Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's as Dustin is leaving his car that Steve gets coerced into exchanging phone numbers.

“In case I ever need to call you!” Dustin explains. His face is a little scraped up, but otherwise intact, and Steve is still thanking every power known to man that none of the kids wound up worse off while under his watch. These children are fucking uncontrollable. It is, frankly, terrifying for so many reasons.

“Why would you ever need to call me?” he asks dryly, and Dustin gives him a stern glare. No middle-schooler has business looking that scornful.

“Really? After all that shit tonight you still have to ask?”

Steve raises an eyebrow and drums his fingers on the steering wheel aimlessly. “I thought that Eleven kid closed the gate for good. Are you planning on hiding another demo-dog in your house? You already lost one cat, Dustin. Most people learn their lesson after one.”

“No! But who knows when something might happen again? Just be ready, okay?” Dustin points at him while backing away from the car.

Two apocalypses is enough for one lifetime, but Steve is tired as fuck and bruised to all hell, so he's not going to argue with Dustin over this now. “Okay, alright, whatever. Just go home already.” He comes off sounding more brusque than he wants to, but if Dustin is bothered by it, it doesn’t show. Looks like Steve’s aloof charm still works somewhere.

“Can do, boss. Hey,” and Dustin grins suddenly, showing off those shiny front teeth he's so proud of, “I’m not saying we need anyone else in our party, but you're a pretty awesome NPC to have on our side. It's nice to have a fighter-class character backing us up.” He flashes a double thumbs up before taking off.

“I don't know what that means!” Steve yells after him, but he's already running through the doorway. It sounds like a nerd compliment, so Steve’ll take it.

It’s a disgustingly early hour of the morning, the sun cresting autumn pale over the sky like every other November day, as if the town hadn’t been rotting from the inside out from through a death portal just hours before. And again, today everyone’s going to go on living like everything’s normal. Just like last year. As if Barb hadn’t died. As if Mrs. Byers’ boyfriend, and everyone in that whole fucking lab and god knows who else hadn’t died too.

Maybe Nancy was right. Maybe everything is bullshit, but Steve’s still here anyway. Nancy and the kids and the Byers family and the chief – everyone who knows, everyone who still matters – they’re alive. So he’s going to drive home, scrub the dirt off his skin, and crawl under his covers to sleep half the day away, because these are the choices he can make while his heart is still beating.

By the time he sneaks back into his room, sunlight is painting the curtains, but his parents are still asleep so he makes it in without incident. In the mirror he can see blots of color forming around his nose and cheeks, the skin still stinging from Billy fucking Hargrove’s punches. Nancy helped clean the blood off his face in the Byers’ bathroom after it all, both of them pretending like their relationship was intact, but he knows they'll have to talk about it soon. He sees how Nancy and Jonathan look at each other. It's how he still looks at Nancy, but that doesn't seem to count for much anymore.

It's not that he wouldn't fight for her. It's just that he doesn't think she'd want that. And perhaps that's what hurts most of all.

Steve flicks the lights back off, and rolls bonelessly onto his mattress, exhaustion finally catching up to him. When he closes his eyes he sees flashes of last night seared into his eyelids – Mike’s fallen body entangled in those disgusting vines, Lucas violently pinned to the shelf, Max clutching tight the steering wheel of her brother’s car, Dustin holding his breath against Steve’s side as the monsters stormed past them. Will, cold and unconscious in his mother’s arms. Eleven’s face when she tells them she can close the gate.

Fire in the tunnel, bones in the pit.

For a second he hallucinates the sensation of blood on his face. Whether it's his own or someone else’s, he doesn't know, and that's what scares him. He runs two fingers across his cheek, but they come away dry, even as his sore bones protest the touch.

The blood is gone, but the pain isn't. Maybe it'll be better tomorrow.

--

Here's where things currently stand:

Steve and Nancy officially break up on Tuesday, Steve still doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do about his college applications or his plummeting social standing, and Billy Hargrove finally decides to avoid him like the plague. Steve would call this unfair, because if anyone’s a disease it’s Hargrove, but he’s not going to complain. He has to wonder though what’s changed, since, as Dustin said, he pretty much got his ass handed to him in that fight. He gets the feeling it has something to do with Max, but it’s not like he’ll ever find out because he doesn’t want to make a habit of hanging out with middle-school girls.

The social problem doesn’t even matter anymore – hasn’t mattered since he showed up on Jonathan Byers’ doorstep last year and almost died – and the college problem...is harder now that his study dates with Nancy are no longer a thing. Since Steve and Nancy are no longer a thing.

Sure, they’re still friends; Nancy is probably one of the only true friends Steve really has, but fuck if it isn’t awkward and painful now.

She had apologized so much, and they talked it all out, which helped a little. Not enough to stop them from breaking things off, though. He still loves her, but right now looking at her hurts more than it doesn’t, so they agree to keep their distance. Does it suck? Yeah, it really, really does, but not as much as being tortured in a shady government lab or being possessed by trans-dimensional evil, so Steve keeps on keeping on.

So that’s where he’s at, trucking through his senior year trying to figure out if he wants to stay in Hawkins, where there doesn’t seem to be anything for him anymore. Yep.

Oh, also, Dustin won’t stop calling him.

The first time it happens Steve is trying his hardest not to ruin his hair over his history essay, and losing the battle. His mom calls up the stairs to him while he’s furiously erasing the end of his last paragraph, telling him he’s got a phone call, which is weird. He’d ignored the ringing earlier, since he figured there was no way the call was meant for him; he picks it up cautiously now, not counting out the possibility of some asshole from school pulling a prank on him.

He doesn’t expect the voice on the other end, pre-pubescent and a little nervous.

“Uh, is this Steve?”

“Dustin? Dustin Henderson?” he asks in disbelief, wondering why on earth they’re talking to each other.

“Yeah! Hey, so, uh, I was wondering if I could ask you for some help?”

Help? With what? Then he remembers their conversation outside Dustin’s house, and thinks shit, of course it isn’t all over, how could it be so simple. Of course whatever monster thing they chased out of Hawkins is back again to get them. And of course this band of nerd-ass punks can’t leave it well enough alone, always ready to throw themselves face-first into danger. Christ. Steve’s going to need a stiff drink after this.

“Yeah, hang on, let me get my shit together,” he says, yanking the phone off his desk with him. It’s sort of strange that Dustin sounds so hesitant, considering he literally commandeered Steve’s car last time around, but there must be something really bad going on. How it could be worse than what they’ve faced already Steve doesn’t know, but honestly, what the fuck does he know about anything at all these days.

Fuck, where the hell did he put his bat? He kicks the shit cluttering up his floor out of the way, diving to the floor to scrabble around at the carpet, pushing papers and clothes around, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

“Shit, it’s in the car,” he mutters when he realizes, before talking into the phone again. “Okay, where are you right now? You dipshits better not be thinking of rushing in; stay put until I get there. And have someone call Hopper. We’ll probably need a gun.” And gasoline, and maybe an ax...

“What? Dude, what are you talking about?”

“What the fuck do you mean what am I talking about? You need help, don’t you? So sit your meddling asses down and tell me where the hell you are!”

“Are you- no, idiot, I don’t need that kind of help,” Dustin finally hisses. “I need like, you know, girl help. Help with girls.”

Steve stops in the middle of trying to dig out his thickest jeans and old athletic equipment. “...are you shitting me right now?”

“No?”

Jesus. Girl help. Like Steve’s qualified to be giving out romantic advice.

“Did you miss the part where I no longer have a girlfriend, or really any friend-friends anymore? You sure you really want my advice?”

Dustin makes a dismissive noise. “Okay, so you and Nancy broke up, but you’ve still got like...experience and stuff. And we’re friends, right, buddy?”

Are they? Is this Steve’s life now? Being friends with eighth graders? He lays down flat on the floor on a pile of all the old sports gear he no longer fits into and groans. “Sure, Dustin. We’re friends. Why not.” It’s not like he has anything else going on. Might as well see if he can help. With a sigh he asks, “So what’s the deal?” He has a suspicion he already knows.

But surprisingly, it isn’t really about Max so much as girls in general, so Steve tells him the watered down version of what used to work for him, before Nancy. He’s probably more of a bad influence than anything else, but does anyone between the two of them know any better?

That’s where it begins, with Steve’s shitty love advice and Dustin’s grade-school woes, but then Dustin starts asking him about other junk, so now Steve is giving out shitty health advice and shitty running advice and not-shitty haircare advice too. It’s perhaps a little sad that he’s talking more to Dustin than anyone his own age these days, but at the same time, he feels almost halfway responsible for the kid. Having an asshole for a dad isn’t the same as having no dad, and Mrs. Henderson is a great mom, but sometimes Steve wonders if he isn’t sort of filling a role for Dustin that no one has before now. He also wonders why he doesn’t really mind.

--

Dustin’s incessant calling culminates in a promise to give him a lift to the Snow Ball, and another furtive shopping trip in the hair product aisle. He swings by the middle school A.V. club one day to pass off his contraband and they try to rope him into staying. He’s pretty sure it’s just so they can order him around or conscript him into acting as Mr. Clarke’s assistant.

“It’ll be fun,” Lucas says, holding out some electronic thing that Steve doesn’t recognize, so he puts up his hands and sidles toward the door.

“Uh, no thanks. I just needed Dustin for a sec. C’mon,” Steve says, gesturing to the door as the others look on curiously. Dustin points to himself, confused, but Steve just gestures more vehemently.

They stand around the corner, Dustin shifting back and forth on his feet as Steve pulls a paper bag out of his backpack and tries to hand it over.

Dustin just stares at the bag until Steve shakes it again.

“Just take the bag, Dustin, before someone sees us and thinks I’m trying to sell you drugs or something.”

“Is that not what’s happening right now?”

“I’m serious, you smartass, take it. It’s like, I dunno, a gift.”

“For me?” Dustin’s eyes light for a second before he narrows them in suspicion. “Is the gift drugs?”

“No, holy shit, after all the trouble I went to trying to keep you alive, you think I’m gonna get you addicted to fuckin’ cocaine?” Steve finally just opens the bag himself, shoving it into Dustin’s hands.

He watches as realization dawns, and for some reason, the slightly weirded out/slightly pleased expression on Dustin’s face makes him grin. “Farrah Fawcett?” Dustin mouths silently, and Steve mimics pulling a zipper across his lips.

“Don’t say a thing. Hide it in your bag, because I swear to god, if one of your nosy friends comes and asks me about it…”

“Yeah, I know, I’m dead meat.”

“Exactly. Remember: four puffs.”

“Damp hair, four puffs. Got it.” Dustin has the good sense to cram the whole gift down into the bottom of his backpack, beneath his binders and books, before they walk back to the door. “Hey, thanks, man. For all the help and everything,” he says earnestly, and Steve remembers again that while Dustin’s a super weird kid, he’s also a nice kid. Something that almost feels like fondness tightens around his lungs, and he tries to furtively shake it off himself.

“Don’t worry about it. Gotta look out for my benchwarmers, right?” He chucks Dustin in the arm and starts to walk away.

“You sure you don’t wanna join the A.V. club?” Dustin yells down the hallway because he has some good sense, but not enough to stop him from trying to destroy Steve’s street cred amongst people too young to drive cars. “We do some really cool stuff!”

“Not on your life,” Steve calls back without turning around, glad that no one walking past him has noticed his smile.

Chapter Text

The ride to the Snow Ball is filled with a sort of nervous excitement, with Dustin rocking his plaid suit and perfectly coiffed hair. It's infectious, and Steve feels like he might be too invested when he clasps Dustin’s hand and sends him off. But even if Steve’s life is a mess doesn't mean Dustin’s should be too, so he gives his pep talk and watches until the kid gets inside, even if it means tormenting himself with another yearning look at Nancy. Then he returns home to stress over his college apps until the dance is over, because he's got more on his plate than chauffeur duty.

The ride back from the Snow Ball is quiet. Well, quieter than Steve expected. Dustin talks about hanging out with his friends, and drinking punch and lamenting the lack of chocolate pudding cups, but Steve doesn't hear the names of anyone he doesn't already know. Maybe Dustin didn't really hit it off with anyone beyond sharing one slow dance, or maybe he just wants to keep it to himself, so Steve lets him be and heckles him about spilling soda on Lucas and El.

But the air is still subdued when they pull up to the Henderson house, and Steve doesn’t want to just dump Dustin at his doorstep like this, with him uncharacteristically mellow when he should still be feeling the buzz of the party.

He waits for Dustin to unbuckle his seatbelt before blurting out, “Hey. Dustin. You, uh- are you okay? Did you have fun?”

God, what is he, a camp counselor? A party clown? The words feel awkward, like he’s some disconnected dad trying to reach out to his estranged son, but Dustin tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket and gives Steve a quick grin as he opens the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I did. Thanks for the ride, dude.”

Looks like that’s all Steve’s getting out of him, so he lets it go. “Alright. Then I’ll catch you later, kid.” Dustin lifts his hand in goodbye, before slamming the door closed and jogging into his house. Snow is falling thicker now, swirling through the beams of Steve’s headlights like the spores in those goddamn tunnels, and he shifts back into drive, ready to get home before the cold seeps in through his windows.

--

Three days after the dance, Steve is conned into buying five hot chocolates after school because “your advice sucks and I demand restitution for losses incurred,” apparently.

“You’re not even paying me,” he reminds Dustin as he loiters outside the diner with the kids, hoping that he looks responsible and brotherly rather than creepy. His hands feel stiff and he wishes he’d gotten a hot chocolate as well, even if he badly needs the caffeine from his coffee today. He has a reading assignment to finish if he wants to keep his grades up for the end of semester, but instead he's standing out here listening to complaints Dustin should have just unloaded on him during their car ride home.

Dustin, resembling a lime-flavored marshmallow in the puffy new winter coat his mother bought him, shakes his head at Steve. He has a thick orange scarf wrapped around his neck that clashes with his green torso. Steve hates everything about the ensemble.

“Yeah, which is good, because it didn't help at all! I mean, I looked good, I acted cool, my hair was killer-”

“Bitchin’,” Lucas and Mike say solemnly like they're imitating someone. Will laughs into his cup. His neck is bare and it's making Steve colder just by seeing it.

“-but I danced with zero girls, Harrington! Zero!”

What? No way. Sure, maybe Steve’s too-cool-for-school MO might not be effective for everyone, but there has to have been someone who took interest, right? Dustin’s not ordinary by any means, but he’s a good guy. Genuine. Quirky and smart and true to himself. And traits like that get overlooked sometimes, especially at that age, but still.

“Zero girls?” Steve asks skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure! Seeing as I lived through it!” He sounds aggrieved, but he’s also got his usual energy, so Steve isn’t sure how broken up about it he really is.

“You danced with me and El,” Max reminds him, but Steve can tell it must have been as a group thing, because Dustin wrinkles his nose before slurping loudly from his hot cocoa.

“Yeah, but he didn't, y’know, ‘dance’ with you or El,” Lucas says, elbowing Dustin. Max glances at him and they share an embarrassed smile that makes Dustin roll his eyes.

“You two, huh?” Steve says, amused, and they both shrug way too nonchalantly. Max rubs the top of her skateboard, daring to meet his gaze, while Lucas pushes his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, failing to hide his dorky grin.

“Yeah, so?”

“Nothing!” Steve says, holding up his hands before she gets feisty. “Good for you crazy kids. Young love. Awesome.”

“Tubular,” Lucas says, and the others groan good-naturedly. Except Mike, who’s staring out into the street in the same dark, pensive way Nancy does sometimes when she’s thinking deeply about something. Mike’s version is quite a bit broodier.

“What’s up with him?” he asks Will, who’s standing closest to him. He startles a bit, as if he was zoning out, but it seems (as far as Steve can tell) more like regular daydreaming than demonic possession, because he smiles sheepishly and tells Steve, “Oh, I think he’s just, um, thinking about El.” He whispers the end of his sentence, eyes darting back and forth as if on the lookout for government agents.

“Yeah?” Steve doesn’t know much about Eleven’s situation besides the fact that she secretly lives with Chief Hopper and it’s all very hush hush still, even if the g-men aren’t after her anymore.

“She got to go to the Snow Ball, but I don’t think we’re gonna see her again for a while,” Will says sadly, which is interesting, because according to Dustin, they’ve spent the least amount of time together, minus the new addition of Max. But Will’s probably the sensitive type (in an artist way, not an against-the-grain loner way like Jonathan), and going through crazy shit together helps people bond, so Steve just claps him on the back in solidarity. He still feels too thin under his coat, even after a month, and Steve makes a mental note to keep an eye on him. Kid’s seen some serious shit, and he’s well aware that the nightmares don’t end just because you want them to.

Dustin is peering into his empty cup and looking disappointed when Steve glances over at him again. He holds it out with a hopeful smile, asking, “Refill?”

“Hell no.” Dustin frowns a bit, and Steve scoffs. “And don't bother pouting; that shit doesn't work on me.”

Dustin sighs instead. “Not cool, Steve. Not cool.”

“You know what's not cool? Extorting your mentor for more pity cocoa after he already treated all your parasite friends.”

“Hey,” Max says, offended.

“Isn't a mentor supposed to offer their mentee support and encouragement in their time of distress? I don't feel consoled, Steve!”

“Tough love, Henderson. Deal with it.”

In response, Dustin just makes a zero with his hands and shakes his head.

Will seems to suddenly remember something while watching this display, and pipes up to ask, “Dustin, didn't you dance with-”

Before Will can finish his sentence, Dustin claps his hand over his mouth, whispering something into his ear that Steve can't hear. Will nods in understanding, before turning back to Steve, this time with his eyebrows furrowed, looking oh-so-pitiful. “Sorry, never mind. I was confused. Dustin didn't dance with anyone. Poor Dustin. Poor, sad Dustin.” Coming from Will, Steve might almost believe it, if not for Dustin nodding sagely along next to him.

“Really sad,” Lucas adds, putting his arm around Dustin’s shoulders.

“Yeahhh, no, I don't buy it,” Steve tells them.

“That's pretty heartless of you, Steve,” Max scolds. The others make murmurs of agreement, and Steve throws his hands in the air. How the fuck is he supposed to win an argument against children as obstinate as these?

On cue, Mike slumps against the wall, still lost in his own thoughts and staring off into space dramatically. Lucas gestures at him with a hand, wearing a face that clearly says, “are you seeing this shit?”

“Heartless,” Max reiterates.

Steve doesn't want to give in, because he's not soft, okay? And he's not about to get suckered by kids who went to a fucking party less than half a week ago. But Mike gives a tiny, tragic sigh, and the others look imploringly up at Steve right as a sharp gust of wind sweeps through, causing them all to shiver, and he knows he's lost this match.

“Alright, you mopey little shits, come on,” he growls, sweeping past Max back toward the diner door. “Let's eat some fucking pie.”

--

One slice of each flavor to share is not enough, because these brats are all literal monsters, but luckily they taper off at two of each, before Steve’s usually hefty wallet grows dangerously light. Dustin, for what it’s worth, doesn’t seem too sad about anything at all anymore, so Steve decides it’s fine once and awhile to bite the bullet and help buy the kid some happiness.

“-yeah, but now she knows three whole dances, so she’ll be ready for all our dumb high school parties,” Max is saying to the group. They’re still trying to cheer up Mike over the prospect of not being to openly see Eleven for another year.

“Don’t sound so proud; you only taught her the robot,” Mike says as he picks at his slice of blueberry pie.

“And she was awesome at it, so shut up,” Max says hotly, glowering at him over her glass of water. Mike does have the decency to look chastised, but continues jabbing at his pie and avoiding Max’s gaze. Looks like not backing down from an argument is a trait that runs through the whole Wheeler family.

“Anyway, it’s not so bad,” Dustin says, trying to keep the peace. “I bet the chief will let us visit once in a while, now that we know where he lives. And we could make a list of stuff we wanna show her once she’s freed.”

“Like D&D night,” Will says.

Lucas nods, clearly getting into this plan. “Yeah, and the movie theater. And the arcade!” This sets them all off, and soon they’re shouting ideas over each other and arguing about what to do first. Steve can feel the glances of other patrons on them, and groans. He is not going to get kicked out of a diner today because of these little assholes.

“Hey hey hey, shut your mouths and slow your roll,” he says sharply, snapping his fingers until they quiet down. “What happened to laying low, huh? Don’t fuck it all up for her before she even gets a chance, dipshits. Make your plans at home where no one’s listening.” They continue in hushed whispers instead, crowding around a piece of scrap paper Mike digs out of his backpack, and he leans back in the booth to watch them pass one of Will’s markers back and forth. His pancake is going cold on his plate, but it tastes too sweet today for some reason. “Shoulda gotten the waffles instead,” he mutters to himself.

“El likes waffles,” Lucas says.

“She likes Eggos,” Mike corrects absently, finally eating his damn pie. It dampens the atmosphere, but Max shrugs it off.

“Well, if she likes Eggos then she’s gonna be blown away by real waffles. Let’s add the diner to the list,” she commands, waiting for Dustin to write it down. From the corner of his eye, Steve can see Lucas tensing as he looks back and forth between his two friends, waiting to see if it turns into another problem.

But Mike actually takes a moment to mull it over, before nodding. “That’s a pretty good idea,” he agrees, and Steve relaxes along with Lucas.

“I'm full of good ideas,” Max says, clearly trying to play it cool, but Mike must have finally decided to pull his head out of his ass, because all he says is, “Yeah, you are.”

By the time Steve finally gets the bill paid, the sun has already set. He has his concerns about some of them getting home safely, namely Will – because of his track record – and Max – because of her crazy-ass family. But Lucas swears he and Max will be fine, and the other boys are flanking Will back to the Wheeler house, where Jonathan will pick him up later, so Steve finally waves them off before it grows too late to be biking around in the dark.

They take off into the evening, coasting off together in a herd, and Steve knows that they’re almost certain to be fine. And yet, his hands grow clammy anyway, even in the warmth of his car, and he watches as long as he can until they disappear over the rise of the hill at the edge of downtown. They’re going to be okay, he reminds himself.

When the hell did he get so paranoid? Oh, right. During all the monster-hunting, end of the world bullshit.

--

That evening, after Steve excuses himself from dinner as fast as possible to avoid having to talk to his douchebag father, he gets a phone call in the middle of doing his math homework. The other thing monster-fighting has put into perspective for him is that life is short, and he knows for a fact now that he doesn't want to spend it following in his dad’s footsteps. So if clawing his way into college is what he has to do to get out, then he better fucking commit to it.

He picks up and to no one’s surprise, it's Dustin on the other end. His parents had found it strange at first that they'd become friends, until Steve made up some crap about it being a high school mentorship program, which they accepted with an almost pride in their eyes. Whatever it takes to get them from prying, he supposes.

“Hey, Steve. We all made it home safe, so you can stop worrying now.”

“Who said I was worrying?” Steve snorts, but Dustin brushes off his comment.

“You know you don’t need to pull your macho, tough guy shit with me. But never mind that right now. I wanted to apologize for before.”

Steve tilts his chair back, trying to simultaneously trying to understand trigonometry and what Dustin’s talking about. “For what, bleeding my wallet dry?”

“No, not that. No, uh. I’m sorry for lying to you. Friends don't lie to each other.”

“Thanks?” Steve says in confusion. “I don’t actually have any idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“The Snow Ball – I was lying when I said I didn’t dance with anyone. There was- I did get a dance with one girl.” Dustin sounds kind of guilty, but Steve grins. Is that all this was about?

“Shit, seriously? That’s awesome, man. Knew you could do it!”

“No, it wasn’t like a real dance,” Dustin says. He seems like he’s getting frustrated for whatever reason. “I mean, it was, kind of, but- it was with Nancy, okay? The only girl who wanted to dance with me was Nancy, and that’s just ‘cause she’s a nice person. She was trying to make me feel better. I- I didn’t want to tell you, because I know you’re still not over her, and it seemed really shitty to bring it up, but then I felt shittier for not telling you-”

Dustin’s starting to stumble over his words now, and even while Steve’s stupid heart gives a small lurch at hearing Nancy’s name, he feels a strange undercurrent of emotion at the thought that Dustin was trying to spare his feelings.

“Hey. Dustin. Hey! Calm down, it’s okay.” And it really is. Steve might be heartbroken, but he isn’t the kind of loser who’d get jealous of Nancy being nice to her brother’s middle-school friends. He already feels slightly guilty on those days he begrudges her for being happy in her new relationship, even if his hurt is fully justified.

But Dustin isn’t placated. “No, it’s not! We’re friends, and friends don’t dance with their friends’ ex-girlfriends! I mean, I know it didn’t like mean anything – she’s more like a big sister than anything else, but still, I knew how you felt and I was still happy that she was paying attention to me, that someone noticed I-”

“Dustin, shut the fuck up for a second and listen,” Steve finally has to bark to get him to stop rambling. “It’s okay. I’m okay. In fact, I’m glad she danced with you. Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I can’t admit that Nancy’s still one of the smartest people I know. If she danced with you, it wasn’t out of pity. It’s because she thinks you’re cool.”

“Really?”

“Really. And thanks for trying to make me feel better, but you don’t have to waste your time worrying about my shit. You’ve already got enough going on. Don’t feel like you can’t tell me something just because my delicate fuckin’ heart can’t handle it, okay? I’ve got it under control.”

“O-okay. Sorry for telling you your advice was bad. It’s not your fault your mentee doesn’t have any game. And sorry for letting you down.” There’s a small sniffle that follows.

“No, you were probably right,” Steve admits. “My advice isn’t actually all that great. And don’t apologize to me for this shit again, because none of it is your fault. There’s no way you could let me down. Fuck, I don’t even care if you never impress a single girl, Dustin. The only reason I’d care is because it means they’re too blind to realize that yeah, you’re a total nerd, but you’re also a pretty fuckin’ awesome kid. But that’s their loss, right?”

Dustin laughs wetly, and Steve hopes he isn’t tearing up because he’s worried about Steve’s opinion. “You sound like Nancy,” he says, and Steve allows himself a bittersweet smile.

“What can I say, maybe some of her smarts rubbed off on me. You feeling better now?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. I’ve still got some stolen library books to read; that always helps.”

Weird little rebellious geek. Steve laughs, “I don’t get it, but you do you. Look, I gotta go get this math done, so call me again tomorrow, alright?”

“Gotcha.” But Dustin pauses for a moment. “And about Nance- it’s her loss, right? ‘Cause you’re a pretty cool kid too, Steve.”

He hangs up right afterwards, leaving Steve to stare blankly at his homework, still thinking about what Dustin said. And it doesn’t heal the wound that his breakup left behind, but somehow it helps assuage the pain, even if only for tonight.

Chapter Text

It's only two days after Christmas and slush has already started to pile on the sidewalks. Even when there's no snow in the air the threat of black ice has been keeping the gang off the streets. Until today.

“This is illegal,” Steve squawks as they finish arranging themselves in the backseat in a semi-safe formation, sharing three seat belts among four of them.

“It's fine! Who's gonna arrest us – Chief Hopper?” Mike asks with unwarranted sass considering the man might be his future father-in-law many years down the line.

“It’s just a few blocks,” Dustin says soothingly from the passenger seat. Steve had expected a token fight over the coveted spot, but none of the others had protested at all when Dustin called shotgun. Almost as if they didn't dare contest his rights.

“This is on you, Sinclair.” Steve points at Lucas through his rear view mirror, and the kid has the gall to look surprised.

“Me? I didn't do anything!”

“You did enough! ‘Oh, Steve, that's a whole lotta quarters in your cup holder’ – like you didn't know what would happen!”

“It was an innocent observation!”

“You threw me to the wolves!”

He doesn't even know how he wound up in this situation. He'd been on his way home from the post office after finally mailing in his college applications, and had to pass the Sinclair house along the way. The whole band of them were building what looked to be a snow wizard in the yard, and he’d been hailed down by Dustin and Max to come take a look. Then Lucas was peeking into his car, and they were all clamoring to go to the arcade, and Erica’s babysitter was waving them goodbye after a promise to tell Joyce Byers where they were should she call, and now Steve is here, driving back downtown with five juvenile offenders. His only saving grace is the general incompetence and indifference of the Hawkins police department.

“Turn at the corner! Use your blinkers!”

“I know how to drive, Wheeler!”

“Oh my god, could you be any slower? Kick it into gear, old man!”

“Yeah, because getting pulled over for speeding is exactly what I need right now! I get that your douchebucket brother always drives like he’s trying to set fire to the road, but we can’t all be as fucking unhinged as he is, okay?!”

By the time he parks outside the arcade, Steve feels like his first gray hairs may have started growing in. He trails behind the kids, eying the crowds and the machines warily. As far as he remembers, he’s never set foot in here before today. They immediately gravitate toward one machine, Max already rolling up her sleeves, so Steve joins them, and waves awkwardly at a few people he recognizes from school, who double-take when they see him before returning to their games.

“I'll let you take first round,” Dustin says, bowing in the direction of Dig Dug, “but you're finally going down today, Mad Max.”

“Right, you keep telling yourself that,” she replies, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and then she's off.

The game, as far as Steve can tell, is about exterminating monsters in tunnels, which is somehow too disturbingly close to his real life experiences, so he wanders off with Mike and Will when they go to tackle some dragon adventure thing instead. It seems hokey as fuck, but somehow he winds up almost as excited as Mike is every time Will succeeds in an attack. He only collects his wits when Will finally loses, and detaches himself before he gets sucked into watching again.

Lucas finds Steve leaning against the change machine, and shakes him down for more of his precious parking money. “You're not gonna play anything?” he asks after starting up Space Invaders.

“Not really a ‘game’ kinda guy, if you haven't noticed yet,” Steve says as he watches Lucas’ little ship shoot down alien invaders. Funny how each of these dumb games keeps reminding him of everything that happened a few months ago.

“You should try Punch Out. It's a boxing game. Maybe it'll help you improve in real life,” Lucas says with a sideways grin, and Steve laughs. He's never gonna live his fistfight prowess down.

“Fuck you too, kid.”

“Seriously though, do like Pac-Man or something.”

He doesn't go at first, content enough to watch Lucas fight off faster and faster waves of aliens, but eventually he decides why the heck not and drops a quarter into the Pac-Man machine. Might as well see what all the fuss is about.

“Eat all the dots; don't touch the ghosts,” Lucas yells over from his spot, and Steve grabs the joystick to ready himself.

Pac-Man is actually pretty fun. He gets killed by a ghost much faster than he really should have, but before long he gets the hang of it. When he loses three levels in, he doesn't even think before wasting another 25 cents and 10 minutes of his life.

After another continue and another loss, he has to make the conscious decision not to blow any more quarters on goddamn Pac-Man so the kids can play a few more games, which is when he realizes he hasn't seen Mike or Will in a while. Lucas has floated back over to Dustin and Max’s side, watching as they continue to duke it out for the Dig Dug crown, but the other two boys don't seem to be anywhere in sight. Shit.

With his heart clattering into thunder, Steve makes another quick round inside, before busting out the door. He almost heaves in relief when he notices they're just sitting together on a bench at the far end of the building.

“New rule,” he says sharply when he reaches them. “No leaving without telling me where you're going. It’s not that I don't trust you- no, wait, that's a lie. That's exactly what this is. I don't trust you guys not to go fight the F.B.I. or break into a hospital or some other crazy shit the second I turn around.”

Mike looks like he wants to retort, but his better nature wins out, and he nods to Will. “Will just needed a second.” His hand is resting protectively on his friend’s knee.

Steve quickly scans Will’s face, trying to gauge the situation here. He looks cold, and a little tired, but who's to say if Steve could even tell if something deeper is going on? Almost everything he knows came second-hand from Dustin. He crouches down in front of them, asking urgently, “You guys okay? Did you see something?” He rolls his right wrist, fingers clenching reflexively to the memory of wood resting in his palm. His car is ten feet away. Bat in the trunk, keys in his pocket. In the time it would take for him to get it out, something could come for Will. But Mike would die before letting anything happen again, and Steve finds that both terrifying and comforting.

“No, everything’s okay,” Will says with a wan smile. “I was just- just remembering. Regular stuff. Not his memories.”

“Last time,” Mike starts, before checking with a glance at Will that it's okay to go on, “The last time we were here, Will started seeing the Mind Flayer. In the upside down. And then everything else happened-”

“But I'm fine now,” Will says in a rush. “He's gone. I don't see those things anymore.” He sounds like he's had this conversation too many times before.

Jesus Christ. As if the kid didn't have enough trauma already; poor guy can't even go to the arcade without having flashbacks.

Steve takes a long breath, trying to figure out how to handle this without making him feel even worse. The most important thing is making sure the kid is safe, so he asks quietly, “Do you want to go home? I can drive you back, call your mom or brother-”

“No! No, I'm fine.”

“It's okay if you're not,” Mike says. “You don't have to pretend everything's okay, ‘cause we understand if it's not. We're here for you no matter what.”

Will shakes his head violently, dark eyes looking exhausted. “It's been two months. He's not in me anymore. I should be okay by now; things should be back to the way they were. I should be normal again. I mean, I guess I'm never gonna be normal, but I should be better, right?”

Mike watches him unhappily. “There's no ‘should’ about it, Will. If you’re not better, then we’ll help you until you are. It’s not like there’s a due date for stuff like this.”

“I know, but it should be over. And it is, but it’s not. Not for me. And I just feel so lame, because I know there’s nothing to worry about anymore, but I still can’t stop thinking about it all the time.”

“I have dreams, y’know,” Steve says conversationally, like everything isn’t completely fucked up. “About your house – and I know that sounds weird, but that's always where it goes down.” Will glances up at him and Steve shrugs weakly, helplessly, before continuing.

“Sometimes it's about last year, and I open your front door a little too late, and that monster’s already got Nancy and your brother. And sometimes, I’m standing there with all your friends behind me, but something’s right outside the door, trying to break in. And if I go to the door, it comes through the window instead. If I go to the window, it rips out of the ceiling. It always finds a way inside.

“And when I wake up I know the dream’s not real. I know I'm safe, you guys are safe, and Hawkins is still standing, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to crawl off my bed and puke in the trash can. And I didn't have to put up even a fraction of what you did.”

He drags a hand across his eyes as he stands, as if it might erase all those images from his subconscious, and takes a seat on Will’s other side. “You've been through more shit than anybody should ever have to deal with, Will. You're allowed to not be okay.”

“You're allowed to take your time,” Mike adds gently, and Will nods slowly after taking a minute to think about it.

“Talk to your friends about it. To your family. And give yourself a chance, kid. It's only been two months. That's like a tenth of your whole lifespan.”

“We're not toddlers,” Will says, but he looks like he almost wants to laugh, and that's about all Steve can ask for. It's getting too touchy-feely for him to handle much longer, so he tries to change the subject before they all get stuck in their funk.

“Yeah, well, sometimes I can't tell with you guys. I mean, some of you dumbasses can barely dress yourselves; I saw at least two of you making snowballs without any fucking gloves on. And you, your whole neck’s going to get frostbite.” Steve nods irritably at Will’s uncovered neck before yanking his own wool scarf off and throwing it into Will’s lap. “Take this, before you get gangrene and your mom kills me.”

Both boys look at him in a slightly bemused way, but Will thanks him and loops it dutifully around his throat without complaining. Good. Steve’s got at least another warm scarf somewhere in his closet; he can afford to “forget” to take this one back.

The sudden heavy patter of footsteps announces the others’ arrival before they almost trip over themselves at the foot of the bench.

“Will! Are you alright?” Lucas is yelling as Dustin carefully takes hold of Will’s shoulders to examine him. Max looking wildly around the parking lot like she's trying to spot their enemies. Steve leaves the explaining to Will and Mike, and pushes off the bench to walk over to his car and pop open the trunk.

As expected, Jonathan’s bat – or was it Nancy’s? – is still resting where he left it, alongside the red bandana and goggles the kids had scrounged up for him. None of these things belongs to him, but there's also no way he's ever giving them back at this point. Not while he's running the Harrington taxi service for all these trouble magnets. Which reminds him, he should buy an extra lighter. Just in case.

There's a biting chill in the air now, even in the early afternoon, and all at once, Steve doesn't want to be outside anymore. There's no particular comfort from being indoors either, but at least they don't have to be here, putting Will face to face against old memories. It seems like he's not the only one thinking it; when he turns, the kids are standing near.

“Maybe we should just go home,” Lucas suggests, dropping his gaze. “Back to my place. I know we made you bring us out here, but...I dunno, I guess that wasn't a good call. Sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Will assures him. “I think I just need more time.” He puts a hand on Lucas’ arm and they share a look, something unspoken passing between them. Steve is envious, sometimes, of how profoundly loyal the bond is between these kids. It's nothing he’ll ever get to experience, he thinks.

“Can you handle the movie theater?” Steve asks briskly before they can start climbing back into the car. If they want to feel normal again, they're going to have to find ways to make that happen. Maybe the arcade’s off-limits for now, but there has to be somewhere in their stupid little town that’s still allowed to be theirs.

Will answers in the affirmative, so Steve claps his hands together, and pushes the trunk closed again. “Alright, let's go to the movies. C’mon, everyone get in.”

They stare at him like he's an idiot and Dustin raises his hand. “But we already saw all the good movies,” he says, as if he wouldn't totally watch Ghostbusters all over again. Steve had gone with him for a showing of Gremlins a week back and realized halfway through that the film might as well literally be about Dustin, which greatly increased his enjoyment of the whole thing. Dustin had found it less amusing.

“Then we’ll watch something shitty that we can talk through as an excuse to gorge ourselves on candy. Now, get in the car, you twerps, or all I'm buying you is raisinettes.”

“Three Musketeers for me, thanks!” Dustin shouts, hustling toward the car. To Steve’s surprise, he goes for the backseat this time, but it starts to make sense when Lucas pushes Will in next, so that he winds up sandwiched between them. Max seems to sense the vibe happening here and is savvy enough to choose to sit up front, leaving a gap for Mike in the back.

Before Mike piles in too, he pauses with his hands resting on the door and turns to Steve.

“Are you okay?” he asks, staring him down with undue seriousness. It’s one of those moments that makes Steve wonder whether he's really just thirteen years old, because he's seen so much and still cares so intensely. But this isn't Steve’s pity party, so he slides his sunglasses back on and waves impatiently toward the car.

“I will be, once you get in the damn car so I can stop freezing my ass off.”

Mike spares him another second, but complies, squishing in next to Lucas and looping an arm around his shoulder so his hand can rest against Will. When Steve pulls away from the arcade, they're already talking amongst themselves about some geeky magic thing Steve doesn't know shit about.

He glances over at Max, who’s sitting kind of stiffly and staring out the window. There are a hundred different reasons why she might be feeling awkward right now, but Steve only knows how to address a few of them.

“Max,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice calm and easy, doing his best not to remind her of her brother, “You can adjust the seat if you want. Dustin always does something weird to it.”

“Oh,” and she looks down at the controls, fiddling a bit until she tilts the seat up straighter. “Um, thanks.”

“No problem.” A minute of silence passes between them while the boys laugh about some old memory, and Steve coughs once, pretending to clear his throat and failing miserably. “Hey, uh, don’t take it personally,” he says, motioning toward the passenger seat in a way he hopes conveys ‘that you're out of the loop and stuck up here with me.’ He keeps his eyes on the road as he continues, “You're still one of them. It's just that last year...was a lot for Will. And they're the only ones who get it.”

But Max, for all her hang-ups about being pushed aside, just nods. “Yeah. Lucas told me about what happened. I know they're just worried about him. I would be too.” She shrugs and gives Steve a crooked half-smile which he returns. The both of them are on the outside, even among outsiders. But it's certainly not the worst place to be.

Steve flicks on the radio, and gestures toward the dial. Max doesn’t seem to comprehend at first, so he peers at her over his sunglasses and demands, “Well? Are you changing the station, or are we gonna listen to these assholes talk about economics until we get there?”

“Me? I can pick?”

“You put on anything shitty, you lose your shotgun privileges,” he warns, and she beams, bright and freckly.

White noise from the crackle of changing stations layers over the boys talking in the back, and with the heat cranked up high, they’re shielded from the glassy gray touch of winter. Steve watches the clouds drift sedately overhead behind the bare branches of distant trees and drives on.

Chapter Text

The morning of New Year’s Eve dawns bright and cheerful. Steve is standing in the middle of Bradley’s Big Buy’s canned goods aisle with two different shopping lists in hand and the beginnings of a dull headache.

His mother’s list is full of last minute add-ons for the dinner party tonight: extra napkins, a jar of olives, a package of brie, some fresh parsley for decoration. Chief Hopper’s is precisely six list items: two cans of baked beans, a pack of frozen spinach, a pack of frozen chicken patties, a 5 lb. bag of potatoes, a canister of whipped cream, and Eggos.

Easy enough.

He finishes shopping with two separate baskets like a damn fool and continues shambling past the frozen goods on his way to checkout when his sight lands on a treasure hidden behind a frosty refrigerator door. Prying it free from a thin layer of ice lining the shelf, Steve pulls out a hefty bucket of frozen Tollhouse cookie dough and plunks it into his Hopper basket. The mom basket remains as it was, full of frivolous party junk Steve isn’t going to see after this, because like hell is he going to mill around and shmooze with his parents’ friends tonight. Last year, he’d had the gift of Nancy’s company – and he can still remember the curve of her smile under the stairwell lights before he had leaned in to kiss her at midnight – but that’s not in the cards anymore.

He brings his mom’s goods back to his own house first, and ducks out before he can be roped into helping her decorate. Jumping back into his car, he takes a long, looping path around to get to the backroads that lead into the woods where the chief’s cabin is hidden. Steve doesn’t know how big a deal it is exactly that Eleven remains under the radar still, but apparently it’s fine enough for him to hop on over as a temporary delivery boy. Hopper had caught him outside the store and forced a wad of cash into his hand alongside his sudden request, before taking off in his squad car with lights and sirens blaring.

He parks in a solitary spot next to the trees before beginning his trek into the woods, careful to make sure no one’s following him and trying not to set off any of the tripwires as he traipses through the slick cushion of wet leaves that cover the forest floor.

“Hello? Kid? Eleven? It’s Steve,” he calls while knocking out the pattern Hopper taught him against the cabin’s front door. “I’m the- uh, the guy who knows your friends. You know, with the bat and the hair?” His hand is starting to cramp around the plastic bags he's been lugging for the last ten minutes, but he shakes them anyway, like he's trying to rustle out a wild animal. “Your da- sorry, uh, Chief Hopper asked me to bring your groceries over. I got Eggos?”

Even though he knows about her powers, there's still a spooky thrill from watching the door swing open on its own. He steps in slowly, looking around until he spots her emerging from her bedroom like a skittish cat. She doesn’t look surprised to see Steve though, so Hopper must’ve already radioed the news to her. With a swoop, the door swings closed and the locks all click back into place; Steve only jumps up half a foot in surprise because he's an adult, for chrissake. And maybe he stumbles a few feet further into the cabin, until he's standing across from Eleven.

Her hair is in a tumble of soft curls instead of slicked back, and she's wearing flannel, not leather, but there's an eyeshadow type of situation going on, so could be she's going through some teen girl fashion experimentation. Either way, she looks somewhat like a thin, newborn foal, and judging from the lack of dishes in the sink and the early hour, the chief must have been on a pre-breakfast grocery run when he got called away.

“Eggos?” is what she hones in on, and Steve passes her the plastic bag. She takes her prize out and chucks the bag and the remainder of its contents aside, already striding off toward the toaster. Steve, against his better judgment, stalks after her and holds his hand up to block her path.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. Have you even eaten yet?”

“I'm having Eggos,” she says, like he should already know this. Get with the program, idiot, is what her eyes seem to be saying as they bore into him. Children are truly on a whole other level. Steve is not having one of his own any time soon.

She could probably send him flying with a thought, but since Steve’s almost more afraid of being scolded by Hopper for destroying his daughter’s eating habits, he stands his ground. “You're having Eggos,” he agrees, putting his hands on his hips, “after you eat something with substance.” There has to be something in this house with some nutritional value. At the very least, he supposes he could microwave some of that frozen spinach.

Eleven looks down at the box of Eggos in her hand, but places it on the counter and follows Steve over to the fridge, where they poke around, looking at their options. There are some leftovers and assorted condiments, a couple of apples and a jug of milk, but Steve perks up when he notices the carton of eggs on the top shelf. Dollars to donuts the freezer is wall to wall TV dinners, but at least the man has eggs.

“How ‘bout a nice omelette?” Steve isn’t a great cook by any means, but years of getting himself ready for school have made him an expert in breakfast. If nothing else, he can make a mean brunch spread; he’d consider it one of his marketable skills if he had anyone around to market himself to.

“Omelette. What’s an omelette?”

“It’s a scrambled egg thing with stuff inside,” he explains as he roots around the cabinets for a bowl. “You eat eggs, right?” It makes him feel like a condescending bottom-feeder but he lifts an egg up to show her, just in case she doesn’t know what that is either, but she nods.

“Yeah.”

While he gets to beating the eggs, Eleven puts away the groceries and helps scrounge up an onion and some slice of mystery cheese to accompany the frozen spinach. She hovers next to him as he chops and sautes the vegetables; he isn’t sure if she’s just bored, or wants to learn, so he tells her step by step what he’s doing as he cooks. She's a studious listener, and it gives him a certain sense of accomplishment to hold her attention. It's so much better than helping his mom make canapés for a bunch of old people who are going to ask invasive questions about his plans for the future.

“Alright, let’s put the filling in,” he directs, and she helps spoon it onto the egg before throwing the weird cheese on top. “And now we fold. Tada. Bon fricking appetit.” He gives a moment for the cheese to melt and the omelette to settle, then slides it onto a plate for El.

He sits backwards on a chair across from her as she saws off a chunk and starts chewing experimentally; for a moment, he's afraid she's going to pull a face, or send it zooming away in disgust, but after the first bite she tucks in ravenously, downing half before Steve even thinks to get her a glass of water so she doesn't choke on egg particles.

“It's good,” she mumbles out between bites, which Steve was starting to assume anyway, based on nothing but the sheer speed she’s eating with.

“Now you can make one for yourself. And, bonus, girls love a guy who can c-” He pauses when he remembers he’s not talking to Dustin. “No, wait, guys love guys- fuck, girls- okay. Look. Cooking’s a great skill. Maybe you can ask Hopper to teach you some time.”

El’s mouth folds into an amused moue. “He doesn’t cook.”

“Oh. Uh, then you guys can learn together. That’d be fun, right?”

She shrugs, and forks up some more of her omelette. “He’s busy a lot. And I have other stuff to learn first. Words and math.”

Right. Homeschooling. And considering the limited time Hopper has, he probably doesn't tackle extra-curriculars with her. Steve wonders briefly if she gets lonely stuck up here by herself, even if it’s leagues upon leagues better than her life before. But it must get monotonous, here in this cabin every day with nothing to do but read and watch shitty daytime TV. The princess alone in her castle.

“Then, I dunno, next time you wanna eat something that’s not frozen peas and meatloaf, I’ll show you how to make a grilled cheese,” he offers nonchalantly, pretending like it isn’t one of the only other things he’s mastered.

Her face contorts slightly, trying to imagine how you're supposed to grill something like cheese, no doubt, and Steve laughs when she tells him with concern, “That sounds pretty bad.”

“Yeah, but you’ll see. Hey, while I'm here, let's have lesson number two. I don't think either of us has anything better to do. Not like I could help you with fucking algebra or whatever, anyway.”

He drops the tub of cookie dough onto the table in front of her and leans his elbows on the back of his chair, watching as she reads the words quietly to herself. “Chocolate chip cookie dough. Cookies. Can- can we make some?” she asks, almost shy, and Steve reaches over to crack open the lid.

“Fuck yeah, we can. Let’s find a pan.”

They unearth a grungy looking but functional sheet pan and start scooping dough out onto the tin foil-wrapped pan. Each ball is hilariously oversized, but if El wants plate-sized cookies, then that’s what she’s going to get. And more. Because Steve had peeked inside the freezer earlier and found more than just foil trays.

While they wait for the cookies to bake, Steve spoons himself a lump of raw dough to eat, which El observes curiously, raising her eyebrows when he offers the tub to her. “Life tip, kid. Always save some dough for the end. Unless you’re scared of salmonella.”

“Salmonella?” She says the word carefully, like she's feeling every letter out on the tip of her tongue.

“Yeah,” he replies as he digs out a chunk and drops it into her hands like he’s parceling out gold. “It's like a bacteria? And it makes you sick; gives you stomachaches and stuff. But I've been doing this for years now and I'm still A-OK, so...it's up to you.” She eyes the dough for a moment, squishing it slightly between her fingers before popping the whole thing in her mouth.

“ ‘s r’lly good,” she tells him in a garble. He gives her a thumbs-up, then grimaces at how Dustin it feels to do that.

After giving his spoon a twirl, he points it at her. “It only gets better from here. Buckle in.”

They’re spraying an ornate pillar of whipped cream onto their cookie/Eggo stack when someone comes knocking. El spares a glance to open the door, then returns her attention to helping Steve hold the top cookie still while he slides a scoop of rocky road from the secret ice cream stash onto the plate.

Steve doesn’t really register Hopper’s presence until he circles around the table and crouches down to scrutinize their creation, humming ambivalently. “And how the hell are you supposed to eat this thing?” he asks.

Almost dropping the ice cream scoop, Steve jerks in surprise, because for some reason everyone in this family just keeps him on his toes. “Oh shi- uh, chief, sir. Hi there.”

“Hi there,” Hopper echoes dryly, and turns toward El. “Look at you, turned all Michelin chef while I was out.”

“This is the traditional New Year’s Waffle,” El informs him, too busy adding more whipped cream flourishes to notice the guilty little shrug that Steve offers in response to Hopper’s raised eyebrows.

“Is it now?”

“Gotta end 1984 with a bang, right?” Steve tries, handing the ice cream tub wordlessly to El, who smacks another large ball of rocky road onto the plate.

Hopper barks out a laugh. “Sure, kid, because we haven’t had enough excitement already.” But he fetches the knife and forks for them anyway, ruffling El’s hair on his way past.

Sitting at the police chief’s kitchen table and watching this scrappy little superpowered punk demolish a solid pound of sugar, Steve realizes that this is what it was all for. There’s the tiniest scar under his eye and fading calluses on his palm from cleaning up other people’s dangerous mistakes – and worst of all, the lingering dreams of twisting vines and warped wallpaper that seem to leave the strangest scent behind, like burning copper and ozone and mud – but El’s laughing as she flicks cookie crumbs at the chief, who’s wearing a whipped cream mustache on top of his actual mustache, and Steve remembers slowly, like watching a camera come into focus, that it’s in the wreckage that people learn to rebuild.

Someday, it isn’t going to hurt the way it does now.

--

Steve lasts approximately twenty minutes hovering at the edge of the appetizer table, smiling dimly at guests who stop by and avoiding conversation by pretending to rearrange plates, before his mother finally frees him in exasperation. As he’s grabbing his jacket and car keys he notices his father standing too close to a woman in a pink cocktail dress, and absorbs this information clinically, just like everything else in the house: the off-color stain on the tablecloth hidden under a bucket of ice, the scratch of plastic utensils against plastic plates, the uneasy hum of people rehashing the same tired political talking points. Just like last year, and every year hereafter.

Life in Hawkins goes on, after all.

To clear his head he drives in circles through the dark empty roads leading away from home until he finally exhausts all the effort he can put toward caring about his everyday problems. He winds up shuffling his feet at Dustin’s doorstep, one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped around the neck of a bottle of cheap champagne he filched from his parents’ cabinet.

Mrs. Henderson greets him with her usual genial smile, happily moved by Steve’s offering, and ushers him to the kitchen, where Dustin is stirring a saucepan that smells like the warmth of Christmas lights.

“Hey, you made it!” Dustin says brightly and Steve scoffs.

“I told you I was coming over, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I figured you got stuck talking about mergers and assets over crackers and caviar.”

“Mergers?”

Dustin’s blank look is followed by a general shrug. “You know, like...equity. Acquisitions.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and neither do you,” Steve says, wrestling the spoon away from Dustin to take a look in the pot. Mulled cider, from the scent of it. It fills the house with a distinctly holiday atmosphere. “The only thing anyone wants to talk to me about is my future. ‘How’s the basketball career? What colleges are you looking at? Are you going to school first before you intern at your father’s company?’ It never ends.”

“Sucks, dude,” Dustin says, patting Steve’s back in sympathy. “At least you ate some nice snacks.” He mimes plucking up a tiny fork with his pinky finger stuck out, and Steve elbows him gently.

“No caviar, Dustin; my family only plays at being that rich.”

“What about escargot? Mini quiches? Those little sandwiches with the crust cut off? No?”

The mug that Dustin ladles Steve’s cider into is big enough to hold a can of chicken soup, and Steve rests it precariously in his lap once he’s nested into a spot on the couch next to Dustin under three blankets. The first is a faded but soft homemade quilt; the second is a dense wool affair made with thickset cornflower yarn; and the third a plush novelty Star Wars blanket. He’d think it a side effect of excessive hospitality except both Hendersons are bundled up just as much as he is, both sipping from their cups of cider, so Steve accepts it all as some kind of holiday tradition and gets into the spirit of making offhand remarks about Dick Clark’s New Year’s show with Dustin in between songs.

A few times, he catches Dustin looking like he wants to nod off, and ribs him about it even though he’s starting to feel the drowsiness drag at him too, full up of warm cider as he is. Dustin flips him off but doesn’t stop from burrowing in deeper until he’s practically horizontal, head lolling off the cushion into Steve’s space. They lay there, moored in their fabric piles while the band plays on.

Mrs. Henderson turns in early, carrying Tews away with her, but not before reminding Steve that he’s welcome to stay the night if he doesn’t want to drive home so late at night. He almost turns her down, but she shoos away his hesitations and tells him she’d much rather he stay in than chance the roads with drunken revelers swerving their way home.

“I’ll get the air mattress out for you,” Dustin promises after his mother’s gone to bed, and it’s just the two of them sitting in the dim but warm living room, soaking in the buzzing light crackling from the TV. “Anything else you need?” he asks while rearranging his nest with small, lethargic motions.

“I could use a few more blankets,” Steve says from under his mountain like one of those dwarves the kids have tried to teach him about.

Dustin cranes his neck to look, already starting to rise off the couch. “Okay, there's probably more in the closet, but they might smell a little moth-bally.”

“Kidding! I'm just kidding.” Steve unearths his hand to swing out and press Dustin and his own mound of blankets back down into his seat. On screen, the crowd gets louder as they enter the final ten minutes of the year. “This is nice. Cozy. I could just sleep like this, honestly.”

“What kinda host do you think I am, Steve?” Dustin huffs. The apple shaped ball hovers over Times Square, casting an eerie and benevolent light over the sea of people and their noisemakers. “You’ll get a crick in your back. It’s like you’ve never been to a sleepover before.”

“Not really,” Steve admits, watching people cheering as the countdown ticks past 11:51. “I guess I’ve been to a couple a million years ago,” he says, thinking back to those elementary school birthday parties with people he hasn’t had a real conversation with in a decade, but he already knows it was probably a far cry from what Dustin and his friends do.

“Oh man, next you’re gonna tell me you’ve never built a pillow fort, or swapped ghost stories, or played truth or dare…”

“I’m not a hermit, dude. I’ve done shit,” and why does he have to defend himself to someone who only just lost his last baby tooth? Steve has truthed more truths and dared more dares than any of these punks, but it would be wildly inappropriate to divulge that information.

“It’s okay,” Dustin says kindly. “We’ll catch you up. Pillow forts are as much about the artistry as they are functionality. You’ll be a pro in no time.”

“Thanks, but don’t think you’re gonna get me to play your danger dungeon game.”

“For the last time, that’s not what D&D stands for!”

When the clock hits 11:59 they count down along with the television, softly so they don’t wake Mrs. Henderson, cheering and exchanging “happy new year”s with one another. It’s the quietest celebration he’s been to in a long time, but it’s comfortable in a way he can’t remember feeling anywhere else. They watch the fireworks for a few minutes more before finally excavating themselves from the couch. While they clean up their cups Steve manages to convince Dustin that the couch really will be fine, because they’re both too sleepy to share horror stories anyway. Dustin agrees only on the condition that Steve accepts yet another blanket.

After gargling some mouthwash Steve retires to his four blanket abode while Dustin gets ready for bed. He’s thinking about how much his life has changed since he was first in this house (or the basement, as it were) and how much is still stagnant, when Dustin pops into the living room again.

“Oh good, you’re still up. Uh, before you sleep, I just wanted to give you something.” At Steve’s look of surprise, Dustin thrusts out a poorly wrapped lump, rocking on his heels as he explains, “It’s not Christmas anymore, but we couldn’t get to the store to buy it until a few days ago, so uh, belated happy holidays?”

“Shit, I didn’t get you anything-”

“Don’t worry about it; this is from the whole party anyway.” He waits for Steve to tear away the wrapping paper, revealing a walkie-talkie, the same model as the ones he’s seen the kids using. Unexpectedly, his throat suffers from a sudden constriction, and he swallows through it, willing his fingertips not to jitter as Dustin continues, “We figured that you and Max should each have one too. You never know when we might need to reach each other. I know it’s all supposed to be over now, but-”

“It’s never really ever over,” Steve finishes for him, flicking the walkie-talkie on and turning up the volume until he can hear the static. “Somebody’s gotta be ready for the next time.”

“Exactly.” Dustin sounds relieved that Steve understands, and Steve notices he’s still fidgeting with the pockets of his pajama pants.

Balling up the paper in his hand, Steve gently places it with his gift on the couch and stands up. “Hey. C’mere.” He tugs Dustin forward until he can loop his arms around him in a hug, which Dustin firmly returns. Some days Steve thinks perhaps he treats them all younger than they really are, but then he notices that the top of Dustin’s head only just reaches his shoulder, and remembers that it’s such a fucking mess that despite it all they’re still barely teenagers.

Letting go, he places his hands on Dustin’s shoulders, looking down so they’re making eye contact. “You know I’ve got your back. Whatever happens, okay? Thank you for the walkie-talkie, and thanks for-” letting him in, for depending on him, for choosing him when no one else did, “forcing me to come see your basement that day.”

“Thanks for letting me drag you along,” Dustin says, his eyes crinkling the way they do whenever he’s really smiling.

Steve slaps him lightly on the arm. “Anytime. Now hurry up and go sleep; you look like you’re about to hit the hay before you can even make it into your bed. I’m not gonna be the one explaining to your mom why you’re passed out in the hallway.”

Dustin has the audacity to slap him back before he shuffles off to his room. Steve lies heavily back onto the couch to take stock of himself before he sleeps. He can hear the unfamiliar creaks and ticks of the house, but there’s no unease with him buried here like a seven-layer dip. Reaching down next to the couch, he turns on the walkie again just to hear the oddly comforting haze of blank static, before he shuts it off and closes his eyes.

Things are never going to go back to the way they were, and Steve doesn’t think he even cares anymore. The same old shit will remain unchanged, but the people who he’s come to care about...he needs to be his best for them. He needs to move forward.

It’s 1985. It’s a new year. Maybe it’s time for a new Steve, too.

Chapter Text

A year ago, Steve never would’ve pegged himself as the kind of guy to power walk down a hallway while trying to read a textbook on his way to class. He’s always been the “fuck it, good enough” kind of student, but his grades were actually looking pretty sharp at the end of last term, and even Mrs. Halloran had commented on his last paper that she’s noticing a marked improvement in his effort, so here he is at the start of the semester cramming in as much as he can before class so he can at least clinch marks for participation.

He’s busy flipping rapidly through King Lear and turns a corner too sharply and collides with someone, saved from falling flat on his face only by his basketball skills. He spin-steps away but drops his book on the ground, and he doesn’t realize who’s picking it up until he sees that familiar mop of brown hair.

“Um, hey, Steve,” Jonathan says, handing his battered copy of Shakespeare back to him. “Sorry about that.” He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, and Steve feels a strange sense of commiseration. They don’t talk much one-on-one, but it’s been a little weird since last year, and now the air between them is more still than ever. But Steve honestly likes the guy well enough, even if their personalities don’t exactly jibe. He’s pretentious, but he’s true to himself, and he’s a good brother, which Steve’s started to appreciate more now that he knows Will better. They’re never going to be the best of friends, but there’s a mutual understanding between them now, that sits on a foundation of trust that was built off the shared bullshit they went through.

The situation with Nancy is what it is. Jonathan makes her happy. Steve will live with that.

“No problem, dude,” he says, tucking his book under his arm. He would stay and make some semblance of small talk, but he’s already running late for third period, so he lifts his hand in a pseudo-wave and starts walking backwards away down the hall. “I’ll see you around; gotta get before Munster tries to mark me absent again.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard he’s a stickler for that kind of thing.” He brushes a hand through his floppy hair, mouth parted like he wants to say something else, and Steve pauses. “Um, Nancy and I- we were gonna eat lunch outside the art room today. If you want to join us. No pressure, though; I know it might be weird-”

It probably will be weird. He talks to Nancy sometimes when they pass each other in between classes, but never for long, and rarely with Jonathan around. They mostly hover in that in-between state of friendly but not too friendly. People who used to know each other better than they’re allowed to anymore. In some ways it’s easier, this emotional distance, and in other ways, it makes him miss his memories with her all the more. But he’s moving past it, and a thirty-minute lunch? He can handle that.

“You guys have second lunch, right? Yeah, I can- I’ll be there. Thanks,” he says stiltedly, but he smiles to show he’s trying to be genuine, and Jonathan nods back.

“Cool. I’ll see you then. Be careful walking backwards; wouldn’t want you to fall and bruise your face again. The girls would lose it.” There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face, and Steve lets out a laugh in surprise. Holy shit, Jonathan Byers is joking around with him. Let a guy beat you up once and he never lets you forget it.

“Don’t worry about me; still a 10 out of 10, even with a busted lip, buddy,” Steve says, gesturing at his face as he backs away. Jonathan gives him an almost-laugh and lifts his hand in goodbye as Steve heads toward his classroom. He makes it to class with a couple of minutes to spare, and Mr. Munster even gives him an approving nod as he takes his seat, King Lear still in hand. It’s a day of wonders, apparently.

--

Nancy, sitting with her legs folded up and holding an egg salad sandwich, smiles at Steve when he approaches. His arms are weighed down with a stack of books he needed to borrow for his upcoming research paper.

“You know, I’ve been hearing rumors about you hanging around the library, but I didn’t realize how true they were,” she says, and he shrugs.

“It’s a lie; I’m just carrying these for somebody. I don’t even know how to read.”

She shakes her head, trying not to laugh, and pushes her bag aside so he can take a seat next to her. He leaves about half a foot of space between them, just to make it clear that he’s not here to try and mess around. “Seriously though, I know you’ve been working really hard recently, and I think that’s great, Steve. I’m proud of you – is that weird to say? It feels like I’m acting like a mom, but I mean it.”

Steve ducks his head, before nodding, because she really does, he can tell.

“I’m not making honor roll or anything, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to aim higher than I have been.” She grins again, patting him companionably on the arm as he takes out his packed lunch. He normally drives out to one of the close-by fast food joints to pick something up, but today he has leftover mac and cheese from another impromptu cooking lesson with El.

Jonathan joins them a few minutes later, and takes a seat on Nancy’s other side. They don’t act overtly romantic, unlike how Steve and Nancy used to be, but looking back on it, maybe Steve was always the more affectionate between the two of them anyway. Or, perhaps they’re just being considerate of his feelings. Either way, they don’t do anything that even hints at being more than friends, and though he’s thankful, he also finds himself thinking that even if they did, he would...he would be alright. He’s getting over it.

They eat and chat and it feels almost easy. Almost okay. There’s something nice about being able to talk to people his own age, and while there’s still a stiffness between himself and Jonathan, overall, Steve thinks the experience is better than not. He misses Tommy and Carol on some days, but he doesn’t miss the person he became when he was with them. There’s only about half a year left of high school, and then he plans to get out there and meet new people, make new friends. But for now, if this is what he has – Nancy, Jonathan, their too-smart conversations, and leftovers from the Chief’s cabin – he can make do.

Before their lunch period ends, Nancy stops him with a hand to his shoulder, and he turns toward her like a magnet drawn to a charge, still automatic. She withdraws just as quickly, but instead of getting flustered, she just asks, “This might also sound weird, but we were going to study together at the library after school, and um, I guess this is an open invitation for you. If you wanted help on your paper, or anything.”

It’s a kind offer, because she probably could give him some valuable insight, but he’s got prior plans today, and even if he might want to give it a go some time, he thinks it would be good to continue taking their friendship slow.

“Thanks Nance, that’s- I appreciate it, honestly, but I can’t today. I gotta go to the middle school afterwards; I’m like a student intern helper guy? For the A.V. club. It’s not like I do much, but Mr. Clarke’s pretty cool, and it looks good on my college apps. You know, community involvement and shit.”

Her mouth parts in surprise, but then she brightens, looking genuinely glad for him. “That’s fantastic. I know Mike and his friends have been dragging you along with them, but I’m happy you’re getting something out of it too.”

“Yeah, well, mostly I just do my homework in the back while they nerd out. Sometimes they try to get me to help. Your brother’s a pain in my ass, Wheeler.”

She makes a face suddenly, looking slightly bemused. “It’s funny. I wanted Mike to like you more back when we were dating, and of course, now that we’ve broken up he finally comes around.”

Steve laughs a little bit, and brushes an errant lock of hair out of his eyes. “Maybe it’s because we broke up. Like a protective sibling thing.”

“Could be. Or maybe you’ve just grown on him. It’s...a different kind of proximity now,” she says with the fond exasperation of an older sister. “Thanks for looking out for him. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She turns to join Jonathan, who’s fiddling with his camera, and they wave goodbye before heading down the hallway together. Steve watches the way her ponytail swings back and forth, the way her arm curves around her notebooks and binders, the tiny smile she gives Jonathan when he quietly tells her something. It’s like watching a distorted version of his own memories through a curtain of seawater, and then he remembers the stupid little fights they would have about his future, and the way her eyes had looked when she couldn’t tell him she loved him, and the wistfulness dies in his throat.

Slowly, day by day, the cloying melancholy from missing her trickles away.

--

After they go their separate ways, Steve’s day drags until the final bell, somehow leaving him more tired than it used to. At the same time, it comes with a sense of accomplishment, as if tiredness is a mark of progress. Maybe it’s because he’s expending more energy and effort now. At least he’s got something to show for it.

He drives the short distance to the middle school and makes his way to the A.V. club, where the kids are already fiddling with a radio, trying to make contact with someone. They wave distractedly at him when he enters, but are too absorbed with their project to say much, so he picks up the stack of papers Mr. Clarke needs him to copy and gets to it. No quizzes to help grade this week. The bulk of his internship is doing odd jobs for the science classes and doing his homework while the kids do their thing. Sometimes he watches when they work with the projector, or mess around with videos, and once he had to drive Dustin and Lucas out to Radio Shack on Friday to buy some cables and junk, but usually he doesn’t manage to get roped into anything more than helping set up some simple equipment.

There’s something hypnotically calming about the hum of the copier as it pushes out packet after stapled packet. He stacks the finished papers aside, heat and the scent of ink soaking into his hands. While he waits he skims the flyers tacked in flaking layers on the ancient, peeling corkboard above the boxes of printer paper.

Between a sheet advertising the chess club and a flyer about signing up to volunteer for color day is a notice for the Valentine’s Day bake sale next week, to raise money for the dance. Steve thinks half-ruefully to himself that it’ll be the first Valentine’s he’s spending alone in a while. His parents are undoubtedly going to make a go at having a semi-functional night out together, which leaves him free to eat an entire pizza alone on the couch while watching the game. Maybe some garlic bread too.

After sorting his copies into the right folders for next week’s classes, Steve situates himself on one of the classroom desks, folded over his notebook as he tries to solve the function problems in tonight’s math homework. The radio crackles with noise, mostly drowned out by the excited voices shouting over each other, but he tries to tune it all out because this problem is giving him both a headache and a crick in his neck. This is why he doesn’t notice at first the voice telling him, “Seven. It’s seven,” off to his right. It takes until a loop of Max’s hair dips down onto his paper that he realizes she’s hovering over his worksheet, giving him some unwarranted advice.

“C’mon, Steve. Seven!”

“The answer isn’t seven,” he says, flicking a lock of red hair out of his face.

“It is! I swear to god. Look, you just multiply those two numbers together…”

“You don’t even know how to do this shit yet,” Steve says, elbowing Max gently away and laughing at the disgruntled face she makes. “The answer isn’t even a number, you dork. There’s letters. Variables.”

“Screw you, I’m awesome at math,” she grumbles, batting his hand down when he makes to jab her with the eraser end of his pencil. “Straight A student here.”

He snorts as he scribbles down his answer, finally remembering how to find the inverse of his current function. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen your science quiz scores. A’s don’t look like this,” he says, curving his hand into a C shape. “No shame, though. C’s get degrees.”

“I’ve got time. I can pull it up,” she retorts, sticking out her tongue.

“So what’s the deal, red? Got bored of playing E.T.?”

She shrugs, and clambers onto the desk next to his. “It’s more their thing than mine. I just come to hang. Wish El could come out,” she mumbles quietly. “I could be showing her how to skate or something.”

Steve knows that Hopper’s been thinking about loosening the reins on Eleven before the full year is up; it’s part of the reason he’s been stuck on babysitting duty more than once. Last time he saw El, she’d seemed hopeful that her friends could visit by the spring, and that she would be free to go out in the open by midsummer. But it’s not Steve’s place to tell, so he just grimaces in commiseration.

“Yeah, it sucks, but you’ll have plenty of time. Just stay patient and be ready for her.”

Max doesn’t look entirely convinced but Will calls her back before she can think too hard on it. Steve watches her slide back into the crowd with ease, jostling elbows jokingly with Mike before settling in next to Lucas. Dustin catches him looking and pulls a frog face, eliciting a short laugh before Steve returns his attention to the notebook in his lap. He’s reminded now that Dustin’s birthday is coming up and he still needs to figure out what he’s going to do for it.

The next math problem is slightly easier than the last, but Steve’s never been as good with numbers as with people. And he’s not even that good at people. He’s working on it, though. All of it.

--

“Steve! Wait, hold up!”

Standing next to the driver’s seat with the door open, Steve pauses, looking back toward the middle school. Lucas is walking his bike up at a quick trot, while his friends head off in a different direction. “Lucas? What’s up, you need another ride to Radio Shack?”

“No, uh. I wanted to ask you something.”

It’s peculiar how Lucas asks, tapping the heel of his foot and fiddling with his backpack straps, looking unsure in a way that he doesn’t usually let show. Interesting.

“Sure,” Steve says, intrigued by where this is going. He gestures broadly at the space between them. “You wanna do this in the parking lot, or...”

They end up sitting on the hood of Steve’s car outside the diner, drinking bitter decaf. Lucas hasn’t yet actually gotten around to telling Steve what he needs, and it’s rapidly getting dark.

“So, are you going tell me what this is about? I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s not a hair question.”

Lucas laughs in the middle of taking a sip and almost coughs out a mouthful of coffee. Steve has to clap him hard on the back to stop the wheezing. “Definitely not a hair question. But I do want your advice. About Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, shit, this is a girl question. You know I’m single, right? There’s probably a reason for that.”

Frowning, Lucas replies, “Yeah, but like, you’ve been not single a bunch of times. And even when you were kinda douchey, you were still a good boyfriend. And I wanna know how to do that. My dad’s given me some pointers, and I believe him and all, but he’s old, y’know?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t count anything he says out. If anyone knows what they’re talking about when it comes to women, it’s your dad,” Steve says. There’s a good reason the Sinclairs are one of the only couples he knows that are still happily married. “But we can do this if you want. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t wanna just do the old dinner and a movie. That’s too boring. Max isn’t boring.” He lights up when he says her name, and Steve hides his grin behind the rim of his cup. Ah, the innocence of youth. That golden period where love is still simpler than not.

Steve hadn’t been sure this whole relationship upgrade wouldn’t fuck up all their friendships, but they’ve remained solid so far. It helps that Max and Lucas are both equally new to all of this, and equally invested. They’re still barely teens, so who knows how long it’ll last, but for now, they’re having fun. Lucas is honest and sweet, and Max is bright and loyal. They’re good for each other.

“She sure as hell isn’t. Look, you guys see each other all the time, and I’m sure you know what she likes by now. If you want this date to be special, to be different, you’ve gotta change it up a little. Do something besides the same old, but based on what she would like, not what people tell you. So tell me. What does she like?”

Lucas only has to think a minute before he begins ticking off items on his fingers. “Skating, dancing, the beach. Animal books and capture the flag and climbing trees. Rollercoasters.”

“That’s a good start. Okay. If we want cheap and easy, skating’s an obvious one. There’s no real skate parks out here, but the high school lot behind the football field has some ramps and rails. Shit like that. Can you skate?”

“Not really?”

“Good. Ask her to show you; Max likes teaching people stuff.”

“Whoa, okay. Should I be writing this stuff down?” Lucas reaches into his pockets, trying to find a scrap of paper, but Steve shakes his head.

“Nah, you’ll remember it. The number one rule is making sure you keep her in mind when you plan something. If you’re gonna give a gift, make it something she likes, or collects, or she’s been talking about.” He pauses to let Lucas list a few things.

“Uh, cupcakes? And she collects sea glass.”

“There we go. Get her a book she wants to read, or some shells or whatever. I dunno where you could get sea glass from out here in beautiful fuckin’ Indiana but you’re a smart kid. Figure it out. Bake some cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes. Glass. Parking lot. Okay, I got it.”

“And if you’re looking for something else to do, pick something you like that you can share with her. Something you can both take part in. What are your hobbies? That don't require your friends all tagging along.”

“Stargazing?”

“There you go. After she teaches you how to skate, you go lie in the grass and look at some stars. Super romantic.”

Lucas looks fairly impressed, his eyebrows rising up toward his hairline. “Wow, you made that seem so easy. I’ve been trying to come up with something for a week.”

“It was only easy because you already know Max so well.” Steve punches him gently in the arm. “And Lucas. Kissing and stuff – if either of you isn’t sure about it, then it’s not the right time. There’s no rush on that kinda shit; don’t feel pressured to try it just because you think it’s what couples are supposed to do, alright?”

“Yeah, I know, dad,” the kid scoffs, but he brightens with a smile right afterwards. “Seriously, thanks, man. This was really helpful.”

“No problem.” Steve crushes his paper cup in his hand, about to suggest they head out when he thinks of a question he has in return. He already has a physical gift for Dustin, a hardcover copy of The Silmarillion, but it doesn’t seem like it’s special enough, and he isn’t sure why. Romance is one thing, but other relationships – platonic ones, familial ones – sometimes he feels like he’s driving through those blind. All of the kids, minus Max, have middling to good relationships with their siblings, but Lucas is the only one with the experience Steve is looking for. “Hey, while we’re here, help me out. You’re an older brother. What do you- when you want to do something nice for your sister, what do you do?”

“Erica? I dunno, I guess I play along with one of her make-believe games, or go to a tea party. Sometimes I just do stuff I know she wants me to do with her, even if it’s kinda dumb. She’s annoying, but she’s my sister.” Lucas’ mouth twists into a vaguely long-suffering smile. They squabble a lot, but he looks out for his sister when it counts.

Steve mulls over this advice as they toss their garbage out. Play along with one of her make-believe games? Huh.

Lucas takes off with a promise to tell Steve how it goes, and Steve returns home with the start of a half-baked idea that might land him in over his head. He spends a cumulative total of eighteen minutes lifting up the phone and placing it back down in between reading assignments before he decides to suck up his pride and just make the call.

“Yo, I think Tews thinks he’s too good for store brand kibble,” Dustin says when he picks up the phone, which is a conversational point Steve supposes he’s willing to return to later. But right now, he has some business to settle.

“Henderson. You still looking for one more person to play your nerdy dragon game?”

Chapter Text

Dawn, feathered and glowing, lights in the sleeping sky like the long-awaited rekindling of the Mirvault forge, and you finally reach your destination after your arduous journey through lands unfamiliar and unforgiving.

Before you stretch the walls of the necromancer's keep, each iron pike stained burgundy with the blood of vanquished enemies.

–sounds wasteful.

–for real. Doesn’t he need that blood for his rituals and shit?

Shhh. Silvara Snowswift collapses at the sight of the dread fortress where her brother’s life had been snuffed out like a candle flame, and turns to your party with pleading eyes.

“This is as far as I can deliver you, my friends,” she says. “You must stop this monster before he dooms the whole realm-”

–wait, Silvara isn’t coming in with us?

–no, dude, because of the curse, remember?

–she was the cursed one? I thought that whole bloodline thing was Will?

–Steve, that was a different curse. More like a prophecy, actually.

–is there really a difference?

–c’mon, Max, we talked about this already!

Ahem. Silvara reminds you that you need to not only defeat the necromancer, but destroy the accursed gem that first poisoned his mind. Ahead, you see the main entrance to the fortress is right past the heavy gate door, which has been left slightly ajar. What do you do?

“I move toward the door,” Max says, met with an immediate groan from the boys, and she protests. “It’s what Sage would do! Charge in without looking!”

“It’s true,” Dustin sighs.

“Oh, then I guess I’m going in too,” Steve says belatedly, already having forgotten again that his character has sworn an almost zealous allegiance to Max’s character. After three days of playing Ven (“When I told you not to name yourself Steve, I didn’t mean settle for the next closest thing!”), Steve has started to get a feel for the game and for his new fake life, but it’s hard to remember sometimes that he can’t just react the way he wants to. In no universe would Steve Harrington ever want to barge right into some dead-raising creep’s gross blood castle, but Ven is thoroughly committed to that lifestyle. It helps that he’s equipped with a proper sword and axe instead of a baseball bat.

“Okay, so Sage and Ven go to enter through the gate? Make a dexterity saving throw,” Mike says, glancing down at his notes.

“Aw, shit,” says Lucas.

“Wait, which- uh, what die is that again,” Steve asks, frazzled. Will reaches over the table to point at one of the many dice on the table.

“D20! Don’t forget your modifier.”

Seated next to Max, who looks slightly less confused than he does, Steve finally picks the right die out of his hoard of multicolored polyhedrons. Between those and the character sheets and the little figurines, he’s never realized just how much crap playing this game involved. He glances down at his own sheet, finds his dexterity modifier, and rolls. Prior to this game, Steve had considered himself fairly lucky. Now, after getting Ven thrown into a river and the stuffing hexed out of him more than once, he’s not so sure.

“Uh, it’s a seventeen. That should be good enough, right?” he says hesitantly, looking to Dustin for guidance, who grins broadly at him.

Mike looks down at his book and does some quick math. “Seventeen...okay, and Max? Nineteen, alright, good. You both sidestep the arrows that comes whistling past your heads.”

“Where did that come from? Can I make a perception check?”

“Sure,” Mike says, waiting until Lucas rolls to tell him, “So in the highest window of the keep you see an archer reach toward his quiver for another arrow. What’s weird though is that the archer doesn’t look quite right. Actually, he looks like a skeleton. Because he is a skeleton.”

“Why? Why would you- what does he gain from doing this Fantasia shit on a pile of bones?” Steve doesn’t get it. Necromancy isn’t even logical as a concept; who the hell wants random dead people wandering around all over the place?

“Well, now we know the villagers weren’t lying about the undead army,” Will says.

“Hey, screw this. I’m not sticking around to get shot by the bone man; I’m going inside,” Steve announces, before remembering he’s supposed to use his actor voice. “‘I, uh, believe it would behoove us to get ourselves the fuck inside, because the best defense is a strong offense. Verily.’”

To his surprise, Dustin throws in his agreement. “You know what, I’m with the hot-headed crew this time around. Let’s get the party started. ‘Silvara, are you going to be all right out here, milady?’”

“‘Yes, I’ll be fine, thank you for always worrying about me,’” Mike says in his high-pitched Silvara voice. He’s got some approximation of a British accent that Steve feels isn’t accurate, but he can’t say for sure exactly what’s wrong with it. He’s more preoccupied with the odd dynamic of Dustin flirting with a fictional half-elf that’s just Mike in falsetto.

“She’s going to set up camp over in the clearing,” Mike tells them. “So, that’s half the party headed in; what are you two gonna do? Remember that the innkeeper told you he heard rumors of a secret passage.”

“No, I think we’re going in the front too,” Will says after checking with Lucas. “I think you’ll need my help if we want to get anywhere far.”

“Time for this necromancer to bite the dust!”

“Is that the one-liner we’re going with?” Max looks skeptical of Dustin’s quip. Steve is inclined to agree, but he keeps his mouth shut this time around. Ven is the silent type.

“Um, we’ve got a bone to pick with him?” Dustin twiddles his fingers around his imaginary lyre. This time she snorts, but still gives him a “so-so” gesture.

“Okay, I’m not getting shot because you two decided to try out your standup act at the worst possible time. ‘Come now, let’s not dawdle any longer.’ I start pushing everyone in through the gate and toward the door,” Lucas says to Mike.

“You’re all going inside? Great. As you push past the gates and pull open the unlocked door to the keep, you see a ghoul waiting right inside the entranceway-”

“-Christ, seriously? How do you stab a ghost?”

“Don’t worry; it’s not a ghost. Let’s roll for initiative!”

--

Over the next week, Steve wins two basketball games, finishes his stupid Shakespeare essay, and unintentionally acquires the phone number of the new waitress at the diner.

Ven, on the other hand, loses an eye, gets knighted for his service to his kingdom, and finds a really sweet flame sword in the basement of that jerk necromancer’s dungeon.

Steve finds himself almost more proud of the latter achievements.

Late in February, in an attempt to take his mind off the upcoming tournament playoffs, he sits at El’s table trying to whip a pasta salad into shape. Eleven is carefully seeding a pepper, though her annoyance at getting pips stuck all over her hand has led to her flailing her arm in sudden jerks every few minutes. There arises a concern not so much that she’ll cut herself, but that she’ll get fed up with the work and send the knife sailing away into a table leg.

Dismayed by the oily look of the dressing he bought earlier, Steve is about to go open the can of olives when the walkie-talkie in El’s room crackles to life. She comes to attention immediately, not unlike a bloodhound, but makes a face at all the pepper matter covering her fingers.

“Here, I’ll take that. Go,” Steve says, shooing her away with exasperation when Mike’s voice comes over the channel. She barely has the patience to dry her hands before she’s taking off for her room. The door slams shut, but not before Steve hears Dustin pipe up about something involving magnets and throwing eggs. This leaves him alone with a knife in one hand and a half-dissected vegetable in the other. Kids, Steve catches himself thinking with the mental sneer and tone of a cranky nonagenarian with bad ankles, and then he tries to desperately self-correct by daydreaming about crushing the finals this year with a glorious buzzer beater. The crowd goes wild. Confetti everywhere. His youthful vigor is still secure.

The pasta salad looks salvageable once the peppers and olives are mixed in, oily salad dressing or not. El re-emerges from her burrow to eat, and they spend a quiet lunchtime together talking about the owl she saw in the woods yesterday. While they’re washing the few dishes they created, El turns to Steve, and with a contemplative tilt to her head, tells him, “Mike was weird earlier.”

“Weird? Weird how?”

“Quiet. He’s not usually quiet on the walkie.” Steve is now well aware of how noisy the walkie can be, and it does seem more than a little strange.

“It’s just hormones,” he mutters. El doesn’t look satisfied with the answer, and before she can ask him to elaborate on the magic of puberty, which he is very much not qualified to do, he puts together another answer in a hurry. “He’s like that sometimes, isn’t he? When he worries about something. Is that it?”

She makes a face, still concerned. “He didn’t say. Maybe I imagined it, but he just felt different.” She doesn’t say anything further than that, but the weight of her gaze on his face as he finishes rinsing the last fork is enough to tell Steve that she would like for him to do something about this turn of events. A voice in Steve’s head (sounding like Dustin in tutorial mode, which is par for the course, isn’t it) tells him that this way lies a quest, should he choose to accept it. He’d rather not, because setting a precedent for acting as her emissary will surely come back to bite him in the ass once these punks discover teenage angst, but he also doesn’t really have sufficient grounds to refuse.

“Alright, fine, I’ll ask him about it next time we see each other. Happy?”

“Yeah,” El says with a small smile, before pointing at the freezer. “Can we make cookies?”

“What, again? Who are you, Cookie Monster- no, wait, you wouldn’t get that reference. He’s this blue dude? He eats a boatload of cookies and he teaches kids letters,” Steve flounders to explain when she shows no sign of recognition.

“I could do that,” El tells him frankly while prying the Tollhouse bucket free from the freezer.

“You probably could,” Steve agrees. Especially with those powers of hers; she wouldn’t even need to use the puppet strings. “You might just have a future in showbiz, kid.”

--

The chance to speak to Mike alone comes up easier than expected. Steve was afraid he’d have to go make up a pretense for visiting the Wheeler house, which he’s handily avoided returning to ever since D&D sessions were relocated to Dustin’s house. He cruises over to Hawkins Middle on the one afternoon he doesn’t have basketball related activities and manages to catch Mike before he gets on his bike with the rest of the boys.

“Hey, Wheeler. Yeah, you, with the bad hair. Come over here for a few,” Steve calls over from the parking lot. The others turn to look too, but Steve waves them off. “No, I only need Mike. It’s about Nancy,” he lies, because it’s the most likely topic to keep the others off his back. Will and Dustin trade uneasy looks, probably wondering about the sanity in taking sudden interest in his ex again, but they leave all the same.

“Everything about you screams ‘stranger danger,’” Mike tells him when he finally walks his bike over. He gives Steve’s sunglasses a pointed look, so Steve just doubles down on his current style, and pops the collar of his coat.

“I’m the least likely contender for ‘stranger’ in the whole school system, bucko. Now, c’mon, I gotta talk to you.” He turns his engine back on, but Mike just shakes his head, an unexpected amount of pity on his face.

“Look, Steve, you’re a pretty good guy, but I don’t think Nancy’s gonna-”

“This isn’t about Nance,” Steve interrupts, then plays the one card he knows will hold Mike’s attention. “This is about El.”

Of all places, they choose to sit on the cold, empty bleachers outside the football field to have this talk. The grass is flat and bare, and the weather is equally bleary to match. But there’s no one else in sight for a mile around, which gives Mike the peace of mind to actually hear Steve out. After assuring the kid that Eleven is fine, Steve decides to cut to the chase, figuring it’d be easier than tiptoeing around the subject.

“She said she was worried about you,” Steve paraphrases, because that’s what it comes down to.

“It’s nothing.”

“You sure? ‘Friends don’t lie,’ or so I’ve been told,” he reminds Mike gently, who just scrunches his nose at him.

“Are we friends?” Mike gestures between the two of them with one finger, slightly disdainful, prompting Steve to roll his eyes. Punk. Well, he tried.

“Apparently not. Guess I’ll just go fuck myself then, and tell El that you’re moping over ‘nothing’.” The vigor with which he does his air quotes is a little extreme but it gets Mike to scowl. “Look, I didn’t sign up to pry, so if you don’t wanna do this, we’re not gonna do it. But El wants to help you. Shit, even I want to- well, okay, maybe not ‘want’, but I’m here. For you. And I’ll leave it at that.”

The raised lines of the metal benches are starting to leave welted indentations on his palms, so Steve brushes them against his jeans as he stands. He begins loping back down the bleachers, forgoing the steps in favor of just walking down the benches, each step releasing the clatter of aging metal against metal. Mike calls after him about halfway down.

“Okay, hold on. Why are you doing this?”

It almost sounds like an accusation. “Doing what, talking to you?”

“Yeah.”

Funny question from the kid who doesn’t hesitate to launch himself headlong into trouble for his friends. The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches. “Would you believe me if I told you it was a quest?”

Putting it in nerd language for him only serves to confuse him further. “What?”

“Never mind. I’m trying to help because I care about you, asshole. Well, I care about Moggrum the shopkeep, and Zerah Brackenthwaite, so by default care I about you, too.”

A smile flashes across Mike’s face. “Moggrum ripped you off with the ironsole boots, you know.”

“Yeah, well, Ven and I are both shit at math so what can you do.” They exchange shrugs, and something seems to loosen in Mike’s posture, something stiff that took hold during the snafu from two years ago that never really went away.

Steve walks a few steps back toward the top, waiting with his thumbs hooked into his pockets. The wind isn’t strong, but it is steady, and it blows Mike’s hair into a soft tangle while he tries to decide what he wants to say. Finally, he settles on this: “El said she might get to come to school next year.”

After taking a second to do the mental math, Steve can only come up with a wrong answer. Typical. “Wait, I thought that was a good thing. Why aren’t you happy about it?”

“It is! And I am! But there’s all this other bullshit that’s gonna come along with it, and I just don’t know what to do!”

It all comes bursting out at once, the frustration that Mike’s been trying to hide, and he stands abruptly, causing his bench to creak as he starts pacing the top row.

“Are you- is it ‘cause you’re going into high school, or…”

“It’s everything. El’s not- she hasn’t been to school before, she hasn’t really talked to a lot of other kids before- and that’s not...it’s not bad – El is just El, y’know? She’s awesome. But the other kids, they’re not gonna see that. They’re just going to see she’s different, like they always do.”

And Steve gets it. Not the same way the kids do; he’s never been bullied the way Dustin described to him, but he knows how hard it can be to navigate the social seas when everyone either wants something from you or is out to get you.

“And I know she can take care of herself,” Mike continues. “But-”

“But she can’t just use her superpowers at school.”

“Yeah. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” He sits back down in a pile of winter coat and misery.

Oof. Steve makes his way back up and sits heavily down beside him. Save the world twice and the world still does its best to crush you underfoot.

“Who says you have to do anything?” he asks. He doesn’t have the chance to realize it came out wrong before Mike is whirling furiously toward him.

“What are you- of course I have to do something! She’s my friend! It’s already bad enough for us some days; I can’t just sit by and let them fuck with us again! They pick on Lucas because he's black; they go after Will ‘cause he doesn't like girls; they think Max is weird because she's the new kid and only hangs out with boys; you’d knock someone out if you heard the shit they say about Dustin...who knows what the hell they’re gonna do to El?”

He’s so upset that blots of color have formed high on his cheeks; Steve thinks that if he tries to reach out Mike will smack him by accident, so he puts his hands up.

“Hey, no, that’s not what I meant. Obviously you should stick up for your friends. But, like, have you tried talking to someone about this?”

“No, ‘cause everybody has enough problems already. And then the other day, stupid fucking Troy and his dumb-” But he cuts himself off before he can tell Steve what the little twerp did, and just shakes his head angrily. “It’s just- how am I supposed to protect everyone if I can’t even defend myself?”

Steve scans his face for any signs of bruising, and luckily finds none. But that doesn’t mean anything. The invisible scars are probably worse in the long run.

“Who are you?” he asks without warning.

The face that Mike makes is incredible. “What? I’m Mike?”

“No, in your party, what are you? Dustin says he’s the bard, Will is...something-”

“The paladin. I’m the paladin.”

“Right. Priest with a sword-”

“That’s not all a pa-”

“I know; I know, you do some holy stuff, whatever, but that’s not the point,” Steve interrupts. “The point is, you’re just another guy. You’re not the dungeon master, you’re just a dude traveling with your friends, and you can’t do everything alone. Do you really think they expect you to carry all this shit on your own?”

“No, but…”

“Talk to your friends, Wheeler. You know they’d do anything for you. You don’t always have to lead.” He leans back against the cool sheets of aluminum at their backs and watches a scraggly flock of birds take flight across the field. He elbows Mike in the arm. “El’s probably going to go to school next year. And she’s gonna have some trouble, yeah, but she’s got all of you watching her back. Just tell her what you’re worried about. It might not stop assholes from trying anything, but she’ll know she can come to you, that you’re looking out for her. And sometimes that’s all you really need.”

It takes a moment before Mike responds, his voice small. “What if it’s not enough?”

Sometimes it isn’t, Steve knows, but he has faith in this ragtag bunch. They didn’t go through the end of the world just to let Hawkins get them down. “I mean, she can still break people’s arms, right? Do that one more time and nobody’s gonna fuck with you guys in high school.”

“Hopper will ground her forever.”

“Might be worth it.”

“It might.”

Mike isn’t ready to smile yet, but he’s generally the moodiest of the bunch anyway, so Steve thinks he might be okay. He tugs the kid to his feet when he stands, and wrangles him into a stiff, angular hug. It’s fairly awkward.

“You’re a pretty good guy too. Let other people worry about you for once.”

“Ugh, what is this,” Mike complains, but he rests his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, as if he’s almost willing to relax into it.

“We’re hugging, dipshit. Friends do that sometimes.”

“Are we friends?” he asks again. He doesn’t sound annoyed for once, just wary, like he’s floating out to deeper and deeper waters. Steve shrugs as he lets him go.

“I let your stupid goblin cultists stab me in the kidney before breakfast the other day; I think we’re probably friends.”

“It’s your own fault for making a shitty roll,” Mike snipes back.

“Give me a break, you know I’m still new to this.”

For a second, Mike studies Steve’s face, his mouth pressed into a flat line, but it gives way to a look of satisfaction. He nods slowly. “Yeah, but you’re getting better at it.”

--

“Dustin says you fell in a pit.”

“Dustin needs to learn when to keep classified information to himself.”

“Did it really take you four tries to climb out?”

Yes, because his dice are cursed. “Doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I got out eventually and saved everybody else’s hide. The big hero. Used my flame sword and everything.”

The wooden spoon turns jerkily in the pot of boiling water; El is sitting at the table, trying to stir their spaghetti with only her powers. “Bitchin’,” she declares, and Steve grins.

“Yeah, it was.” As he’s transferring hot meatballs from his pot to the plate, El’s walkie buzzes on with the sound of Mike asking “El, are you there? Over,” and she dashes off. “Hey, get back here,” Steve calls after her, indignant, but she’s already tuned him out.

He flicks the burner off and leans against the counter as he waits for the spaghetti to finish. The sound of bubbling water isn’t enough to cover the noise coming from El’s room: some ruckus about rabbits loose in the health room and Max beating her high score at the arcade. El says something too quiet for Steve to hear, but he does catch the sound of Mike’s laugh in response. Not so quiet anymore, looks like. Just the way it should be.

Chapter Text

The paper cup drops in a perfect parabolic arc straight into the dented trash can, which Steve takes as the smallest of victories after the disappointment of last night’s game.

All those years of practice, of hard work and dedication and loyalty to a thing more than himself – the only thing, besides his relationships and reputation that he had ever truly cared about, until now – and it’s come to an end like this, 91 to 86.

91 to 86. Those numbers are going to be stuck in his head for a while.

Keeping in fashion with the rest of his life, his dad didn’t show up to the game, too busy to bother, and mom was leaning toward tipsy even before halfway through the first quarter, so who knows how emotionally present she was for any of it, which means that only about four people relevant to Steve’s life actually witnessed the end of his basketball career.

“It’s not the end,” Dustin scoffed when Steve met them in the stands afterwards. “That’s quitter talk, Harrington, and you’re not a quitter, are you, son? Arrrrre you?” he barked, grabbing hold of Steve’s still sweaty forearms, before releasing him with a grimace.

Steve flicked him in the forehead. “What crappy movies did you take your coaching lessons from? You sound like a pirate.” Around them, the families of the other team were still celebrating, green and white confetti dotting the court and proud parents taking pictures with their sons.

“There’s still college, isn’t there?” Jonathan asked quietly, standing next to Nancy and Will with his hands in his pockets. Steve wasn’t quite done being surprised yet that he was willing to come watch, but lately they’d all been having lunch together once in a while, and they had accepted right away when Steve asked if they wanted to come cheer Hawkins High on. “You’re good; a college team would be lucky to have you.”

“Well, I’ve gotta get into college first, which is pretty much a toss up at this point.”

Nancy frowned at Steve, her eyes dark and perplexed. “Didn’t you hear Dustin just now? That’s quitter talk, Steve.” He opened his mouth to try and defend himself and his improved-but-still-iffy grades but she up and punched him in the arm the same way a mutton-shaped ex-baseball player might.

“Okay. I feel like I’m being ganged up on here. Are you gonna turn on me too?” he demanded of Will as they made their way out with the crowd.

“No, I’m on your side. If you want to give up you totally can,” Will said. “It’d be too bad, but you should do what you want.” Will is so genuinely nice most of the time that Steve’s still not sure if the statement had been a trick or not.

“This is like – what did Halloran call it again? – this is psychological warfare. Why are you doing this? Can’t you let me accept the loss gracefully and move on with my life?” he complained.

“Because we love and support you, Steve,” Dustin said very solemnly. It was the sincerity behind the joke that really made Steve feel kind of off-balance.

“Yeah, well, any more love and support and you’ll give me hives.” Outside the gymnasium he spotted his mother hovering at the sidewalk, spectral and silent. Turning back to his friends, he gave them an awkward smile, telling them, “Thanks for coming out tonight, guys. It was great to see you in the stands. Still sorry we couldn’t win it, but, hey, we had a good run.”

“You sure you don’t wanna come out with us to the new mall?” Dustin asked. “There’s supposed to be corndogs! And a fountain!”

“Nah, I’ve got to get cleaned up and drive my mom home. Don’t have too much fun.” Something tingled at the back of his mind, like a tiny warning bell. Why did Dustin mention...? “And don’t...don’t do anything weird to the fountain,” he said, pointing at Dustin’s face. “Will, keep an eye on him.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“Will, he’s not actually the boss of us,” Steve heard Dustin say as they waved goodbye and headed out to Jonathan’s car. “You don’t have to listen to him!”

“I’m not gonna cross the guy who buys us ice cream, Dustin. Besides, there are probably security guards at the mall; there’s no way you can steal part of the fountain without someone seeing.”

“No stealing, guys. And stop scamming ice cream out of Steve.”

With a faint smile, he watched them leave, before hurrying to take a two-minute shower in the locker room so he wouldn’t stink up the car on the drive home. He escaped without exchanging much conversation with the rest of the team besides the usual muttering after losing a game, and came back outside to find his mother still standing alone, pale under the parking lot lights.

“Hey, mom. Ready to go home?”

She turned to face him, hazel eyes still unfocused. Sometimes it was like his parents could only look through him, perhaps too busy searching in the walls and woodwork for the son that he should have been. Steve was never certain if the problem lay with him, or with them, because just as often they seemed to look through each other, finding only faults and remnants of the person they married.

“Steve, sweetheart,” she said, coming to herself as if pushing through a heavy fog. “Yes, I’m ready.”

They walked in silence back to his car, continuing in silence as he began the drive back to their, no doubt, empty house. He used to have more to say to her. She seemed content to look out the window, lost in her own thoughts, so he kept the radio low, glancing only periodically at her out of the corner of his eyes to make sure she was really still there.

Mom had been beautiful once – okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. She was still beautiful, the source of most of Steve’s good looks, but she had been radiant once, if the photographs on the mantle were anything to go by. And now it was like she was only a collection of features and words glued together by liquor and eyeshadow. Sterling silver and sherry where she used to be chamomile silk and math homework help and funny voices for bedtime stories. Shards of a whole person that Steve remembered seeing in more clarity when he was a kid, before the years in Hawkins blurred her. Before the years with his dad (and without his dad) stripped her bare of whatever spark it was that used to keep her glowing, leaving nothing but chipped lacquer and false shine behind.

On his worst days, Steve worried that he would become his father.

Nights like these, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be a greater tragedy to turn out like his mother instead.

“You played well, tonight. It’s a pity that you lost.” He almost didn’t hear her voice over the quiet strains of guitar music coming from the radio.

“I guess the other team was just better than us,” he responded with a shrug.

“It’s probably for the best your father didn’t come.”

Steve clenched his hands around the wheel just once, before making the choice to let it go. She wasn’t wrong. Just another argument avoided.

“Yeah, probably. We did our best, but it still could’ve been better.”

She fell quiet again for a moment before shifting to face him. He chose to keep his eyes on the road, but he could still feel, all of a sudden, a kind of tiredness in her that had been there for a long while now.

“Sweetheart, we are proud of you. I hope you know that. I can see you’ve been thinking a lot about your future lately, and it shows.”

“What if the future that I want isn’t the same as what you and dad want?”

After asking he wanted to take it back, afraid that by saying it out loud the problem would become real, but all she did was place her hand at the crook of his elbow. She felt lighter than she used to, but she was still warm.

“We’ll figure that out when we get to it. After you go to school and get your degree.”

It wasn’t an answer, not really, but at the very least it acknowledged the possibility of change.

“Okay.”

That night, his dreams were different. Buzzer beaters and the squeak of rubber soles against waxed floors instead of the fast crawl toward death.

Now, Steve is two cups into the diner’s freshest pot of coffee and five crumpled paper balls into his creative writing assignment. His notebook sits on the dashboard, something inane about summer scribbled on it and his hand dangles out the window even though it’s still a bit chilly to be enjoying so much winter air.

It’s a small miracle that his game was scheduled for a Friday night, because it means he has the whole weekend to recover before facing the inevitable cloud of disappointment that’ll follow him around at school for the next couple of weeks. He’s just sitting, half-absent, in the driver’s seat, watching cars and clouds pass when a flare of autumn comes zigzagging down the street.

Squinting, he leans forward to watch Max swirl to a stop outside the diner, hand held over her eyes to shield them from the glare of the sun as she searches the parking lot for something. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and she’s wearing the most garish jacket Steve has ever seen. Is this California style? Neon yellow stripes are still burning their way into his eyeballs when she spots him and comes scooting over.

“Steve! Just the guy I was looking for,” she says with a grin. How foreboding.

“You don’t usually start trouble alone, Max. Where’s the rest of the odd squad?”

He leans his elbow out the window to look her in the eye, then decides that he projects no authority when he’s craning his neck up at her, so he steps out and rests against the side of his car.

“Busy. Well, maybe. I dunno, I came to find you because I need your expert assistance.”

There’s always something with these kids. “Alright, shoot.”

“I need to learn how to drive,” Max says with her hands wrapped around her skateboard, which only accentuates how young she still is. Steve puts his hands on his hips like the middle-aged suburban dad he apparently is deep down inside.

“You're thirteen.”

“My birthday’s in four months!” she contests hotly, and Steve squints at her in consternation.

“Then you'll be fourteen, and still too young to drive, dumbass.”

“I know that, but I can get my permit in another year, and I don't wanna waste time waiting until then to practice!”

“Can’t you just keep skateboarding everywhere? It’s working out fine for you so far.”

A flicker of emotion – apprehension? – dashes across her face before she forces it down with a frown and stamps her foot. “Not to the new mall, I can’t. And not to- I can’t skate to school, either.”

Billy drives her to school, Steve remembers too late. They’ve managed to avoid speaking since November, helped by the fact that Billy traded basketball for football, but Steve has caught glimpses of Max in the passenger seat of the Camaro as it passes on the way to the middle school. Max says that he’s different now, that he just ignores her instead of starting anything, but Steve wonders if it’s ever as easy as that.

But Billy graduates at the end of the year, and Steve gets the feeling he isn’t going to be sticking around. Which means one of Max’s parents will be chauffeuring her to school for the next two years. He knows zilch about Mrs. Hargrove, but he knows the kind of guy Max’s stepdad must be, for Billy to be the way he is.

Christ.

“Get in the car before anyone gets the wrong idea,” Steve sighs, shooing her impatiently toward the door. “C’mon, show some hustle, red.”

He pretends he doesn’t see her fistpump as she throws herself into the passenger seat, skateboard held between her ankles. As he pulls out of the diner parking lot, she glances around the inside of the car, excited. “Are we starting now? Sweet, I’m so ready.”

“Not so fast. We need to lay down some ground rules.”

The first is that one of the other kids has to be in the car at all times, because Steve has met all of the boys’ parents, and they can vouch for them in case he and Max ever run into her insane step-dad who might get it into his head that he needs to murder Steve.

The second is that they only practice in the parking lot until Steve decides she can graduate to an actual road.

And finally, if either of them needs to call this thing off at any point, then they will, no questions asked. Max agrees to all three, and the general concept of listening to Steve’s directions, so he drops her off at the arcade with the promise of starting next weekend, then decides he might have better luck studying at the public library for some reason and drives on over. Better than being at home.

--

“Why don’t I get driving lessons?” is the first thing Dustin asks when Steve picks him and Max up from the Henderson house that afternoon.

“One, you’re too young, and two, I don’t trust you behind the wheel of a car.”

“That’s why you teach me, duh,” Dustin says as he climbs into the backseat. “We could do a trade! You teach me how to drive, and I’ll teach you...how to ride a bike?”

“Steve knows how to ride a bike,” Max says, and then she makes a face as if she’s not sure that what she just said is true.

“I know how to ride a bike,” Steve confirms.

“Oh. Well, I’ve got other skills!”

“Dustin, I will teach you how to drive when you’re sixteen, okay? Max is...a special case.”

“I’m blackmailing him,” Max says at the same time that Steve says, “She’s paying me the big bucks.” Dustin snorts.

“You guys didn’t plan out your cover story at all, did you? Amateurs.”

“Whatever, all you need to know is that once I can drive you can tag along. So, really, it’s a win for you too.”

Steve takes them over to the big parking lot at the office park on the south side of town. It’s deserted on the weekends. The first half an hour is spent going over car controls and maintenance, which Max remains surprisingly patient for. Then Steve demonstrates the basics again before turning the wheel over to her.

It’s fine, at first. Max has a bit of a lead foot, but she eases up when Steve tells her to. Turning is awkward but she starts to get the hang of it as they make wide loops around the lot. It’s when she brakes that things get painful.

“Okay, why don’t you pull to a stop and-”

Max slams her foot so hard on the brake that Steve jerks forward and Dustin slams into the back of Steve’s seat. “Holy shit, you’re gonna give us whiplash,” Steve says as he stretches his neck after putting them in park.

“Ouch,” Dustin chimes in as agreement.

“Sorry! Just trying to make sure the brakes work!” Max says hastily. Her hands look tight around the wheel now, knuckles blanching an uncomfortable white from her hard grip. She isn’t looking anywhere except straight ahead at the expanse of empty parking spots. Steve puts his hands up in a hopefully non-threatening way.

“Hey, it’s fine. No worries. I definitely gave my driving teacher a headache the first couple of times I was on the road. Just gently ease your foot off, and ease it back on, so we can coast…” He helps her get the car back into gear and begin driving slowly around again, stopping and starting so she can get a feel for it.

By the time Steve drives back to Dustin’s house, she’s more natural in her movements, and her usual sassy, chipper attitude is back. He waits for the kids to run inside Dustin’s house before he leaves, and all the while he has to wonder – is he the reason Max was getting stressed earlier? Did he do something to remind her of Billy?

Steve knows he can be kind of a dick sometimes, but he’d like to hope it’s not to the extent that he’s traumatizing children. Max has never reacted like that to him before, but he’s usually not trying to teach her anything, either. Maybe these driving lessons weren’t such a good idea after all. Depending on how it goes next time, he might need to pull the plug on their arrangement.

--

“Hi, Steve,” Will says as he slide-shuffles into the middle of the backseat. “Jonathan says you can come pick up that record you guys were talking about if you want. He’s at work but I can show you where it is.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess I could do that when I drop you off later.”

Max is already buckled into the passenger seat, drumming her hands on her knees. Steve always feels like he has to be extra careful when visiting or leaving the Byers house. Maybe because the first few times he came over, some terrifying shit was always going down. Even when it looks completely ordinary, he can’t shake the slight sense of unease that sits right below his skin.

It’s just paranoia at this point, but he does breathe a little easier by the time they’re at the parking lot. Today’s lesson goes smoother than last time, nothing setting Max off, which makes Steve wonder if last time had been a fluke.

“Do a loop-de-loop,” Will suggests, as Max is just freely wheeling around after Steve’s lesson about turns. “And a donut!”

“No donuts,” Steve warns her as she begins making big loops. “I don’t want you to fuck up my tires.”

“Okay, then try writing your name with the car,” Will says next.

“Oh, like in cursive?”

“We’re not skywriting here, people, we’re trying to learn real driving skills. Put the car in park; I’ll show you how to do a three-point turn.”

The most alarming thing to occur this time around is Max almost rolling gently into a lamppost when she accidentally puts the car in neutral, so Steve decides they can stick with the lessons for now. It’s not like he has much to do with his afternoons now anyway.

--

“Steve, are you seriously gonna let someone named Mad Max drive your car?” Lucas asks with a laugh when he bounds in.

“You couldn’t have pointed this out last week, before she almost scratched my baby against a gate?”

“It’s fine!” Max says. “I haven’t put a single scuff mark on your car yet.”

Max and Lucas chatter about school and clubs while Steve brings them to the practicing grounds. He kind of tunes it out until they’re close to their destination.

“-gotta pay you back for all the times you let me hitch a ride on your bike.”

“Yeah? Are you gonna buy a totally radical ride to drive us around in? Something really tubular?”

“Oh my god, you’re so lame,” Max laughs, half-turned in the passenger seat to beam at Lucas.

“No, I’m not! You just don’t understand my west coast slang. Face it, I’m too cool for you.”

“Suuuure you are, stalker.”

Steve snaps his fingers at them as he pulls into the lot. “Hey, hey! No flirting while I’m in the car with you. I’m not chaperoning a date for you two.”

Max just sticks her tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes.

They’re going over the basics of parallel parking today. Max is fine when she’s following Steve’s exact directions, but when she’s left to pull over by herself, she has trouble visualizing how wide the car is, and she keeps either parking over a foot away, or bumping softly against the sidewalk curb. Steve can see she’s steadily growing more annoyed, but he doesn’t think it’s that big a deal yet. Especially since she hasn’t scratched his rims yet.

But she must be more aggravated than she let on, because the next time she nudges the curb and Lucas comments, “Oh, you got a little too close again,” she slams her hands against the wheel, causing a burst on the horn.

“Look, I suck at parking, I know! I fucking know! So can you please just shut the hell up already?” Max shouts without turning to look at Lucas.

Everything slams to a halt. No one says anything for a beat, and if he turns his head slightly, Steve can see Lucas from the corner of his eye, looking kind of shocked and embarrassed. The only sound Steve can hear is the hum of the engine. The air feels vacuum dry and recycled.

“Max-” he begins, but she’s already babbling out an apology. Her face is a blotchy, stinging red, and he can tell she feels awful about her outburst. He hopes that’s enough.

“Lucas, I’m so sorry. That- that was really shitty of me; I can’t believe I just yelled at you-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re stressed, I get it,” Lucas says quietly. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand out to rest it on her arm. She doesn’t shake him off, but they both look stiff in their seats.

“No, but it’s not okay that I took it out on you. I’m really sorry.” They finally meet eyes, and Lucas nods slowly, like he understands why Max just had a freakout about her freakout.

“Thanks for apologizing. You’re not like him- it’s not the same, okay? It’s not.” There’s a moment’s pause before she nods too.

Steve sits awkwardly still, wondering if they should even continue the lesson for the day. On the one hand, it might be better to just move on, but then again, the mood’s been pretty much ruined already.

Shit. He’s not cut out for defusing situations like this, or the clean-up afterwards. It’s probably better to let them decide for themselves.

“Do you wanna keep driving, or…?”

“I think we should just go back,” Max says, so subdued that Steve can barely recognize her voice.

The drive back is stilted and short. Max moves to the backseat, and Steve turns on the radio so he has an excuse not to listen in on the hushed conversation she’s having with Lucas. When he drops them off at the Sinclair house, Steve tries to catch Lucas’s eyes, but the kid just shakes his head as he and Max walk toward the door.

Steve remains watching a few minutes after they’ve entered, waiting for something, perhaps, though he’s unsure as to what. But Max doesn’t reappear, so it seems like they’re gonna talk through what just happened. It doesn’t feel right to just leave it at this, but neither does it feel like his place to pry any further, so he puts the car back into drive and takes the long way home. Even as early as it is, the shadows of the trees already stretch across the road in thick bands.

--

Twenty minutes into this lesson, and Steve can feel the awkwardness seeping through his jacket and into his skin. Max has been practically silent the whole time, and Dustin’s usually blithely distracting chatter is lapsing into longer and longer pauses. After another question about the upcoming Spring Fling falls flat, Steve taps his fingers on the dashboard and tries to figure out a way to address the real problem here without making things worse.

From the backseat, Dustin coughs. Steve turns to meet his eyes, and he gives a small nod. After Max next puts the car in park, he clears his throat.

“Dustin. Can you-”

“Give you guys a second? You got it, man,” Dustin says, demonstrating again that he’s always tactful when it matters most. He closes the door behind him and clambers over the nearest concrete block to the grassy yard of the closest office building.

“Subtle,” Max says, and it’s the first time all day that she’s sounded like herself.

“That’s us. Alright, Max, we need to talk. Or. I mean, I guess we don’t, but you’re stressing me the fuck out, and I want to help.”

“Help stress yourself out?” Max asks, with a raised eyebrow.

“What? No- I want to help you...not make me stressed. I want to be stress free. I want to not get any more gray hairs- look, I’m worried about you, you little dweeb, okay?”

She looks confused for a moment, as if what he just said doesn’t compute. Steve wonders if it was his tone of voice that threw her - a note too petulant to be as authoritative as he intended.

“You’ve been acting kind of strange ever since we started this driving thing,” he continues, hoping that if he leads long enough she’ll jump in with some answers. “And like we said at the beginning, if we need to call it off, that’s cool. No harm, no foul. So, I’m thinking maybe this should be the last-”

“No! I still want to learn,” she interrupts, hands tightening around the wheel.

He levels a concerned look at her. “Are you sure? Because seems like something’s got you acting out of whack, and if it’s not the driving lessons, I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s nothing,” she deflects, and he shakes his head.

“Look, kid, work with me. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine, but you haven’t been you lately, and it’s- it’s weird.”

She turns away to look out at the barren lot, at the lumbering gray buildings that surround them and Dustin, the lone spot of color carding through the overgrown grasses. He can see her swallowing thickly before she reaches out and turns the heat up a notch.

It takes another minute of silence, during which Steve wonders if he should just let it go, before she finally tells him, “Sorry, I know you didn’t sign up for dealing with my crap.”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize to me. I just wanna know what’s got you so messed up.”

“It’s Billy. And my stepdad.”

It takes a second to sink in, and then Steve jolts up straight, sick panic like electricity running through him from head to toe, and he struggles to form the words clustering on his tongue. “Did they- did that asshole try to-”

“No,” she says quickly when she sees the alarm in his eyes, “No, no, Billy doesn’t try anything anymore. And my stepdad never does anything to me. He- he takes it all out on Billy. I just try to keep out of his way.”

“But Billy’s getting the fuck out of dodge,” Steve says, helpless and unable to express everything that he’s trying to say. She nods anyway.

“Yeah.” She blows out a bubble breath and looks straight ahead. “I don’t think he’s gonna- I mean, my stepdad’s never hurt me or my mom. And I really, really don’t like the guy, but I’m more afraid of turning into him than I am of anything else. There’s already times when I’m too much like Billy, and it scares me.”

A memory of his father comes unbidden to Steve, a moment suspended in liquid time. He was hiding midway up the stairs, listening to his father hissing venom in his mother’s ear, clutching at her thin wrist while she battered her fist against his chest, seething. Just as quickly, Nancy’s face when she saw what he did at the movie theater flashes across his mind.

“You’re nothing like your brother. Or your dad,” Steve says hollowly, but Max just bites her lip, jiggling her leg up and down nervously.

“I already freaked the hell out at Lucas the other day just because. I was acting like a jerk- and- and I know I do that sometimes, and I hate it. I hate being anything like them, and I’m scared that it’s gonna happen more and more the longer I have to spend with him.”

Steve wants to deny this too, but he remains quiet as her leg jitters so hard she almost kicks herself.

“Billy tried to run my friends over, once,” she says, looking Steve in the eyes. She sounds tired. “Can you believe that? Mike, Lucas, and Dustin - they were just walking to school and Billy tried to run them down just to scare me. And the thing is, I think there’s a chance he really would’ve done it. And- I know he’s a dick, but it’s his dad’s fault he’s as crazy as he is now. What if- what if that’s the person I’m gonna turn into? I don’t want to be like them, Steve! I don’t want to be angry and miserable all the time and I don’t want to hurt people I care about ‘cause I’m so caught up in my own bullshit! I just...I hate that I can see myself like that.”

Steve leans forward on his knees and takes a deep breath. There’s a lot to unpack here, but what hits hardest of all is that he understands exactly what she’s saying. The insidious effect of spending day after day in the presence of somehow who makes you a worse person. Knowing that you could be better than them, should be better, but seeing yourself reflected and refracted in them all the same. It sucks, and it hurts, so all he asks is, “Are you? Angry and miserable here?”

“No- not anymore. Like, at all. But, I’m stuck with him, you know? And I know…”

“That being around him makes you worse? That you’re not sure you can get out before being near him has fucked you up as a person too much to change?”

“Y-yeah,” she says, eyes brightening in slight surprise. “Exactly.”

Steve cracks the knuckles of one hand to fill the space with sound while he thinks. “I get it. My family doesn’t have the same problems that yours does - it’s not even close - but I think I get it. You’re strong, though. If you know you don’t want to turn out like them, then it’s not gonna happen.”

“But how can you know?”

“Because everyone acts like a dick sometimes, but the good people recognize when they need to apologize. That’s you.”

She mulls it over, but shakes her head. “I just- I can’t be sure that I can trust myself.”

“Okay. But I trust you. And I know your friends do too.” There’s a last second of contemplation over whether he wants to tell her this, but it’s quickly quashed. Somehow it’s not as hard to let himself be vulnerable around these kids.

“My dad’s a real asshole. Shitty husband, shitty father, but he’s good at his job, I guess. I dunno. His success never really mattered to me; all I knew, growing up, is that I didn’t want to be anything like him when I got older. I still don’t, but I- I know I’m kinda shitty in my own ways, and I’m working on that. And,” he laughs, thumping his head against his seat, “there’s a lot to work on, but, I think- I’m gonna do it. I’m going to be a better person than he is, than my mom is. And if I can know that about myself, then I can know it about you. You’re a smart kid, Max. You’re tough, and you care about your friends, and you know how to say sorry when you know you’ve fucked up. That’s already miles ahead of your shithead brother and stepdad. You’re not like them, and if you keep caring and trying, you’re never gonna turn out like them. So don’t worry so much. You keep doing you.”

He has to take a breather after babbling for so long, and he almost misses her rubbing the back of her hand against the corner of her eye in a quick motion. “Whoa, don’t get emotional on me, kid. I don’t want snot on my seats.”

“Ew, of course I won’t,” she says, making a face through her smile. “I’m not a baby.”

“Could’ve fooled me. How old are you again? Four?”

“I’m five, you jerk.”

“Right, my bad.”

Her face doesn’t look so tight anymore, and she gives a little sigh before telling him, “Alright. If you can do it, I can do it. We’re both gonna do it. We’re better than them.”

“Hell yeah, we are.”

They exchange smiles before Steve remembers something important that he doesn’t want to just gloss over.

“Max. If they ever- either of them, if they ever lay a hand on you- you’ve gotta tell me.”

Max gives him a choked-up laugh. “Steve, Billy totally kicked your ass last time. I’m not gonna let him kill you.”

“Hopper, then, or- or Mrs. Byers- you know they’ll come running. Promise me, okay?”

She looks like she wants to brush it off with a joke, but perhaps she can see how serious he is, and she nods. “Promise.”

“Good.”

“So should we call Dustin back?”

“Yeah, we better, before he adopts a toad or something.”

With Dustin back in the car, Steve has Max practice for another half an hour before they call it a day and head back toward the Hendersons’. Max and Dustin spend the ride ribbing each other about some failed experiment at the A.V. club the other day that Steve missed because he was at practice. There’s a renewed sense of normality about this situation, which is a relief.

Steve pulls up in the driveway, and Max jumps out first. She pokes her head back in before closing the door to say, “Steve. Thanks, um, for listening. And everything else.”

He just shrugs and tells her, “We’re good. Go inside before you freeze in your dinky little rain jacket.” She grins and jogs off.

Dustin gets out too, but then proceeds to hang around right next to the driver’s side door.

“C’mon, Steve, everyone’s waiting,” he says, hopping up and down to keep warm. He opens up the car door and beckons toward his house.

Steve steps out, but hasn’t the faintest idea why. “For what? Was I supposed to bring you something? You know how to buy your own hairspray now.”

“No, dude, it’s D&D night! We’re starting a new campaign! Did you forget?”

Crap, apparently he did. “Shit, yeah, it slipped my mind. I’ve been kinda...busy.”

Dustin looks at him shrewdly for a second before forcing Steve to turn off his car. “Yeah, I know. But now you’re not, right? So let’s go! I’m totally gonna convince Lucas to let me get a horse this time.”

When they head inside, Steve is greeted with a warm hello from Mrs. Henderson, who’s sitting in her chair with Tews, before the rest of the party mobs him.

“Took you guys long enough, come on,” Mike says impatiently as he herds them toward the table in Dustin’s room.

“You can borrow some of Dustin’s extra dice,” Lucas tells Steve, who’s suddenly sitting. When did that happen?

“Oh, sure, go ahead and offer up my stuff,” Dustin grumbles, but he drops an entire bag of dice in front of Steve anyway.

“Me too, thanks,” Max says, reaching over Steve’s arm to dig around in the bag for her own set. Will is already passing out their character sheets and Mike is dimming the lamp by Dustin’s bed for ambiance. Steve has been in this house for literally two minutes and the kids have already got him going along at their pace. There’s no expectation for him to be a winner, or the best, or someone he’s not. They just genuinely want him to be here, and it’s another reminder of how they just might be the best damn thing that’s happened to him in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

There’s something in the woods.

Steve can hear it when he steps onto the soil, feeling the dirt cling to the soles of his sneakers as he makes his way past bare branches and mossy logs. It sounds almost like a person, though he can’t make out any distinct words, just a strange buzzing. It’s not Eleven’s voice, or the chief’s, so it puts him on edge, static running through his skin like a storm warning, and he tiptoes the long way toward Chief Hopper’s cabin. All the tripwires he knows of are in place, but he steers clear of the house for now, circling to the back to see if there’s any creeps lurking around.

He left his bat in the car, and the car too far back to return to, so he keeps his fists up to punch first and ask questions later. Not that it’s a good idea if the person in the woods is a g-man or someone toting a gun, and not that he packs a particularly powerful wallop, but it makes him feel a little better. Hopefully it’s just some dumb people from school smoking up in the woods.

In the distance, he spots a figure in dark clothing moving behind the trees, and he slips forward as quietly as possible to try to get a better look at them. When he’s but a few feet away, he notices the familiarity of that mop of hair, and steps out in surprise.

He finds Mike Wheeler blinking owlishly at him from the top of a log, still making lightsaber noises with his mouth. He’s holding a large stick like a weapon and wearing an itchy-looking sweater a size too big for him.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Steve counters, his hands still up like he’s primed for an amateur boxing match. He lowers his fists sheepishly.

“Waiting for El,” Mike says, dropping his stick to the ground and jumping down to come stand next to him.

“What do you mean, ‘waiting for El;’ she’s not allowed out yet,” Steve says right as Hopper lopes into view.

“Boys,” the chief says, nodding at them like this is normal, and Steve can’t help the stupid face he makes. Hopper laughs shortly, and rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder as he asks, “You ready for a real babysitting gig, Harrington?”

“Not sure I like how that sounds, sir.”

“Well, today’s all about compromise. That’s our word of the day.”

“I thought El already knew that one.”

Hopper shakes his head slowly and hooks his thumbs in his pockets as he heads back toward the house. Steve and Mike trail after him like slightly addled ducklings.

“We agreed that she can’t go out until summer starts. I’m still getting papers in order, and everyone in this town asks too many damn questions as it is,” Hopper explains as they walk. “But we also agreed that a few visitors would be okay, especially since you come around close to once a week anyway.”

“So, what, you want me to chaperone some play dates?” The look that Hopper gives him says that yes, that’s exactly what he wants. Steve shrugs. Anything to stay out of the house and away from his parents for a little longer. “Yeah, I could do that.”

Eleven is sitting on the floor and cutting out circles from construction paper when they enter. Mike is by her side before Steve even makes it to the couch. They exchange small smiles - a quiet kind of affection that runs deeper than what Steve remembers sharing with anyone at that age. Even if the feelings they have for one another now don’t last, he has the suspicion that whatever relationship remains will still hold as strong.

“Today we’re doing science,” El is explaining when Steve comes to look down at the paper planets she has laid out in a line. “Solar system and food web.” Next to Pluto are more paper cutouts of fish and plants and bears tied together with meandering arrows.

“Shit, slap these on a poster board and you’ve got yourself a science fair presentation,” Steve says, but El just rolls her eyes at him. Whoever taught her that must be appropriately scolded.

“A baking soda volcano would be cooler,” she says with a pointed look in her father’s direction, and Hopper laughs.

“You got me there, kid, but it’s because you want the whole kit and caboodle that we never get it done. Now, if you’re willing to settle for just using a bottle-”

“But then there’s no volcano,” she says, and Steve gets the feeling this conversation’s been had before.

“You know I don’t have an artistic bone in me-”

“It’s just paper mache, Chief,” Steve says at the same time that Mike interrupts, calling out, “Will and Lucas made one back in sixth grade! We could show her!”

Hopper thinks on it a moment, then waves his hand broadly across the room. “If you’re willing to take the lead on this, then go ahead. Just don’t get paste all over everything.”

“Sweet, let’s tell everyone to come over on Wednesday,” Mike says, and Eleven scampers off to get her walkie-talkie.

“Wait, who said I was free on Wednesday?” Steve tries to protest, but Hopper just walks off with a grin.

--

Six children is too many. This is the only conclusion Steve can come to when he stands over the carnage on the kitchen floor of the cabin with paste on his hands and his arms crossed. So, with paste on his arms, basically.

“That’s not a volcano.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a hot-air balloon,” Dustin says as he plasters another strip onto the bloated latex balloon in his lap. “It’s for Frodo; I’m gonna make a little basket to hang at the bottom that he can sit in!”

Dustin had indeed, despite Steve’s protests that it was a questionable idea, adopted a frog. At least he got it from the pet store, instead of kidnapping some poor amphibian from its home, and now it lives the high life in a tank in Dustin’s bedroom. Steve knows it’s named after someone from The Hobbit or whatever, but he hasn’t had time to read the book yet.

“Steve, can you make some more paste? We’re running out.” Will, seated at the table next to their half-finished science project, passes his tupperware bowl over. Lucas is using the last dregs in his own bowl to add another layer to the volcano.

“It would help if you guys actually concentrated on the volcano instead of making weird art.”

But Steve takes the gunk covered tupperware from Will and places it on a blob of drying paste because there are no clean surfaces anywhere in the kitchen anymore. It seems counter-intuitive to wash his hands before making more paste, but he doesn’t want to ruin the whole bag of flour. As he mixes the slop together, he tries to figure out how exactly Mike got a paper mache strip stuck on his head, and what on earth Max is doing over in the corner with a ball of tin foil. Halfway through his task, he notices that his spoon is jerking around in his grasp; he lets go in alarm and watches it splatter him with floury goop as it stirs in large erratic sweeps.

“What the fu- El, get this thing under control,” he barks out, but when he looks around to find her, he notices that there are a multitude of other now-animate objects doing their jobs as poorly as Steve’s spoon is. Strips of dripping newspaper hover in the air as they wait for their turn to slap onto the volcano. One almost hits Lucas, and he jumps out of his chair, laughing. On the ground, several other newspapers are tearing themselves into ribbons and divebombing into El’s paste bowl. The mess on the floor is compounding.

Steve holds his own bowl away at arm’s length as he calls out, “I think this is too much multitasking.” His spoon halts abruptly, sending another glob into his arm, and he makes a face.

“It’s good practice,” El responds, now turning to look at him and grinning when she notices the paste painted like modern art across Steve’s shirt. There’s the start of a sluggish nosebleed trickling down her face, so when he grabs himself a paper towel, he brings her one too.

“Is that...okay? The bleeding? Are you sure it’s safe for you to use your powers so much?” Steve’s wondered about this for a few months but never asked, figuring that all this superpower stuff was beyond his understanding. Still, anything that causes nosebleeds should be kind of concerning, right?

El looks down at the bloodied paper towel in her hands before standing up to go throw it away. When she returns, she crouches down and continues ripping newspaper manually instead of telekinetically.

“I dunno. There aren’t a lot of people I can ask about it. There were-” and then she shakes her head, breaking off that train of thought, “Things get easier once I practice. The bleeding doesn’t bother me, so as long as I don’t push too hard I think it’s okay.”

“Alright, but don’t strain yourself.”

The volcano is a great success, but the cleanup afterwards not so much. Steve has had enough of paste for the next five years.

--

His conversation with El slips from Steve’s mind until two days later, when he gets hijacked by Hopper after school. There’s some kind of snafu at the station so Steve’s on dinner duty for some extra pocket money. The fact that he was about to go driving with Max and Lucas complicates matters slightly. She insists on tagging along with Steve when Lucas gets ambushed by Erica and dragged home for some family bonding time.

The girls get along like a house on fire, choosing to hang out in El’s room and listen to the radio, which works out well enough for Steve, who’s tired enough from talking to the guidance counselor right before the end of the school day.

“Hey, meatloaf’s done,” he yells when dinner’s ready, but they can’t hear him over their music, so he goes and raps his knuckles against El’s slightly ajar door. “C’mon, before I eat it all- whoa.”

Books waltz through the air in a delicate loop, spiraling around Steve’s head like something out of an old Disney movie. The dim lighting of the cabin makes it seem all the more unreal. Max is suspended in midair a foot above Eleven’s bed, her red hair spread in a halo of static electricity, crowing in delight as El sends a pencil floating over to her. El herself is seated on the floor, arms raised like she’s conducting an orchestra, and despite the blood on her face, she looks happy.

In this context, with both girls laughing in the comfort of home, El’s power seems less wholly terrifying. Steve’s seen her use it casually before, for chores and menial, petty things like flicking peas at him, but he’d still been associating her abilities with danger. With fear. Like some kind of grand, terrible gift, meant to act as a counter to every unknown terror lurking in the shadows.

And El is far from normal, but she’s still just a girl. A kid drawn into something too great and too heavy for her to bear alone. She never asked to be the other side of the coin, to be the last chance, stop-gap measure against the end of the world. As he watches Max and El flip markers through the air at each other he wonders what she thinks about her powers. If they’re a convenience, or an unwanted tool, or something so deeply part of her now that she doesn’t remember life without them.

“Steve, catch!” Max chirps when she notices him in the doorway, and pushes a book in his direction. He catches it, and glances at the cover: Where the Red Fern Grows.

“Glad to see you working on your circus act, but it’s time for food.”

“Are you calling us clowns?” Max asks as El lowers her back down to the bed. The other items slowly land, leaving a scattering of stuff, now flat and lifeless again, on the floor.

“Hey, your words, not mine,” he says as the girls scamper past him with their tongues stuck out.

Eleven cleans up her face before they eat, but the blood lingers in Steve’s mind. He stabs his fork through his meatloaf, tapping the tines against his plate a few times before he asks, trying to stay casual, “You’ve been using your powers a lot lately. How’s the practice going?”

El glances up, and through her mouthful of food, says, “It’s good. I’m getting better at doing multiple things at once. Different movements for different objects. And I’m better at sensing people now.”

“You ever- does anything worse than the nosebleeds ever happen?”

“Not with stuff like this. I get really tired if I’m trying to move something big, like closing the gate. Sometimes I pass out.”

Steve and Max share a quick look; her expression of uneasy concern matches his.

“That sounds bad, El,” Max says. “Are you sure it was okay for you to try and lift me? I’m not that small, you know. I don’t want you to get hurt ‘cause we were goofing around.”

“It’s alright. It’s actually helpful, since I’m training for the future.”

Max looks alarmed. “Like, for monsters and stuff?”

“Maybe. Monsters, bad men. Anything, I guess. Pa- um.” Eleven pauses to take another bite of meatloaf as she thinks about what she wants to say. “The man from the lab...he’s still out there, and I don’t know if he’s going to come and try to find me again. I want to be prepared. I need to be able to protect the people I care about.”

“That’s not your job,” Steve reminds her, suddenly feeling the weight of how helpless it is to be human. How desperately they held onto each other and anything within reach for survival.

“I know,” she says with the finality of someone who does know, but has chosen the difficult path nonetheless. “But I want to do it anyway.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Max says fiercely. “I know we can’t do the same amazing things you can, but you need someone to look out for you too. We’re all in this together, no matter what we’re up against. And if you need anyone to help you train, I’m your girl.”

Eleven smiles at her. “Thanks, Max. I’m glad we became friends.”

“Me too!”

Steve lets the conversation turn naturally back to some television show that Max is trying to explain to El, but he can’t get his mind off the topic.

He’s a benchwarmer; he knows this by now. In this strange, wild world, and the stranger, wilder worlds beyond, he’s next to insignificant. But he’s one of the few people El has, and can he consider himself responsible or reliable when he just lies down and accepts that she has to hurt herself to save the rest of them? What kind of adult — and he is an adult now, pretty much — lets a child face off against a nightmare alone?

The kids help him do the dishes, but when Max excuses herself to the bathroom, El cranes her neck around to peer up at Steve. She must see the still somber expression on his face, because she sends a soap bubble in his direction. “Don’t look so mad. Fighting isn’t the only reason I’m practicing.”

“It’s not?”

“No. My powers are the strongest when I’m angry. Or when I’m scared. And I don’t want that to be the only way I use them. I...I want to be able to use them to do things that make me happy.” She holds her fingers out over the sink, pulling a fork up into her hand. “They’re part of me, and I shouldn’t have to be afraid of them.” She carefully pulls a knife into her grip next, before passing it to Steve.

It’s a valid point.

“I get that, but I still think it’s kinda risky to your health.”

“Maybe. But it’s worth it. I can’t be scared forever.”

As he mulls this over, Steve runs his fingers over the blade of the knife, washing it clean of grime. It’s all about perspective, he supposes. Just because he’s nicked himself with a knife before doesn’t mean he’s going to stop using them.

Just because they don’t know what comes next, doesn’t mean they can stop living.

--

Steve receives the letter in early April and immediately hides it away where his parents can’t see, i.e. his math binder. He keeps it tucked in the back pocket so he won’t lose it, but he can’t bear to open the thing yet. It sits there, heavy and waiting, a thick crinkle of paper every time he slams his binder closed at the end of class. Steve also deftly avoids Nancy for the next few days so he won’t have to answer her hopeful, bright-eyed questions.

Lucas is the one who next tags along when he goes to Hopper’s cabin, having untangled himself from babysitting duty for Erica. Steve expects him to just hang out with El the way Max did, but the first thing he does when he enters the house is pull out a notebook and a tape measure.

“Ready for the test runs?” he asks El with a grin, as he straps a pair of goggles on.

“Ready.”

“Wait wait wait, I don’t like the sound of that,” Steve tries to interject, but they’re already ignoring him in favor of pushing all the furniture in the living room out of the way. Dweebs.

“Let’s start with the small stuff,” Lucas says. He scatters a dozen pens on the floor in front of El and then takes up a spot backwards on the couch. Steve steps back against the wall, out of the blast zone, and watches as she flings them into the kitchen. Lucas nods, and El yanks them all back to her. They repeat the process with heavier and stranger items, until she’s lifting the couch that Lucas is sitting on. He holds tight to the back, but he looks more exhilarated than frightened.

“Basic. Let’s do something harder,” she says after putting him back down, and Lucas rips a page out of the back of his notebook. He comes to sit next to her on the floor.

“Okay, let’s test control then. Here, try writing your name.”

Steve, who had moved to sit on a kitchen chair behind El to observe, leans forward to watch as she moves a pen with her mind, first spelling out “El” in shaky letters before moving on to “Jane Hopper” with increasingly neater letters.

“That’s better than Mike’s handwriting,” Lucas says, and she laughs a little bit. “Wanna do a sentence? Try ‘Lucas is cooler than Dustin.’”

She ends up scrawling “Lucas and Dustin are very good friends” on a new sheet of paper, and he huffs when he sees it.

“I think you need more practice.”

“I think I did a good job,” she counters, and makes the pen draw two crude stick figures holding hands.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” Steve says, and Lucas elbows him in the leg.

Eleven’s nosebleed starts looking a little heavy after she makes a few attempts at writing two or three different things at once, and Steve calls training to a stop. They spend the rest of the evening designing paper airplanes and talking about summer camp instead.

--

When Will comes over, El has him sit on the couch while she ties a scarf around her eyes and holes up in her room. Steve realizes soon enough they’re trying to communicate with one another through telepathy, but he just leaves them be, too busy putting a slightly sloppy casserole together. It’s after dinner that he gets drawn into the training montage too.

“A list of questions. I’ll ask Will and he’ll answer them.” Eleven hands Steve a piece of paper on which he jots down a list of ten quick, random questions for her. Then he sits on the couch next to the Will to work on his grammar homework while Will and El play mental telephone. At first, Steve hears bits of the conversation from Will’s end, but the room eventually grows quiet.

There’s still a swirl of uncertainty that sits in Steve’s nerves when it comes to Will, whose problems and fears are beyond Steve’s very ordinary pay-grade. When Steve glances over at Will though, he doesn’t look tense or anxious. He’s nestled in a wool blanket against the arm of the couch, eyes closed, and his expression changes every so often, as if he’s dreaming. The image of a possessed Will, pale and lifeless, flashes through Steve’s mind, but he pushes it away and concentrates on the convoluted sentences on his page instead.

He’s is just about to finish his assignment when he feels something tapping at his thoughts like a knock at the door. It feels a little like he’s forgotten something and he’s trying to remember it, when Eleven’s voice floats into memory without any effort.

Steve, are you listening?

This doesn’t feel like a memory. “What the hell is- El? Is that you?” he asks out loud, before imitating Will by closing his eyes and thinking in what feels like a loud voice, are you in my head right now?

Yeah, he can feel her speaking into his mind, in a way that feels out of his control like when a song gets stuck in his head. Will says he hates squash.

What? And then he remembers the list he gave her earlier to test her telepathy. I’ll have to check with him when we’re done with this...brain talk.

It’s not painful, or even that uncomfortable to talk to El this way, but it’s odd. Like a door to his house has been left unlocked and she’s found her way in without his knowledge that she was even visiting. He tells her as much in fewer words, projecting back, This is so damn weird. It’s like you’re in my head.

I can’t hear your thoughts, though. Just what you’re trying to say to me.

That’s kind of reassuring. That’s pretty useful.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” Will asks, and the sound of his voice startles Steve into opening his eyes. He blinks a few times as he reorients himself before answering. His tongue feels oddly shaped and his voice too loud, after his conversation with El.

“It’s bizarre, is what it is. But a handy trick if any of you are ever in trouble.”

“Yeah, this is how El helped find me the first time.” A shadow of an expression crosses over Will’s face briefly, but it dissipates when they hear El’s door creak open.

“It’s a lot easier now,” Eleven says as she steps out and comes to perch on the table next to the armchair. “I don’t have to go into the bath anymore. I don’t even really need to cover my eyes either.”

“It’s crazy how strong you are,” Will says, shaking his head in wonder.

“I’m going to be even stronger. So nothing ever happens to you again.” She reaches over to take his hand, and they link their fingers together. Steve quietly returns his attention to his worksheet, trying to give them some semblance of privacy even though he’s right here. This is an unexpectedly tender moment, like one between siblings, or family, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt. “You’re real,” Eleven says softly, swinging their arms back and forth across the gap.

“Definitely real,” Will confirms, and then they grow quiet again. Whether they’re sharing a silent moment of understanding, or speaking telepathically, Steve doesn’t know, but he lets them have their moment. Lets the gentle stillness of the night settle around them, with only the constant, calming hum of the refrigerator and radiator to fill the room.

--

Steve winds up at Dustin’s house on Saturday for honestly no good reason other than that Dustin invited him over for brunch. Mrs. Henderson is out playing bingo, so Steve and Dustin are left to fend for themselves with whatever’s left in the fridge. They’re gnawing on eggs and slightly burned bacon and talking about what teachers Dustin thinks he’s going to get for freshman year.

“We’re over a week into April,” Dustin says out of nowhere.

“Yep,” Steve replies, stretching out the vowel as he tries to figure out what Dustin’s getting at.

“So you probably got your college letters back by now, right? Did you, uh, you know. Get in?” He looks hopeful, and Steve cringes when his teeth crack a shard of burnt bacon in half.

“I...haven’t actually looked yet. It’s in- the one from Tippecanoe is sitting in my math binder at home.”

Dustin stands so quickly that his chair scrapes against the kitchen tiles. “Dude, what are we waiting for? Let’s go open it!” He starts vigorously gesturing for Steve to get out of his chair.

“I dunno. What if-”

“You didn’t get in?”

“What if I did?” Steve knows how to handle rejection. He knows what he’ll end up doing if this falls through. But the uncertainty of what comes next if he really gets what he wants? Is he ready for that change? To take charge of his own future?

“Then you decide if you wanna go,” Dustin says matter-of-factly, finally managing to drag Steve away from the table. “It’s your life; you get to choose. C’mon.”

There isn’t really anything to say in response to that, so Steve drives them to his house to pick up his binder and they find a corner booth at the diner to sit in for the reveal.

They start off facing each other, like normal people would, but Dustin quickly switches sides to slide in next to Steve once he begins tearing the envelope open. The paper shreds unevenly, and Steve is surprised to find that he does feel some level of anxiety as he tugs the paper out. He’s just been kind of numb to the whole thing since receiving his letter. It’s been easier than trying to figure out how to talk to his parents about the plan, about what he wants to do with his life.

With a sighing breath, Steve unfolds the letter and begins reading. Either way, there’s nowhere to go but forward. “Dear Mr. Harrington, congratulations. On behalf of Tippecanoe College, it is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Class of 1989…”

“Steve!! Dude! You got in!” Dustin yells, shaking Steve by the shoulders.

Steve stares blankly down at the acceptance letter as the realization gradually seeps in. Excitement is slow to burn down its fuse, but when it hits, it goes off like a firecracker in Steve’s chest. “Yeah...I did. I got in. Shit, I didn’t- I wasn’t sure if I would. I did it, Dustin. I got in!”

He whips around to look at Dustin, who is still shaking him. They grin at each other brainlessly for a second and then Dustin is slapping him in the back, practically yelling as he says, “We have to celebrate! Right? This is huge!” He’s kneeling up on the vinyl bench and Steve, always wary of being booted out of the diner, has to pull him back down. “You got in,” he repeats when he’s seated again.

“I can’t believe it- Jesus, it’s really happening. I’m- I’m going to college.”

Saying the words out loud makes Steve realize that he’s already made his decision. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or where his life is headed yet, but he knows he’s not going down the same path that his parents did. Going to school isn’t the deciding factor in how his life is going to turn out, but if he can put some space between himself and this family, this town, maybe he’ll get the chance to grow into the person he wants to be.

“Yeah you are! We’ve gotta tell everybody. I bet if you asked, we could get my mom to buy you a cake. Do you like chocolate or vanilla more? The cakes at Bradley’s have a pretty good frosting-”

Steve picks at the remains of his fries as he listens to Dustin prattle on. He’s half-tuned in, some part of his mind already trying to picture himself in this new environment, surrounded by people who don’t already have a preconceived picture of who he should be. It should be daunting, but he thinks he’s looking forward to it.

Dustin finally takes a breath to ask, “So, orange or pistachio?”

Steve does a double-take. “Wait, when did those become the choices?”

“I told you about the chocolate shortage! Look, never mind about the cake. What we really need is balloons.”

“Right, obviously.” This gets Dustin started on a new spiel, so Steve just nods along as he listens.

If nothing else, he’ll miss this. Getting suckered out of his pocket change by Dustin, pretending he doesn’t understand when Lucas tries to teach him how to make a circuit, spraying whipped cream straight into El’s mouth.

Too bad it took him so long to find it. He’ll have to hold on as long as he can.

--

The first time Steve sees Eleven completely obliterate something is the day after he tells his parents about his decision to accept Tippecanoe’s offer. Both of them are surprisingly supportive, though he thinks part of their reaction comes from the underlying doubt that he would get in at all. He’s pretty sure his dad still thinks he’ll come work for him afterwards, but Steve’s got four years to figure that part out.

Today it’s just the two of them, and they’re eating roast beef sandwiches for dinner because the chief hasn’t gone shopping yet this week. The weather is unseasonably warm, especially for early evening, so they sit on the porch and throw pebbles at trees while they eat.

“D’you think you could like...stop a rock in the air if I threw it?”

“Definitely.”

Steve winds up and pitches a quarter sized rock out into the woods, but it only makes it a few feet before it freezes in midair, shuddering a moment before floating back to land at his feet. “Told you,” she says before taking another bite of her sandwich.

“Okay, well what about this-” and he chucks a whole handful of rocks off the porch. Her hand shoots out at almost the same time and every pebble halts in its place, like time has stopped moving. “Oh. Damn.”

Eleven rolls her shoulders, as if working a kink out of her back, and then flicks her hand forward so that the pebbles all propel straight into an old log which promptly explodes into a burst of splinters.

“Holy shit, did you just decimate that log?”

“It was rotten. And don’t worry, nothing was inside.”

Steve whistles, long and low. There’s really nothing remaining but shredded bark. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Her brow wrinkles as she regards him, trying to figure this sentence out. “You too?”

“No, I mean- never mind. You’re just...unique, I guess. And that’s not a bad thing.”

Eleven takes a second to look herself over. She’s dressed in a girl’s shirt over old jeans, but skipped the makeup today. Still trying to find her own style, it looks like. There’s a smudge of mustard on her hand, which she rubs away, but no blood on her face. She seems satisfied when she looks back at Steve.

“This is who I am. I’m Jane Ives, and Eleven, and a Hopper too. I’m all of them at once, and that’s just how it is. I’m not sorry about it.”

He takes in the stubborn set of her jaw, and realizes that this must have been a long-standing personal battle. “You shouldn’t be. You’re one of a kind. But what Max said that time- it’s true for me too. I know you can do that,” he says, pointing at the wood pieces, “but we’re here for you. Don’t go it alone.” Don’t take it all on yourself. Don’t let loving this town kill you.

Her expression clears up and she stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth before saying, “I wormt.”

“Christ, finish chewing first; you’re gonna choke,” he says, laughing when she shakes her head. “I’m gonna miss even this,” he sighs, and she tilts her head and visibly gulps down the rest of her dinner.

“Are you really leaving?”

“Yeah. Guess we’ll both be starting at a new school at the same time. Are you excited?”

“I think so,” she says, as she leans against the porch railpost. “Are you?”

“...honestly, I wasn’t sure at first, but I think I’m getting more excited for each day. It’s not like I hate Hawkins or anything. It’s- it’s my hometown, you know? Everyone I know and care about is here. But I think maybe I need a change in scenery. Just to figure it all out.”

Eleven takes a minute to pick at a stray thread on her worn jeans, before she says slowly, with carefully weighed words, “Sometimes you have to leave home to know that it’s worth coming back to. And other times, you really do need to let go of where you came from, or it’ll just hurt you more.”

He knows her personal experience with this is far more dire and frightening than his, but her advice still rings true. Some things are the same no matter who you are.

“That’s pretty deep. I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” she says, parroting his and Max’s words back at him. “I guess the learning part you have to do yourself, but you have us for everything else.”

Steve is caught off guard by how grown-up she suddenly sounds, but they’ve all done some growing in the past year, haven’t they? He meets her gaze and knows that she means it; he’s one of her people now, just like the rest of them. Just like they’ve become his people in return.

“Yeah, I’ll- I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, kid.”

She gives him a brief flash of a smile before nodding once, both for him and herself.

“I’m ready,” El says. “I’m ready for what’s next.”

“I think I am too,” Steve confesses.

They sit there on the steps, looking out at the woods in companionable silence as they watch the fading sunlight burn amber through the thickness of the trees. If Steve stares hard enough, he can almost imagine for a moment that he can see how the future will unfold.

Chapter Text

“You’re not wearing your party hat,” Nancy says reproachfully when she comes over to tape up a streamer.

“It was itchy,” Steve complains, and Mike snorts as he walks by.

“Want Will’s wizard hat instead?”

“I don’t think this is the right kind of party for that,” Steve says. He watches Mike and Dustin blow up two more balloons, and then climb onto a kitchen chair to attach them to the walls. They’re taller now but still not that tall. Yet. “Shouldn’t I be helping?”

“It’s your graduation party, Steve,” Nancy says with a shake of her head.

“Who makes the guest of honor decorate for his own party?” Dustin agrees.

“Just sit quietly over there,” Mike says, and Steve feels like he’s been thoroughly trounced by the three of them out of arguing back.

It’s the first day of Steve’s life as a free man, unburdened by the weight of education for a few precious months before he willingly puts himself through it all again. His graduation had been yesterday, but he’d gone out with his parents that night, which meant that his party had to wait for this afternoon. Nancy told him not to come until a little later, but he showed up early out of boredom, and is now relegated to sitting on Dustin’s couch watching the party come together.

He makes a few more unhelpful comments about the way Mike rips tape and gets cursed out for his efforts. Lucas appears at the door about ten minutes later with cake, followed by Will and Jonathan clutching a bag of noisemakers and even more balloons. Balloons galore. Steve tries again unsuccessfully to help put up some streamers and the “Happy New Year Graduation 1985!!” banner, but gets banished to the kitchen this time with Lucas, who’s putting candles in the cake.

“I thought candles were a birthday thing,” Steve comments as Lucas adds another candle to the smiley face he’s constructed. The cake is so crowded that it’s difficult to read the frosting underneath.

“Honestly, I have no idea. My mom said I could have these, so I just brought ‘em all,” Lucas says. Steve sticks a candle nose in to complete the candle face.

“This is probably a fire hazard.”

“And we’re definitely gonna get wax all over the frosting.”

“How are you going to light this without burning your fingers?”

Lucas shrugs, and then grins, a flash of a shared secret between the two of them. “I’ll make Dustin do it.”

This surprises a laugh out of Steve. Somehow Lucas’ sense of humor always gets the drop on him. “I’ll give him the matches.”

Once the girls arrive (with El wearing a cap low on her forehead as if it’ll keep her incognito) Nancy claps her hands together and has everyone gather in the living room. She smiles when she hears Steve groan, and says, placatingly, “I know Steve doesn’t want to hear a big speech, so I’m just going to say congratulations, and that we’re really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Nance,” he says, embarrassed by the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, but they all cheer and start clamoring for cake, so he takes center stage and watches Dustin light the thing up. It’s as much of a bonfire as expected, but Dustin comes away unsinged. Steve takes a moment to drink in the sight of the glowing, unreadable cake, and feels a surge of undeniable gratitude at receiving it. He doesn’t remember the last time he was celebrated by people simply because they enjoy his company and want him to know it. But he’s as bad at giving speeches as he is at receiving them, so he just smiles at the group and blows out the candles.

Less wax ends up on the frosting than Lucas expected. After cake gets passed out, Steve floats around the room, in and out of the small groups talking. It’s nothing at all like the high school parties he’s used to attending: no cheap alcohol on every surface, no pounding music, no making out in the corner of someone else’s living room while ten feet away a lamp gets knocked to the floor. And it’s nothing like his dad’s stupid work functions where Steve has to spend the night making stilted small talk and laughing at some old guy’s inappropriate jokes. It’s just his band of hooligans sitting on the floor, discussing how much blood it would take to get enough iron to make a knife. Absolute weirdos, he thinks fondly to himself before going to sit on the couch with the people who are actually his age.

“Hey, don’t forget to leave room for Jesus,” he says as he flops down between the two lovebirds. Nancy lets out a little grumble, and Steve hands his cup of juice to Jonathan so it doesn’t spill while she rearranges herself so Steve is no longer crushing her leg.

“Are you referring to yourself? I never thought you were that conceited,” Jonathan says as he gives the cup back to Steve.

“I’m the guest of honor; I’m allowed to be a little bit of an asshole,” Steve says before knocking back the rest of his juice. Jonathan’s mouth twitches slightly in amusement but instead of responding he raises his camera to snap a picture of Steve gulping down apple juice. Then he takes another when Nancy drapes her arm around Steve’s shoulder and squishes her face up next to his. They mug it up for a few more shots, making faces and doing dramatic poses until Steve convinces Jonathan to let him try his camera for a few minutes under his supervision.

“I know they’re not gonna be that good, but-”

“It’s fine, just look through here, like that,” Jonathan says as he helps Steve position his hands correctly. “Point it at your subject, and when you’re ready, just press here.”

Steve swivels around to first take an unfocused picture of Nancy looking blankly in his direction, and then one of Jonathan’s rabbity look of surprise, before he turns the lens toward the group sitting on the rug. Max and Mike are arguing about something that has Mike rising up on his knees to gesture his arms dramatically. Lucas looks like he isn’t sure whether to intervene, while El is distracted by something in Dustin’s hands. Will just seems quietly amused by it all, but turns his attention toward the couch just as Steve takes the shot.

It’s probably a disaster of a photograph, so Steve relinquishes the camera back to its owner right afterwards and excuses himself to get more chips.

Mike intercepts him on his way back, stealing half the chips off his plate. Steve reaches over to bat him away, which is when Dustin takes the chance to grab a handful of the remains and shove them in his mouth. He scowls at them and hops away with his now barren plate back to the couch.

“Your brother’s a twerp, you know that?” he gripes to Nancy.

“Yeah, I figured it out a few years ago.” She reaches out with nimble fingers and takes one of the few chips he has left, popping it into her mouth before he can even react.

“I’m starting to think it’s genetic.”

Jonathan is off talking to Will about something, so it’s just the two of them melting into the couch together. They chat for a little bit about Nancy’s plans for senior year, and the campus tour Steve has coming up in two weeks. Steve makes a stupid joke about using his ninja skills to sneak out of his dorm, and she rolls her eyes as she pretends not to laugh. It feels almost like it used to, but without the haze of infatuation clouding his senses.

He’ll probably always think of Nancy Wheeler as his first love, but these days, what matters most is that he can count her as a friend.

After a few seconds of silence, he notices her looking up at him with a question in her eyes. Hesitantly, she asks, “You- you’re happy, right?”

“Weird question,” he comments, and she sighs at him.

“Steve. I’m serious.”

There’s a split second when he considers giving her a flippant answer, but the way her fingers curl slightly against his knee anchors him down to reality. No one’s asked him this question since before he entered high school. Even if they had, he probably would have answered yes without thinking it through, but he respects Nancy enough to actually mull it over.

Is he happy?

He thinks about blueberry pie and paste in his hair and the view from his passenger seat. The sight of bicycles tearing down main street, the crinkle of static over a walkie talkie. The clatter of plastic dice leaving his hands and the sound of a basketball passing through the hoop. He thinks about how heavy his eyes felt when he opened them the morning after the world didn’t end, and he remembers how slow he was to roll out of bed yesterday knowing that he was putting a chapter of his life behind him. Tomorrow he’s going to wake up again, later than his body has gotten used to in the last four years, and he’s going to make himself an omelette like usual. He’s almost absolutely certain that Dustin is going to call him at some point. And from there, who knows?

Steve doesn’t think he feels like a different person, but maybe that’s just because the world has been changing alongside him.

“Am I happy? Yeah, I...I think I am.”

Nancy doesn’t look away, perhaps because she’s searching his face for the truth. Whatever she finds must be satisfactory, because she finally smiles and pats him softly on the knee. “Good.”

There’s a dismayed noise from the floor, because somehow the kids managed to get soda all over El’s shirt while Steve wasn’t paying attention; Nancy heads over to help her clean off the mess in the bathroom. Steve doesn’t realize that he zoned out after Nancy’s departure until Max drops in a heap next to him, disrupting the intense staring session he was having with a splotch on Dustin’s wallpaper.

“You have cake on your face,” she tells him matter-of-factly, and he scrubs at his cheek, but comes away with nothing.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“You missed. It’s right here,” she says, and reaches forward with a finger to stab a dot of frosting onto his forehead.

“You little- you almost got my hair!” he hollers after her when she escapes, laughing. He has to get up to clean it off with a napkin, which he balls up and bounces off her head.

“Dustin told me to ask you where his playing cards are,” she says as they mill around the kitchen trying to catch mini pretzels in their mouths.

“He can’t get them himself?”

“I think he’s feeding Frodo right now.” Crickets and worms, delicious.

“Alright, fine,” Steve says. He tosses one last pretzel at Max, which she snaps out of midair, and goes to poke around the shelf in the living room until he finds a deck of Uno cards hidden among twist ties and loose paper clips.

He ends up dealing out cards for a very raucous game, which ends with Lucas and Max as sworn enemies. It takes some time to explain the rules to El when she returns with Nancy, but it isn’t long before Steve finds himself physically trying to block Will from throwing his cards at Dustin. He hears the click of a camera shutter just as Will reaches over Mike’s hold to fling the remainder of his hand over Steve’s head; Steve makes a “please help” gesture with his arms at Jonathan, who just snaps another photograph of the ensuing chaos after Will’s cards hit El in the face.

This is both the most and least wild party he’s ever been to, Steve thinks, as a couch cushion flies telekinetically across the room to whack Will and Mike straight into Lucas. Nancy, still clutching her cards, does a rather impressive roll out of the way, and Dustin retreats behind a chair, laughing hysterically the whole way.

It’s all kind of amazing.

--

The summer passes in a blur.

Steve’s busy days are spent either cleaning up his room as he preps for college or helping with some simple stuff around his dad’s office as free labor since the secretary quit at the beginning of June. On his off days, he plays some pick-up games on the outdoor court at school so he doesn’t get rusty over the summer, earns a little more summer cash by running errands for Hopper, and gets dragged all over town by his band of nerds.

The new mall is a popular spot for every teenager in Hawkins, which is why Steve ends up eating three corndogs in as many weeks. The arcade is still the preferred place for them to congregate in public, but with all the new attractions at Starcourt Mall, Steve has driven there with too many passengers at exactly speed limit more than once. He even brings El out once, because Hopper calls his house muttering about dates and damned teens and promises to pay Steve double.

Eleven and Mike don’t seem too broken up about him escorting their date; mostly they just want to wander through stores while holding hands. Steve buys himself a smoothie and pretends he doesn’t notice them kissing shyly next to a potted plant. Ah, to be young and in love.

“Here,” he says, handing them each a giant cookie and herding them to a table. El is extremely pleased about this turn of events.

“It’s bigger than the one we made.”

“We need to get you a cookie cake,” Mike says as he breaks off a chunk of his M&M to trade with her chocolate chip.

“Cookie...cake?” El says, feeling out the words as if they don’t belong together. “Is that allowed?” she asks Steve very seriously, and he nods back, his expression equally grave.

“Take the biggest cookie you can imagine, but with frosting.” He can see the thought taking root in her mind, as a look of wonder crosses her face. “When’s your birthday again?”

“In...October,” she says after thinking about it briefly. Steve remembers them talking about this once: that she and Hopper decided to just celebrate the date listed on her fake birth certificate since she wasn’t certain when she was really born.

“Perfect, we’ll come buy one for you then!” Mike says. “We could even celebrate here. Like watching a movie together, or something.”

“Sorry, but you’ll need a different chauffeur for that.”

As the summer progresses, Hopper grows less strict about where El’s allowed to be seen, so one day she hitches a ride with Steve so she can go shopping with Max. Steve lets them do their thing while he tries to decide if he should update his wardrobe before going to college, and they heckle him afterwards over the sweater he ends up buying. It means that the next time he goes with them, they force him to be their men’s fashion guinea pig, tossing hideous shirts and painfully shiny pants at him while he tries to find a suitable fall jacket. Their tastes clash with his about as much as he expected them to.

On days when there are more than three of these punks pestering him, they somehow manage to convince him to go pay for ice cream. It must be witchcraft. The girl in the sailor cap always raises her eyebrows each time she sees that he’s being accompanied by half a dozen children. Steve buys the ridiculous sundaes mostly for them, since he’s trying to shape up his diet again before basketball tryouts.

“Are they all yours?” the ice cream girl asks dryly today while she rings him up.

“Can’t you see the resemblance?” he snipes back, gesturing at his hair. She laughs as she hands him his change.

“Alright, two U.S.S. Butterscotches coming right up for the happy family.”

It’s a little bit crowded with so many people clustered around a two person table, but they make it work. Someone drops a piece of waffle cone on the floor, and they get sprinkles everywhere, but the kids let Steve have two maraschino cherries like they’re some sort of treasure, so he’ll forgive them for the toll they take on his finances.

--

The sight of Will in his full DM regalia makes Steve decide that he’s glad he didn’t try on the wizard hat. That might be a step too far for him.

As it is, he’s sitting in Eleven’s living room with his pile of dice before him, waiting for Mike and Dustin to finish explaining the rules to her. He stops paying attention after the third time they start arguing over how to help her fill out her character sheet.

“This is actually pretty cool,” he hears Max saying. She’s put on Will’s little cape, and is twisting her shoulders back and forth to make it swish. “I feel like I should get one.”

“Maybe not something so cleric-y,” Will says as she hands it back to him. “Most thieves don’t wear bright purple.”

“Most thieves also don’t barge right into people’s houses via the front door.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s true,” he laughs.

Even after they start playing it’s a slower process than usual, but El is a quick study, and the rest of the party is eager to talk her through the steps. Even Steve finds himself helping out a few times, despite not knowing what a mage was a couple of months ago. The campaign goes a little haywire, but they learn to roll with it and overcome. Steve has realized by now that it’s what this group does best.

They play late enough that Steve winds up making dinner for the lot of them, though with so many people it’s more of a hindrance than a help to have them in the kitchen, so he prohibits anyone besides El from coming in after the first three times somebody spills something. It’s too sloppy even for Sloppy Joes.

He ignores the strange chanting coming from the living room and worries about his sauce not thickening while Eleven watches the buns toast. They don’t notice Will sliding over until he’s standing next to El and staring at the stovetop too. The lack of purple clothing made it easier for him to sneak up on them.

“I thought I kicked you out already,” Steve says as he jabs at the beef sticking to the bottom of his pot.

“And I thought that was kind of unfair since it was Lucas who got mustard everywhere, and not me.”

“Alright, then make yourself useful and wash the stuff in the sink.” It’s only a spatula and a small bowl, so Will soaps up the sponge and starts scrubbing away.

El is shoving spices back into the cabinet when the eerie chant of “mushroom mage, mushroom mage” start building into an uproar, and she looks at Steve in alarm.

“Are they calling me?”

“Sounds like a cult, honestly.” Upon seeing her pursed lips, he starts to explain, “A cult’s like- a creepy religious group- never mind, it doesn’t matter. They’re bad. If someone asks you to join just say no and blast them away.”

The chant grows even louder.

“I should go see.” Eleven puts down the box of salt in her hands, and rolls up her sleeves while she marches back into her living room. Dustin appears to be holding some kind of paper hat. Max is already wearing a paper sash around her waist.

“Congrats, you’ve been promoted,” Steve tells Will, who has finished drying the dishes as well. “Can you put those on plates?”

“Sure.” Will moves the buns over onto Hopper’s assortment of mismatched plates while Steve stirs his sauce for another minute. When he finally feels like his slop is acceptable, he begins ladling a portion onto each plate while Will holds them still.

At one point he accidentally drips a bit onto Will’s thumb, but the kid doesn’t even notice, because he’s too busy watching his friends.

When Steve looks up to see what Will is looking at, he sees Lucas draping a long strip of paper over Mike’s shoulders.

“Your cape is probably more comfortable,” he says, which shakes Will out of his haze.

“No, I definitely don’t want...that,” he says as they staple more and more paper to Mike’s scarf. Amusement flashes across his face before he grows solemn again. “I was just thinking. I- I don’t want things to change. And they’re already starting to.”

Steve pauses with his ladle in midair and gently lowers it back into the pot. They watch as Max, her arm linked with El’s, laughs at something Dustin is saying with his entire body. Mike is grimacing at the joke while Lucas continues to wrap paper around his shoulders, and when he catches Steve and Will looking, he pulls a face and mimes sticking a finger down his throat and retching. Will makes a small sound, and Steve catches the start of a smile on his lips even as he returns his attention to passing out the finished plates.

“Not everything,” Steve says quietly. “I get the feeling that some things will always be the same.”

Will glances at him, a kind of loneliness in his expression — the sort that settles there at the corner of your eyes and can only be seen when you’re looking in at something from the outside. For years, Steve hadn’t understood how he could still feel it when he sat where he did, installed on some imaginary throne by others. Now he realizes that perhaps it lives inside all the people who have found themselves standing still while life continued to flow around them.

“I hope so. I know it can’t stay this way forever. Our lives are going to change. And maybe I’ll be ready by then. But for now I just want to hold onto this for a little while.”

One world tried to devour Will alive, and another one tried to crush him underfoot for being different, and here he still stands, alive and thriving. He’s one of the strongest people Steve knows, whether he understands it himself or not, and there probably isn’t anything that could dissolve the loyalty that the others hold toward him and each other. That part seems clear as the sky on a summer’s day to Steve, but he doesn’t know how to articulate it. Maybe what’s obvious to him is hard to see when you’re fourteen and everything seems to be changing faster than it ever did before.

“I get that. But this?” he says, gesturing between Will and his friends. “This isn’t going anywhere. You’re all probably going to be different people by the end of it, but after all the shit you’ve been through together? No way anything can ever be harder than that, right?”

Will swallows, no doubt thinking about the past two years. They’ve seen more than anyone should ever expect to in one lifetime. “Yeah, that’s pretty hard to top.”

“So don’t worry too much about what comes next. You’re all gonna get through it together.”

It’s something he wishes he could’ve said to himself four years ago. He thinks he made it out alright, but he’s never had anyone the way they have each other. Not until now, and he’s about to leave it all behind.

Will looks at his friends, just watching them silently for several seconds, before something akin to conviction settles into his expression. “Alright. I think I can do that.”

Lucas pads up to put a hand on Will’s shoulder while they’re passing out the remains of the sauce. “Hey, you left like forever ago. Is Steve really that hopeless?”

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who can’t squeeze mustard right.”

“I didn’t realize how small a teaspoon was!”

“It would have helped if you weren’t doing it all in midair,” Will says with a grin, and Lucas shrugs.

“I’ll try harder next time. Is dinner ready?”

“Yeah, you can call the other nerds over.” Steve goes to soak the pot while the boys start passing out plates, and he stops to think about how many times now he’s stood at this sink since the beginning of the year.

They eat scattered on the floor of El’s kitchen, talking about the game and some new movie that Dustin wants to go see. Steve commandeers a chair because he deserves it, and they allow it because they’re concerned about his old man bones. It’s a little too hot in the cabin, and Steve can feel his hair getting droopy, but despite the slight discomfort, he feels at ease.

Too at ease, perhaps. He can feel his eyelids growing heavy. It’s been kind of a long day; before driving everyone over here he’d been helping his mom move old furniture to be given away.

“You’re not gonna fall asleep on us, are you?” Dustin says from the floor. “We haven’t even checked out the secret cave yet.”

“This is just an extremely comfortable chair,” Steve replies, gesturing at the rickety wood.

“You used to be a better liar.”

“Hey, friends don’t lie.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and points over at Hopper’s armchair. “Seriously, I saw that yawn just now. Go take a nap, old timer. We’ll wake you up when we’re in combat.”

“What about for everything else?” he asks as Dustin practically shoves him out of his chair toward the living room.

“Eh, I’ll just cast Sleep on you or something. We’ll put your body in a cart and wheel you around.”

“Thank you?”

It’s incredible that a year ago he barely even knew who Dustin was, and now here he is, being bossed around by the kid like he’s Steve’s imperious little brother or something. Dustin refuses to leave him alone until he’s flopped down in the armchair, and then almost gives him a blanket until Steve reminds him that it’s hot enough already.

He really is getting pretty sleepy, so he quasi-watches as the others finish their dinner, his eyes fluttering closed every minute or so. The kids help El clean up the kitchen, working together to wipe down the surfaces and wash the dishes.

It’s a much more successful endeavor than when they were all crowding up the kitchen earlier, holding different bottles and spoons and spilling salt all over the place. In his half-conscious state, he notices El smile at Will as he passes her a plate. It looks like they might be having a conversation in their heads again. Dustin claps Will on the back as he walks by with a dishtowel, and it’s the last thing Steve sees before his eyes close again, his body ready to drift off.

Will’s going to be okay, he thinks to himself.

They’ll all be okay, Steve included.

--

“That’s the last one,” Steve says as he zips up the suitcase that holds all his clothes for the semester. “I’m packed. I’m...ready for college.”

Dustin, who’s sitting at Steve’s desk and fiddling with his lamp, looks down at Steve sitting stupidly on the floor next to his suitcase. “You don’t sound like you’re too sure about that.”

“Well, it’s still settling in.”

“It’s been settling in for the last three months. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

Steve makes a face as he pushes his closet door closed. It looks painfully sparse in there now, though the rest of his room looks mostly the same, besides the now clean floor. It feels different, though, is the weird thing. “I’m going to school, not getting married.”

Dustin releases Steve’s poor lamp and drops down to sit on the floor across from him. “Same idea. You look like you’re gonna leave Tippecanoe at the altar tomorrow, and drive off into the sunset to elope with...a job.”

“This metaphor is getting away from you.”

“Wow, you know what a metaphor is?”

“Shut the hell up,” Steve laughs, giving him a shove before standing up with his suitcase. “Come help me get all this shit in the car.”

Steve’s mom helped him make a list of what he would need to bring with him, and after D&D the other night, Dustin volunteered himself to help Steve finish packing. Now it’s 1:14 p.m. and half of Steve’s life has been boxed up and put in his car.

Dustin helps him slowly load up the rest, and then they’re sitting on the driveway, looking down the long road that leads away from Steve’s house.

“Tomorrow, huh?” Dustin says. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Don’t miss me too much,” Steve jokes, flicking the brim of Dustin’s cap.

Dustin scoffs. “Like I’ll get a chance. I’m gonna call you so much it’ll be like you never left. I’m talking fifteen, sixteen times a week.”

“Yeah, maybe not that often. The dorm’ll charge me an arm and a leg to take all your calls.”

“Shit, yeah, you’ll be living in a dorm! Maybe you’ll have a bunk bed. Do you think your roommate will be cool? Is it close to the dining hall? Are you gonna have a space to park your car?”

“I don’t know, kind of, and yes. No more questions, ‘cause I probably can’t answer them yet. Save it for one of your three dozen phone calls.”

“Maybe I can come see a game or something once your season starts.”

“Sure, that- that would be cool.”

“Max could drive us!”

“Okay, no, never mind.”

They fall silent and watch a few birds settle into the treeline in the distance. It’s not awkward, just quiet. Like Dustin can feel it too, the shift that’s about to occur in both their lives this coming year. High school, college, the end of the last summer in their childhoods (because Steve remembers what it was like to feel like fourteen going on fifteen meant you weren’t a kid anymore). The August heat is heavy in the air with the sun bearing down on them, but it doesn’t feel constricting, or stagnant. It just feels like they’ve stumbled into a slightly slower pocket of time, balanced on the tipping point between yesterday and tomorrow.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over. I feel like school ended just a week ago,” Dustin says, squinting out at the road that shimmers dark under the glaring light.

“That’s how it goes when you get older. Summer used to last forever. Now it’s over before it even starts.”

“That doesn’t actually make sense.”

Steve kicks halfheartedly in Dustin’s direction. The last few months really did seem way too fast. He can’t believe it’s almost been an entire year since their last brush with certain otherworldly death. Now he’s going to be leaving home to live in a town where no one knows what they went through, where everyone sleeps soundly at night without dreaming about flickering lights and glowing spores. A town where no one knows his name.

He’s looking forward to it.

Somewhere in his car is a binder with two photographs slipped into the back pocket. The first is Steve’s poorly taken picture of the kids yelling about god knows what at his graduation party. It’s a little blurry and crookedly framed, but it’s candid in a way that makes him smile. The second is a photograph he had forgotten that Jonathan took until he handed it to Steve along with the first.

Steve’s actually the focus of this one — he’s caught mid-shrug, imploring the viewer to help him as cards sail in a blur past his face. Everything is suspended in chaos around him: Mike holding Will back with both arms, imminent fear written on Lucas’ face as he watches Dustin ducking down behind El for protection, Max shrinking up against Nancy to avoid getting knocked over. He’s never been particularly sentimental, but he thinks he might just put this one up on his dorm wall.

The thought of decorating his dorm reminds him that this is really it. End of an era.

“It’s too hot to pack anything,” Steve says inanely, because there’s really nothing else he needs to bring. But the silence has suddenly grown too heavy, and he had nothing better to say.

Dustin gives him one of those confused face scrunches and points at his almost overflowing car. “Good thing you’re finally done, then.”

“Yeah.”

They fall quiet for another minute before Dustin clears his throat unsubtly. “...so, wanna go somewhere? Mall, arcade, whatever. I’m not picky.”

“With all my stuff in the back? That’s like asking for someone to break in and steal it.”

“Steal what, your pillow? Your old basketball? That binder I saw you drop in the mud a few months ago? Anyway, you know the chief of police — if anything happens just sic Hopper on them.”

“It’s funny that you think I can make Hopper do anything.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fine. We can go get pancakes or something.” He shrugs casually, and Steve grins at him.

“Even if you say that I can still feel you angling for ice cream.”

“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up,” Dustin says. “Anyway, consider it my payment for helping you get all your shit together.”

“You volunteered!”

“Out of the goodness of my heart, yeah, I did, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna turn down free ice cream.”

“Literally nobody mentioned free ice cream but you.”

Dustin shakes his head as if Steve just hasn’t gotten with the program. “Steve, I haven’t paid for ice cream once in the last two months. I’m definitely not going to start now.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Steve grumbles, though it’s just a token protest at this point.

Tomorrow’s the start of something new. Today, he’s going to leave himself a reminder of what there is to come home to.

Slapping Dustin on the back, he stands and dusts off his jeans before walking to his car. He spins his keys around his finger as Dustin scrambles over to the passenger’s seat door, and for a few seconds they just look at each other over the roof of the car, before Steve nods.

“Get in, Henderson. Let’s go for a drive.”