If I Should Stay
Part 1 | . . . | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
After pizza—and after El wakes up and eats her own pizza—everyone gathers around again to listen to Steve and Robin. “So I think by now we’ve proven we’re from the future,” Steve says. “We’re here, four years in the past, because a lot of bad things happen, and if we can, we’d like to stop those things from happening. The big one, and really the recurring problem, is a guy named Henry Creel who essentially took control of an alternate plane of existence we call the Upside Down.” He motions El over beside him, and she goes gladly, tucking her feet up onto the couch as she leans into his side, trusting him to hold her up. He does, sliding a protective arm around her shoulders as he says, “He’s also One.”
He watches as one by one the lightbulbs come on. “Oh, shit,” Dustin whispers, and Steve doesn’t even call him on it, just nods.
“Beyond Henry, though, there are creatures in the Upside Down that can and will kill you.” He rolls his eyes fondly at the boys. “For some inexplicable reason, you came up the names, so they’re called demogorgons, demodogs, and demobats. Demogorgons are what took Barb and Will, but they both got away. That doesn’t mean they’re safe, though. Like El said earlier, Barb was safe in the moment, but it’s still a very dangerous place. There are vines everywhere that are connected to a hive mind. You step on one, and Henry knows you’re there.”
He continues telling the story, Robin interrupting when there’s a detail he misses. It’s silent when they finish. Finally, El speaks up. “So, it is… my fault?”
“No, El,” Steve says softly. “None of this is your fault. Things out of your control happened that made you who you are. Those same things created all of this.”
El frowns. “So I am bad? Like One? Like the Upside Down?”
“No,” Mike says sharply. “You’re good, El.”
“He’s right,” Steve murmurs. “You made yourself good.” He pokes her arm teasingly, and she smiles, leaning back into him.
Steve looks around, catches Nancy’s eye, and sighs. “Nance? A word?”
“Steve?” Robin asks.
He shakes his head. “I’ll yell if I need you,” he promises, rubbing her head as he passes. She squawks and bats his hand away.
“Asshole,” she mutters, and he laughs as he disappears down the hallway, Nancy in tow.
They end up in a room Steve thinks was meant to be a study. “You have questions.”
“Understatement of the century. There’s just one that’s really bugging me, though.”
“Us?”
“Yeah.”
Steve sighs and leans against the wall. “On Halloween, Tina throws a party. We didn’t know what we do now, about the Upside Down, and you were still looking for her. I was an asshole, self-centered and unhelpful.” He blows out a breath, crosses his arms, and looks away. “You got drunk, called me, and my love for you, bullshit. Left. I tried to talk to you the next day at school about it and you couldn’t say you loved me. I was still hopeful. I’m a romantic at heart, y’know? I thought maybe if I could be everything you needed, if I changed enough, if, if, if…” he shakes his head. “So we stayed together. I tried. You slept with Jonathan Byers, then broke up with me.”
Nancy looks horrified. “Steve-”
He shakes his head. “I made my peace with it. And maybe this makes me an asshole, I dunno, but Nance, I can’t go back. We’re okay, we’re friends, but I can’t pretend I still have feelings for you. I’m sorry, but we both know I was just convenient for you.”
Nancy takes a breath. “So that’s it?”
Steve shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what you want me to do. I tried and got my heart broken for it. I moved on, found someone I think I can really be happy with, without changing who I am. And for the record? It gets rocky for a second, but I think you and Byers are it, too.” He smirks. “Plus Mike likes him better than me.”
Nancy rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, if Mike likes him better…” they both laugh, and she looks at him. “No more feelings?”
He shakes his head. “We make much better friends.”
Nancy grins lopsidedly. “And Robin?”
Steve snorts. “Purely platonic, I promise. Neither of us want anything else with each other.”
Nancy looks at him then. Studies him. “You’ve been through some shit,” she decides. “But you look happy.”
He smiles. “I am, for the most part. I know who I am.”
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it’s kinda funny how almost every character with albinism in media is always portrayed as a villain. as if that isn’t feeding into every stereotype out there.
the only protagonist i’ve found with albinism in media was in a book where the girl turns out to be a witch. which is arguably on the level of bad as the evil albino stereotype.
idk why this bothers me so much. nobody knows about albinism and it’s not like it’s actively discriminated against. but i wish there was more media where more normal people had albinism instead of the PWA turning out to be an evil villain or a witch, they turn out to be a normal person with normal struggles. like give me a story about a character with albinism trying to navigate the world on their own terms, trying to fit in and such WITHOUT using stereotypes.
like yes. i know people being ignorant towards a certain condition isn’t the worst thing in the world. maybe i have no right to complain about it given the other tings that are happening in the world that kinda trump issues like this. but it’s still an issue. the fact that people believe these things is just sad to me tbh.
another thing that bugs me is when people refer to us as ‘albinos’. like not everyone hates that word. some PWAs are okay with it. i just say it because it’s shorter and easier to type out than ‘person with albinism’ but even in media seeing the character being referred to as ‘the albino’ makes my stomach turn. people use the word ‘albino’ to refer to animals; most of the time. the word itself can feel dehumanizing sometimes, in certain contexts. for me it’s better to say person with albinism. it’s putting the person before the disability and it doesn’t feel as degrading.
anyway. my inbox is always open if you have questions for me about how to write a character with albinism. i know nobody is gonna see this or care but i just thought i’d say smth.
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[writing found in a floating temple belonging to an unknown player on a distant server. while there were no signs of life in the temple, there were signs of life in the caves below it, including some rusted armor sets, complicated machinery overgrown by birch saplings, and a small robot with a tag on it that read “lil buddy” and a battery clutched in one of its claws. despite all attempts, researchers could not find the portal that is normally found by those players taken in by the vault gods, though given the presence of an altar, it is certainly nearby, and the area has been quarantined until that portal’s location can be ascertained.]
I asked Idona to save me the other day.
It feels fickle; it feels like the sort of thing I only said because that’s what one ought to say to gods, when they want something from them. “Save me, Idona.”
They did no such thing, but I didn’t expect them to. I knew them when they still demanded blood sacrifice; now that they merely demand challengers at their altar instead of anything so obvious as the blood of their enemies, it can be easy to forget how malicious they had once seemed. It’s easy to forget that asking things of them had once ended poorly.
Perhaps that’s the Paradox that they are showing me; I had asked Idona to save me because within that Paradox, they would build a mine. That a blood god now offers mines and blacksmiths to me instead, in a place I can design to access myself—well, it’s easy to forget how I once knew them.
It’s easy to forget how often their challenges killed me once, too, back before I knew the trick to finish them quickly. The Gods had seemed just as cruel and capricious as always when I’d simply failed to find enough of the chests they’d laid out and they punished me by causing my health to steadily fade away.
That rarely happens anymore.
You see, yesterday, I killed a wither with a single hit from my javelin and a single hit from my sword. As I flew home, a nether star clutched in my feelers, I felt very little. It was hardly a challenge compared to the vaults; I don’t know why I’d expected more.
The gods have challenged me; I have risen to that challenge. I sweep through vaults, their minders at the side of my head, until I find their altar to bow at, find their altar to make promises of being the challenger they’re looking for at. I know the tricks to find my way around a vault, after all. I spend more time there than the overworld.
I wonder if I’m becoming arrogant, actually.
Even without my armor or sword, I’m too strong for the endermen I used to accidentally release from my farms. I hit them once and they die; if the punch doesn’t work, a javelin or a cast spell will. With the endermen, it’s fine.
With my parrots or dogs—
I have Lil Buddy now. He can’t die because I’m not meant for the overworld anymore, I don’t think.
I wonder if that, too, is the Paradox. The gods are gifting me unlimited power. I step into a vault I have designed myself, under their guidance, and I pull untold riches from it every time. The gods are gifting me strength, which I can call from an altar at any time. No threat can step near me without either being poisoned or scratched by the strength of my blade.
But I have not had a pet that is not made of metal in—I don’t know how to count days any longer. Time passes strangely inside of vaults. It is Wendarr’s trickery. I simply know I haven’t since I was level 70, and that feels like ages ago.
That’s about when I realized perhaps I am untouchable to that which I want, too.
Maybe I should ask Idona to save me for a reason that was not me, desperately trying to seek out their altar for jewels I hardly need these days; maybe I should ask Idona to save me from sacrificing more than I can give.
I know them, though. I’ve known them since they’ve demanded blood.
They won’t.
And one day, I will give them everything, and I will thank them for it. The one god that even they worship above all others, after all, is greed, and that is an altar I cannot simply stop going to.
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