Baby
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 5.4k
Summary: You wanna play hero, and Steve can't have that.
Warnings: set somewhere between s4 and s5, angsty, reader is hurt, Steve is in agony over this, because that boy cannot live without you, mentions of blood, Dustin's Eddie-trauma—it triggered by your hurt.
Author's note: i hope you like it, this story came to me when i was watching a Tiktok, but i cannot remember for the life of me which one. i use a lot of em dashes in this, i know but i wrote it MYSELF, and i use them because i love love love em dashes. divider by: @chrisssiren
Steve Harrington had always been bad at waiting.
Not impatient in the ordinary sense, though he was that too, but bad at the specific kind of waiting that came with not knowing if someone he cared about was safe. He could handle action. He could handle blood, bruises, a bad plan that somehow became the only plan. He could handle fighting things that should not exist. But sitting still while the clock kept moving and somebody hadn’t come back when they were supposed to?
That was a special kind of torture.
And tonight, it was killing him.
The Wheeler basement was too warm, too crowded, too loud in all the wrong ways. Nobody was really talking, but the room still felt noisy with nerves. Robin paced near the couch, arms folded tight. Nancy sat at the table with a map spread out under her hands, though she hadn’t looked at it in at least five minutes. Lucas kept checking the same spot near the window like maybe if he stared hard enough, something would change. Max was trying to look calm and failing. Erica had gone unusually quiet, which was maybe the worst sign of all.
Steve stood near the stairs with his arms crossed so tightly over his chest they ached, staring at the front door like he could force it to open.
You were late.
Not five-minutes late. Not “lost track of time” late.
Wrong late.
Mission-gone-sideways late.
He checked his watch again.
“Stop doing that,” Robin said.
Steve didn’t look at her. “Doing what?”
“That.” She made a little impatient gesture. “Checking the time every thirty seconds like it’s gonna make them appear.”
“I’m not doing it every thirty seconds.”
“You are, actually.”
He exhaled hard through his nose. “Then stop counting.”
Robin looked like she wanted to say something sharper, but she didn’t. Her face softened just a little instead. “They’ll come back.”
Steve swallowed.
Maybe.
Maybe they would. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe you’d all gotten delayed, maybe one of the kids had insisted on taking a longer route back through the woods because they saw something weird and now they were all being stupidly careful.
But he knew the difference between delayed and wrong.
And this was wrong.
You had left hours ago with Mike and Dustin to check a possible route near the tree line beyond the old service road, something about movement, tracks, a place the vines had started spreading too close to the surface again. It had sounded contained. Quick. In and out.
You’d grinned at him before leaving, adjusting the strap of the bat slung over your shoulder.
“Relax, Harrington.”
He’d rolled his eyes. “I’m relaxed.”
“You’ve asked me if I have my knife four times.”
“Do you?”
You’d laughed, patting your jacket. “Yes, mom.”
He’d opened his mouth to say something back, something easy and annoyed and normal, but then you’d stepped closer and bumped your shoulder against his.
“We’ll be back before you can get all dramatic about it.”
Robin had snorted. “Too late.”
Steve had watched you go anyway.
And now you weren’t back.
The basement door banged open upstairs.
Everyone snapped toward the sound.
Fast footsteps pounded down the stairs, with each step Steve’s heart skipped a beat and then Mike appeared so suddenly it made Steve’s heart lurch into his throat.
Mike was pale.
Too pale.
Breathing hard.
There was dirt smeared across one side of his face and something dark on the sleeve of his jacket that looked a little too much like blood.
Everything in Steve went cold.
“Where is she?” he said immediately.
Mike opened his mouth but didn’t get anything out at first, sucking in air like he’d run the whole way.
Nancy stood up so fast her chair scraped violently against the floor. “Mike.”
Mike’s eyes moved around the room, wide and frantic, locking finally on Steve’s. “She’s hurt.”
The words hit like a gunshot.
Steve was already moving before anyone else could react, gripping Mike’s shoulders gently, but tight altogether. “What happened?”
“Dustin’s with her,” Mike choked out. “I— we— we got split up near the ravine, and there were demodogs, and she—” His voice broke. “Steve, she’s really hurt.”
That was it.
Steve didn’t remember crossing the room. One second he was by the stairs and the next he had embraced Mike tightly, sensing he needed his comfort more than his panic, while trying and failing to keep his own franticness from spilling over.
“Where?”
“In the woods—past the old service road, by the creek bend—Dustin was trying to get her out but he can’t—”
Steve let go of him and turned. “Robin, Nance—”
“We’re coming,” Nancy said immediately, already reaching for the shotgun propped by the wall.
Lucas was on his feet. “I’m coming too.”
“No,” Nancy snapped, sharper than usual. “You stay here.”
“The hell I am—”
“Lucas,” she said, and something in her voice made him stop. “If more of those things are moving this close, we need people here. In case they doubled back. In case anybody else comes through that door hurt.”
Max grabbed Lucas’s wrist before he could argue again.
Steve was already halfway up the stairs. “Mike, with me. Now.”
They tore out of the house in a wave of motion; Steve, Nancy, Robin, Mike. The night air hit cold and damp, smelling of wet leaves and earth and smoke from somebody’s chimney half a mile away. Steve barely felt it. He was moving too fast, every thought narrowing down to a single terrible point.
You didn’t come back.
You’re out there.
You’re hurt.
He vaulted into the driver’s seat of the BMW. Nancy climbed in beside him with the shotgun across her lap, Robin and Mike piling into the back.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Steve said, jamming the key into the ignition so hard it scraped.
Mike braced one hand on the front seat. “We found the tracks near the service road, and at first it was fine. We thought maybe it was old movement, but then we heard them.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. Three? Four? Maybe more.”
Steve’s grip tightened around the wheel.
Mike swallowed hard. “We ran. We got turned around near the creek because Dustin slipped, and one of them came out from the trees and she—” He took a shaky breath. “She pushed us ahead.”
Steve didn’t say anything.
Couldn’t.
Because he already knew.
He knew exactly the kind of stupid, self-sacrificing thing you would do if one of the kids was in danger. He knew because he’d seen it before, smaller risks, smaller injuries, but the same instinct every time. Put yourself between the danger and somebody younger. Don’t think. Just move.
Mike kept talking, words tumbling out too fast now. “She told us to run and I didn’t want to leave her but Dustin fell again and there were two of them and she— she had the bat and she kept yelling at us to go.”
Steve’s vision tunneled.
“She stayed behind?” Robin asked, her voice very small, full of shock.
“Just for a second,” Mike said desperately. “She was right behind us, she was supposed to be right behind us, but then we heard her scream and when we went back she was—” He sucked in a ragged breath. “She was on the ground.”
No one spoke after that.
The car flew down the dark road, tires spitting gravel when Steve took the turn too hard near the old service lane. Branches scraped the side of the BMW as he pulled off as far as he could. Before the engine had fully died, he was out.
“Which way?”
Mike pointed with a shaking hand. “Through there.”
Steve grabbed the nail bat from the trunk and ran.
The woods swallowed them fast, moonlight breaking in silver patches through the trees. Dead leaves cracked underfoot. Branches clawed at Steve’s jacket and face and he didn’t feel any of it. Behind him, he could hear Nancy and Robin crashing through the underbrush, Mike stumbling to keep up and then surging ahead again.
“Dustin!” Mike shouted.
No answer.
Steve’s chest got tighter.
“Dustin!” Robin yelled.
Then, faintly, from somewhere deeper in the trees…
“Here!”
Dustin.
Crying.
Steve broke into a sprint.
He nearly slipped on the muddy edge of the creek bend before catching himself on a tree. The small clearing opened up in front of him all at once, and for a second, his brain refused to understand what he was seeing.
Dustin was on his knees in the mud, sobbing openly, one arm wrapped under your shoulders as he tried to drag you backward through the leaves.
You were barely helping.
Not because you wouldn’t.
Because you couldn’t.
Your head lolled weakly against Dustin’s shoulder, your face wet with tears and streaked with dirt, your breathing shallow and uneven. One side of your jacket was shredded open. Blood darkened the fabric underneath. Your leg was twisted wrong beneath you…not broken, maybe, but injured enough that every tiny movement made your whole body jerk.
And the sound coming out of you…
That was what nearly stopped Steve’s heart.
Not screaming.
Not even talking.
Just these quiet, broken little sobs, like you were trying not to make any noise at all.
Like it hurt too much to cry properly.
“Steve!” Dustin choked, looking up with a face so wrecked by panic it barely looked like him. “Steve, help her, please! She won’t wake up right, she keeps…she keeps—”
Steve was at your side in an instant, dropping to his knees so hard pain shot up both legs.
“Hey,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he meant it to. “Hey, hey, I’m here.”
Your eyes fluttered, unfocused. It took a second for them to find him.
When they did, your mouth trembled.
“Stevie,” you whispered, so faint he almost didn’t hear it.
It broke something in him.
“Yeah,” he said immediately, one hand going to your face, careful, careful. “Yeah, I got you. I got you.”
You made a small sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly. “Took you long enough.”
His throat closed.
“Don’t,” he said, because if you started doing that, if you started trying to make him feel better, trying to joke through it, he was going to lose his mind.
Nancy dropped beside him, already scanning your injuries with quick, ruthless focus. Robin crouched on your other side, one hand flying to her mouth before she forced it down.
“Oh my God,” Robin breathed.
Dustin was still crying. “I tried to get her up, I tried, but every time I moved her she—she said it hurt and I didn’t know if I was making it worse—”
“You did good,” Steve said sharply, not looking away from you. “Dustin, you did good.”
He didn’t know if the kid believed him, but he needed him to. Because he did.
He did all he could.
Mike hovered behind Dustin, pale and shaking, staring at you like he still couldn’t make this real.
Nancy touched your shoulder gently. “Can you hear me?”
You nodded a fraction.
“Any trouble breathing?”
Another tiny nod.
Steve’s chest seized. “Nance…”
“I know.” Her voice was tense. “I know.”
She looked at the ripped fabric near your ribs, then at your leg, then at the blood on your side. “We need to move her now.”
You whimpered as Steve slid one arm behind your back, and he froze instantly. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you grit, though it very clearly wasn’t.
Your eyes squeezed shut again, tears slipping down into your hair. “Stevie, it hurts.”
Those words, so small, so wrecked, hit harder than anything else.
Steve pressed his palm to the back of your head. “I know, baby. I know.”
Robin and Mike exchanged a look at the endearment, but nobody said anything.
The world had narrowed too far for that.
Nancy leaned in closer. “Listen to me. We’re getting you out of here, okay? Steve’s gonna carry you. I need you to tell us if you can’t breathe or if you think you’re gonna pass out.”
You gave the tiniest nod.
Steve slid one arm carefully under your knees, the other around your back. The second he started to lift, your body arched with a strangled cry and his vision almost went white with panic.
“Stop, stop!”
“I have to get you out,” he said, voice shaking. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”
Your hand fisted weakly in his jacket.
It was barely any strength at all.
That terrified him more than if you’d shoved him away.
He got you into his arms somehow, though every inch seemed to hurt you. You buried your face against his chest with a broken little sound, and then you just clung. Not hard. Not enough. But enough for him to feel it.
Enough to make something savage and protective rise hot under his skin.
He stood.
You were usually so alive in his arms when he touched you in passing…shoving at him, laughing with him, moving along him, leaning into him. This felt all wrong. Too limp, too light, too still except for the trembling.
Dustin scrambled to his feet. “I’m coming.”
“You’re coming,” Steve said.
They started back through the woods.
Nancy went ahead, clearing the roughest parts of the path. Robin stayed close at Steve’s elbow in case he slipped. Mike and Dustin trailed just behind, both of them wrecked quiet now.
Steve felt every shaky breath you took.
Counted them.
Every one.
You kept making those tiny sounds against his chest whenever the ground jolted under his feet, each one digging under his ribs. He kept talking to you because the alternative was listening too closely to how weak you sounded.
“Stay with me.”
A few steps.
“You hear me? Don’t fall asleep.”
A few more.
You whispered something into his shirt.
“What?”
Your lips moved again. He bent his head lower.
“Dustin okay?”
Steve nearly stumbled.
He looked back. Dustin was crying silently now, eyes red and swollen, mud all over his jeans and hands.
“He’s okay,” Steve said, and his voice cracked this time. “Because of you. He’s okay.”
You let out a breath that shivered against him.
“Good.”
Robin made a strangled sound and turned her face away for a second.
Steve wanted to scream.
At you, for doing this. At himself, for letting you go out there. At the entire nightmare world that kept taking and taking and taking from all of you.
But mostly at the fact that even half-conscious and hurting everywhere, you were still worrying about the kids first.
By the time they reached the car, Steve’s arms were burning and he didn’t care. Nancy yanked the back door open and Robin climbed in first so she could help settle you across the seat.
“Easy,” she whispered, hands trembling despite the calm in her voice. “Easy, easy.”
Steve got in beside you, pulling your upper body into his lap so your side wouldn’t slam against the door. Dustin and Mike crammed in on the other side, Dustin immediately reaching for your hand.
You didn’t open your eyes.
But your fingers twitched weakly around his.
Nancy got behind the wheel. “Hospital?”
Steve’s head snapped up.
Too dangerous, all of them thought it at once.
Too many questions. Too much exposure. Too many lies to explain.
But one look at you and the answer changed.
“Yes,” Steve said.
No hesitation.
No argument.
He would burn the entire cover story down if that’s what it took.
Nancy floored it.
The drive was chaos made of small sounds. Robin trying to keep pressure on the worst of the bleeding. Dustin whispering to you over and over that you were okay, that you were okay, like if he said it enough maybe it would become true. Mike hunched forward in the seat, shaking and silent, staring at the blood on his sleeve like he didn’t know whose it was anymore.
Steve kept one hand cupped around the back of your neck, the other gripping your wrist so he could feel your pulse.
Still there.
Still there.
Still there.
At one point your eyes opened a little and landed on him.
He leaned in immediately. “Hey.”
You looked confused for a second, dazed and glassy-eyed. “Why’s Dustin crying?”
A sound escaped Steve that was half laugh, half heartbreak.
“Because he’s Dustin.”
That got the faintest ghost of a smile from you before your face crumpled again.
“Everything hurts,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“Think m’bleeding on your shirt.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. Nice shirt.”
He bowed his head for a second, pressing it briefly to yours because he didn’t know what else to do with how much he felt right then. “Will you stop trying to be funny for five minutes?”
“No promishes.”
The words slurred together.
His hand tightened around yours.
“Stay awake.”
You blinked slowly. “Bossy.”
“Yeah.”
Your eyes drifted shut again.
“Hey.” Panic flared instantly. “Hey, no, look at me.”
They fluttered back open.
“There you go, baby,” he said, too fast. “There you go. Keep doing that.”
Robin glanced at him, and the fear on her face mirrored his own.
The hospital lights appeared like something unreal at the end of a tunnel. Nancy screeched to a stop before the car had fully entered the emergency drop-off lane, and then everything became motion and shouting and bright fluorescent light.
Steve tried to go with you.
A nurse blocked him with both hands. “Sir, I need you to step back.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“You are if you want us to work.”
Nancy was at his side in a second, fingers digging hard into his arm. “Steve.”
He looked at you on the gurney, saw how pale you were under the blood and dirt, how your hand slipped off the edge as they wheeled you through the double doors.
And then you were gone.
The waiting room was worse than the woods.
At least in the woods he’d had something to do.
Now there was nothing. Just the hard plastic chairs, the smell of antiseptic, the buzz of fluorescent lights, Dustin’s muffled crying finally tapering off into exhausted silence.
Steve sat bent forward with his elbows on his knees, your dried blood on his shirt and jeans, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
Nobody tried to make him talk.
After a while, Dustin sat down beside him.
For a minute, neither of them said anything.
Then Dustin asked, very quietly, “Do you think she hates me?”
Steve turned so fast it almost hurt. “What?”
Dustin’s chin wobbled. He was trying so hard not to cry again. “Because I couldn’t—I couldn’t get her out. She told us to run and I did and then when I went back I couldn’t—” His voice crumpled. “It was like I was with Eddie all over again. Like I had to—, let it happen.”
Dustin shakes his head quickly, “if she dies, it’s because she had to save us, it’ll be because of me.”
Steve stared at him.
Then he reached out and hauled Dustin sideways against his shoulder in a grip that was maybe rougher than intended and definitely not casual.
“She does not hate you,” he said, fierce and immediate. “Do you hear me? None of this is your fault.”
“But—”
“No.” Steve pulled back just enough to make Dustin look at him. “No buts. You don’t get to do that to yourself, not again. She made a choice. A stupid one,” he added, voice shaking now, “but one she made because she loves you guys. That’s not on you, not on Mike, not on anyone.”
Dustin sniffed hard. “You called her stupid.”
Steve looked toward the emergency doors.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”
“You called her baby.”
Steve shrugged, staying silent.
It was over an hour before someone came out.
Too long. Not long enough. Time had stopped making sense.
The doctor was saying words…lacerations, blood loss, a cracked rib, soft tissue damage, concussion, lucky, very lucky, and Steve caught maybe half of them because the only one that mattered was stable.
Stable.
Not dying.
Stable.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard sparks burst behind them.
Robin touched his back once, briefly.
When they finally let him see you, you were awake.
Barely.
But awake.
The room was dim except for the soft monitor glow and one ugly lamp in the corner. You looked wrecked, bruised, stitched, bandaged, an oxygen line beneath your nose, and still somehow the sight of you conscious made his knees feel weak.
He hovered in the doorway for half a second before stepping inside.
Your eyes found him.
“There he is,” you whispered.
His laugh came out broken. “Yeah.”
“You look awful.”
He dragged a hand over his face. “That’s your opener?”
You shifted, winced immediately, and stopped. “Wanted to keep it light.”
He pulled the chair close to your bed and sat down. For a second he just looked at you, because now that he’d found you, now that you were here and breathing and stitched back together, all the terror he’d been holding in had nowhere to go.
So it came out as anger.
Very quiet anger.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Your eyes softened.
“Steve—”
“No.” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “No, because you do not get to scare me like that and then just smile at me from a hospital bed like everything’s fine.”
You looked down at the blanket.
“It wasn’t really a smile.”
He let out a rough breath. “You know what I mean.”
Silence stretched between you.
Then you said, so quietly he almost missed it, “They would’ve died.”
And there it was.
The simple truth of it.
No heroics. No dramatics. Just certainty.
Steve swallowed hard enough it hurt.
He knew. God, he knew.
You would do it again too, if it meant one of the kids made it home.
Which was exactly the problem.
He reached out before he thought about it and took your hand carefully, careful of the IV and the scrapes across your knuckles.
“You don’t get to do that alone,” he said.
Your brows pulled together faintly. “What?”
“You don’t get to decide you’re disposable because somebody else is younger or smaller or whatever. You call for help. You run. You do literally anything else before—” His voice broke and he looked away for a second. “Before that.”
When he looked back, your eyes were wet.
“Steve…”
“No, I mean it.” His thumb brushed shakily over the back of your hand. “I saw Dustin trying to drag you out of there. He thought you were dying.”
You closed your eyes.
“I know.”
“I thought you were dying.”
That made your eyes open again.
The room went very still.
Steve hadn’t meant to say it like that.
Hadn’t meant to let it out so bare.
But there it was now, hanging between you.
Your fingers tightened around his as much as they could.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
He laughed once, bitter and quiet. “I’m so sick of hearing that from people I care about.”
A tiny, tired smile touched your mouth. “Still a good line, though.”
He shook his head, but some of the air left the anger in him.
You looked at him for a long moment.
Then said, “Dustin okay?”
Of course that was your first real question.
Steve huffed, something close to fond exasperation burning through the leftover fear. “Yeah. He’s okay.”
“Mike?”
“Also okay.”
You nodded weakly, satisfied.
Then, after a beat, “You?”
That undid him more than anything else had.
He looked down at your joined hands and answered honestly. “No.”
Your face crumpled with guilt. “Steve—”
“But I will be,” he said quickly, because he couldn’t handle that look on top of everything else. “I will be. You just…” He swallowed. “You gotta stop doing this to me.”
A tear slipped out of one eye and tracked into your hairline. “I’ll try.”
“Yeah, you better.”
You were quiet for another second, and then, very softly: “You came for me.”
Steve stared at you.
Like that was even a question.
“Every time,” he said.
Your mouth trembled.
The monitor beeped steadily in the silence that followed. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattled past. The world kept moving, stupidly, normally, while Steve sat there with your hand in his, feeling like he’d cracked open somewhere no one could see.
You drifted a little after that, eyelids heavy.
Before you fell fully asleep, you murmured, “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for taking your time.”
He blinked. “What?”
A tiny, sleepy smile appeared. “Dramatic entrance. Very heroic.”
He stared at you for one incredulous second before huffing out a laugh that turned wet around the edges. “Go to sleep.”
You did.
Still holding his hand.
Steve sat there long after your breathing evened out, his chair pulled too close to the bed, your blood dried on his shirt, exhaustion finally crashing into him now that he could see your chest rise and fall with his own eyes.
Robin peeked in once, saw him there, and quietly withdrew.
He didn’t move.
Not when the nurse came to check your vitals.
Not when dawn started paling the edges of the blinds.
Not even when his back began to ache and his eyes burned.
He stayed.
Because you were here.
Because you were alive.
Because in the woods, with Dustin crying and you sobbing so quietly in his arms, Steve had realized something he probably should have known already:
There was no version of this nightmare where he could lose you and come out of it still himself.
So he sat there and kept watch.
When you woke again just after sunrise, the first thing you saw was Steve slumped awkwardly in the chair beside your bed, chin dropped to his chest, one hand still wrapped around yours like even asleep he didn’t trust the world not to take you if he let go.
You smiled despite the ache everywhere.
And when his eyes snapped open at the tiny movement, immediate panic flashing across his face before recognition settled in, you squeezed his hand the best you could.
“I’m still here,” you whispered.
Steve closed his eyes for one brief second, bowed his head over your joined hands, and let out a breath so shaky it sounded almost like a prayer.
“Yeah,” he said, looking up at you again with something raw and wrecked and relieved in his face. “You better be.”
You wake again later, slower this time.
The pain is still there…dull, heavy, everywhere, but it’s not as sharp as before. It sits under your skin instead of ripping through it, which somehow makes it easier to breathe.
The room is quieter now. Dim. Early morning light slipping in through the blinds in thin, pale lines.
And Steve—
Steve is still there.
Curled awkwardly in the chair beside your bed, his head tipped forward, one arm folded across his chest while the other is still loosely wrapped around your hand like he fell asleep mid-thought and never let go.
Your chest tightens a little at the sight.
He looks exhausted. Completely, utterly drained in a way you’ve never seen before. There’s dried blood on his shirt, your blood, and his hair is a mess like he’s run his hands through it too many times to count.
You shift slightly.
It hurts.
A soft sound slips out of you before you can stop it.
Steve wakes instantly.
Like he was never really asleep at all.
His head snaps up, eyes wide and searching, panic flashing across his face before it softens the second he sees you’re awake.
“Hey—hey,” he says quickly, leaning forward. “Easy. Don’t move too much.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” you murmur, your voice still a little rough.
Relief washes over his face so openly it almost makes your chest ache.
“Good,” he mutters. “Good.”
There’s a moment where neither of you says anything.
Just looking.
Just… being here.
Alive.
Then, after a second, you tilt your head slightly, studying him.
“You look terrible,” you say softly.
He huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through. “Yeah, you mentioned that.”
“I mean it more now.”
“Thanks. That helps.”
You smile faintly.
Then your gaze drifts, taking him in a little more carefully this time, the way his hand is still wrapped around yours, like he doesn’t quite trust that you won’t disappear if he lets go.
Something warm settles low in your chest.
“You stayed,” you say.
It’s not really a question.
“Yeah,” he replies, just as quietly. Like there was never another option.
Your fingers shift slightly in his.
“You called me baby.”
The words slip out before you can stop them.
Steve freezes.
Actually freezes.
His entire body stills, his expression going blank for just a fraction of a second before something else flickers there, something caught, something almost guilty.
“…What?” he says, a little too quickly, because when Dustin acknowledged it, he could ignore it, but you…
You don’t look away.
“You did,” you repeat softly. “In the woods.”
His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s trying to figure out if he can talk his way out of this.
“I— you were hurt,” he says, like that explains it.
“It does,” you agree easily. “Still counts.”
He exhales, running a hand through his already messy hair, suddenly very aware of himself in a way he wasn’t a minute ago.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean what?”
His eyes flick back to yours.
And for a second—
He doesn’t answer.
Because whatever he was about to say doesn’t quite make it past his lips.
Your voice softens, just a little teasing now, but still gentle. “You don’t call everyone that, Harrington.”
“No,” he mutters.
“Just me?”
There’s that pause again.
That same quiet, fragile tension that’s always lived somewhere between you…now sharper, closer to the surface than it’s ever been before.
Steve looks at you like he’s trying to decide something.
Then, quietly—
“…Yeah.”
Your breath catches.
He doesn’t look away this time.
Doesn’t try to play it off.
Doesn’t joke.
“It just—came out,” he adds, softer now. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Sometimes that’s when people say what they mean most,” you say.
His grip on your hand tightens slightly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
The room feels smaller suddenly.
Quieter.
Like everything’s narrowed down to just this.
To him.
To you.
You shift a little closer on the bed, ignoring the dull ache it causes.
“You sounded worried,” you say softly.
He lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath. “You think?”
You smile faintly. “A little.”
Steve shakes his head, but there’s no real annoyance in it.
“I thought you were—” he stops himself, jaw tightening again.
“Dying?” you finish gently.
He looks at you then.
Really looks.
And this time, he doesn’t hide it.
“Yeah.”
Your chest tightens.
Your fingers curl around his hand as much as they can.
“I’m still here,” you whisper.
He swallows hard.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “You are.”
A beat passes.
Then, quieter—
“Don’t do that again.”
You huff a soft breath. “I’ll try.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s honest.”
That almost earns a smile from him.
Almost.
His thumb brushes lightly over the back of your hand, absent, grounding.
“You scared me,” he admits.
You meet his gaze.
“I know.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
But this one—
This one feels different.
Softer.
Closer.
“Baby,” you say quietly, testing it now, watching his reaction.
Steve’s head snaps up slightly at that, something in his expression shifting instantly.
“You’re not allowed to use that against me,” he mutters.
You smile, small and a little tired but real. “I think I am.”
And then, “because, I’d like for you to call me that again.”
He exhales, shaking his head, but his hand doesn’t let go of yours.
Doesn’t even loosen and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
“Okay.”
And for the first time since you woke up…
There’s something almost calm in the room.
Something warm.
Something that feels a little too much like safety.
And Steve will call you baby again.
read Baby pt. II here