Chrissy
Reality flickered at 11 PM.
Not the brief glimpses I'd been having. This was different. Wrong.
The bunker walls decayed before my eyes—organic growth spreading like infection, lights shattering, darkness consuming everything. And Steve, standing in the center, corruption swallowing him whole.
Then he died.
Torn apart by demo-dogs. Consud by shadows. Sacrificing himself to close a gate that burned him to ash.
Three deaths in rapid succession. All different. All him.
The vision held for sixty seconds before snapping back to normal. I gasped, stumbled, caught myself on the wall.
Steve appeared imdiately. Phase 3 senses had detected my distress.
"Vision?" he asked quietly.
"You die tomorrow. Three different ways. I saw it." Tears stread down my face. "Steve, you're going to die."
He pulled close. "Visions aren't certainties. They're possibilities. Futures that might happen."
"But they felt real—"
"Everything feels real when you're seeing through dinsions." He guided to sit. "Breathe. Focus on my voice. You're here, now, safe."
Steve
The visions were accelerating. Stress triggering Vecna sensitivity eighteen months early, just like I'd feared.
Tomorrow's assault could push her over the edge. If I died, if the team failed, the trauma might make her fully vulnerable to whatever was causing this.
Have to prepare her. For worst case.
"Stay here," I said. "I need to record sothing."
Robin appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay?"
"No. But it will be." I found a blank cassette, loaded it into Bob's recording equipnt. "Robin, if I don't co back tomorrow, give this to Chrissy. Understand?"
"Steve—"
"Please. Just promise."
She nodded, face pale.
Chrissy
Steve recorded for ten minutes. I couldn't hear what he said—he'd closed the door, seeking privacy. But I knew.
Goodbye ssage. Last words. Contingency for his death.
He actually thinks he's going to die. This isn't paranoia. He's genuinely preparing.
Robin erged holding the tape, eyes red from crying. "He loves you. Whatever happens tomorrow, rember he loves you."
"I know."
Steve returned carrying his Walkman—the one he'd used for years, worn but functional. He'd loaded a tape, labeled it with shaky handwriting.
"Our song," he said. "Kate Bush. Running Up That Hill."
"Why—"
"If the visions get bad, if reality starts flickering, play this imdiately. Music disrupts the connection. Grounds you here instead of wherever the visions pull you." He pressed the Walkman into my hands. "Promise you'll use it."
"Steve, I'm scared."
" too. But fear ans we're still fighting." He cupped my face with corrupted hands. "I will co back. I'll fight to survive, like you asked. But if sothing goes wrong, if the corruption kills or the gate's destruction destroys ... promise you'll keep living."
Robin
Watched them from the hallway. Steve saying goodbye to the girl he loved, preparing her for his death, trying to protect her from visions that shouldn't be happening yet.
Everything's accelerating. Threats cascading forward. Season 4 bleeding into Season 2.
El joined , small hand slipping into mine. "Steve is scared."
"I know."
"But fighting anyway."
"That's what he does."
"Will he die tomorrow?"
I wanted to lie. Tell her everything would be fine, that Steve's preparations would save everyone, that heroes don't die.
But El deserved truth. "I don't know. Maybe. He's risking everything to save everyone."
"That's brave."
"That's Steve."
Chrissy
Reality flickered again at midnight. Steve dying, corruption consuming him, darkness spreading—
I hit play on the Walkman.
Kate Bush's voice filled my ears, pulled back from the vision's edge. The music anchored , kept here, kept sane.
Steve was right. It helped.
"Good," he said, watching stabilize. "Keep that with you. Always. Whatever happens to , you have protection."
"I don't want protection. I want you."
"You might not get both." His voice cracked. "Tomorrow's assault might kill . The corruption might destroy when the gate closes. And I need to know you'll survive that. Need to know you'll keep fighting, keep living, keep being you."
I grabbed his corrupted face, forced him to et my eyes. "Then don't die. Don't you dare die on , Steve Harrington. I didn't fall in love with you to watch you beco martyr."
"I'll try—"
"No. You'll succeed. You'll destroy the gate, save everyone, and co back to . That's what happens. Not visions, not possibilities. That's reality."
He kissed desperately, like drowning man gasping for air.
Steve
Held Chrissy until 3 AM. Her breathing evened out eventually, exhaustion overcoming fear. She slept fitfully, Walkman clutched in her hands.
I stayed awake. Watching her. morizing her face.
If this is last ti, let rember. Let carry this into whatever cos next.
The Mind Flayer whispered: Sentintal, traveler. But pointless. Tomorrow, you die. I've seen every possible future through our link. In all of them, you fall.
Then I'll fall fighting. Better than surrender.
Noble. Foolish. But consistent. Very well. Tomorrow, we test whether your humanity or my corruption wins. My money's on corruption.
Dawn approached. 4 AM. 5 AM. Team mbers waking, preparing.
Chrissy stirred at 5:30, found still watching over her.
"You didn't sleep," she whispered.
"Wanted to rember this. You. Us. In case..." I trailed off.
She kissed softly. "Co back to ."
"I promise to try."
"Try very hard."
"Always."
6 AM. Ti to move out. I stood, checked my weapons, activated Phase 3 capabilities.
Chrissy walked to the door. The Walkman hung around her neck, protective talisman against visions from the future.
"I love you," I said. Final ti, maybe forever.
"I love you too. Now go save the world."
I descended into the tunnels. Into darkness. Into final battle.
And behind , Chrissy played our song, fighting visions of my death with Kate Bush and desperate hope.
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