the seat belt wouldn’t leave a burn mark.

“So… When is this, uh, real date happening?”

“Turn here,” you sighed, leaning forward slightly and pointing down a long, winding road. “I’m gonna stay at Hop’s.”

“You’re not going home?” Steve questioned, concern etched in his brow, “You haven’t seen your mom yet? You know the longer you leave it, the worse it’s gonna be-”

“Jesus, how many other kids do you have, Dad? That you know about, anyway?” You glared. You knew he was most likely glaring back, but the dark road had no lights, so you refused to acknowledge what you couldn’t see.

“I always practice safe sex, thank you very much. Look, I’m just saying because you know… I like, care about you,” Steve sighed, his voice dropping as he mumbled, “even when you’re in a bad mood and taking it out on me. Maybe I can come in when you explain it. I already told you-”

“And I already told you, Harrington. I don’t need you there when I tell her. Which I will. Just… Not right now. There are more pressing matters, remember. Russian spies ring any bells?”

Steve sighed, but remained quiet for the rest of the short drive until he pulled up close to Hopper’s cabin with your directions, and you noted the curtain twitch as Steve dimmed the headlights.

You climbed out of the car, half expecting to see Hopper clamber out of the cabin door as you stopped at the driver’s window, waiting for Steve to roll it down.

“Tomorrow evening. He’s gonna pick me up, and we’re gonna head to the Hideaway and get dinner.”

Steve peered up at you, trying his best to ignore how the milky moonlight reflected against your skin, highlighting your cheekbones and making your eyes glow with a brightness he’d never quite noticed before. “Well, if you need anything just, uh… just give me a call, alright? I don’t have plans after work, so…”

“Will do. I’ll, uh… I’ll probably come see you at work tomorrow anyway. I have the early shift.”

“Yeah, great,” Steve smiled, swallowing down a lump that was slowly forming in his throat the more he stared up at you. “You need a ride?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“What about to the mall? I can come get you.”

“It’s really not that far, Steve. Plus, you’ll be in work.”

“I’ll come get you in my break-”

“Steve, please. I’ll be fine. Drive safe, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah… you too.” Steve shook his head, clearing his throat as he realized his mistake, “I mean, yeah… you know what I mean. See you later.”

You watched Steve turn around, his car carefully driving off into the distance before you made your way inside, more than ready to have a hot shower and get out of your soaked clothing. You'd barely closed the door before jolting slightly as you saw Joyce standing in the middle of the room, panic rising at the sight of an unconscious Hopper sprawled out on the couch.

Chapter Twenty: O Captain! My Captain!

True to his word, as the clock hit 9pm, Patrick’s car came to a rolling stop a few houses down from yours. Sneaking from your bedroom, you peered into the living room where your mother was stationed in her usual spot, mouth wide open and snoring — the only sign that she was even still breathing — as the TV blasted some game show, an empty bottle half rolled under the coffee table.

Rushing back to your room, you opened your bedroom window gently — praying that if the loud television sounds didn’t wake your mother, neither would the squeaking of your window — and squeezed out of it, trying not to trample on the mud beneath it.

But you realized, maybe a little too late, that the car parked across the street wasn’t Patrick’s, it was, in fact, a black Jeep Cherokee.

Slowing down your pace, Patrick emerged from the back seat with a wince when he noticed your pinched brow. Was this the moment they threw pig's blood over you and sped off into the distance, laughing at you all summer long?

“Hey, so, I’m sorry about this. I mentioned tonight and they just kind of… invited themselves along to pick you up. I didn’t know what to say.”

No, you thought, your eyes darting toward Andy, who was making kissing faces at the window. You could’ve said no.

Patrick’s eyes remained on his sneakers, but the moment they peeped up toward you, shame and silent understanding evident in his large, brown eyes, you realized how hard saying no could be. So instead, you sent him a slightly strained smile and shook your head, “It’s fine. Really.”

His relief was evident, his shoulders sagging slightly as he smiled back at you before moving to open the door, “Cool. Great.”

The drive wasn’t the most comfortable thing you’d experienced, but thankfully Jason’s Jeep was big enough that despite being seated between Patrick and Jason’s girlfriend Chrissy, you weren’t really squashed.

Despite knowing Chrissy — or at least, of her — for years, it still felt strange to see the girl out of her usual green, yellow, and white cheer uniform. She had quietly mentioned going up for head cheerleader in the upcoming school year, and you couldn’t help but think that despite her ability and likability, she seemed awful shy for someone on the squad. Some of the other girls were vicious, and you couldn’t help but hope that Chrissy got the position over them, if only to make your own life easier.

The car came to a stop, the group exiting quickly as they began to make their way toward the boarded-up building.

“You good?” Patrick asked, hands shoved in his pocket as he waited for you.

Nodding, you remained quiet as you followed the group into the desolate building that once housed the best burgers in town.

Perching on one of the couches, you took a look around what you thought had been a deserted diner. Some of the booths were still intact, but there was graffiti all over the walls, and tables and chairs rearranged and huddled around a TV. How this place had power was beyond you.

“Pretty cool, right?” Andy smirked, throwing himself onto the couch, trapping you between himself and Patrick, holding out a beer for his friend.

You sent the boy a side glare, unimpressed at both his words and his appearance, “It’s something alright.”

“You show her the brain matter stain yet? When we first got in here-”

“Dude,” Patrick glared at his friend before sending you an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. He has like, no tact.”

“Oh shit,” Andy laughed, sitting up straighter on the couch so he could angle his body toward you, “It was you who found him, right? Benny? Holy shit. I bet his head was mashed-”

“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” Your voice strained slightly as you pushed yourself up from your seat and away from the idiot sitting to your right, “Like, really, Andy? Were you dropped on your head as a baby or something?”

The boy stood, anger pulling his brow together as he leaned a little too far into your space, forcing you to look up toward him. But Benny was a good man, and you weren’t going to sit here, in his building, and let someone like Andy talk shit about him.

“If you don’t like it, you know where the door is. Right, McKinney?”

“C’mon, man. It isn’t-”

“Right, McKinney?” Andy turned his attention toward his friend, knowing that he could easily make him back down.

Patrick turned his attention back toward you, embarrassment and shame evident in his eyes, “I can walk you home if you want.”

Scoffing, you shook your head, trying — and failing — to not take your annoyance out on the wrong boy, “I’m good, thanks. I mean really, do none of you feel even a little shame that you’ve broken into a dead man’s business? For fuck sake, it was Benny. We all came here growing up.”

As your eyes glanced around the group, Chrissy at least managed to look mildly ashamed of herself, and her boyfriend's actions.

“Look, it’s been abandoned for like, a year and a half. Benny was cool, he’d be-”

“Just drop it, Jason,” you sighed, making your way past the small group, “I don’t what I expected.”

As you pushed open the door, walking out into the cool summer air, you faintly heard Andy scoff, “Let her go, man. That’s what happens when you date losers.”

You’d barely stomped halfway down Randolph Lane when you heard your name being called behind you, and in your anger, you chose to ignore it. Unfortunately for you, Patrick caught up to you quickly, barely breaking a sweat even in the warm June air as he jogged to catch up, an apologetic and strained smile tight across his lips,

“I am so sorry about Andy. About all of that, really. You were right, it was disrespectful to be there, and it was stupid of me to take you there.”

Scoffing, you pushed your pace, as if the high school athlete wouldn’t be able to match it, “Whatever you say, McKinney.”

“C’mon, I’m sorry-”

Rolling your eyes, you came to a sudden halt, causing the boy to almost trip over his own feet in an attempt to stop too, “You know, it’s my fault, really. I was stupid enough to agree to what I thought was a date, with someone who I knew had meathead jock friends because for one, slither of a second, I thought maybe you were different. But I was wrong, and that’s on me.”

“Look, Andy was out of line, but I promise I’m not like him.”

Sighing, you shook your head, eyes softening slightly as you looked at his puppy-like expression, “I get it, alright. You’re… You’re a nice guy, Patrick. But I won’t wait around for someone to realize their friends suck. Speaking of, you better get back. Don’t want them to realize you’re out here, talking to a total loser, right?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” the boy sighed, carefully chancing a step closer to you, “Well, not a total one, at least.”

Despite your attempts to stop it, your lips quirked up slightly, “Now is not the time for jokes.”

“Look, I am really sorry. I wanted to ask you out, like, just us, on a date... but then I started overthinking it and I panicked and… And I ruined my chance, and hurt you. I messed up.”

“I mean, you already said Andy would be there, I really should’ve realized it wasn’t gonna be my kind of thing.”

Patrick sent you a sad smile, hands deep in his jean pockets as he rocked on his heels, “I mean, I wanted to take you on a real date, you know? Book a booth at Enzo’s, or something. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to afford it, so we’d probably end up at the Hide Away spitting a club sandwich, but-”

“That sounds much more my style. Plus, who doesn’t love a club sandwich?”

“So maybe, there’s a possibility that you could look deep down in your heart and forgive me? Maybe even, I don’t know… Accept half a club sandwich as a peace offering?”

You probably should’ve said no. You should’ve declined his invitation to walk you home and accepted that whatever spark you’d felt between the both of you was nothing more than a simple attraction, but something that shouldn't be explored. But saying no was hard.

It was a tale as old as time, like something out of a John Hughes movie. A popular high school jock and the unknown loser find something in each other that they never knew they needed. God, Steve had practically strong-armed you into watching The Breakfast Club enough times that you realized most teenage girls — yourself included — daydreamed about being a Claire.

It seemed, however, that despite the nymphomania, you were much more of an Allison.

Despite knowing Hopper wasn’t on duty this evening and that Paul — or Officer Greene, as he often reminded you — was almost desperate in his determination to give you a speeding ticket, all too aware that whenever a certain Chief of Police was on duty they would simply disappear, you paid no mind to the signs you passed, nor the stop signs you drove right through.

You were already running late, an issue with the Miss Pac-Man machine meant you spent an extra ten minutes watching Keith’s gross, Cheetos dust-covered fingers mashing the buttons before he finally allowed you to whack the side of the machine, causing the screen to eventually unfreeze, before you stopped at the Hide Away to grab a dinner order for Hopper and El. The girl was a menace for Eggo waffles and Hopper wouldn’t know a healthy meal if he choked on one, but you were determined to shove a vegetable or two down both of their throats.

Although Hopper had officially become El’s legal guardian — forged birth certificate to prove it — they remained in his grandfather’s cabin, rather than returning to his old trailer. Whilst he would tell you it was simply because there was more space at the cabin, you knew that deep down, Hop was also uncomfortable moving back into a place that the government had bugged. He was a little more lenient on letting El out of the house with the gang, but he was still hesitant around crowds, just in case.

When you finally reached the cabin, you could hear Hopper yelling about… something, as El’s music played from her room, the TV blaring as if attempting to drown out the song.

“Hop?” You called, shutting the front door, only to see him glaring into El’s room as she sat relaxed innocently on the bed reading, Mike chilled at the bottom with a comic book, “What’s wrong?”

He took a moment, eyes flitting between the two teenagers dubiously, before finally turning around to face you, “Nothing, I… Nothing. What’s that?”

“Dinner,” you offered, placing the bag down on the small table.

Peering into the bag, Hopper’s face screwed up slightly as he spotted the broccoli, “You know I don’t like that shit-”

“What, vegetables? C’mon, Hop. You’re a grown-up, it’s time to… well, you know, grow up. Eat a damn broccoli floret.”

“I eat just fine,” the older man sighed, grabbing three plates from the cupboard, fully intending to let Mike starve.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have finished off that bag of Tostitos for dinner if I hadn’t come here.”

“It was a snack-”

“-A family-sized snack, maybe,” lowering your voice, you pulled out enough cutlery for him and El, “I get it. You’re stress eating because of… well, that, but she’s fourteen, you’re going to have to trust her sometime.”

“Exactly. She’s fourteen. That’s exactly why I don’t trust her. Them. Him especially. Do you remember what you were like? Jesus…”

Despite the slight eye twitch, you decided to let Hopper’s comment slide, knowing he was just being a big baby about Eleven, “Anyway, I can’t stay.”

Jim glanced your way, brow pulled together in confusion, awaiting your explanation,

“I promised to drop off Mike at the Mall, which we’re going to be late for if someone doesn’t hurry up, and then I’m gonna hang out with Steve at Scoops for a bit.”

“So I get broccoli for dinner, and you get ice cream? That doesn’t seem fair, Kid. And should you really be bothering the Harrington kid at work?” Opening the fridge, Hopper pulled out a can of beer, opening it and chugging it a little too quickly.

Rolling your eyes, you knew exactly what Jim was trying to get at, “If you can survive off a dinner of free samples of ice cream, be my guest. Plus, it’s normally pretty quiet around now. I just wanna go mock him again over his uniform.”

“Oh, God. It is priceless.” Mike practically giggled, his dark eyes a little too amused to just be thinking of Steve’s sailor outfit.

“Yeah, it’s pretty great. But we needed to leave like, five minutes ago. C’mon, Wheeler. And Hop? Finish the broccoli.”

After suffering through an agonizing five-minute radio chat between Mike and El, who had literally just seen each other, you couldn’t get to the Mall fast enough.

“So, Henderson is home tomorrow, right? You planning something, or?”

Mike huffed a laugh, “Oh, yeah. But it’s a surprise, so… Plus, you’re not invited. No offense.”

Glaring at the boy, you continued to make your way through the Mall’s parking lot and toward the group of teens, “I didn’t wanna go anyway, Asshole. I was just being polite.”

Mike gave you a gentle punch to the shoulder — one that you returned — as you entered the Mall, arm thrown around Max’s shoulders as the boys began to argue about Mike’s tardiness.

“We’re gonna miss the opening,” Will whined.

“Yeah, if you keep whining about it. Let’s go!”

“He was too busy trying to retrieve his tongue from El’s mouth,” unable to hold in your smirk when the group made gagging sounds.

“Hey! You were the one having a Mother’s Meeting with Hopper. I could’ve biked here in that time.”

Shrugging, you turned to the boy, “Well, excuse me for talking down the man with a gun and a literal license to kill, who doesn’t like you. And next time, you can bike it.”

“Oh, El, I wish we could make out forever, and never hang out with any of our friends,” Lucas continued to tease the boy, despite the scorning he received from Max.

Making your way into the Ice cream parlor, you took note of Robin, who was heading the till, as you hung back, watching Mike press the bell repeatedly,

“Hey, Dingus. Your children are here.”

“Again?” Steve asked, pushing open the server window that separated the shop from the backroom, “Seriously?”

As Steve led the teens through to the conjoining corridors, allowing them to sneak into the Movie theater for free, you made your way to the counter, leaning against it as you greeted Robin, eyes roaming over the many flavors Scoops offered.

“Are you gonna buy something, or just look busy until he’s back to give you handouts?”

Scoffing, you pressed your nose against the glass knowing it would annoy the girl who would inevitably make Steve clean it later, “It’s not a handout if it’s free.”

“So the latter?”

“Yep,” you smirked, returning your attention to the girl who rolled her eyes as she tried to keep her own smile from her face.

“You need to stop bringing them here,” Steve sighed, acting like the 40-year-old single mother he most definitely wasn’t, “I’m gonna get caught, and then I’ll get fired, and then I’ll have nothing better to do than hang out all day at the arcade, annoying you.”

“Please, I only brought Mike here. Plus, nobody is forcing you to sneak them in. That’s all on you.”

Steve glared but had already grabbed a cone, awaiting your request. Before you could point to the Cherries Jubilee, the lights flickered and cut out, leaving the Mall in total darkness.

“That’s weird…” Steve sighed, putting the scoop back down and making his way toward the light switch, flicking it on and off multiple times.

“That isn’t gonna work, Dingus.”

Steve glared at Robin as he continued to flick the switch, only this time faster.

“Harrington, seriously, you’ll blow the fuse, stop being a moron-”

“Let there be light.” Steve smugly glanced your way, cone still in hand as the electricity around both the shop and Mall turned back on.

“You know that was a coincidence, right? It probably just took a minute for the backup generator-”

“I know, I know. I’m a genius. You’re welcome.” Steve sighed dramatically before returning to the ice cream and scoping you out the ice cream he already knew you were going to try.

“You know, the free samples are supposed to be sample-sized, right? Not a whole cone.”

“Don’t spoil my fun, Robin,” you sighed before licking at your ice cream.

“I thought your fun was coming here to mock his outfit?”

“It is. The free ice cream is an added bonus.”

Scoffing, Steve continued to serve the next customer, “I’m right here, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. The outfit couldn’t have made that any more obvious.”

“I’m not wearing it by choice.”

“It’s fine, Steve. I heard the giant toddler look is in right now.”

Robin’s giggle only irked the boy further, his attention flitting between you both as he pointed his thumb toward the girl, “She’s literally wearing the same thing. We both look ridiculous.”

“I mean, not really. Rob looks cute, you look… like you’re late for a family photo shoot at Olan Mills.”

“Rob,” the boy mocked whilst Robin took payment from the previous customer, “What, are you two like, friends now or something?”

“I’m allowed friends that aren’t you, Harrington. Plus, she’s kinda cool.”

“She’s in band…” Steve scoffed, as if he were disgusted at the thought, “She plays the trumpet.”

Swiping at the boy’s hat, causing it to almost fall off his head, had he not caught it quick enough, you glared at him, “I thought you stopped being an ass.”

“I did!” He argued, brow straightening out a little as he realized what he was saying, “I… Sorry. You’re right. But she is annoying. And loud. And way too hyper. And kinda mean.”

“You’re kinda mean, too.” You sighed before wiping your mouth with the napkin that had been wrapped around your cone, “Just, stop being a brat, and give her a chance. You never know, you might surprise yourself.”

“You cannot lose your temper,” Joyce said as she continued around the aisle, using her pricing gun to stick on labels.

Making your way toward her — you could already see Hopper over the shelving — you sent the two a small smile,

“Is he still losing his shit over El and Mike’s spit swapping?”

Screwing up his face, Hopper glared at you, “Don’t call it that. That’s disgusting. But, Joyce… Maybe you could do it for me?”

“Do what?”

“A heart-to-heart,” Hopper said as if he’d never said the words before, “Joyce thinks I should have one with El.”

“I mean, that sounds like a good idea to me. But, really? Him?” You questioned, turning your attention to Joyce as you nodded your head towards Jim, “I don’t think he could keep his cool, even if he was sat in an ice bath.”

“It’s just… It’s infuriating, and I don’t know how to deal with this shit, other than strangling that smug, son of a-”

“Yeah, okay. Strangling a child, not very ‘Chief of Police’ of you…” you sighed, “I told you, Hop. She’s a teenager, anything you say — or yell — will fall on deaf ears.”

“What’re you doing here, anyway? Heading to work?” Joyce asked, turning her attention from the overreacting man-baby to you.

“Oh, no. I’ve already been there, Keith asked me to hand this petition into the Mayor’s office for Tuesday's meeting at the Town Hall. It’s about boycotting the Mall’s arcade, and considering Main is practically empty, I’m presuming Donald’s doing the same?”

“Yeah, it’s been empty all morning. You and Hop are the first people I’ve seen all day.”

“See, she never gave me any problems,” Hopper started up again, his finger pointed at you as he held his hat in his other hand, “Not boy ones, at least.”

“She?” You scoffed, glaring at the man as he continued to spiral.

“I mean, sure… Petty theft, and a ridiculous amount of speeding tickets, but never any boy problems.”

“Jesus Christ, Hop,” you scorned him, eyes wide at his sheer audacity, and thankful that the store was empty, “Why don’t you just take out an ad in the Hawkins Post and let everyone know?”

Hopper was, thankfully, completely unaware of any boy problems you’d had in the past, and you were beyond grateful. The idiot could barely handle El hitting puberty, god knows he would’ve had an aneurysm if he knew about your own boy-related issues.

“I’m just saying, you never slammed a door in my face.”

You didn’t want to inform Hopper that he had not, in fact, been around enough to have said door slammed in his face, but you decided one breakdown was enough for today. Even if he was being a total ass about it, “Right, well… I’m gonna go and hand this in, then I’m meeting up with Steve at the Mall. Free ice cream calls.”

“The Harrington kid? Again? Didn’t you just see him yesterday?”

“We’re friends, Hop. That’s what we do. Hang out.” Grabbing a box of tampons from the shelf which only caused the man to delve further into his meltdown, you handed Joyce three dollars, “And don’t worry, I’m not stealing them.”

Standing next to an empty booth, you watched as Steve tried his hardest to flirt with one of the customers,

“Ahoy, ladies! Didn’t see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain… I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Oh, god.”

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose up, the secondhand embarrassment radiating from you as the girls all giggled at Steve, and not in the way he was used to, as he continued his tirade.

Once the girls had bought their ice cream, presumably turning the boy down, and made their way out of the shop, you watched as Steve turned back to Robin, exasperatingly running a hand through his hair.

Making your way toward the counter, you leaned on it, awaiting the boy to turn around, “I thought it was the hat! It’s gotta be the whole outfit, right? Like, even Tom Cruise couldn’t pull this shit off.”

“I don’t think it’s just the uniform,” Robin smirked, marking another tally on her chart.

“Then what is it? Is it me? Have I lost my… My Harrington charm?”

“Why do you never offer to set sail with me on an ocean of flavor?” You said loudly, causing the boy to jump and spin around, grabbing at his heart over his shirt, “Do you not wanna be my captain, Steve Harrington?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at your mockery as he adjusted his necktie back into place, “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“A very hungry asshole. You wanna head to the food court? I’m craving orange chicken.”

Sighing, Steve nodded as he made his way toward the back, “Let me just grab my wallet.”

Robin watched as you both exited the parlor, Steve’s arm hanging over your shoulder as he pulled you close, only to get you in a headlock as you jabbed at his ribs in an attempt to get him to release you, and sighed,

“Yep. Definitely not just the uniform, Dingus.”

You’d only been home a few hours when your radio started to crackle, Dustin’s voice coming through as he called for ‘anyone with a vehicle with four wheels and an engine’ to come collect him, so he didn’t have to haul something called ‘Cerebro’ all the way home.

Since Steve was still at work, you knew you were the only one who was able to help, and although you’d never admit it, you missed the little sucker whilst he was away at camp.

Dustin, however, had talked your ear off, something about some Russian guys coming through on his radio — that was Cerebro, something he had created at Camp Know Where — believing they were spies.

You’d put your foot down a little faster then, hoping to get him home as soon as possible. Clearly, the boy was worn out from camp and needed to sleep off the excitement. Although his retelling of spraying Lucas in the face with hair spray did amuse you slightly, you weren’t in the mood to hear the boy’s conspiracy theories.

You were driving down Cornwallis, just passing the old steel mill on Cherry Oak when a car came swerving down, colliding with yours as it lost control, your head hitting the car door being the last thing you remembered.

Blinking once, then twice, you came around slowly, the pain on the left side of your head pulsing behind your eyes.

Unbuckling your seat belt, you turned, seeing the cracked glass of your window, your hand slowly reaching up to touch your head, flinching when your fingertips came away tinted with blood.

Stumbling from your car, the hood smoking and bent, you tried to regain your balance as you made your way toward the familiar Camero, only to find nobody inside.

“Billy?” You called, wondering if he too had suffered a head injury and wandered from his vehicle, “Billy, are you out here?”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat and attempting to ignore the pounding in your head, you turned toward the large steel mill doors. Brimborn had been abandoned for quite some time, so if Billy had wandered down there in an attempt to find help, he’d be shit out of luck.

“God dammit, Billy,” you sighed before making your way into the large, dust-covered Mill.

“Hargrove, you down here?” Your voice echoed around the barren building, as did the scream that fell from your lips when a rat darted out in front of you, before you muttered to yourself, “Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself.”

As you ventured further, stepping slowly down the stairs, you saw Billy standing in the basement of the building, staring at a wall. Maybe he really did hit his head.

“Billy,” you hissed, unsure as to why you were sneaking around, almost like you were waiting to be caught by the workers that no longer existed, “Hey, Hargrove? What the hell are you doing down here? And why the hell were you driving like a total lunatic-”

“You should leave,” Billy said, eyes never leaving the wall. The monotonous tone of his voice caused your body to break out in goosebumps. It was Billy but… You couldn’t put your finger on it, “Go.”

Stepping back up the stairway, you kept your eyes on the boy, “I’m gonna head down the road and call for help. I think you might’ve hit your head. Just… stay here, alright? Don’t move, and I’ll be right back.”

The boy didn’t answer, instead continuing to stare ahead of him, you quickly made your exit, ignoring the pain in your head as you rushed down the road, looking for the nearest pay phone.

Eventually, you found one a little further down Cherry Oak Drive and called Flo’s office phone, asking to be put through to Hopper who, thankfully, was working that evening.

But as he pulled up to the steel mill with you in the passenger seat of his Chevvy, a spare napkin pressed against your head, you both remained in the car, staring out toward the rather empty lot. It was much creepier at night.

“He must’ve left,” Hopper sighed, noting only your car outside of the mill.

“Well, he shouldn’t be driving. His car had a huge dent in it, and I think he hit his head because he was just… staring. Like, staring at nothing.”

Hopper watched you for a moment as confusion crossed your face, causing your brow to pull together, “Well, I know you’ve hit your head. So c’mon, I’ll take you to the hospital, and I’ll call for a tow truck in the morning.”

“And what about Billy?”

“I’ll check his address, and see if he’s headed home. But you need to go get that checked out.”

Waving the man off, you pulled the napkin away, finding the blood was already clotting, “I’ll be fine, Hop. It’s just a scratch. I just… I wanna go home.”

In reality, home was the last place you wanted to be. You’d managed to wreck the car and had no way of being able to pay the repairs on it.

Chapter Nineteen: A Long, Hot Summer

The intense heat only worsened as the summer of June ‘85 pushed forward. The scorching temperatures soared, the air thick with humidity, and you were sure you could fry an egg on the sidewalk.

Whilst you did have an old, slightly decrepit window air conditioning unit, it was barely hanging on, and you weren’t sure it would survive the rest of the summer, so instead, you willingly spent more time at the arcade, where the building was kept much cooler, if only so the machines didn’t overheat and set fire.

“Hey, hit the machine again, and I’ll bounce your head off it so hard that it cracks… And I don’t mean the screen.”

“I don’t think we’re allowed to threaten children, Andy.” You sighed, leaning against the counter as the boy stood next to you, baseball cap in his hand as he fanned it in front of his face.

Turning to you, the boy cocked a brow, his face otherwise remaining stoic, “And I don’t think I care. The little shits break those machines, it comes out of our paychecks.”

Ignoring him, you lifted one of many fliers that Keith had been sent around town to collect, advertising the new arcade in Star Court, waving it in front of you, copying the boy’s motions in an attempt to cool yourself down a little, “Is it just me, or is it ungodly hot in here?”

“It’s ungodly hot everywhere,” Andy began, and without seeing him you could sense the roll of his eyes,

“Yeah, I know that. But… It’s weirdly hot in here today. It was warmer yesterday but it didn’t seem this hot inside.”

The hot summer months always came with a few trivial issues, but today the machines had cut out once or twice, causing the already overheated kids to complain, moaning until you opened the machine and fetched their quarter, allowing them to restart their game.

The Slushee machine had been used non-stop, but the clunking noises it had been making for the last 10 minutes had made both Andy and yourself reluctant to use it.

“Jesus, who gives a shit-”

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

The boy, Patrick, was on the basketball team with Andy, and although he seemingly lowered his standards enough to hang around with the goon and his gaggle of idiots, he didn’t seem as bad as Jason and the rest of the jocks. Whilst he had never caused or started any issues with other students, he had always been around when it happened and he’d never stepped in and stopped it. Always remained quiet in the background. Whilst it didn’t make him a bully, it did make him a coward.

“It’s hot as shit, and I’m stuck in this fuckin’ place, and she won’t shut the fuck up.”

You sent a glare toward Andy, a scoff falling from your lips as you continued to fan yourself, “Yeah, and you’re so delightful to be around,”

“What time do you finish?”

“Closing,” the boy huffed, arms folded over his chest as he glanced around the darkened room, “You know what, I’m taking an early lunch.”

Although it was typical for Andy to leave you in the lurch during the busiest time of day, you didn’t care enough to fight him on it, and when he came back, you’d take your own lunch and he could enjoy a taste of his own medicine. Andy made his way to the back room, most likely going to grab his wallet and clock out for lunch, but the sudden beeping from the Slushee machine caught your attention, a loud whirling noise before it stopped altogether, followed by a bang, which caused you to rush toward it a little too late, as red and blue slush began to leak all over the floor.

“Shit, shit shit!”

“Has it done this before?” The somewhat familiar voice spoke behind you as Patrick bent down next to you, a roll of paper towels in his hand as he passed some your way and tried to mop up the rest, despite it still dripping from the machine.

“I don’t think so, but the machines old as shit and-”

You were interrupted by another loud bang, and the large room was suddenly surrounded in darkness as only minimal light peeked through the large, blacked-out windows. The noise around you, although now lacking the usual hum of electronics and background noise of the games, was replaced with a shrill scream, and an eruption of shouting as what had happened caught up with everyone.

“It might be the breaker, probably overloaded in the heat. You know where it is?” You nodded, and Patrick continued, “You go look, I’ll stay and clean this up.”

Noting your apprehension, Patrick sent you a small, genuine smile, “Go, it’s fine. I got this.”

Pushing yourself up, you stepped forward before finding yourself on your back, sneaker slipping on the melting iced drink and sending you crashing back to the floor.

“Holy shit, that was hilarious.”

Another familiar voice, this time, the large grin was met with a vicious glare, but it was Patrick who spoke to his friend, “Andy, shut up. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you shrugged him off, allowing him to help you sit back up, navy work shirt now sticking to you, you turned your attention back to your co-worker, “You can’t leave right now. We gotta get this shit cleared up, and get everyone out. I need to ring-”

“Hey, everyone, get the fuck out, now!” Andy’s voice barreled through the stagnant air, causing many children to flinch before finally bolting to the door, angry and confused grunts of annoyance surrounding them as Andy all but herded the groups out, turning the sign to closed before returning his attention to you,

“There, did my part. Now since it doesn’t look like we’re gonna be able to reopen today, I’m heading out. C’mon, Patrick.”

“Dude, you can’t just leave her alone with all this shit to deal with-”

“Holy crap, what’s happened?”

Despite the closed sign, and Andy all but guarding the door, Steve had managed to push his way through, eyes squinting as they slowly adjusted to the much darker room.

“Great timing, Harrington, really. See, she’s not alone. Now let's go, McKinney.”

Your features grew softer as you took in his apologetic glance, eyebrows lifting slightly as if apologizing. Sending him a tight-lipped smile, you merely nodded, “Thanks for the help.”

Patrick finally removed his hand from your shoulder, as if only just noticing it was still placed there after helping you sit up, and carefully pushed himself to his feet, “Don’t mention it. Good luck with all of... this.”

Andy’s arm swung around the boy’s shoulders, all but dragging him out, causing Steve to side-step them just to avoid the larger boy’s shoulder. His brows remained pinched as he watched the two boys go, Patrick’s head turning only once to look back in your direction.

“What the hell happened here?”

Your attention turned to Steve — who despite only being in the small arcade for less than two minutes already had a thin layer of sweat glistening over his forehead — sending a glare his way as if he was the cause of all of this, “I have no idea. I think something overheated, and broke the generator.”

Pushing yourself to your feet, you pulled at the bottom of your navy work shirt, pulling a face as the sticky Slushee mix stuck it to your skin. Steve tried his hardest to keep his eyes on your face as you rang the excess liquid out of it, but as soon as you saw his eyes drop, you tugged your shirt back down, a painful weight that traveled from your chest to the scar across your abdomen, the shame causing you to turn away quickly.

“Have you, uh… Have you called anyone?”

“Like who, Harrington? Keith has the week off, and if you think my manager won’t blame me for this-”

“C’mon, then. It can’t be that hard.” Steve shrugged before making his way to the back rooms where the circuit breaker panel was, leaving you to scramble behind after him.

“I’m sorry, where did you get your degree in electrical engineering from again? Dumbass University? You can’t just flick a few switches and magically fix this.”

Catching up to the boy, you blocked the door where the breaker was hidden away in a closet smaller than the janitor’s closet in school. If any of you had to go in there, it wouldn’t be the trigger-finger-happy Steve.

“Just wait out here, alright? Make sure nobody comes in, and do not let this door shut behind me. The handles busted and it only opens from the outside. I don’t need you wandering off and leaving me to overheat and die in here.”

“I got it, just hurry up. It’s hot as hell.”

You sent a deathly glare to the boy who was acting as though you hadn’t been sweltering in this hellhole all day, before stepping into the muggy, dark room. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust despite the room being barely enough to fit yourself, the breaker box, and a mop and bucket.

“I can’t see anything,” you grumbled, wiping at your forehead with the back of your hand before you reached forward, finally touching the machine that felt a little too hot to be safe and you prayed you wouldn’t get burned. Or electrocuted.

Unsure of what to do now you were face-to-face with the panel, you gave the side a good, hard, whack. In your defense, you had never claimed to know anything about electrical boards, either.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve’s voice was a little too squeaky to sound natural, “I don’t think that’s gonna help.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t realize you were an expert. Please, why don’t you try.”

The boy scoffed, and although your back was still facing him, he knew that your brows were pulled together, an annoyed glare that frequented your face enough that he could tell so even with his eyes closed, or in this case, in the dark.

“Well, at least I wouldn’t just hit it-”

“-Only because it would hit you back, and win,” you huffed, still a little too afraid to touch any of the wires and instead turning to focus the glare that Steve knew was there, on him.

Steve’s own brows furrowed, arms crossing over his chest, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Taking a step forward, you continued your misplaced annoyance, but the boy turned his head slightly, a noise out front distracting him from your tirade.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asked, his ability to be so easily side-tracked only irritating you more.

“No, Steve, I didn’t. But if you think that you can-”

“Shh,” he all but hissed, head tilting slightly as he strained his hearing.

“Do not shush me, Harrington-”

The loud, sudden thud caused you to both jump, Steve panicking at your widened eyes as he stepped forward, hand covering your slightly agape mouth as he all but backed you into the small closet, the only sound around you was the soft clicking of the door as it pushed gently against Steve’s back.

“What the hell was that?” You whispered, pulling his hand away from your face.

“I’m not sure, I think-”

“I don’t mean whatever that sound was, Jack ass. I mean this,” you waved your arms around as much as the small space permitted, “I told you not to let the door close, and now we’re both stuck in here.”

Looking around, as if he could see much in the dark, Steve cursed under his breath, “I wasn’t thinking-”

“Yeah, no shit, Harrington. Could you for one-second use more than 10 percent of your-”

This time, when his hand covered your mouth, you were more than a little tempted to bite him, but the hushed voices from out front stopped you in your tracks. Part of you wanted to call out for help, but the fear that it could be a bunch of hooligan kids, who would not only leave you trapped but raid the entire place stopped you. Even worse, it could be your manager.

“Who do you think it is?” Steve’s breath was warm, but minty on your face as he tipped his head slightly to speak into your ear. You hadn’t really taken in the forced proximity between you both until now as Steve’s chest rose and fell quickly, pushing against yours with every breath, his body too warm to stand with for too long.

Whoever it was, you could hear them stumbling around in the darkened room, and if you strained your ears enough, you could hear their hushed whispers once more. So, instead of responding, you remained silent, trying to figure out if it was safe to alert them to your presence. Steve, however, assumed you were ignoring him. And Steve didn’t do well in forced, awkward silences.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” You questioned, eyes darting upward to watch the boy as best you could.

“I just… I dunno, I panicked, you know? I didn’t even think about the door until it, well... shut.”

“It’s… It’s fine. It’s not your fault. It’s just been a shitty day, but I shouldn’t take that out on you. You’re just trying to help.”

“You looked pretty happy earlier, when, uh…Whatever his name was here.”

Scoffing, you attempted to cross your arms, only to be blocked by Steve’s body, “I can assure you, I am never happy around Andy.”

“I didn’t mean him,” Steve interrupted, “I know that guy is an asshole. Was on the basketball team with him for long enough. I meant the other guy, Patrick, right?”

You were glad that the closet was dark as your eyes darted toward your sneakers, instead meeting Steve’s chest that was awkwardly pressed against your own, “Uh, I don’t really know him.”

“It seemed like you knew him well enough,” Steve shrugged.

Rolling your eyes, you fruitlessly pushed the boy’s shoulder, “Well, I don’t. He only comes in when Andy’s working. I’ve barely spoken to the guy.”

A low laugh fell from Steve’s lips, his breath hitting your face as he gently pushed you back, “Yeah, well. I know that look well.”

“What look?” Pushing him back once more, despite there not being any room for either of you to fall into, “There is no look. I don’t do looks. Plus, you can’t even see me, it's dark.”

“Not you, doofus,” Steve tried to dodge your hands as they returned the gesture, “him. He was giving you the look.”

“Jesus, Harrington. There was no look, okay? So drop it.”

“Please, I know the look like the back of my hand,” Steve’s finger jabbed into the space between your ribs, causing you to jerk slightly and slap his hands away, “I get it enough.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s that working out for you?” Another shove.

Slapping your hand away once more, “We’re not talking about my love life right now-”

“Only because it’s non-existent,” both hands were raised in an attempt to shove the boy once more, but both your actions and words came to an abrupt halt when he caught your hands in his own, fingers slowly linking in an attempt to keep them pinned to your side.

Steve’s voice was low as he leaned in, and despite the darkness, you felt him practically peer into your soul.

“Believe me,” he sighed, eyes softening as they traced your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail — good, bad, and ugly — to his memory, “I know the look.”

Your tongue slid over your bottom lip, catching the boy’s attention and causing his gaze to turn glassy and his knees to turn weak.

“Steve,” you mumbled, watching as his Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes finally returning to your own as he spoke your name softly, his body pressed so tightly against your own despite the extreme heat, that you were unsure whether it was your own heart that was pounding, or his.

Leaning forward slightly, Steve’s lips parted, but the words evaporated from his tongue when the hushed voices sounded a little too loud, the busted door knob jiggling as someone tried to open the door.

A sudden gust of warm air hit Steve’s back as the door was yanked open, allowing a little light to filter in,

“Uh, are we interrupting?”

The familiar, but unexpected voice jolted the boy away from you as he took a step back, clumsily trying to avoid the feet behind him as he looked anything but inconspicuous.

“No, uh. We were, you know? And then the door, it wouldn’t… Yeah.”

Clearing your throat, you stepped out of the small closet, ignoring the raised eyebrow and slight concern coming from Max, “We got locked in trying to fix the breaker. Everything is fried with the heat. What are you guys doing here?”

“Someone,” Mike glanced toward a rather apologetic-looking Steve, “said he’d drop us at the pool. He didn’t show when he said he would, so we thought we’d find him here. And what do you know? Here he is.”

“Yeah, alright, less of the attitude, Wheeler. I get it. I’m late, sorry.”

“You can still take us, right?” Will asked, his grip tight on his swim bag.

Steve turned his attention to you, watching carefully as if waiting for something. Realizing that the moment had passed, Steve shrugged and exhaled deeply, “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Go wait by the car.”

The group took off as you slowly followed Steve through the desolate arcade, careful not to slip on the puddle of melted slush that was most likely going to remain sticky for the rest of the arcade’s existence, no matter how many times you’d mop it.

“You could come with us. Not much you can do here, anyway.”

You stood in the doorway, eyes squinting as the too-bright sun beat down in a way that felt slightly more tolerable outside, and you found yourself almost saying yes.

Instead, you folded your arms over your chest and sent the boy a strained smile, “I would but… Well, I should ring my manager.”

“I could come back? Drop off the little demons and-”

“Steve, it’s fine. Really. Go enjoy the pool. Who knows, might be your lucky day.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he began his descent toward his car, ignoring the kid's argument over who got shotgun, knowing full well that Lucas would cave and give Max his vote, “Yeah, who knows? Ring me later, alright? Let me know how you get on.”

“Sure thing, Harrington.”

His eyes remained on you as he walked backward, right up until his back collided with the side of his Beamer.

You returned El’s enthusiastic wave as the car pulled out of the parking lot before turning to reenter the arcade, hoping you could find your manager’s number in the office so you could ring from the video store next door, but the slam of a car door, followed by a shout of your name caused you to swivel back around, blocking out the sun with one hand as the person approached you.

“Patrick? What are you doing here?”

The boy wiped his hand over his forehead, a slightly flustered expression covering his face, “I, uh… I felt bad about leaving with Andy earlier. I didn’t know this was gonna happen, and if I hadn’t turned up, Andy wouldn’t have ditched you.”

You bit your tongue, both of you knowing damn well that this wasn’t the first, nor the last time Andy would leave his shift early.

“-So I thought I’d come back to help clear up.”

“Andy’ an ass, no offense. You really don’t need to cover for him,”

“I’m not,” he scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward you almost bashfully, “I came back to help you. That’s it. Promise.”

Taking a moment, you stared down the boy making him ever so slightly uncomfortable. You didn’t know Patrick all that well, but this didn’t feel like some elaborate prank that would end up with you covered in pig's blood at prom.

Pulling the door open, you stepped out of the way, ushering him in with a raised brow, “Tell, me, McKinney, how good are you with a mop?”

The sun beat down, caressing your skin as you lay out on the lounger falling in and out of sleep. The only thing stopping you from falling into a deep slumber was the occasional splashes and shrieking from the children who inhabited the pool, but you didn’t have it in you to tell them to quieten down. It was your first day off this week, and you wanted to do absolutely nothing except bask in the rays of the sun and relax.

“Hey, water stays in the pool, Mayfield.”

Steve, however, clearly had other ideas.

He’d been stressing over finding a job — one of his father's demands — and had so far been unsuccessful, but he had an interview soon, which had left him almost unbearable since, worrying himself over yet another rejection that hadn’t even happened yet.

“God, these kids are gonna age me,” Steve huffed, all but throwing himself into the lounger next to you.

Cocking a brow, you finally peeked toward the shirtless boy as he settled onto the lounger next to you, his shoulders already beginning to redden from the intense heat, “So is the sun, if you don’t put some lotion on.”

“I’m working on my tan,” Steve waved his hand dismissively, eyes hidden under his sunglasses as if he were the heartthrob of some John Hughes movie.

Throwing the bottle of lotion at him, you rolled your eyes before closing them and entirely blocking the boy from your view, “You’ll thank me when you’re 40.”

After a long, heaving, and frankly dramatic sigh, Steve eventually opened the lotion — the click of the lid causing your eyes to peek once more toward him — and began to pour the smallest amount he possibly could over his arms, “You know, most people use baby oil to get a tan, not this shit.”

“Jesus, Harrington, you sound like a middle-aged housewife. Age like a leather bag for all I care. Just do it quietly.”

Even behind the tinted glasses, you knew Steve was glaring at you, despite continuing to rub in the sunscreen.

“Can you, uh…Can you get my back?”

“Huh?” You questioned, sitting up a little on the lounger.

“Well there’s no point putting it on my front and not my back, is there?”

“I mean-”

“And I can’t reach my back, so…” Steve held out the lotion toward you, a brow slightly arched, “Can you help me, or not?”

Not.

The word felt glued to your tongue, as if no matter how much you wanted to say it, to turn him down, you couldn’t bring yourself to utter that one, simple word. Instead, you swallowed down the lump that had formed in your throat and all but snatched the bottle from him, waiting as he moved to the edge of your own chair and turned away from you, the freckles that you had only been acquainted with once before enhanced by the sun.

His sudden jolt from the cold lotion made you jump slightly, a quiet apology slipping from your lips as you willed your hands to stop trembling.

You’re pathetic, you silently berated yourself, the frown only deepening on your forehead as your hands grazed across the expanse of Steve’s back.

It took a while to fully rub the lotion in, and by the end, you felt like you had heatstroke, “All done,” your words were barely above a whisper.

“Thanks,” Steve’s smile was soft as he turned, glancing over his shoulder at you.

Steve’s throat bobbed as he turned a little more on the lounger to face you, suddenly seeming less sure of himself, “I, uh… Do you-”

“I need to wash my hands,” you stuttered, pushing yourself up too quickly and almost causing the lounger to topple under Steve’s weight as you dashed toward the sliding door.

Gripping onto the sink, you took a few deep breaths and willed yourself to calm down. The heat had clearly gotten to you, your heart all but beating out of your chest. Definitely a sign of heatstroke.

“You alright?” Steve’s voice made you jump before you fumbled for the tap, finally finding some relief from the cold water as you rinsed the oily lotion from your hands.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… The heat, you know?”

“Right, yeah of course. Do you, uh… Do you want water?” Steve asked, head already in the fridge looking for the cans of coke he’d promised the kids, fishing out a bottle of cold water at your agreement as you dried your hands.

Steve held the bottle out toward you, the droplets of water rolling over his knuckles all too distracting and it only got worse when he softly called your name, your eyes slowly making their way up his chest before finally meeting his eyes, “You sure you’re okay? You wanna lay down or something?”

You were sure you could hear the blood flowing in your ears, and you silently cursed yourself. You had seen topless guys before, hell, for however much of an asshole Billy Hargrove was, you’d seen him playing basketball, shirtless and sweaty, and still managed to keep your composure.

Snatching the bottle from his grip, you willed your voice to remain strong as you eyed the sliding door, quickly making your exit, “Jesus, I’m fine, Harrington. Stop babying me.”

You could barely hear the yelp of pain from him as a can of coke fell from his other hand, dropping onto his bare foot and rolling away, your heart pounding furiously in your chest as you felt your embarrassment overwhelm you.

This is also why you didn’t pay much attention to the wet pool deck until you found yourself sliding on it and crashing into the pool.

For a moment, time stood still. The playful shouts from the kids dulled into muted, indistinguishable noise, and it took a second for your body and brain to catch up with itself, but when it finally did, the panic began to ensue fast and hard.

Your limbs began to flail, unable to decipher which way would lead you to the safety of the water's surface as your chest began to burn, accidentally letting in a lungful of water, eyes sore and unable to make much out except the blue of the water which blended all too well with the blue of the sky.

A muffled noise from behind you barely caught your attention, but the moment Steve’s arms wrapped around you, all but dragging you to the surface, you stopped trying to fight, instead turning limp in his arms.

“Is she okay?” Max rushed forward, concern etched across her face.

“She’ll be fine. Just help me get her out.”

Steve practically dragged you up the few pool steps — your legs turning to jelly — as Max threw one of your arms over her shoulder, taking some of your weight before they placed you onto the lounger as you coughed and spluttered.

“What happened?” Lucas questioned, his soft eyes peering down at you as he handed Steve a towel, the older boy snatching it from his grip to place it over your shoulders.

“She slipped. Jesus, I told you guys to stop splashing the water everywhere, it gets slippery as shit,” Steve returned his attention to you, hands placed against your cheeks as he pushed away the remaining droplets of chlorine water with his thumbs, “You’re okay. Deep breaths, alright? Slow it down.”

It took a moment, but eventually, you were able to match Steve’s breathing, “I’m fine. I’m sorry, guys…”

“You’re shaking,” Steve mumbled, his hands rubbing the towel over the tops of your arms, trying to warm you up, despite the blazing summer sun, “Wheeler, go get her some water-”

“No, Steve. Really, I’m fine,” turning toward the kids, you kept your eyes on the ground, too embarrassed to meet their eyes, “Go back in. Have fun. We’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

Once the gang had reluctantly returned to the pool — this time keeping their antics, and the water, confined to the pool — Steve stood, holding his hand out toward you, “C’mon, let’s get you some dry clothes.”

Despite the fact the sun would’ve dried you off in no time, you followed the boy inside, uncomfortable from the weight of your soaked denim shorts.

Steve had managed to dig out a pair of shorts and an old top for you, and once you were dried and dressed, Steve returned, finding you perched on the end of his bed with the damp towel in your hands and shame written across your face.

“So, this is the second time you’ve almost drowned in my pool. I’m starting to think it’s personal.”

Steve’s joke fell flat, and your lack of response caused him to shuffle his weight between his legs before joining you on the edge of the bed, Barb’s words from the night of his party ringing in his ears, “Why didn’t you ever learn to swim?”

“Not everyone is rich enough to have a pool in the yard,” you mumbled, allowing Steve to take the towel from you and wipe the side of your neck where a droplet of water had begun to fall.

“You know, I haven’t been in that pool since the night Barb…” Steve sighed, folding the towel just to have something to busy his hands with, before placing it on the floor by his bed, “I used to love swimming. It kinda felt like an escape, you know? I’d hold my breath and just sit on the pool floor, drown out everything that was going on around me. Probably why I ended up good enough to be captain of the swim team. And then after Barb’s death I just… Couldn’t face it.”

You knew what he was doing, even if he was unaware of it himself.

“When I was younger, I mean like… really young, my sister and I went out boating with my dad all the time. Back then, Mom was… Well, she was better. But she’s had demons in her life for as long as I can remember, and they only got worse once my Dad left. But whenever she was having a bad morning, he’d take us out on Lover’s Lake.”

Steve watched on silently as your throat bobbed, and you swallowed down the lump that was clawing its way up your throat,

“One night, they were just non-stop fighting. I don’t know what about, I was only like, 6. But my sister… She got me dressed, grabbed a blanket, and we left. She was trying to take care of me like Dad did. So we walked to the lake, untied one of the boats on the dock, and just… rowed out. Nobody else was out there, just me, her, and the quiet of the night. We weren’t given that often, you know? Peace. But that night, just for a while… That was all we had.”

“What happened?” Steve questioned, his hand capturing yours in an attempt to stop you from picking at the skin around your nails.

He knew, of course, what had happened. Or at least, the rumors that had spread around town over the years. It was common knowledge. But he didn’t care about what the town had to say about it… He cared about what you had to say.

“We were being stupid, playing around, unable to see the danger we’d got ourselves into. The boat rocked, and I fell overboard. I don’t remember much after that, but I know she didn’t hesitate to jump in after me, and that’s the only reason I’m alive, and she’s not. She managed to get me back into the boat. But the water was so cold, and I just… I never saw her again. They uh… They think she was caught in a current, and added to the shock of the cold water she just… couldn’t get herself out. If she’d just stayed in the boat, then-”

“Then you’d be dead, and she’d be here instead,” your head snapped toward Steve, his words ringing a little too familiar to your own thoughts. To your mother’s voiced opinions, “You were just kids. She jumped in to save her little sister.”

Praying the tears that were blurring your vision wouldn’t fall, you turned away from Steve, peering up at his bedroom ceiling, “My Dad left not long after. My parents were barely hanging on anyway, but… he couldn’t take it. My Mom’s drinking just got worse, and before I knew it, she was unable to hold down a job, and I was stealing from the Big Buy just to put food on the table.”

“And you never heard from your Dad again? Don’t know where he went?”

Shaking your head, you wiped away a lone tear that had managed to escape, “No. Mom wouldn’t talk about him… about either of them.”

After giving you a moment to collect yourself, Steve’s voice was soft, “I’m so sorry-”

“I don’t want your pity,” you scoffed, shoving his hand off your own, and pushing yourself to stand, despite your legs still feeling a little weak, “Shit happens to everyone.”

“It’s not pity,” Steve sighed, remaining calm as he followed you across the room, a gentle hand laying on your shoulder to turn you to face him, “I promise. When you care about someone, it’s not pity.”

The light streaming in through his window reflected in his eyes, the soft brown almost melting into specks of green, causing your icy demeanor to melt away with the summer sun. Unable to stop the tears from overflowing, you simply nodded before Steve pulled you into an embrace, his warm, sun-kissed skin still smelling of the lotion he’d applied earlier.

“I could teach you, you know? To swim.” Steve spoke quietly, almost too low that you could barely hear him over the kid’s antics from outside his bedroom window.

Shaking your head, your forehead creased, “I don’t think I could-”

“Not here,” he interrupted, peering down at you as he released you from his arms, “At the community pool. There are other people around and lifeguards, you’d be totally safe.”

“I’ll think about it,” you sighed, “But right now, I need to get those kids home.”

A few days after your second unwanted dip in the Harrington’s pool, you found yourself standing by what might’ve been the only available lounger at Hawkins Community Pool.

Steve wasn’t lying when he said there would be plenty of other people there, unfortunately, most of them were screeching children, kicking water at each other and running around, despite how many times Freddie blew his whistle to tell them to slow down, their mother’s not bothered by the dangers of the pool as the women gossiped and preened themselves, fluffing freshly dyed hair and reapplying their fuchsia lipsticks.

“C’mon, it’s really not that bad,” Steve sighed, tapping his foot impatiently on the too-hot floor, all too aware of the eyes that were staring at him, despite the sunglasses that covered them. Sometimes, you thought the sex-deprived housewives were worse than their curious teenagers.

“I don’t know, Steve. Somehow, this seems much worse.”

Steve, only slightly distracted with sending the gaggle of women a small wave, “It’s all good…”

Shoving him slightly, your knuckles began to hurt from their tight grip on your towel, “If I die because of your inability to keep it in your pants, Harrington, I swear, I’ll come back as a ghost and make your life a living hell.”

“You already do that,” Steve sent you a sarcastic smile after rolling his eyes but clambered into the pool regardless, “C’mon, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Brow wrinkled, you eyed the noisy pool, uncertainty pulsing through your body with an underlying panic. Technically, you didn’t need to learn how to swim. You lived in Indiana, a double landlocked state. It wasn’t like you were planning on taking a dip in the Atlantic Ocean any time soon.

But this wasn’t about swimming, both you and Steve knew that. This was about conquering a fear that held so much trauma and guilt.

Steve, noting your apprehension, swam a little closer to the edge, leaning over to look up toward you, “Sometimes, the only way out is through.”

You nodded, despite the slight glare etched onto your features, before slowly unraveling your towel, feeling a little too exposed despite your rather conservative bathing suit. It wasn’t very flattering, but it covered the scars over your abdomen much better than any alternatives.

Before you could step forward, a low wolf whistle stopped you in your tracks, “Well, well, well. I didn’t know the Convent was in town.”

Slamming your eyes shut in annoyance, you silently cursed your luck, “Go away, Hargrove.”

“No can do,” you wanted to slap the wolfish grin right off his face when he pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and raised his metal whistle toward you, “Kind of my job to be here.”

“Great,” you huffed, returning your attention to the boy in the pool, “Can we go? Please?”

“Oh, I get it…” Billy smirked, eyes darting between you and Steve, who was glaring at him from the water, “Anyway, the geriatric swim session is from 4pm, til 5. You’re a little early with that outfit.”

Billy pulled the strap of your costume, as if to make a point, allowing it to snap back onto your skin, making you flinch before shoving him away slightly, “I swear, Hargrove. If you-”

The shrill sound of his whistle cut you off, his eyes set on a running child who almost tripped over himself in an attempt to slow down, before he finally returned his attention to you, pulling his sunglasses back over his leering eyes, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. And don’t forget, I know mouth-to-mouth.”

You weren’t able to formulate a response before Billy had sauntered off, late for his round of peacock-ing in front of the Horny Housewives of Hawkins. Instead, you found your feet taking you to the edge of the pool.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you dangled your legs in cautiously as you began your tirade to Steve, instead.

“That guy is so pig-headed. I swear, if he ever touches me again, I’ll rip that stupid little mustache off his face.”

Steve, who had moved slightly to allow you the space to sit in front of him sent you an amused smile, “Ignore him, alright? Are we doing this?”

Inhaling deeply and trying to push your fear to the back of your mind, you accepted his hands that were outstretched and awaiting your own,

“If I need the kiss of life, and Billy is my only option, please, and I mean this wholeheartedly, let me die.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve waded back into the water slowly, allowing you to shuffle forward until you were finally in the water, “Yeah, I’m a certified lifeguard. I could just give you mouth-to-mouth.”

Steve’s words caused the both of you to halt, and for just a moment, you were grateful for the cool pool water as it lapped at your too-warm body. Catching himself, Steve began to stutter as he dragged you a little further into the pool, “You know, if you, uh… If you ever needed it…”

Fighting hard to not allow your obvious embarrassment to invade your face, you settled your focus on the boy’s hands as he led you away from the pool’s edge, which was a mistake all of its own, “I’d prefer to just, you know… Not drown.”

“That’ll be a good start, yeah,” Steve swallowed thickly, his cheeks rosy from what he would argue was the sun, “You’re doing well.”

“I’ve just got in, Steve. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Half the fight was getting into the pool in the first place,” Steve smirked, a small wave of water hitting his chin as you pushed water toward him with a halfhearted glare.

It almost annoyed you how good Steve was at teaching. Sure, with the kids, he sometimes lost his temper and would more often than not result in name-calling, but when he knew how to do something, Steve really knew.

By no means were you confident in the water, nor could you do much more than dog paddle and a flailing backstroke, but by the time you’d pulled your aching limbs from the water and began to dry off, you were slowly growing comfortable with Steve’s assistance. Not that you intended on joining the Swimming Team any time soon.

“Why didn’t you apply for a job here? I mean, it kinda seems like you’d ace an interview here.”

“Already filled up their positions,” Steve sighed, rubbing his towel through his hair, unaware or unbothered with it sticking out in several directions, “Plus, I don’t think my Dad would see it as much of a punishment, hanging around a pool with babes in bikini’s all day, you know?”

“I work a minimum wage job in an overheated arcade, full of smelly preteen boys. Anything would be an upgrade from that.”

“And you’re sure there are no positions available? Like, nothing at all?”

Shrugging, you wrapped your towel around yourself and shoved your feet into your flip flops, ready to head into the changing cubicle, “However much I wish Andy would quit, there’s nothing. Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool. I, uh... I totally passed that interview at the Mall, anyway. I start this week.”

“Oh shit, that’s great.”

“Yeah, well… It’s some Ice cream place, so… That'll be... Fun.”

You and Steve separated into changing rooms, and once you were relatively dry and dressed back into your normal clothes, you made your way out, spotting the boy leaning against one of the wooden picnic benches, talking to one of the lifeguards, Heather.

Before you could make your way over, a tanned arm shot out, reaching toward the wall, essentially blocking you in, “You know, I surfed a lot back in California.”

“Riveting,” you deadpanned, barely sparing a look in Billy’s direction, “Does this story have a point, or are you just trying to waste my time?”

“My point,” Billy stressed, leaning uncomfortably closer to you, “is that I’m a pretty great swimmer. The ocean isn’t exactly a backyard pool, you know? I teach lessons here, but… if you ever want a private session, then you know where I am. My specialty is the breaststroke, but I know all the styles-”

“You are disgusting, Hargrove. You know that?”

Billy’s smirk stretched across his face, but his eyes darkened slightly, “You weren’t saying that last Halloween. In fact, if I remember, you weren’t really saying much at all.”

Your name being called from across the small entrance caught both of your attention, but Billy’s arm remained high by your head,

“Hey, you already swam?” The boy asked, his eyes darting between you, Billy, and his arm against the wall.

“Uh, yeah. I was getting a lesson…”

Nodding, Patrick turned his attention to the blonde, “Sup, Hargrove. Didn’t know you got a summer gig here.”

“Why would you know?” Chewing on his gum, Billy watched the boy carefully, his smirk nowhere to be seen, before turning back to you but thankfully removing his hand from the wall beside you, “Offers there.”

Billy brushed past Patrick, who barely seemed phased by the boy’s cold shoulder, even when he greeted his friends with much more warmth, “God, he is such a dick. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. No, I’m good. Thank you, though.” You stumbled through your words, thankful that Patrick and his group of friends hadn’t turned up earlier. That was an embarrassment you didn’t need to suffer.

Jason called after Patrick, telling him to hurry, but the boy merely sent them away to swim with a wave of his wrist, ensuring he’ll join them soon, yet he remained standing with you at the entrance.

“So, uh… Thanks again, you know. For helping me clear up the other day. You didn’t need to.”

“Well, it was kinda my fault that Andy ditched, so… It was the least I could do.”

“Yeah, well… I hope he at least gave you some of his paychecks.”

Patrick smirked, his dark eyes peering down into yours, making you feel a little too exposed.

“You know, I was uh… I know you don’t like Andy, or whatever, but, we’re having this small get-together Monday night. Not a lot of people but… yeah, it’s normally pretty cool. Did you, maybe wanna, go? With me, I mean… Obviously.”

With wide eyes and an open mouth, you prayed for your brain to stop short-circuiting and respond — at this point with anything — but instead, you stood, staring at him like a guppy, causing him to stutter,

“I mean, you totally don’t have to. Because of Andy or, you know, even if you don’t like me, that’s totally fine too. I just thought maybe-”

“Monday night sounds good,” your voice squeaked, and for a moment you could only beg that the Earth would open up and swallow you whole. Take you back to the Upside Down, for all you gave a shit.

Instead of calling you out on it, or mocking you, Patrick instead sent you a wide, sincere smile and nodded, “Yeah, cool. I’ll uh… I’ll pick you up? Around 9?”

Chapter Eighteen: The Graduate

A bead of sweat trickled down your temple, the motion of wiping it away both autonomous yet otiose, since another would replace it soon enough. It was only early June, but the Mid-west summer was back with a vengeance this year.

“How long is this gonna take?” Mike huffed, pushing his ever-growing hair out of his face, “It’s as hot as Satan’s ass crack out here.”

The boy had been scowling since he’d clambered into your car and immediately noticed the lack of air-con.

Condensation from your bottled water dripped down your hand as you passed the boy the drink, knowing that although it wouldn’t do much to cool him down, at least if he was drinking he couldn’t be complaining at the same time.

“They just called his name,” Lucas noted, catching a glimpse of the boy from his elevated seat on the bleachers as your small group — bar Mike — stood, applauding and hollering the older boy’s name.

The noise caught Steve’s attention as he shook Principal Higgins’ hand, a beaming smile stretching across his face as he sauntered across the stage like he’d been class valedictorian. Sure, Steve had only graduated by the skin of his teeth, and he hadn’t been able to secure one college place, but he had graduated nonetheless.

The rest of the ceremony seemed to pass quickly, and despite the raging beat down from the sun and the kid’s complaining — as if Max didn’t hail from California — you could hardly wipe the smile from your face.

Pushing your way through the large sea of students, you practically had to tear yourself away from the boy’s tight grip as he hugged you, “You came?”

“I mean, you kinda saved our asses last year. Would be rude to not show our faces.” Max smiled, slightly perplexed, as the boy pulled her into her own bone-crushing hug. He made his way down the group, Eleven and Lucas being the only ones to seemingly enjoy it.

“Yeah, it uh… It means a lot.”

You’d been able to wrangle the kids — bar Dustin, who had left a week or so before for some summer camp — to the ceremony, but you knew you didn’t have long before they grew bored and even more annoying than usual.

“Oh, there he is!” A loud, shrill cut through the already noisy atmosphere as Mr. And Mrs. Harrington made their way toward the boy, the former pulling her son into an embrace, “Oh, look at you! You look so smart in your robes.”

Mr. Harrington rolled his eyes as his wife continued to fawn over their only child, “Well, don’t get used to it. You won’t be seeing him in them again since he didn’t get into one damn college.”

“Honey, not here.”

Her voice was stern and her eyes sharp as she sent her husband a pointed look, almost daring him to try to continue this conversation in public, though the man merely turned and began to fiddle with his pager.

“Thanks, Mom,” Steve mumbled, his cheeks flushed — from the sun, or the embarrassment of his mother gripping his cheeks, you weren’t sure — as he peered toward you, the snickers from the kids only deepening his blush.

“Oh, hello again,” Mrs. Harrington had seemingly just noticed you, her smile appearing more strained as she looked around at the small ragtag group surrounding her son, “We didn’t know any of your... friends were coming, sweetheart.”

It took everything in Steve to not shake his head and deny that he was friends with actual children, to explain why they were all so prominent in his life. But he didn’t want to look like an asshole, nor did he want to be shipped off to some insane asylum, or worse… taken away by the government. So instead, Steve sent a tight-lipped smile to his mother as he simply nodded.

“You’re going to have to head out to dinner without me tonight,” Steve’s father sighed, shoving his pager back into the pocket of his tailored black pants, “Stacy said there’s an emergency meeting in Indianapolis, I’ll be gone for the night-”

“I’ll ring Enzo’s when we get back, let them know we’ll reschedule.”

“You two can go on without me. I don’t-”

“You understand, don’t you Steven?” Mrs. Harrington cut off her husband, turning her attention back toward her son, missing the moment his face dropped.

“Yeah, I, uh… It’s fine, Mom.”

Pressing a kiss to the boy’s cheek, Mrs. Harrington returned her gaze to her husband, “We’ll go home and pack. I’ll ring Enzo’s, and you can tell Stacy to book a dinner at the hotel for two tonight.”

Steve watched as the two made their way out toward the parking lot, the noises around him blurring into one sound.

“-And there’s a new movie out tonight, I can totally try to score us some free popcorn at the Hawk unless you wanna try out the new one at Starcourt? Or if you don’t wanna head out, we can rent something at Family Video. I can grab us a pizza and-”

“Party at mine, tonight,” Steve shouted, causing the large crowd of teens to turn in his direction, “8 O’clock.”

“There’s already a party planned for tonight, Harrington. Must have forgotten to post your invite, so sorry.” Carol’s all-too-familiar snarl sounded much too close as she approached you.

“Yeah, well… I have a pool.” Steve shrugged. It wasn’t often he’d laud his parent’s wealth over people, but tonight… Tonight was an exception.

A loud cheer sounded from the crowd, some hollering and chanting Steve’s name, reminding him of the past few years of high school. Carol, however, was less than pleased, scoffing before making her way back to Tommy.

“What time should we get there?” Lucas asked, eyes wide and shining, only to be quickly shut down by the older boy,

“Yeah, not a chance in Hell, Sinclair.”

Despite Steve’s offer to help him set up — he had made his bed, therefore as far as you were concerned, he could sleep in it — you had other plans. You’d dropped off the kids at Mike’s house where they could irritate Mrs. Wheeler instead, and after a pathetic attempt to make yourself somewhat decent for the party later, you headed to your destination.

It was already dark by the time you’d made your way to Forest Hills trailer park, but the summer air remained a few degrees above comfortable, and you begrudged the fact your mother had all but whipped the car keys from your grasp the moment you’d opened the front door. She didn’t have a shift tonight, so you could only assume she was headed out to whatever bar would allow her in.

Throwing your bike down on the patch of grass in front of the steps, the door rattled under your slightly too zealous knock.

“Alright, alright, hold your damn horse- oh, evenin’.” The door swung open, causing you to step backward down the large concrete stairs as Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, appeared, mug in one hand and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Is Eddie here?”

The man nodded, letting out an exasperated sigh as he placed the mug down on a small table inside where you could see a small TV set up before moving aside and letting you enter, “He’s holed up in his room, maybe you can get a bit more sense outta the boy than I did.”

Wayne made his way outside and shut the door behind himself, mumbling under his breath as he left. You could already hear the thumping bass from down the small hallway, so you kicked off your shoes and knocked a few times on his door.

“Go away, Wayne.”

Pushing the door open, you leaned against the door frame and waited for the boy to notice you. Laying prone on his messy bed, Eddie Munson looked a little too pathetic for your liking. He was dramatic at the best of times, and cocksure at the worst, but the sight of the young man laying face first into his lumpy pillow as he loudly bemoaned his future was something else altogether.

Clearing your throat, you watched closely as he let out a long, annoyed huff of air and turned only his head, a glare already set on his features that was meant for his uncle quickly fell into something that resembled a baby deer trapped in headlights when he realized that it was not, in fact, Wayne, who was trying to rouse him from his evening of desperation and depression.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Munson,” you smirked, turning your attention to a book haphazardly thrown onto the boy’s desk.

His bed squeaked as he rolled over, quickly pushing himself to his feet to snatch the book, the blue cover slightly torn and bent along the edges, indicating how often it had been read, “You’re not Wayne…”

“What gave it away?” You cocked a brow, still ignoring the boy as you continued to look around his room, the boy feeling a little too abashed at the state of his room, “the lack of plaid? Or the fact I’m not a 50-year-old man? Pick your words wisely, Munson.”

“Stop touching my shit,” Eddie grumbled, taking away another item — this time, a comic book — from your grasp and placing it precariously on top of his ashtray, his brow still furrowed slightly as he ran a hand over his hair, a futile attempt to straighten out the mass of curls on his head, “What are you doing here? Heard Harrington was having some big, stupid blowout to celebrate graduating by the skin of his teeth. Assumed you’d be with him since, you know, you're attached at the hip now, or whatever.”

Eddie was hurting, which was the sole reason you swallowed down the venomous response that had tasted a little too sour on your tongue for even you. You were here to check in on the boy, not make him feel worse that he, once again, was not a graduate of Hawkins High, and would instead have to repeat another year under the watchful, exasperated eye of Principal Higgins.

“Wanted to see you, see how you’re doing after… you know.” Eddie sent you a halfhearted glare before flopping back down onto his bed, this time facing the ceiling with a huff, “Which I guess isn’t good, since you’re blowing both your own and my ears out with this shit.”

Eddie sat up quickly, holding his weight up on his elbows, “This isn’t shit, it’s Black Sabbath, and Ozzy Osbourne is thee-”

“Yeah, yeah, the prince of darkness, I know, Eddie. I’ve heard the spiel before. But can you please just turn it down a little?”

Eddie leaned over his bed, turning down the dial of his boombox in defeat as the room felt a little too quiet now, “Look, I don’t need checking in on, alright? I’m a big boy, and this isn’t my first rodeo.”

Throwing yourself down next to the boy, laying side by side, perpendicular on the bed, your eyes gazed over the posters that lined his walls, including his homemade ‘Corroded Coffin’ banner. Rolling on your side slightly, you dug around in your back pocket, searching for the notes you’d shoved in there earlier, “Hey, you got any pre-rolls?”

“I’m not really in the mood,” Eddie huffed, only to be cut off when the money floated down onto his chest. Sighing, he pushed himself up once more and grabbed his metal lunchbox from the bedside table, “I normally charge extra for pre-rolled, you know?”

“Friends discount?” you shrugged, eyes turning to watch the boy as he plonked the box onto his desk, sitting in his old, barely still standing chair, and got to work, “You know, you’ll get caught in school with that one day. It’s a little obvious you’re not exactly carrying around a sandwich in it.”

Ignoring your barely there concern, Eddie shook his head, “Oh, we’re friends, are we? You know the assholes at school would shun you even more if they heard you declare that.”

Rolling your eyes, you rested your hands on your stomach, “I’ve watched your shitty band play live. By choice. I’d definitely say we’re friends, Munson.”

“You know, I’m starting to think you refer to everything you like as shitty. Black Sabbath, but I know you know at least two of their albums, my music, but you’ve seen the band live…” After securing the joint, Eddie gently fell back onto the bed, elbow a little too close to your ribs as he rolled to face you, “Tell me how you really feel about DND.”

Shoving the boy away from you, you checked around the small table to the side of his bed for a lighter, tossing the magazine from earlier onto the floor in search of the ashtray, stopping short when you came across the blue box innocently placed next to it. Tossing the boy the lighter, you moved back from where you were leaning over Eddie, blue box in hand and a wide smirk on your face.

“Lubricated, for her pleasure, right?” You couldn’t help the cackle that escaped you as Eddie choked as he inhaled a lungful of smoke, sitting up quickly to grab the box, despite the fact he was certain he was about to die.

“Give that here,” he glared, throat scratchy when he finally managed to catch his breath, allowing you to take the joint only once you’d passed him the box of condoms, “God, you’re annoying.”

Finally settling down, you returned to your original place on the bed, taking a large toke or two before handing the joint back to the boy, “Hey, I think it’s great that you care about that shit-”

“It’s important,” Eddie glared, his cheeks burning in lingering embarrassment, “Can’t just ram it in there, and-”

“Christ, Munson, I don’t actually care about your sex life. I’m just glad you’re being responsible, even if that is an unopened packet.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie sighed, releasing a long cloud of smoke as you continued to pass the joint back and forth, “I’m the only Munson Junior in town. Wouldn’t wanna make this shithole hate me more, right?”

Halting in your actions, joint halfway to your mouth, you looked over at the boy who despite putting on a pretty decent front in school and around town, was only able to let his walls down, even slightly, in the comfort and safety of his own home. A home that he was forced to share with his uncle.

“You’re nothing like Al, you know that right?”

“What, charming? Charismatic?”

“You know what I mean, Ed.”

And he did.

Word around Hawkins traveled faster than mono in high school, and all of the charm in the world wouldn’t make Alan Munson a better man. Whether or not the death of Eddie’s mother had devastated the man or not, he was the only one to blame for the life of gambling and theft that he began to lead.

But grief was a funny thing. It could wreck even the strongest of men, even the kindest of them, and Al Munson was neither of those things to begin with.

After finishing the last of your joint, you pocketed the rest and once you were certain that Eddie was going to be okay, you decided to take your leave. Eddie gave you a ride to the Harrington residence, offering to drop your bike back home on the way through, offering you a ride home later, if you needed it.

You knew what he was getting at, a Cheshire cat grin pulling widely at his cheeks as he sent you a sleazy wink, only to receive a joint thrown — unlit, thankfully — to his face. For his troubles, you’d assured him.

By the time you’d arrived at Steve’s house, it was already full of half-cut teenagers celebrating their newfound freedom. Steve was lucky that he didn’t really have any neighbors in close range, because you could hear the music blasting from the sound system, along with the screams and laughter and chanting coming from the backyard before you’d even exited Eddie’s van.

“You sure you don’t wanna come in? Just for one drink? You might make a sale?”

But the older boy shook his head, the now tight smile that tugged almost uncomfortably across his mouth not fooling anyone, “Nah. We smoked the last of the shit I got from Rick, plus I gotta tie up some loose ends on my next campaign. It’s a big one.”

Eddie waved you off, his van making more racket than the house party as he drove back up the driveway, and you only hoped he wouldn’t get pulled over for the inevitable speeding he’d be doing back through town.

Pushing open the large, red door, the house already seemed much too cramped, full of people who were practically strangers.

A familiar song was playing through the speakers, something you were sure you’d heard on the radio in Steve’s car recently, but you didn’t care enough to place it. Either way, people were dancing up a storm.

You felt a sharp pain in your side as you pushed through the crowd, hoping to find someone you recognized when a loud shout of your name caught your attention.

Finally breaking out of the sea of people, you met Steve in the kitchen where he was pouring what seemed to be another round of shots, a gaggle of now ex-students surrounding him at all sides, accepting their drink with gusto. You waited for the boy to down his own, watching as he shook his head in an attempt to drown out the burn that the liquor left in his throat. He was obviously drunk, you realized, as he rounded the kitchen counter and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a one-armed hug that felt a little more like a headlock.

“I’m so glad you came! I thought you were gonna bail.”

“Yeah, well… There’s still time,” you only half-joked, patting his back before he let you go, only to drag you back to the group he was standing with. You recognized a few of the girls, all of them fawning over the man of the hour the last few years of high school, especially Debbie Rein. Ex-head cheerleader, and one thousand percent Steve’s type. Before Nancy, at least. God, you thought to yourself, she must have been absolutely infuriated that Nancy Wheeler of all people had their taste of Steve before she did.

“So, you know these guys, right?” Steve asked, his hand flailing in the small group's direction.

You sent them an awkward smile, despite being practically ignored by them all. Cheerleaders and jocks were not aware of your existence in school, of that you were sure, but you still tried, “Uh, yeah. We had Chem together last year, I think.”

Debbie — who had returned to her previous state of clinging to Steve’s arm — merely looked you up and down, shrugging her shoulder as if to prove a point that you were all too forgettable. You knew she was counting down the seconds until you left, and Steve’s attention could return solely back to her. Steve, however, had a different plan.

“Here you go,” he handed you the small plastic cup, a shot full of what was likely the most expensive vodka in his parent’s liquor cabinet.

“Oh, uh, no I’m good thanks-”

“C’mon, it’s graduation! Just the one, I promise.” Steve interrupted, holding the drink closer to you, big brown eyes peering down like a too-excited puppy, only making it all that harder to turn down.

You would’ve, though, had Debbie — whose nails were practically digging into Steve’s bicep — not scoffed, lips pulling into the same smirk you’d seen grace her annoyingly pretty face countless times in the school hallways as she hit books out of freshman’s arms and tripped the band geeks as they lugged their heavy instruments to practice.

Instead of asking her what her problem was, because you knew damn well what her issue was with you, you accepted the drink from Steve’s sticky, vodka grip, swallowing it down in one, trying — and failing — to keep a straight face. Turns out, even expensive vodka tasted like paint stripper.

Steve let out a cheer as you placed the small cup back onto the counter and quickly downed another of his own, tongue sticking out at the taste. You watched the blonde roll her eyes before turning her attention back to the boy, “Oh my god, I love this song. Let’s dance!”

Steve nodded enthusiastically, even though he honestly had no idea what was currently playing, but the girl’s smirk quickly fell from her face as he grabbed your arm, trying to drag you toward the makeshift dance floor,

“No, Steve, I’m not…” shaking your arm from his grip, you tried your best not to glare at him, “I don’t think that’s what she meant.”

The boy’s head tipped to the right as he frowned, “What who meant?”

Sighing, you patted the boy on his cheek, eyes softening at his dopey, drunken expression, “Debbie. You know, the girl in the… You know what? Never mind.”

“You want another drink?”

Shaking your head, you stepped closer to the boy attempting to avoid an all too passionate couple that seemed to be attached at the mouth, “Shots aren’t really my thing. Look, Steve, I think I should-”

“C’mon, there’s a keg out back.” The boy didn’t stop to make sure you were following, instead grabbing your hand and dragging you back through the kitchen, past Debbie, who sent you one last bitter glare, and into the back yard where he snatched two clean solo cups and poured a little too much beer into each.

You followed him toward the lounge chairs, a heavy weight settling on your chest as you took note of the last time you were here. The last time you’d seen Barb alive. Sending a quick glance to the boy, you wondered if the memories hit him just as hard, if not harder. Because at least you could go home, he couldn’t even look out of his window without the painful reminder of what happened that night, and who was — unrightfully so — blamed for it all.

Steve tipped back his cup, gulping down a large mouthful of the bitter drink before looking around at the groups that had gathered, some people cooling off in the pool, others relishing in the early summer heat.

“It’s a good turnout, right?” He questioned, his wide eyes turning toward you, once again seeking your validation, “better than anything Tommy or Carol could’ve pulled off.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know? Not for them, and especially not with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was obvious that Steve was lying, his focus quickly returning to the crowd around him as he took another sip, “I’m just being a normal teenage guy on graduation, right? I’m allowed to do that, right?”

Releasing a long and irritated sigh, you tried your best to ignore his tone, knowing it wasn’t really you that he was upset with, “I’m not saying you can’t, Steve. I’m just saying you don’t have to.”

“Look, you just… you wouldn’t get it, alright? Tonight is the most normal I’ve felt in a long time. I mean, I was someone in high school, you know? People cared. You were just a…”

You were sure your heart physically ached as the boy’s sentence dwindled off, a sip of his beer to wash down the harsh words, regret obvious in his features.

“Just a what, Steve? Just some loser who you didn’t know existed until you were dragged into this shit? Or rather barreled headfirst into it because you couldn't mind your own damn business.”

He wanted to remind you that his barreling had, as a matter of fact, saved your life that night at the Byers' residence. He had the blood stain on the backseat of his Beamer to prove it. But Steve wasn’t here to burn bridges, despite being drunk enough to light the match,

“I didn’t say that-”

“You didn’t have to,” you were trying, and failing, to keep your cool as your voice amplified, “Jesus, Steve. I really thought you’d gotten over this shit, but one stupid comment from Carol earlier and… You know what, forget it. Enjoy your night down memory lane, Steve. I’m sure Debbie’s still in the kitchen if you’re that desperate to relive your glory days.”

Standing, you handed your cup a little too forcefully to the boy who didn’t seem bothered at all that some of the beer spilled over the side, most likely staining his shirt, as he struggled to stand in his drunken stupor,

“Have a great graduation party, King Steve.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d turn up, considering you’re not in the graduating class.” You were sure that Carol’s voice was the background music in Hell, “Any of your other loser friends get a pity invite, or are you just Harrington’s special friend of the moment?”

Steve called your name, almost completely unaware of Carol’s presence, too occupied with your sudden halt, watching closely as you turned back around,

“You know, Carol, I think it’s really great that you and Tommy are so secure in your relationship that you trust each other to go to colleges in different states. I mean, I know Tommy didn’t exactly get his pick of the crop, but considering what happened at Sally’s party last weekend? Well, you’re a better woman than me, that’s for sure.”

Tommy’s ears — as well as the large group that had formed outside — perked up at the mention of his name, splodges of red from the tips of his ears, spreading down his neck as he sent his girlfriend an ingratiating smile, “I promise, babe, nothing happened at Sally’s. I was barely even there an hour-”

Rumors spread around the school like a forest fire, and being all but invisible had its perks if you knew how to use them, but you decided to leave the boy to his fumbling as he tried his best to explain himself, ready to shove your way back through the crowd.

Maybe you would call in that ride from Eddie.

“I don’t even know why you’re here, the only place you’ll be going to after graduation is Pennhurst.” Tommy’s biting tone stopped you mid-step, and as you turned to face him, you could see that for a split second, he was unsure if he’d gone too far. And if looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already.

“Maybe you should be more concerned with why your girlfriend wasn’t at Sally’s party, and who she was with, instead. I’ll give you a clue, it starts with Har, and ends with Grove.”

“You crazy bitch,” Tommy spat, any amount of uncertainty for his previous comment now gone with the wind as he quickly approached you, and you realized that maybe this time, you had pushed too hard and the boy might actually hit you.

Your chest bumped against Steve’s back as he slotted himself between you and the incoming, hot-headed idiot that he used to call a friend. Despite being obviously drunk, Steve’s words were much clearer than before, “Back off, Tommy. Just go, and take her with you.”

“What happened to you, man?” The boy questioned, his dark eyes peering into Steve’s as if he was genuinely perplexed by Steve’s change of personality this past year. Then again, he didn’t know half the shit Steve had been through. Half the shit you had been through together, “She got a beer-flavored pussy that’s got you whipped or something-”

The crack was loud in the silence of the yard, a few gasps escaped some of the spectators as they watched Tommy stumble back slightly, hand pressed to his nose as he felt the first trickle of blood run over his knuckles.

Unfortunately for Steve, Tommy had a lot less to drink and seemingly recovered much too quickly, throwing his own punch and catching Steve across the cheekbone, the boy’s body stumbled into you slightly as you gripped the back of his shirt. Steve’s face forcibly slammed in the other direction as Tommy landed his second hit, taking full advantage of his inebriated state, and it was only when you forced yourself in between them that Tommy stopped.

“Your reign is long over, Harrington. Don’t you get that? All anyone will ever remember you as is some loser has-been, who peaked in high school. C’mon, babe. This party’s lame, anyway.”

The crowd's whispers soon faded out as someone turned the music up, the sounds of Madonna’s ‘Material Girl’ enough to recapture the ever-fleeting attention of teenagers, and you turned around, eyes wide as you watched the bruise on Steve’s cheekbone blossom in front of your own eyes, “Steve, I-”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, not quite sobering up, but definitely no longer in the mood to parade about as if he were having fun. So instead, he made a beeline to the trusty bottle of very expensive vodka.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you waited until the swirling colored squiggles faded behind your eyelids before opening them back up and peering through the large sliding glass door trying to spot the boy. You couldn’t leave him like this, not when you felt partially responsible for the showdown that just happened. So begrudgingly, you pushed back through the overcrowded house, trying to find him.

It wasn’t too hard, surprisingly, as all you had to do was follow the loud cheers that seemed to echo around the house. Steve stood in the kitchen, all but chugging the bottle of vodka. With pinched brows, you marched toward him, yanking the bottle from his grip and causing some of it to join the beer stain you’d left previously.

The chanting came to an abrupt halt, loud boos and shouts aimed in your direction as you kept the bottle away from Steve’s grabbing hands,

“Give it back, it’s mine.” He slurred, eyes not quite able to focus on you. The bottle seemed much emptier than before you’d made your way outside, and you could only hope that other partygoers had taken their fill because if not, Steve was going to be left with one hell of a hangover in the morning. Ignoring the bottle you’d taken from him, Steve made a move to grab a solo cup, half filled with a red liquid that he wasn’t entirely sure of. Too drunk and too emotional, Steve knocked the cup before he was able to grab it, the contents spilling all over the kitchen counter, and yourself.

“You’re being way too dramatic right now, Harrington, and the only way this is gonna end is with your head in the toilet.”

“Oh, Harrington this, Harrington that,” he huffed, his brow wrinkled as he peered down with a look you’d never seen him give you before, “Jesus, you don’t have to be here. You can go at any time! Just because shit happened last year, and I’m gonna rot in this town for the rest of my life doesn’t mean…”

The boy stopped mid-sentence, almost freezing in place, “It doesn’t mean…”

“Steve? You good?”

“It doesn’t mean… I’m gonna puke.”

Desperately, you grabbed the boy by the back of the neck and pushed him toward the kitchen sink, all but sticking his head into it so he wouldn’t throw up over the floor. A few disgusted guests groaned, quickly evacuating the kitchen, but the music drowned out the boy’s gagging.

Once Steve’s stomach had finally settled, his shoulders no longer heaving as he retched, you grabbed an empty solo cup from the side and filled it with water from the tap, leaving it running to clear the sink.

“Sip, don’t gulp. Or you’ll be sick again.”

Steve nodded and slowed down his drinking, his eyes looking anywhere but at you.

“I wanna sleep,” he mumbled, sounding a little like a toddler who was overdue for a nap.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you kinda have a house full of people. If you go to bed, you might wake up without a couch, and I think your parents might notice.”

A childlike pout settled on his lips, brow pulled together as he finally looked at you, brown puppy dog eyes all but begging you for something he really didn’t need your permission for. Squeezing your eyes closed, you let out an annoyed sigh but nodded regardless, allowing the boy to place his arm over your shoulder for balance.

“Let's get you upstairs, and I’ll deal with the rest.”

“I can take it from here-”

“Fuck off, Debbie,” you huffed, pushing past the blonde from earlier and making your way toward the boy's room, ignoring the drunken wolf whistles and whooping from the crowd who’d noticed you leading Steve upstairs, wondering if Steve felt as embarrassed at Tina’s party last year when he’d helped you — too drunk, and much too upset — safely into his car.

Despite being on more than one of the athletic clubs in school, Steve wasn’t an overly muscular guy, yet his lean body was still heavy to assist — or rather, drag — upstairs, especially as with every step, Steve leaned a little more weight onto you.

Making your way down the hallway, and toward his room, you raised your voice slightly to catch the attention of the overly zealous couple making out against his door. Thankfully, Steve had locked the rooms upstairs, bar his own, and the bathroom in an attempt to keep this kind of thing from happening. He wasn’t a prude — obviously — but he wasn’t sure how he’d explain cleaning his parent’s bed sheets when they returned tomorrow.

“Hey, move it. Go find somewhere else to swap saliva. Preferably one of your own bedrooms.”

The couple scoffed, sending you a glare, but headed downstairs nonetheless.

How you managed to open Steve’s door and keep the boy upright took nothing less than a miracle, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved when he stumbled into his room and fell backward onto his bed, the frame creaking slightly under his sudden weight.

“Are you gonna throw up anymore?”

Shaking his head, Steve tried to take off his sneakers, giving up when the task seemed too strenuous. Making your way over and sitting at the bottom of his bed, you grabbed his shoes one at a time, tugging the sneakers from his feet and dropping them to the floor, “Steve, I need to make sure that you’re not going to choke on your own vomit if I leave you alone for ten minutes.”

“I’m fine, I’m good… I’m great,” Steve sighed, rolling onto his stomach and nuzzling his pillow.

Deciding that he would survive for the foreseeable future, you made your way downstairs, a plan already formed before your foot hit the bottom step. Pushing your way through the crowd in the living room, you cut the music suddenly, shouting out over the crowd,

“Cops!”

The crowd dispersed quickly, knowing that although they had their newfound freedom from school, that wouldn’t stop the long grounding most of them would receive from their parents if they were escorted home in a police car. The suddenly silent house made your ears ring as you looked around at the mess that was the Harrington’s family room.

Locking the front door, just in case any stragglers made their way back, and began the clean up in the kitchen. You found a black trash bag under the sink and began to bag up the red solo cups and empty bottles of beer that were littering downstairs. You had no idea what time the Harringtons intended to return home, but you doubted that Steve would be awake before midday, and cleaning up this mess felt like the least you could do.

Maybe tomorrow, when Steve was a little more sober and hopefully feeling a lot more forgiving, you could sort out the rest. Or, maybe, he’d forget that it had even happened, and you’d never have to talk about it again.

Somehow, you didn’t think you’d be that lucky.

Eventually, all of the cups inside and outside of the house had been collected, and the remaining bottles of liquor had been refilled with water and placed back into the large cabinet where Mrs. Harrington kept them. Couch pillows plumped, and sticky counters wiped, you left the trash bag outside the back door, eyes avoiding the pool as you locked up, hoping that Steve’s parents wouldn’t be home before he threw it out. Somehow, you weren’t sure he’d be that lucky.

Turning off all the lights except the small lamp by the door after you’d made a futile attempt to wash the red stain from your shirt, you made your way back upstairs, needlessly knocking on the boy’s door before entering, intending to check on him one last time before you left.

Placing the glass of water on his bedside table, you turned your attention to the boy, still lying prone on his bed, hair falling onto his sweaty forehead. Moving to sit next to him, you gently carded your fingers through it, carefully untangling any parts that were slightly knotted from too much hairspray, and pushed the long strands away from his slightly bruised face,

“Hey, Steve… I’m gonna get going.”

Like a house cat in desperate need of attention, Steve nuzzled into your touch, practically purring, a soft sigh falling from his lips when your fingers finally left his hair, “I don’t wanna.”

“You don’t have to, Steve. I’m going home. You need to rest, you’re gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

“Stay,” he mumbled, his brow furrowing, before he managed to open his eyes, blinking a few times before looking right at you, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. Please, stay.”

And maybe, if you’d have left, everything would’ve been okay. But those soft eyes peered up at you with such hesitation, as if he was waiting for you to decline, to sneak off and leave him alone in his big, practically desolate house, and you felt your refusal dissolve on your tongue.

“Move over, and stay on your side of the bed,” you glared, making your way around the bed, awkwardly settling down on top of the duvet and kicking off your sneakers.

“Scout’s honor,” Steve raised his hand, waving it slightly in the dark.

Scoffing, you kept your eyes on the ceiling as you felt Steve shuffle onto his back, his head turning to look in your direction, “I bet you weren’t even in scouts.”

“You’ll never know,” Steve tried to tease, his eyes feeling heavier with each passing second until finally, they closed.

You stayed stock-still until you were certain he was asleep, the soft snoring giving him away almost instantly. Every fiber of your body was telling you to leave, that he’d be fine sleeping off the drink, and his parents would never know what happened in the morning. Yet, you felt your own eyes drooping, staying closed for longer each time, unsure if it was from a long, stressful day, or from the weed you’d smoked at Eddie’s trailer.

Either way, you fell asleep soon after, the warmth emitting from the boy next to you pulling you into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

Considering it was only June, the air around you felt too thick and humid. If this was any indication of the summer to come, you might just sit in the Slushee machine at the arcade and never come out.

Your body felt warm and clammy, and you imagined the sun was beating down on your body already, but it seemed much too dark. Had you closed the blinds in Steve’s room the night before? Honestly, you couldn’t remember.

Either way, you felt much too warm, sticky, and uncomfortable to remain in bed all day, feeling like you had your body pressed against a heater.

Your eyes flew open, the blurry image of a freckled back staring right back at you, causing you to jerk backward. Unfortunately, your legs had seemed to entwine with Steve’s, the fabric of his jeans feeling scratchy against your ankle, where your own pants had rolled up slightly, and instead of peeling yourself from the boy’s back, you woke him with a jolt.

“The hell are you doing?” Steve grumbled, finally moving his legs and releasing your own as you scooted up in the bed.

Glaring down at the boy, you realized that it wasn’t the sun that had been causing you to overheat, it had been Steve’s body. Steve’s shirtless body, “Where the hell is your top?”

Steve groaned as he rolled over to face you, and if his brain wasn’t about to pound its way out of his ears, he might’ve laughed at your expression, “Jesus, calm down. It’s just a body. You’re lucky I still have my jeans on-”

“You’re lucky you still have your jeans on,” you said through gritted teeth, slapping the top of his arm, and trying to keep your eyes at a respectable level, “What’s the time?”

Lifting his arm toward his face, Steve squinted slightly as he looked at his watch, “9:15, God, did you not even pull the blinds last night?”

Steve’s arm fell over his face, ignoring your scoff, “Forgive me for thinking that making sure you didn’t choke on vomit as you slept was a little more important than closing the blinds.”

“I think I like you more when you’re asleep,” Steve sent you a childlike smirk before he scratched at his chest, the smattering of hair catching your attention, “you’re much nicer to me when you’re not awake.”

Pushing yourself from the bed, you tried in vain to keep your eyes anywhere except a shirtless Steve Harrington, and his disgusting wallpaper that for some reason, matched the drapes, “I should get going. I don’t know if my Mom came home last night, and if she did and she doesn’t know where I am, then I’m in big shit.”

“Wanna get some breakfast? I mean, if she knows you’re out, then you can’t really get in more trouble, right?”

You considered his offer for a moment, stomach groaning as if to make a point that you hadn’t eaten the previous evening, “I can’t exactly go in this.”

Steve’s eyes dropped to where you pointed, the red stain on your shirt now matching the one on his cheeks. Scratching the back of his head, at least he seemed remorseful, “Yeah, sorry about that. I was an idiot,”

Cocking a brow, you remained quiet as you watched him shuffle from his bed and open up his chest of drawers, “But you can totally borrow something of mine, and then I can take you home. I mean, breakfast kinda seems like the least I could do after last night. But please just… let me make it up to you.”

You took in Steve as he stood, hand stretched out toward you, gripping a random shirt, eyes downcast and begging for forgiveness. A forgiveness you didn’t feel he needed to ask for. But you weren’t one to turn down a free meal.

“Sunny Side diner. I want extra pancakes.” Grabbing the shirt from his grip, you made your way toward the stairs, “Oh, and shower. You stink of beer.”

Steve had arrived at the small diner just outside of town 40 minutes later, and if you were hungry before, you were ravenous by the time you’d sat down, eyes skimming over the menu despite knowing exactly what you were going to order.

Steve had looked a little green as a plate of eggs passed by the table, but by the time his own pancakes came, his stomach had settled.

“How's your head feeling?”

Placing his glass back on the table, Steve gulped down his orange juice as if someone were about to steal it, “It’s okay, could be worse.”

You nodded, taking a long sip of coffee, staring at the boy, “You know you look like a total dick with those on inside, right?”

“It’s too bright,” Steve moaned, and although you couldn’t see his eyes, you could tell from the lines that appeared between his eyebrows that he was glaring at you.

“And yet, you wouldn’t let me drive.”

“I don’t let anyone drive my car-”

“Max did,” an amused smirk pulled your mouth up to one side as Steve finally lifted his sunglasses, perching them on his head just to give you the full effect of his scowl.

“Maybe, but I didn’t let her.”

Shrugging, you cut up another piece of pancake before popping it into your mouth, “Semantics.”

Steve, despite now having to squint throughout his meal, kept his sunglasses on top of his head for the remainder of your time at the diner.

After a moment of comfortable silence, filled only by the sounds of other customers chatting and cutlery scraping plates, Steve returned his attention to you, “Thanks, by the way. For, you know, cleaning up. And taking care of me. I was an idiot, and you didn’t deserve anything I said. I took it out on you, and I really shouldn’t have. Tommy just… He just knows how to get to me, you know.”

“It’s fine, really. I’m kinda used to the whole cleaning up after someone else’s drunken escapades, you know? Plus, it’s not like you didn’t do the same for me last year. Call it even. And Tommy… I mean, he just wants the reaction out of you. He’s an asshole, and he’ll always be an asshole. But you, you know… You’ve changed, and he doesn't have enough brain cells to realize it's for the better.”

Steve watched you carefully as you pushed around the last piece of pancake on your plate, worried that he’d caused you to lose your appetite, despite having already demolished most of your meal.

“You think I’ve changed in a good way?”

Picking up your coffee mug, you stared into the dark brown liquid, wishing you could drown in it, “I mean, obviously. I don’t hate being around you anymore.”

“I can work with that,” the boy nodded, before stealing the last slice of pancake from your plate, “I am sorry though, that I put you in that position last night.”

Taking Steve’s empty plate and stacking it on top of your own, you avoided his eyes as much as possible, “Really, it’s fine. I mean, you kinda threw a punch for me. And, you know… took two.”

“I was drunk, Tommy had an unfair advantage.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure that’s it. Totally.”

Steve scoffed as you stood, the boy throwing down enough notes to cover the bill and tip before quickly catching you up, “I could totally win a fight if I wanted.”

“I’m sure you could, Steve.” Your voice was a little too condescending for Steve to take seriously as if you were trying to pacify an infant.

“I totally could,” Steve grunted as he settled into the driver seat, connecting his seat belt and turning his attention to you as you began to fiddle with the radio, fingers quickly being slapped away, “You know, I already had that set to a station I like.”

“You didn’t get your fill of Madonna last night? Tell me, are you a ‘Holiday’, or a ‘Material Girl’ kind of guy?”

Steve merely glared before finding the station he wanted, his hand flying forward to turn the radio off when the familiar chorus kicked in, “Silence is good too.”

“Ahh, a ‘Like A Virgin’ kind of guy. How ironic.”

“That was pure luck, alright?”

Holding up your hands, you sent the boy a winsome smile, “Hey, no judgment here.”

“Really? Because you sound awful judgmental over there.”

Chapter Seventeen: Dinner and Diatribes

“This is stupid,” the boy grumbled, closing his math book, “Mr. Mundy hates my guts. I’m never gonna pass the final.”

“Maybe he hates you because you stroll in late to almost all his classes?” You sighed, flicking through the magazine you’d found on Steve’s bedside table. Somehow you believed a dirty magazine would’ve been more interesting than the stupid car one you were currently reading.

Scoffing, Steve turned from his seat at his desk just to glare at you. He hadn’t been late to that many classes, had he? “You could be a little more supportive, you know?”

Cocking a brow, your eyes remained on the sport’s magazine, voice a little too monotonous for the boy’s liking, “Go Harrington, you can do it.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve returned his attention to his closed textbook, deciding that was where he would focus his glare. After one too many of his sighs, you glanced up with an acidic remark ready to roll off your tongue but it was quickly swallowed down when you saw the genuine distress that covered his features.

Leaning back on his uncomfortable desk chair, the boy’s eyes were squeezed shut as he ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots a little. Even Steve knew that his chances of graduating this year were on thin ice, and the chances of him getting into any of the colleges he’d begrudgingly applied to just to pacify his father? Near impossible.

So if Steve had to be stuck in Hawkins next year, he needed to make sure it wasn’t repeating another year of high school. He wasn’t going to be a super senior like that Munson kid. No way in hell.

Chewing your bottom lip as you studied him for a moment, you tossed the magazine haphazardly onto the small table, “C’mon then, let me see.”

Steve’s eyes shot open, his brow furrowed as he slowly pushed up from his chair, grabbing the textbook and placing it in front of you before joining you on the bed where you were sitting with crossed legs.

“You’re gonna think I’m an idiot,” the boy sighed, knee-deep into his pity party for one.

“You’re not an idiot, Steve,” you mumbled, looking over the page he’d opened to, ignoring the feeling of his eyes softening as they peered down at you, “Math is hard, and this shit is totally pointless.”

“God, it is, isn’t it?” A small huff of laughter fell from the boy’s lips, and Steve finally began to feel a little less stupid, “I mean, when am I ever going to need to know what X or Y equals? That’s the alphabet, and I already know that.”

This time, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your words at bay. You didn’t think Steve was stupid by any means, but school definitely wasn’t his strong suit, “It’s algebra, actually. But yeah, whatever.”

Steve leaned over your shoulder as your eyes scanned the page, “And science? I mean, I don’t think I’m gonna be going to Med school any time soon, so do I really need to know how cells-”

“Steven?”

The door swung open, and a tall, slender woman appeared behind it, causing you both to leap apart, the math book fumbling to the floor with a loud thump.

“Mom,” Steve’s voice was a little squeaky, and under any other circumstances, you’d have laughed out loud at it, but the woman’s slightly confused glance your way caused it to die in your throat, “I uh… I didn’t hear you come home.”

“Book club ended early, so I thought I’d head out and get started on dinner before your father got home.” The woman’s eyes turned toward you, a tight smile forced onto her lips, “Who’s this?”

Steve knew damn well that his mother knew who you were, but the boy introduced you regardless, and you sent the woman a short nod as you stood fiddling with your hands behind your back.

Mrs Harrington’s eyes roamed over you slowly, causing you to swallow down a lump in your throat before she finally returned her attention toward her son, her smile much less forced, “No girls over when we’re not home, you know that, Steven.”

“She was just-”

“-I was just going,” you scrambled to grab your shoes, debating whether to shove your feet into them now, or rush out and wait until you were a safe distance away.

You were almost certain that Mrs. Harrington was somewhat aware of her son’s reputation, and that you weren’t the first — nor would you be the last — girl to occupy his room without parental supervision, despite it being with innocent intentions. Either way, being lumped in with all of Steve’s previous conquests made you feel more uncomfortable than you were willing to admit.

“You should stay for dinner.”

The words seemingly caught both you and Steve off guard, both freezing in your reactions, and for a second you were certain Steve was going to give himself a bald spot if he kept tugging at his hair.

Before you could respond, or rather, vehemently decline her offer, a shout from downstairs distracted you all, Steve’s father entering the house and calling out to his wife. Turning back to you once more, Mrs. Harrington’s tone left no room for disagreement, “We’re having Chicken Potpie, I hope you like it.”

And then she was gone. Long, lean legs took her back down the stairs, and toward her husband.

“I should really get going,” you mumbled, grabbing your jacket that you’d thrown onto the bottom of Steve’s bed before making yourself comfortable, silently demoting Steve to his desk.

“You don’t wanna stay?”

Hobbling, one shoe shoved in your sneaker as you fought with your jacket, you shook your head, “Not hungry.”

Steve stared at you, deadpan, when your stomach growled into the silence of his room causing you too, to stop.

Traitor.

“You sound hungry.”

“I have my own homework to do,”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“And I have the open shift at the arcade, so I really need to get an early night-”

Steve made his way over to you, grabbing at your jacket and pulling it back off, and you realized that he must have inherited his hardheadedness from his mother, “An hour, two at most. I’ll even drive you home. Please?”

If the boy’s eyes didn’t resemble those of a sad puppy dog, you’d have marched right on past him and his parents. Instead, you found yourself kicking off the one sneaker you’d managed to squish your foot into, a frown pulling at your brows.

“Fine, but you need to… C’mere,” you ran your hands over his hair, flattening it down a little in hopes of soothing the strands pointing in awkward directions due to his own hands, “You look like you’ve stuck a fork in an electrical socket.”

Steve’s breath hit your face in short, shallow puffs of air as the boy remained still, allowing you to sort out his hair, despite the fact he really didn’t like people touching it. He reasoned that by now most of his hair product was out considering he’d run his hands through it multiple times in an attempt to force something from his textbook into his brain.

“You ready, Harrington?” You asked, one brow cocked as your eyes met his, hands falling back to your side, “Hey, Earth to Steve?”

“Yeah, no, I’m, uh… I’m ready. Let’s go.”

It was only when Steve led you to the stairs that he forewarned you about his father, “Look, he’s a grade-A asshole, so just… try not to take anything he says too personally.”

“Well, if what he says is personal, how could I not take it personally?”

“Just don’t play into it, alright? He talks a lot of shit for someone who’s barely around.”

The atmosphere between Steve and his father was palpable, tension clear on the younger boy's face as soon as his father had started discussing his day, all too aware of the berating that would soon follow.

No drive, he’d said, lacking any future goals and destined to be a bum, as if Steve hadn’t heard it all before. In fact, Steve found it hard to remember a time when his father had anything positive to say about, or to him.

“College isn’t the be-all and end-all.”

The words slipped from your mouth, tongue apparently working faster than your brain. You heard the commotion around you come to a sudden and jeering halt, and you found that you had also frozen, fork gripped in your hand stopping mid-way back to your plate, as if you couldn’t believe your own impudent behavior as a guest at someone’s family dinner.

“And what are your plans for the future?” Mr. Harrington’s tone felt all too condescending, but apparently, the man knew better than to outright call out your behavior. But you knew what he meant. If he was almost foaming at the mouth with the prospect of his only son not going to some prestigious college and joining a boy’s club fraternity, you could only imagine how lowly he thought of you.

“I haven't really thought about it yet,” you lied, eyes dropping down toward the mixture of peas and carrots that you were pushing around on your plate until the loud scoff from across the table caught your attention.

Mr. Harrington continued to eat his dinner as Steve's mother cleared her throat, hand grasping for her wine glass as she focused her own attention on her son, “Steven will figure it out. If all else fails, he can come join you at the”

“It's an important part of life, and I don't offer hand-outs. He'll be stuck in an entry-level job for the rest of his life without a proper education.”

Steve wondered if his father really had forgotten that it was, in fact, his own father who had secured a job for him. Not that he had any intention of working under his father.

“He could take a gap year,” Steve's mother commented, her smile tight as she stared down her husband, embarrassment evident on her face, “I've heard they're becoming all the rage. A year to work on himself and-”

“And what? Drain our savings instead?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you chanced a glimpse at Steve who sat beside you, silent and still and… so un-Steve-like. Like a small child who had heard the whole spiel before. Reaching your hand under the table, you clamped it around Steve's, resting on his thigh. Although he timidly turned to silently question you, you had already returned your focus to the man across the table, instead giving Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze of acknowledgment.

You turned back toward Mr. Harrington, brows pulled together and eyes full of disdain, “Have you ever asked Steve what he thinks? What he wants?”

“He's a teenage boy, there's only one thing he wants and it has nothing to do with his education-”

“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Harrington's stern tone shut the whole conversation down, “would you be a dear and help me collect the plates?”

Steve nodded, your hand dropping from his as he stood from the table. Pushing your own chair back, you quickly grabbed your own plate, “I'll help.”

Following Steve to the kitchen, a plate in either hand, you placed them down a little too harshly on the side of the sink, ignoring the clashing of cutlery, “Jesus, you weren't joking about him.”

Steve remained silent as he filled the sink with hot water, taps squeaking slightly when he turned them off and began to scrape the scraps of food into the bin. Taking a plate from the small pile he had begun to stack, you continued, “I mean, where does he get off talking to you like that? Talking about you like that? You weren't joking when you said he was an asshole. And your Mom? Just sitting there while he-”

“Stop,” Steve's words came out much harsher than he'd originally intended for them to, but he had barely uttered a word in the last 30 minutes and felt like he had no control over his vocal cords, “He's an asshole, I know. Believe me. But I don't need you making it worse, alright? He does this shit every time he's home. And my Mom… It just doesn't help, alright?”

Steve swallowed, a lump of guilt already crawling its way up his throat. As a child, Steve would yearn for his father to come back from a business trip early, to spend the evening with him and his mother enjoying a family meal. But now? Now Steve craved the silence of his empty home, his mother following after her husband on yet another out-of-town trip, the same thing she'd been doing since she found a lipstick stain on the collar of one of his shirts.

Taking a step toward Steve, you took the plate from his grip, dropping it gently into the soapy water. Caramel-colored eyes looked everywhere but at you, brows puckered together, as if he was preparing himself for you to blow up at him.

And god, did a part of you want to. You wanted to scoff, and huff, and tell him he was ungrateful and that you were only trying to do what even his own mother didn't have the gall to do. But you didn't. Because in that moment, King Steve sort of made sense. You couldn't — and wouldn't — defend his actions during his reign, but it definitely made a lot more sense. Steve was lonely and attention starved, and if the only people he could seek solace in were two assholes that made everyone’s lives a misery, as far as Steve was concerned, so be it.

“Okay, fine. I'll keep my mouth shut. But just know, it physically pains me to be in his presence.”

Steve sent you a small smile as you returned to washing the dishes, passing them to him one by one. A moment of silence passed between you both, only the sounds of splashing water and cutlery clinking against plates disturbing the peace.

“Thank you for tonight, by the way. Studying, and staying for dinner.” “Yeah, well, I'm not sure that jumping out of your window wasn't the better option but it's been… okay.”

“Just okay?” Steve huffed a laugh, trying to keep up the pretense of being offended, “That Chicken Pot Pie is my mother's famous recipe. She makes it all the time. All. The. Time.”

Scrunching your nose up as you fished around for any cutlery left in the soapy water, “Yeah, well… That was the highlight of my night.”

After an incredibly awkward goodbye from Mrs. Harrington — her husband had already taken his leave to his office whilst you and Steve were washing up — which included her cutting up a slice of pie for you to take home to your mother, you packed up your belongings in Steve's room before the boy drove you home.

As he pulled up toward your house, you saw the curtains twitch as the headlights dimmed, a sure sign that your mother was still awake and somewhat sober.

Grabbing your bag and the Tupperware of pie that had all but been pushed onto you, you turned toward Steve, “Thanks for the ride. And I know you don't wanna talk about it, but your dad's wrong. You don't need a college degree to prove you're someone. Not to him, and definitely not to yourself.”

Clearing his throat, Steve sent you a tight-lipped smile, waiting patiently as you made your way safely into your home. Once the door closed, Steve’s eyes screwed tight enough that he started to see multicolored swirls, his knuckles pushing against his eyelids. Releasing a long, deep sigh, Steve began his drive back home, knowing nothing good would be waiting for him.

“Who drove you home?”

Despite knowing your mother was up and waiting for you, her gruff voice caught you off-guard, your fingers gripping the Tupperware box tightly. Once you noted she didn’t seem all too angry or drunk, you shrugged off your jacket and shoes and made your way toward the small kitchen where you placed the container in the all-but-empty refrigerator.

“Just a friend. I was helping him study.”

Sitting next to your mother on the old, worn sofa, you watched as she lit a cigarette, taking a deep inhale or two before passing it toward you, “I don’t like that you’re friends with boys. Hanging out with them this late, studying… Late-night drives. I was young once, I know how teenage boys' minds work.”

Blowing out a large cloud of smoke, you shrugged and handed the cigarette back to her, “It’s not like that. Not with Steve.”

“The Harrington’s boy?” Your mother questioned, her tone slightly softer as her interest was piqued, and you could only pray that her years of struggling with sobriety had at least spared her from hearing about the boy’s reputation.

“That’s the one. I uh… his mother invited me to stay for dinner. I have leftovers for you in the kitchen.”

Scoffing, your mother stubbed out the last of the cigarette onto the small end table, licking her dry lips, “I know what that woman says about me. Let me guess, she invited you in, showered you with hot, home-cooked food and compliments before bombarding you with questions? Trying to get any crumb of information so she could go around town telling that hateful gaggle of women-”

“I didn’t tell her anything. She didn’t ask, but… I wouldn’t have told her anyway.” Watching your mother with bated breath, you watched as her eyes squinted slightly, almost as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Once her face softened, she moved forward, taking your face into her hands.

Your heart was pounding, awaiting her next move. She was unpredictable, and that’s what frightened you the most. At best, she could ignore your entire existence, and at worst… Well, you’d be turning up to work tomorrow sporting a black eye.

“That’s my girl,” She smiled, her cold, thin hand tapping the side of your face before releasing you to stand, “I have work tomorrow morning, so I’ll be taking the car.”

Once your mother closed her bedroom door, you finally released the breath that was burning your lungs from the inside out and made your way into your bedroom. Shuffling onto your stomach, you pushed your duvet out of the way as you struggled to reach the small tin under your bed, only standing up once you’d successfully retrieved it, only to be met with annoyance when you opened it and found it empty.

Chapter Sixteen: Silent Night

Winters in the Midwest could be dire. Freezing winds rattled your bones and burrowed deep inside them, leaving you to feel their effects for days on end, and cold, wet snow that you often believed you'd sink right through, ending up in the middle of the Earth.

Yet despite the frosty weather, Hawkins in the winter was often referred to as picturesque with all the charm of the Walton's Christmas movie. But you were yet to see it. To feel it.

After the accident that viciously stole your sister from your life, followed shortly by your father's sudden exit, your mother had never really bothered with the holidays again, and maybe a bare Christmas tree in the living room would've been a more painful reminder than no tree at all. Either way, you couldn't remember much about the holidays when your sister was alive, but you were more than aware that there was a version of your family before, and a version after.

But you did come close to feeling it, just one time.

When you were around 9, you had been invited to spend the day at the Holland's home, where Barbara's mother watched you both through the window as you made slightly crooked snow angels, a poor excuse of a snowman that even had a carrot for a nose and a hat and scarf lent to you by Mr. Holland, who was warming up some hot cocoa as his wife whizzed around the kitchen, warm chocolate chip cookies cooling on the side as she hummed along to her Andy William's Christmas record.

It had been a peaceful few hours, and you knew deep in your soul that this was what Christmas was supposed to be about. In the company of loved ones; singing and dancing, and enjoying the time off work and school. Freezing your bones off during a snowball fight, only to warm back up with hot drinks, and a warm bath before bed.

But it didn't last long. Despite the promise of a warm, filling meal, your mother had turned up, tugging at your arm and half dragging you back through the snow as Mrs. Holland rushed after you both with your coat in hand. Your mother would then drive back home, half-cut and full with a mixture of annoyance and nostalgia. You knew what it was now, of course, but back then, your brain couldn't begin to understand how awful a thing grief was, and what it could make people do, make them say.

Hopper had tried once, not long after he'd called an end to the relationship with your mother. But you had been sure that the man wanted nothing to do with you, despite his turning up with a poorly wrapped gift on Christmas Eve. You'd stared at him for just a moment before shutting the door in his face and leaving him to the wrath of your mother should he insist on knocking again, silently pleading that he would. That no matter how many times you slammed the door in his face, or glared at him across the wobbly kitchen table, he would fight for you.

But he didn't, and you couldn't blame him for that, just as you couldn't be blamed for your fierce loyalty toward your mother.

Eventually, however, you would always find yourself awaiting her inevitable drunken slumber, covering her with a blanket before sneaking out into the dark winter night.

The coffee in the police station tasted like dirt, but it was hot, on tap, and most importantly, free. So you'd make your way there, too worried to drive the car in case the engine managed to wake her, and like clockwork, Flo would hand you a bitter cup of coffee in a slightly chipped white mug and send you through to Hopper, who would already be boring you with some spiel about how it wasn't safe for you to be out walking in bad weather conditions.

You'd watch the snow fall from his office window as he huffed and puffed through the night, claiming he couldn't tell you about any of the 'cases' going on in town, due to their confidentiality. That barely lasted an hour, however, and soon the man would be offloading his annoyance about how Mr. Gillespie had threatened to sue Mr. Caulfield because he'd cut down some overhanging branches from his tree, the latter claiming he would have to rake his garden twice a week because of his neighbor's overgrown tree. Hopper grumbled that they would be lucky if he didn't chop the damn thing down himself.

He had moved to New York to get away from these damn small-town problems and make a difference in the world. Yet, here he was, filing paperwork about how Mrs. Gillespie — he was beginning to think their family was the bane of all his problems — wanted to sue the park for an owl that had mistaken her hair for a nest and began to attack her, which with the amount of hairspray she used, he couldn't blame the damn animal. You wondered if now Hopper missed the quiet, tedious days before Hell opened up and spat out a couple of monsters.

But the Christmas of 1984 was different.

Your mother's meal remained plated up — but by this point, stone cold — on the side and you figured if she awoke and suddenly developed some respect for herself and her taste buds, she could help herself to your still-boxed meal that you just didn't have the stomach for.

You'd returned to your bedroom, a headache gnawing at the edges of your scalp as you considered whether or not you'd be able to get away with turning down the volume of the TV as your mother slept, spread out on the lumpy couch — you did pay the electrical bill that month, after all — when a loud knock echoed through the house, causing you to leap up from your bed and rush to the front door before the perpetrator had the chance to do it again, most likely waking your mother.

Almost ripping the door off its hinges, your glare dwindled to nothing more than a cocked brow as you came face-to-face with Eleven. A thick, heavy jacket hung from her small body and you could tell from how new it looked that she had received it that morning as a gift from Hopper.

“El? What are you doing here?”

Her smile was sweet, full of childlike excitement, and you wondered if this was her first real Christmas with gifts, visitors, and carolers. Even after escaping the lab, her first Christmas in Hawkins was in hiding with Jim. Same bird, different cage. But now… She had been officially adopted by Hopper — forged adoption papers be damned — and was able to experience a real family Christmas for the first time. You couldn’t help but wonder if Hopper's gift-wrapping skills had improved, and how burned was the turkey?

El's eyes darted toward the parked vehicle out front, “Hopper and I came to collect you.”

“For what?” You questioned, dumbfounded.

“It's Christmas,” Eleven grinned, wide and winsome, as if you were a total idiot.

Your rehearsed excuse was already sitting on the edge of your tongue, and you were fully prepared to turn the girl down no matter how shiny her puppy-dog eyes were, but the words that came out of her mouth next shut you down quickly, “We're going to have a real Christmas dinner together. Hopper said that's what real families do.”

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you willed your eyes to not well up as a lump crawled its way up your throat, threatening to expose you for the sad, lonely, and unloved girl you really were. The same six-year-old girl who wept for her mother to wake up as she was starving on Christmas day. The same 9-year-old girl who had felt a glimpse of being wanted before her mother cruelly dragged her backward through the snow in her friend's front yard. The same 15-year-old who wandered through a town much more dangerous than she'd ever know, heading toward the yellow, dingy lights of the police station, toward the only person in her life who had shown her that she meant something to someone. To anyone.

Peering toward the man of the hour, you found Jim watching the scene before him with his window rolled down as he leaned out into the cold, winter air, “C'mon, Kid. Turkey ain't gonna baste itself.”

You didn't mean to slam the door in the poor girl's face, a small gasp falling from her lips that could be heard through the wooden door as you stared at it for a moment. Spinning around, you grabbed your jacket and hat from the wonky coat peg, haphazardly throwing it on before rushing toward your room, knees aching as the floorboards creaked under them as you blindly searched for the wrapped box you'd hidden under your bed a few weeks ago.

Returning to the hall, you took a few cautious steps inside the living room. Your mother remained steadfast in her drunken slumber, snoring almost drowning out the TV, and you took a moment to decide if you really could leave her, but a timid knock on the front door made your decision for you.

El's hand was raised high, but her attention was focused on a concerned-looking Hopper as you pulled the door back open. Moving past her frozen body and closing the door quietly behind you, you eventually settled on her, present under one arm as you held out your other hand to her, “The driveway gets a little slippery in the snow.”

You passed by the snow-covered trees slowly, Hopper's cautious driving surprising you for a moment as he hummed along to the radio. El had seemingly not taken a breath since the moment you'd entered the car, telling you all about her day so far, and how Hopper had bought her gifts but wouldn't let her open them until after he'd drank at least two cups of coffee. You hated to interrupt her, but you couldn't help slamming your hand on top of Hopper's seat, the man jumping as you pulled him from his bubble.

“Can we stop somewhere first? There's something I need to do.”

Hopper's tires barely kicked up any snow left on the long driveway, and you assumed it had already been shoveled for the party the family no doubt held the evening before.

The boy's room faced the pool at the back of the house, so you had no option but to knock on the large red door, trying to blink away the memories of the last time you'd done this, Barb and Nancy beside you, before everything had turned to shit. Well, shittier, you supposed.

You wondered how the Hollands were fairing this year, another year without their only daughter, who was now laid to rest in the cemetery in town. You'd have to visit them, you decided. No matter how awkward and uncomfortable it was for you, Barb's family had been there for you in times when no one else had.

For a moment, you wondered if anyone was even home. It was a large enough house that maybe they couldn't hear a simple knock from a few rooms away, but eventually, the door opened wide, another familiar memory of Steve Harrington appearing in the doorway, his eyes roaming over you with the same perplexity that it had just over a year ago. Only this time they softened much sooner, despite the confusion that still clouded them.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hi,” You swallowed, face pinching in embarrassment as you stood on the boy's doorstep awkwardly.

“Is everything okay?” His brow pinched, eyes roaming over you once more and only settling back into place when he realized you were uninjured, nodding like a damn bobbing-head doll in a car.

“Yeah, no. Everything's… It's fine. I just…” taking a deep breath, you couldn't fathom why your heart was beating so loudly in your ears. Maybe it was because of your audience, the piercing stare of both Hopper and Eleven making your face feel much too warm in the cold weather, or maybe it was the fear that Steve very well could reject your offer.

You were friends, you both knew that by this point. And friends hung out, as you often did. But Christmas was a time for family, as El had told you, and here you were, about to ask him to ditch his parents to hang out. It felt silly to be so worried about something so trivial, but you couldn't stop the pounding in your chest.

“I know you're probably busy, but, uh… I was just wondering if you had any plans tonight.”

Steve watched you for a moment as if waiting for the punch line of a joke that he would inevitably be the butt of, but as the silent seconds passed and you visibly became more self-conscious, he finally realized you were not joking.

“Oh, uh… I'm not doing anything, actually. My parents are still pretty hung over from their party last night, but… Yeah, I can do, you know… Whatever.”

A loud honk of the Chevvy caused you to startle, turning quickly to send a glare toward its owner, who continued to watch the scene in front of him, unbothered by the lack of privacy he was giving you both.

“You wanna join us at Hopper's? He's threatening everyone with food poisoning if we don't, so…”

Steve had already eaten, his parents serving Christmas dinner closer to lunchtime, but he couldn't find it in himself to refuse the invitation. Last year, he had spent his Christmas Eve at the Wheeler's residence and although he was coming to terms with the fact Nancy and Jonathan were now definitely an item, he couldn't quite shift the loneliness that he felt, a year later, laying on his bed and throwing an old baseball up toward the ceiling repeatedly in silence as his mother rested in her room, his father locking himself away in his office, claiming he had unfinished work that just couldn't wait one more day.

“I could eat,” Steve nodded, a small smile creeping onto his mouth as he watched yours do the same.

You felt as stuffed as the turkey that was sat atop the small dining table. It was a squeeze to fit you all around it, you pretty much had El sat on your lap for the majority of the meal, but as you collected the plates, you felt a warm, full sensation in your chest that you hadn't felt before, and couldn't blame on your second helping of mashed potato.

“Leave it, Kid. I'll do it before bed.”

Ignoring Hopper's protests, knowing that he damn well would not do the dishes before bed, you continued toward the small kitchen, pilling the plates on the small draining board as El joined you to scrape the leftovers into the trash can.

Hopper was already sprawled back against the armchair, legs wide and pants unbuttoned as he turned his attention to the TV in front of him, despite the volume being too low to hear much.

“Uh, thanks for letting me join tonight,” Steve cleared his throat, his back a little too straight to be at ease as he sat on the small couch.

“Wasn't my idea,” Hopper took a sip from his bottle of Coca-Cola before resting it back onto his jean-clad knee, “Kid wanted to stop by.”

Steve nodded, his eyes flitting toward where you stood scrubbing the stubborn gravy stain from the pot as El blew some remaining bubbles at you from a plate. Flicking some of the water in her direction, Hopper's attention turned toward you both when he heard the younger girl gasp lightly, her eyes wide as a smile stretched across her face.

“Hey, girls, don't start-”

Hopper's words were futile as El dipped her own hand into the sink before flicking the dirty water back at you, reveling in your hearty laugh that he wasn’t sure he’d ever really heard before.

“Not with your parents tonight?” Hopper questioned, his eyes finally settling on the boy who sat to his right.

“Uh, we hung out this morning. Dad had some work to finish up though…”

Hopper watched as the boy ran his hand through his hair, his eyes on the TV, but he could tell Steve wasn't really paying attention to the movie. He hadn't had much of an opinion on the Harrington boy before, originally passing him off as another old money, trust fund kid who rebelled against his parents until he'd eventually end up with a life just like his father's.

The irony wasn't lost on Jim as his own father — the old Chief of Police — flashed in front of his eyes, brows stern before letting out a dejected sigh so loud he was sure the whole town could hear it.

“Well, she's glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, me too…” Steve nodded, an awkward, tight-lipped smile sent the Chief's way before his eyes slowly trailed back towards where you stood next to the younger girl.

“So, since someone didn't have any ingredients to make a pie,” you began, a side eye sent Hopper's way, “El came up with the brilliant idea to make our own dessert.”

“Eggos?” Hopper sighed, rubbing his stomach. Only moments ago he was certain his stomach would burst at the mention of food, but now… Well, a sweet treat didn't sound so bad.

“Eggos,” El confirmed, perching on the sofa and taking a large bite from her first waffle.

Bringing a plate over to Hopper, he took it with a grateful smile as you returned to the small kitchen. Steve mustered the energy to push himself up, joining you only a few feet away from his previous seat, “I'll, uh… I'll help.”

“You're the guest,” you began, “and I think I can toast a couple of Eggos without burning the place down.”

Steve huffed, an amused smirk pulling at his mouth as he cocked a brow and all but snatched the box from your hands, “Just accept the help, for my sake. I think if Hopper glares at me any harder I'll be the one being set on fire.”

Leaning against the small counter, you watched as he went about heating the waffles before eventually plating them up. Standing side by side, you chewed in silence, eyes darting from the small TV to Steve every so often.

“I'm sorry for dragging you out on Christmas day just to sit and eat Eggos in a cabin in the middle of the woods, but I'm glad you're here.”

Steve stopped mid-chew, quickly swallowing the bite of waffle he'd only just shoved into his mouth, “No, no, it's uh… It's been nice, you know? I was only gonna watch some lame movie on my own anyway.”

The moment of silence that passed between you was briefly interrupted as childlike giggles from El filled the room, watching as Uncle Scrooge McDuck made amends with the Cratchit family. Your eyes softened slightly as you watched the young girl who could barely peel her eyes away from the TV set.

“Are you, uh, going to Lewensky's New Year's party?” Steve asked, his head tilting toward you slightly as he lowered his voice, all too aware of Hopper's not-too-distant presence.

The scoff fell from your lips before you'd even realized, “I'm sure my invite got lost in the mail. Plus, after last Halloween… high school parties really are not my forte.”

Steve's eyes dropped to his feet at the mention of Tina's last party, the memory of Nancy's drunken, harsh words was still a wound that was slowly scabbing over, “Yeah, yeah I get that.”

Taking a deep breath, you placed your plate into the sink and focused back on the boy who had since last year, had his life completely turned around. He'd lost more than you'd originally presumed, but because Steve had money, you had felt that no matter how bad Steve's life got, he would never have to steal for food, bundle up in every warm outfit he had just because he couldn't afford to warm the house or pick up extra jobs to keep a roof over his head. He would always have a sense of security that couldn’t be taken from him.

But Steve had lost parts of himself along the way. Some good, some bad. But looking at the sinewy boy standing next to you, you knew it was for the best. From his asshole friends who kicked him down as soon as he slipped from the top rung of the school hierarchy ladder to Nancy, the girl who had somehow stopped his straying eye and made him believe in love, despite breaking his heart along the way because she fell in love with a boy who wasn't him.

But now, Steve had gained friendships that didn't depend on what he could do for them, or how popular he was. They were no longer transactional and instead relied on how much they cared about him, and how far they were willing to go to keep each other safe. And even if you assumed it would feel like a consolation prize to the boy, Steve now had you and your unwavering loyalty, even if your friendship had originally felt like a slow-building, forced-together situation. He had saved your life multiple times now, and eventually, one day, you would both come to the realization that you had both in fact, saved each other.

“You never told me what happened at that party. Why everything seemed to go to shit after it.”

Steve's plate joined yours in the sink, and he was grateful that he'd already finished his waffles, as his stomach sank and he lost any type of appetite he'd had left, “I should, uh… I should probably get going.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you couldn't help but feel like an asshole. It had been less than two months since whatever went down with him and Nancy at Tina's party, and here you were, pick, pick, picking at his wounds because of your own curiosity. Nosiness. Inability to just let things lie. You sent the boy a strained smile which he returned before pushing himself away from the counter and toward the small living room,

“Uh, we're gonna head out. Thanks for dinner though, Chief. I had a great evening.”

Hopper's brow raised as he turned his attention toward you, then back to the boy, “It's late, I should drive you home.”

Before you left, you handed El the small gift-wrapped present, watching as her eyes lit up like the Christmas tree in downtown Hawkins. With a quick nod of reassurance from you, she began to tear off the paper, a large smile covering her face when she pulled out the cassette tapes from the old, wrapped shoe box, eyes scanning over the black and white picture of Bryan Adams. Only a handful were new, most being your old tapes, mixed tapes you'd made or been gifted by Jonathan throughout the years, hours worth of music she could discover,

“Now you don't have to listen to the old man's music.”

“Hey,” Hopper warned, despite his voice holding no real offense, “Nothing wrong with a bit of Jim Croce.”

“I'm not saying there is, unless, you know… you're a thirteen-year-old girl.”

“Right, that's enough out of you. Go get my keys.”

Once school had broken up, December always seemed to move slowly. The days blended together, and if not for work, you wouldn’t know what day it was. The arcade opened back up on the 27th and your manager was all too aware that with the children off for the holidays, at some point, the parents would get sick of them and send them out for the day, and most of them would make their way to the warm arcade. You’d managed to pick up an extra shift or two, thankful to be working with Keith and not Andy, the latter all but begging you to pick up his New Year's Eve shift. So you’d made your way to work, finishing just after 10. Keith could be an absolute pain in your ass when he wanted to be, but you couldn’t deny that he did a better job closing the arcade than Andy did, and actually did his fair share of cleaning, meaning you were able to get home quicker, especially with the boy dropping you off as the snow had started to fall once more.

Now you’d been back home for a while, you’d settled on your bed intending to read before bed, yet here you were sat staring out of your bedroom window, a book opened, but otherwise untouched as it remained perched on your lap. The snow finally settled, peaceful and undisturbed and you wished you could drown out the noise of your mother’s television show, — Happy New Year, America — the volume turned up so loud that it managed to drown out her incessant snores. You wondered if it was something she did in an attempt to drown out whatever turmoil she’d dream about, but with the amount she drank, did she even dream anymore? Or was her mind as dark and lonely at night as it was in the day?

The red lights from your alarm clock flickered, 11.32pm, and soon the town of Hawkins would ring in the New Year, the rest of America following behind shortly. People make resolutions to work harder, eat healthier, attend more aerobic classes, and only cheat on their wives with their secretaries on Tuesdays and Thursdays evenings. Promises to themselves that would be broken by the first week of February.

All you wanted was a quiet year. You didn’t need a pity party, but your life up to this point, had been difficult, to say the least. Since 1977 your resolutions have mirrored wishes. Hopes and dreams for the next year, akin to what you might’ve wished for when blowing out your birthday candles if you’d ever had a cake. A peaceful 1985, with no interdimensional monsters lurking around the corner, or curly-haired mullet-wearing Californian boys who wanted nothing but trouble. Or whatever the hell had possessed Will.

Blinking a few times, you tried to focus on the book and lifted it from your lap as if that would help, but the words were simply blurring into one big, inky mess on the page. Closing your eyes tightly, you pushed your face into the open pages of the book and let out an exasperated groan. Of course, you could’ve just gone to bed, woke up on January 1st, and continued your life as usual, but something forced you to remain awake. You needed to see this year through, right until the end, even if just to prove to yourself that you had survived it.

You couldn’t wait to see the back of 1984 and hoped the door did, in fact, hit its ass on the way out.

Releasing a long sigh, a cold shiver ran over your skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, and the unnerving feeling that you were being watched caused a thick, tense air to settle around you, leaving you almost too scared to remove the book from your face, frightened to catch a glimpse of whatever was waiting out there waiting, observing you.

At best, it would be a peeping tom, but at worst? Well, wouldn’t it just be your luck to enter the new year with the same monsters you were hoping to permanently leave behind, chasing you into 1985? If there was no rest for the wicked, you’d hate to think of what you did in a previous life, something so heinous that karma had crossed over into this one, haunting you still.

A sharp knock against the glass forced your body into movement, the book flying from your hands and into the direction of said sound as if the old, worn copy of ‘A Room of One’s Own’ that you had yet to return to the library would suffice against any kind of intruder.

But before the book could clatter to the floor, dislodging some of the pages that were already clinging on for dear life, your eyes met those honey-colored familiar ones, the boy jumping at the collision of the book, only inches from his face despite being protected by the glass that separated them.

Releasing an annoyed huff of breath from your mouth, you pushed yourself from your bed and all but stomped toward the window, cringing as it scraped and squeaked against the windowsill.

Swallowing down your embarrassment and finally feeling your heart slow down, you sent a glare to the boy, one he happily returned.

“What the hell are you doing here, Harrington?”

Scoffing, the boy’s frown deepened, “You’ve got a hell of an arm, you know that?”

“Oh please, the window was closed. I probably did more damage to my book than I would’ve to your face.”

The crease between his eyebrows smoothed out as he took you in. He’d asked Nancy about the flashlight incident of 1983 after overhearing part of your conversation whilst you comforted his ex-girlfriend in the Holland’s bathroom, being told all about your ability to throw inanimate objects into the face of your enemies. Turns out, it was a habit — or rather, a reflex — you’d be taking into the new year with you.

“What are you doing here?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve placed an arm through the window frame, trying in vain to move you aside, “I was at Mark Lewensky’s party, and it totally sucked. Can I come in? It’s freezing-”

“My mom’s home,” you told him simply, as if she wasn’t out cold, sprawled across the couch. But your mother had been very clear about boys being in her home without her knowledge. It was just a shame she didn’t care as much regarding the men she brought home.

With a cocked brow, Steve watched you for a moment before bending over to grab something on the snow under your window, eventually holding up the bottle of cheap alcohol he’d swiped from the party before taking his leave, “I brought a gift."

You considered the boy for a moment, eyes glancing toward your alarm clock, still sitting pretty on your nightstand, the red numbers almost taunting you in a way you couldn’t describe.

11.46

If you really wanted to, you could easily send the boy off, tell him to go home, or even just go sit in his car and drive around town, and he’d do it. You could crawl into bed, pull the covers up over your head, and pretend that this whole year didn’t happen. Or, you could ring in the new year with some shitty vodka warming your belly, and a friend by your side. A friend who looked just as finished with 1984 as you were.

“Just… give me a second, alright?”

Furtively, you grabbed your denim jacket, hat, and blanket from your bed before shoving on a pair of sneakers and clambering out of your window, causing Steve to fumble backward to avoid getting headbutted. Recovering quickly, Steve helped you down onto the soft snow, now sullied with the prints from his shoes.

“C’mon,” you mumbled, closing your window a little more in an attempt to keep your bedroom at least mildly warm before grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and wandering toward the back of your house where the slightly splintered trellis sat against a wall, reaching up far enough that you were able to climb onto the slight slope of your roof.

Steve, however, looked much less certain, worry evident in his quizzical eyes as they moved from you, to the trellis, and back to you,

“It’s fine, Steve. I’ve been climbing this thing since I can remember.”

Grumbling under his breath, Steve not-so-nimbly started his own ascent, arm high in the air for you to grab the bottle until he eventually settled in next to you on the blanket. It wouldn’t stop the cold snow that you’d half-scraped off the roof eventually leaking through, but it was at least a little more comfortable.

After opening the bottle and taking a long sip, Steve handed it toward you, watching as you gulped down a mouthful of the drink, face screwing up just as his own did moments ago.

“So, why’d the party suck?”

Steve accepted the bottle when you held it out to him, taking another large gulp, “It’s just not my scene anymore, you know?”

“Wow,” you huffed out a fake laugh, “never thought the day would come when the Keg King of Hawkins doesn’t want to party.”

Steve rested the bottle in his lap, fingers picking at the peeling label, “Yeah, well, you’re the one spending New Year’s alone with your face in a book. Literally.”

“And somehow, I was still having a better time than you were.” You shrugged, sending the boy an impish smile.

You both remained quiet for a moment, but you could feel the awkward tension that had settled over you back at Hopper’s before you’d left. You and your big mouth had ruined a good evening, and you couldn’t help the heavy feeling of guilt that had settled on your chest since.

“I’m sorry about Christmas, you know? Bringing up the whole Nancy thing. It’s not my business and I shouldn’t pry. And I’m sorry for bringing it up now, too. I just… I felt bad.”

Steve sighed and took another sip of the drink before handing it back to you, his eyes remaining focused on you as he took a deep breath, all too aware that you were looking anywhere but at him now. He hadn’t been avoiding you since the awkward end to Hopper’s Christmas meal. You’d been busy with work and he… Well, he had been sulking in his room alone for the most part. But he’d come to the realization at the New Year’s party that he really didn’t have that many friends, even back when he was swanning around the school like he owned the place.

And maybe, being open and honest to someone would help him move past the shit he’d dealt with this year. Maybe it could help… Maybe you could help.

“Nancy was uh… She was really suffering after losing Barb. And I knew that a part of her blamed us for what happened. Whilst she was being dragged off to… whatever that place is, we were, well, you know…”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, not bothered that he was slightly messing it up, “I just didn’t realize how much she blamed us. Blamed me. She uh, she said everything was bullshit. That our relationship was bullshit. And when I asked if she loved me…”

“She was drunk, Steve. She didn’t know what she was saying-”

“No, I uh… I asked her at school the next day. She was pissed because I didn’t pick her up that morning, and I asked her. I begged her to tell me she loved me. And she couldn’t, because she didn’t. She didn’t love me, and I don’t know if she always knew that, or just realized it then. And then I… Jesus, I went around there like a total jackass, with roses and I was gonna apologize, you know? Because, she can’t help it if she doesn’t feel that way, and I shouldn’t push her into saying it, but… She’d disappeared with Jonathan. And I don’t know what happened between them, but… I mean, they started dating right after, so, I kind of guessed then that we were over, for good this time.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, but there was no humor to it, “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“I know, but… I was an asshole to you. And even after all that… You still made sure I was okay that night. Still protected us all at the Junkyard. I just… I didn’t know you were dealing with that.”

“Well, some things are a bit more important than my shitty love life, I guess. Being torn apart by a bunch of Demo Dogs being one of them.”

You placed the bottle back in his lap, placing a hand over his once he took it, “I can’t begrudge Nance for finding happiness with Jonathan, you know? It was kind of obvious from the outside that there was something between them. But you didn’t deserve that, Steve, and I’m sure Nancy knows that, too. She deserves to be happy, but so do you. And hell, it’s not like you’ll have any trouble finding someone else to warm your bed until then. You’ll be just fine, Harrington. I’m sure of it.”

“That night… With Billy-”

Shaking your head, you stopped him before he could finish his sentence, “We don’t need to go there, really. I’d prefer it if we put it down to being drunk and stupid, or lonely and desperate… whatever. It didn’t mean anything, and I knew the kind of guy he was, I really shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“He was an asshole, and I’m sorry about the rumors about us, well... you know.”

Finally, you met his dark, honey-colored eyes, “That’s not on you to apologize for. But I am sorry if that didn’t help shit with Nancy. And for what I said to you after… About, not wanting to hang out or be your friend. You looked out for me when I really needed it, and I threw that back in your face. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Steve smiled, the warmth of your hand still lingering on his skin even after you pulled your hand back, “I mean, there is a way you could make it up to me.”

Your brows drew together almost comically fast, dropping slightly as you sent him a suspicious glare, but when you remained quiet, Steve took it as his chance to continue,

“You could help me study for my exams. I mean, I’m not expecting to do well, or anything, but… I still wanna graduate.”

“You know I usually charge for tutoring-”

“Yeah, that’s not how apologizing works though, is it?” Steve smirked, a playfulness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while.

A silence passed between the both of you as you took turns passing the bottle around, small sighs and scrunched-up faces as the drink burned your throats on its way down.

“Do you think this year's gonna be better? I mean, as in no more monsters crawling out of the Hell’s asshole that is Hawkins?”

Steve’s eyes returned to you — despite keeping yours front and center — and you could feel their laser-like focus roam over your side profile as if he would find an answer that would pacify the both of you etched on your skin.

“I think,” Steve seemed to choose his words wisely, “we’ve all been through enough shit to last us a lifetime. We’re owed at least one good year, right?”

A small bubble of laughter erupted from your chest as you finally turned toward the boy, “I think that’d be the bare fucking minimum, Steve. And those kids, you know? They deserve to just be… kids. Instead, they’re fighting against interdimensional monsters and god knows what else El and Will have been through.”

“Maybe this town’s cursed, you know?” Steve shrugged, taking another sip from the bottle.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave?” You questioned, specifying once Steve raised his brow, “Hawkins, I mean. Do you think you’ll ever get out of here?”

“Well, I don’t think I’m gonna get into any out-of-state colleges.”

“No, I mean like… forever. Do you ever just want to pack up a bag and let this shitty town swallow itself whole?”

Steve’s eyes softened as you peeked back at him, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket, “I guess. I don’t really have anything keeping me here. But… I don’t know. It pains me to say it but... I think I’d miss the little jerks too much. God knows Dustin wouldn’t survive five minutes unsupervised- Oh, hey, look-”

A fountain of light filled the sky, quickly followed by a loud crack as the fireworks spread across the sky, followed by another explosion of color.

You watched the lights as they forced colors into the night, breaking apart the dark sky before fizzling out and falling back down to Earth.

Steve called your name softly, watching as you turned your attention toward him, “Happy New Year."

Chapter Fifteen: The Pickle Theory.

News around Hawkins traveled fast, especially when said news was a released recording of the U.S. Department of Energy admitting involvement in the death and cover-up of Barbara Holland. That news, in fact, went nationwide.

'Exposure to an experimental chemical asphyxiant' had been the official cause of death on Barbara’s death certificate, and even now, as you stood at her graveside, eyes practically penetrating the expensive, white, and empty coffin, guilt still nipped at your ankles. It was a feeling you were sure would remain with you until you ended up in your own — albeit, nowhere near as fancy — coffin, the shadow of guilt lurking around every corner, always in your peripheral vision, never quite able to look it in the eyes.

The ghost of Barbara Holland would haunt the town of Hawkins forever, would haunt you forever.

Standing next to your mother, you watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, the uncontrollable sobs from Mr and Mrs. Holland, who now knew that no amount of money, and no type of professional or investigative journalist would find their daughter alive. She was dead, lost to the Upside Down forever.

Maybe believing that she had simply passed out and suffocated was the kinder, lesser of evils.

Either way, you were unable to look them in the eyes as they pulled you into a tight hug, Mr. Holland patting you awkwardly on the back as your mother — showered and relatively sober — comforted Barb’s mother, reassuring her that she too had been through the loss of a daughter, and to take it day by day. That with time it will get easier. If they needed anything, then they had her number. All of the things you’re supposed to say to someone who is burying a loved one.

Horse shit, you thought, watching them interact.

You, hell, the entirety of Hawkins knew your mother was still lost in the storm of losing a child. Of having her husband walk out. Of being condemned with a child that she wholeheartedly blamed for the death of her firstborn.

It didn’t get easier, your mother just became more inebriated.

Mr and Mrs. Wheeler had already excused themselves, the latter placing a gentle hand on Nancy’s arm as she passed. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan, downcast expressions as they spoke quietly between themselves. Steve stood a foot or so away, brows pinched together as his eyes remained on the framed picture of Barbara.

Sending a quick apology to Mr and Mrs. Holland, you made your way toward where the smaller group stood, hands in your pockets to keep the cold December chill from your fingers.

“You’re gonna tear that if you hold it any tighter,” despite your quiet mumble, the boy still flinched, eyes darting away from the picture of the redhead to meet your own, one brow now raised, “the memorial card. I don’t know what it ever did to you, but…”

“Oh,” Steve swallowed as he loosened his grip, eyes peering down at the paper, “didn’t realize.”

“Hey, we’re uh… We’re gonna head out now. Will we see you later?” Nancy questioned, her small hand on your forearm, just as her own mother had done to her.

A small huff of laughter forced its way from your chest as you shook your head, “Yeah, I don’t think so. Not really my kind of scene.”

Nancy’s forced smile matched your own as he nodded, an awkward ‘bye’ as she and Jonathan made their way toward the latter’s Ford.

“You got plans tonight or something?” Steve questioned as he shoved his free hand in his pocket.

“Uh, no. Just Nancy trying to get me to join her do-gooders club.” When Steve’s head tipped slightly to the side, you sighed and explained, “The Snow Ball is tonight. They needed volunteers but I don’t really wanna spend my evening with a bunch of middle schoolers. Plus, I have plans with Hopper. Did she manage to rope you into it?”

“Understandable,” Steve nodded, “And no. We, uh… We haven’t really spoken much since, you know…”

Whilst you and Steve had managed to keep your friendship on track the past month, the same couldn’t be said for Steve and his ex. Although Nancy didn’t explicitly tell you any information regarding herself and Jonathan and the time they spent together with Murray, it was evident that something had happened between the two, and whatever it was had put a permanent pin in her on-again, off-again relationship with Steve and even though he’d been dealing with rumors circling around the school since Tina’s Halloween party, it was obvious that Steve's feelings were still a little hurt.

“-Plus, I already have plans.”

Cocking your brow at the boy, your face remained otherwise stoic, “You have a hot date or something, Harrington?”

The boy seemed to stutter, and suddenly he found the grass under his shoes much more intriguing than he did just a moment ago before finally shrugging and repeating himself, as if you didn’t hear him the first time, “I just, uh… I have plans. You need a ride home, or…”

“Uh, no. Thanks. I drove. I’m just waiting for my Mom to finish up so I can take her to work.”

“How’s she been?”

Steve knew it was a peculiar question, and one he’d never bothered to ask before, but there had always been rumors swirling around the town of Hawkins, and he’d seen — or rather, heard — only a small portion of your mother’s drunken behavior for himself.

Your brows pinched as you watched him for a moment, almost expecting a cutting jeer to fall from his mouth as they often did with most people around town. A backhanded compliment or worse… a pitiful stare.

“She’s fine,” you shrugged, pulling down the bottom of your dress. The same dress you’d worn to Will’s fake funeral when the Upside Down was nothing more than a hypothetical, half-assed drawing on a napkin.

Steve’s mouth opened and closed, his brow furrowing as he tried to decide how to respond, but it was obvious you weren’t willing to talk about it.

“Steven, right? You’re the Harrington’s boy?”

Steve’s head turned, and a forced but nonetheless polite smile spread across his lips, one that had been enforced into him since childhood, “Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”

As he shook your mother’s hand, Steve tried to ignore the cold, yet somehow clammy skin that pressed against his, and the reason it shook despite her being wrapped in an oversized coat.

Your family had been a talking point of the town ever since your grandmother lost her mind and was sent to stay in Pennhurst in 1958 before eventually being let out only to end her own life a few years later. He’d heard his mother gossip about it with her book club, joking about taking bets on when your mother would finally lose it, and if that had contributed to your father’s leaving. Although he had empathy for your mother and was trying hard to become a better version of himself, something about the way your mother gripped your bicep once she'd released his hand made him bite the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t a protective grip, it was possessive.

“It was nice to meet you, Steven” your mother quickly turned her attention toward you, “but we should get going.”

You nodded, and sent Steve a tight-lipped smile as you began to escort your mother toward the car, “Enjoy your date, Steve.”

Although your mother was at work this evening, you remained silent as you tiptoed into her bedroom, as if she would pop out at any moment and catch you red-handed.

It wasn’t often that you entered your mother's room, typically only sneaking in to borrow a piece of clothing that she wouldn’t notice or to put the laundry away. But this was an emergency.

You’d visited El — who was now legally, kind of, adopted by Hopper — after she’d called you through the radio. She wanted to talk all things Snow Ball and for some reason, she assumed you’d have all the answers.

You’d told her what you knew, but couldn’t help feeling a little rejected when you mentioned that you hadn’t actually attended any of your middle school dances, and watched the way her face fell. Changing the subject, you’d asked her what she was wearing, and she mumbled that Hopper offered to take her shopping for a dress, and although you loved Hopper, you didn’t trust his fashion choices for a teenage girl.

So here you were, carefully searching through what was maybe the only pristine thing left in this house. A simple cardboard box that housed the memories of your sister, the only place they were allowed to stay. Every picture of your sister, any real proof that she was a living, breathing person and not just a figment of your imagination lay in this one box.

Taking a deep breath, you took a moment to calm yourself, your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest, ribs be damned. Unpeeling the barely sticky packing tape and gently folding back the flaps of the box, your nose wrinkled subconsciously as the musty smell of dust clouded your senses for a moment.

There, laying atop some folded clothes and items of your sisters, sat a framed photo. Your sister’s first school photo of middle school, and ultimately, her last.

Familiar eyes peered back at you, a smile so bright that it could’ve lit the world on fire if your sister had so wished it. She was like sunshine; bright and soft and warm, the saccharine to your acerbic. And when she died, she left your family with nothing but the frigid chill of your moonlight, never quite enough to defrost your mother's icy heart or to make your father stay.

You allowed your eyes to run over the picture once more before moving it to the side, pulling up the edges of the few fabric pieces that were folded neatly in the box until you found the familiar blue dress, tiny pink dots sewn onto the fabric and a matching belt loosely tied around the waist still as if it’s owner would eventually come back to claim it.

Replacing everything back the way it was — sans the dress — you pushed the box back into your mother’s closet before rushing back to your room, the door shutting with a slight slam.

Gently laying the dress over your bed, you grabbed a near-empty body mist from your desk, spraying the ‘Love’s Baby Soft’ that you'd received last Christmas over the blue dress, hoping it would cover any lingering smells that made it a little too obvious that it had been hidden away for years.

In fact, the last time you saw this dress was the evening of what would’ve been your very first Snow Ball, when your mother was trying to mangle your tiny body into it.

You were 12, and she was drunk as always, deciding that the only way you would go to the dance, was if you wore your dead sister’s dress. You screamed, and she shouted, fighting against her and the fabric that she had half pulled over your head, the thin, pink-rimmed collar almost choking you as you wrestled against her cruel hands.

Eventually, she gave up, her vision too blurred to follow you as you ran from the room, from the house… from her.

And since then, you’d had no interest in school dances.

Staring down at the fabric that linked to so many different and conflicting emotions, you chewed on your bottom lip for just a moment before moving toward your desk, hands fumbling as you moved items out of your way, eventually grabbing a blue hair clip.

Releasing a long sigh, you swallowed down any incertitude and packed the dress and the clip, into your backpack, slamming the front door behind you before grabbing your bike, and heading to Hopper’s cabin.

“I still don’t like it,” Hopper sighed, the same glare on his face that had been there since Eleven walked sauntered out of her bedroom, “You should’ve checked with me first.”

Rolling your eyes, you unbuckled your seatbelt and sent him a glare of your own, “It’s a tiny bit of make-up, Hop. You can barely even see it. But you like it, right El?”

The younger girl nodded, eyes darting across the middle school's parking lot as she tried to find a familiar face in the loitering kids that mingled about outside.

“Hey,” turning in the passenger’s seat of Hopper’s Chevrolet, you caught the girl’s attention, noting her bouncing leg, “You gonna sit out here all night, or head in, have fun, and dance the night away?”

“You want me to walk you in?” Hopper asked, his own seatbelt already unbuckled as he began to open the door, only stopping when your hand fell to his forearm.

“I’ll take her,” you told the man, lips forced into a tight smile as he watched you for a moment, only to sigh and nod.

Leaning out of his window, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth already, Hopper called out, “I’ll pick you up at 10, sharp.”

“Got your ticket?” You asked, stopping outside the door as El turned toward you, the crumpled paper gripped in her clammy palm, “Hey, you're gonna have a great time, alright?.”

You rubbed your hands on her shoulders reassuringly before patting down her dress. Your chest somehow felt lighter, and a little heavier at seeing it again.

“I don't know how to dance,” the girl blurted out, brown eyes full of fear as if she'd only just realized, “You said I would have fun dancing. But I don't know how to dance.”

Despite her sudden desperate outburst, you couldn't contain the laughter that escaped you, “Please, I don't think Mike Wheeler of all people is gonna be a ballroom genius either.”

When El's frown remained, the only change in her was the soft pink blush over her cheeks, you let out a deep sigh, bending slightly to look her in the eyes,

“Don't overthink this, okay? You don't have to impress anyone. You don't have to prove yourself. Dance, don't dance… It doesn't matter. Do whatever you wanna do.”

A sweet smile graced her features before El pulled you in close for a hug. Squeezing her back, you fluffed her hair one last time before sending her on her way, “C'mon, you don't wanna spend the whole night out here talking to me. Go, have fun.”

You watched as she pushed through the large doors, holding out her ticket for Mr. Clarke who was manning the welcome table, only turning once to send you a quick wave, but you could tell by the amazement on her face that she had never witnessed a night like this.

Folding your arms over your chest, you watched her for a moment longer until she was fully out of sight.

"Thought you didn’t wanna spend your evening with a bunch of kids?"

The familiar voice made you swivel around quickly, eyes wide in confusion, “I know most of your friends are like, middle schoolers now, but it's kinda lame to turn up to their end-of-year dance. Newsflash, Harrington: you won't win Winter King.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve leaned over the passenger seat a little more, his now removed seatbelt allowing him to almost pop his head out of the window, “Very funny. Who are you to talk, anyway? You literally have no other friends.”

Scoffing, you feigned a glare, “Thought you said you had a hot date tonight?”

“You assumed I had a hot date. I just said I had plans.”

“And your plans were…”

“I promised Henderson a ride.”

Nodding, you checked over your shoulder just to make sure Eleven had entered the building. Although you could no longer see Eleven, you could see the familiar smile of Nancy, standing not too far from the entrance doors pouring what you assumed were cups of punch. When you returned your attention to the boy still idling in his car, you realized Steve too was watching her, “You still giving him bad advice?”

“Hey, don’t fix what ain’t broke.” Steve smiled as his eyes returned to you, but it felt a little too forced.

“I’m not sure Laurie would feel that way. Or Becky, or Amy, or-”

“Yeah, okay. Got it, thanks.” Sending you an exasperated look, Steve let out a long sigh before leaning a little further over the passenger seat, “You uh… You got plans for the rest of the evening? I said I’d drop off some of the kids after but… I’m free ‘til 10 if you wanna go get something to eat, or… whatever?”

Your face remained stoic, bar one brow raising up, “You’re not gonna drive me to the middle of nowhere and murder me, are you Harrington?”

“God, you’re so dramatic. Just… Get it. Or don’t. Whatever.”

Despite your best efforts, a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, causing you to bite your bottom lip, “Let me go tell Hop. He’s waiting for me.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. I’ll uh, I’ll wait here, I guess…”

“Harrington?” Hopper questioned, the half-smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth as his stare turned toward Joyce.

“Yes, Hopper. Harrington. What about it?”

“And you’re just, what? Getting food? Going for a drive? I didn’t even realize you two were... friendly.”

Squeezing your eyes closed for a moment, you released a mumbled groan, “Yeah well, fighting two interdimensional demons from Hell kind of forces a bond, you know? Look, I wasn’t asking for your permission, Hop. I was just letting you know that I’ll pick my bike up tomorrow.”

Hopper’s frown deepened, his eyes seeming much darker against the night sky as you two stood in a silent standoff. Joyce’s elbow knocked into him, and the man offered out the cigarette to her, cringing slightly as she sent him a look that you couldn’t quite decode. They peered at each other a moment longer before Jim finally turned his attention back to you,

“I’ll uh, I’ll drop it at yours on my way back through. Just… Be careful, okay?”

“Thanks, will do. Night, Joyce.” You sent the woman a polite wave as you made your way back over toward the burgundy beamer, unaware of the mumbled conversation and prying eyes from the two adults behind you.

Steve almost jumped from his seat when you practically wrenched the handle from his door, gracelessly bundling yourself into the passenger seat and warming your hands on the heater as quickly as you could, his hands fumbling on the radio volume, knocking it up a little too high in his unnerved state.

Quickly lowering it back down, Steve sent you a silent glare as he started the engine, only to be met with a shit-eating grin.

Since Benny’s had closed down, The Hideaway remained one of the only places in town that served burgers. Enzo’s was way too upmarket for a greasy burger, and Steve wasn’t prepared to drive out of town just to eat, so instead he grabbed his now usual order from the Hideaway, your milkshakes, and a to-go bag with both of your burgers in — and a side portion of judgment and disgust when you ordered extra pickle in yours — and handed you the bag to rest on your legs as he started the car back up,

“We’re not just eating in the parking lot?”

“No food in the car,” Steve’s voice was monotonous, as if he’d heard, or said, the same sentence a thousand times before, “Henderson will smell it a mile away if we so much as open the bag. And then he’ll bitch about it and demand that I drive him to get his own. Which he’ll expect me to pay for.”

As Steve continued along Mulberry, you could barely keep the amused smirk from your face, “You always let a thirteen-year-old dictate your life?”

Scoffing, Steve took a sharp turn, your grip on the brown paper bag tightening just in case you lost your dinner before you were able to eat it.

“You’ve met the kid. No isn’t in his vocabulary.”

“Thirteen, Steve” you reiterated, “I’m sure even you have half a chance of winning against him in a fight.”

“Half?” He choked out, eyes darting from his windshield to you, and back again, “Please. I could kick that little twerp's ass if I wanted to.”

Scrunching your nose, you sent him an unsure glance, “I don’t know. The kid seems kinda… scrappy, you know? Like, his fighting tactics definitely include biting. Especially now he's got teeth.”

Steve hesitated for a minute, his lips pursed together as he considered your words, “I mean, yeah. I could totally see it.“

The rumble of Steve’s engine died down, turning off completely as he unbuckled his seatbelt and all but ripped the bag from your hands, exiting his car and making his way toward the trunk. Once seated, Steve pulled open the bag, waiting to hand you your own burger and shake as he watched you all but clamber onto the back of his car.

Unwrapping your burger and taking a bite, you finally took in your surroundings, a frown settling on your forehead, “Steve, did you bring me to Lover’s Lake?”

Almost choking on his too-big of a bite of burger, he scrambled for his milkshake, finally sending you a glare when he’d managed to dislodge the patty from his throat, “Oh my god. Not for that reason. Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s just quiet up here, you know? Pretty at night, too. I come out here sometimes to clear my head.”

“Just know that Hopper taught me three different ways to rupture a testicle-”

“Jesus, I’m not… That wasn’t my intention, alright? So please, for the love of god, leave my testicles alone,” Steve cringed, his legs instinctively shuffling closer together, “Plus my spot is Skull Rock. I kind of invented it, you know?”

Taking a sip of your milkshake, you sent him a dubious glance, “You invented a rock?”

“No, obviously not. But I, you know… It’s a popular make-out spot because I made it popular.”

“Wow, what a legacy.”

After rolling up the paper his burger had been wrapped in and throwing it back into the bag Steve cleared his throat as he looked up to the night sky. It was a relatively clear night, allowing the stars to shimmer brightly against the dark sky,

“You remember the 1979 Snowball?” When you remained silent, Steve continued, “Missy Goldstein drank way too much punch and threw up all over like, half the dance floor.”

A small chuckle escaped your chest, imagining the poor girl — hair in bunches and a nose that seemed to always be blocked — and the embarrassment she must’ve felt that night. You weren’t even there, but you’d heard the giggling about it even after the winter break.

“Oh my god, do you remember-”

“Steve, I’ve never been to a school dance, so no I don’t remember anything.”

The boy’s face scrunched slightly as if he was trying to wrack his brain for an image of you at any of the school dances, but you knew no matter how hard he’d try, the boy didn’t even know of your existence two years ago. As if he’d also come to this conclusion, Steve’s face returned to a more neutral expression,

“Not your kind of scene?”

You felt your shoulders tense slightly as you shrugged them, “I mean, I only really had two friends. Barb always went away to her grandparents over the holidays, and Jonathan wasn’t really the biggest fan of dances. At least, I guess, he wasn’t.”

Steve nodded, his face falling slightly at the mention of the boy and how quickly Jonathan was willing to change his habits for Nancy. Steve thought about how he’d originally signed up with Nancy back in mid-October to volunteer at the Snowball, and how he’d willingly offered to sacrifice his evening to hang up middle school kids' jackets and coats and listen to Madonna on repeat just to spend a little more time with the girl.

The quiet sounds that trickled out of the open front doors of Steve’s car caught his attention, the familiar lyrics of Madonna's ‘Holiday’ playing from his radio already half-way through by the time he'd pushed himself from the trunk of his car and made his way around to the front, turning the volume up.

As he made his way back, your eyes darted between his own and the outstretched hand awaiting yours. When you didn't move he rolled his eyes, “Get your ass off the car and dance with me.”

In stunned silence, you allowed Steve to lead you toward the front of the car, headlights dimmed but still on as you watched him move, imagining his lanky pre-teen limbs doing the same dance movements, albeit probably a little more awkwardly back then, “Oh my god, I… No. I'm not doing this-”

You could barely step back toward the car before he grabbed your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him as he waved your limp arm around in the air, “C'mon, don't be a party pooper. Dance with me! Holiday, celebrate!”

Despite the secondhand embarrassment that flooded your veins, you couldn't hold in the laugh that crawled up your throat, listening to him sing with a spirited fervor you'd never witnessed from the boy before.

Passionate enough, that after animatedly rolling your eyes, you finally gave in to his ridiculousness, your embarrassment still evident in your timid moves, but you were moving nonetheless.

As the song began to die out, you could barely keep your laughter in. Steve had spun you, shook you, and yanked at your arms until you were moving on your own accord.

By the time the next song began to play — Lionel Ritchie's ‘Stuck On You’ crooning through the open doors of Steve's car — you were both out of breath, your hand still held in his loose grip.

Feeling his thumb graze the back of your hand before his grip eventually tightened, he pulled you toward him almost bashfully, close enough that you could smell the familiar remnants of fabric softener.

Never in a million different lifetimes would you predict this to happen tonight.

“You okay?” His voice was soft, barely audible over the sound of Lionel as he sang about leaving on a midnight train, but somehow still made you jolt slightly, cringing when you felt his shoe underneath your own.

“Uh, yeah. Fine. I'm… I'm fine. Just not really used to… this kind of dancing, I guess.”

Your eyes screwed shut at the wobble in your voice. God, you were so embarrassed. Yet here he was — Steve Harrington with all of his charm — and suddenly you had no doubt as to why he'd won homecoming king, or how he’d won the attention of the girls of Hawkins High.

“It's my favorite kind,” the vulnerability was so evident in his voice that you were surprised he didn't shove you away and make a dash for his car, leaving you behind.

“Somehow, I can't imagine King Steve slow dancing at prom like this.”

You didn't even need to explain, because although his fingers gently gripped your waist and your hands rested over his shoulders, they were the only parts of you that were touching, “Gotta leave room for Jesus, right?”

Trying to cover up your laugh with a cough you shook your head, finally staring into his coffee-colored eyes, “Didn’t take you for the God-fearing type. You're a whole new man, Harrington. Who'd have thought?”

Pulling back slightly, Steve watched you closely, his soft eyes glancing over your features as though he was mapping them into his memory. Apparently, he wasn't too upset with his personality change. Before he could speak, the radio host cut in, his voice all too peppy for your liking as he announced the time.

“We, uh… We have to go get the kids.” You moved away from the boy’s embrace, trying — but failing — to stop staring at his soft, winsome smile before stepping back toward the trunk of the car, grabbing the brown bag now full of empty paper and cups and throwing it into the foot well of the passenger seat.

“Maybe a little tardiness will help Henderson be more grateful about all the free rides he's getting.”

Laughter fell from your lips as you buckled yourself in, “Possibly. But do you really wanna deal with an annoyed Max?”

“She can't be much worse than you, can she?” Smirking despite his words, you gave him a half-hearted swipe on the arm.

It turns out, Max wouldn't be the issue.

She stood happily chatting with the group, the icy tension between herself and El finally seeming to thaw, partially thanks to the way Max's eyes would consistently flicker toward Lucas who looked more like a lovesick puppy as time went on.

Dustin, however, furrowed his brows the moment Steve's beamer came into view. Steve had agreed to drop back any of the kids who needed a lift, but between Hopper and Joyce it was barely necessary, and only Dustin and Max made their way to the car.

“Took you long enough,” the boy heaved himself into the car, leaving the door open for Max to climb in after as she made her slow departure from the group.

“Please, you've barely been waiting five minutes-”

“Hairs looking great, Dustin,” you interrupted, hoping to stem their inevitable argument in its tracks.

“Between you and Harrington, I think we have the world's supply of hairspray in one car-” Max joked, her cheeks slightly flushed.

Cutting her off, you caught Dustin's side-eye from the door mirror, “If it's so unbearable, why didn't you get a lift home with Lucas?”

“Hey, man, not cool-”

“-Henderson.”

The car remained silent for a moment before the boy finally sighed out an apology that Max begrudgingly accepted, her sapphire eyes glued on the window though clearly not paying much attention to the passing neighborhoods, any sense of joy she’d had getting in the car now completely diminished.

Pulling up outside 4819 Old Cherry Lane, you all turned toward the house when Max let out a frustrated huff, noticing the light on in the lounge. As Max clambered out of the car, a quick thank you on her tongue, the front door opened revealing Billy, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a puff of smoke surrounding him as he stared out toward the car, barely dodging Max's body as she prepared to shoulder past him.

“God, what is his deal?” Steve asked, his voice low as his dark eyes darted between you and the boy who continued to peer into the car.

Tearing your eyes away from Billy, you shook your head, “Hell if I know.”

Steve stared down Billy for just a moment longer before pulling away and heading towards the Henderson household.

“So,” Steve began, thumbs casually tapping the steering wheel, “the whole outburst earlier? Not okay, dude.”

“I know, I just…” Dustin's face fell as he tried to find the right words, “It didn't go exactly as planned. I mean, I treated her mean, and it definitely didn't keep her keen.”

Whacking Steve's upper arm, the boy hissing dramatically at you as if it had hurt, you turned in your seat to face Dustin, “Your first mistake was listening to Harrington.”

Blinking a few times, the boy remained quiet, causing you to huff and turn back around, ignoring Steve glancing toward you every now and then, “Plus, the prehistoric and misogynistic notion that treating people you like badly is normal, is stupid. It's not gonna make them like you back.”

“Like… Like pulling a girl's hair in the playground?” Dustin asked, the clogs in his brain finally starting back up.

“Pull my hair in the playground, and I'll punch you in the throat. But… yeah. Just like that. Or, you know, acting like you don't care.”

The latter of your sentence was aimed at Steve, along with a sharp glare. He at least had the decency to look ashamed, “Look, I'm sorry Henderson-”

“No, no… It's fine,” Dustin waved off his apology, “Turns out she already likes someone else anyway, so I never really had a chance.”

Your brow furrowed, eyes softening at the boy's words, “Look, Dustin. I know it totally sucks right now, but you'll meet someone. And I'm sure they'll be totally psyched about whatever interdimensional creature you show her.”

“I guess…” Dustin was quiet for a moment, eyes staring out of the window to his left before they met Steve’s in the rearview mirror, this time accompanied by a deep glare, “Did you guys get burgers without me?”

The drive to Dustin’s house passed by in silence. Mrs. Henderson’s downstairs light was off, but you could see the light from her television set casting the room in a soft glow.

“Can you walk me to the door?”

Steve’s face pinched, a mixture of annoyance and confusion flashed across his once soft features, “Uh, no-”

“Not you,” the boy stressed as if he were offended before peering around the console to see you a little better, “you.”

Your brows were in your hairline as you unbuckled the seatbelt, Steve’s frown only deepening, “Henderson, it’s literally right-”

“-Thanks for the ride, Steve.”

You trailed after the boy, confusion still etched on your face but Dustin didn’t give you a moment to question his ulterior motive, “So you and Harrington hung out tonight?”

Blinking a few times, as if that would help you understand the underlying tone in his voice, you kept your eyes to the ground, watching your shoes as they led you up the familiar path, “Uh, yeah. I dropped El to the dance so we had time to waste.”

“Together.”

Rolling your eyes your hand shot out, gently halting his movements as you grasped his elbow, “Seriously, Dustin. Whatever it is, just spit it out.”

Biting his bottom lip as he took the time to inhale — and exhale — deeply, his eyes shot toward the maroon beamer, noting Steve’s curious gaze on you both, “I just… Everyone knows what Steve’s reputation with the ladies is like, and Nancy only broke it off with him like, barely two months ago, and I know she’s with Jonathan now, but-”

“Dustin,”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, alright? And I don’t want him to get hurt either.”

You remained quiet for a moment, but your eyes softened as you looked down at the boy, “Dustin… It’s sweet that you’re concerned for me, and for Steve. But we’re just hanging out as friends, alright?”

When he cocked a brow at you, you couldn’t help but hold in the small huff of laughter that escaped you, “Seriously. Nothing is going on here.”

“I just… I like when we all hang out, and I definitely like the free rides he gives us to the arcade. And I just… I don’t want anything to mess it up, or anyone,” he sighed, sending a pointed look toward the car.

Turning, it was clear Steve was trying his best to lip-read one-half of your conversation, and you were certain if you stayed out here any longer he’d be hanging out of the car in an attempt to satiate his inquisitiveness.

“C’mon, Dustin. We’ve all seen the girls he’s dated before. I mean, Nancy Wheeler? I’m definitely not his type."

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short-”

You, at least, realized this wasn’t a conversation you intended to have with a thirteen-year-old and cut him off quickly, waving a hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah. Keep your pep talk for another time. If you stay out here any longer either your mom or Steve is gonna have an aneurysm.”

Dustin pulled you into a tight hug, one you couldn’t help but reciprocate before bidding you goodnight.

All but falling back into the BMW, Steve was already questioning you before you’d even shut the door, “God, he really chewed you out over those burgers, huh?”

Trying to glance at him as inconspicuously as possible as you buckled up, you watched as the lights from passing vehicles danced across his features, the soft glow causing his honey eyes to appear hazel, “Yeah, he uh… He definitely had some opinions to share.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve sighed, “God, he really needs to tone down the dramatics.”

Ten minutes ago, you would’ve laughed. Told him that he had some audacity to call anyone else dramatic. But ten minutes ago, Dustin hadn’t questioned you over your blossoming friendship. Ten minutes ago, he hadn’t practically called you a rebound for Nancy. Hell, a rebound for Tommy and Carol, too.

It stung to think that there was a high possibility that Steve was only hanging out with you because he’d ditched — or been ditched by, once Billy Hargrove had come to town — his friends. Jesus, a little over a year ago he would barely blink at your existence, and you were fine with that. King Steve and his group of followers weren’t people you wanted in your life. You didn’t want to be his friend back then, either.

So, why now, did he suddenly want to be yours?

“I can see the smoke coming from your ears.”

“Hmm?”

Releasing a small laugh, he pulled up outside your house, the once peaceful silence of the car now feeling suffocating.

“Your brains working overtime. What’s got you frying your mind?”

Sending him a tight-lipped smile, you shrugged, “Nothing, it’s… It’s nothing. Thank you for tonight, Steve.”

Chapter Fourteen: Light 'Em Up

The tires of the blue Camero groaned in discontent, screeching as the car finally came to a stop with half of Merrill’s pumpkin sign still attached to it.

Steve had progressively become more awake, and also more panicked during the ride, and despite the pain you’d be in any time you had to brace during Max’s overzealous drive, you couldn’t deny the fact that had any of the boys driven, you probably wouldn’t have made it out of the Byers’ driveway.

“Told you. Zoomer.” Max told them proudly before pushing open her door and allowing Mike to climb out, followed by Dustin as you and Steve were left to clamber — or in Steve’s case, fall — out of the too-small backseats.

You made your way around to the trunk, grabbing goggles as the kids tied their bandannas around their faces. You didn’t have much time to look for real supplies, and you just prayed that what you had would suffice.

Either way, it would have to do.

Steve groaned as he pulled himself up from the floor where he’d all but rolled to, his face beaten and swollen slightly as he stumbled for a moment whilst he tried to get his bearings.

“No… Guys. Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He questioned Mike as the younger boy strolled right past him, can of gasoline in hand, “What are you, deaf? Hello? We are not going down there right now. I made myself clear. There is no chance we’re going to the hole, all right?”

You passed Steve, too focused on the task at hand to bother yourself with his dramatics, and instead handed Mike a rope as the older boy continued to emphasize his argument. Walking back around to the trunk to grab your own gear, Steve’s hand shot out, the boy stumbling a little as he held on to you.

“This ends now!”

Shrugging his hand off, you sent him a sharp glare whilst Dustin finally responded, “Steve, you’re upset, I get it. But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance.”

Dustin stormed off, making his way toward the group as they began to lower items into the hole whilst Steve stood — still a little dazed — and inhaled deeply. You could tell he was frustrated, but at least he wasn’t yelling about it anymore.

“He’s not wrong.”

“You too? I thought we were on the same side here.” Steve sighed, his tired eyes roaming over your face. The boy had perfected the kicked puppy dog look.

Biting your bottom lip, you moved closer to the boy and placed your hand on his arm that was leaning against the open car door, “We are on the same side, okay? Look, these kids are gonna go down there whether we go with them or not. If you need to stay up here, that’s fine. I get it. But I’m not letting them go down there alone, especially not with those things running around.”

Steve sighed, tightly squeezing his eyes closed, “We said we’d keep them safe…”

Your hand moved from Steve’s forearm, hovering over his bruised knuckles for just a second before gently squeezing his hand, causing the boy’s eyes to pop open almost comically, “So let's keep them safe. You got this, Steve. We got this.”

Your left hand grabbed a backpack from the trunk containing a bandanna, goggles and Steve’s trusty nailed bat. You held it out to him with bated breath, waiting for his decision. After the relentless attack from Billy, you wouldn’t blame him if he decided he needed a time-out. Your own head was throbbing, you couldn’t begin to imagine how his felt.

Nor could you ignore the relief that flooded your bones when he took the bag from you, a simple nod from the boy before you began to pull on your own gear.

In usual Steve fashion, the boy demanded he go first into the hole to check it out and make sure there wasn’t a pack of hungry Demo-dogs waiting underneath for you all to drop directly into their open mouths.

“Holy shit,” Steve gazed around the tunnel as the rest of you dropped down, Mike pulling out a map before setting off in the direction he believed would lead you all to the hive mind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey. I don’t think so. Any of you little shits die down here, we’re getting the blame. Got it, dipshit?” Steve grumbled, pushing past Mike, “From here on out, I’m leading the way. Come on, let's go.”

You all began to follow him, no questions asked as Steve led the group and you brought up the rear. By the time you were deep enough into the tunnels, you were ready to throw your flashlight at him. A little hustle this, and c’mon, pick up the pace that.

You’d almost forgotten that he was captain of both the basketball team and the swim team and was more than comfortable ordering people around.

Vines wrapped their way along the long floors, keeping you conscious of where you were stepping, as if they might leap out at you any second and dangle you upside down, and the particles of something floating in the air made you cautious that maybe the bandannas you all wore were not enough to keep your respiratory system safe and working.

You felt like your head was turning every few seconds, paranoia from the Demo-dogs, as well as uncharted tunnels, making you feel on edge and Dustin’s sudden screaming really didn’t discourage that.

Rushing toward the boy as he fell to the ground, his shouts desperate enough to rattle your bones, you grabbed at him as he flinched away, unaware of your presence until you managed to get him to look at you, the boy calling for his friends as the group quickly returned.

Slipping from your grasp as he continued to flail about, the group surrounded him, “What happened?”

“It’s in my mouth! Some got in my mouth! Shit!”

He began to hack up a cough as you pulled down your bandanna, trying to catch Dustin’s attention as you called his name, pulling his face into your hands, all but forcing the boy to look up at you,

“Dustin, relax!”

Gulping in a large breath of air, the boy finally settled, his blue eyes peering into yours, “I’m okay…”

“You serious?”

“Very funny, man. Nice. Very nice.”

The group continued on, murmuring under their breath as you helped pick the boy back up, a possibly too-hard whack to the back of his cap to send him on his way after you pulled up your own bandanna once more.

This was going to be a long night.

“Alright, Wheeler,” Steve sighed, flashlight pointed at the crossroad of tunnels surrounding you, “I think we found your hub.”

“Let’s drench it.”

And so you got to work, covering the walls and surrounding tunnel entrances in gasoline. Turning toward Steve, who was busy pouring out his own canister, you pulled your bandanna down once more,

“Are you sure you won’t, like… light up like a Christmas tree?”

Steve’s brow cocked, the only hint that he was silently questioning you.

“You know, with all that hairspray, are you sure you’re not flammable?”

Despite not being able to see his facial features, you felt it in your soul when Steve was glaring at you, causing a smirk to pull one side of your mouth upward.

“Ha ha, very funny,” the boy’s monotonous tone only caused your smile to broaden as he moved closer toward you, the tips of his sneakers knocking your own slightly as he reached forward with his free hand, rubber glove gently gripping the bandanna that now loosely hung around your neck and pulling it back over your nose, “And stop pulling this down. We don’t know what’s floating around down here.”

Rolling your eyes, you secured the cloth a little tighter around your face and wondered how ridiculous you all looked.

“You guys ready?” Steve asked once you were all standing at the entrance to the tunnel you came from.

“Light her up,” Dustin confirmed as Steve pulled out his lighter.

You felt his dark eyes peering up at you from where he knelt on the floor, “We are in such deep shit.”

You placed a hand over Max’s shoulder, pushing the girl in front of you as the tunnels lit up, an unbearable and unforgiving heat beating across your face as you watched the vines along the floor begin to dance along the embers. Everything really was connected, and you could only hope this didn’t hurt Will more than it had to.

“C’mon, go!” Steve pulled you along by the wrist, only letting go once he was certain your feet would follow, as he pushed his way to lead the group once more, “This way!”

Unfortunately for you, you were running just behind Mike when he took a tumble — a thick vine wrapping around his ankle and slowly dragging him across the floor — causing you to trip right over him, your own ankle rolling under your weight as you failed to catch yourself on the sharp walls of the tunnel.

Mike’s screaming caught the attention of the group as you tried to drag yourself toward the thick vine, unable to untangle it as it fought against you, only tightening its grip on the boy. Despite struggling to pull off your backpack, you finally managed to pull the ax that you were yet to return to Mrs. Byers and hobbled to your feet, balancing on your one good foot as you swung at the vine, cursing as you lost your balance and tumbled toward the wall.

A shrill screech seemed to emit from the vines as they curled up, releasing the boy's ankle as Steve’s bat connected with it once, twice, three times.

Lucas and Dustin pulled Mike up, a tight grip on their friend as they checked him over whilst Steve turned to you, eyes wide even under his goggles as he looked from your face to your ankle, and back again, noting your flamingo-like posture,

“You good?”

Before you could respond, a growl from behind the group stopped you all in your tracks.

A Demo-dog stood on all fours, large mouth opening, and closing as it continued its inhuman noises. Dustin watched for a moment, head cocked slightly to the right.

“Dart.”

When the monster didn’t immediately attack, seemingly checking out the boy in front of him — friend or foe? Possibly even snack — Dustin stepped forward, despite everyone pleading for him to stay where he was.

“Shh, stop. Trust me, please.”

Dustin remained eerily calm as he slowly approached the dog, the monster taking a few cautionary steps closer too, meeting him near the middle of the tunnel.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s your friend, it’s Dustin,” the boy pulled down his bandanna before lifting his goggles in hopes the monster would recognize him, “It’s Dustin, all right? You remember me? Will you let us pass?”