Hawkins, Indiana is not the place for open wounds.
Steve knows, better than most, that this is stupid. Sitting alone on the hood of his bimmer at the quarry, back against the windshield, staring out at the tree line—it’s stupid. It’s a dumb fucking decision. Whatever’s in the woods can probably smell the still-healing gash in his hairline from a dinner plate, the last of a yellowing bruise under his eye. It can probably smell weakness, too, in the raw, jagged crack Nancy had punched through his chest. (It’s a metaphor. Or some shit.)
But Steve doesn’t want to go home. And all the kids are at the dance. So.
He’s here. For the fourth night this week, he’s got a bat in his hand, pretending like it doesn’t scare the shit out of him—like his heart’s not rattling out of his ribs. Better than feeling powerless, he guesses. (And better him than one of the younger kids.)
Or; Steve goes looking for fights he can’t win. Set after the events of season 2.