Chapter 69: Chrissy's Worsening Visions
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. Consumed 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 immediately. Phase 3 senses had detected my distress.
"Vision?" he asked quietly.
"You die tomorrow. Three different ways. I saw it." Tears streamed down my face. "Steve, you're going to die."
He pulled me close. "Visions aren't certainties. They're possibilities. Futures that might happen."
"But they felt real—"
"Everything feels real when you're seeing through dimensions." He guided me 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 something."
Robin appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay?"
"No. But it will be." I found a blank cassette, loaded it into Bob's recording equipment. "Robin, if I don't come 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 message. Last words. Contingency for his death.
He actually thinks he's going to die. This isn't paranoia. He's genuinely preparing.
Robin emerged holding the tape, eyes red from crying. "He loves you. Whatever happens tomorrow, remember 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 immediately. Music disrupts the connection. Grounds you here instead of wherever the visions pull you." He pressed the Walkman into my hands. "Promise me you'll use it."
"Steve, I'm scared."
"Me too. But fear means we're still fighting." He cupped my face with corrupted hands. "I will come back. I'll fight to survive, like you asked. But if something goes wrong, if the corruption kills me or the gate's destruction destroys me... 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 me, 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 me back from the vision's edge. The music anchored me, kept me here, kept me sane.
Steve was right. It helped.
"Good," he said, watching me stabilize. "Keep that with you. Always. Whatever happens to me, you have protection."
"I don't want protection. I want you."
"You might not get both." His voice cracked. "Tomorrow's assault might kill me. The corruption might destroy me 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 meet my eyes. "Then don't die. Don't you dare die on me, Steve Harrington. I didn't fall in love with you to watch you become martyr."
"I'll try—"
"No. You'll succeed. You'll destroy the gate, save everyone, and come back to me. That's what happens. Not visions, not possibilities. That's reality."
He kissed me 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. Memorizing her face.
If this is last time, let me remember. Let me carry this into whatever comes next.
The Mind Flayer whispered: Sentimental, 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 members waking, preparing.
Chrissy stirred at 5:30, found me still watching over her.
"You didn't sleep," she whispered.
"Wanted to remember this. You. Us. In case..." I trailed off.
She kissed me softly. "Come back to me."
"I promise to try."
"Try very hard."
"Always."
6 AM. Time to move out. I stood, checked my weapons, activated Phase 3 capabilities.
Chrissy walked me to the door. The Walkman hung around her neck, protective talisman against visions from the future.
"I love you," I said. Final time, maybe forever.
"I love you too. Now go save the world."
I descended into the tunnels. Into darkness. Into final battle.
And behind me, Chrissy played our song, fighting visions of my death with Kate Bush and desperate hope.
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