hawkins was actively devolving into hell.

less hellish, objectively, than what you had all just been through- when the upside-down had first whirred itself to sickening life and kickedall of your collective asses.

just when you thought it was over.

when you thought it was all going to be fine, when you were sure you'd made it out alive and fairly intact aside from the nightmares that shook all of you awake every night, the flinching and the buying tapes of your favorite songs because a little caution could never hurt. aside from the fact that you were scared, and so was everyone.

and then the apocalypse fucking happened- because of course, of course it did- that was just your fucking luck- that's what steve had muttered anyways.

gods, you almost felt the worst for steve out of anyone. maybe it was because of the whole he's your boyfriend thing, but jesus. dude was stressed, capital s.

as was everyone- but maybe with the added 'mothering' of a couple of more survivor kids and a mild case of upside-down rabies, nothing seemed to be going particularly right for him these days. there was a visible shake to his hands when you looked hard enough.

he'd been keeping up appearances fine, looking just as stressed as was normal, but the way he hugged you when you were both sleeping and the amount of advil he was taking for his headaches gave it away.

his hair was coiffed perfectly, as it always was and always will be, but it seemed...wilted, somehow. a funny thought, had it not been so sad.

today had been a long day. driving around, looking for survivors, looting empty houses for meds and canned goods and various other unperishable goods. blankets and pillows and a few shaken, half starved household pets were loaded into a truck that he drove back to the survivor's 'base' of sorts- there were three.

an old, abandoned shop, a grocery store long cleared out, and a rickety old house that was good enough, no mold.

you two had opted for sleeping outside that night, though. just for a bit of privacy. maybe a touch of normalcy- something reminding how you used to fall asleep in his back yard on a picnic blanket just for the hell of it under the stars.

the stars were hardly there now, though. faint red smog blanketed the sky, the sounds of crickets eerily quiet, though there wasn't much focus on that as his hand rubbed steadily, warmly, into the fabric of your shirt just over your waist.

"what's that one again?" he questioned, gesturing vaguely with his free hand up at the sky. you'd been pointing out the consolations that were still barely visible to him. he'd asked you to repeat ursa minor at least four times now, and he didn't even look up from where his face was pressed into your neck when he did it now.

exhaustion was thick in his voice, and his brown eyes were fighting to stay open. god, he was tired. but he couldn't sleep, or the nightmares would come back, and if they came back and he didn't wake up right away somebody- you- would see him acting like...like a pussy, or whatever.

he hadn't slept in three days. maybe high school 'macho man' pressure had gotten to him more than he'd previously realized.