The rush out of The War Zone was chaotic. Everyone moved fast, arms full of paper bags packed with weapons, extra clothes, and whatever they could grab that screamed "Survival." The air buzzed with tension—nerves fraying as panic crept in around the edges. The real problem? Jason Carver had shown up. He and a couple of his jock followers had stormed into the store mid-supply run, their eyes scanning for trouble—and they found it in the form of Nancy Wheeler. She'd held her ground, chin high, hand subtly hovering near the grip of a newly claimed shotgun, but it was a close call. Too close. He hadn't seen the rest of the group—not yet—but it was enough of a scare to get everyone moving fast. No one wanted to find out what Jason would do if he saw them all together.
Steve and Tiffany were the last to jog out, having lingered a little longer in the back of the store under the excuse of grabbing a few more clothes—but mostly grabbing each other. Their cheeks were flushed, lips a little too pink, and they were clearly trying not to make eye contact with anyone as they sprinted for the RV. "Let's go!" Robin shouted from the open door. "We're coming!" Steve yelled back, arms full of supplies. Tiffany ducked in first, climbing the steps two at a time with Steve right behind her. He tossed some supplies toward Eddie, keeping the rest for himself as he hurried to the driver's seat. With a quick click and turn, the engine roared to life. Tiffany slid into the passenger seat beside him, a wide, flustered smile still plastered across her face—one that said she was trying (and failing) to play it cool. "Let's go! Let's go!" Dustin yelled from the back of the RV where the others were. "I'm going! I'm going! Sit down!" Steve snapped back, slamming his foot on the gas pedal and getting them the hell out of The War Zone.
For a minute, no one spoke. Just heavy breathing. Shifting metal. The rattle of weapons. Everyone settling into their seats, catching their breath, adrenaline slowly ebbing enough to let their minds catch up. And then Robin's gaze landed on Steve and Tiffany. At first, from where she was sitting, nothing seemed out of place. But then she noticed Steve's hair—disheveled in a way that only a hot and heavy make-out session could cause. Curiosity got the better of her, and she moved across the RV for a better look at Tiffany. That's when she saw it—the dazed expression, the messed-up shirt, and... the unmistakable hickeys. Robin narrowed her eyes. "Okay. What the hell happened to you two?" Steve shifted awkwardly in his seat, running a hand through his already wrecked hair. "Nothing. Just... you know, supply stuff." He tried to form an excuse. "Right." Robin said, crossing her arms with a smirk. "Because this is what 'supply stuff' looks like?" She gestured dramatically at Steve's tousled hair and Tiffany's flushed cheeks. "And this." she added, poking lightly at the marks blossoming on Tiffany's neck, "Looks like a crime scene." Lucas leaned forward, squinting. "Is that a hickey? Multiple hickeys?!" Steve let out a long sigh. "Can we not do this right now?"
"Seriously, how long were you gone?" Robin asked, squinting at them. "You were supposed to get clothes, not reach third base." Tiffany just smirked, completely unbothered. "Multitasking." She chuckled. "Multita—Tiff!" Max stared at her, jaw dropped. "You did it in a supply store?" The rest of the RV groaned in unison. "We didn't do it." Steve cut in, hands up. "Okay? It was just... aggressive kissing." Robin rolled her eyes. "Very aggressive." She muttered, still staring like she was piecing together evidence. "Honestly, I'm surprised the bathroom walls are still standing." Tiffany leaned back in her seat, turning to glance at Steve with a playful grin plastered across her face. "Totally worth it." She giggled—light and bright, the kind of laugh that made everything feel a little less heavy. Steve tried to hold back his smile, but it tugged at the corners of his lips anyway. "No regrets."
The group now found themselves in a wide, open field—distant and quiet, far from any signs of human life. It was the most peace they'd had since that brief moment floating in the tiny boat on Lovers Lake. Everyone had paired off, scattered around the grassy stretch, each lost in their own preparations—except for Steve, Tiffany, and Robin, who lingered closest to the RV. Furthest from the vehicle, Dustin and Eddie sat side by side, hammering nails into the tops of metal trash can lids, fashioning makeshift shields with loud, clanging focus. Closer to the RV but still in their own space, Nancy and Max worked together. Nancy was carefully sawing off the barrel of her shotgun, while Max knelt beside her, steadying the weapon and glancing up every now and then to talk. On the opposite side of the clearing, Erica and Lucas sat in the grass, their voices low as they tied knives to the ends of long wooden sticks—quickly turning them into crude but deadly spears. It was quiet—focused, but with the occasional burst of playful teasing cutting through the tension.
Robin and Steve sat in front of the RV, carefully filling glass bottles with fuel before stuffing rags into the tops—assembling makeshift Molotov cocktails. Robin gave him grief over the whole bathroom make-out session for a while, throwing sarcastic jabs as she worked. Eventually, her teasing faded into something more serious. She admitted, in a lower voice, that she had a bad feeling—that their plan to kill Vecna might not work. That something just felt wrong. Tiffany stood off to the side, not really paying attention. The heavy talk didn't interest her—at least, not right now. Her focus was on the loose scraps scattered across the ground: a broken screw, a bottle cap, a couple of rusted nails. With a lazy flick of her fingers, she sent them floating into the air, spinning them in little circles like she was playing an invisible game. She smirked to herself, occasionally flicking one away just to watch it zip off into the dirt. It wasn't training. It wasn't strategy. It was boredom. And maybe just a little fun.
A half-empty can of Pringles lay in the grass next to the front tire of the RV. Tiffany shifted her focus to it, holding her hand out and lifting it slowly into the air toward her. She gently twirled the can, amused as it floated and spun. Without realizing it, she began to squeeze—her fingers curling tighter around the invisible edges of the can, unknowingly applying pressure. The can started to bulge slightly in her grasp. Then, with a sudden BOOM! The can exploded right in front of her, the loud bang echoing across the field. Chips and cardboard burst outward, raining down around her like confetti. The others instinctively jumped and turned toward Tiffany. "What the hell was that?!" Robin asked, eyes wide and voice sharp with surprise. Tiffany gave an awkward grin and shrugged. "That's new." She muttered to herself. Steve stood and stepped over, gently brushing chip crumbs and bits of cardboard out of her hair, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I've never seen you do that before." He said, looking down at her with a mix of surprise and awe. "I didn't know I could." Tiffany admitted, eyes widening as an idea sparked in her mind. "Power training." She said slowly, determination creeping into her voice.
YOU ARE READING
A Distant Memory
FanfictionI swear on Dustin's mother that this is a great story, worthy of your sacred time.
