[ but then there's that comment, and he can picture it - her tightening her lips, trying to hold back the laugh, eventually letting it go in a rush of air and the dimples she has in the corner of her mouth.
and right after, he feels the rush of cold air - don't get carried away ]
how well would that pay here maybe i can quit canning
Apparently Mike and Will have a new dad now, and he's the Mayor, so it might pay in sand and goodwill.
[ whatever counts as currency in this shithole. sure, there's something heartbreaking about mike telling her that frank is "everything a dad should be," but she's skipping over it, thanks. it's better to be exchanging news in between jokes, when she feels as alone as when barb first disappeared. ]
[ steve is just going to....pause a second on that. ]
a new dad who is the mayor? they've been busy, apparently. do they even use money around here? what do you think i could get for pay? because goodwill, sure, but sand??? c'mon
[ because he's not quite...ready. to leave that lightness of the conversation.
the rain continues, and steve jumps when he hears a bumping from down the hall. probably one of the kids, but it does remind him - they can make noise, now, thanks to that rain. to the low sound of it all. ]
Only on the phone. His name's Frank, but he goes by Hot Dog. He seems okay.
[ he's a little off, in her estimation. however, he thinks highly of mike and didn't talk down to her, so it balances out enough. she'll withhold judgment until she meets him properly. ]
Are you at home?
[ are you ready for this role reversal 'cause she's at the back entrance of his house, standing on the deck, fully soaked. ]
[ he's....a little concerned? by that? and is suddenly really missing having hopper and joyce around. which is....weird. it's not like he really knew either of them back home. but still. ]
[ really as long as he never has to see billy again, he might be pretty okay. ]
you're what?
[ but also...steve doesn't really wait for an answer, because he's setting down his device and moving through the house, heading all the way to the backdoor pulling it open and...pausing.
forgive him, his habits are keeping him from really saying anything quite yet.
and then, just a second later, he jolts back awake. ]
[ the smile has him smiling in return - a little far away, more of a habit than anything. but then he blinks, realizing himself, and stepping away from the door. ]
Oh, right, yeah. Come in.
[ he still finds himself whispering a bit - habits die hard, as does absolute fear of being torn apart and killed. still, he closes the door when nancy steps inside, starting off towards his room. ]
Do you want a towel...? [ since, you know, she's still damp and all.
and yes, he is very aware that this is still. awkward. but he's doing a bang up job trying to ignore it. ]
[ it's weird to see him now, too, to hear his voice after their time apart and in necessary silence. as badass as she'd felt reaching out and showing up, being here is something else entirely.
she tries to stop her stomach from twist up in knots as she crosses the threshold. ]
Yeah. [ a beat. get it together, nance. ] Yeah, that'd be nice.
[ they're going to his room — thankfully unlike his actual home, even though her mind still wanders there. this was always going to be awkward, whether they spoke again here or in hawkins.
at least there's an impetus to move forward in this horrible place. ]
Has it been okay? [ softly. ] Living here, I mean.
[ he moves inside fairly easily, suddenly overly aware that he can make noise and doesn't need to avoid it, and focusing instead on that. it's not a long way back into the family room where he's taken his place, so it's only a moment or two before he's grabbing a towel from a corner, handing it over to her. ]
You mean, besides.... [ he motions around him, one brow arched. it eases into a kind of smile as he moves to sit on the couch, leaving plenty of places for her around the space to pick as she pleases. ] It's nothing like Hawkins, that's for sure. But it's not...bad?
[ he's in a house full of children, sure, but for one reason or another he hasn't minded it. they know the rules just as well as anyone else does, and they've been welcoming enough. in fact, she'll probably see a familiar bat leaned up against the fireplace, if she wants to take a look - the room itself not necessarily messy, but lived in. as comfortable as it could probably look.
that's when he allows himself a chance to look back over to her, watching her move, watching here there for just a moment. ]
[ of course she beelines for the bat. it's nancy. even with a towel slung over her shoulders (not unlike the night they were in the pool), she doesn't appear uncomfortable. ]
About the same. [ said neutrally, although her gaze is turned away from him. she lifts the bat, testing out her swing. ]
[ it's not always bad, but she never feels safe. fear comes, when she's alone in her room. she wishes jonathan was here — and that she was still with steve. well, sometimes she wishes for that, when he looks at her a certain way. or when she wakes up in the middle of the night in her room that isn't really her room. she wishes barb was there the most, since dead people supposedly can arrive here, too. the knowledge that barb could arrive and reverse nancy's biggest mistakes is what she clings to, however stupid it may be.
she hazards a glance over her shoulder at steve. ]
You remember the day of the Snow Ball, right? And everything that happened with Will.
[ she hadn't seen him there, seeing as he wasn't on the volunteer rota, but he'll know the date. it's basically the same every year. ]
[ he watches her from the couch, as she glances around, as she makes a beeline for the bat. he finds himself smiling a bit as she picks it up and tests the weight of it, answering his question. he can see something go through her mind, a few somethings knowing nancy wheeler, but he couldn't even begin to guess what. ]
Max found that on our front porch. [ he supplies, after a second. ] With some other stuff that was left out there. There was a can of hairspray, believe it or not. [ he laughs, softly, before leaning back into the cushions - comfortable, in a strange way.
he glances back over to her at the question, suddenly not. quite sure where she's going. ]
Yeah, I remember the Snowball. [ no, she wouldn't remember him. he'd very specifically not gone inside, after watching her talking to jonathan, smiling, laughing, and knowing she deserved a night like that and driving off again.
that feeling tightens in his gut, before he reminds himself she came over herself, before he moves to resettle on the couch. ] Why?
[ when he mentions the hairspray, she laughs, too. the awkwardness dissipates. whatever she and steve were, however it may have ended (she still doesn't recall the party, although the day after sticks in her mind), they're going to find a way to make this work.
then, he aks her to clarify. she swings the bat, a sharp whizz through the air, releasing her frustration. ]
Mike and Will don't remember it. And Will thinks he — [ another swing. she nearly knocks herself off balance. steady, nance. ] — Will thinks we had to kill him.
[ boy, would she ever love to shatter something right now. ]
[ it's really not fair at all, the way her laugh still spikes directly into his chest, but there's something about the room, even about how she swings that bat, that gives him a strange sense of comfort.
of place, of something he can handle. even if it's uncharted territory, like whatever they are supposed to be. ]
Mike told me that, but I thought he was lying. [ you know....a normal assumption to make. but then she takes another swing, talks about will dying, and steve is pushing himself up to sit, because just the idea alone is so hard to swallow he can't bring himself to ask laying back. ]
[ finally, she allows the bat to hang limply at her side. ]
I know. [ said quietly, directed at the floor. she knows that it's beyond words, caught somewhere between absurd and tragic. if will hadn't implied his conclusions to her over text, she doesn't know what she would have done. finding the words had taken time.
after a moment, she hazards a glance back at steve. if her eyes are wet, she'll blame it on the rain. ]
As if Joyce and Jonathan would ever — [ she cuts herself off, unable to go on without choking on the words. give her a minute to compose herself. ] I don't know if he believed me when I told him what really happened.
[ once again, all she had to do was tell the truth, so of course it still isn't enough. ]
[ at first his eyes are on her, watching the stress drop out of her, falling lip at her side just like the bat. then his eyes are on the floor in front of him, a bit wide, thinking about if things could have come to that, if that was their last option, if...
there is a physical lurching at the idea, shaking it out before it even solidifies. he looks up at what feels like the same time she looks to him, seeing the tears and the same ugly, awful feeling, and steve is standing and stepping towards her. ]
They wouldn't. [ as if she needs the affirmation.
he feels awkward, realizing now that his standing had been in an effort to move to her, to comfort her. now that he's standing, he doesn't know what to do about it, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. after a brief, awkward second, steve lifts one of his hands to comb his fingers through his hair. ] Well. Not that he'd come to me, but I'll tell him the same. That he's fine. He'd believe you over me, anyway, but. [ another pause, and then steve lets out a breath. ]
[ today, in this moment, the affirmation is necessary. she's right. about jonathan and joyce, about what happened to will, about trying to tell him the truth. she leans the bat against the wall and faces steve again, crossing her arms and taking a few steps closer. her eyes flutter in an attempt to ward off tears. ]
I don't know. [ her voice breaks, then, as it has in steve's presence so many times before now. she feels so horrible and helpless, at times like she had while hidden in the upside down or when eleven had simply said gone when she asked after barb.
she screws her eyes shut in time for a few tears to squeeze out at the corners. ]
[ he feels bad, and immediately regrets the question. not because he shouldn't have brought it up, but because of the exact reaction he gets from it. from her. she steps closer to him and closes her eyes, and despite knowing it's not the same, steve can't find it in him to stop as he steps closer to her too. ]
Hey, hey- [ he shouldn't have asked, he knows he shouldn't, and he also shouldn't be doing this. but nancy screws her eyes shut and steve reaches out, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in for a hug. there's nothing behind it beyond the simple need to comfort her, knowing that it's nancy wheeler, that she's walking around with the world on her shoulders. ]
It's okay. [ he knows he's the one who asked, but at the same time, he still supplies- ] We'll figure it out.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text / un: steve.
didn't they already have a house?
or do you mean another house?
[ oh, yeah, maybe you should definitely mention that because steve would not mind not....being the only adult in the house he's staying in. ]
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Their own house.
They own property! Outside of Monopoly!
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wait- why?
do they even know how to live on their own?
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[ but she can't say that, or she'll turn into her mother. ]
Max is still in your house, right?
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yeah.
max and jake and some other kids
i'm never going to escape babysitting, am i
[ it's supposed to be a joke!!! ]
gently sets this thread on march 10th okok
[ his comments make her laugh, at least. and, hey, the rain in the air means she can laugh. ]
You're lucking it's raining, Steve Harrington, because you actually made me laugh.
Maybe babysitting is your calling!
[ don't think she didn't notice Dustin copying his hair. the kids weirdly look up to him now. ]
good good
[ but then there's that comment, and he can picture it - her tightening her lips, trying to hold back the laugh, eventually letting it go in a rush of air and the dimples she has in the corner of her mouth.
and right after, he feels the rush of cold air - don't get carried away ]
how well would that pay here
maybe i can quit canning
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[ whatever counts as currency in this shithole. sure, there's something heartbreaking about mike telling her that frank is "everything a dad should be," but she's skipping over it, thanks. it's better to be exchanging news in between jokes, when she feels as alone as when barb first disappeared. ]
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a new dad who is the mayor?
they've been busy, apparently.
do they even use money around here? what do you think i could get for pay?
because goodwill, sure, but sand??? c'mon
[ because he's not quite...ready. to leave that lightness of the conversation.
the rain continues, and steve jumps when he hears a bumping from down the hall. probably one of the kids, but it does remind him - they can make noise, now, thanks to that rain. to the low sound of it all. ]
have you met him?
the 'mayor'?
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His name's Frank, but he goes by Hot Dog.
He seems okay.
[ he's a little off, in her estimation. however, he thinks highly of mike and didn't talk down to her, so it balances out enough. she'll withhold judgment until she meets him properly. ]
Are you at home?
[ are you ready for this role reversal 'cause she's at the back entrance of his house, standing on the deck, fully soaked. ]
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he goes by 'hot dog'?
[ he's....a little concerned? by that? and is suddenly really missing having hopper and joyce around. which is....weird. it's not like he really knew either of them back home. but still. ]
uh
yeah? why?
[ no he is not, but i am. ]
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[ and she's thinking exactly what he's thinking. yes, it's weird. yes, she really misses hopper and joyce. well, mostly joyce. ]
Because I'm around the back and a little damp
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you're what?
[ but also...steve doesn't really wait for an answer, because he's setting down his device and moving through the house, heading all the way to the backdoor pulling it open and...pausing.
forgive him, his habits are keeping him from really saying anything quite yet.
and then, just a second later, he jolts back awake. ]
Hi.
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her smile is small, almost sheepish. ]
Hey. [ her voice croaks slightly, hoarse from disuse. ] Figured we should take advantage of the rain.
[ to talk — about this situation, the upcoming sound eater trip, and maybe about the events that happened prior to their arrival here. ]
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Oh, right, yeah. Come in.
[ he still finds himself whispering a bit - habits die hard, as does absolute fear of being torn apart and killed. still, he closes the door when nancy steps inside, starting off towards his room. ]
Do you want a towel...? [ since, you know, she's still damp and all.
and yes, he is very aware that this is still. awkward. but he's doing a bang up job trying to ignore it. ]
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she tries to stop her stomach from twist up in knots as she crosses the threshold. ]
Yeah. [ a beat. get it together, nance. ] Yeah, that'd be nice.
[ they're going to his room — thankfully unlike his actual home, even though her mind still wanders there. this was always going to be awkward, whether they spoke again here or in hawkins.
at least there's an impetus to move forward in this horrible place. ]
Has it been okay? [ softly. ] Living here, I mean.
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You mean, besides.... [ he motions around him, one brow arched. it eases into a kind of smile as he moves to sit on the couch, leaving plenty of places for her around the space to pick as she pleases. ] It's nothing like Hawkins, that's for sure. But it's not...bad?
[ he's in a house full of children, sure, but for one reason or another he hasn't minded it. they know the rules just as well as anyone else does, and they've been welcoming enough. in fact, she'll probably see a familiar bat leaned up against the fireplace, if she wants to take a look - the room itself not necessarily messy, but lived in. as comfortable as it could probably look.
that's when he allows himself a chance to look back over to her, watching her move, watching here there for just a moment. ]
How's it been for you?
shhhh
About the same. [ said neutrally, although her gaze is turned away from him. she lifts the bat, testing out her swing. ]
[ it's not always bad, but she never feels safe. fear comes, when she's alone in her room. she wishes jonathan was here — and that she was still with steve. well, sometimes she wishes for that, when he looks at her a certain way. or when she wakes up in the middle of the night in her room that isn't really her room. she wishes barb was there the most, since dead people supposedly can arrive here, too. the knowledge that barb could arrive and reverse nancy's biggest mistakes is what she clings to, however stupid it may be.
she hazards a glance over her shoulder at steve. ]
You remember the day of the Snow Ball, right? And everything that happened with Will.
[ she hadn't seen him there, seeing as he wasn't on the volunteer rota, but he'll know the date. it's basically the same every year. ]
i saw nothing c:
Max found that on our front porch. [ he supplies, after a second. ] With some other stuff that was left out there. There was a can of hairspray, believe it or not. [ he laughs, softly, before leaning back into the cushions - comfortable, in a strange way.
he glances back over to her at the question, suddenly not. quite sure where she's going. ]
Yeah, I remember the Snowball. [ no, she wouldn't remember him. he'd very specifically not gone inside, after watching her talking to jonathan, smiling, laughing, and knowing she deserved a night like that and driving off again.
that feeling tightens in his gut, before he reminds himself she came over herself, before he moves to resettle on the couch. ] Why?
bless u
then, he aks her to clarify. she swings the bat, a sharp whizz through the air, releasing her frustration. ]
Mike and Will don't remember it. And Will thinks he — [ another swing. she nearly knocks herself off balance. steady, nance. ] — Will thinks we had to kill him.
[ boy, would she ever love to shatter something right now. ]
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of place, of something he can handle. even if it's uncharted territory, like whatever they are supposed to be. ]
Mike told me that, but I thought he was lying. [ you know....a normal assumption to make. but then she takes another swing, talks about will dying, and steve is pushing himself up to sit, because just the idea alone is so hard to swallow he can't bring himself to ask laying back. ]
He thinks we killed him?
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I know. [ said quietly, directed at the floor. she knows that it's beyond words, caught somewhere between absurd and tragic. if will hadn't implied his conclusions to her over text, she doesn't know what she would have done. finding the words had taken time.
after a moment, she hazards a glance back at steve. if her eyes are wet, she'll blame it on the rain. ]
As if Joyce and Jonathan would ever — [ she cuts herself off, unable to go on without choking on the words. give her a minute to compose herself. ] I don't know if he believed me when I told him what really happened.
[ once again, all she had to do was tell the truth, so of course it still isn't enough. ]
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there is a physical lurching at the idea, shaking it out before it even solidifies. he looks up at what feels like the same time she looks to him, seeing the tears and the same ugly, awful feeling, and steve is standing and stepping towards her. ]
They wouldn't. [ as if she needs the affirmation.
he feels awkward, realizing now that his standing had been in an effort to move to her, to comfort her. now that he's standing, he doesn't know what to do about it, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. after a brief, awkward second, steve lifts one of his hands to comb his fingers through his hair. ] Well. Not that he'd come to me, but I'll tell him the same. That he's fine. He'd believe you over me, anyway, but. [ another pause, and then steve lets out a breath. ]
Shit Nance, what do we even do with this?
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I don't know. [ her voice breaks, then, as it has in steve's presence so many times before now. she feels so horrible and helpless, at times like she had while hidden in the upside down or when eleven had simply said gone when she asked after barb.
she screws her eyes shut in time for a few tears to squeeze out at the corners. ]
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Hey, hey- [ he shouldn't have asked, he knows he shouldn't, and he also shouldn't be doing this. but nancy screws her eyes shut and steve reaches out, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in for a hug. there's nothing behind it beyond the simple need to comfort her, knowing that it's nancy wheeler, that she's walking around with the world on her shoulders. ]
It's okay. [ he knows he's the one who asked, but at the same time, he still supplies- ] We'll figure it out.
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