CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
XVIII.      feels like drowning
[ season 2, episode 9 ]

          "All right, Wheeler. I think we've found your Hub."

The narrow tunnel had dipped into a cavern, harshly illuminated by pockets of ashen light in the congealed walls. Steph propped the flashlight between her teeth — ignoring the warmth radiating from the ecstatic bulb — and flipped the cap off of the gasoline canister. Their main aim was clear here. Douse the so-called Hub, soaking the Mind Flayer's mind with flammable liquid, only to set it alight in the coming seconds. Flames would pour into the Upside Down, putting an end to the eternal misery, freeing Eleven and the town of Hawkins from the monsters' unrelenting grasp.

Or . . . so they hoped.

An unlikely pair, Max and Steph worked together. They passed the canister of gasoline between themselves, drenching the Hub with purpose. A gnarled vine scuttled away from the layer of gasoline, sinking into the darkness of the nearby tunnels diverging from each end of the cavern.

"Do you think this will work?" Max implored softly. Her inquisitive words were muffled by the bandana wrapped around the lower half of her face, but the apprehensive glimmer in her eyes spoke a thousand words.

Tenderly, Steph placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder. It was a strange sensation, comforting people. She was usually the one being comforted, despite how much she hated the pity and the sympathy and the gentleness that people approached her with, like she was sculpted from paper-thin glass, poised to shatter at any slight provocation. Oddly enough, reaching out to other people felt . . . nice. Fulfilling. Rare enough an obligation to meet, Steph had never known what to say to those with tear-brimmed eyes and pouted lips. But this — it came naturally.

Perhaps Steph was spending far too much time with Steve Harrington, a true sweetheart, through and through.

"You kids are smart," Steph assured, referring to their collective idea of dousing the Hub in gasoline. Noticeably, her voice had softened considerably from it's typical drawl, the razor-sharp edges planed down to harmless fragments. She gazed upon Max with newfound warmth, "Of course it'll work."

"I hope so." Max murmured. She looked slightly uncomfortable by the tenderness of their interaction, so Steph quickly removed her hand, opting to ruffle the girl's unkempt red-locks instead.

Lucia made her appearance then, casually slinging an arm around Max's shoulders. Even in the shadows, Steph was able to decipher a peony-pink tint inching its way up Max's throat, materialising in the apples of her cheeks. She averted her gaze to the vine-speckled ground, pressing the tip of her shoe against a mound of solidified slime. There was a certain expression upon Max's face — contorted into a faint grimace as she picked at the stubborn thread hanging from her jacket sleeve — that made Steph consider the deeper meaning behind her unprecedented blushing. Not embarrassment. She didn't want to press or make her avid curiosity obvious, however, and looked off into the distance, watching Steve and Dustin squabble over a flashlight with two batteries over another with just one.

She rolled her eyes and excused herself from Lucia and Max's unfolding conversation. As she approached, Dustin's gaze shifted from Steve's face to Stephanie's. The corner of his mouth arched up into a gentle smile, and he waved, gesturing Steph forward.

"Are we ready to torch this thing?" she asked upon arrival. The cerulean lighter stuffed into her pocket felt heavier than usual, alongside the packet of untouched cigarettes that sat crinkled in the bottomless pits of her leather jacket. She just wanted to get the damned thing over with already.

In response to Steph's inquiry, Dustin pumped a fist into the particle-strewn air and cried out, "Hell yeah!"

"That's what I like to hear."

She thrust her hand out toward Dustin, fingers encased into a tight fist. His eyes instantaneously widened in realisation ── because being offered a fist-bump from Steph "the Hothead" Miller was like being awarded a knighthood from the Queen, truly. She didn't propound friendships to just about anyone, hence her minuscule circle of companions. Although, the same could be said for Dustin; he was wise when choosing which people would surround him, day by day, as nothing short of close companions. He looked into their minds, their souls, finding the goodness within, rather than loosely weighing the pros and cons of associating himself with someone higher up in the food-chain.

Bearing this in mind, Dustin connected his fist with Steph's. His lips rolled together to create a crescendo of noise ── a boom as if their clashing knuckles had caused irreversible devastation inflicted by an explosive bomb.

"Alright, alright," Steve obnoxiously wafted his hand between them. Envious, was it? That Steph was able to consider Dustin a friend in a mere minute, and him not after days? "Save your secret handshakes for later, we have way more important things to be doing ── so chop chop."

Stephanie barged past him, nudging her shoulder against his with a force that almost knocked Steve onto his backside. Her words rolled off her tongue venomously, but with an almost indecipherable lilt of playfulness, "Bite me, Steve."

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention toward the one wall that hadn't been soaked in gasoline.

Behind him, however, Dustin's mouth had fallen agape ── opening a dark cavern resemblant to the one they stood in. He prodded Steve's shoulder vigorously, hissing the boy's name beneath his breath with unhindered excitement. Steve whipped around, clutching the gasoline canister with intent, agitated by the distraction in the form of Dustin Henderson, "What, man?"

"She said Steve!" Dustin whispered harshly. "Steve, Steve, Steve ──"

"Yeah, that's my name, don't wear it out."

Clueless, Steve planted a hand against Dustin's forehead and shoved him backward lightly, sending the boy stumbling over a tight formation of slimy vines, squirming amongst one another on the ground, slithering into opposing tunnels. To his left, a thick tentacle protruded from the obsidian block of squidgy matter, clawing through the darkness in an attempt to reach Dustin's face. Dustin batted the tendril away with the back of his hand, seemingly unbothered.

"Steve!" he cried, attempting to coax his attention toward the more prominent matter at hand. "I knew you weren't exactly the brightest, but this ──"

"All right, Henderson. I'm this close—" Steve parted his hands, leaving an inch distance between them. "—to leaving you here, on your own, if you don't shut your damn mouth."

He turned back to the walls, flooding the twitching vines with gasoline. Dustin propelled himself forward, determined to stay in Steve's line of sight, nose pinching at the strong scent of propellant. He was also determined to shed a light on this brand, sparkling new revelation that Steve could not quite grasp, despite it being smothered directly into his face, positively suffocating him.

"It's weird, right, that she always calls you Harrington ──" Dustin attempted to elaborate, only to be unceremoniously cut short by the thud of Steve's prickled bat thumping against a mischievous vine. Dustin hobbled backward, taking a deep breath to soothe his bundled nerves. "Jesus, Steve. Just open your eyes!"

Steve glared at the curly-haired boy from over his shoulder. If looks could kill.

"Open. Your. Eyes." Dustin repeated slowly, truly pushing his luck this time. Steve was momentarily distracted from attempted murder when Dustin inconspicuously pointed over at Steph. Her icy gaze was already zoned in on them when they glanced over in unison, but she looked away almost immediately, pretending to be insanely interested in the crimson jug of gasoline. Dustin's lips twisted into a triumphant smile. "See. You just have to look to see the cold, hard, plain truth laid out right in front of you, Steve. That lady is falling for you."

"Right, and I'm the president of the United States." Steve quipped, without hesitation.

Any attempt at remaining nonchalant, unfazed by Dustin's remark, was swiftly eradicated as realisation dawned upon him like heavy storm clouds rolling into the sky. Steph had been staring at him . . . and he back. Why was that so hard to believe? Earlier, he realised it was an almost certain fact he had fallen for her in the short space of forty-eight hours, chasing after his misplaced affection to twist it an alternative direction, but to no avail. Steph Miller couldn't ── wouldn't ── reciprocate any of the same sentiments, nor would she believe Steve if he told her how he truly felt. Which would never happen. He had a hard time swallowing the discovery of it himself, never-mind sharing it, speaking the truth out in the open.

Honestly, Steve had been considering the reproach for a while now ── as well as pondering the possibilities of holding Steph as something more than a friend. She was complicated. Wickedly tricky to understand. Talking to her was like trying to solve a Rubix Cube, the panes of colour constantly slipping into disarray without fail. He never knew when she was being sarcastic or truthful. Serious or jovial. And sometimes, Steve just wanted her to stop talking completely, because some of the things Stephanie uttered were infuriating or obnoxious or offensive to him, permanently bruising his prized ego. She was good at that.

Steph was nothing like Nancy, that was for sure. Nancy . . . Ah! That was yet another thing plaguing Steve's mind in recent times ── or the concerning lack thereof. His thoughts were barely clouded by Nancy Wheeler anymore, compared to the constant reel of past memories tormenting him as he tried to go through day-to-day activities in the wake of their break up. Nance was no longer a hurricane tormenting his mind, jumbling each and every one of his thoughts to instead be replaced by stinging echoes of their previous relationship. Truthfully, the only time Steve brought the Wheeler's memory to the forefront of his brain was when he was thinking about Steph. Comparing them. And why was he comparing them?

To see which would suit his disposition better. That was the only valid explanation. Lately, all arrows were swivelling toward Steph, as if enticed by magnets.

It would never work.

"I think you're wrong, and I'm right." Dustin said proudly, puffing his chest out in pride. "Steph literally can't keep her eyes off of you. I've been spectating this whole time. Whole time." Dustin folded his arms, voice raising an octave. "You're both pretending to hate each other so you don't have to face the truth. And the truth is ──"

"Henderson," Steve warned lowly. He held his hands apart again, reinforcing the threat from earlier. "This close."

Dustin clicked his tongue, pointing at the narrowing distance between Steve's splayed palms. He was being serious. Deadly serious. "Right. That close. Fine."

With one last look between Stephanie and Steve, Dustin regained his bearings and scuttled off, joining Max and Lucia in the centre of the Hub. They all suspected the same thing, it seemed, because they simultaneously broke out in whispers after listening to Dustin's ramblings, muttering between one another excitably.

"Knuckleheads." Steve muttered to himself. His cheeks felt as though they'd been scorched.

He poured the last of the gasoline into a small patch of swaying vines nestled into the far corner of the Hub. Once finished, the group gathered around the hollowed entrance, retracing their steps to the correct tunnel that would lead them straight back out onto home-land. Merrill's Farm.

Steph unfurled her arm and extended a lighter into the air. It was a neon shade of cerulean blue that clashed with the fortress of shadows, and her initials, S.M, were engraved into the side of the plastic tube. She looked unhappy to be parting with the historic artefact, clinging to the neon plastic tight enough that her knuckles blanched. But this was for the greater good, and she was willing to discard something meagre in return for victory.

"Go!" Lucia barked, impatient. She gestured toward the gasoline-soaked Hub, her eyes already sparkling with the promise of retribution.

"Light her up!" Dustin demanded.

Steph mustered a sharp nod, flicking off the safety cap. The minuscule flame wavered in the cold, damp air. Her eyes met Steve's momentarily, probing and determined. He gave her a small thumbs up.

"We're in such deep shit."

With that, Steph thrust her arm outward, and propelled the lighter into the darkest depths of the Hub. The moment the flame breached the tunnel entrance, the Hub roared to life. Gasoline proved to be extremely flammable, much to their fortune, as an insurmountable amount of flames engulfed the entirety of the Hub within seconds, warping the transparent puddles of propellant into an eye-watering electric-blue, bordered by flaming orange. Vines reared into the air, screeching agonisingly, burned and charred to ashes before they were able to grasp the chance at slithering to safety.

The heat was blistering, radiating across the warming air. Steph hobbled backward, collapsing into Steve's outstretched arms. He was ushering the kids into the safety of the tunnels, waiting only for Stephanie, but adrenaline was pumping excruciatingly loud in her ears, and she could barely hear anything other than the squealing vines, burning alive.

Luminescent orange and blood-red reflected in her stormy eyes, making her appear far more relentless than she already was. Though, not in a harmful way. Stephanie was incapable of physically inflicting harm upon anyone — through meaningless words and biting sarcasm, perhaps, if most were not made jovially. That was what made her better than the monsters, both human and inter-dimensional. She clung to her humanity like a second-skin, unwilling to shed it for the sake of making and succeeding in self-fulfilling prophecies. Normal. She was normal. And that was the most threatening attribute of all. Nobody knew what to expect from people like her — heroes who don't wear capes.

Nobody knew how to control them.

"Come on!"

Reality struck like a doomsday clock. Stephanie was plunged back into a living nightmare, a scorching inferno billowing through the Hub, skimming the tunnel entrances threateningly. Steve's hand trapped her wrist, tugging her along toward the gaping hole that would lead them back out onto Merrill's Farm.

Her shoulder was throbbing, but the adrenaline was so strong that she barely felt it. It was overwhelming. Her heart pumped faster than her brain, and she couldn't think straight. Only one word echoed within, her own voice repeating continually in the deepest confines of her mind.

Run, run, run.

Steph's eyes traversed down the expanding tunnels, her chest constricted of flowing oxygen. This felt an oddly familiar scenario. Like deja vu. The darkness, the trepidation, the looming threat of Demodogs, the chilling prospect of a seemingly inevitable death. She half-expected to see Bob, arriving in all of his heroic glory, prepared to lead them all to safety once again. But then she recalled his fate. The blood splattering on her shoes. Joyce's grief.

Who was to be the hero this time?

And would they survive?

The group dashed into another tunnel, leaping over vines and mounds of solidified slime. Stephanie's hands — one still intertwined with Steve's — grew cold and clammy, the first indication of a suffocating fear encroaching. The surrounding crescendo of noise shrunk into an indistinct buzz that hummed incessantly, determined to shatter the transparent obstruction hindering her ability of hearing properly.

"Steph? Steph!" Steve urged frantically. His fingers tightened around her wrist, but, alarmingly, Steph's grip had slackened considerably. "Hey, hey, hey! We're almost there, okay? You're okay!"

If only.

If only.

What if Steve met the same end as Bob? Would the Demodogs get him, too? He always tried to be the hero — maybe that was his fatal flaw. Would Steph wind up the last one standing? An only survivor, with battle scars and colossal burdens, remembering the lives lost in the tunnel inferno.

She was no hero. Why would she survive, out of everyone? That wasn't something she could live with, if worst came to worst.

It was when Mike screamed, that Steph finally came back to her senses. Reality shattered around her like a torrential downpour of rain. She spun around, gaze flittering over Mike's sprawled out frame. A mangled vine had protruded from the wall, snaking around Mike's ankle, while a second inched closer to his throat. He couldn't move.

Steph lurched forward, hastily snatching the bat dangling from Steve's fingers as the rest of the group cried out in fright for Mike's well-being.

She eyed the vine with disdain. It squirmed and squealed, tightening around Mike's ankle like an anaconda desperate to quench its thirst for blood. Steph clenched her jaw and brought the prickled end of the bat down against the writhing vine. For Bob. She launched another hit. For Will. An ear-piercing squeal echoed along the slimy confines of the tunnel, and the force of her hit ripped two halves of the vine in half. Mike wriggled his leg free, panting heavily.

"Thanks." he said gratefully.

Steph flicked hanging webs of slime from the end of the bat and gave Mike a short nod, unable to conjure up a verbal response.

The group expelled a collective breath of relief and rushed forward to thoroughly ensure Mike's safety. Noticeably, they were being far more vigilant about their surroundings this time around, searching avidly for potential threats lurking in the darkness. Stephanie handed Steve his bat and toyed nervously with her tennis racket, holding far more trust in the dainty weapon now after successfully breaking Billy's nose.

She nodded toward the kids, "Come on, get a move on."

Dustin swerved to the front line, determined to lead them all to safety. He was mumbling something borderline incoherent about hurrying up, when he was interrupted by the unmistakable chittering of a Demodog.

Steph's blood ran cold. She whipped around, stumbling into Steve — who caught her with ease, saving her from a fall. He wormed an arm around Steph's waist to steady her, though the Miller's cobalt eyes were trained on the snarling creature meandering through the tunnel a mere two metres ahead, and she barely deciphered Steve's touch through the numbness seeping into her body.

It felt like she was drowning in trepidation. Thrashing in a deep bed of water, unable to claw her way to freedom.

Not again.

Not again.

The effects the malicious Demodog had on its victims were widely affective. Shivering, the group meshed together as one singular entity, putting up a strong front that threatened the monsters' merciless reign. Lucia, Steph and Mike were the worst affected, and the people around them immediately took on the form of human-shields, thrusting themselves into danger's path in order to protect their most vulnerable warriors. For instance, Max interlaced her fingers with Lucia's, tugging the Delgado behind her rigid figure so she wouldn't have to face this living nightmare alone.

Dustin, however, had an entirely different approach. He squinted through the condensation clouding his goggles, and uttered a singular word, "Dart?"

The moment Dustin stepped toward Dart, the group broke out in a chorus of demanding hisses, ordering the daredevil to retreat. Of course, given the Henderson's typical behaviour of going against every order that was tossed his way, he did no such thing. He told them to trust his idea, and continued approaching the growling Demodog.

"Hey . . ." he murmured. "It's me, it's me. It's just your friend, it's Dustin." With that, Dustin removed the goggles and the bandana — concealing his idiosyncratic features — from around his face. Dart perked up a little at that, though the creature didn't have any distinctive slits for eyes and it proved a rather hard feat to discern any physical . . . emotions. "You remember me? Will you let us pass?"

Dart's mouth bloomed, and he let out a ferocious roar teeming with a vengeful rage. The group hobbled backward in terror, but Dustin remained upright, taking a deep breath to restore his jumbled nerves.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Dustin cooed sympathetically. "I'm sorry about the storm cellar. That was a pretty douchey thing to do. You hungry? Yeah?"

He carefully reached into his backpack and pulled something out. Cerulean wrapping scintillated in the chaotic array of torch-lights reflecting around the narrow tunnel. Stephanie's brow furrowed, her fear minimising substantially. She poked her head around Steve's shoulder, gaining a better view of the scene unfolding before them.

"I got our favourite. See?" Dustin showed Dart a block of chocolate, discarding the gleaming wrapper atop a slime-pile beside him. "Nougat. Look at that. Yummy." He placed the treat on the ground in front of Dart, who surprisingly lowered his defensive stance and sniffed around the chirping vines, nibbling on the edge of the nougat. "Eat up, buddy."

Dustin gestured for the group to walk around while Dart was momentarily distracted. Wasting no time, Steve clutched Stephanie's hand and began tugging her through the tunnel. She eyed Dart cautiously, her stiffened limbs struggling to comprehend the fact he wasn't going to lash out and rip her body to shreds. Dart was the runt of the litter, dropping the act of intimidation in exchange for a lump of chocolate.

Steve's fingers flexed against her clammy palm, a wordless reassurance that told her he was there, right by her side. She found consolation in the fact Steve wasn't irrevocably afraid, and he was willing enough, despite his own troubles, to be there to pull her through the darkness — both figuratively and literally.

"Goodbye, buddy." Dustin said as he departed from Dart's side, genuinely torn to leave his strange pet behind. The Demodog glanced up at Dustin briefly, and chittered in a soft manner that could be deciphered as appreciation, to a certain extent.

And still, the creature made no move to attack, meaning they were free to go.

Flashlights sliced through tunnel after tunnel, warping into a mismatched jumble of luminescent lustre. Leading the squad as usual was a fearless Steve, his fingers still intertwined with Stephanie's to keep her in check. Her heart was thrumming at an inhuman pace — she couldn't quite understand how she was still upright, never mind running. The adrenaline, probably.

Suddenly, the sodden ground beneath their feet began to tremble destructively. An inter dimensional earthquake, stretching from one end of the shaking tunnel to the next.

Steph collapsed against the wall, splaying her hands over the mangled vines. Chunks of dirt rained from the ceiling, mingling with the particles. The bandana coiled around the lower half of Steph's face slipped down, exposing her pallid flesh to the otherworldly elements of the Upside Down.

Then, almost as quick as it had started, he uncontrollable shuddering was over.

A distant screech echoed in the distance. Lucia's eyes grew wide, shimmering a coal-black in the fortress of shadows. Her mouth fell open, the words brushing over her tongue an almost incoherent mumble, but an unmissable revelation at the exact same time, "It's them. They're coming."

"Run!" Mike cried.

The screeching melted into an unearthly cacophony of Demodog roars — a noise only capable of being forged by an entire army. And they we're heading directly for them.

Steph sprinted ahead, the walls zipping by in a melted blur. Sporadically, she glanced over her shoulder, ensuring the kids were still following behind — which they were. Thankfully, the group weren't far from the opening that would lead them back out onto land. They breached the corner of the largest tunnel, and saw the telltale rope hanging down into the abyss, alongside the bright car headlights from Billy's stolen vehicle, illuminating their only means of escape.

"There! There!" Lucia pointed out.

"Go!" Dustin squeaked.

The group congregated around the bottom of the rope, shivering with nerves as the wailing flourished in pitch. Max was lifted up first, courtesy of Steve Harrington. Then Lucia was next, gripping Max's hand above for an extra form of leverage. 

Steph ran a hand through her tousled blonde tresses, looking into the murky depths of the tunnel. Her irrational fear had been diluted, replaced by surging adrenaline and determination to have everyone plunged into definite safety. She and Steve grappled with Mike's legs, pushing him up through the gaping cavity looming above.

"Come on, Lucas." Steph said, gesturing to the opening. The boy did not hesitate, and clawed his fingers into the dirt, clambering onto Merrill's decimated crop patch with the help of Stephanie and Steve.

Next — Dustin. A wave of hands brushed over the surface of land, and he trapped two between his fingers. Stephanie hissed at the pain that bloomed in her shoulder, having overworked her ability to use the injured limb, but continued shoving Dustin upward regardless.

When she looked over, she saw that Steve's eyes were alike to two beams of moonlight captured into smaller fragments, glinting in the darkness.

"You're next," he said quickly.

But the blood-curdling howling of the impending Demodogs had become too close for comfort. If Steve lifted her up now, there was no chance he would make it on his own. And it was the same fate vice versa. One, or none — simply put.

It seemed they came to a unanimous agreement. Silent. But to Steph's ears, the daunting cognisance of the upcoming tsunami wave of flesh-eating monsters was louder than an explosion.

Stay put.

A good solider never leaves their post.

Above, the kids were shouting shrilly, making impossible demands for the adolescents to hurry. Lucia succumbed to defeat a long time ago, crystalline shards rolling down her flushed cheeks. Dustin was nearing a melancholy state, expression pinched with fear, as were the others.

Stephanie and Steve had to fight. Fight, or die. And truth be told, the odds were not in their favour.

"I'm sorry." Steph whispered softly, taking both Steve and herself off guard. A string of oddly shaped silhouettes rushed through the dim-light splayed against the tunnel walls, a forewarning of their impending doom. The sound of pattering paws was so loud that it could be mistaken for a broken skyscraper crumbling to a pile of debris. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Steve's words were clipped and rushed, but the speed in which he turned his head in her direction told Steph he truly wanted to hear her unprecedented apologies.

Her fingers tightened around the tennis racket. There was a lot she wanted to say, but time was limited, and she was forced to settle with, "Everything."

Steve mustered a short nod. He understood, and that was all that mattered. "Yeah. Me too."

And they both knew. This was it — there was no turning back now. The Demodogs had truly snuffed them out on this occasion, and their names were going to be scrawled across the Hawkins newspapers tomorrow. Dead. Mangled. Two deaths that shook the town. No doubt it would be covered up, and their fate as heroes would never be known to the public.

A sob reverberated in Steph's throat, despite wanting to remain strong, detaching herself from all physical emotions. Fake it flowers wasn't going to cut it this time around. These were her final moments.

The Demodogs had arrived.

She looked into Steve's eyes. Dark-chocolate with flecks of forest-green, shrouded by the same chilling terror she felt coursing through her glacial blood. And the storm in Steph's cobalt eyes had finally whirred to life, swirling and swivelling like a hurricane.

She reached out and grabbed Steve's hand. Their trembling fingers worked together like a pattern of precise stitching — melding perfectly into one. Two pieces of a jigsaw slotting together, meant to be.

Steph's breath hitched.

The first creature thundered into the gaping tunnel, mouth blooming into four bloody quarters. Shards of teeth glinted in the dewy light. It was soon followed by a hundred more — an entire army pouring into the tunnel, the shivering pressure from the sheer amount of Demodogs displacing dirt on the walls.

This was it.

But . . . the monsters ran straight past, unperturbed by the human entities present.

Steph whipped around, watching them fade away until only stillness remained. The relief she felt was insurmountable . . . it wasn't everyday you stumbled upon Death's destructive path and he gave you a free pass, a try again next time card. She could have sworn this was a terrible nightmare, and she had conjured up the entire thing in her sleep.

In fact, Steph reached over and pinched the flesh encapsulating her wrist. The dimly-lit tunnel became submerged in impenetrable darkness as she squeezed her eyes closed. And when she opened them . . . nothing changed.

This was no dream. Steve was still standing there. Realisation struck her then. He was still standing there.

He didn't try to escape, leaving her to face the Demodogs on her own. He didn't throw her into the creatures' path in an attempt to save himself. He didn't even bat an eyelid. No — he had stood his ground, right beside her.

Steve had been prepared to die with her, just so she wouldn't have to go out alone. The same could be said for the both of them, in all honesty, but Steve did it without question. Without hesitance. That in itself was far more than anyone had ever done for Steph in her entire life.

Before he could utter a word, Stephanie lurched forward and coiled her arms around Steve's neck. She pressed her face against his shoulder, soaking in the almost unbelievable fact he was still alive — that they were both still alive — smearing tears and dirt on his jacket. She found that the smell clinging to his clothing — sandalwood and dirt and an indistinct aroma of sweat — had once been a vexing indication of his presence, but now comforted her to no end.

The bat in Steve's hand thudded against the ground as he wrapped his arms around Stephanie's back, completely enveloping her into a much-needed warm embrace, discarding the reluctance to reciprocate her affections. He pressed his chin against her head, and the faded scent of jasmine clinging to her bleached locks wavered into his nostrils. He understood now, when people said a singular hug held the power to mend the world.

He also found that one hug, in their case, held the power to mend a relationship that had long been destined for catastrophe.