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A sound, just barely a hum, vibrates in your throat as you stir. For a moment, you’re confused as your mind struggles to comprehend anything at this hour. It only takes another second for you to recognize that you’re at Steve’s, and then another for you to feel his skin on yours.
His hand is splayed out across your ribs, almost like he was halfway through pulling you closer before his eyelids dropped. As for Steve, his position matches yours, laying on his stomach beside you; one of his legs is pressed up against yours.
The morning sun streams in behind the curtains, a few beams of light peeking through as you come to, squinting your eyes to adjust to the brightness. It bathes the room in such a beautiful glow as it bounces off of furniture and onto the pair of you. As you continue to stir, muscles shaking as you stretch, you turn in Steve’s hold and are met with the sweetest sight.
His face is barely visible from beneath the mop of bed head; from what you can see, his skin is flushed and warm from deep sleep, leaving his face dusted red and squished against the pillow. His breathing is slow as his eyelashes flutter for just a moment — you wonder what he’s dreaming about.
Your body is already scooting forwards to Steve. As peaceful and simply divine as he looks when he’s asleep, you can’t go another second without being fully wrapped up in the arms of your new roommate. Just the thought makes your chest and stomach pool with warmth.
Your fingers appear from under the blankets to gently thread through his hair; you push back all the strands that fell out of place in the night, exposing the rest of his face to the morning glow. The second your hand is on him, Steve’s stirring — a deep breath tells you as much, chest rising and falling as your touch wakes him up. When you skim your fingernails across the skin of his scalp, you earn a low groan from his throat, his hold on you tightening.
God, he missed you.
You watch adoringly as Steve peeks his eyes open, peering at you through his eyelashes as if he doesn’t quite believe you’re here. The half-hearted squeeze on your waist speaks of his tiredness and you think for just a moment that he may close his eyes and drift back to sleep. He doesn’t.
Instead, the pair of you relish the time to gaze lovingly, both your eyes soaking up the details of the morning. It almost hurts how captivating he looks. The stripe of sunlight that brightens the whole room kisses his skin, tan and warm under your touch — his eyes lighter, soft caramel in the morning glow, rove over you fondly. His expression holds awe, drinking in the particulars of your face and the sensation of you in his arms.
He’s had dozens of mornings like this with you but none where he’s so sure that he can take his time, memorizing the way you curl into him.
“Hi roomie,” You whisper to him, like you’re sharing a secret for just the two of you. The words tumble delightfully in Steve’s chest. His sleepy smile becomes a fully formed grin, matching your own and all he can do is pull you closer yet.
Faces nearly touching, Steve moves his hand from your waist, tucking under your shirt — his shirt — and skirting up your bare back. Beneath his roaming fingers which draw senseless patterns on your skin, Steve feels you shiver despite your warmth; it makes the ache in his chest burn even stronger.
“Hi roomie,” He whispers back, head ducking to kiss your shoulder, his touch featherlight. You vaguely think that it shouldn’t be possible to be as happy as you are — you feel like you’re glowing, heart turning inside out from emotion and all you want to do is get as close to Steve as possible.
You don’t ignore the instinct, nuzzling into his chest and peppering your own gentle kisses onto the curve of his neck. It’s not the passionate rush similar to what you engaged in last night, no — instead each of these kisses are an ‘I love you’ repeated over and over, hoping it sinks in and runs through his veins all day.
Last night. Your face flushes now just thinking about it. Quite possibly, that’s the best it’s ever been. You two were so in sync, propelled by your incessant teasing from earlier and the wonderful, positively heartwarming truth that you’re going to live together. Every touch carried a thousand meanings.
Steve’s hand is still tracing beneath your shirt, yours twined into his hair. As you sigh happily into him, it feels as though a live wire is lit under your skin, body buzzing with pure love. He can already feel his eyes drooping once again, the sensation of you pressed to him is a comfort like no other. But he thinks he’d rather stay awake, conscious enough to feel your puffs of air hitting his chest.
“I think we should take your mattress. ‘S softer,” Steve murmurs as gently as he can. With his voice still rough from underuse, the words still contain a bit of that gravel that sits uncomfortably in his mouth.
You smile against his skin as the image of you two moving furniture into the space of your empty apartment floats into your mind. The thought of you decorating it with little trinkets and hanging art on the walls only adds to the building warmth that spreads through your body.
“We’re getting new sheets though, sweetheart. I can’t take it anymore.”
You chuckle a bit at his comment, reminded of the hole in your fitted sheet that Steve always seems to get his toes stuck in. You shift your hand to loop beneath his arm, fingers holding onto his shoulder as you place another kiss there as well. The tone of your voice is playful as you answer, pretending to be offended, “Fine.”
Steve nearly rolls his eyes in amusement while he trails two of his fingers down the line of your spine; instinctively, the sensation makes your grip on him tighten. Now similarly to you, his mind is lost in thought, thinking of all the ways the space can be yours.
“What about that pull-out your mom’s got? Think she’d be willing to let us take it?”
“Probably,” You’d shrug if it weren’t for Steve’s hold, “She’s been looking to get rid of it for a while.”
You bring your face back up, shifting your position on the bed to place your head on the pillow; you meet Steve’s warm, affectionate gaze when you’re settled. It forces more blood to rush to your cheeks which in turn makes his smile grow even wider. Planning the move makes your hearts swell in a way that you didn’t know was possible.
“M’so excited,” He admits, voice still raspy but words earnest and sincere, “I’ve always been excited about moving out of here.”
His eyes bounce around his room — the only room in the house with any life in it. You both know that the house is yours today, and while it feels like a silver-lining most of the time, you know it feels like a burden to Steve when you aren’t here with him. His gaze returns to your face and he dips his head forward to brush his nose against yours, eyes crinkled in his smile, “I’m more excited to do it with you.”
You beam and briefly wonder if Steve can feel your rocketing pulse under his fingers, the thrum of your love rushing through your body.
“Me too, Steve Harrington,” You say back, a giggle following the words. Then, morning breath be damned, you can’t not kiss him. He lends you the delicate press of his lips and you pour all your affection into the kiss, humming in happiness.
Breaking away, Steve looks more alight and awake than before and you ponder if he’s thinking the same as you; that this has to be the most perfect morning you’ve ever lived. He knows for sure that he’s never been more in love.
You keep inviting him into your life, closer and closer to the point where you want to share an apartment together. Steve’s always been a bit terrified that one of these days you would stop coming around, stop feeling an attachment to Hawkins and eventually move on to a better life in the city. While it’s clear that’s something you want, you want to do it with him.
Another thought pops into your head.
“Mom will give us the pull-out if I tell her that’s where Dustin will sleep when he comes to visit,” You mumble, trying to memorize the rise and fall of Steve’s breaths beneath your touch. All of this is being filed away, already saving this memory for a rainier day.
Steve grins softly, tone light and amused, “I give him three weeks before he insists on visiting.”
You raise your eyebrows, “Three weeks? Stevie, he’ll wanna be there on day one. We’re gonna have to beat him off with a stick to get a morning like this in the first week.”
Steve snuggles closer, sighing happily, “Price I’m willing to pay.”
The pair of you end up falling back asleep in each other’s arms, taking the opportunity to sleep in for as long as possible. It’s only when the little hand passes eleven do you finally crawl out of bed, nearly giving in to Steve’s protests when he tries to goad you back into his chest. But if you’re late for lunch, you’ll never hear the end of it.
You and Steve always join your family for lunch on Saturdays. If you’re not in the house by noon sharp, Dustin throws a fit. Even when you’re in Chicago, Steve’s at dinner at least twice a week and sometimes Robin joins too; your mother hates the idea of either one of them ever going hungry. They’re both welcome, regardless of your presence.
Breaking the news to Dustin went about as well as you could’ve expected. Your mom was thrilled for you both, and Dustin was… well, Dustin.
“Wait, hold on-” He stops as the realization slams into him, leaning up against the kitchen counter before angrily gesturing between the two of you, “First you leave and now you’re taking Steve? This is so not fair!”
A frown grows over Steve’s face with your brother’s words, turning his attention away from the cat you cradle in your arms, “Oh, so you come crawling back to me, huh? Now that I’m leavin’? Eddie’s not good enough for you anymore, is that it?”
Both you and Dustin roll your eyes, but your brother’s is far more dramatic, “Steve, I swear to GOD-”
“Have you met him?” Steve crosses his arms over his chest as he looks over to you, interrupting Dustin before he sets himself off. Your boyfriend doesn’t need to say it in order for you to understand his feelings. His tone says it all — Eddie Munson is a menace.
“Not really,” You set the cat down onto the tile when they start to wiggle out of your grasp, “Talked to him a bit when I picked Dustin up from Hellfire one night. He did not seem too thrilled to see me, to be honest.”
You shrug it off, remembering the interaction in your head — Eddie’s annoyed tone of voice, eyes focused on anything but you; his disinterest was palpable.
“Whatever, he can have any opinion of me that he wants,” You add, moving over to the stove to stir the simmering pot of soup, “Seems like half this town does, anyway.”
With your back turned, you don’t notice the knowing glance shared between Steve and Dustin.
Your brother’s mood shifts as he attempts to raise yours, “Maybe he’s just… just intimidated by you! Y’know you can be kinda scary sometimes.”
His comment earns him a scoff and a confused glance over your shoulder, “Yeah right. I’m intimidating to Eddie Munson? The guy who sells dr- magazines to the freshmen?”
You quickly change your word choice as your mother walks into the kitchen; you don’t know how much she’s aware of Munson's reputation, and you figure it’s probably better that it stays that way. When she starts reaching for napkins and silverware, Steve immediately offers his help and gets swept away to set the table, your mom reaching up to pinch his cheek in thanks.
You’re so unbelievably grateful that Steve’s welcome in your home; your mom even joked that he should be included in this year’s Christmas card due to how much time he spends with all of you. You know she’s thankful for what Steve’s done for both of her children. After your father… well, she’s happy another male figure found his way into the Henderson house.
Dustin can sense it as well. It’s hard to be annoyed with the prospect of Steve moving away with you for too long, partially because you’re absolutely glowing today. He makes you extremely happy, almost to the point where it doesn’t feel deserved. How could Dustin be mad at you for that?
“Just because Steve will be there all the time doesn’t mean you can skip a single weekend.”
Your brother’s comment forces you to turn around. His eyes are serious, narrowed as if he might hex you if you oppose him. Amused, you roll your own eyes again, as if it’s silly he could’ve thought anything less, “Obviously. That’s still the plan. Always was.”
Dustin seems to brighten at that, posture straightening a little more before smiling, “Good, good.”
You return the grin as you reach forward, a hand extended out towards the top of his head. Dustin whines, placing both of his palms on the sides of his hat to keep it in place, “Nooo! No! I worked hard on it!”
He’s already moving away, trying to duck beneath your outstretched fingers. To both of your surprises, he manages to skirt away untouched, which brings a proud smile to his face. Your brother doesn’t get to celebrate long.
As Steve comes back into the kitchen, he squeezes in beside Dustin to grab another plate from the cabinet. Your brother instinctively steps away to give him more space, which ends with Steve thanking him with a tousle of his cap, “Thanks little man.”
Dustin pouts once Steve’s hand has left him, fingers going straight to the brim to readjust the bright blue bill across his forehead. Steve winks at you as he exits — he saw the whole thing. You shake your head as a large toothy smile spreads over your face.
You are ridiculously, incandescently happy.
—
You’re half asleep on the couch when the phone rings; the bright trill catches your attention through the game show blaring through the television, eyes widening as you come to. You’re tucked against the corner, a foot stretched out onto the coffee table as the ringing continues.
Neither your mom or Dustin make an effort to get up because they both know you’re going to get it; you’re halfway off the couch before either of them could move anyways. You stifle a yawn as your socks pad across the hardwood floor and into the hallway where the phone resides.
You clear your throat as you lift it off the base; you still sound slightly tired as you speak, “Hello?”
“Turn on the news.”
You scoff, wedging the phone in between your cheek and shoulder, “Jeez, Steve. What the hell do I gotta do to get a ‘hello’ from you? I’m serious-”
“Henderson,” Steve interrupts. His voice is stern, uninterested in joking around right now; it makes goosebumps roll over your skin, and not the good kind, “Just turn on the news.”
Your brow furrows as you grab the base in your free hand, gripping it tightly while you walk to the living room, the cord straining the farther you get from the outlet. When you appear in the archway to the living room, Dustin looks at you with a similarly confused expression. With a nod of your head, you gesture to the screen and repeat the order Steve had given you.
Your brother flips through a few channels before finally landing on Channel Nine; a reporter stands in front of a slew of crossed yellow tape, reading something into the microphone about a lack of suspects.
You shift, leaning up against the wall, “What happened? They’re not saying right now.”
Steve sighs on the other end of the line. The longer it takes for him to respond, the more your anxiety grows. In the silence, you can hear the same channel faintly playing in the background, the words echoing each other in your ears. He speaks again before you can prod him for more information, his tone dejected as he’s forced to detail the tragedy to you.
“Some high schooler got murdered last night.”
“What?” The response is pushed from you in pure shock, “Murdered? Steve, are you serious?”
“Yeah. Guess someone found her body this morning.”
Your family turns their heads abruptly at the ‘M’ word, staring at you with wide eyes, just as baffled as you are. Dustin sits up a bit straighter and your mom instinctively clutches her cat closer before focusing intently on the reporter. Your brother asks a question far too loudly, which makes your mom shush him in return, “Who was it?”
When you repeat it to Steve, you mouth back the answer he gives, “They haven't said yet. Or… I don’t know, I didn’t catch much before I called.”
Before you can get too giddy about the thought of Steve dialing you first, he continues, “Just… come by the store when you can, okay?”
You hum, turning away from the living room to return to the phone’s original spot, “Thought I wasn’t allowed to visit you while you’re working anymore.”
Thankfully, Steve’s nerves seem to have settled while chatting with you. You can imagine the smirk on his face as he flirts back, “Well there’s a murderer on the loose, sweetheart. Pretty ladies like you always seem to be victims in these sorts of things. I’ll make an exception. And Robin misses you.”
A small giggle escapes you, grinning down to the floor, “Okay, I’ll come by in a bit.”
“Good,” Steve answers; the relief is obvious in his tone, “I’ll see you soon, okay? I love you.”
Some shuffling on the other side of the line implies that Robin’s giving him a hard time for that, maybe a gross kissy face or something — Steve scoffs at her through the static, and your smile only grows.
“I know. Bye baby.”
He utters a similar phrase before hanging up, leaving you with the dial tone ringing through your ears. After placing the phone onto the base, you join your family in front of the television again, intent on taking in a few more details about the case before you eventually leave for Family Video.
It’s unsettling to think that after all of the things that have happened in Hawkins, a crime (you hate to say it) as normal as a murder seems alarming. You led a monster through the exact living room you’re standing in… and you’re shocked by a teenager getting killed?
You know that part in a slasher movie where the first victim’s been found and everyone’s crowded around the TV waiting for answers? Yeah, you’re living it. If you went over to either of your neighbor’s, you have a feeling they’re doing the same thing.
You get the dreadful feeling that nobody’s safe, like anyone could walk into Freddy Kruger. All the problems with the Upside Down always seem to be relegated to your group of survivors, or anyone else you manage to drag into it.
But something like a murder? With a small town like this, no wonder Steve was worried; maybe some of your anxiety has rubbed off on him.
You spend a few more minutes listening to the details of the case as they come in, including that the body was found at the old trailer park on the other side of town. The police claim there’s multiple suspects, but you know what that means; either there’s a single suspect that they can’t locate or they have absolutely no leads.
“First that poor Holland girl and the mall last summer…” You mom starts, her tone growing more panicked the more she hears; you and Dustin share a quick look from across the room, “I just don’t know if I can take much more of this.”
You shift awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest at her words. Sometimes you forget that she doesn’t know what her children have been through, and a part of you hopes she never does — it would worry her ridiculously. She was a wreck after the Fourth of July, thinking you and Dustin had been visiting Steve at Scoops when Starcourt turned to ash. It was a believable excuse, but she’s been more protective of you two ever since — if that’s even possible.
The doorbell rings, snapping you from your thoughts. As Dustin gets up from the couch to answer it, you catch the time off the clock in the kitchen; it’s almost dinner time now. You should probably grab something to bring to Steve and Robin.
Or, that’s what you’re thinking until a familiar redhead enters.
It’s been… god, how long has it been? Since before you first left for Chicago last August. She’s grown more than you expected, but that shouldn’t shock you anymore especially with how tall Mike’s gotten. Dark clothes hang from her frame, not nearly as bright as those you’re used to seeing on her. While that would normally worry you the most, it’s the way her gaze lingers on you for a bit too long that does. The sight of you, leaned up against the wall on the other side of the room, stops her dead in her tracks. She didn’t expect to see you here, which in retrospect was a stupid thing to think.
“Max!” Her name is forced from your throat in surprise. Your face brightens as you’re reunited with the girl, who looks anxiously back to your brother when he shuts the door.
“How are you? What’s-”
“We need to talk,” Max interrupts you abruptly, her voice low. She simultaneously finds herself unable to look at you while also not wanting to look away, instead placing herself in this odd middle ground of nervous glances between you, the wall, and the floor. Seeing you standing in front of her for the first time in months, the realization is slamming into her — Max missed you more than she cares to admit.
You wish that you couldn’t sense her tension around you. It makes you regret being so excited to see her because clearly the feeling isn’t mutual.
Dustin brushes past her and leads the pair of you into his room; Max stands with her hands gripping tightly onto her arms and you mirror her, fingers clenched around your biceps as you perch yourself on the edge of your brother’s desk. You figure this spot gives her enough room away from you so she can be more comfortable. The thought makes you bite down on your teeth, hurt that this is what your relationship with the young girl has been reduced to.
Should you have done more to reach out to her?
The door closes behind Dustin. The two of you glance at each other as you wait for Max to speak. She’s biting down on her lip, brow furrowed intensely while she tries to compile her thoughts into something more understandable. But after a few seconds, she comes up short and just spits it out.
“Chrissy Cunningham,” Max shifts, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, “It was her. She was the one who was murdered. I saw the body this morning.”
An uneasy silence follows Max’s revelation. You don’t think you’d ever spoken to Chrissy, but she seemed like she was a decent human being — or more accurately, she didn’t really fit inside the box of ‘cheerleader’. It’s a shame someone ended her life before she could graduate; why does that seem to keep happening in this town?
Dustin’s face pinches in confusion as the news settles, “Don’t the Cunningham’s live over by Loch Nora? What the hell was she doing at the trailer park?”
The same question had popped into your mind by the time your brother asked it. It’s hard to imagine someone like Chrissy Cunningham willingly spending her time in a place like that.
Max leans all of her weight into her hip as she sighs, finally bringing her eyes up to dart between the two of you, seemingly aware that whatever piece of information she’s about to reveal is the real scandal.
“She was found at the Munson's place.”
Both you and your brother’s brows skyrocket.
“That’s not all,” Max continues, “I saw her with Eddie last night. Late last night. He brought her back with him after the pep rally I guess-”
“Well, case closed,” You interrupt, letting out a noise similar to a laugh as you stand.
“Woah, hold on-” Dustin stops his pacing, spinning on his heel to address you directly and confront you over what you imply, “We don’t know that, okay? There’s no way Eddie killed Chrissy.”
For the first time since she arrived, Max meets your eyes for longer than a second. Clearly, she had come to a similar conclusion — her face is filled with doubt like yours.
You adjust your grip on your arms as Max speaks for you both, “We can’t rule out that Eddie wasn’t involved somehow-”
“Yes! Yes we can! You two don’t know him like I do, okay?” Dustin raises his voice, impassioned by the accusation against his friend, “I promise you he didn’t do this.”
Your tone serves as a warning, “Dustin-”
“You said the same thing to me about Steve!”
“Woah hey,” You point your finger at him rather aggressively, “That’s not even remotely the same thing.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it’s not! He was an asshole, he wasn’t accused of murder!”
“Well look where you are now! He’s movin’ in!”
Max jumps in, eyes widening slightly with your brother’s words, “You’re moving in together?”
You groan, moving your hands to drag one of your palms down your cheek in exasperation. You weren’t necessarily planning on keeping this a secret, but it is rather annoying that Dustin’s the one who told her first.
“Yes, he’s coming to live with me in Chicago. And Dustin, you gotta stop being the one to break the news about our relationship to people outside our family. I’m serious.”
Dustin raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat on his bed; clearly he’s not going to be able to get through to you. He supposes he can’t blame you — you’re not likely to give someone the benefit of the doubt if they won’t do the same for you. But the longer he sits here, contemplating how to handle this, Max’s arrival confuses him; you have the same thought.
“You haven’t told the cops this, have you?”
Max darts her eyes up to meet yours; she hates that after all this time spent apart, you can still see right through her. The redhead exhales, blinking as she tries to organize her swirling mind once again. She really doesn’t want to say this.
“Last night, something else happened too.”
She squeezes her arms one last time before joining Dustin on the edge of his mattress; you have a feeling you’re going to want to sit down for this, so you sink into the desk chair as Max recounts the rest of her evening.
She recalls the TV going out, along with flickering lights all through the trailer. She recalls Eddie’s scream of terror and the way he drove off in a frenzy. She recalls her train of thought, the fears that she couldn’t help but overwhelm her as she looked back over the memory. That’s what brought her here.
You force yourself to take a breath after she’s done, leaning forward to rest your arms on your legs.
“Okay, look. I know that I’m usually the one to predict that something… bad’s gonna happen…” You begin, slowly coaxing the two teens through your reasoning, “But I think it’s safe to assume that Chrissy didn’t die because of something else.”
Dustin’s face grows confused at what you imply. You, who gave him so much shit for pursuing the Russian code without thinking that maybe there was more to it, don’t believe that a mysteriously sudden death could be Upside Down related? Even Max seems concerned by your level-headed attitude; you’re not known for disregarding a problem like this. Even though she didn’t know she’d see you here, she’d be stupid if she didn’t admit that your presence wasn’t a relief; you’ve gone through this since the beginning. If anyone knows what to do, it’s you.
Dustin scoffs lightly, “I think we have every reason to believe Chrissy wasn’t killed by someone from Hawkins. Or… not our Hawkins, at least.”
Before you can retort, he’s speaking again, “Look, if there’s a chance that Eddie’s innocent, we need to see it through. Right? I mean… if you had been accused of something like this and there was actually a Demogorgon running around-”
Dustin lowers his voice, nervously glancing to the door — he doesn’t suspect your mother’s listening in, but you can never be too careful. You sigh, shaking your head as you take in his words, lips firmly pressed together; you hate that he’s right.
“We need to find the only person that knows what actually happened,” Your brother concludes.
For the first time in three years, things are finally goin well. Maybe you’re in denial, unable to see the truth that’s right in front of you because a part of you finally feels normal. You’re in college, visiting home for Spring Break. Your boyfriend’s moving in with you in the fall. You have a grip on your nightmares. You don’t think you’re ready to let go of any of that for a guy like Eddie Munson.
You hope you can prove your brother wrong. For your own sake.
—
There’s only a couple of cars in the parking lot at Family Video when the three of you lock up your bikes outside. If you’re going on a hunt for Eddie Munson and then perhaps whatever creature’s stalking Hawkins (if there is one), there’s no way you’re doing it without Steve and Robin.
“Ah, well here I was expecting H squared when I should’ve known it’d be H cubed,” Robin says, setting her soda down on the counter, taking in the sight of you with Dustin and Max in tow.
Max’s face twists as she leans her forearms up against the counter, “What?”
Steve rolls his eyes; he’s heard this joke many times before because Robin’s quite proud of it. He gestures to himself, tone slightly exasperated, “Harrington…”
Then to you as you come around the counter, “Henderson…”
Robin shrugs in agreement as she darts her gaze to Dustin, “Yeah, y’know, H squared. You make it three so H cubed.”
“Ew, no. Don’t lump me in with-” Dustin scowls, motioning dramatically to Steve just as he pulls you into his side for a quick kiss, a stupid smile spread over both your faces, “Whatever they’ve got goin’ on.”
You send Dustin a matching frown; the twinkle in your eye doesn’t quite fit as you curl your arm around Steve’s. Your brother blinks, suddenly remembering the task at hand, “Robin, how many phones do you have?”
“Phones? Wha-”
“Just answer the question!” Dustin shouts, “We don’t have a lot of time here, Buckley!”
“Uh… th-three,” She stutters, startled by the sudden shift in mood, “Two out here and one in the back.”
Steve grows puzzled by Dustin’s odd request, but he supposes there have been stranger things he’s asked for — like that time he made Steve drive him to the store for a coil of wire and a carton of milk. He’s still too scared to ask what that was for.
Dipping his chin slightly, Steve whispers to you, “Do I want to know?”
Right as you’re in the middle of replying with a small shake of the head, Dustin tosses his backpack to the other side of the counter and jumps over; Robin grabs her drink just before his foot would have caught it, but none of the other items are so lucky. His stunt knocks nearly everything to the ground, which earns him a rather aggressive reaction from Steve, who pulls himself from you in record time to scold him.
“DUDE!” He shouts as Robin threads her hair into her hands, looking on at the chaos the younger boy has created. Dustin completely disregards the both of them and goes straight for the computer, hopping onto the stool previously occupied by Robin. Max mutters something under her breath, a breathless scoff escaping her.
“You know what? This is why I can’t take you anywhere,” You say, now properly shaking your head as you bend over to grab one of the signs that had fallen down. Robin takes it from you with a restrained smile, trying not to go crazy on the teen since Steve’s already doing a decent job of chewing him out.
Dustin eventually gets tired of Steve’s nagging and raises his voice to talk over him, addressing you and Max as he begins typing something, “Can you two please just catch them up while I take care of this?”
“Oh Jesus,” Steve groans, running one of his hands through his hair as he scoops up the VHS tapes on the ground, “Please don’t tell me he roped you into some Hellfire shit or something. I mean… what’s all this about Munson, anyway?”
You laugh before leaning back against the counter, “You’re not far off, actually.”
Your expression shifts before Steve can make some sort of snide comment; he recognizes that look anywhere and it worries him immensely. It’s the anxious one, the one that he hasn’t seen in a few months, but he could recognize in an instant. Something’s happened.
You let Max spill the details about your brother’s theory. Immediately, Robin’s intrigued — if there’s one thing she likes to sink her teeth into, it’s a good mystery. Steve, on the other hand, shares the same concerns that you do. He’s fairly convinced that he should just call the cops on Eddie right now, but he hates to admit that there’s a decent chance that Dustin’s right. He can see it in your eyes; this worry is starting to eat away at you. The faster the five of you find Eddie, the better.
—
“It’s kinda… Camp Crystal Lake out here, if you know what I mean.”
Max’s comment earns a sound of approval from you while you swipe the flashlight across the forest to your left. You squint, darting your eyes between the trees as you search for movement — human or otherwise. The redhead managed to get a lead out of one of Eddie’s friends, which you’re now pursuing in the evening moonlight.
Fog rolls up from Lover’s Lake, floating above the water’s surface as you and the girl walk the gravel path down to the boathouse; Steve, Robin, and Dustin trail behind. The forest is still, eerily so — there aren’t any cicadas or grasshoppers to fill the silence at this time of the year. If there’s anything out there, you’d be able to hear it in an instant. You can’t tell if that’s a relief or not.
“Thankfully I don’t think we’re gonna run into a guy with a hockey mask,” You joke as the pair of you approach the boathouse, a small structure fashioned out of corrugated metal, “Maybe one with a machete though.”
Max’s laugh brings a small smile to your face. You missed her company; the two of you are ridiculously similar. Regardless of what happens here, you hope that maybe your friendship with her can begin to mend. It’s only taken a couple of hours, but glimmers of your dynamic with her are starting to return — neither of you could help it even if you tried.
You know it hasn’t been easy for Max to adjust and maybe you should’ve done more to be there for her. But then again, it’s hard to imagine you helping anyone grieve Billy Hargrove, so perhaps you should cut yourself some slack.
She points her flashlight through one of the few windows, reflecting a prism of refracted light back onto her cheek, “I mean… we are out here looking for a killer, so-”
“Alright don’t jinx us, Mayfield,” You playfully interrupt as you wait for the others to join you, “One problem at a time, yeah?”
“I’m just saying, we better not find you and Steve brutally stabbed to death because you two decided to sneak off or some-”
With a scoff, you shove her to shut her up, accompanied by one of your famous glares; Max stumbles as she giggles before you’re finally flanked by the trio. All of you nervously stand here for a moment, sharing silent glances as you try to determine which one of you will do the honors. To your surprise, Robin reaches for the door first.
The interior isn’t impressive to look at — not that you were expecting much. There’s only three walls, letting the chill from the spring evening infiltrate the room. You get the sense that the boathouse isn’t well taken care of; the air trapped within still manages to smell like mildew even with a light breeze filtering through. With all of your flashlights searching the space, the water casts patterns over the sparse amount of furniture, as well as your faces as you take it in.
“Wow, this place is a dump,” Steve mutters, which makes you elbow him in the side, “What? I’m telling the truth! Look at all this shit.”
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“Just makin’ an observation, Henderson,” He replies, glancing over to you as he pushes forwards towards the right side of the room. Dustin follows him while Robin and Max take the other side, separated by a small rowboat docked in the center. You drift behind the boys.
Steve’s not wrong — the room’s filled with all kinds of miscellaneous junk. Based upon the contents alone and if it weren’t for the boat, you’d never know that’s what it’s meant to store. There’s crates packed to the brim with bottles of beer, a workbench with several unfinished projects scattered amongst the tools, and an old television from the ‘60s that reminds you of the one your grandparents had.
There’s a collection of spare oars propped up against the wall, and among them is a four-pronged pitchfork. You laugh under your breath, wrapping your fingers around it and pulling it from the others before spinning it in your palm.
“It’d suck if somebody tried rowing with this,” You joke. Your voice is only loud enough to reach Steve and Dustin’s ears, who both turn to you with slight smiles at what you imply. Your boyfriend reaches past you, his arm brushing against yours as he grasps one of the oars, a playful expression on his face, “Think you’d learn your lesson pretty quick if you tried.”
A soft giggle from you — Steve’s heart flutters. Then he remembers why you’re snooping in the first place and his eyes go stony; there’s gotta be somewhere someone could hide in here. His protective instinct grows.
A nudge to your hip brings your focus back up to Steve, who’s now focused intently on the boat, coated in tarps and other materials. With a quick gesture of his head and a knowing glance sent your way, his gaze dark except for a sliver of caramel from the flashlight, you understand him; he doesn’t have to speak. He takes the oar in both hands and cautiously approaches the boat.
Dustin stops Steve with a sharp whisper before he can do anything, the oar raised like he’s about to impale something on the end.
“What are you doing?”
Steve frustratingly glares at your brother, “He could be hiding in here, I don’t know!”
Dustin scoffs, “Yeah right. And like that’s gonna do anything if there’s anyone in there anyways.”
With the thin end, Steve motions over to his left, “That’s what she’s for.”
Dustin hadn’t noticed you step in closer, completely silent even with one of your hands still gripping the pitchfork; the other holds the beam from your flashlight directly onto the boat, where Steve begins poking at the overlapping tarps.
“Can never be too careful, Henderson. All of us have nearly died about a hundred times, in case you forgot,” Steve adds, the wood crinkling the canvas beneath it before he pulls away to look at Dustin properly, “So excuse me for taking the time to make sure we’re all saf-”
It happens so quickly you’re barely able to process what you witness. With Steve’s back turned to the boat, the tarps suddenly fly off. For a split second, you thought it had been Steve who moved them, but the wild and frizzy head of hair that appeared answered every question you had.
Eddie Munson — the Dungeon Master for the Hellfire Club — has got a fist in Steve’s shirt and a broken bottle jammed up against his neck. The pair of them stumble backwards until Steve’s firmly pinned to the wall behind him, panic rushing over his face as he tries not to move.
That’s when something pokes Eddie in the ribs.
“I’d let go of him if I were you.”
Eddie’s brazen eyes dart over his shoulder; he’s certainly not expecting to see you standing behind him. The pitchfork is clasped tightly between both your hands, the flashlight discarded onto the floor. It’s wedged at an angle where Eddie can feel the prongs with each shallow breath. Your eyes are rageful, fierce in their intensity beneath the crease in your brow. Eddie didn’t know what he was getting himself into threatening Steve like this.
He doesn’t know anything about you, or what you’d do to protect those you love. Regardless, Eddie gets the sense that you’re not bluffing; you’d shove this thing through him if he hurts Steve.
You can barely hear your brother and the others shouting in fear as the room suddenly grows incredibly tense — when Steve moves, Eddie presses the bottle into his Adam's apple, which then causes you to shift the pitchfork to rest in between two of his ribs. The three of you are locked in a standoff; none of you are going to move.
Dustin’s saying something about how you’re all here to help Eddie, but you can’t make out the details over the anger and terror that rushes through your brain. Every few milliseconds, you switch your focus from Eddie to Steve, trying to gauge how he’s doing as the other boy refuses to move. You swallow nervously.
Steve desperately wants to say something to you, assure you that it’s gonna be okay, because he can see the panic in your irises every time he meets your eyes. He doesn’t have a great view of you with his chin forced up like this, but that doesn’t matter — he could feel your stress from a mile away.
“Maybe we all should just… relax for a moment, yeah? We’re not here to hurt you,” Dustin, bless his heart, is trying desperately to calm Eddie, having forced himself in front of Robin and Max in an attempt to diffuse the situation. You can’t get a read on Eddie, unable to tell whether or not your brother’s words are getting through to him.
Your heart’s pounding so loudly that Eddie has to be able to hear it; you don’t know how much longer you can stand here like this. How long has it been? Two minutes? Ten seconds? Time is an illusion to you while Steve’s got his eyes screwed shut, a sharp object pressed against his throat, Dustin’s words drowned out by your anxiety.
Suddenly, Eddie’s hold on Steve weakens and he finally lets your boyfriend go. Your eyes meet Eddie’s just before he turns away, both of you equally uneasy and frightened, and the pitchfork clatters to the ground as Steve instinctively searches for you. Your demeanor shifts in an instant, nearly giving Eddie whiplash. If he wasn’t so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d be studying your interactions with Harrington — your behavior is confounding to him.
“Are you okay?” You murmur, voice hushed just quiet enough to only be heard by him, as he gasps for air; he couldn’t help but hold his breath through all of that. With your guidance, Steve sits on a nearby stack of crates, one of his own hands curled around his throat.
Robin whispers his name as she kneels on the ground beside you, taking a moment to check up on the both of you; the look she shares with you confirms that you’re going to be fine. She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder as she speaks again.
“He didn’t… like, get you, did he?”
With a deep exhale, Steve shakes his head, darting his eyes between the two girls concerned in front of him. He’s incredibly lucky to have the pair of you looking out for him.
Steve doesn't know whether to wave off your concerns or welcome your comfort; he's a little shaken up, but nothing's hurt. He'd hate to make you worry about something so insignificant right now. But from how wide your eyes are, how much your voice shakes as you whisper to him, Steve knows your steady touch is more for you than it is for him.
“I’m okay,” Steve mutters when he gains the strength to speak. He can tell that you need a bit more reassurance as Robin seems satisfied with that answer — your fingers are still trembling against his skin from the adrenaline.
“Here, lemme see,” You pinch his chin between your thumb and pointer finger, tilting his head back so you can inspect his skin. Steve swallows as your other hand gently skims across his throat, searching for any cuts or blood; he has to stop himself from shuddering at the light contact. When you can't seem to find anything, you pull his chin back down.
Steve manages a small smile, his tone genuine despite the hushed way he speaks, “Thanks.”
You nod once as you remove your hands from him — it’s obvious he doesn’t just mean checking him for wounds. Your ability to switch between his loving girlfriend and the most dangerous person in the room makes his head spin.
“Of course. Always.”
Steve can tell your words have more than one meaning too.
Dustin had convinced Eddie to drop the shattered bottle, which he tossed into the lake for good measure. Now that there’s some distance between you, you’re finally able to get a decent look at the fugitive.
It’s strange to see someone clad in so much leather and metal tucked into themselves on the floor. But Eddie… Eddie’s terrified. You wonder for a moment if it’s because of you, until you recognize the nervous fidgeting. His legs are folded into his chest, posture hunched as he takes a few deep breaths himself, spinning the ring around his middle finger.
You’d recognize that type of anxiety anywhere — with eyes glazed over in retrospection. In horror.
The oxygen is sucked from your lungs.
Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach as you begin listening in, leaning against a pillar in the room. You missed the first part of the conversation while tending to Steve, who now stands beside you, but you seem to have picked a good time to pay attention. Eddie’s worked himself up, voice cracking and shuddering as he recounts what happened last night. The way he describes Chrissy’s death, bones snapping and twisting unnaturally… you know he’s not lying. You had been able to deduce that from the look on his face alone, but hearing confirmation of it stings so much worse.
As you look over to Steve, his hand smooths across your back comfortingly. When his arm returns to his side, you wrap your fingers around his elbow and press your cheek to his shoulder. He swallows harshly before leaning in to kiss your hair softly.
Dread rolls over you both; it’s happening again. This feels different than the last three times.
The attack that killed Chrissy came from the other side, from the Upside Down, you’re certain of it. There’s no other possible explanation — if there was a gate, you would’ve known by now. The thought of this spellcaster, this… Vecna being able to psychically cross the barrier between your dimensions makes your blood run cold.
Another awful thought floods your brain; El’s in California. You’ve never been able to beat this without her.
This morning — the pair of you and Steve bathed in the warmth from your love and the sunlight — already seems like a distant memory.