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It didn't make sense. It wasn't supposed to.
But then, you suppose it does, really.
The clock was ticking, down, down, down, and Coach is yelling, the team is yelling. A minute left of the clock, your eyes set on the ball.
Thirty seconds, you take it, dribbling across the court.
Ten, and the opposing team is coming in, blocking your shot.
Three seconds, and you shoot. Your wrist pops with the motion, and it hurts.
The buzzer sounds, and the ball flies, ringing the rim over and over, and then-
It falls over the side, bouncing uselessly in the silent gym. Crowds from both sides hold their breath, it had to be a mistake. That didn't really happen, right? You were the King, the one that made all the shots.
This didn't happen, not to you.
But, your feet had been hurting, and the opposing team was playing dirty. You'd been thrown to the ground one too many times, and you were still favoring your elbow.
The shot didn't make it.
A scream pulls the euphemism from your mind, and you blink, hazily.
You're on the ground, someone is running to you. Curly hair, ball cap.
Dustin.
You try to speak, but your mouth feels heavy, tongue even more so. You settle for closing your eyes, though Dustin doesn't like that.
It's warm, where you lay. Distantly, you realize you're actually cold, but the wetness under you makes up for it.
One of your arms comes down to feel, and it's warm and sticky. Cracking open your eyes, your arm is covered in red.
Oh.
You'd taken the ball from the opposing member.
(You'd thrown Dustin out of the way.)
You'd taken the shot.
(You felt the teeth and claws sink into your skin.)
It'd bounced, teetering on the edge for a while.
(You don't remember going down, but you can hear yourself screaming.)
It falls over and the buzzer rings on the clock.
(Your blood is seeping out, it's not supposed to be out, it's supposed to be in-)
Dustin is looking at you, tears are covering his face. He says something, but you can't hear him. You haven't been able to hear since he screamed your name.
Your eyes flicker from him to the people standing behind him.
Your best friend, your ex, your little sister. They watch, helpless as you lie there.
Nancy is gripping Dustin's shoulder, Robin is coming closer, and Max just watches, eyes red.
Hands grab at you, pushing into your wounds. It hurts. You can't hear what the hands are telling you, but you know you're screaming.
Another rush of blood pumps out of you as your heart beats. Drowsiness takes over you. It feels hard to keep your eyes open now.
Your mouth tastes of copper all of a sudden, and it falls down your chin and cheek, landing on Robin's pants. Coughs wrack your body as your lungs fill with something that isn't air.
You can feel the panic of the room, even without sight or hearing. Smaller, thicker hands join the first. You speak lowly, not sure what you're saying or if you're even saying it.
"...it's okay."
Arms are across your chest suddenly, and the last thing you're conscious of is a vibration against your chest, someone's chin digging into it. You can't hear it, but you've felt those words before. Know exactly what they say, and who says it.
"I love you."
Pure black floods your closed eye vision, and you can't taste the copper anymore.
You sigh.
Dustin is alive.
You did your job. You did what you were told to do. Hopper would have your ass if you did otherwise.
(You don't know Hopper is hating himself for ever telling you that.)
That's all that matters.
The kids aren't dead, they're all okay.
Hair tickles your nose, though you're too far gone to realize who's it is. It's the last thing you know before everything fades.