Everyone knows but me | Steve Harrington
Chapter eleven: I Just Needed to Know You’re Still Here
Warnings: Smut!! dom!steve angst!!!one bad decision leading to a worse one,references to being hurt. pining, secret keeping, lovers-to-exes-to-something-else. sloooow burn
Description: One minute she’s pulled into a monster’s world. The next she’s pulled into his arms, neither of them can pretend this is nothing anymore. One version of her almost drowned trying to save him. Another version can’t stop drowning in him. Same night. Same girl. Neither of them calls it healthy. Neither of them stops.
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Authors note: god lemme gag myself real quick had to use that middle pic ;). i feel so awk writing smut but i tried my best dw. this one’s my new fav!! i know we all want a happy ending but trust i have so many good ideas still cookin promise ending will be happy tho. PLS PLS lmk what ya think and if you would like to be on the tag list lmk! From the bottom of my heart thank you all so much for the support it means so much to me and I love seeing y’all’s reactions (also gator fic potentially coming soon:))
series masterlist | previous chapter
Steve woke slowly, disoriented for a moment by the unfamiliar ceiling, before the events of the previous night settled back over him all at once the window, the fight, the tears, the quiet, aching hours that had followed.
You were still asleep beside him, curled toward his chest, one hand fisted loosely in the front of his shirt like you'd been holding onto him even in your sleep, and Steve lay there a long while just watching you, some fragile, temporary peace settling over his chest that he wasn't in any hurry to disturb.
He'd been turning over, in the quiet gray light of early morning, exactly how he was supposed to leave. A note felt wrong, somehow too familiar, too close to every unfinished, evasive thing he'd left behind in the past. He was still working out the actual words in his head, propped up slightly against your pillows, when the front door opened downstairs, followed by the unmistakable, cheerful thunder of sneakers on hardwood.
Every muscle in his body went rigid at once
"Y/N?" Parker's voice carried up the stairs, closer already than Steve wanted to think about. "You home? Mike's mom dropped me off early, she had some errand—"
Steve was out of bed in an instant, heart slamming, scanning the room with the kind of frantic, wide-eyed panic he hadn't felt since he was seventeen and hiding from somebody's father. His shirt was draped over the desk chair. His shoes were sitting in plain view by the window. There was, quite simply, no version of this where a kid walked in and didn't immediately understand exactly what he was looking at.
You didn't stir, still fast asleep, curled toward the warm spot where he'd been lying a moment ago, entirely unaware of the crisis currently unfolding a few feet away.
Downstairs, Parker's footsteps had already reached the base of the stairs, and Steve, weighing his extremely limited options, yanked his shirt on inside out, grabbed his shoes, and made a break for the window, moving as quietly and quickly as his own racing pulse would allow, casting one last glance back at you still peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware you'd nearly had a very different kind of morning before easing the window shut behind him and half-climbing, half-falling down the trellis with considerably less grace than he'd managed the night before.
He was standing at the bottom, breathing hard, shirt still inside out, by the time he heard Parker's voice drift faintly through the window above him.
Steve didn't wait around to hear the rest. He crossed the yard fast, ducking low past the kitchen window just in case, and didn't let himself breathe properly again until he was safely back in his car, parked a block away, staring at his own inside-out shirt with a mixture of relief and disbelief at how close that had actually been.
You woke slowly, disoriented, reaching instinctively for the warm space beside you before your hand found only cold, empty sheets.
You sat up, blinking against the late-morning light, and it took a moment for the previous night to fully resurface the window, the fight, the tears, all of it settling back over you in a slow, heavy wave. You glanced around the room for some sign of him, a note, anything, and found nothing at all, just the desk chair he must have grabbed his shirt from, the window cracked open slightly wider than you remembered leaving it.
Something old and sharp twisted in your chest at the empty space where an explanation should have been. He'd left without a word. After everything the crying, the confession, the whole aching, careful ‘pretend’ you'd both agreed to he'd just slipped out while you were asleep, same as always, no note, no goodbye, nothing.
You sat there a moment, hurt curdling fast into something more familiar and exhausted, and were still turning it over when your bedroom door swung open without warning.
"You're finally up." Parker flopped down onto the end of your bed, entirely unbothered by boundaries, still in his jacket from the ride home. "Mike's mom dropped me off early. Something about needing the car for an appointment. You look tired."
"I am tired," you said, voice rough, working hard to sound normal despite the tangled mess of emotions still sitting heavy in your chest.
Parker studied you for a moment, something faintly perceptive in his expression. "Did you sleep okay? You look kind of, I don't know. Off."
"I'm fine." You dragged a hand through your hair, aware, suddenly, of how thoroughly wrecked you probably looked. "Just a rough night. Nothing to worry about."
"Okay." Parker didn't look entirely convinced, though he let it drop, glancing curiously around your room instead. "Why's your window open? It's freezing outside."
Your stomach dropped. "I like the fresh air."
"You hate the fresh air. You always complain when I open windows." Parker's brow furrowed slightly, some old, familiar suspicion creeping back into his expression, and you braced yourself, heart pounding, for whatever question might come next.
"I got hot," you said, too fast, and immediately regretted the flimsiness of it.
"It's like forty degrees outside."
Parker studied you a moment longer, clearly unconvinced, his gaze drifting slowly around the room the desk chair, the tangled sheets you hadn't quite managed to smooth out properly, the general, undeniable disarray of a room that had clearly seen more activity than a simple night's sleep would account for before settling back on your face, something sharp and knowing creeping into his expression.
"You're doing the thing," he said.
"The thing where you get all weird and jumpy and start giving fake answers to normal questions." Parker crossed his arms, entirely too pleased with his own perceptiveness. "You did the exact same thing that time you didn't want me to know you and Steve used to date. Except now you're doing it about something else."
Your stomach dropped, some old, exhausted resignation settling in fast at how thoroughly, effortlessly he'd read straight through you without a single piece of actual proof.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
You opened your mouth, and for a second, watching his patient, knowing expression, you nearly told him everything and then some old, protective instinct kicked back in instead, some stubborn refusal to hand your little brother one more complicated, adult mess to worry about on top of everything else he was already carrying.
"You're reading way too much into an open window," you said finally, voice steadier than you felt, standing up and busying yourself with straightening the sheets so you wouldn't have to look at him directly. "Nothing happened. I just had a rough night and needed some air."
Parker studied you a long moment, clearly unconvinced, disappointment flickering plainly across his face at the deflection. "You're lying."
"I'm not discussing this with you, Parker."
"That's basically the same as admitting it."
"Go get ready for the day," you said, firmer now, deliberately closing the conversation down. "I'll make breakfast in a bit."
Parker didn't move right away, watching you with a look that was equal parts frustration and hurt, and you felt a small, guilty twist in your chest at shutting him out again, even now, even after everything you'd both been working toward.
"Fine," he said finally, sliding off the bed, though his voice carried a clear, wounded edge on his way out the door. "You know you don't have to keep doing that, right? Hiding stuff from me. I'm not a little kid anymore."
He was gone before you could answer, footsteps retreating down the hallway, and you sat there alone in the quiet aftermath, the guilt of the lie settling heavy and familiar in your chest, right alongside everything else you still hadn't figured out how to say out loud.
You sat there a few minutes longer, replaying his words “you don't have to keep doing that, right? I'm not a little kid anymore” and felt something in you waver, some old, tired instinct to protect him warring against the plain, obvious fact that he deserved better than another closed door.
You found him in his room a little while later, sitting on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, and he looked up when you knocked on the open door, some careful, guarded wariness still lingering in his expression.
He shrugged, which you took as permission enough, and you sat down beside him, working through, in real time, exactly how much you were actually willing to say.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," you said finally. "That wasn't fair. You didn't do anything wrong asking a question."
Parker studied you carefully. "So was Steve here or not?"
You hesitated, the honest answer sitting right there on your tongue, and thought, instead, about Lucy's voice in the car after the party. “That's not love. That's just two people who can't stop hurting each other and calling it passion.” You thought about the betting pool, about Robin's careful, worried expression, about the whole tangled, exhausting mess that everyone in your life seemed to already understand better than you did. You didn't want Parker looking at you that way too, with worry, or pity, or quiet, unspoken judgment about a pattern you couldn't even fully explain to yourself yet.
"It's complicated," you said instead, which wasn't quite a lie, though it wasn't the truth either. "I don't really want to get into it right now. I just wanted to say sorry for being short with you."
Something in Parker's face flickered, disappointment plain despite his effort to hide it, and he nodded slowly, accepting the non-answer without pushing further, though the wariness didn't fully leave his expression.
"Okay," he said quietly. "You don't have to tell me. I just wish you would sometimes."
"I know." You managed a small, guilty smile, some old, familiar shame settling into your chest at having chosen the easier, more protected version of honesty instead of the real thing. "I'm working on it."
You weren't sure, standing up to leave his room a few minutes later, whether that was actually true.
You went back to your own room afterward, closing the door quietly behind you, and sat down on the edge of your bed, the same bed that had held so much of last night's aching, unresolved honesty, and let yourself actually sit with what you'd just done.
You'd had the chance to tell him the truth. A real, clean opening, Parker sitting right there waiting for it, and you'd chosen, instead, the same careful half-answer you'd been giving people your whole life whenever something felt too messy or shameful to say out loud. You thought about the reasoning you'd used to justify it protecting him from worry, sparing him the same pitying look everyone else seemed to be giving you lately and recognized, sitting there in the quiet, exactly how thin that reasoning actually was.
You weren't protecting Parker. You were protecting yourself. From his judgment, maybe, or from having to hear the pattern named out loud one more time by someone who loved you, or simply from having to fully admit, to another person, exactly how little control you actually had over any of this.
You thought about Lucy's warning, and Robin's tired concern, and the whole quiet, worried chorus of people who'd been watching you cycle through this exact same thing for over a year now, and felt something heavy and uncomfortable settle low in your chest not quite shame, though close to it, more a kind of tired, resigned recognition that knowing a pattern existed hadn't actually stopped you from repeating it, not completely, not even hours after promising yourself you'd try to notice it happening in real time.
You didn't know if that meant you'd failed, exactly. You didn't know if noticing the pattern and still falling into pieces of it counted as progress or just a slower, more self-aware version of the same old mistake. You sat there a long while, turning the question over without finding a satisfying answer, and decided, finally, exhausted, that maybe the honest thing to do wasn't to punish yourself over one lie to Parker, but to actually notice it, sit with the discomfort of it, and try to do better the next time the opportunity came around.
It wasn't forgiveness, exactly. It was something quieter and more tentative than that permission You'd take it. It was more than you'd managed to give yourself in a long while.
You knew, somewhere underneath all of it, that you probably should stop. Should let the whole exhausting cycle finally burn itself out for good, should listen to Lucy, to Robin, to the small, tired voice in your own head that kept telling you this wasn't sustainable, wasn't healthy, wasn't going to end anywhere except more nights exactly like the one you'd just had.
You knew all of that. You still couldn't quite make yourself want to stop.
Because the truth, the part you hadn't said out loud to anyone, not even Lucy, was that in a year that had handed you monsters and lies and your little brother's life hanging by a thread you barely understood, Steve had somehow still become the one place you knew how to put any of it down, even for a few hours. The one person who didn't need you to explain, who already carried half the same wreckage himself, who could hold you at your worst without flinching away from any of it. You didn't know how to find that same comfort anywhere else yet, and some days, most days, you weren't sure you actually wanted to look.
That didn't make it healthy. It didn't make Lucy wrong, or the pattern any less real, or the ache any less likely to come right back around the next time one of you said something cruel. It just meant that, for now, knowing better and wanting different things were apparently two separate, entirely unconnected facts, and you weren't sure yet which one was going to win.
The phone rang just after noon, and you nearly jumped out of your skin reaching for it, some old, conditioned instinct bracing immediately for bad news the second you registered Nancy's voice on the other end.
"Hey, sorry to bother you," she said, though her voice carried a slight, careful edge you couldn't quite place. "We're doing a supply run out to Eddie's later today apparently something happened and he’s hiding again and we could use an extra set of hands. Would you and Parker want to come along?"
"Yeah, of course." You glanced toward the kitchen, where Parker was still picking at his breakfast. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just a supply run." Nancy's voice stayed even, though something about it didn't sit quite right. "Can you be ready in twenty minutes? We'll swing by."
You agreed, and hung up, and told yourself the slight hesitation in her voice was probably nothing, just tiredness, just the general, low-grade exhaustion of everyone's lives lately. You didn't examine it any further than that, grabbing your keys and calling for Parker to get his shoes on, some quiet, unplaceable unease settling into your chest anyway despite your best efforts to ignore it.
Nancy's car pulled into the driveway right on schedule, already fuller than you expected Max and Lucas crammed into the middle row, Robin up front in the passenger seat and you climbed in beside Max, shuffling Parker toward the way-back seat where Dustin was already sprawled out, taking up more room than strictly necessary.
"Squeeze in, Parker," Dustin said, shifting over slightly. "There's room."
Parker climbed in, and it wasn't until the car was already pulling out of the driveway that you registered, with a small, unwelcome jolt, that Dustin wasn't actually alone back there.
"You gonna say hi, or just pretend I'm not here?"
You twisted around in your seat, and found Steve wedged into the far corner of the trunk row, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in the exact, familiar way that used to make your stomach flip in high school and now mostly just made you want to sink through the floor of the car.
"I didn't see you," you said, too quickly, heat rising fast in your cheeks.
"Sure." His mouth twitched, something knowing in it that made your stomach drop with fresh, immediate panic had he told someone, had something slipped, had Nancy or Robin somehow already but his expression gave nothing else away, easy and unbothered, apparently content to let the moment pass without further comment.
You turned back around fast, heart still hammering, and caught Max watching you with mild, curious interest from the seat beside you.
"What?" you asked, too defensive.
"Nothing." Max's mouth twitched, though she let it drop, turning her attention back out the window, and you sat there the rest of the ride with your face burning, painfully aware of Steve's presence in the seat behind you the entire way, and grateful, at least, that whatever had happened between you last night seemed to still be sitting exactly where you needed it to quiet, contained, and entirely between the two of you.
The drive out toward the woods near Eddie's cabin settled into a stretch of unusually quiet, careful conversation after that, Nancy's hands a little too tight on the wheel, Robin uncharacteristically subdued in the passenger seat.
"You guys are being weird," Lucas said finally, glancing between the front seats, always one of the first to notice.
"We're just tired," Robin said, though it didn't sound entirely convincing even to your own ears.
"Everybody's tired," Dustin said, from the back, stretching his legs out as far as the cramped trunk row would allow. "It's a whole epidemic. I personally haven't slept properly in weeks."
"You sleep constantly, Dustin," Max said, twisting around to look at him. "You fell asleep during the movie last night."
"That was a strategic power nap."
"It was a forty-minute coma."
"Same thing, different branding." Dustin shrugged, entirely unbothered, and the group dissolved into a round of easy, familiar bickering that eased some of the tension in the car, at least for a few minutes, Parker even managing a small, genuine laugh at something Lucas said about Dustin's snoring.
Steve, from his corner of the trunk row, caught your eye again in the rearview mirror, something faintly amused tugging at his mouth. "You're quiet back there."
"I'm always quiet," you said, deliberately even.
"You're really not, though." His voice stayed light, teasing, careful not to give anything away. "This is a whole new personality. I'm concerned."
"Maybe I'm just tired, like everyone apparently is today."
"Sure," he said again, that same knowing note creeping back into his voice, and you turned back around fast before your face could give anything else away, Max glancing between the two of you with renewed, if silent, curiosity.
The easy conversation didn't last long. Nancy slowed the car well before the turnoff toward Eddie's cabin, and you looked up to find the road ahead blocked entirely two police cruisers parked at angles across the narrow gravel road, lights flashing, a small crowd of people already gathered along the tree line, and a local news van parked haphazardly on the shoulder, a reporter standing in front of a camera with a microphone raised.
"What is going on," Nancy said, voice gone tight, pulling the car to a slow stop a good distance back.
Nobody could make out what the reporter was saying from that far away, and Nancy, jaw set, pulled the car off onto a narrow shoulder well before the roadblock, killing the engine.
"We need to get closer," she said. "Quietly. Stay behind the tree line."
The group piled out of the car quickly, quiet and urgent, creeping through the tree line toward a cluster of parked news vans for a better vantage point without being seen. You crowded in together behind the largest one, all nine of you pressed close in the tight, awkward space between the van and the underbrush, straining to hear what the reporter was saying without exposing yourselves to the crowd gathered just beyond.
The space was tighter than it looked from a distance, everyone jostling for position, and in the crush of bodies you found yourself pressed back against Steve without quite meaning to, his chest solid against your shoulder blades, close enough that you could feel him breathing.
Nobody else seemed to notice, all eyes fixed forward on the police cruisers and the reporter's microphone, and for a second, Steve's hand found your waist, warm and steady, thumb pressing lightly against the fabric of your shirt, some old, instinctive gesture neither of you seemed to have fully thought through in the tension of the moment.
You stiffened, glancing sideways, though nobody else had turned, everyone's attention still locked entirely on the unfolding scene ahead, and after a beat too long, you reached back and pushed his hand away, sharp and deliberate, some old wariness snapping back into place despite the charged stillness of the last few seconds.
Steve didn't argue, didn't push, just shifted his weight back slightly, putting a careful few inches of space between you again, and neither of you said a single word about it, both of you turning your full attention back toward the roadblock, where the reporter's voice finally carried close enough to make out clearly.
"—confirmed the identity of the victim as seventeen-year-old Patrick McKinney, a senior at Hawkins High School. Police are calling this a homicide, and say they are currently searching for a person of interest in connection with the murder — twenty-year-old Eddie Munson, believed to be hiding somewhere in the surrounding area."
The whole group went dead silent, the weight of it landing hard and immediate over every single person crouched there behind the van.
"Oh my God," Max whispered.
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor, and behind you, you heard Steve's sharp, indrawn breath, all traces of the earlier teasing gone completely, replaced by something cold and frightened and utterly serious.
"We need to get to him," Nancy breathed, already glancing back toward the tree line, voice shaking despite her obvious effort to stay controlled. "Before they do."
The group began creeping back through the underbrush, quiet and fast, putting distance between themselves and the roadblock before anyone could be spotted, when Dustin's walkie crackled to life at his hip, static bursting loud enough to make everyone freeze mid-step.
"Dustin. Dustin, come in, over."
Eddie's voice, hushed and frantic, cut through the quiet, and Dustin fumbled the walkie up to his mouth so fast he nearly dropped it.
"Eddie? Eddie, is that you? Where are you?"
"Skull Rock. I'm at Skull Rock, I need somebody to come get me, I can't—" His voice cracked, breathless, clearly running. "They think I did this. They actually think I killed him, Dustin, I need you guys to find me before they do, please—"
"We're coming," Dustin said, already moving, waving urgently at the rest of the group. "Hang tight, we're coming right now, okay? Just stay hidden."
"We can't take the car anywhere near there, not with the road already crawling with cops," Nancy said, thinking fast. "We'll have to go on foot, through the woods. It's faster anyway, if we cut straight through instead of trying to find a road."
Dustin dug the compass out of his backpack, and the group set off through the trees at a fast, urgent pace, branches snapping underfoot, everyone's breath fogging in the cold afternoon air.
It took less than ten minutes for the first argument to break out.
"We're going the wrong way," Steve said, frowning at the compass over Dustin's shoulder. "Skull Rock's more that way, past the ridge."
"I have the compass, Steve, I think I know how to navigate."
"You're holding it upside down."
"I am not holding it upside down." Dustin glanced down at it anyway, adjusting his grip with a defensive scowl. "I know exactly where Skull Rock is. I've been there a hundred times."
"So have I, actually, and I'm telling you, it's past the ridge, not through the creek bed." Steve pointed emphatically off to the left. "Trust me on this one."
"Why would I trust you over an actual compass?"
"Because I used to go there constantly." Steve's voice carried an edge of exasperated certainty. "It's, like, the most popular makeout spot in Hawkins. I could find it blindfolded."
"I know it's a popular makeout spot, Steve, everyone knows that, that's not exactly privileged information."
"Yeah, well, it wasn't popular until I made it popular." Steve said it with total, unbothered confidence, like he was stating an obvious historical fact. "Ask anyone. I put that place on the map."
You let out a short, disbelieving scoff before you could stop yourself, and Steve's head turned toward you immediately, one eyebrow raised.
"Nothing," you said, though your voice carried more amusement than you meant to let show. "It's just a lot of credit to take for a rock."
"You'd know," Steve said, something pointed and knowing threading through the words, and heat flooded straight up your neck as several pairs of eyes flicked briefly, curiously, between the two of you before mercifully returning to the more pressing matter of the trail ahead.
"That is not a real accomplishment," Max called from further back in the group, though she was clearly fighting a laugh.
"We are trying to find our missing friend before the police do, and you're bragging about a makeout spot," Nancy said, exasperated, already moving forward. "Both of you, quiet, and follow me. I actually know where I'm going."
"You're going the wrong way," Steve said, stopping short, squinting at the terrain ahead. "That ridge doesn't connect to the trail anymore, they rerouted it after the flooding last spring. We need to cut back through that way instead." He pointed off toward a narrower break in the trees, voice suddenly serious, all traces of the earlier teasing gone. "Trust me. I actually know this way."
Nancy hesitated, glancing between her own instincts and Steve's sudden, unexpected certainty, before relenting with a tight, frustrated nod. "Fine. Lead the way. But if we end up lost in these woods because of a makeout spot shortcut, I'm holding you personally responsible.”
"Duly noted." Steve was already moving, cutting off toward the narrower trail with brisk, purposeful steps, and the whole group fell into step behind him, pushing forward through the trees with renewed urgency.
The group settled into a loose, single-file line as the trail narrowed, Steve and Dustin leading the way up front, the rest of the group trailing behind in twos and threes, and you found yourself walking alone in the middle of the pack, Parker somewhere back with Max and Lucas, close enough to hear their quiet, worried murmuring but not quite part of it.
You watched Steve's back the whole way, unable to quite help yourself the yellow sweater he'd thrown on that morning, sleeves pushed up to his elbows despite the cold, jeans fitting the exact particular way you remembered far too well, his easy, confident stride leading the group forward without a single moment of hesitation. You thought, distantly, exhausted, that it really wasn't fair, how good he still managed to look even in the middle of an actual crisis, hiking through the woods to rescue a fugitive, and hated yourself a little for noticing at all given everything else currently happening.
"There." Steve's voice cut through your thoughts, urgent and relieved, as the trees finally broke open into a small, rocky clearing, a massive, weathered boulder carved by decades of erosion into something that vaguely resembled a skull looming up ahead. "That's it. That's Skull Rock."
He broke into a jog the last few yards, practically vibrating with relief, and called out toward the rock formation with unrestrained urgency.
"Eddie! Eddie,where are you?"
A rustle sounded from behind the boulder, and Eddie emerged a moment later, pale and disheveled, blanket-less now, clutching a stick like a makeshift weapon before recognition flooded his face and the stick clattered uselessly to the ground.
"You're a butthead," Eddie said, voice cracking with relief, already crossing the clearing toward the group. "Dustin, you complete butthead, I thought nobody was gonna find me before the cops did."
"We thought we'd lost you," Dustin said, voice thick, already closing the distance and pulling Eddie into a fierce, tight hug, the two of them clinging to each other in the middle of the clearing while the rest of the group caught up, relief washing visibly over everyone at the sight of him actually, genuinely okay.
You hung back near the edge of the trees, letting the reunion unfold, and it was in that brief, distracted lull — everyone's attention fixed entirely on Eddie and Dustin — that Steve drifted back toward you, close enough that his voice carried just for you, low and quiet beneath the group's noise.
"You remember what we used to do out here?"
You glanced at him sharply, heat rising fast in your cheeks despite the cold, the specific, unmistakable memory surfacing before you could stop it. "Steve."
"I'm just asking." His mouth twitched, something warm and a little wicked in the look he gave you, entirely too pleased with himself given the circumstances. "For old times' sake."
"This is possibly the least appropriate moment you have ever chosen to bring that up." Though you couldn't quite keep the small, betraying smile from your own mouth either, some old, helpless warmth curling through you despite everything. "Eddie is right there. We are in the middle of a crisis."
"I have excellent timing, actually. Historically speaking." Steve shrugged, entirely unbothered. "I brought it up right after we found him, not during. That's practically responsible."
"That's not how timing works."
"It's exactly how timing works. You're just choosing not to appreciate it." He glanced sideways at you, something softer creeping into the teasing now. "I don't know. Standing out here again, it just — it made me think of it. You, me, that whole summer. Feels like a long time ago."
"It was a long time ago."
"Doesn't feel that long, standing here." His voice had gone quieter, more honest, the joking mostly drained out of it. "Feels kind of like no time passed at all, actually, which is a weird thing to feel in the middle of a crisis involving the actual police."
You didn't have a ready answer for that, something in your chest tightening at the sudden, unguarded shift in his voice, and before you could figure out what to say, Nancy's voice cut sharply across the clearing, calling everyone back to attention.
"We need to move. Now, before anyone comes looking out this far."
Steve's expression shuttered back into focus instantly, the moment closing as fast as it had opened, and you both turned back toward the group without another word.
The whole group gathered close around Eddie, who'd sunk down onto a fallen log, still visibly shaken, Dustin sitting close beside him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Tell us what happened," Nancy said gently, crouching down in front of him. "Everything you saw.
Eddie's hands were still trembling slightly, and he stared down at them while he talked, voice hollow. "Him and Jason were coming after me And then his eyes just — went blank. Completely blank, like nobody was home anymore. And then he just rose up. Out of the water. Into the air, like something was pulling him straight up by invisible strings." His voice cracked. "And then his bones just started breaking. One at a time. I could hear it. I tried to call for help, I swear, I tried the walkie the second it started, but it just gave me static, and my watch had stopped too, completely dead, and I couldn't do anything except stand there and watch just like with Chrissy ."
The clearing went quiet, the horror of it settling heavy over everyone, and Parker, standing close beside you, gripped your hand tight.
"We have to kill him," Max said finally, voice flat and determined. "Vecna. That's it. That's the only way any of this actually stops."
"Okay, but how," Robin said. "We tried before. It didn't exactly work."
"We steak his heart," Max said, like it was obvious. "Or whatever the equivalent is. Something has to actually kill him for good, not just push him back."
"If he even has one," Robin muttered.
"Wait." Steve's brow furrowed, genuine confusion crossing his face. "Is he a vampire? Nobody told me he was a vampire."
The whole group turned to stare at him.
"He's not a vampire, Steve," Dustin said, slowly, like he was explaining something to a small child.
"Then why do we need his heart?"
"It's a figure of speech, kind of, I don't actually know, I was mostly just saying we need to find whatever actually kills him." Max rubbed her temples. "Not literally his heart. Probably.”
"You said 'if he even has one,' which implies an actual heart is on the table as a real possibility—"
You couldn't help it, a short, helpless laugh escaping you at the sheer, bewildered sincerity on his face, and Steve turned toward you immediately, mock-offended.
"I'm asking a valid question."
"You really thought he might be a vampire this whole time?"
"I don't know what he is! Nobody's ever fully explained it to my satisfaction!" Though his own mouth had started twitching too, some of his indignance clearly performative now, enjoying the small, easy distraction from the horror of the last few minutes.
"Okay, focus, everyone." Nancy's voice cut through, firm. "Vampire or not, killing him isn't gonna be possible unless we can actually get to him, which means we need to find a way into the Upside Down first. That's step one. Everything else is meaningless until we solve that."
Dustin had already started pacing a tight, restless line across the clearing, hands raking through his hair. "The gate's sealed. We know that much. But there has to be another way in, there's always another way in, we just haven't found it yet—"
"Or he finds a way to us instead," Robin said quietly. "Which is honestly the scarier option.”
Nobody had an answer for that, the whole group falling into a heavy, uneasy silence, the reality of exactly how much still stood between them and any kind of real solution settling in fully for the first time since they'd found Eddie safe.
Dustin kept pacing, restless and distracted, muttering to himself, and Eddie finally reached out to catch his sleeve as he passed.
"He's fine," Steve said, before Dustin could answer. "Just mental. It's a whole thing with him."
Dustin didn't even seem to register the comment, still pacing, and then, suddenly, he spun around, eyes wide, pointing triumphantly at Steve.
"Boom." He said it loud, delighted, the whole earlier argument apparently still burning somewhere in the back of his mind. "I was right. Skull Rock was north. I told you, I told you the whole way here."
"The compass was pointing the wrong direction, Dustin, I watched you follow it straight toward a ravine."
"That's because the compass was faulty, not because I was wrong about the direction."
"That doesn't make any sense. If the compass was wrong, you were following wrong information, which means you were still wrong."
"I was following flawed data. There's a difference." Dustin crossed his arms, entirely too pleased with himself. "My instincts were correct. The instrument failed me."
"That is not how being right works."
"It's exactly how being right works." Dustin turned away from him, already moving on, some new thought clearly taking over. "Lucas. What actually messes with a compass? Like, physically. What causes that kind of interference?"
Lucas frowned, thinking. "Electromagnetic fields, mostly. Strong ones can throw a compass reading off completely."
"Wait, I'm lost," Robin said, glancing between them. "What does that actually mean?"
"It means something out here is putting off a strong enough magnetic field to mess with the needle," Dustin said, already talking faster, some old, familiar excitement creeping into his voice despite the circumstances. "That's not normal. Regular woods don't do that."
"A gate does that, though," Lucas said slowly, the realization dawning across his face too. "That's exactly the kind of interference we saw before. Right before the first one opened."
The whole group went quiet, the weight of that settling in fast.
"There could be a gate near here," Dustin said, voice low now, urgent. "Close. Close enough to throw off a compass from this distance."
"We've seen electromagnetic interference before, but only ever near the lab," Nancy said slowly, brow furrowed. "Never out here. Never this far from it."
"Well, we're seeing it now," Dustin said, already glancing around the clearing with fresh, sharpened focus, "which means either something's changed, or there's a second gate nobody's found yet, and either one of those is genuinely terrifying."
"Maybe it's just a little one," Steve offered, entirely unhelpfully. "Like a snack-sized gate. Not the full, world-ending kind."
"That is not a real category of gate, Steve."
"I'm just saying, we don't actually know the size yet, so I don't think we should assume worst case—"
"If there's a gate," Dustin said, cutting through the tangent entirely, something urgent and electric creeping into his voice, "that means we might actually have a shot at finding him. At finding Vecna. That's an actual lead, you guys, that's the first real lead we've had in weeks."
You stood there at the edge of the group, trying to follow the rapid, overlapping thread of everything being said — gates, compasses, magnetic fields, the lab, all of it tangling together into something you couldn't quite piece into a coherent shape. You'd never actually seen a gate, not with your own eyes, had only ever heard it described secondhand, in fragments, across a dozen different conversations you'd mostly been too furious or too heartbroken to properly absorb at the time. You felt, standing there now, distinctly, uncomfortably behind, like everyone around you was fluent in some language you'd only ever caught bits and pieces of.
You glanced up, some instinct catching your attention, and found Steve watching you from across the clearing, something quiet and searching in his expression, like he'd noticed the confusion on your face before you'd even fully registered it yourself.
The group set off soon after, following Dustin's compass in the direction of the strongest interference, the sun already beginning its slow slide toward the tree line, casting long, thin shadows across the trail ahead. You fell toward the back of the group without quite meaning to, and found yourself walking beside Steve, both of you trailing a few paces behind the others, close enough that when you shifted to step around a fallen branch, your shoulder brushed his.
"Sorry," you muttered, moving slightly away.
"You've been doing that all day," Steve said, glancing sideways at you. "Avoiding me. Barely looking at me since we got out of the car. What's that about?"
"I haven't been avoiding you."
"Maybe I've just been a little busy, Steve, what with the whole missing-fugitive, possible-second-gate situation currently unfolding." You kept your eyes forward, deliberately even. "Also, you did climb out my window at the crack of dawn this morning without so much as a proper goodbye, so forgive me if I wasn't exactly eager to seek you out."
"That's not fair. You know why I had to move fast."
"I know Parker almost walked in on us, yes. He was in my bed when I woke up ."
"So what, I'm supposed to apologize for surviving a near-catastrophe?"
"I'm not asking you to apologize for anything." Your voice had gone sharper, some old defensiveness rising fast despite your best efforts to keep the conversation light. "I'm just stating a fact. You left. Again. Same as always."
Steve was quiet for a moment, studying you, and when he spoke again his voice had dropped into something lower, more deliberately teasing. "Or maybe you're just still a little flustered. Standing back there at the rock, thinking about everything we used to get up to."
"I'm just saying. Would explain the avoidance." His mouth curved into something smug, entirely too pleased with the theory. "Hard to look a guy in the eye after replaying certain memories in your head all afternoon."
"I was not replaying anything." Your voice climbed, sharper now, real heat behind it instead of the earlier, easy teasing. "Do not stand there and act like I'm the one who can't handle being near you, Steve, when you're the one who couldn't even manage a real explanation for climbing out my window like a coward this morning."
Something flickered across his face at that, the smugness draining fast, replaced by something more stung and defensive. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it, though?" You kept your voice low, aware of the group still walking just ahead, though the sharpness in it didn't soften at all. "You don't get to tease me about Skull Rock and act like I'm the one avoiding something, when you're the actual expert at disappearing the second things get complicated."
Neither of you said anything else, the easy warmth from a few minutes ago gone completely, replaced by a tense, simmering silence that stretched out the rest of the walk, both of you staring straight ahead, the unresolved weight of everything between you sitting there, sharp and unignorable now, beneath the surface of the quiet.
By the time the trees finally broke open again, full dark had settled over the woods, the group's flashlights cutting narrow, bobbing beams through the black as they stumbled out of the underbrush and found themselves standing at the edge of Lover's Lake, the water stretching out flat and black and silent under the moonlight
"It's the lake," Dustin said, staring down at the compass in his hand, needle spinning wildly despite his best efforts to steady it. "The interference is coming from the lake. It has to be in the water."
"That actually tracks," Nancy said slowly, something grim settling over her expression. "Every time the Demogorgon attacked, back when this all started, it left some kind of opening behind. A tear. If something similar happened out here, it could easily have opened somewhere beneath the surface instead of on land."
You caught, out of the corner of your eye, the particular way Steve was looking at Nancy just then focused, familiar, some old, easy trust passing between them that came from years of history you hadn't been part of — and felt something small and unwelcome twist low in your chest at the sight of it, sharp and instinctive before you could talk yourself out of the feeling entirely.
"So you're saying the gate's actually underwater?" Lucas asked, voice tight with disbelief.
"There's only one way to find out," Steve said, already moving toward the tree line, and a moment later Eddie let out a triumphant shout, yanking a heavy tarp off something half-hidden in the reeds an old aluminum fishing boat, weathered but intact, oars still resting inside.
"Somebody's gonna be missing this," Eddie said, already dragging it toward the water's edge, Steve moving to help him without hesitation, the two of them wrestling the boat down the muddy bank and into the shallow water.
"Robin. Nancy. You're with me," Steve said, holding the boat steady while Eddie helped Nancy climb carefully aboard, then Robin behind her.
Dustin was already wading into the shallows after them, backpack slung over one shoulder. "I'm coming too."
"There's not enough room for everyone, Dustin," Nancy said, not unkindly, though her voice left no room for argument. "You guys need to stay back. It's not safe."
"That's not fair, I want to help—"
Steve cut him off by tossing his backpack back toward the shore, catching him off guard enough that Dustin fumbled to grab it.
"Hey!" Dustin's voice cracked with genuine, wounded outrage. "That is such bull—"
"Sorry," Steve called back, though he didn't sound especially sorry, one hand still braced against the boat, keeping it steady in the shallows.
"It's past your bedtime anyway," Robin added, waving cheerfully at Dustin from her seat.
You stood back with the rest of the kids, Parker close beside you, unsure whether you were actually supposed to be part of this particular plan or not, and it was Eddie, still standing waist-deep beside the boat, who glanced back first, catching your eye across the dark water.
"She's not coming," Steve said immediately, sharp and fast, before you could even open your mouth. "She doesn't know what she's doing out here. She should stay with the kids."
Something hot and immediate flared in your chest at that, humiliation and anger tangling together fast, though before you could respond, Nancy cut in from the boat.
"We could actually use the extra hands," she said, glancing between you and Steve, something pointed in the look she gave him. "More people means faster searching. She’s coming ."
Steve's jaw tightened, though he didn't argue further, and you crossed the muddy bank toward the boat, some stubborn, wounded resolve driving every step, refusing to look at him even once along the way.
"Up you go," Eddie said, cheerful, and before you could climb in yourself, his hands closed around your waist, lifting you easily up and over the side of the boat, setting you down inside with a grin like he'd just done something mildly heroic.
You caught, in the half-second before you turned to find your seat, the sharp, dark look Steve shot toward Eddie across the boat brief, unmistakable, gone again almost as fast as it appeared and felt some small, petty satisfaction curl through you despite the tension still sitting hot in your chest from his comment on the shore.
Eddie climbed in last, shoving the boat the rest of the way off the muddy bank before hopping in himself, and you found yourself wedged into the middle of the boat, squeezed uncomfortably between Robin on one side and Eddie on the other, knees bumping against the cold metal bench, while Steve settled into the back beside Nancy, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched every time the boat rocked, the two of them already falling into quiet, focused conversation about which direction to search first.
You watched them for a second longer than you meant to, that same small, unwelcome twist returning to your chest, before forcing your attention back toward the dark water ahead, telling yourself, firmly, that you had far bigger things to worry about tonight than exactly how close together the two of them were sitting.
The boat settled into a slow, steady drift once Eddie got the oars moving, everyone arranged facing inward toward each other in the cramped space, knees knocking together every time the boat rocked, flashlight beams sweeping restlessly across the black water on either side.
"You're jumpy," Eddie observed, glancing over at you, one eyebrow raised. "Like, actually vibrating a little. You good?"
"I'm fine." Your hands were, in fact, gripping the edge of the bench a little too tightly, and you loosened them deliberately, forcing your shoulders to relax.
"This is exactly why she shouldn't have come," Steve muttered, not quite under his breath, from the back of the boat.
"Okay, well, ignore him." Eddie leaned in slightly, grinning, clearly determined to lighten the mood despite the circumstances. "Honestly, I'm just glad you're back here with me. You smell incredible, for the record. Very calming presence."
"That's a strange thing to say right now."
"I contain multitudes." He leaned in further, sniffing theatrically at your hair before you could fully register what was happening, and pulled back looking thoroughly delighted with himself. "Smells like a cupcake. Genuinely. Like frosting. It's throwing me off my whole vibe out here."
Steve's head turned slowly toward him from across the boat, expression completely flat. "Dude."
"What?" Eddie blinked, entirely unbothered, glancing between Steve's deadpan stare and your own thoroughly mortified expression. "I'm complimenting her. That's a nice thing to do. You should try it sometime."
Robin and Eddie rowed the boat further out, oars dipping steady into the black water, the shoreline shrinking behind you into a distant smear of darkness, until Nancy, squinting hard at the compass in the dim flashlight glow, finally called out.
"Here. Stop here. This is the strongest disruption yet."
The oars stilled, the boat rocking gently to a halt in the middle of the lake, and Steve, without a word of warning, bent down and started untying his shoes.
"What are you doing?" you asked, watching him with sudden, immediate alarm.
"Well, somebody has to go down there and actually look." He tugged his second shoe off, tossing both toward the bottom of the boat, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. "Unless one of you guys happens to have been co-captain of the swim team in high school too, in which case, be my guest."
"You don't have to be the one to do it."
"I kind of do, actually. I'm the only one qualified." He said it simply, no bravado in it, just plain, matter-of-fact certainty.
"I don't want to go down there either, for the record," Eddie added, glancing warily at the black water. "Just so that's on record. I fully support Steve being the one to do this."
"This is a bad idea," you said, voice tight, real fear creeping in now as Steve pulled his shirt over his head. "We don't know what's actually down there."
"I'll be fine." He reached over, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder, warm and steady despite the cold air, some quiet, easy reassurance in the gesture that felt entirely too familiar for the middle of a rescue boat. "I've done scarier things than swim in a lake."
He stood, balancing carefully in the rocking boat, and pulled his shirt off slowly over his head, tossing it onto the pile with his shoes. The flashlight beams caught him at an angle as he turned to grab one from Robin, throwing his broad shoulders and the lean, defined muscle of his back into sharp, momentary relief, a faint scattering of freckles visible across his shoulder blades that you didn't remember from before, or maybe just hadn't let yourself notice in longer than you wanted to admit.
He turned back around, reaching to check the flashlight was working, and you found your gaze drifting without permission — his arms, the solid, familiar shape of his biceps, some old, traitorous memory of exactly how soft his skin actually was despite how strong he looked. Your eyes trailed lower, over his chest, the light dusting of hair there that you'd once known better than your own hands, and you were still staring, thoroughly and unashamedly, when Robin's quiet, amused voice cut in from beside you.
"You gonna say something, or just keep staring?"
You startled hard, heat flooding instantly into your cheeks, and found Robin watching you with a knowing, barely contained grin, having apparently caught the entire, embarrassingly obvious display without you noticing at all.
"You were extremely staring." Robin's grin widened, though she kept her voice low enough that it didn't carry across the boat. "It's fine. I get it. Nobody's judging you. Much."
You turned away fast, mortified, fixing your eyes hard on the black water instead, though the image of him standing there, illuminated in flashlight and moonlight, stayed stubbornly burned into your mind regardless.
Steve moved toward the edge of the boat, flashlight secured to his wrist with a length of cord Nancy had produced from somewhere, and paused there a moment, balancing carefully, before turning back to look at you one last time.
"Don't worry about me," he said, quiet, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. "I'll be right back up."
He didn't wait for a response, turning and diving cleanly into the black water, the splash swallowed almost instantly by the stillness of the lake, and then he was gone, nothing left behind but a fading ripple spreading slowly outward across the surface.
The seconds stretched out unbearably long. You found yourself shifting forward without quite meaning to, hands gripping hard onto the cold metal edge of the boat, leaning out over the water, straining to catch any sign of movement or light beneath the surface.
"He's fine," Robin said, though her own voice had gone tighter than it had been a minute ago, her eyes fixed just as intently on the water. "He's just looking around. It takes time."
You didn't answer, heart pounding, eyes still fixed on the dark, unbroken surface of the lake, counting the seconds in your head without meaning to, the number climbing higher and higher with no sign of him at all.
"He's been down there too long," Robin said finally, voice sharp now, all pretense of calm gone completely, already leaning forward herself, scanning the water with real, visible alarm. "Something's wrong. He should've surfaced by now."
"It's been like four minutes," you said, voice climbing, panic clawing up your throat fast. "That's way too long, that's not normal, somebody has to—"
The water erupted right in front of the boat, Steve breaking the surface with a huge, gasping breath, and you nearly screamed with the sudden shock of it, relief crashing through you so hard your whole body went momentarily weak.
"I found it," he said, breathless, water streaming down his face, already reaching up to grip the edge of the boat for support. "The gate. It's down there, it's real, I found it."
His hand landed directly over yours where it still gripped the metal edge, warm despite the cold lake water, and neither of you moved to pull away, some old, instinctive comfort passing between you even in the chaos of the moment.
"How big?" Nancy asked, leaning forward urgently.
"Not snack-sized." Steve managed a breathless, exhausted almost-grin despite everything. "Not mama-sized either, if that's a category, which it's apparently not, according to Dustin. But it's big. Pretty damn big."
You barely had time to process the answer before something yanked him violently downward, his hand tearing away from yours as he vanished beneath the surface without so much as a warning, the water closing back over him instantly.
"Steve!" You didn't think, didn't hesitate, lunging forward over the edge of the boat, plunging your arm into the freezing water until your hand closed around something solid — his forearm, thrashing weakly beneath the surface — and you gripped it with everything you had, nails digging in hard, refusing to let go no matter how hard the force seemed to be pulling against you.
A moment later his own hand found your forearm in return, gripping back just as tightly, and you held on with everything you had, your nails sinking hard enough into his skin that you knew it had to hurt, though neither of you loosened your grip even slightly.
Then, silently, without warning, he broke the surface again.
No gasping this time, no dramatic splash just Steve, suddenly there, still gripping your forearm, water streaming down his face in the quiet dark, blinking around at all of you with a slow, dazed confusion, like he wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten back to the surface at all.
Nobody said anything for a long moment, the whole boat frozen, watching him.
The silence shattered the instant something wrenched him back down.
It happened so fast you didn't have time to let go his grip locked hard around your forearm, yours locked just as hard around his, and the sudden, violent force of it yanked you clean over the edge of the boat before you could even register what was happening, the world tipping sideways in a blur of flashlight beams and screaming and then, all at once, cold.
The lake swallowed you whole, black and freezing and utterly silent beneath the surface, the shock of it slamming the air straight out of your lungs. Everything above dissolved instantly into muffled, distant chaos, and you kicked hard, disoriented, your fingers still locked around Steve's arm in the dark, water pressing thick and heavy against your ears, your chest already burning with the desperate need for air you didn't have.
Above the surface, the night exploded into sound.
"Y/N!" Robin's voice tore across the water, raw with panic, and beside her Nancy was already screaming too, both names colliding into one frantic, overlapping cry — "Steve! Y/N!" — while Eddie scrambled for the oars, the boat rocking wildly as all three of them strained toward the spot where you'd both disappeared beneath the black, unbroken water.
Beneath the surface, you felt Steve's grip on your arm suddenly release, torn away by whatever force was dragging him down into the dark, but your own fingers stayed locked around his forearm, refusing to let go even as the current wrenched violently at both of you, pulling you deeper, down toward the black, silent floor of the lake, lungs screaming, until you saw it a jagged, pulsing tear in the darkness below, edges glowing faint and sickly, and the force dragged you straight into it.
You were pulled out on the other side hard, reached for anything to grab on as you were yanked across the ground.
You lay there gasping, disoriented, and slowly became aware of the world around you a sky the color of old bruises, streaked with crawling threads of red lightning that pulsed and flickered without ever fully fading, the air thick and cold and wrong in a way that settled deep into your bones. Vines coiled everywhere, thick and dark and faintly pulsing, crawling up every surface in sight, and a fine, ashen debris drifted down from the sky like snow that had never once been cold enough to be beautiful.
Steve was already on his feet a few yards away, chest heaving, and the second his eyes found you, something furious and terrified twisted across his face.
"You should have let go of me!" His voice cracked, raw with fear rather than anger, though it landed the same either way. "Why didn't you let go, you could've stayed up there, you could've been safe—"
He didn't get to finish. A vine shot out from the ground behind him, coiling fast and tight around his ankle, and before he could react a second one whipped up and around his throat, yanking him backward off his feet with brutal, sudden force.
"Steve!" You scrambled up, screaming his name, and spotted an old, rotted oar half-buried in the debris nearby, snatching it up and swinging hard at the vine wrapped around his leg, the impact jarring up through your arms without doing nearly enough damage.
You didn't see the demobat until it was already on you.
It hit you with a sickening, wet impact, teeth sinking deep into your shoulder before you even registered the shriek of its wings, pain exploding white-hot and immediate through your entire body, and your own scream tore out of you, raw and involuntary, the oar clattering uselessly to the ground as your knees buckled beneath the sudden, agonizing weight of it.
Above the water, Nancy didn't hesitate.
"We're going in," she said, already yanking her jacket off, voice hard with certainty. "Robin, Eddie, now."
Nobody argued. The three of them went over the side of the boat together, plunging into the freezing black water without a second's pause, kicking hard downward through the dark toward the same jagged, glowing tear you'd been dragged through moments before, and the lake spat them out on the other side in a tangled, gasping heap.
They landed just in time to see the full scope of it — Steve on his back, the vine around his throat cinched tight enough that his face had gone a deep, alarming red, hands scrabbling uselessly at it while his legs kicked against the one still wrapped around his ankle, and you, a few feet away, still fighting with the oar in one hand while the demobat clung to your shoulder, teeth sunk deep, wings beating hard against your back.
Nancy moved first, sprinting toward Steve and dropping to her knees beside him, both hands wrenching at the vine around his throat with a controlled, practiced fury, muscles straining as she fought the thing's rubbery, unnatural strength.
"Help me get this off him!" she shouted, and Robin was there a second later, yanking at the vine around his ankle instead, bracing one boot against the ground for leverage, teeth gritted, hauling with everything she had.
Eddie broke off toward you instead, snatching up a fallen branch as he ran, swinging it hard at the demobat still latched onto your shoulder, connecting with a wet, cracking thud that finally, mercifully, sent the creature reeling backward off you, screeching as it scrabbled to right itself in the ash-choked air.
"Get up, get up, come on—" Eddie hauled you up by the arm not currently bleeding, dragging you a few stumbling steps back from the creature as it circled, disoriented, before it finally shrieked and darted off into the dark tangle of vines beyond.
A second demobat shot out from the tangled vines before anyone could move, diving straight at you, and this time you were ready, swinging the fallen oar in a hard, desperate arc that caught the creature mid-flight and sent it screeching sideways into the dirt.
It recovered fast, scrambling back up onto leathery wings, and lunged again before you could reset your grip, teeth sinking deep into your side just above your hip, and the pain of it lit something furious and unhinged in your chest that burned straight through the fear.
You didn't scream this time. You grabbed the creature by whatever you could get a grip on, wrenching it off your own body with a vicious, tearing motion, and slammed it hard into the ground, bringing the oar down again and again in short, brutal strikes until it stopped moving entirely, your whole body shaking with adrenaline, blood roaring loud in your ears.
A few feet away, Steve had gone entirely feral, one hand still clawing at the vine wrapped tight around his throat while two more demobats tore at his stomach and sides, teeth ripping through skin, and instead of flinching away he bent forward and sank his own teeth into the vine at his neck, biting down hard until it finally split and released, the pressure at his throat giving way all at once.
He came up gasping, blood smeared dark across his mouth and chin, and didn't hesitate one foot came down hard on the head of the nearest bat, crushing it flat with a sickening, wet crunch, and his hand shot out and grabbed the tail of the second before it could retreat, wrenching it violently until the creature tore apart in his grip, its shrieking cut off mid-sound.
He stood there a moment, chest heaving, blood dripping steadily from his mouth, surrounded by the wreckage of both creatures, and the whole clearing fell into a stunned, ringing silence, the only sound left the distant, pulsing hum of the red lightning overhead.
"We need to go," Nancy said again, quieter now, though the urgency in her voice hadn't lessened at all.
She crossed to Steve first, still shirtless, blood streaked dark down his chest and stomach from the bites, and grabbed his arm to turn him gently toward the dim, pulsing light, checking the damage with quick, careful hands.
"These are deep," she said, voice tight. "You're gonna need stitches. Multiple sets, probably."
"They took a pound of my skin, at minimum," Steve said, breathless, managing something that might have been a joke if his voice hadn't been shaking so badly.
"Do bats carry rabies?" Robin blurted, from a few feet away, voice climbing with sudden, genuine alarm. "Like, regular bats do, right? Does that apply to whatever those things were? I've always had a thing about rabies, it's a very specific fear of mine, I don't love this development at all—"
Nobody answered her, Nancy's hands still moving carefully over Steve's wounds, and Steve, ignoring Robin entirely, turned instead toward where you sat on the ground, blood soaking through your own shirt, and something in his face cracked open into raw, unfiltered fury.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" His voice tore out loud and sharp across the clearing, chest still heaving. "Why couldn't you just let go? You could've stayed on the other side, you could've been safe, and instead you made this whole thing so much worse, for both of us, because you couldn't just—"
You didn't answer. You couldn't. Shock had settled somewhere deep and hollow in your chest, and you sat there in the dirt, blood-soaked and shaking, tears sliding silently down your face without a single sound to go with them, unable to summon a single word in your own defense.
"Steve." Eddie's voice cut in sharp, already crossing toward you. "Enough. Look at her, man, she's in shock, this isn't the moment."
Steve's jaw worked, something in his expression cracking further, though he didn't say anything else, and Eddie crouched down in front of you instead, careful and gentle, offering both hands.
"Hey. Come on. Let's get you up." He helped you to your feet slowly, one arm braced firm around your back, and the second you were upright the whole clearing tilted sideways, dark spots crowding fast into the edges of your vision, your knees wobbling unsteadily before Eddie's grip tightened, holding you upright.
"Whoa, hey, I got you." His voice had gone careful, alarmed. "You with me?"
"I'm okay," you managed, voice thin, leaning heavily into his side as the dizziness slowly began to ease, though your legs still felt distant and unreliable beneath you.
"We need to get under cover," Nancy said, already scanning the tree line, voice sharp with urgency. "Now, before anything else finds us out in the open. Head for the trees."
The group moved fast, Eddie keeping one arm braced firmly around you the whole way, half-supporting your weight as you stumbled through the ash-choked debris toward the dense, twisted line of trees ahead, Nancy and Robin flanking Steve, who moved stiffly, favoring his side, blood still dripping steadily from the bites along his stomach.
You reached the tree line just as the pulsing red light overhead flickered and dimmed slightly, the whole group pressing close together in the shadow of the twisted trunks, breathing hard, scanning the clearing behind you for any further sign of movement in the dark.
"Okay," Nancy said quietly, once you'd all crowded into the relative cover of the trees. "Okay. We're okay. For now."
Nobody fully believed it, the tension in the group still humming thick and unresolved, but nobody argued either, all of you huddled together in the strange, wrong quiet of the Upside Down, waiting to see what came next.
It was only a few minutes later that Steve's face went suddenly pale, his hand shooting out to brace against the nearest tree, and he stumbled sideways into a jagged outcrop of rock, catching himself hard against it with a pained grunt.
"Whoa, hey." Nancy was at his side instantly, hands already moving over him, checking his eyes, his pulse, the deep, still-bleeding wounds along his stomach. "You're losing too much blood. We need to slow this down right now."
She tore a long strip from the hem of her own shirt without hesitation, wrapping it tight around the worst of the bite marks along his side, her hands sure and steady despite the urgency, murmuring low, quiet instructions the entire time “hold still, breathe, I've got you” and Steve let her, leaning into her hands, his own breath ragged and shallow, some old, easy trust passing between them in the careful, practiced way she worked.
You watched from a few feet away, still leaning against Eddie, and felt something sharp and hollow open up in your chest at the sight of it — the closeness, the familiarity, the quiet, unthinking way Nancy's hands moved over him like she'd done it a hundred times before, like she knew exactly how to take care of him in a way you weren't entirely sure you'd ever fully learned yourself. And you were ashamed to admit that all those feelings of Steve cheating before you knew the truth came rushing back.
Steve's eyes lifted briefly, meeting Nancy's, something silent and grateful passing between them, and you felt another tear slip free down your cheek, quiet and unbidden, though whether it came from the pain in your own shoulder or the specific, aching shape of watching the two of them like that, you honestly couldn't have said.
Eddie's arm tightened slightly around you, and you didn't know if he'd noticed the tear or just felt you go rigid beside him, but he didn't say anything either way, just held on, steady and quiet, while Nancy finished tying off the makeshift bandage and Steve's breathing slowly began to even out.
"Okay, your turn," Robin said, turning toward you, already crouching down to get a proper look. "Let me see."
"You are extremely not fine, you've got blood soaked through your entire shirt." Robin reached for the collar of your shirt, trying to pull it aside enough to see the wound properly, but the fabric wouldn't shift far enough, clinging stubborn and heavy where the blood had already started to dry. "Okay, this isn't working. Just take it off."
"I'm not asking." Robin was already tugging at the hem, practical and unbothered, and you tried, weakly, to bat her hands away, though between the dizziness and the ache radiating hot through your shoulder, you didn't have much fight left to offer, and a moment later she'd pulled the shirt over your head entirely, leaving you sitting there in the cold, ash-choked air in nothing but your bra, a soft pink lace now soaked dark and heavy along one side.
The bite on your shoulder was worse than you'd realized, still gushing steady and dark despite the pressure you'd been holding against it without thinking, and the one at your waist, while shallower, had left an ugly, torn ring of punctures along your side.
"Damn," Eddie said, from somewhere behind Robin, low and appreciative despite the circumstances. "Even covered in blood, I'd still—"
"Eddie," Robin said flatly, not looking up from your shoulder.
"I'm just saying, it's a compliment—"
Across the clearing, Steve's head snapped up at the sound of Eddie's voice, and whatever half-formed protest had been building in his throat died instantly the second his eyes actually landed on you — the blood, the torn, ragged wound at your shoulder, the pale, shaking way you sat there while Robin worked. His breath caught audibly in his throat, every trace of exhaustion and lingering anger draining from his face all at once, replaced by something raw and stricken.
He was already moving, Nancy right behind him, both of them crossing the small clearing fast, and you watched them come, some small, exhausted part of you registering, distantly, that whatever had been sitting so painfully between you and Nancy a few minutes ago had apparently been forgotten entirely the second he'd actually seen how badly you were hurt.
Robin finished securing the last of the makeshift bandage around your shoulder a few minutes later, sitting back on her heels with a tired, satisfied nod. "That should hold for now. You need real stitches, though, and probably sooner rather than later."
"Guys, look at this." Eddie had wandered a few steps away, staring up at the pulsing, streaked red sky overhead, and Nancy and Robin both drifted over to join him, murmuring low, tense speculation about the strange, crawling patterns of light, leaving you and Steve alone at the edge of the small clearing without either of you quite meaning to end up that way.
Steve crossed the last few feet toward you slowly, carefully, and knelt down in front of you, hands hovering uncertain in the air for a moment before he finally, gently pulled you into his arms, mindful of your shoulder, holding you like you might shatter if he wasn't careful enough.
Something in you broke completely at the contact, and you started crying, silent at first and then not, the whole terrible, exhausting weight of the entire night finally crashing down all at once — the lake, the gate, the vines, the blood, everything.
Neither of you said much of anything at first. He didn't ask what was wrong, didn't need to, just held on, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles against your uninjured shoulder, some old, easy understanding passing wordlessly between you — that this was simply what you needed right now, and that he was, without either of you having to say it out loud, the only person here who actually knew how to give it to you.
"I've got you," he murmured, quiet, into your hair, and you let yourself sink into it completely, some exhausted, grateful part of you recognizing how easily, how naturally, both of you had slipped back into this particular rhythm, like no time had passed at all.
"You scared me," you managed eventually, voice thick, still shaking slightly. "When you went under and didn't come back up."
"I know." His hand kept moving, steady and slow. "You scared me too. Diving in after me like that."
"I wasn't gonna just let go."
"Yeah. I got that." A small, tired huff of breath, almost a laugh. "Reckless. Both of us."
"Comes with the territory."
"Guess it does." He pressed his lips briefly to the top of your head, unhurried, and you felt some of the shaking finally start to ease, the simple, steady weight of him around you doing more to settle you than any amount of talking could have managed.
You stayed like that a while longer, neither of you rushing to move, the quiet between you easy in a way it hadn't been in longer than you could remember, and when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, something warm cut through the exhaustion in his expression.
"For what it's worth," he said, a small, tired smile tugging at his mouth, "you still look really hot. Even covered in blood. I don't know what that says about me."
You let out a real, watery laugh at that, half sob and half genuine amusement, and he smiled properly then, relief flooding fully into his expression at the sound of it, pulling you back into his arms and holding on tight, both of you kneeling there together in the strange, wrong quiet of the Upside Down, momentarily, impossibly, okay.
The others drifted back a few minutes later, and Steve was the one who helped you to your feet, careful and steady, one arm braced firm around your waist to keep you upright.
"Okay, this is ridiculous," Robin said, taking one look at you standing there in nothing but your bra and the makeshift bandage, and immediately started unbuttoning the shirt she had on over her T-shirt. "Here. Your shirt's completely ruined anyway."
She helped you shrug into it carefully, working around your bandaged shoulder, and you sank gratefully into the warmth of it, some small, human comfort amid everything else.
Eddie glanced over at Steve then, still shirtless, and wrinkled his nose in mock disapproval. "And you. Put something on, man, this is a family-friendly rescue mission." He shrugged out of his denim cutoff jacket and tossed it directly at Steve's chest. "Stop being so scandalous."
"I got attacked by demon bats, Eddie, I think I'm allowed a little scandal."
"Nobody's arguing that. I'm just saying, cover up. Some of us are trying to focus." Eddie gestured vaguely toward the pulsing red sky. "This is a very stressful environment already, I don't need shirtless Steve Harrington adding to the chaos."
Steve huffed out a tired, genuine laugh despite everything, pulling the jacket on over his bandaged, blood-streaked chest, and the group fell into a brief, exhausted quiet, everyone taking stock of the wreckage of the last half hour before Nancy finally spoke up.
"Okay. We know the gate's here. We know it's real. That's more than we had an hour ago." She glanced around at all of you, exhaustion and resolve both plain on her face. "But we need to get out of here, regroup, and figure out our next move properly. This wasn't supposed to be a full expedition."
Nobody argued. The group started picking through the debris and vines, searching for a way forward instead of back, and you fell into step beside Steve, his arm still steady around your waist, both of you moving slower than the rest, worn down and battered but upright.
"We're not going back yet," Nancy said, checking the makeshift map she'd sketched earlier, voice tight with exhaustion but resolve. "My house should be this way. I've got two guns in my closet, old revolver and a shotgun. If they're mirrored over here too, that's actual firepower, way better than anything we've got right now."
The walk to the Upside Down version of Nancy's house took the better part of twenty minutes, picking carefully through the twisted, ash-choked version of familiar streets, houses reduced to crumbling, vine-choked shells of themselves, the whole neighborhood eerily recognizable and completely wrong at the same time. Nancy's house, when you reached it, stood mostly intact structurally, though the inside had rotted through with the same thick, pulsing growth as everything else, and she led the way straight to her bedroom closet, tearing through the rotted remains of hanging clothes and collapsed shelving with growing urgency.
"They're not here." Her voice had gone tight, disbelieving, hands still searching through the wreckage of the closet floor. "They should be right here, exactly where they are on the other side, I don't understand—"
"Maybe things don't mirror perfectly," Robin offered, though she didn't sound entirely convinced herself. "Or maybe somebody already took them."
"Who would've taken them?" Nancy's voice climbed, frustration and exhaustion both bleeding through. "Nothing lives over here except monsters, as far as we know."
Nobody had a good answer for that, the unsettling implication of it sitting heavy in the room, and Nancy finally straightened, jaw tight, abandoning the search.
"Fine. We don't have time to keep looking." She dragged a hand through her hair, visibly frustrated. "We'll have to make do with what we've got."
Eddie, who'd been quiet through most of the search, went suddenly still.
"Chrissy died there." His voice dropped low, grim, the memory clearly costing him something to say out loud. "Right there in my living room. If a death opens a gate the way it did for Patrick, there could be one closer to my place too. And if there's a version of my trailer over here, there might be stuff worth grabbing — tools, at least, maybe something sharper than a kitchen knife."
"That's actually smart," Nancy said slowly. "More ground to search, more chances of actually finding something useful. Or finding him."
"It also means getting close to the one place the actual police are probably watching hardest right now," Eddie pointed out, tension threading through his voice despite the resolve underneath it. "Well. The real version, anyway. This version's probably just full of monsters instead of cops."
"Small mercies," Robin muttered.
The group set off again, the mirrored streets stretching out dark and unfamiliar around you, and it took nearly forty minutes of careful, exhausted walking before the Upside Down's twisted version of Eddie's trailer park finally came into view, his own trailer sitting crooked and half-collapsed amid the wreckage, thick ropes of vine crawling up through what used to be the front steps.
"Home sweet home," Eddie said, voice flat, and led the way inside.
The trailer's interior had rotted through completely, furniture reduced to collapsed, vine-choked husks, but it was the ceiling that caught everyone's attention first — a jagged, pulsing tear stretched wide across it, faint light bleeding through from the other side.
"Guys." Eddie's voice had gone tight, staring up at it. "That's — I think that's my actual living room. The real one."
You crowded beneath it, craning your necks upward, and through the shifting, sickly glow of the tear, four familiar faces stared back down at you from the other side.
"Oh my God." Dustin's voice carried thin and distant through the gap. "You guys are actually down there. Parker said he had a bad feeling and made us come check, and we found this thing in the ceiling—"
"Get us a rope," Nancy called up, already scanning the wreckage of the trailer for anything useful. "Anything sturdy. We need a way across."
There was a scramble of movement above, muffled voices arguing, and a moment later Dustin's arm lifted feeding down a length of knotted, twisted bedsheets, tying the end off around something solid on his side before letting the rest drop.
"Test it first!" Max called down.
Robin grabbed the makeshift rope, giving it a hard, testing tug, and when it held firm she started climbing without further hesitation, hauling herself up through the tear and disappearing through to the other side, and a few seconds later her muffled, relieved voice confirmed a soft landing — a mattress, dragged beneath the opening on the other side.
Eddie went next, then Nancy, both of them vanishing quickly through the gap, and you stepped forward to follow, reaching up for the rope—
—and the world dropped out from beneath you.
Your whole body seized, arm still raised, fingers curling uselessly around empty air, every muscle locking rigid all at once as though something had reached inside you and simply switched you off. The trailer, the rope, the pale light bleeding down through the tear above — all of it began to bleed away at the edges, color draining first, then shape, then sound, the world folding in on itself like a photograph curling in flame.
"Y/N?" Steve's voice, close behind you, edged with immediate concern, and then, sharper, panic bleeding fast into it. "Y/N — hey, look at me, what's happening, say something—"
You couldn't. Your jaw had locked shut, your throat closed around nothing, your eyes wide open and staring at absolutely nothing at all while your mind fell somewhere else entirely, plummeting fast into a silence so total it felt like drowning.
"Y/N!" His voice again, further away now, warped and stretched thin, and then gone completely.
Steve had never felt real terror like this before, not even in the water, not even watching the vine cinch tight around his own throat nothing compared to the sight of you standing frozen, eyes wide open and utterly vacant, staring at nothing while your whole body trembled with some invisible, internal violence he had absolutely no way to fight.
"Y/N, come on, stay with me—" His hands hovered uselessly near your shoulders, terrified to grab you too hard, terrified not to grab you at all. "Somebody help me, something's wrong with her, she's not—"
Above, through the jagged tear in the ceiling, Dustin's face appeared again, peering down, and his expression shattered the instant he saw you.
"Oh my God." His voice cracked, panic flooding it instantly. "That's what happens to Parker. That's exactly what happens to Parker, we need to get down there—"
"No, stay up there, keep the kids safe," Steve shouted back, though his own voice was shaking now too, hands still hovering, desperate and helpless.
Robin's head appeared through the tear a beat later, having scrambled back up from the trailer below, face going white the second she took in the scene. "Steve, what happened, what's wrong with her—"
"I don't know, she just stopped, she just froze, and I don't know what to do, I don't know how to fix this—" His voice broke completely, raw panic bleeding through every word, and behind Robin, Nancy and Eddie crowded closer to the opening too, all of them staring down helplessly, unable to do anything except watch.
"Parker's episodes usually last under a minute," Max's voice called down, tight and frightened. "If it's the same thing, she should come out of it soon, just — don't leave her alone, keep talking to her—"
Steve barely heard her, some old, desperate instinct taking over completely, and he gripped your shoulders hard, shaking you gently, screaming your name into the vacant, terrifying stillness of your own eyes.
A vast, cavernous darkness swallowed you whole, endless in every direction, threaded through with slow, crawling veins of red light that pulsed like something breathing, and the air itself felt thick, wrong, pressing in against your skin with a cold, suffocating weight. Somewhere far off, something enormous shifted, and the sound of it wet, grinding, deliberate rolled through the dark like thunder before the shape finally emerged from the shadows, unhurried, patient, savoring the slow, inevitable approach.
It was tall. Impossibly tall, limbs stretched too long, joints bending in directions no human joint should bend, its gray, ruined skin pulled taut and cratered over a skull-like face, deep, dark hollows where eyes its eyes were. And when it got close enough you figured it had to be vecna.
The voice rolled through you like something physical, low and resonant, vibrating in your chest and skull at once, and you tried to run, tried to scream, tried to do anything at all, and found your body simply would not obey, frozen in place while the thing that could only be Vecna drifted closer, close enough now that you could feel the cold radiating off him, close enough to see every horrific detail of its ruined face in perfect, unbearable clarity.
"Your brother has been very useful to me,"he said, something almost fond curling through the horrible cadence of its voice, a monstrous parody of warmth. "He doesn't even know how much of himself he's already given away. All those quiet moments, staring at nothing — he's been mine for weeks. Watching. Listening. Telling me everything I need to know about all of you."
"No—" The word tore out of you distorted and strange, your own voice sounding like it belonged to someone else entirely, swallowed instantly by the vast, pressing dark.
"When I'm finished with him," he continued, closer still, close enough that its breath — cold, sour, ancient — washed over your face, "I'm going to end him. Slowly. The way I ended the others. Bone by bone. And you're going to watch, the same way you're watching now."
You screamed then, a raw, ragged sound that tore something loose in your throat, thrashing violently against the frozen, useless weight of your own body, desperate to run, to wake, to do anything at all except stand there while it studied you with those hollow, empty eyes, the darkness pressing in thicker and thicker until it felt like it might crush you entirely—
Steve's hands slammed hard against your face, gripping you firm on both sides, and the darkness shattered instantly, violently, the trailer rushing back into focus around you all at once his face inches from yours, eyes wide and wild with terror, both hands cradling your jaw like he could physically anchor you back into the world through sheer force alone.
"Y/N, hey, hey, look at me, you're here, you're okay, I've got you—" His voice cracked completely, raw and desperate, thumbs pressing hard and frantic against your cheeks. "Say something. Please. Please, say something."
You gasped, air flooding back into your lungs in one violent, ragged pull, your whole body shaking so hard your teeth chattered, and Steve dragged you hard against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, holding on like he was terrified you might slip away again the second he let go.
"I'm here," you managed, voice barely a whisper, tears streaming hot and fast down your face. "I'm here. I'm here."
Steve didn't loosen his grip for a long moment, holding you close, one hand still cradling the back of your head, his own breathing ragged and uneven against your hair, and it was only when your own trembling finally began to ease that he pulled back just enough to look at you properly, scanning your face with wild, searching eyes.
"We need to get you through," he said, voice still shaking. "Now. I'm not letting you out of my sight until we know you're actually okay."
He helped you to the rope himself, one arm braced firm around your waist the entire climb, practically lifting you through the tear when your own legs threatened to give out, and the two of you emerged into the real, ordinary chaos of Eddie's actual trailer, Robin and Nancy already crowded close, faces tight with worry.
Dustin, Max, and Lucas stood near the mattress on the floor, and Parker, pale and frightened, was the first to reach you, grabbing your arm the second your feet touched solid ground.
"What happened?" His voice cracked, eyes wide, darting between you and Steve, who still hadn't let go of your waist. "You're wearing Robin's shirt. What happened down there?"
"Later," Steve said, tight, still scanning your face for any sign you weren't fully back yet.
"No, I want to know now." Parker's voice climbed, fear making it sharp. "Something happened. I could tell, I could feel it, kind of, the same way I always know when something's wrong with me—"
Max stepped closer too, expression grim. "Did you have an episode? Like Parker's?"
You nodded slowly, throat tight, and the whole trailer went quiet, everyone's attention fixed entirely on you now.
"What did you see?" Dustin asked, voice hushed.
You glanced at Steve, who nodded once, small and steady, one hand still resting warm against your back, and you took a shaking breath before you finally told them the darkness, the crawling red light, the thing that could only be Vecna emerging from the shadows, his ruined, cratered face, the low, resonant voice, the words that had cut straight through you.
"He said Parker's been giving him information," you said, voice breaking, glancing toward your brother, guilt and fear tangling together fast in your chest at the way his face went instantly, completely pale. "Without even knowing it. That he's been watching us through him for weeks."
The silence that followed was absolute, Parker's hands beginning to shake at his sides, and Steve's arm tightened around you protectively, though his eyes, too, had gone dark and afraid, the full weight of what you'd just said settling heavy over the entire room.
"And when he's done with him," you continued, voice barely holding together now, "he said he's going to kill him. Slowly."
Nobody said anything for a long, terrible moment, the whole trailer frozen in the horror of it, and Steve, still holding you close, didn't move an inch, didn't loosen his grip once, standing there beside you like he had absolutely no intention of ever letting go again.
"He's gonna kill me?" Parker's voice cracked completely, all the color draining from his face at once, his hands shaking visibly now. "Like, actually kill me? Soon?"
"We don't know what soon means," Nancy said quickly, though her own voice had gone tight with alarm. "It could mean anything. Days, weeks—"
"It sounded like soon," you said, guilt twisting sharp in your chest at the way Parker flinched at the words. "I'm sorry. I don't want to lie to you about it."
"Okay, wait, back up." Robin held up both hands, looking between all of you with genuine confusion. "How is he watching us through Parker? What does that actually mean? Like, literally?"
"I don't know," you admitted. "He just said Parker's been giving him information. Watching. Listening. I don't know if that means he can see through Parker's eyes, or just picks things up somehow during the episodes, or—"
"That's genuinely terrifying, either way," Eddie muttered.
"So every time Parker's had one of these episodes," Nancy said slowly, working through it out loud, "Vecna's been getting information. About us. About the investigation. About everything we've been planning."
"He knew things," Max said suddenly, eyes widening. "Remember? At the cabin, when we were talking about the anchor song plan, and then two days later it felt like he was already ahead of us on something we hadn't even told anyone about—"
"That could've just been a coincidence," Lucas said, though he didn't sound convinced of it himself
"I don't think it was," Dustin said quietly, staring at Parker with something stricken and guilty. "Man, I'm sorry. This isn't your fault. You know that, right? You didn't choose any of this."
Parker didn't answer, staring down at his own shaking hands, and you reached for him instinctively, pulling him into a tight, fierce hug despite the ache still radiating through your bandaged shoulder, and felt him shake harder against you, silent and terrified, while the rest of the group fell into anxious, overlapping speculation around you, none of it landing anywhere close to an actual plan.
"Okay." Nancy's voice finally cut through the noise, firm and steady despite the exhaustion clearly weighing on her too. "We're not gonna solve this tonight. We've all been through more than enough for one day, and it's nearly two in the morning. Steve and Y/N both need actual medical attention, real stitches, not just bandages held together with hope. We need to go home, rest, and regroup properly tomorrow when we're not all running on fumes and adrenaline."
"We can't just leave this," Dustin protested.
"We're not leaving it. We're pausing it, because none of us are thinking clearly enough right now to actually help." Nancy's voice softened slightly, though it didn't lose its firmness. "Parker's safe tonight. That much we know. Let's get everyone home, patched up, and actually rested, and we'll figure out the next steps in the morning with clear heads instead of panic."
Nobody argued further, exhaustion finally winning out over the urgency still humming beneath the surface, and the group began the slow, quiet process of gathering everyone up, Robin ushering the younger kids toward the door, Eddie lingering a moment longer to grip Parker's shoulder and murmur something low and reassuring before following.
Steve didn't leave your side the entire time, one arm still braced protectively around you as you made your way out to the cars, and Nancy caught your eye once on the way out, something quiet and understanding passing between you.
"Get some rest," she said simply. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
"Okay," you agreed, voice hoarse, and let Steve guide you toward the car, the whole exhausting, terrifying night finally, mercifully, drawing to some kind of close.
Your house was dark and silent by the time Parker went straight up to bed, wrung out and pale, and you retreated to your own room, peeling off Robin's borrowed shirt and the ruined bandage beneath it to clean the bite wound properly at your bathroom sink.
You stood there a long moment first, just staring at your own reflection in the mirror — pale, hollow-eyed, dried blood still crusted along your collarbone and down one arm, the deep, ragged wound at your shoulder an angry, swollen red under the harsh bathroom light. You barely recognized yourself. Twenty-four hours ago you'd been agonizing over an outfit for a movie night. Now you were standing here having survived a literal monster, a trip through an actual gate into another dimension, and a vision of something ancient and unspeakable telling you it planned to murder your little brother slowly, bone by bone, while you watched.
You pressed a soaked cotton pad to the wound and hissed, the sting of antiseptic sharp and immediate, and let yourself finally sit with everything you hadn't had room to feel while it was actually happening. The fear had been the first thing, sharp and animal, the second the demobat's teeth had sunk into your skin but underneath that had been something else, something that had followed you the entire night without ever fully surfacing until now. Confusion, mostly. A dizzy, disorienting sense of your whole understanding of the world cracking open all at once, of everything you'd spent the last few weeks slowly, painfully learning to accept Vecna, the gate, the danger hanging over Parker suddenly becoming horrifyingly, undeniably real in a way secondhand explanations had never quite managed to make it.
You thought about the vision itself, the cold, ancient weight of that voice rolling through your chest, and felt your hands start to shake again despite the wound already mostly cleaned, some delayed, physical echo of the terror finally catching up with you now that there was nobody left to be strong in front of. You thought about Parker's face, pale and shaking, and the particular, specific horror of realizing he'd been unknowingly compromised for weeks, feeding information to something that intended to kill him. You thought about Steve's hands on your face, screaming your name, the sheer, naked panic in his voice pulling you back from wherever you'd gone.
You pressed a fresh bandage over the wound with hands that still hadn't fully steadied, and sat there on the edge of the bathtub a moment longer, letting yourself cry quietly, just for a minute, just enough to release some of the pressure that had been building all night without ever having a proper outlet not fear exactly, not grief exactly, just the sheer, overwhelming weight of everything colliding at once, threatening to break you open if you didn't let a little of it out somewhere safe.
You wiped your face, walked into your bedroom and pulled on an old, soft T-shirt, and were reaching for a fresh pair of shorts when the window slid open behind you with a familiar, quiet creak, and you spun around to find Steve climbing awkwardly through it, wincing as the movement pulled at his own freshly cleaned wounds.
"You have got to stop doing that," you said, though there was no real heat left in your voice, exhaustion having burned through every ounce of energy you might have otherwise spent being annoyed.
"I know." He dropped down onto your floor, breathless, careful of his own bandaged side. "I just stay home yet. Not after tonight."
"Why are you here, Steve?" You crossed your arms, some old, wary instinct rising despite the exhaustion, despite everything the two of you had already survived together in the last few hours. "What do you actually—"
You didn't get to finish the question. He crossed the room in two fast strides and kissed you, hard and rushed, like he was trying to pour an entire conversation into it instead of speaking a single word everything he couldn't quite say out loud, the terror of watching you freeze and go vacant beneath the trailer's collapsed ceiling, the raw, gutting fear of screaming your name into nothing and getting nothing back, the sheer, disbelieving relief of you still being here, warm and breathing and alive beneath his hands.
One hand slid into your hair, the other curling firm around your waist, pulling you flush against him with an urgency that left no room for hesitation, his mouth moving against yours desperate and unrelenting, like he needed the physical proof of you more than he needed air. You made a small, startled sound against his mouth, and then kissed him back just as fiercely, every ounce of fear and adrenaline and grief the whole night had left unspent finally pouring into it all at once, your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt , dragging him closer, some desperate, wordless need overtaking every careful, rational thought either of you might have otherwise had.
Neither of you slowed down, the kiss too frantic, too hungry, too much like a confession neither of you had the language for yet, and you understood, somewhere beneath the haze of it, exactly what he was actually trying to say “i thought I lost you, I can't lose you, please don't ever let that happen again’’ all of it pressed into the desperate, unrelenting shape of his mouth against yours instead of spoken aloud.
He backed you gently toward the bed, mouth never leaving yours, careful of your bandaged shoulder even in the urgency of it, and you let him, some reckless, exhausted part of you unwilling to fight the pull of him for even one more second, the whole terrifying, impossible night finally, completely dissolving into nothing but the two of you, tangled together, both of you needing, more than anything else, to simply know the other one was still here.
Your knees hit the edge of the mattress and he laid you back fast, the momentum of it nearly toppling you both, his weight coming down over you almost immediately, one arm braced hard beside your head, mindful just enough of your injured shoulder even through the frantic pace of everything else. His hands moved fast and restless, sliding down your side, along your waist, up beneath the hem of your shirt to splay hot against your ribs, like he couldn't decide where to touch first and needed all of it at once, right now, no patience left for anything slower.
You arched up into him without thinking, breath coming quick and shallow, and felt him press his hips against yours hard and sudden, a rough, unsteady sound tearing out of him against your mouth at the contact, and the two of you moved together fast and urgent, nothing careful or measured about it, just heat and momentum and the desperate, unrelenting need to close every last inch of distance between you.
His hands found the hem of your shirt again, tugging it up and over your head in one fast, impatient motion, mouth barely leaving yours the entire time, and when he pulled back just far enough to actually look at you, something raw and unguarded flickered across his face.
"I just needed to feel you," he said, voice rough and rushed, hands already sliding back over bare skin like he couldn't stand another second without touching you properly. "All of you. I needed to know you're actually here."
"I'm here," you breathed, and pulled him back down before either of you could say another word.
His mouth found the uninjured side of your neck instead, trailing hot, urgent kisses down toward your collarbone, and you tilted your head back to give him better access without a single conscious thought behind the movement, some old, traitorous part of you already surrendering completely even as your mind scrambled to catch up.
"We should talk," you managed, breathless, though your hands were already fisting tight in his hair, holding him exactly where he was instead of pushing him away. "About tonight. About what this — about what we're actually—"
"Later." His voice came out low and rough against your skin, not stopping, not slowing down at all. "We can talk later. I don't care about that right now."
"I need you right now." He pulled back just far enough to look at you, eyes dark and wrecked, something raw and unguarded burning behind them. "Not tomorrow. Not after some long conversation about what any of this means. Right now. I almost lost you tonight, and I can't think straight enough for anything except needing you right now, and if that's not what you want, tell me, and I'll stop, but if it is—"
"It is." The words tore out of you before you'd fully decided to say them, some desperate, reckless honesty overriding every careful, sensible objection still trying to form in the back of your mind. "God, it is, just — don't stop."
He didn't. Whatever conversation had been trying to surface dissolved instantly beneath the renewed, frantic press of his mouth against yours, both of you tangled together fast and desperate, every unresolved word between you folded into the same, unbearable need neither of you had the patience left to name out loud.
"Tell me you want this," he said against your mouth, voice rough, barely pulling back far enough to speak. "I need to hear you say it."
"I want this." Your voice came out just as wrecked, hands fisting tighter in his hair, dragging him back down before he could ask for anything more. "I want you. that's the whole problem."
"Good." He kissed you again, hard, something almost desperate in the way he said it. "Because I don't think I know how to stop wanting you. I've tried. I'm really bad at it."
"You're bad at a lot of things."
"Rude." Though his voice cracked with something that was almost a laugh, low and rough, before turning serious again just as fast. "I don't want to stop."
You knew it was a bad idea but the both of you were still drunk on whatever adrenaline was pumping through your veins tonight and neither of you seemed to care.
Steve’s mouth crashed back onto yours before the words finished leaving your lips. The kiss turned messy fast teeth clicking, tongues sliding, his hand yanking you flush against him. Whatever restraint the two of you had flew right out of the window. You felt the hard line of him through his jeans as he continued to press down on you, thick and insistent against your hip.
He completely let himself go, not holding back anything anymore because in this moment he needed to feel you alive at his fingertips. His free hand shoved behind your back reaching for the clasp of your bra. Steve unhooked it in one motion and threw it into the corner of your room like he had done a thousand times over in the past. His palm hot and rough as it dragged up your ribs and cupped your breast. He squeezed, thumb flicking over your nipple until it tightened under his touch. You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, grinding harder.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your jaw, voice wrecked. “I missed you so much.”
He continued to leave hot, open kisses down your throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks, the sensation brought you back to high school and how you used to have him like this all the time. But this time was different, this time was pure need for release and you tried to get your brain to only want that. He moved down your neck slowly and bit at the swell of your breast, then licked the sting away before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked fast, then slow, then he sucked harder while his hand played with the hem of your shorts.
He only pulled away for a moment to look at you in a way you knew he was asking for permission without actually speaking the words.
You nodded in agreement head spinning needing to feel anything other then fear “Yes Steve keep going”
His fingers wrapped around the hem and Your shorts hit the floor with your underwear somewhere in your room. Steve shifted down the bed without hesitation
“Are you sure” his voice came out strained like he was having to physically stop himself and begging you to prove to him how alive you truly were.
“Please just take my mind off everything”
that’s all he needed before he was spreading your thighs open. something in him softened for a brief moment as his eyes tracing up and down your body like he was trying to engrave this image into his head for safe keeping.
He looked up once more, eyes dark and hungry again meeting yours , then leaned in and dragged his tongue straight up your pussy in one long, filthy stroke.
You moaned, fingers twisting in his hair. He didn’t tease. He licked you open, tongue pushing inside before sliding up to circle your clit. Two thick fingers replaced his tongue, thrusting deep while he sucked that sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips. You were to overwhelmed with the feeling of him all over you and knowing that this had to be too good to be true. Wet sounds filled the room—his mouth working you, your slick coating his chin, your hips rocking against his face.
He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny. “You taste so fucking good. I've thought about this every night since I lost you.”
Then he stood pulling you to the edge of the bed with him, unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other kept two fingers pumping inside you. He shoved his jeans down just far enough to free his cock—hard, flushed, the head already leaking. He stroked himself once, then lined up and pushed in with one steady thrust.
Your back arched. The stretch burned in the best painful way reminding you how much you missed this feeling only he could give. Steve groaned low, forehead dropping to yours as he bottomed out.
His voice dripping with lust “God you still take it so well”
He stayed there a second, breathing hard, then started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that knocked the air out of you with every stroke.
“Harder, Steve ” you breathed.
“Take it out on me. All of it”
He gave it to you. His hips snapped faster, as if he was trying to transfer all of his pain and fear into you because that’s what this was supposed to be, mutual distraction. the slap of skin loud and obscene. The sounds that came out of your mouth are something only Steve Harrington could make you produce. One of his big hands gripped your thigh and hiked it higher around his waist so he could drive deeper just like he knew drove you crazy. The other braced beside your head, muscles flexing in his forearm. Sweat slicked between your bodies. Every thrust punched a moan out of you.
Steve’s mouth found yours again, kissing you like his life depended on it, like if he stopped you’d be pulled back into the upside down and taken from him, his mouth kept moving swallowing every sound that came from you. His free hand slid between you to rub tight circles over your clit. The pressure built fast—tight, hot, unstoppable.
He kissed down your neck, teeth scraping lightly before he sucked another mark just above your collarbone clearly not caring about anyone seeing it. His hands roamed everywhere, palming your breasts, pinching your nipples, sliding down to grip your hips and spread you wider.
He lined up and pushed back inside you in one smooth thrust, groaning at how wet and ready you still were. he moved slower at first, rolling his hips in deep circles that ground his pelvis against your clit with every stroke. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.
“Fuck, you still feel so tight,” he rasped, voice low against your ear. His thrusts picked up speed again, the headboard starting to thud against the wall. Sweat dripped from his chest onto your skin. He reached down and hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with every snap of his hips.
You cried out, nails raking down his back. Steve fucked you harder, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy filling the room. He reached between you again, rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles until your orgasm crashed through you. Your walls fluttered and squeezed around him, pulling a ragged moan from his throat.
He didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through your climax, chasing his own. When he came, he buried himself to the hilt and pulsed inside you, filling you with a hot load. His body shook with the force of it, forehead pressed to yours as he panted.
Steve stayed inside you for a while until he softened, then eased out carefully. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips—soft and lingering. Then he rolled of to grab his discarded shirt to clean you up, then crawled back up and pulled you into his arms. Both of you trying to regain your breath.
Afterward, you lay tangled together in the dark, both of you breathing hard, the frantic energy of the last hour finally draining out of you all at once, leaving something quieter and more exhausted in its wake. Steve’s arm stayed wrapped around you, his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your bare shoulder, careful to avoid the bandage still taped over your other one, and neither of you said anything for a long moment, just listening to each other breathe in the thick, heavy quiet of your bedroom.
You thought about the night in pieces, unable to help it even now — the lake, the gate, the vines, the demobats, the vision of Vecna’s ruined face and the terrible, specific promise it had made about Parker. You thought about the fight in the Upside Down, his fear-driven cruelty, and the quieter, more honest conversation that had followed it. And now this, whatever this was, tangled up in the same exhausting, unresolved mess as everything else between you.
You didn’t regret it. That surprised you a little, turning the thought over carefully in the dark, waiting for the familiar guilt to arrive the way it usually did. It didn’t come, not yet, not with the same sharp, immediate weight it always seemed to carry.
“You still awake?” Steve murmured, voice rough, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder.
“Me too.” His fingers kept moving, slow and idle against your skin. “Can’t stop thinking about tonight. All of it.”
“All of it,” he said again, quieter now. “The lake. The gate. What that thing said about Parker. You, freezing up like that, and me not being able to do anything about it.” His voice caught slightly. “This too. I keep waiting for it to feel like a mistake, and it just doesn’t.”
“I keep waiting for that too.” You turned slightly toward him in the dark, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. “It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Maybe.” Though you didn’t fully believe it, some old, tired wariness still sitting quiet beneath the exhaustion.
“Ask me again in the morning.”
Steve was quiet for a moment, his fingers still tracing slow patterns against your skin.
“You ever think maybe this is the only way either of us actually gets through something like tonight? Not the healthy way. Not the way Robin or Lucy would probably want for either of us. Just this. Finding something solid to hold onto in the middle of everything falling apart.”
“I think about that a lot, actually.” You closed your eyes, letting the weight of the admission settle between you.
“Like maybe we’re not actually good for each other in any of the ways that matter long-term, but in this specific, immediate way — surviving whatever the day just threw at us maybe we’re the only thing that actually works. The only place either of us knows how to put any of it down.”
“That’s a pretty bleak way to look at it.”
Steve didn’t answer right away, and when he finally did, his voice had gone quieter, more honest.
“No. I don’t think it’s wrong. I think it’s just not enough, long-term. But tonight, right now, I needed something to hold onto that actually felt real, and you were it. Maybe that’s not healthy. Maybe it’s not sustainable. But it’s true.”
“Yeah.” You let out a slow, tired breath, some of the tension in your chest finally easing at the honesty of it, at not having to pretend either of you had a better explanation to offer.
Steve pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, his arm tightening around you, something quiet and tender settling into the gesture that had nothing left to do with the frantic urgency of an hour ago.
“Whatever this is,” he murmured, voice low
“I don’t want to lose it because everybody else has an opinion about it. Robin, Lucy, all of them. I know they mean well. I know they’re probably right about half of it. I just don’t want an audience for this part.”
“No audience,” you agreed quietly, tucking yourself closer against his chest.
“Nobody knows. Not yet. Not until we actually figure out what this is ourselves.”
“Not yet,” he echoed, and kissed the top of your head again, softer this time.
You shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to hold up your pinky between you in the dark.
Steve laughed softly, something warm and surprised crossing his face. “You still do that?”
He hooked his pinky around yours without further teasing, something gentle and sincere settling over his expression despite the laugh still lingering at the corner of his mouth.
“I promise. Whatever else happens, whatever this actually turns into I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow. I’m here.”
“I can’t lose you,” you said, voice cracking slightly, the words slipping out quieter and more honest than you’d meant them to.
“Not after tonight. Not after everything. I don’t think I could survive it.”
“You won’t have to.” He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, still linked together, before finally letting your hands fall, pulling you back against his chest instead.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
You lay there a while longer in the quiet dark, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, and let yourself, for once, simply exist in the fragile, private shape of whatever the two of you had just built together, without needing to name it, defend it, or explain it to anyone else at all.
do we like the long chapters or no? Lmk!
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