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HOPPER'S WORDS rang in Steve's ear like the echo of a gong. 'I'm counting on you,' he said. The Chief of Police, the man in charge of this mission-of-sorts, was counting on 18-year old Steve Harrington, the fallen King of Hawkins, to take care of four children and a girl.
The girl.
'She trusts you too,' Hopper said. 'I'm sure you know all the other shit she's had to deal,' he also said.
Steve's brain was on the verge of imploding. Valentina trusted him, Valentina had other shit going on that she wouldn't tell him about, Valentina, Valentina, Valentina. Rather than Hopper's voice, she was really the thing echoing in his brain. No matter how hard he tried to get her out, even as he stood on the porch waving away Jonathan, Nancy, and Mrs. Byers in one car and Hopper and his daughter in the other before they drove off to literally save the world, Steve could only focus on his world sitting inside.
Steve turned around, guiding a sulking Mike Wheeler and Dustin Henderson inside by directing them with his hands on their heads. The curly-haired boy swatted at Steve, pushing off his grasp and walking himself inside. Mike left the two alone in silence, resorting to the isolation of the bathroom.
Steve frowned at the little boy's choice to be alone, but then his brain concluded that Valentina couldn't be in the bathroom if Mike was. He set on his way to search the house for the girl, but was stopped by Dustin.
"Steve! Get over here!" the boy called from the other side of the house. Steve's eyes narrowed, startled by the urgency in his voice. He quickly grabbed his nailed bat from where it was leaning against the wall next to the front door and speed-walked toward the kitchen where Dustin's voice came from.
"What? What!" he rushed out, turning the corner to the room. Instead of finding a demodog corning Dustin against the wall like he'd horrifically pictured, Steve found Dustin leaning against the fridge. And Valentina—the person he'd originally planned on rushing after—was sitting at the dining table, watching the ordeal.
Dustin smiled innocently against the fridge, looking up at Steve as if he hadn't just scared the everliving shit out of him. Valentina sat idly in one of the chairs at the table, also smiling at Steve. Hers was more of a grin, for knowing that Dustin had accomplished his mission of scaring Steve.
"Can you help me empty the fridge?" Dustin asked.
Steve sighed, but it was more of a pant. He dropped the bat to his side and let it swing in his limp arms.
"Can I what?" he grumbled.
"We need to empty the fridge," Dustin repeated, no longer asking apparently.
Steve exasperated, "For what?" Valentina chuckled from her seat.
Dustin rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "To make room for the demodog."
