FORTY-TWO
— died in his arms
SHE REMEMBERED THE feeling of wet turf beneath her sneakers. It had been pouring rain, and the field flooded. It was a god awful day— she forgot her cleats at home, and now, her Converse were pressed to the soggy turf. Water seeped through the thin material of her high-tops, dripped over her socks, and made the bottoms of her feet prune. The earth beneath her squelched with each step— her hair was dripping wet, she had slipped twice, and her knees ached. But all she heard was the squelching noise that gathered at the sole of her shoes. It was sickening.
Now, she heard it again, but differently. The same high-tops pressed to the foul ground of the Upside Down, her scuffed sneakers clanking against the tangled mass of vines. The stomach-churning squelching sounded from below— with every step, the wet, soggy floor consumed her ears. She tried to distract herself. Lucy looked up, and peered through the foggy red goggles; all that hung in her vision were particles. It was like dust, small pieces of the Upside Down clouding her vision, and threatening to push past the guard of the bandana wrapped around her face.
It was all grey. The hollow hole that was the entrance to the Upside Down, beneath the rotted pumpkin patch, was disgustingly grey. The claustrophobia was almost overbearing— the sticky, slimy walls felt like they were going to close in. She swallowed thickly, glanced at the ground, and heard a quick crunch from beneath the tattered soles of her red sneakers; with a shutter, Lucy fluttered her eyes closed.
"Ugh, gross," she over-pronounced each syllable.
She could smell it. It was rotten, it was thick, and it was nauseating. The thin material from the worn-out bandana that had been pulled over her nose wasn't helping. The putrid sent of the tunnels creeped up her nostrils, down her throat, and straight into her empty stomach.
His voice split her thoughts. "Pick up the pace, would you? Any of you dipshits die down here, and I'm getting the blame." Promptly, Steve snatched the map from her hands, "You too, Hop. Put some speed on it, people!"
She scowled. Quick on her feet, Lucy pried the map from his gloved hands. "Yeah, I've already been down here, Stevie-boy." She widened her eyes, and he could see through the goggles, "Leave the map work up to me."
He squinted. "I don't trust your sense of direction." With a swift movement, he plucked the map from between her fingers, and shifted his body forward.
She rolled her eyes. Lucy adjusted the bandana, her pointer-finger and thumb pulling at the red fabric. Her chest expanded with a sigh, "Y'know, Harrington, if I would've known you'd be a prick down here," she started. "I would've left you at the Byers house."
His eyes flickered to her. His lips tugged up into the smallest smile, and he was grateful the bandana covered his lower-face. "Yeah, well, even though Hargrove almost killed me, back there," he spoke. "I think we make a pretty good team, Hop."
She looked at him. Through a mess of frizzy brown hair, foggy goggles, and the illumination of Steve's flashlight, they locked eyes. A laugh untangled from her throat, and her lips grazed the bandana. "You're so corny, Steve."
Her shoulder brushed against his upper-arm. Steve let out a scoff-like laugh. "I know."
Dustin blinked. "Jesus, could you two confess love to each other at any other time?" he scoffed. "I mean, a year of back-and-forth, I can't take it anymore!"
Without looking back, Lucy bent her right arm, pressed her hand to his face, and shoved his head— they walked in silence. Her sneakers crushed against the slithering "vines". Something dripped from above. Lucas sniffled. Steve's jacket brushed against her arm. The flashlight shone in her eyes. Mike stepped on the back of her high-top— she stumbled forward.
"Mike, do that again, and so help me god," she screwed her eyes shut. "...I will shove your face into this Demogorgan-goo."
He scoffed. "Maybe, you should walk faster!"
She glanced at him. "Maybe, you should control where your giant feet are stepping!" she whisper-shouted.
"Maybe—"
His comeback was cut off by the sound of an ear-splitting cry. Her face fell— her hazel eyes shot down the tunnel, eyes squinted and brows furrowed. The back of her hand nudged Mike, and she rushed past the others, sneakers crushing against the slime-covered floor.
He rolled around, the palms of his hands pressed to the ground, and his face drawn together in panic and disgust. "Help! Help!" Dustin cried, coughing.
"Dustin, what happened?" he spoke, kneeling down. She grabbed his shoulders. "Steve! Dustin, what's wrong?"
He shrieked, "It's in my mouth! It's in my mouth!" Dustin spat, his cries mixed with high-pitched shouts. "Shit!"
Steve panted. He hovered over Lucy, flashlight shining on Dustin. "What's in your mouth?" his eyes were wide. "What's in your mouth?!"
He coughed and hacked, chest heaving, back bent. Dustin pressed his hands to his knees, gasped, and smacked his lips. Glancing up, he blinked in relief. "I'm okay."
Max scoffed. "Are you serious?"
He scoffed. "Come on, man," Steve spoke.
Lucy lifted herself off the ground. "Drama-queen," she widened her eyes.
They walked in silence. She heard the squelching beneath her feet, her own breathing, and the cans of gasoline sloshing behind her. It was hard to breathe— her lungs were tight, and her face was hot. She walked a few paces behind Steve; her footprints landed directly where his did. A fleeting moment passed, and Steve broke the silence.
He fumbled with the map. "Alright, Wheeler," he sighed. "...I think we found your hub."
Her stomach churned. They had found it— everything on the map led there. Her chest unwinded. Lucy could breath again.
"Let's drench it."
She felt gasoline splash at her feet. The hazy liquid covered her dirty shoelaces, and flooded over the worm-like vines. The container was nearly empty— with each tip downwards, the tank grew lighter. The gas burnt her nostrils. Her eyes watered. Her wrists ached. Her stomach churned. A pit of nausea mixed deep in her gut, partially from the pungent smell of the gasoline, and partially from the nerves. She could taste it in her mouth— Upside Down particles, stomach acid, and gas.
Her goggles were fogged over. She tightened her fingers around the gasoline container, flipped it over, and watched as the remaining bits dripped to the ground. With a heaving breath, Lucy moved the bandana to the side, and used it to wipe the sweat from her upper-lip.
She averted her gaze towards Steve. She blinked, and knitted her brows. Her eyes followed his hand— he reached into the left pocket of his grey jacket, took the lighter in his hand, and revealed it. He rolled the pad of his thumb over the spark wheel, watched the flame ignite, and let his chest fall.
Steve reeled his arm back, and let the lighter slip from his fingers. She watched as it fell to the bottom of the hub, and shiny metal sparkling in contrast to the tangled vines. Then, the fire exploded. Hot orange flames shone in her eyes, the heat waves flushing over the apples of her cheeks. Sweat-beads glistened on her forehead. The air in her throat thickened. Her clothes stuck to her body.
"Go!" Steve shouted. His hand flew to the small of her back. He nudged her, softly, and urged the group to move forward.
Her knees shook. Her quads tensed, her feet pressed to the mass of vines. She felt heat on her back— the fire beat against her clothed back. Lucy could hear the flames; a faint crackling, a roaring blaze. Steve's chest heaved. He glanced at the map, "This way!"
A voice tracked through the flames. "Help! Help!" Mike's cried. He clawed at the floor, his broken voice lost in bis throat. "Help!"
Her face fell. The anxious knot in her stomach tightened, and suddenly, she wasn't thinking. Lucy's hands wrapped around the baseball bat tucked away in Steve's backpacks, her sweaty palms pressing to the rough nails. Her forearms pressed to Max and Dustin's shoulders, and she nudged them, her dilated pupils searching the floor for Mike.
"Move back, move back!" She lifted the weapon above her head. Her arms ached. With a grunt, Lucy smashed the bat against a vine. Hit after hit, the rusty nails cracked against the sickening life-forms tangled around Mike's leg.
Her shoulders fell. Her arms went limp, and the baseball bat fell to her side. With a pant, she watched Mike scramble up, the soles of his shoes slipping against the slime-covered floor. Lucy wiped her brow, "We have to g—"
A gut-wrenching chittering overpowered the sound of the beating flames. She stumbled back, her brows knitted, just at the center— then, she saw it. A Demodog pressed its claws to the ground of the tunnel, its flower-shaped mouth fluctuating. Lucy fingers tightened around Steve's arm. She grabbed the material of his jacket, the grey nylon bunching under her hand.
Dustin's voice was small. "Dart."
Her eyes widened. She swallowed dryly, and felt het chest tighten. "Dustin," she started. "if you don't get away from that mother-fucki—"
He waved hand behind his back. "You remember me?" Dustin whispered. The creature snarled, and he recoiled. "I know, I'm sorry. You hungry?"
Panic flooded her chest. Her mouth was dry. She stared at the Demodog— it's line of teeth, it's slime-covered scales, it's blood-covered claws, the flaps of its mouth. She remembered the lab. She remembered Bob. She was paralyzed— she was paralyzed, and Dustin was feeding the creature a Three Musketeers candy bar. He broke the pieces, and placed them on the ground with a delicateness. Dustin waved a hand behind his back.
Her voice was inaudible. "Oh, my God," Lucy whispered, her fingers uncoiling from Steve's jacket. Now, it was his turn to hold her— with a gentle hand, Steve wrapped a hand around her aching wrist. He pulled her, physically, and straight from her trance.
Dustin's frown was bitter-sweet. "Bye, buddy," he nodded.
She blinked. "Is it eating nougat?" she whispered, eyes wide. "My god."
Steve lowered his head. He spoke to her, "Let's go."
They started running. Her calves were aching, her thighs were sore, and the bottoms of her feet burned. Lucy breathed heavily, inhaling the fumes of a fire, and her own recycled carbon dioxide. Charred particles hung in the air, and floated across her goggles. Then, the ground beneath her feet shook— Lucy pressed a hand to the slimey walls of the Upside Down, her body doubling over.
Max's voice quivered. "What was that?"
Her mind raced. Her shoulders bounced, with each heaving breath. The walls shook, too— she could hear heavy, quick, and brooding footsteps from down the tunnel. Her face fell. "Run, go!" Lucy shrieked. Her voice was filled with raw urgency. She pushed at Max and Lucas' shoulders.
She didn't feel her stomach twisting. She didn't smell the pungent fire. She didn't mind the squelching below her high-tops, not anymore— the squelching meant she was getting somewhere. With each sickeningly wet crunch, she was a step closer to the exit.
It came into view. A thin beam of moonlight shot through the tunnels exit, a sky of bright stars peering down at them with open arms.
First, the sent Max. Her fingers gripped at the dirt, palms dug into the earth, knees pressed to the dry grass. With a heavy breath, she lifted herself free from the tunnel. Without a thought, her firm hand grabbed for Lucas'.
Lucy panted. She tightened her hands around Dustin's arm. "Come on, Henderson," she spoke, assisting Steve in lifting him. Her features contorted in fear— Dustin's butt crushed against her cheek, his body pressing to her face. She let out a strangled shriek, and pressed the palms of her hands to his legs. With one quick, strong movement, Dustin was out of the Upside Down.
He called for her. "Luce, come on," Lucas shouted. He shot his hand through the entrance, and waved it at her. "Grab my hand!"
She turned to Steve. The ground rumbled. In a panicked effort, he pressed his hands to her waist, the muscles in his arms tensing. She shook her head, "Steve, there's no time," she shouted. "We're not going to make it!"
Lucas' voice broke. "Grab my hand!" he shrieked. "Lucy, please!"
Her chest rose and fell. Lucy glanced at him one last time, then looked down the tunnel, and slowly accepted her fate. She felt him coil an arm around her back— she screwed her eyes shut.
She was going to die, and it would happen in the arms of Steve Harrington.
It was fate. Back in the lab, she had escaped death at the hands of the Demodog. Bob had saved her, when he shouldn't have. It was over, now. She thought of her brother, of the face that they shared, and how he'd be all that was left of her. She thought of her father, and the somewhat-comforting smell of cigarettes on his work uniform. She thought of her kids, and how they were a mere fifteen-feet up. She felt Steve. His strong arms pressed to her back, his left hand clenched around her forearm.
All those thoughts, for nothing.
The Demodogs moved around them. She felt their scaly bodies graze against her leg, their sharp claws narrowly missing her feet. He pulled her closer, her chest pressed to his, her hands firm against his torso. Steve tucked her into him, so her head bent beneath his chin. She heard his heartbeat. A low, but prominent thumping noise, that echoed through her ears. Suddenly, hearing was the only sense she had been left with. Her cheek pressed impossibly close to his heaving chest, and all she knew was the sporadic
pattering of his heartbeat.
It was over in a flash. Steve had been holding his breath. His chest fell into hers, a sense of shock flooding his exhausted body. He unclenched his hands, and let them fall flat over her hips. Steve blinked. One hand moved up her back, and towards where her shoulders and neck connected. "Hop," he whispered. "Lucy."
She blinked. Her chest pressed closer to his. Lucy heard his voice, low and clean in her ears. He called her name. "Hi," she murmured.
He exhaled. "Are you okay?" he spoke. "Hey, are you alright?"
She heard his panic. Lucy's palms pressed to his chest, and she stepped back. "I'm okay," she nodded. She felt his hands move down her back. "Yeah, I'm fine."
A high-pitched shout sounded from above them. Lucas waved his hand. "Lucy," he exhaled, stressed. "Grab my hand!"
Her arms shook. Her chest heaved. Her knees pressed to the earth, and she could've kissed the dirt. Lucy ripped the red bandana off her face, and took a deep breath full of the clean air. She gasped, coughed, and pulled the goggles off. "Jesus... Christ," she panted, palms pressed to the grass. "You dipshits... almost got us killed."
Steve inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again. He planted a hand on his hip, and shook his head. "What the hell just happened?" he stammered. "Those dogs, that just— they ignored us."
She took a last breath in. Lucy licked her lips, moved her hair from her eyes, and blinked. She shifted her eyes to Mike, who shared her knowing gaze. Their eyes remained locked, for a second. Her name unraveled from his lips in an ensured whisper.
"Eleven."
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hi pooks it's my birthday i'm 16 😋
me and luce are the same age rn
ok help needed should i make another chapter after this were lucy like idk cleans steve's wounds and there's just extra stuff or should i cut right to the snowball lmk ☺️