a night to remember

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

The Hawkins Middle annual Snow Ball began in three hours, and that was why Alina Fairgrieves-Byers was running. Her sneakered feet pounded against the sidewalk, her breath leaving her in a steady rhythm, and her arms pumped at her side. As Alina ran, the same four words echoed through her brain, drowning out everything else. The only four words important right now.

I am so late.

She wasn't late for the Snow Ball—after all, it did indeed start in three hours. But she'd promised Joyce that she'd come home early enough to get ready, and she wanted to keep that promise to her new guardian. So she ran, her hands, as usual, curled into fists, but not so tight as to sew crescent marks into her palms.

One month had passed since her possession and subsequent mini-coma, and now she was basically as good as new. Her leg had healed nicely, leaving only a moon-shaped scar, and although it had taken a couple of days to get used to, she was now up and running again. Literally.

She'd had to stay in the hospital for two weeks. That didn't seem like a very long time—especially after you've nearly died—but for Alina, each day was an agonizingly slow trudge, her time taken up by sleeping, reading comics, and talking to her friends, who came in each day like clockwork to visit her. Her family came as well, and it was during one of those visits that they had decided on the hyphenated last name.

Alina didn't want to give up her father's last name, but she wanted to take on the name of her brand-new family, who, as of a month ago, she had officially become a part of. Now Will and Jonathan were more than her friends, they were her brothers, and Joyce was more than the frazzled woman who Alina had been formally introduced to last year, she was her mom.

It still took some getting used to, but she didn't mind at all. Her heart was heavy, but it was still lighter than it had been in a long time. She was learning to live with her pain. Learning to live with the constant ache in her stomach for her father, whom she would forever miss.

But that was how grief worked, and she wasn't the only one going through it. Nancy had lost her best friend. Joyce had lost her boyfriend. And both of them were helping her get through each and every day.

The wind rushed through her hair as she ran now, the surroundings of Hawkins a mere blur. The steady rhythm of her feet hitting the gravel soothed her, and she doubted that Joyce would be too angry if she was a couple minutes late.

Okay, twenty minutes. But she'd lost track of time. She'd been playing a really intense game of Monopoly with Gabe and Dustin. They hadn't done it at the Byers household ever since Skywalker had cut one of their games short by sweeping all of the fake money off of the table. But they could never stay mad at that cat. After all, Billy still had the faint scratches in his arm from that night.

Speaking of Billy, Max's stepbrother had actually abided by his promise and stopped bothering them. It was a relief, because now that Alina's abilities were back, all it would take was a curl of the lip for her to send the red light into his shoulder. Because she was actually able to control it now, and Eleven had promised to teach her.

Alina arrived at home without crashing into any boys in button-ups, and she pulled out her keys, fitting them into the lock. Last weekend, she'd selected a handful of dresses that they could wear tonight, and today they—they being the Byers household—would be picking the winner. And even though Alina usually hated wearing dresses—they reminded her too much of her mother—as she slowly began to let Linda go, she found she didn't mind them as much.

"There you are," Joyce laughed, as Alina pushed the door open. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about us."

"Are you kidding?" Alina asked incredulously, closing the door behind her. "I've never been to the Snow Ball before. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

For the world indeed. The one that she'd happened to save.

Gabriel Burton had no idea what to wear. The one downside with dressing nicely all the time was that you had nothing to wear when you got to an actual occasion that warranted dressing nice. As he pawed through his closet, he found himself taking out clothes, trying them on, and then tossing them on the floor of his normally meticulous bedroom.

As he'd only gotten here a month ago, he hadn't had a lot of time to decorate. This used to be his grandparent's guest room, but they never had people over save him, so it was pretty much empty all the time. So far, Gabe had hung a few photos on the wall and filled his closet, but that was it. Now, however, with all of the clothes on the floor, it looked more lived in.

"What are you doing in there?" came his grandmother's voice from the door, and Gabe jumped, whirling towards her. "It looks like a tornado ran through here."

She was tiny for a woman who'd knocked someone unconscious with a frying pan, but Dolores Burton was often underestimated—even by her own son. Right now, a shower cap adorned her head, which only came up to his shoulders, and she was wrapped in a bathrobe, obviously having just gotten out of the bath. Her dark, beady eyes scrutinized the pile of clothes on the floor before she raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm trying to figure out what to wear," Gabe explained, pulling out another shirt. This one was nice, but he'd worn it to school on the first day, so that was a no go. He had to look special. He had to look decent for... for... no. He couldn't think about that. It was wrong. He cleared his throat.

"The Snow Ball's this really special occasion, but I've worn all of my nice clothes already, so I don't really know what to do."

His grandma narrowed her eyes, running them over each garment that lay on the floor. "Hm," she said, then moved them up to the shirt in his hand. "Wear that."

"Grandma, I wore this on the first day of school."

"So what?" Dolores raised her hands. Her fingernails were painted a shimmering golden—her husband's work. George Burton (the first. Gabe's father George was the second) had always been quite good at doing nails, and Gabe had even gotten his own painted one time. He'd kept his hands in his pockets at school, but after, he'd come home and spread his fingers out on his bed, marvelling at the way the sunlight coming through his window glinted off the metallic paint. "Wear it again," his grandma finished. "Your grandpa has a tie and a pair of pants you can borrow, and you'll look handsome."

Gabe let out a sigh, and looked down at the shirt in his hand. "Okay," he said, and then followed Dolores Burton into her bedroom to get ready.

Alina stared in her bedroom mirror, her mouth slightly open as she took in her appearance. She'd ended up, after about thirty minutes of debate between her and Will, choosing a midnight-blue dress for herself. It landed just above her knees, ruffling out a little at the skirt, and had little flecks of glitter all over it like stars. Her hair she'd left curly—she'd finally come to terms with it and accepted the ringlets she'd been so self-conscious about—and pinned some of it back in a half-up, half-down hairstyle. She'd even dusted some blush on her cheeks before feeling stupid and wiping it off.

On her feet, however, were sneakers. They were her trusty sneakers, the ones she'd worn through it all, the ones that had adorned her feet as she ran from the bad men last year and the Demodogs this year. They'd been cleaned now, at least, the remnants of dirt from all of that running washed away, and she wore them with a pair of blue socks that went up to mid-shin.

Last year, she'd looked into the mirror while wearing a dress and thought only Ally, the girl who was her mother's daughter, the girl who just wasn't her. But tonight she looked into this mirror and thought Al, which is who she was. Who she'd always be.

From beside her, Will ran a comb through his hair. "You look great," he assured her, trying to rake the teeth through a stubborn tangle.

"You too," Alina replied, taking in the simple suit he was wearing. Will was practically glowing now that he was not being taken over by that monster, and her friends assured her that she looked the same. Alina Fairgrieves-Byers was no longer the skeleton she'd dressed up as for Halloween. And she hoped she never would be again. "Seriously, Will, stop worrying. You look amazing."

Will laughed nervously. "Yeah, right."

The two of them headed into the living room, where Joyce and Jonathan oohed and aahed, the latter forcing them to pose for about a million photos. Alina stood beside Will, Skywalker in her arms (her cat had avoided her before because he seemed to sense that she wasn't exactly Alina, but now he was perfectly content with being in her arms again) and smiled until her cheeks were twitching. Pure, untouched euphoria raged through her as she smiled, and she felt like she was flying, becoming one with the clouds in the sky.

After that was all said and done, Joyce insisted on teaching Will how to dance. So Jonathan turned on the stereo, Jingle Bell Rock blaring, and they began to sway together, while Alina danced between them, far more enthusiastic.

There were no signs of the tunnel drawings Will had scribbled on the walls. Those were gone, because the tunnels were gone, too. Because they'd, against all odds, managed to beat the Mind Flayer. They'd closed the gate. Gotten it out of Will, while the piece in Alina died. And so although they didn't look it—if a stranger were to stare in their window, they'd have no idea what they'd done—the four family members dancing happily in the living room were among legendary heroes.

"Yeah, you've got it," Joyce nodded, as she and Will danced. The boy groaned.

"Mom!"

Joyce chuckled. "Wow!"

"Do you always have to be filming everything?" Will asked his brother, who had his video camera pointed right in his face. Alina picked up Skywalker and began mimicking the dance her brother was doing, and Will let out another groan, his cheeks red.

"No, no." Jonathan laughed, too. "Just the good stuff." He winked at Alina, who still held her struggling cat in her arms. He did not seem happy to be forced into this routine.

"The really good stuff," Alina teased, finally letting her cat go. Skywalker jumped onto the couch and began licking his paw, giving her an expression she might recognize as a glare on a human. For a brief, comedic moment, she imagined him as a human, because why not? Was there anything that couldn't happen in this new world of possibility? With parallel universes and magical powers and possession? Alina didn't think so.

"Are you sure people still dance like this?" Will asked, his brown hair floppy as he moved to the beat of the music.

"Yeah," Joyce assured him. "It's what's happening."

Alina bobbed her head in agreement. "Totally."

Will looked to his brother, who he trusted more than his mother and sister. "Is it what's happening?" he asked, but if he was looking for the truth, Jonathan wasn't going to give it to him.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah, it's what's happening."

Will twirled their mother, and Alina laughed, leaping into the air like a ballerina. She quite liked the feeling of the swishy fabric against her legs, and although she wouldn't wear dresses all the time (she'd probably go back to her boyish t-shirts and jeans after this), it was still nice. It was new. It was special.

It billowed around her as she landed, and she curtsied to an invisible audience.

Lucas Sinclair stood in front of his mirror in his own bedroom, his cheeks warm. It had been almost ten minutes of practicing how to ask her to dance, and so far, it'd been a no go. He sounded so stupid, and he was getting extraordinarily frustrated with himself. If he couldn't ask her to dance, how was he supposed to ask her on a date? How was he supposed to—

"Hey," he told his reflection, deciding to try again. "Wanna dance?" He did a little head nod and a cheeky wink, before shaking his head at himself. That was too forward. You couldn't just... ask someone to dance. He had to be more subtle about it. Subtle. Subtle was key.

"We should, you know, get out there, like, do our thing," Lucas pointed over his shoulder and did a little mini dance before realizing yet again how ridiculous he sounded (and looked). "Stop."

She just made him so nervous, which was stupid, because he'd known her a while now. But he'd never done anything like this before. What if she turned him down? She wouldn't, would she? She was so cool, and standing in front of this mirror made Lucas realize how totally uncool he was.

"I love this song," he said to his reflection. Then he lay on the charm—his smile. "You?"

"Yeah, I love it," came a new voice from behind him. Lucas whirled around to meet the eyes of his younger sister, Erica, who was not quite ten yet. She smiled cheekily at him, and it was obvious she'd been here a while, watching him. His face heated up as she continued. "But not as much as I love you, Lukey."

Lucas strode over to the door, his jaw clenched. "Get out of my room!" he told her, and slammed the door. He couldn't believe she'd witnessed that.

He looked around, feeling stupid. This wasn't something that could be rehearsed beforehand. This was something he had to do in the heat of the moment. He knew her, and she knew him, and perhaps he'd even be smooth about it.

Well, that turned out to be a lie. But the thought filled Lucas up with so much confidence that it would've been cruel to take that away. The Snow Ball was beginning in an hour. And he was going to make it a night to remember.

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

a/n: y'all... this is the last chapter of mad'ouk. i can't believe it's coming to an end tomorrow. even though i've been posting this since february, i feel like everything has flown by. i'm actually getting emotional thinking about it. 

the epilogue is the longest bit of this book, at 3000 words, and i am, of course, going to be writing a very sappy author's note at the end. and then... wow. we're going to move onto paroxysm (which is, somehow, going to be even longer than mad'ouk). this is just so bittersweet.

'till next time.