consistently inconsistent. @authorbarbie - Tumblr Blog

i'm coming, wait for me.

pairing. steve harrington x reader.

summary. in pursuit of little holly wheeler, you and your friends search the flipped version of hawkins lab based on a hunch from dustin. danger could come from any angle, even right beneath your feet.

warnings. angst, hurt/comfort, crying. spoilers for stranger things 5: volume 2.

Things have been rather… tense, to say the least.

As if Max being in a coma in Hawkins General and the threat of Vecna constantly looming over your heads wasn’t enough, now Holly Wheeler has gone missing, her parents are gravely injured and could likely die at any minute, and you’re stuck with a group of people who have been walking on eggshells around each other for months now.

And look, you get it. Really.

If your sister was taken, you would be just as stressed as Nancy. If your hero had died in the battle last year, you would be just as angry as Dustin, whose grief is so strong that Steve feels utterly helpless; another feeling you understand all too well. Meanwhile, Jonathan is downright terrified — for his brother, for his relationship, for what comes next, and fuck, who isn’t? The horrible blend of emotions hanging heavy in the air makes sense.

It just isn’t helping.

When the time soon comes to part ways, you know the only real decision is to stick with Steve and Dustin, but you begin to regret that approximately sixty seconds after Nancy and Jonathan’s forms disappear on their journey upstairs.

The silence that remains between your little trio is only broken by the occasional pointed jab from boy to boy and sarcastic comments that your best attempts to mediate do little for.

Now that you think about it, a fight breaking out was sort of inevitable.

Like a coiled snake, Dustin has been poised and ready to strike at the first sign of potential disrespect no matter who it’s from, no matter how much they truly care about him. For a while, that group of assholes at his school have been the main victims of his wrath and as worried as you've been every time he appears with another bloodied nose or limp he tries to hide, you can't honestly say they haven't deserved it.

They've been relentless in their hatred of Dustin's loyalty, their disgust at Eddie and the mere memory of the man who had helped save their lives unbeknownst to them. Hell, you've wanted to punch those losers yourself, so you can't exactly blame the kid every time he snaps.

You just hadn't thought the end of his short fuse could also come in the form of a Rubik’s Cube straight to Steve’s face.

The next few minutes are an utter disaster. You’re yelling frantically, Dustin is all sharp elbows and evasive manoeuvres, and poor Steve is doing whatever he can to stop each of you from getting seriously hurt in the fray. He takes every blow that’s thrown his way, never retaliates, and when you get pushed back into a table by a stray flailing limb and hit the ground hard, the look of concern he instantly gives you only opens him up for more blows that pull his focus back to the issue at hand.

Truth be told, it hurts a lot more than you let on. Your palms are stinging from the failed attempt to catch yourself and you swear you can still feel the sharp corner that had jammed directly into your hip, but there are much bigger problems to deal with than a couple of future bruises, so you soldier on like you always do, albeit with a pained wince.

By the time you push yourself back to your feet, it’s gotten significantly quieter in the room and you look up in time to catch Steve walking away from the scene with a downward turn to his lips and defeat in his eyes.

“Steve—”

“It’s okay, honey,” he says quickly, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m… I’m fine. It was nothing. What are you—”

“I’m just gonna check the next floor, okay? I won’t be far. If you need me…” He trails off without finishing, a little scoff following because why the hell would anyone need him in times like these? He isn’t the smart one, he isn’t some weapon master, he isn’t even the leader that people look to when they're afraid. The only thing he’s contributed so far was getting everyone here and he fucked that up by crashing the damn car five minutes later. He’s a screw up, he knows it, and the only thing that stops him from continuing down the familiar path of self-flagellation is the feeling of your hand coming to rest on his arm.

“If I need you, I’ll call your name,” you say steadily, leaving no room for doubt. “Just... be careful. Please.”

A nod and a quick press of his lips to your forehead and then he’s moving again, Dustin’s voice calling out from behind making him flinch as he exits. You have a sneaking suspicion the quick retreat is less about wanting to search the lab from top to bottom and more about the feeling of his throat closing up.

“Yeah, that’s it… Run away, you- you fake asshole!”

The anger is beginning to leave the younger boy, much like the disappointed look on your face that slowly fades once you catch a glimpse of tear stained cheeks and shoulders laden with guilt.

You don't speak. You just wait.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hit you.” He doesn’t quite meet your eye, but the sincerity of his words isn’t lost on you. He’s regretful, not only for what he did to you, but for how he just treated his best friend, his brother. The venom he conjured in order to successfully push him away for good.

“I know. You didn’t hurt me.” A lie for the greater good. You wish there was time for a therapy session right now, but the longer you dawdle, the further away Holly gets. The further away Holly gets, the stronger Vecna grows. “Look, we really shouldn’t split the party any more than we already have… I have to go after Steve, bring him back so we can continue this together. You stay here. Understand? Keep your radio on and do not leave this room... It isn’t safe.”

Dustin nods feebly, clearing his throat before he can trust his voice not to break. “Yeah. Yeah, I hear you.”

The smile you offer is a shaky one, but it’s the best you can muster before allowing yourself to leave. For all his faults and stubbornness, you trust Dustin. He's a smart kid. If he says he’ll stay, he’ll stay.

Not that your faith makes you feel much better as you traverse the dark halls of the lab, torchlight rapidly bouncing between wall to ground and back again. The bickering before had been driving you nuts, but now you’re actually missing it. It’s ten times more difficult searching this place alone, your nervous breaths and calls for Steve seemingly reaching no ears but your own. Fuck.

He said he wouldn’t go far, yet this floor is clearly empty, so that was obviously a damn lie. You don’t particularly want to venture further, but the only thing scarier than being here by yourself is the thought of Steve stumbling into danger without anyone there to watch his back.

Continuing to push higher, you climb the vine ridden staircase and clear floors one by one. You’re not certain of how many you’ve covered — the scientists clearly weren't big on interior design so they all start to blur together after a while — when the whole building starts to shake.

For the second time today, your knees buckle and you scramble to keep yourself upright against the nearest door with a startled yelp. You don’t know what the fuck that was or even what caused it, but you don’t necessarily need to know. This is the Upside Down and it's never on your side. All that matters is that people you love are in this building.

To the next floor.

“Steve? Jonathan!” Your legs pump faster now, blood spiked with adrenaline and a hot dose of fear. If Dustin has kept to his promise, he should be safe down there — or at least far safer than you are right now. As for the others… “Nancy? Are you there?”

Oh, this was such a stupid idea. This building might as well be a giant maze and you were never great at directions to begin with, meaning you rely purely on instinct to see you through. Your hand is gripping your torch so tightly that the tendons of your wrist begin to ache, feet pounding against the floor as you run and run and run.

It’s the desperate need to set eyes on a safe and sound Steve that keeps you moving through the repetitive halls, though the lack of response with each call you make fills you with a growing sense of dread. It’s so strong that you don’t notice the changing landscape, the drip drip drip of melting white that falls from a hole in the ceiling up ahead. It creates a sticky pool on the floor beneath that spreads larger by the second and begins to eat away at the tiles that rest below.

“Steve, where are you? Where— Oh, what the fuck?” Directing your beam of light downwards, your brows push together in confusion. Your foot has gotten stuck, surrounded by what you can only describe as a weird goo that feels thick as molasses and refuses to let go. You grunt with every pull of your leg. You get nowhere. “Shit.”

The attempts to free yourself get more frantic the longer you remain trapped, the dripping non-stop and forcing you to bend at the waist to try removing your shoe. Traversing the rest of this place in your socks isn't ideal, but you'd take that over being frozen like Han Solo.

You shouldn't be surprised when it doesn't work, only succeeding in almost getting your fingers stuck in the process, but you curse anyway.

Alright. What else?

Deep breaths, first and foremost. Something to calm your racing heart and help you think more clearly. More like your friends who easily would have thought of a plan before they let their laces disappear from view. You swear it feels like tiles are moving.

In, out. In, out.

None of you are going to die here.

That’s the last thought you have before the floor gives way beneath you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Admittedly, he went a little further than he told you he would.

The first space he searched yielded no results and considering the dull ache of his cheekbone was nothing in comparison to the pathetic sniffles he couldn't seem to get under control, Steve continued to walk and considered no news to be good news.

Yeah, they haven’t found anything remotely helpful as of yet, but he can’t dwell on that if his goal here is to calm down and make sure everyone gets back home — that you get back home. For now, there’s been no panicked yelling or the sound of demogorgons running through the halls and he decides to be grateful for that instead. Small victories should still count.

It’s when he reaches his fourth floor that a sudden rumble sends him flying shoulder first into the wall, knocking the side of his head in the process and adding another injury to his already comically long list. “Jesus, what the hell?”

He doesn’t move again until he’s certain another shake isn’t incoming and even then, he does so cautiously, eyes wide and breaths heavy, steps slow. Fuck this pointless search. Fuck the petty squabble. He needs to get back to you.

Descending flight of stairs after flight of stairs with ease, his old King Steve days of participating in practically every sport Hawkins High had to offer have inadvertently prepped him for constantly being on the run these last few years. He’s faced a lot of physical setbacks since then — small scars now litter his stomach with a longer, raised one that spans the circumference of his neck, and the loss of hearing in one ear was particularly difficult to come to terms with — but at least he's kept his speed.

It means he’s able to get down the next flight of stairs in seconds in the moments that follow the sudden sound of a painfully familiar scream, not a hint of hesitation in his steps as he prays his good ear isn’t leading him in the wrong direction. He’d open himself up to being scarred head to toe if it meant he could hold on to the one skill that might save you.

“Steve! Steve!”

Your voice is strangled with fear and it petrifies him, spurs him on to keep moving through the sudden tightness in his lungs and start yelling your name so you know he’s coming for you. That he’ll always come for you.

“Steve, please!”

Shoes skid along the ground, coming to an abrupt halt in front of a huge gap that opens up to the floors below and threatens to swallow him whole. Now that he’s stopped, he can see the whole space around him looks as if it’s melting like an ice cream in the summer sun, but that’s so far down his list of priorities right now that it becomes irrelevant as quickly as he discovers it. The Upside Down has found a new way to be a dick. Shocking.

“S-Steve?”

Carefully peering over the gap, his breath catches in his chest at what he feared he would see. It’s you, wonderful you, looking more afraid than he’s ever seen before while clinging desperately to the railing of some stairs. Your legs hang freely over another hole in the floor that continues down, down, down; further than even the light of his torch can reach. Whatever this sludge is, it’s eaten so far through the building that one wrong step could be fatal.

“Holy shit. Hey, I-I’m here. I’m right here! Just hang on, okay? I’m coming.”

“I can’t… I can’t pull myself up,” you say in a rush of panic with unshed tears stinging the back of your eyes. There’s no leverage remaining beneath for you to rest your feet or boost yourself up over the railing and you fear that trying to adjust your current grip on the metal bars will end in disaster, so you continue to quite literally hang tight to the best of your ability. Your hands are growing sweaty though and your upper body strength leaves something to be desired on a regular day. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You hear me, honey?” Yeah, you can hear him. The soft assurance he wants you to hear and the fear he tries to hide underneath. “I’m coming.”

As much as it pains him to leave you in a moment of despair, he has to get down to your level if he wants any chance at getting you out of there and he moves faster than even Steve thought himself capable. The door to the staircase slams against the wall in his haste, speeding down the next flight until he finds you and your white knuckle grip that’s the only thing keeping you alive.

He presses his torso right against the railing to hold himself steady and immediately offers a hand. “Okay, hey— You gotta listen to me. I need you to give me your hand and I’m gonna lift you up.”

“I-I can’t.” You made the mistake of directing your gaze downwards while you waited and your stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of plummeting. Nobody could survive a drop that big, not even El. “I can’t let go, I’ll fall.”

“No, you won’t.” It’s said so confidently that you almost hesitate to doubt him. “You won’t ‘cause I’m right here and I’m not gonna let you fall. All you have to do is grab my arm and I’m gonna pull you up here. Then we’re gonna find that little shit down there, and Nance, and Jonathan, and then I’m never wandering off again. I-I mean it, I’m gonna find a way to chain you to my hip. I bet Hop has some handcuffs I could use.”

A watery little sound leaves your throat, one slightly too devoid of genuine humour to be considered a real laugh. He makes it sound easy. “Steve, I’m scared.”

“I know you are, but I’m not going anywhere unless you’re with me, so we can stay here until more of that shit comes to destroy the stairs and takes us both out, or you can let me help you.” His eyes turn pleading, brown and sweet and swimming with emotion. “C’mon, honey, let me help you.”

A small nod that won’t rock you too much. “O-Okay.”

“Yeah? Okay, you ready? On three, just reach up with one of your hands and I’ll do the rest. You have nothing to worry about. Okay, one… two… three—”

You hold your breath as you let go and your hand isn’t empty for longer than a millisecond before Steve is grabbing it tight and pulling. He doesn’t ever want to hurt you, but he needs to put all his strength behind the act in order to lift you higher and higher, his other arm quickly wrapping around your waist the moment it’s within reach. He doesn’t release his grip even when his back eventually touches the wall behind him and he’s certain, absolutely certain, that there’s no risk of you coming to harm.

You don’t let go either, the solid ground beneath your feet pushing a relieved sob out of your throat as you wrap yourself around him and feel strong arms squeezing you tight in return.

“You’re okay, it’s okay... You’re safe. I got you.” His sweet whispers sound shaky too, large palm coming to cover the back of your head and keep you close despite the drops of drying sludge that stain the back of your locks. It’s not clear if he’s trying to reassure you or himself. “I’m right here.”

“I couldn’t find you,” you sniffle into his chest. “I called your name.”

“It’s my fault.” Eyes shut, Steve’s jaw tenses. “I didn’t stay close like I said I would. I just… I needed the space. Space to think. I didn't mean to- I didn't mean what I said before. I just don’t know how to get through to him anymore.”

“You will. He’s just scared of losing you... It wasn’t right, but I understand it. When the building shook and you weren’t answering, I thought…” A sigh that deflates your shoulders. “I was so worried something had happened to you.”

“That how you ended up almost falling down into Wonderland?” His voice is taut, but he does his best to inject a smidge of humour.

“It’s not funny,” you retort with a squeeze and he rests his chin atop your head in response.

“No. No, it’s not. It’s just… It’s weird for me to think that there are people who care enough to worry like that, you know? Who see danger ahead and still come running because they think I might need help. My own parents never gave two shits about what I did and I never hung out with the right crowd at school and it… it taught me that I wasn’t the kind of guy people care about that way. There’s always gonna be someone better for them, more important.”

His parents, Nancy, Dustin. Even Robin, who he adores to pieces and couldn't possibly live without, has Vickie now. What if she decides she doesn't need him anymore?

“Not for me. Never.”

After a near death experience, you aren't in the best state to be reassuring someone else. Your body shakes from inside Steve's grasp and your voice is thick with lingering fright, but that doesn't diminish the truth behind your words or the comfort he finds in them. You've never lied to him before and you certainly aren't about to start now.

So maybe he isn’t the smartest of the group, or the most deadly, or the one holding everyone together. Maybe Jonathan will always think he's a show off and Dustin will always have some resentment towards him, and the party as a whole will always brush off his ideas and opinions.

But it was his name you called when you needed help.

He’s your favourite, and that means more than any other measly title ever could.

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consistently inconsistent.