Mr sandman (give me someone to hold)
pairing: Steve Harrington x reader
Summary: you finally make your way back to Steve
A/n tag list is closed guys sorry also sorry for the people who i couldn’t tag
tags: tags:@bluesdove @mischivana @singeronthemoon @teheabrams @taurtel @onlyangel-444 @vulcanstarr @teal-anchor @yomamabih @cheetoscmj @wishingforwonderland @hottie-bishop-belova @lulubear12 @angeliiiiii @edb954 @idk-tbh127 @spacecadet-silver @sleepywxtch @hello-nah817 @diorbymel @flashyourgreeneyesatme @all-user-error @jesschalamet @silentnights28 @cannibalcoyote @viennaontumz @itmekelpy @itspadfootvm @vigilantique @Ivspedri @aesthetic-lyss @kyushii @classicgrandma39 @toto31tu @kyohiru @ommosunkiss @white-wolf-buckaroo @behappyitsemmalie @mycomealongpond11 @wishingforwonderland @miakatharinaa @mrsswanson7-blog @mel3484 @mycomealongpond11 @hipsternerd9 @cryptestqr @lovesflourmorethananything @hayhjelmstad15 @nosebeers
@green-Ixght @buckleyverse @mushroomdemong @pillkits @maxverstappentwink @crazylady20 @minjishops @ladygrimmx @tommothetease1991 @kenzisthings
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you’ve never been this confused before. Memories of two completely different worlds and completely different timelines have fallen into one like pages of a book that’s been bound wrong. You have memories of Steve, messy and chaotic. And off Henry all so perfect. How do you know which memories are real? How do you know which part of your memories to believe?
“You’ve been quiet,” Henry says, tilting his head. His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he doesn’t push them back up.
You blink. The room feels too still.
These memories must be real. This must be your life. Henry is your husband. You love him. You must—why else would you have married him?
You remember the wedding like it was yesterday. The soft music. The vows. The way Henry looked at you like you were the only person in the world. Holly was there. Derek too. And the other kids. Laughing, running between the chairs, throwing petals like confetti.
And… that’s it. That’s everyone.
It’s strange, isn’t it? A wedding with only children. No parents. No friends. No officiant you can picture. Just kids. You try to remember when they arrived—Holly and Derek and the others. It was after the wedding, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
You glance at Henry. He’s watching you, patient, like he always is. Like he’s waiting for you to remember something important.
But now that you think about it, you haven’t seen anyone else in… how long? Weeks? Months? Years? You try to summon a face—any face—but they all blur.
Your voice comes out smaller than you expect. “When was the last time we had visitors?”
Henry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Visitors? Well i think it must’ve been last month. When my parents came. Why?”
His parents? What are their names? Why don’t you know them?
“Right, i was just wondering. Maybe they could come around soon again? See the kids?”
Henry’s smile tightens, just slightly. “They’re very busy,” he says, voice smooth. “You know how they are.”
But you don’t. That’s the problem. You don’t know how they are. You can’t picture their faces, can’t summon a single memory of them. Not a birthday card. Not a phone call. Not even a name.
You nod anyway, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. “Right. Of course.”
Something inside you flinches. A warning bell, low and urgent. Don’t tell him. Don’t mention the memories. Don’t say Steve’s name. Don’t admit that you’re not sure which life is yours.
You force a small smile. “I think I’m still a little dazed from the fall,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I’m sorry.”
Henry’s expression softens, “Don’t be sorry,” he says, reaching across the table to brush your hand. “Next time, just ask me when you need to reach something. That’s what I’m here for.”
You nod again, but your skin prickles where he touched you. Familiar but unfamiliar at the same time.
He brushes your knuckles with his thumb. “You know I worry about you,” he says. “You’ve always been a little… fragile.”
That word lands like a stone in your stomach.
Fragile.
You’ve never been fragile. Not in those other memories. You remember being messy, loud, stubborn, alive. You remember yelling at Steve across a crowded parking lot, angry, seething. You’ve never fought with henry before. Still. here, you flinch.
You apologize for things you don’t remember doing. You hesitate before speaking, before moving, before asking. You act like you’re fragile now. So maybe you are. why would you believe those other memories over this life? This house? This man who brings you tea and calls you darling and tells you to rest?
Why would you believe those memories over this perfect man? Because it’s too perfect, something inside you says. Because in the memories you were angry and cried and everything was messy. you had friends. You had a job. You had a favorite diner and a chipped mug and a keychain Steve won you at a fair. You had a life that didn’t feel like it was being performed for you. Here, everything is soft and quiet and curated. The house is always clean. Henry is always calm. Everything feels like a dream, or a trance.
“I know” you tell him “but that’s why i have you, right?” You look up at him, eyes wide, hopeful—because some part of you wants this to be real. Needs it to be. Because if Henry loves you, if this life is real, then maybe the confusion doesn’t matter. Maybe you don’t need to dig. Maybe you can stay here, in the quiet, in the calm, in the version of your life where someone always brings you tea and tells you to rest.
Henry smiles, warm and reassuring. “Of course,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll always have me.”
And for a moment, you let yourself believe it. Let yourself lean into the comfort of his touch, the steadiness of his voice. You don’t want to know the truth. Not if it means losing this. Not if it means waking up to something colder, messier, lonelier.
But then you remembered something else something irritating and stubborn or rather someone else. The finally his name came to you again. Dustin. God that kid. He’d laugh in your face if he saw you sitting here, wrapped in a cardigan you don’t remember buying, sipping tea you didn’t ask for, nodding along like a porcelain doll. He’d call you out in a heartbeat. Probably with some ridiculous Star Wars metaphor and a mouthful of cereal. You almost smile. Almost.
Because Dustin wouldn’t like Henry. Not because Henry’s mean—he isn’t. He’s polite. Polished. Perfect. But Dustin doesn’t trust perfect. He trusts real. And Henry… Henry is curated.
You miss Dustin. You miss his chaos. His loyalty. The way he’d show up at your door with a busted walkie-talkie and a conspiracy theory and a bag of stale chips, like that was normal.
You blink hard, trying to hold onto the memory before it slips away again.
“I should rest.”
Henry nods, his smile gentle. “That’s a good idea.”
You return the smile—small, practiced—and rise from your chair. Your legs feel steady, but your mind wobbles like a table with one short leg. You turn toward the stairs, the carpet soft beneath your feet, the house too quiet behind you.
As you climb, you try to remember. Really remember. Before Henry. Before this house. Before the tea and the silence. You close your eyes and reach back.
A trailer park. Gravel crunching under your boots. The sun too bright. Steve yelling, “Wipe your feet!” at Dustin, who was already in his car.
But that wasn’t the last memory. That wasn’t the moment everything changed. That memory doesn’t explain how you got here.
You pause at the top of the stairs, hand on the banister.
There’s something after that.
A gap.
A flicker.
A moment you can’t quite touch.
Like a dream you almost remember but slips away the harder you chase it.
And then—
“You don’t get to give up, not here, not now, you hear me?”
The words crash into you like a wave. Not Henry’s voice. Steve’s. Raw, desperate, cracking at the edges. You remember the way he grabbed your shoulders, blood on his temple, eyes wild with fear and love and something that felt like goodbye.
The memory slams into place.
The demogorgons were ramming the door. You’d barricaded it with a dresser, a chair, your own body. Steve had cupped your cheeks, Still trying to convince you that you’d grow old together, that this wasn’t the end.
You remember the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And then the door gave away. The demogorgon lunged, all teeth and shadow and rage. Steve shouted something—your name, maybe—but it was too late. He collapsed, unconscious, and you ran to him, dropped to your knees, tried to shake him awake, to scream him back to life.
You remember thinking, This is it. This is how I die.
But the beast didn’t kill you.
It grabbed you.
Its claws wrapped around your ankle like a vice, cold and sharp and wrong. You kicked, screamed, clawed at the floor as it dragged you backward, away from Steve, away from the light, into the dark. You remember the sound of your own voice breaking, the burn of its nails slicing into your skin, the way your fingers scraped uselessly against the floorboards.
And then—nothing.
No pain. No light. Just a sudden, suffocating silence.
Until you woke up here. In this house. With Henry.
You look down at your ankle now. The skin is smooth. No scars. No pain. No sign anything ever happened.
But you remember. You remember the terror. The blood. The fight.
And Steve.
Your knees nearly buckle beneath you.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You grip the banister like it’s the only thing tethering you to gravity. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, your mind racing faster than your body can keep up. If Steve is real—if that memory is real—then this life is a lie. A trap.
Vecna.
It has to be him. The dragging, the silence, the perfect house with no past. The way your memories were scrubbed clean and replaced with soft lighting and chamomile tea. This is his doing. A cage dressed up like a dream.
But then—Henry.
What is he? A puppet? someone Vecna controls? Or something worse—something that believes it loves you?
And why were the kids here? Why was Holly fucking wheeler in this goddamn place and not with her family?
And then—
The fox.
Your stomach drops.
The girl that watches you through the window. The red hair. The sharp eyes. Max.
Your Max.
The girl who used to steal your fries and pretend she didn’t care. The one who never said thank you but always showed up. The one who called you her emotional support adult with a smirk and a punch to the arm. The one who never let you lie to yourself.
How could you not have recognized her and why was she here? For so long?
Because you weren’t supposed to.
Because Vecna didn’t want you to.
You walked down the stairs you needed to know if Henry would say something if he was even real. You found him at the head of the table head tilted up looking at the ceiling all around the table were the kids all holding hands in the exact same position. You looked to henry who was also holding the hands off Josh and Debbie “henry? darling? what’s going on?” No reply
Panic surged through you. What was he doing to these kids?
You turned and bolted into the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for anything—anything—to break the spell. Your hand closed around a knife. You froze.
No. No, you couldn’t.
You shoved it aside and grabbed the cast iron frying pan instead. Heavy. Real. Solid.
You stormed back into the dining room, heart in your throat. “Fuck,” you muttered, and without another thought, you swung.
CRACK.
Henry’s head snapped sideways with the blow. His body slumped forward, hands slipping from the children’s.
The room shifted.
The kids gasped in unison, eyes snapping open like someone had flipped a switch. Holly was the first to move, stumbling back from the table, blinking rapidly.
“Y/N?” she breathed.
You dropped the pan. “Holy shit.”
Holly ran to you, throwing her arms around your waist. “You remember?”
“Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Sorry—don’t curse. Shit. He won’t be out for long. We have to go.”
Debbie stood, eyes narrowed. “One of the monsters took over Mrs. Whatsit.”
You scoffed, breathless. “I’m not a fucking monster, and I’m not fucking Mrs. Whatsit either.”
Josh blinked. “She’s cursing a lot.”
“Yeah, well,” you snapped, already moving toward the hallway, “I just woke up from a fake life and hit my dream husband with a skillet, so maybe give me a break Josh”
you heard Derek chuckle softly “i like her better like this”
“Shut up Derek!” The table echoed
“Guys, this isn’t Mrs. Whatsit!” a girl cried out, voice high and trembling. “Mrs. Whatsit wouldn’t be this mean!”
You spun on her, eyes blazing. “Mean?” you scoffed. “I just saved you.”
“From what?” another boy asked, his voice small but defiant.
You pointed a shaking finger toward the head of the table. “From him!”
As if on cue, Henry stirred. His fingers twitched. Then, slowly, he sat up, brushing a hand through his hair like he’d just woken from a nap, not been knocked unconscious.
“Darling,” he said, voice smooth as ever, “I thought you were resting.”
You stepped in front of Holly, shielding her with your body. “I was,” you said, forcing a brittle smile. “Imagine my surprise when I came downstairs for a glass of water and found you conducting a séance with a table full of hypnotized children.”
“You’re confused again, darling,” he said gently, like he was soothing a child after a nightmare. “You’ve been under so much stress. The fall—”
He reached for your hand, the same hand he used to cradle when he brought you tea, when he whispered that you were safe, that you didn’t need to remember.
But this time, you yanked it back like he’d burned you.
“The only reason I’m confused,” you snapped, voice rising, “is because you’ve been fucking with my head!”
Henry’s expression twitched—just for a second—but then he smoothed it over with that same infuriating calm. “You are happy here—”
“You don’t get to tell me that!” you shouted, the words ripping from your throat like glass.
A flicker of something darker—rage, maybe—flashed through his eyes. And then it was gone, replaced by a cold, patronizing smile.
“Children,” he said, voice syrupy and false, “Mrs. Whatsit is confused. She’s had quite the tumble, and I think she must be concussed. I’ll take her upstairs.”
Before you could react, his hand shot out and clamped around your wrist—tight, bruising. You gasped, tried to pull away. “Fuck you!” you spat, struggling, but his grip was iron.
He dragged you up the stairs, your feet stumbling to keep up, your free hand clawing at the banister, the wall, anything. The kids’ voices faded behind you, muffled by the pounding of your heart.
When he reached the bedroom, he flung the door open and shoved you inside. You stumbled, hit the floor hard, palms scraping against the wood. The door slammed shut behind you with a finality that made your stomach twist.
Henry stood over you, breathing hard. His face was no longer calm. It was alive with fury.
“Is this what you wanted, Y/N?” he hissed.
You froze.
He’d never said your name before.
Not once. Not in all the time you’d lived in this dream. It had always been darling, sweetheart, love. Never you.
“Answer me,” he snapped, voice sharp and cracking.
You pushed yourself up, hair falling into your face, your body trembling with adrenaline. “Does it look like I want any of this?”
He paced, hands clenched at his sides. “I saved you,” he growled. “You were living a miserable life. Working yourself to death for scraps. Your mother had just died. You were alone. You hated yourself.”
You stared at him, chest heaving. “But it was my life! And you don’t get to take that from me!”
He stopped. “You were drowning.”
“I was grieving,” you said. “I was trying. And you—you took that from me. You took me from me.”
“I gave you peace.”
“You gave me a lobotomy,” you snapped. “You erased my pain, yeah—but you erased everything else with it. My memories. My friends. My choices. You made me into someone you could control.”
Henry’s face twisted. “You don’t understand what I’ve done for you.”
You rose to your feet, every muscle in your body trembling, but your voice was steady. “No,” you said. “I do understand. You built a world where I’d never fight back. Where I’d be grateful to be kept. Where I’d forget who I was, what I’d lost, what I loved. But I remember now. I remember who I am. And I’m not yours.”
Before he could respond, a sudden force slammed into him like a freight train. His body lifted off the ground and hurtled backward, crashing through the bedroom door and tumbling down the stairs in a blur of limbs and rage.
You stood frozen for a beat, heart hammering, until a voice called out from the top of the stairs.
“Y/N?”
You turned, breath catching in your throat.
“El?”
She stood there, framed in the hallway light, blood trickling from her nose, eyes wide and fierce
“Holy shit,” you breathed. “Are you actually here?”
“Yes,” she said, already moving toward you.
“How?” you asked, stunned. “How did you—?”
She shook her head, grabbing your wrist. “I’ll explain later. We need to get out of here. Now.”
She didn’t wait for your answer. She yanked you forward, and together you sprinted down the stairs, your feet barely touching the steps.
Henry was already pushing himself up from the floor, blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes black with fury. “Where are they?” he growled, voice no longer human.
El didn’t flinch.
She stepped in front of you, her stance wide, her chin lifted, shielding you the way you’d shielded Holly not long ago. Her voice was calm, but it cut through the air like a blade.
“With Max,” she said. “Safe.”
You flinched as Henry raised a hand, and El was suddenly lifted into the air, her limbs rigid, her boots dangling inches above the floor. Her breath hitched, her jaw clenched.
“Where are they?” Henry repeated, his voice low and venomous.
“I told you,” El ground out, her voice strained with pain. “With Max. Far away from here.”
You stood frozen, heart hammering, watching the scene unfold like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.
El’s eyes locked on Henry’s. “You can’t believe it, can you?” she said, her voice trembling but defiant. “That they’d ever see through your lies.”
Henry’s expression flickered.
“That’s why you take children,” El continued. “Because you think they’re easy to mold. Because you think they have weak minds.”
It took you a second to realize what she was doing. A distraction. A setup.
And then you saw it—a flicker of rainbow light, just at the edge of your vision, shimmering through the dining room like a mirage. You reached out, hesitantly, pinky extended.
It disappeared.
Shit.
You hadn’t realized El could do this. Or maybe it wasn’t just her. Henry rolled up his sleeve, and your breath caught in your throat. His hand twisted, skin splitting until it became something monstrous—long, blackened claws where fingers should be.
You gasped.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Henry said, his voice syrupy and cruel. “I’ll take this memory out of your mind later. And the others as well.”
He raised the claw, hovering it above El’s face.
And then—
El dropped.
Her body crumpled to the floor. Immediately henry walked over to the dining room A strange, curling mist hovered in the air for a heartbeat—then vanished. He barely had time to react before she flung him backward with a force that flung everything off the table and him on it.
“Now!” she shouted.
From the hallway, a girl burst into the room—short, sharp-eyed, her presence like a blade drawn in the dark. A knife gleamed in her hand as she leapt over the wreckage, landing above Henry’s crumpled form.
“Hello, brother,” she said, voice low and cold.
But before the blade could fall—
Henry vanished.
“Where did he go?” you asked, breathless, heart still pounding.
El didn’t answer. She just grabbed your hand, her grip firm and urgent. “We have to go,” she said, and then she was running—pulling you with her, out of the house, through the back door, and into the woods.
You stumbled after her, feet catching on roots and moss, until the house was gone behind you and the trees opened up into a clearing you’d never seen before.
That’s when it hit you.
You’d never made it this far.
Not once.
Not past the garden. Not past the white picket fence. Not past the illusion.
“Wait—” someone hissed just as you burst through the bushes, sunlight blinding after the darkness of the woods.
You stumbled into the clearing, breath ragged, and before you could even register where you were, arms wrapped around you tight.
“Y/N!” a voice gasped.
You blinked, and there she was—Max. Real. Solid. Her red hair glinting in the sun, her eyes wide with relief.
“Missed you,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
You let out a breathless laugh, hugging her back. “I missed you too.”
She pulled away just enough to look you over, then turned to El and the other girl beside her
“Did you find him?” Max asked.
The girl shook her head, her expression tight. “He just vanished.”
Max’s jaw clenched. “Then he’s back in the real world. He can come back. Will come back.”
“How far to the cave?” El asked.
“Not far,” Max said, already scanning the trees. “C’mon.”
You ran and ran, El’s hand locked tightly in yours, her grip the only thing anchoring you to the moment.
Then—dum dum.
A low, rhythmic thud echoed through the trees.
You skidded to a stop, chest heaving. “What’s that?” you asked, eyes darting through the trees.
El’s face was pale. “Hopper.”
You blinked “what?” Wasn’t hopper dead?
Max caught up, her brows furrowed. “Why is he signaling?”
El didn’t answer.
Max’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not a signal.”
And then, without warning, El’s hand dissolved in yours—her fingers turning to smoke, her body unraveling like mist in sunlight. You gasped, reaching for her, but she was already gone.
“No, no, no—El!”
The other girl (Kali, though you still didn’t know her name)
vanished next, her silhouette flickering like a dying flame before it, too, disappeared.
You were left standing in the clearing, stunned, surrounded by the kids, all of them looking to you now.
Max grabbed your shoulders, her eyes fierce. “Y/N, listen to me.”
“What—what just happened?” you stammered.
“Take them to the cave.”
“The cave?” you echoed, heart racing.
“Holly knows where. They’re safe in the cave,” and then max disappeared as well
The kids around you were unraveling fast—tears, shouting, frantic glances toward the trees like they expected the shadows to reach out and grab them next.
“Okay, okay. Guys, calm down!” you said, raising your voice over the chaos. “Guys—”
“The black thing took them!” a girl shrieked, her voice cracking.
“Shut the fuck up!” you snapped, sharper than you meant to be—but it worked. The clearing went still. The girl’s mouth clamped shut, eyes wide.
You took a breath, trying to steady your own panic. “Thank you. The plan hasn’t changed. We’re still going to the cave. That’s where we’re safe.”
You turned to Holly, who was pale but standing tall, her little fists clenched at her sides.
“Holly,” you said, gentler now. “Lead the way.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes. Okay. Follow me.”
Without another word, she turned and started toward the trees, her small figure cutting a path through the underbrush with surprising certainty.
—————-
Steve couldn’t believe how close he was to getting you back.
Every step he took across the jagged, otherworldly terrain sent a jolt through his legs, but he barely felt it. The sky above him was odd and the ground cracked but none of it mattered. Not the shifting shadows, not Mike bickering with Nancy about how she has two guns and he has none. All he could think about was you.
Your eyes, the way they crinkled when you laughed. The way your hair used to fall into your face when you were focused on something. The way your hand fit into his like it was made to be there. The way you used to look at him like he was something more than the guy who always messed up. the rocky world stretched out like a shattered mirror, fractured and endless. Somewhere here, was your body. Empty now a shell. But he’d get you back.
Then Will dropped to his knees, his breath catching in his throat like something had punched the air from his lungs. He clutched his chest, eyes wide, unfocused.
“Mrs. Byers!” Steve gasped, voice cracking.
Joyce was at his side in an instant, her hands on his shoulders. “Will!” she cried. “What’s going on? What do you see?”
The others crowded around—Mike, Lucas, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Dustin. Will’s voice was thin, distant. “Henry… he’s made it to the cave.”
Will’s eyes fluttered, his fingers twitching like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through him. “He’s found them. Holly. The kids. He’s there.”
A beat of silence.
Then Mike leaned in closer, desperate. “What about El? Kali? Max? Are they with them?”
Will shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t see them. But… I see Y/N.”
Steve’s heart stopped.
“She’s helping the kids out of the cave,” Will said, voice trembling. “But Henry—he’s close. He’s right there.”
Steve froze.
“Don’t hurt me,” you said, voice trembling as Henry loomed over you, his shadow stretching long across the cave wall.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your skin crawl, “I’d never.”
“Please,” you whispered, “leave them alone.”
He sighed, almost regretful. “Now you know I can’t.”
“Why not?” you asked, voice cracking. “They’re just kids.”
“That’s why,” he said, and there was something final in his voice. Something monstrous.
Your hand closed around the handle of the old teapot beside you You didn’t think. You just moved.
The teapot shattered against his head with a sickening crack.
“I fucking hate tea,” you spat, and ran.
“Go! Go! GO!” you screamed, sprinting after the kids.
Derek stumbled ahead of you, eyes wide. “She’s insane!”
“She’s a badass,” Holly corrected, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.
You caught up to them, herding them toward the narrow tunnel that went under the ground Behind you, you heard Henry roar—more beast than man now.
“Move!” you shouted again, your voice echoing off the stone.
“She hit him,” Will said, a flicker of awe in his voice. “She hit him with a teapot. She’s okay. She’s running.”
Steve’s heart surged.
“She’s fighting,” Will added. “She’s still her.”
—————
Everything that happened until you woke up was a blur—fractured images and half-formed sounds, like a dream slipping through your fingers. You remembered Holly’s scream, the fire poker clutched in her tiny hands, the way she drove it into Henry’s side with more fury than fear. You remembered Derek pulling your arm and guiding you towards the light. You remember the red world and Holly telling you you need to think about what makes you happiest. You remember thinking about Steve, and Dustin and Robin and Nancy and Max and El.
You remembered running, stumbling, the cave walls pulsing like a heartbeat around you.
And through it all, you swore you could hear Will’s voice. Not in your ears, but in your mind—urgent, echoing, like a thread pulling you forward. She’s running. She’s fighting. She’s still her.
Then everything went black.
And now—
Now, something was being peeled from your face. you couldn’t tell what it was but you could taste something disgusting. You gasped, lungs aching like they’d forgotten how to breathe.
“Y/N?”
The voice cracked. Familiar. Raw.
You blinked, vision swimming, and then arms were around you—tight, trembling, real. You knew that scent. That warmth. That voice.
“Steve?” you rasped, barely above a whisper.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face streaked with dirt and tears, eyes wide and shining. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Thank god. Thank god.”
You tried to sit up, but your limbs felt like lead. He caught you before you could fall, cradling you like something precious. “You’re okay,” he said, over and over, like he was trying to convince himself. “You’re okay. You’re here.”
You blinked again, and your eyes finally focused. What the hell was this place?
Steve pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His hands trembled where they cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t realized were falling.
“You’re so strong, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You’re so fucking strong. I thought I lost you. I thought—” His voice cracked, and he pulled you closer, like he could anchor himself in your heartbeat. “I love you so much.”
You blinked up at him, dazed and aching and overwhelmed. “You found me,” you breathed, the words barely holding together. “You really found me.”
He let out a soft, broken laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Of course I did,” he murmured. “You carry half of my heart with you. I couldn’t breathe without it.”
You let out a shaky chuckle, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Wow,” you said, voice still hoarse. “You’re so cheesy.”
Steve grinned through the tears, brushing your hair back gently. “Yeah, well, you almost died. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
“Oh my god!”
Dustin’s voice cracked through the hum of the camp, and before you could even turn your head, he was already there—racing across the clearing like a blur of curls and panic.
“I thought he was crazy,” he gasped, dropping to his knees beside you. “But you’re alive. You’re actually alive.”
You barely had time to react before his arms were around your neck, squeezing tight. He smelled like dirt and sweat and the faintest trace of marshmallow cereal. You let out a soft, choked laugh as you hugged him back, your arms trembling from the effort.
“Dustin,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder. “You grew.”
“You died!” he shouted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and glassy. “You died, and then Steve went full-on feral and—“
“Oh I went feral?” Steve scoffed, throwing a hand in the air. “He’s been fighting everyone who said you died because of an earthquake. He nearly tackled a guy at the gas station for saying your name was on the memorial wall.”
Dustin didn’t even flinch. “He said she was a symbol of loss, Steve. What was I supposed to do? Agree?”
You choked on a laugh, still half-curled in Steve’s lap, your voice hoarse but warm. “God, I missed you guys.”
“Y/N!”
Robin’s voice cut through the chaos, and then she was there, practically launching herself at you. She wrapped her arms around you so tight you thought your ribs might crack, but you didn’t care. You clung to her like a lifeline.
“Does this mean I have to apologize to Steve,” she mumbled into your shoulder, “for thinking he was crazy when he said he was dreaming about you?”
You pulled back just enough to look at her, your brows raised, voice dry. “Of course not. Never apologize to a man. Ever. That’s feminism, Robin.”
She snorted, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “God, I missed you.”
You smiled, still breathless, still aching, but the warmth in your chest was real. “I missed you too.”
Steve scoffed, trying for sarcasm but failing to hide the relief in his voice. “Okay, yeah, cool, just gonna ignore the part where you told Robin never to apologize to a man. Even me.”
You smirked. “Especially you.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Alright, feminist icon. You think you can walk? You haven’t used your limbs in what—eighteen months?”
“Yeah, I think so,” you said, bracing your hands against the ground and pushing yourself up.
You made it halfway.
Then your knees buckled, and you tumbled forward with all the grace of a newborn deer.
“Whoa—” Steve caught you before you hit the ground, his arms wrapping around you instinctively. “Guess not, huh?”
You groaned, forehead pressed to his chest. “I was so confident.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm in your ear. “Yeah, well, confidence is sexy. So is not concussing yourself.”
Before you could protest, he scooped you up in one smooth motion, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing. Bridal style. Classic Harrington.
“Seriously?” you muttered, your arms looping around his neck as he carried you like some overdramatic prince in a soap opera. “This is so dramatic.”
Steve grinned, not even pretending to be ashamed. “Never letting you go ever again.”
You chuckled, your fingers drifting up to the brim of the backwards hat on his head “I like this on you,” you said, voice soft but teasing.
He raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking up to where it now sat slightly crooked on your head. “Yeah? You planning on stealing it?”
you grin “you know me so well”
