a/n: this one's inspired by the nights id hold my kid and rock them in the living room while singing to them so they wouldn't cry ♡
masterlist // pizza party
The clock on the wall blinks 3:17 a.m. in angry red. Elowen has been crying for four nights straight.
Her screams are the kind that live in your bones- high, ragged, endless. They don’t sound like normal newborn fussing. They sound like pain. Like she’s fighting something none of you can see or fix.
You sit on the edge of the old armchair with her pressed to your chest, one hand cupping the back of her little head, the other rubbing slow circles on her back even though your arm went numb an hour ago. Your eyes are dry and burning. You stopped being able to cry properly somewhere around 2 a.m. on night three.
Eddie hasn’t stopped moving. He’s been pacing the length of the living room for what feels like days, barefoot on the cold floor, long curls half-tangled in a sloppy bun, wearing the same faded Black Sabbath shirt he’s had on since yesterday morning. His eyes are bloodshot, ringed with purple shadows. Every time Elowen’s wail pitches higher he flinches like it physically hurts him.
“We’ve tried everything,” he says, voice shredded. “Everything, baby. I don’t know what else to do.”
You don’t answer. Your throat is too tight.
He stops pacing and looks at you- really looks- and something in his face cracks. He crosses the room in three strides and drops to his knees in front of the chair, wrapping his arms around both of you. His forehead presses against your thigh.
“I hate this,” he whispers. “I hate that she’s hurting and we can’t stop it. I hate that I’m supposed to be the one who makes the scary shit go away and I can’t even help my own kid.”
You card your fingers through his hair with your free hand. It’s greasy and soft at the same time. “You’re not failing her, Eds.”
“Feels like it.”
The silence that follows is filled only by Elowen’s cries. They’ve gone hoarse now. She’s exhausted too. You all are.
You reach for the phone on the side table with trembling fingers and dialed Joyce’s number. It rings twice.
“Eddie? Honey, what’s wrong?” Her voice is thick with sleep but instantly alert.
“It’s Elowen again,” you say, because Eddie looks like he might break if he has to talk. “She won’t stop. We’ve done the leg pushes, the football hold, the warm bath, rice bottle, the white noise, the car ride… Joyce, we’re losing our minds. Is there anything- anything at all- that used to work for you?”
Joyce is quiet for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is gentle but you can hear the helplessness in it. “Oh, sweetheart. I wish I had some magic fix. Back when Jonathan was little we just… walked the floors. Sang to him. Carried him in the laundry basket sometimes because the motion helped. But that was a long time ago. Things are different now. Have you tried to swaddle her differently? Or tried the swing?”
You close your eyes. You’ve tried both. Nothing works for more than ten minutes.
“Thank you,” you whisper anyway. “Sorry for waking you.”
“Don’t you dare apologize. Call me anytime. I mean it.”
You hang up. Eddie is still on his knees, arms around you both, face hidden against your leg. You can feel the dampness of his tears soaking through the thin cotton of your sleep shirt- his old Dio shirt, the one you stole months ago because it smelled like him.
Elowen lets out another broken wail and your chest caves in.
You don’t remember deciding to slide down onto the floor. One second you’re in the chair and the next you’re on the rug with your back against the armchair, Elowen still clutched to your chest. Eddie moves with you, settling beside you so your shoulders press together. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck and you feel his hot, shaky breaths.
“I’m so tired,” you whisper. The words crack open something inside you. “I’m so fucking tired, Eddie. And I love her so much it hurts and I can’t help her and I feel like the worst mother in the world.”
A sob tears out of you- ugly, exhausted, helpless. Eddie’s arms tighten. His own tears are silent but you feel them against your skin.
“We’re both the worst,” he says, voice wrecked. “We’re the worst and she deserves better and I don’t know how to fix it.”
You cry together on the living room floor while your daughter cries between you. The three of you make a miserable little symphony of exhaustion and love and fear. Your tears drip into Elowen’s hair. Eddie’s drip onto your shoulder. Her tiny body shakes with the force of her sobs.
Minutes pass. Or maybe hours. Time has stopped making sense.
Then Eddie lifts his head. His eyes are red and swollen, lashes clumped with tears, but there’s something new flickering behind the exhaustion. He looks past you toward the corner of the room where his acoustic guitar leans against the wall beside a stack of half-finished miniatures and a overflowing laundry basket.
“Hold on,” he murmurs.
He untangles himself carefully, stands on stiff legs, and crosses the room. When he comes back he’s carrying the guitar. He drops down in front of you again, cross-legged, and settles the instrument across his lap. His fingers find the strings without looking.
“What are you doing?” you ask, voice thick.
“She got quiet for a second the other night,” he says. His fingers pluck a soft, tentative note. “When I was humming. Remember? In the bathroom after her bath. She… she listened. Maybe she needs something she can feel. Our voices. The vibration. I don’t know. It’s stupid but-”
“It’s not stupid,” you whisper.
Eddie starts to play. It’s nothing complicated- just slow, gentle fingerpicking, the kind of soft melody he only ever plays when the world is quiet and he thinks no one’s listening. The sound fills the small room like warm light.
He looks up at you through his messy curls. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.
“Sing with me?”
You nod. Your throat aches. You take a shaky breath and begin.
“You are my sunshine… my only sunshine…”
Eddie joins on the next line, his voice low and rough and so full of love it makes your chest hurt.
“You make me happy… when skies are gray…”
Elowen’s cries stutter. A hiccup. Then another. Her little body, rigid for so long, starts to melt against your chest.
“You’ll never know, dear… how much I love you…”
Eddie’s playing gets softer. His eyes stay locked on yours, then drift down to the baby tucked between you. His voice cracks on the next line but he keeps going.
“Please don’t take… my sunshine… away…”
You sing it again. And again. Softer each time. Eddie’s fingers move slower on the strings, the notes stretching out like they’re trying to wrap around all three of you. Elowen’s whimpers fade into tiny, sleepy sighs. Her fist, which had been clutching your shirt in a death grip, slowly uncurls. Her breathing evens out- one long, shuddering breath, then another, then the soft, even rhythm of sleep.
She’s out.
Eddie plays one final, barely there note and lets it hang in the air before his hands still on the guitar. The silence that follows is so complete it feels sacred.
You both stare down at her like she’s a miracle. Because right now she is.
Eddie sets the guitar aside with careful hands. He leans forward and presses the gentlest kiss to Elowen’s damp forehead, then to your lips- slow, trembling, full of everything you’ve both been too tired and scared to say out loud for days.
When he pulls back his eyes are shining again, but the tears this time look different. Lighter.
“She’s sleeping,” he whispers, awed. “Holy shit. She’s actually sleeping.”
You let out a wet, exhausted laugh that turns into another quiet sob- this one of pure, bone-deep relief. Eddie pulls you both into his arms, careful not to jostle her. You stay like that on the living room floor for a long time- you leaning back against the chair, Eddie curled around you both, Elowen finally peaceful between your heartbeats.
The colic will probably be back tomorrow. And the night after that. You know that. But right now, in this fragile pocket of quiet, you have this.
Eddie rests his forehead against yours. His voice is barely audible.
“I love you,” he breathes. “Both of you. More than anything in this whole fucked-up world.”
You close your eyes and let the words settle over you like the last soft notes of his guitar. For the first time in what feels like forever, the night is still.
This author does not condone the feeding of their works to generate AI content.
Pairing: Eventual Steve Harrington/AFAB!Reader
Word count: 3.3k
Content warnings: N/a
The second search party for Will Byers was not an appropriate place for you to be. Much to Chief Hopper’s dismay, he rather you be here than thrusted back into stifling yellow-lit halls and bustling teen dramatics. You needed space, was what your mother said. And space she gave you.
The morning’s pale, endless sky nearly engulfs Hawkins. If it weren’t for the occasional group of crows or sparrows here and there, silent while flying past, a brief look up would leave some breathless. Clumps of earth and dead leaves go on for miles. The vastness made everything buzz. A stub on something plastic. A clumsy stomp on old soda cans. An arm, leaning on the wet-cold trunk of a tree, to refine more focus to what could be on the ground. Layered with the various shouts of “Will!” “Will Byers!” “Will, we’ve got ya, bud,” everything felt charged. But that was the thing about energy. It shifts.
Quietly brewing among the shouts, the turning-overs, the double-checking, are stifled scoffs, baseless rumors, and doubt.
“The chief and her, they’ve screwed before, huh?” Callahan’s voice is slightly hushed, yet steady—a reckless invitation that Officer Powell doesn’t fully entertain. He responds back with a sneer and a solid call of Will’s name.
“That a yeah or did they…” Saying it out loud feels relieving—released into the world away from the volunteers, away from Will (who, to Callahan, is more of an idea of a child than an actual missing child) and most importantly, away from the Chief. And what is relief without release and enjoyment? A keen eye could catch it in his relaxed shoulders and upward tilt of his lips. To Callahan, the forest is too vast to hold something so trivial and hushed. Once released, his words are gone. Separated from him and scattered to the wind. Separate from his person to a degree almost as severe as his gleaming badge, hidden at the cross of his arms, to the volunteers’ neon orange vests.
Contrary to Callahan’s excuses, the earth remembers. It adapts. Would a mere disappearance bring forth change? The Byers child isn't some wide-sweeping environmental disease. Nor is he a caterpillar, attributable to the evolution of plants with poisonous leaves as a form of protection. In the literal, earthly sense, he is missing. Missing posters are taped in places he has and hasn’t been. They lay in a pile on the Byers’ dining table—rejected by his mother, who searches beyond, and hugged to the chest by his brother, who thinks Will can come back if he pins, staples, and tapes carefully enough.
His bike is found, with its pedals lightly stamped in dry leaves and dirt.
His castle stands noble, unfazed from the previous night’s rainfall.
Reminders remain, making the lack of his presence unsettling. Wrong. And such is the case of this question. It isn't a matter of whether he would make an impact, but what impact his disappearance makes.
“Will! Will!” Officers Callahan and Powell bellow. Officer Callahan reels himself in, a slight shakiness to his call (in comparison to Officer Powell, who is all chest and mostly business).
With Will’s disappearance, comes peculiarities. Some run deep, hidden, and gnarled like roots. The earth remembers, and houses what lies within.
--
Having more hands on deck was supposed to be reassuring. Instead, Chief Hopper finds himself distracted. Every so often, his ears pick up on the softness of your mother’s voice, breathy and familiar when directed towards you. It steers bright, almost shrill, when she shouts amidst her search. As well-intentioned as she is, her decision to bring you along brought more. More doubt, more confusion, and more straying. While organizing the search party, Flo called back multiple times to redirect your mother elsewhere.
“The Byers family still needs help with printing and distributing posters; this may be a better alternative.”
“I apologize again, but it is not recommended for children below the age of 18 to volunteer. Circulating the news even with a close circle might help.”
“Flashlights, first aid kits, and walking sticks are always in need. We could use a pair of hands or so to pick these up and store them for future use.”
Nothing stuck, and against Flo and Chief Hopper’s better judgment, here you both were. The father didn't come, likely still on the way to Hawkins Town Square to open up. He couldn’t afford to miss a day at work. They fought about it last night and briefly this morning. Something about, “She is our daughter, damn it! She's only been back for two days, and you're the one losing your mind? What about her?! What about our daughter? What about volunteering in a search party sounds helpful to you?” And, “Do you hear yourself? Go fix your fucking shoes—that’s the only thing you seem to care about anyways. I will do everything. Unlike! You!” Also, “You’re giving her everything but the thing she needs most: time.”
Several yards away from the top of the slope, Hopper sees you clearing the leaves and sticks with the front of your shoe. At first, he’s far away enough to observe—and only that. His mind has better places to be. Joyce kept mixing up what Will wore last night, running through her pack of cigarettes at a rate that concerned even him. He was sick of her hand tremor, shaking like she carried everything and then some. He didn’t just ask questions—he asked the right ones. He didn’t just find Will’s bike—he gathered information. Joyce met nearly every question, every speculation, with distance and unease—a reminder that she is a parent, and Hopper is a cop.
In the span of twenty minutes, Hopper’s moved closer to the two of you than he’s liked. Planted a few trees away, his feet wait for his mind to move.
Certainly, volunteering in a search party was not a part of your discharge instructions. Outside of a doctor’s opinion and care, a parent tends to their child’s health with rampant comfort and hesitant technicalities. It bewilders Chief Hopper that something like this could look like that.
Hopper doesn’t take long to work out that you are distracted. Your mother trails closely behind your crouched form, attention tightly tethered, looking where you look, and toeing where you toe. Crunchy leaves part at the heavy drags of your feet, leaving a trail of visible earth. Your movements are machine-like, feet slithering at a steady pace with help from the downward slope. Yet every now and then, your engine jerks, and you peer over your mother with a partial turn of your head. She meets you with a quick jut of her chin.
You resume.
Hopper scrunches his brows at the sight of her, cogs turning when he realizes that her head is angled not at you, but rather around you. At the ghost of your smile whenever you pause to check on her. At the end of your jeans, brown from kicking up dust and dirt. The stiff smile your mom gives is foreign. He reasons to himself that that doesn’t mean much. That the performance before him makes sense. That he doesn’t know enough, and that it’s none of his business. He crumples this up to keep for later.
Pulling his shoulders back, Hopper returns to the forest. The air is light and crisp, and as nice as that is—you should be elsewhere. School wasn't an option just yet, but there should be at least five anywhere elses for you to try. He shakes his head and tightens his jaw; his mind is made up, legs following with him. His stride is unyielding, twigs snapping and heels trudging into the dirt. He surges towards the both of you, stuffing down his perplexity when you freeze before your mother does. You stand up, eyes wide and posture rigid.
“You two need to go home.”
“Chief Hopper, we’ve barely covered any ground-” Your mother has to look up to speak to him.
“And we will cover just as much with two people short. Please.” The frustration building in his voice is hot and steady; it comes out soft and quiet because he lets it. His hands speak with him, and something about the way he holds himself has your mother leave quietly.
He was the last person deserving of judgment, but as he sees you two off, your distant eyes set his lips with unease.
He is given another reminder as you’re driven off.
Joyce is a parent, and Jim was one.
Off to the side, one cold glance is all it takes for Officers Powell and Callahan to bury their noses elsewhere. At least, until they’re back in the office.
--
For whatever reason, your concussion becomes everyone's problem, and a palpable one at that. Parts of Hawkins are still asleep, brisk air doing little to prod it awake. You pass by slouching trees and gloomy fields, cloaked heavily in the cold. It's hard to tell how much life occupies the houses you glance at. Some still have their curtains closed, cars in the driveway; others pour out warmth in spite of their emptiness. On occasion, another car drives by, and every time that happens, you look down.
Something settles at the bottom of your stomach, dark and grim. You pick at the skin of your thumbs, panic rising with the quickening of your pulse. As certain as you are alive, the aimless search your heart has on whatever to make it better, suffocates you. The picking curbs other signs of stress, ones that would otherwise show on your face. You drag out a long sigh, and sink further back into your seat. When you reach to adjust your seat belt, your eyes couldn't help but flit back to your mother before settling once again, on the view outside the window.
Calling her your mother came easier than expected. When you came, bawling and desperate and eyes crusted shut, she cradled you in her arms, hands trembling and alive. At that moment, it felt all the same—the low chant of your name, her fingers brushing through your hair, the tightness of her hold as she rocked you. She felt just enough like Mom for you to stop crying.
What you managed to grasp at the time was incomplete, broken. You were falling into yourself, endlessly. Every cycle became an attempt for you to stay together, with nothing to hold you in place. Wearing your face like a mask, slipping your hands on like gloves, flailing your legs until they clicked in place. You slipped through yourself each time, failing to stay whole. Darkness was your only company, echoing your dread back to you.
"I need to go back." The thread snaps, and you hit the ground.
Laying there in her arms, you pretend that this is how it should be. That you are her daughter, ready to go home and… be. Her comfort is thick like a balm, momentarily numbing your anguish. You lay heavily in her arms, surrendered and tingly; remnants of the dark now distant, but still within reach.
It didn't take long for a nurse to come by, informing you both that a doctor will attend to you shortly.
What felt like years ended up being an hour-long stay at the ER. Your mother had little to worry about; the concussion was deemed mild. The diagnostic process took up the bulk of the visit. You were hesitant at first, something she caught when you paused at certain questions. She picked it up with ease, the way you wracked your brain. You were intentional.
"And, do you remember what day it is?" The doctor looks up from her notes, pen held loosely in her hand. Her smile is kind, yet distant.
"N-no. I don't know how long I've been out so…" You don't know if that helps your case. It probably worsened it. By a lot. You gulp.
Sensing your distress, your mother breaks through with a rub on your shoulder. "It's okay. The doctor just wants to make sure you're okay. I'm right here. She, uh, slipped in the bathroom. I heard it from downstairs, ran up, and when she wouldn't wake up, I called 911."
"Then, do you recall how you hit your head?" The doctor looks back at you. This time her brows are furrowed.
Your shoulders sink, and you answer truthfully. "I don't remember how it happened."
The doctor nods, noting everything down.
The rest of the diagnostic is uneventful. She finishes with, "It's likely your daughter experienced a mild traumatic brain injury, or concussion. Concussions have a largely positive prognosis, but keep in mind that symptoms may appear in the days after it happens. This is typical, but if your daughter finds that they persist, or that she continues to be disoriented, ask her primary care physician to refer her to a neurologist. They'll be able to run more tests and provide further care if needed. Everything is detailed in your discharge instructions. She should be able to return to her daily activities in as soon as two days."
The both of you leave in silence, discharge papers rolled up and clutched tightly in one of your mother's hands. The other rests on the back of your neck.
"I called your dad a bit ago. Told him to close up early and prepare dinner—just in case they let you come home tonight." She helps you into the passenger's seat. You nod slowly, only giving yourself room to think after you buckle your seat belt. Meanwhile, your mother is making her way towards the other side of the car.
"I have a dad?" You sighed incredulously.
The car ride from Hawkins General Hospital to home is filled with silence. Your measly attempt at adjusting goes unwatched, as your mother's attention is fixed to the road. Eyes glued to the night beyond your car window, your body remains frozen; a clear sign of compensation for the amount of effort your brain puts in, rifling through the unknown. You cross your arms, digging your nails into the side. The faint pain gives you a direction.
The dad is waiting in the driveway by the time you both return home, pacing back and forth in the dark with an apron on. He waves several times, making sure that your eyes meet his. Your chest tightens, and before you could fully get out, he scurries over and crushes you in a hug. He strokes your hair, and you grimace at the way his mustache tickles your cheek. Both parents lead you inside, your mother giving the dad a brief rundown of what happened. Her hands are animated as she speaks; he's nodding along, tension in his jaw slowly fading away.
"I'll call in the morning to make an appointment. Need me to close up for tomorrow?" Your mother shakes her head.
You walk into the smell of dinner, a familiar medley of tomatoes, dried herbs, and warmth. Making your way further into the house, you take off your shoes and stand by the staircase, watching two people seamlessly fall into the motions.
"Mom?"
She hums back as she's setting the table.
"I'm not that hungry yet. You and Dad can eat first. Is it okay… if I eat later? I just want to lie down a bit." You muster up your best smile, wearing it like a silent plead.
"Yes, but I want you back down in no later than an hour. Come over and take a glass with you." You give your mother a nod, raising a thumbs up to the dad when he holds up your plate. A hefty portion of spaghetti will be waiting for you. Before anything else, you head straight upstairs with the glass of water in hand. The rooms with closed doors are neglected; even the bathroom is only spared a few seconds of attention. It's easy to tell which room was yours, decorated with various stickers on your door, and slither of pastel yellow wallpaper peeking through.
Set on autopilot, you close the door, set the glass on the desk, and walk up to the mirror.
You unwrap yourself like a doll, with gentle and curious hands. You start first at the scalp, slowly tapping and poking amidst cool strands of hair. Eyes glued to the mirror, you notice yourself rubbing the same spot. It throbs. Your hands prod for further abnormalities before your stress does, and the lack of urgency screams at you to act. You back away from the mirror.
Your soul is yours, but this body is not. Off to the side of your reflection, your eyes catch on the calendar.
The date reads November 6th, 1983.
"I need to go back."
You lurch forward in the car, pulled back into the present.
"Sorry, hon. Squirrel on the road."
"S'okay." You try to ignore your mother’s grip on the steering wheel, clamped to the point it tightens your own throat. She's been looking into you. Through you. And you weren't sure if she knew what she was doing—if her watchfulness was only the beginning of the search for her daughter in you.
--
The sudden pour makes the terrain more bearable. Dead leaves and sticks become pliable, less likely to resist against her footsteps and sink further into the mud. Earlier, when the skies turned murky and gray, and the air wet and earthy, she contemplated on whether to hide. But, she was never good at that, and she knew that if she stayed still, they would find her. The only solution was to keep going forward.
Eleven cloaks herself with the dark, rain muting out the wet sloshing of mud and skin against earth.
The pace she set is beginning to falter, heart pounding against her ears. With each stride, her calves ache and quiver. The endlessness traps her—not unlike the white, cold walls of the laboratory or the hushed deaths that pile behind her.
Raindrops pelted, unrelenting. With the night's persistence, it gets harder for Eleven to see. She trips over a dip in the ground, knees stinging from the prickly leaves and pebbles amidst the mud. She steadies herself, reaching an arm out on a nearby birch tree to keep steady. The strength of her grip causes the bark to peel. With what little visibility there is, she stares at the piece of outer bark in her hand, and back at the inner bark on the trunk, its color a ghostly gray between tannish paper-like wood. Her breath hitches, and she drops the bark on the ground. Then, she starts to run.
Coldness creeps from the inside. Her head is awfully quiet, waiting for the chance to finish its puzzle but she resists. And for naught. Fear overrides her, thoughts clicking in to place.
"Gray. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong." It's too cold to scream.
Off in the distance, something squelches.
Eleven's pants start to sound like pleads, desperate and shaky. Her arms are stretched out in front of her, a force of habit to shield herself from the bad things. Without thinking, she changes direction, charging ahead clumsily.
Time stretches. She feels its croaking reverberate in her chest. She's pulled back there, back with Papa, back into nothing. Eleven is tired. Papa said it can't hurt her. Papa said it wasn't really there. But she touched its slimy cold skin, saw it open itself, and felt it try to kill her. They made her do something wrong.
Eleven almost yields. She slows down her pace, arms limp at her sides. A gust of wind nearly takes her with it. One foot back; that shouldn't be hard to do. She shifts her weight, and turns her head slowly.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, a flicker of light.
Author's note: Yippee, I finally got this out! This was postponed for much too long because I just so happened to go through the worst couple months of my life ;; Anyways, I can't wait for the behemoth this will become!
Synopsis: You and Jonathan Byers had been best friends since childhood, inseparable and attached to the hip from the moment you were both old enough to walk until you reached high-school. So, it was nearly impossible not to fall for Jonathan, the same boy who you knew you better than anyone else in Hawkins — But, not all lovestruck high-school girls get their fantasy, especially not when Nancy Wheeler and her perfect smile come into the picture.
Tags: Heavy Dialogue, Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Unrequited Lovers, Insecurities, Jealousy, Arguing, Avoidance, Friends-Lovers-Strangers, No comfort.
Word Count: 5.8k
The eerie quietness that wraps around you is almost suffocating, like a hug you tried to push through. There wasn’t any calmness in this quiet, and it certainly wasn’t as welcoming as the hushed silence that used to wrap around you and Jonathan like a shared secret when you were still kids.
This was thinner, stretched distantly like a single breath could snap the veil in two, but loud enough to buzz in your ears as you stood at the edge of the separation line of your front yards, dirtied sneakers sinking into the mud that you’ve crossed a thousand times before.
You used to cross the like without thinking, back when the distance between your houses was nothing more than a path you could walk blindfolded. Back when the backroads felt like they belonged to you, two kids with scraped knees and tangled headphones as they traded songs like they were pieces of themselves.
Now, every step feels unsettlingly different, like you’re trespassing on something that doesn’t belong to you anymore. The porch light is still on, flicking in the broken way it always has, casting that familiar flow across the concrete porch. You can practically see it paved with memories, Jonathan sitting there with his camera, hunched over like he’s trying to disappear into it. While you sat beside him, knees knocking together, pretending you didn’t notice how close he was.
But you’ve always noticed things too much.
Your fingers curl tighter around the sleeve of your hoodie, nails hardly digging into the worn fabric. You didn’t mean to come here tonight, telling yourself that it was just an instinct, a stupid muscle memory that had a way of pulling you down this road the same way it always has since childhood.
Only now, you don’t know what you’re supposed to do when you get here, because things aren’t the same, and they haven’t been for a while.
You exhale slowly, breathe visibly in the cool air of the late autumn sky, letting your gaze drift toward his bedroom window. Even at the late hour, it’s still glowing faintly behind the window, because Jonathan was always awake at an hour he shouldn’t be, chasing something you’ve never been able to name.
There was a time when you thought you understood it, and maybe even understood him. You feel your chest tighten at the memories, something uncomfortable aching against your ribs as you shift your weight, debating whether to turn around before anyone sees you standing outside like some kind of ghost that was haunting the veil of his life.
Lately, it feels like that’s all you do, hovering at a distance, watching from the sidelines of something you used to be a part of, something and somewhere you used to belong.
The sound of laughter cuts through the quietness, faint and muffled by the walls of the house, but you could recognize that noise anywhere. It was Jonathan’s laugh, the real one that spilled when no one was forcing him to perform, and it affects you in a way that betrays your logical thoughts instantly.
You hate that it still manages to get a reaction out of you, that after all the distance you’ve forced between the friendship, after the way you’ve been avoiding him like he’s something dangerous, your body still reaches for him as if nothing has changed.
Like he’s still yours, even though he’s not, and the thought lands sharp and precise, slicing through you with brutal precision. As much as it hurts, you’ve gotten good at reminding yourself of it, because if you don’t, you start thinking about the way things used to be, and that’s somehow worse.
Another voice follows after him, lighter and more feminine. Your stomach practically drips before your brain even catches up, immediately recognizing the softness of Nancy Wheeler’s voice. Your jaw tightens instinctively, something bitter curling in your chest as you take a step back, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even though you haven’t done anything at all.
You just showed up, something you’ve always done, but now it feels like standing outside of something you were slowly being pushed out of, and the worst part was that you didn’t even notice it happening at first. There wasn’t any exact moment where everything shattered, just pieces slowly falling from the glass, leaving chips in a friendship that was fading, slow enough that you were almost able to convince yourself everything was okay.
That you weren’t losing him.
The convincing delusion didn’t last long, not when phone calls went unanswered, and plans went left unplanned, but the biggest giveaway was when he started showing up with her, practically attached to his hip in a way that seemed too friendly for your liking, leaving you with something ugly twisting beneath your veins.
Jonathan was never yours in the way that justified your hatred and jealousy, and you know that, constantly reminding yourself that Nancy never did anything wrong whenever the spikes of jealous rage pulsed beneath your arms. Nancy didn’t purposefully steal him from you or pull him away, she just existed in the orbit of Hawkins.
Yet, Jonathan still chose her, and that’s the part you struggle to swallow every night.
Another laugh drifts from the house, more intimate than the last, hitting you harder than it should have. You feel the familiar ache swelling in your throat, forcing your attention onto the wet patch of mud, blinking as it stains the soles of your sneakers. You remember standing in this exact spot years ago, calling his name one summer night until he came running outside, eyes lighting up the second like you were something worth running toward.
Now, you’re not even sure he knows you’re here.
You swallow hard, blinking against the sting pooling at your waterline, mumbling to yourself about how stupid this was, how you shouldn't have come because it wasn’t going to change anything, but some part of you still hoped, although you didn’t know exactly what you were hoping for.
Maybe he’d be alone?
Maybe things would somehow rewind themselves to before everything got complicated?
Maybe your feelings wouldn’t get in the way of things?
You shake your head at the thoughts, letting out a humorless breath, because you knew that no matter how hard you hoped, things wouldn’t change. For a moment, you just stand there, shoes sinking into the mud puddle, caught between the logical and emotional decisions — caught between holding on and letting go.
The weight of it doesn’t surprise you anymore, like your body has gotten used to the strength it took to hold yourself somewhere in-between, not quite part of his life loudly anymore, but not able to fully walk away either, because how do you walk away from someone who’s been stitched into your life for as long as you can remember.
You don’t, because that takes a level of strength that you don't have, so you just pretend. You put on a performance, pretending that it doesn’t hurt when you see them looking at someone else the way you used to imagine they’d look at you. You pretend it doesn't feel like something inside you is unraveling every time they laugh with someone who isn’t you.
Most importantly, you pretend you’re okay, and you’ve gotten too good at pretending lately.
Another sound fills the silence, the creaking noise from the front door causing your head to snap up instinctively, panic flaring through your chest. You quickly step back, nearly slipping on the mud as you move away from the porch, heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to give you away. You don’t even think, reacting unconsciously as you duck beneath the tree near the border of your front yard, hoping that it’ll somehow make you invisible.
It’s ridiculous, but the pride inside you refuses to let him see you like this.
The door opens, hinges creaking as Jonathan steps onto the concrete porch, and for a second, it feels like everything else fades around you. He looks the same and completely different all at once, taller maybe, or thinner. There’s something sharper about him now, something more closed-off. Beneath the sharpness, it’s still the boy who used to sit cross-legged on his bedroom floor with you, rewinding the same song over and over again because you couldn’t get enough of it.
He’s still the same boy you fell in love with.
His sneakers scoff against the concrete, running a hand through his hair in that absentminded way he always does when his thoughts are elsewhere. Nancy follows behind him, lingering in the doorway as she says something that makes his expression soften in a way that makes your chest ache. You feel your stomach drop, the ache swelling in your throat as you notice his expression, the kind of expression you always hoped would be directed at you one day. Your nails dig into your palm, hands trembling from the dull pain as you watch them, unable to tear your eyes away from the innocent encounter.
Nancy smiles at him, something warm and gentle, almost enough to ease the uncomfortable heaviness that rested on your shoulders. Jonathan smiles back, something boyish and small, but real enough to make something inside you shift at the realization that this is exactly why you stopped coming around. This softness shared between them is the exact reason why you started pulling away before you could be pushed out, because you couldn’t keep standing here, watching him choose someone else over you and pretend it didn’t break you a little more each time.
Nancy pushes away from the doorway, brushing his shoulder lightly as she steps off the porch, blissfully unaware of the way his eyes follow her like she’s the only thing in his line of sight that’s worth looking at. There used to be a time when he’d look at you like that, or maybe you just imagined it, but the distinction doesn’t matter anymore since you’ve become a ghost in your own friendship.
You take another step back, the decision stirring slowly in your bones before your mind fully catches up to the realization that you can't stay here like this, not where he can't even see you, not where you're just background noise in his life. The realization aches somewhere in your chest, but there’s a quiet kind of heartbreak that just settles, like something is finally falling into place, even if it's not where you wanted it to land. You turn away before you can second-guess yourself, before you can linger on something that was never really yours to begin with.
After that night, everything changes, and the first day when you don't look at him feels like breaking a habit you never wanted to quit. It starts small, a barely noticeable shift in your gaze when it walks into class, deliberately focusing on the chipped paint of your desk, on the slow drag of your pencil across paper, on anything that wasn’t him. You feel it the moment he steps into the classroom, the subtle change in the air, the way your body recognizes him before your mind wakes up.
It’s pathetic, the way your chest tightens like it’s greeting something familiar, like it’s welcoming home.
You don’t look up when he takes his usual seat, or when his bag hits the floor with that soft thud you could pick out a mile away. You don’t look up when his voice threads quietly through the classroom as he says something to someone that you don't bother trying to figure out, because you could recognize Nancy Wheeler’s voice anywhere now. It’s almost impressive how she’s always around, the consistency of how she follows him around, but it’s never clingy enough for anyone to call out or notice.
But you notice everything when it comes to him, and that’s the problem.
Your fingers tighten around your pen as the teacher starts talking, words blurring into something meaningless. You try to focus, you really do, but your awareness keeps drifting, unconsciously pulling toward the opposite side of the room where he sits. You don't allow yourself to look, strictly forcing your eyes on your blank notebook, because you don’t need to see the way he leans forward whenever she speaks, or the way she tilts her head just enough to meet him halfway, like they already exist in their own orbit.
You close your eyes for a moment, leg bouncing underneath your desk as you try to focus on the reality surrounding you, trying to focus on the uneven handwriting that slanted unevenly across the page like they were trying to escape.
The bell rings loudly, the metallic noise blaring throughout the school, quickly pulling you from your thoughts as you lift yourself from the desk before anyone else has a chance to move. Your chair scrapes harshly against the floor, not even bothering to pack up your things as you head toward the door without a second glance, ignoring whatever nonsense the teacher was explaining about the assignment.
The hallway is crowded, voices overlapping as students exit the classroom, lockers slamming shut, and footsteps echoing against the tile floors. The noise is overwhelming, but it’s something distracting as you move through the crowd with practiced ease, drowning out the cryptic voices in your head.
“Hey.” The sudden voice startles you slightly, your entire body locking up out of instinct, because it’s the one voice you’ve been avoiding all day. You don’t stop walking, sneakers practically forced to move forward as you try to lose yourself in the crowd. “Hey, wait.” His voice calls out, closer this time, too close for your liking.
Your chest tightens painfully, and you pick up your pace even more, slipping between two groups of people like you didn’t hear him, like you don’t know that voice, even though it lives somewhere deep in your bones. When he calls your name, your steps falter for just a second, emotions stirring before you remember what you’re walking away from.
His footsteps quicken behind you, quickly closing the distance you’ve been so desperately trying to maintain since last night. His hand reaches out for your wrist, not forceful or rough, just enough to stop your movements and remind you that he still can. You freeze upon contact, breathing turning shallow and uneven as you stare down at where his fingers curl around your skin.
They feel warm, almost familiar against your cold skin, like a muscle memory your body knows before your heart has time to digest, and you despise it. “Can you—” His voice is softer now, uncertain in a way you’ve never heard from him before. “Can you just stop for a second?”
You don’t turn around, because you can’t. If you do, everything you’ve been trying to hold together will fall apart.
“I’m gonna be late to class.” You say, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, flat and detached, completely unlike you, but it’s the only version of yourself that you can manage.
His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you from moving away. “You’ve been late before.” He replies lightly, but there’s something else beneath his tone; it’s not quite frustration or hurt, it’s something in between.
“That was different.” You reply evenly, still refusing to look at him while the silence after your words stretches uncomfortably between you, enough to feel the weight of it pressing against the empty space.
“[Y/N], what’s going on?” He says again, quieter this time.
You let out a small breath through your nose, something almost like a laugh but not quite. “It’s nothing, Jonathan.” Your response is automatic, the same answer you’ve been repeating for days, because it’s easier that day, but except it’s not when he doesn't let go.
“Don’t do that,” Jonathan replies.
“Don’t do what?” You ask, pretending to be oblivious, even though your chest is tightening beneath your shirt.
“Pretend like everything’s fine.”
That one almost makes you laugh for real, because that’s all you’ve ever done. “I’m not pretending anything.” You say, finally pulling your wrist free from his grasp, the absence of his touch feels immediate against your skin. You turn slightly, not directly facing him, but keeping him in your peripheral vision as you look past him. “I have stuff to do.” You mumbled the weak excuse.
“Since when do you have stuff to do that doesn’t involve me?” The question lands heavier than he probably intended, letting it sit sharply and uncomfortably against your chest.
Since when?
Since he stopped choosing you.
But you don't say that.
“People change, Jonathan.” You respond flatly, trying to ignore the flicker of emotions across his face, confusion, hurt, maybe even a little bit of anger.
“Yeah, I guess they do.” He says slowly, and the way it sounds, leaving his lips makes your stomach twist, because it sounds like he's not just talking about you.
And, maybe he's not. Maybe he’s referring to himself as well, but you don’t stick around late enough to find out. You turn fully this time, walking away and burying your hands in your pockets before he can stop you again, before he can say something else that might make you hesitate.
By the time the last bell rings, your chest feels hollower than usual. It doesn’t feel lighter or relieved, just empty, like you’ve carved something out of yourself and left nothing in its place. You sling your backpack over your shoulder, sluggishly approaching the front porch outside your house, trying to ignore the instinctive pull that always brought you to his house. You sink onto the concrete porch, pulling your knees closer to your chest as the chilly breeze brushes against your skin.
It should feel calming, but it doesn’t, because your mind keeps replaying what happened in the hallway. It keeps tracing back to the way he said your name, and especially the way he looked at you, with that same warmth you’ve grown to love. You squeeze your eyes shut, rubbing your hands exhaustedly over your face, exhaling heavily into your palms, knowing that you can’t keep pretending like you don’t feel everything all at once because you feel it entirely too much.
You feel it every time he walks into a room.
Every time his laughter fills the silence.
Every time he looks at her with that look.
Especially when he looks at her.
A sharp breath leaves your lips, shaky and uneven as the logicality finally catches up with those buried emotions, unable to run away from the fact that you love Jonathan Byers.
“[Y/N]?”
Your head immediately snaps up at the sudden voice, heart dropping into your stomach as Jonathan stands by the edge of your front yard. You stare at him from a distance, wide-eyed and frozen, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Which maybe you have, because this distance and silence isn’t you, and you both know that, but it’s the only way you know how to survive this.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice sounding sharper than you intended.
He flinches at the sharpness, expression tilting as he fumbles with his words. “I don’t—” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “You left. Again.”
“That’s kind of what people do after school. My mom wanted me home.” You reply evenly, voice filled with deflection, because that’s always been easier than honesty, except he’s never been the person to let you get away with it.
“Stop.” He says, firmly, but still soft enough to make you hesitate. “I mean it, [Y/N]. Just stop doing that.” He finishes, gesturing toward you loosely.
“Doing what, Jonathan?” You snap, frustration bubbling up before you can recognize it. “Stop living my life?”
“Shutting me out.” He says, keeping his voice to a minimum, but the words hit with the same weight as if he were yelling them.
You stare at him blankly, something unreadable cracking in your expression. “I’m not shutting you out.” You say, but it sounds weak and unconvincing as it leaves your tongue, because you both know it’s not true.
“Then what is this?” He asks, gesturing between the two of you again. “Because you won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me, you won’t even stand in the same room as me anymore.” He added on, but his voice wasn’t angry. It was hurt and confused, like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s happening, and that’s what finally breaks something inside you.
“You really want to know what this is?” You ask him, voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. He doesn’t answer your question, just watches you, like his silence is all the answer you need. You let out a shaky breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “Fine, you want to know? I’ll tell you.” You say, heart pounding so heavily it feels like it might burst out of your chest.
You could easily stop this with a brief lie and walk away while pretending this confrontation never happened, but you don’t. You’re too tired to keep pretending, too tired of bottling up your emotions and hurting in silence. “You want to know why I’ve been avoiding you?” Your voice cracks with each syllable. “It’s because I can’t look at you without feeling like this.”
“Feeling like what?” Jonathan asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.
You scoff softly, almost in disbelief, because after all this time, he really doesn’t know. “I love you!” The words rip out of your throat, loud and raw, completely out of control. “Okay? I love you, and I have for a while now, and it’s killing me.” You finish, voice cracking completely, tears spilling over before you could stop them.
The silence that follows your confession is heavy and thick, unforgiving as Jonathan stands there, staring at you like the world has tilted off its axis, and maybe it has, because there’s no going back after this, no matter what his response is.
“I see you with her every day, and everywhere.” You continue, your voice trembling as you angrily wipe away the tears cascading down your cheek. “And I know it’s stupid, I know she didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t help but hate it. I hate her for it, and I hate myself even more for feeling that way.”
Your chest heaves with uneven breaths, fingertips trembling against your side. “I can’t be around you like that, Jonathan. I can’t sit there and pretend I’m okay with watching you fall for someone else.”
His expression shifts almost instantly, something pained flickering across his face. “[Y/N], I–” He tries to explain, but you cut him off before he could even start.
“No, don’t. Don’t say anything.” You say, shaking your head, because you already know. You’ve always known that he doesn’t love you like that, but hearing him say it out loud would destroy you. “I– I just needed space. That’s all.” You explain, voice softening, breaking differently than before.
Jonathan swallows hard, his gaze searching your face like he’s trying to find something, maybe an answer, or maybe an opening to let him fix this, but this time there isn’t one. “You should’ve told me.” He says quietly, and a hollow laugh escapes you.
“Then what? What would have changed if I told you?” You question him, but he doesn’t answer, because he knows absolutely nothing would have changed. You take a step back, putting space between you, more final than before. “I’m sorry, Jonathan.” You whisper sincerely, because you actually mean it for once.
You’re sorry for the distance.
For the silence.
And, for loving him in a way he could never return.
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, never comes out, and maybe that’s for the best, because some things don’t need to be said to hurt. You give him one last look, not lingering or hopeful, something final as your hand reaches for the doorknob. You don’t even remember reaching for it. One second, you were standing there, everything inside you splitting open and spilling onto the ground between you, and the next, your fingers are curling around the cold metal like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
It’s grounding, only because it gives you something to hold onto that isn’t him. The wooden door presses faintly against your forehead as you lean into it, your breath uneven as your chest rises and falls too fast. You can hear the sound of your heartbeat, loud and frantic, echoing in your ears like it’s trying to drown everything else out. It doesn’t work because he’s still here, lingering behind you. Jonathan was never the type to walk away from something unfinished, not when it mattered, and certainly not when it came to you, love or not.
Something broken catches in your throat, quickly pressing your lips together hard enough that it almost hurts as you try to keep it in, because you don’t want him to hear you like this. You don’t want him to see what he’s done to you, and that’s not fair to either of you. The thought comes sharp and immediate, cutting through the haze of emotion, the realization that it was never something he did, but what you did, settling heavily on your conscience.
You’re the one who let it grow into this, into something too heavy and impossible to carry quietly. You’re the one who turned every shared moment into something more, who read between the lines that were never meant to be noticed. He never promised you anything, he never looked at you and said, you’re mine.
That was all you, and now you’re the one paying for it as another tear slips free, despite your effort, trailing warmly down your cheek before falling off your chin, then another, and another. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening on the doorknob as your shoulders start to shake, but you don't turn around to face him. You can’t, because if you look at him and see the pity or confusion in his expression, you’re going to fall apart in a way that you won’t be able to come back from.
So, you face the door and keep your back turned to him like it’s the only defense you have left. Behind you, the silence stretches, almost unbearable. You can still feel him there, standing on the edge of your yard, probably looking at you the same way he always does when something doesn’t make sense, like he’s trying to piece it together, trying to fix something that can’t be fixed. Your fingers twitch slightly against the metal, feet unmoving, refusing to walk away while everything is left unfinished and unsaid.
Your voice comes out quiet, barely above a whisper. “Just tell me.”
You hear the shift behind you, subtle, but it’s there. His shoes crunch on the leaves beneath his feet as he moves forward, just slightly, still hesitant to cross that edge. “What?” He asks, voice cautious, like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.
A shaky breath escapes you, forehead pressing more firmly against the cracked wooden door. “Just tell me, Jonathan.” You repeat, a little clearer this time, even though your voice still trembles. “Please, just tell me.”
“Tell you what?” He asks, the confusion lingering in the air between you, thick and uncertain, because, of course, he needs you to say it out loud.
You swallow hard, throat tightening with an aching swell as your chest feels like it’s being pressed down on. “Jonathan…” You whisper, the sound of his name breaking on your tongue, voice sounding painfully softer than you intended. “I need you to say it.” You manage, squeezing your eyes shut, like that might help prevent yourself from breaking in front of you.
Another pause of silence fills the space, stretching longer than the last before he speaks up again.
“Say what?” He questions gently, but there’s something in his tone, almost desperate, that makes something twist painfully around your bleeding heart, because even after everything, it sounds like he still cares.
Just not in the way you need him to.
The metal handle creaks underneath the tightening pressure of your fingers, inhaling sharply as your voice falters. “You need to tell me who you love.” You manage to choke out the words, each syllable cracking against your lips, struggling to push the words out.
The words hang there, heavy and final in a way neither of you expected, and the silence that follows explains the expected request in a way that’s suffocating. You can hear everything beneath the sound of your breathing, the wind brushing against the tree branches, the faint scuff of your shoes as you shift your weight against the concrete porch, but behind, there’s nothing.
Jonathan doesn't speak or move, almost like the entire world is frozen as it waits for his answer.
Your nails press into the wooden door, hand slipping from the handle to brace yourself against the surface as your knees threaten to give out. “Say it.” You whisper, voice breaking completely now, nearly begging him. “Just say it, Jonathan. I can’t keep wondering.”
And, you truly can’t, because holding onto the unknown, something that was never real, but felt like it was, is the worst part in all of this. Behind you, there’s a movement, a brief step forward, an inch toward closing the large distance between your bodies. You can feel it, the shift in the air as his presence grows closer, and your entire body tenses in reaction, but you refuse to look at him.
“[Y/N].” He calls out, his voice quiet and cautious in a way that almost undoes you.
“Don’t.” You cut in quickly, shaking your head even though he can barely see it. “Don’t say my name like that. Just answer the question.”
Another pause follows, like he’s bracing himself, like he’s trying to steady his voice to give you an answer, and that’s what gives it away, because if it were ever you, then he’d never have to hesitate to answer. “I-I… I care about you.” He says first, like that might soften what’s coming next, and it’s enough to shatter something bitter deep inside your chest.
“Jonathan, please. I need the truth, even if it hurts me.” You whisper. Voice raw with pleading desperation, aching to get away from his half-answers and cautious wording.
He exhales softly, expression shifting into something pained, even though you can’t see it. “I love Nancy.” Jonathan finally admits, simple and clean, unavoidable and unmistakable.
The three words land like a physical blow, harshly knocking the air from your lungs, leaving your chest tightening uncomfortably. For a second, you feel like you can’t breathe or even think properly, everything just stops with something intensified and painful. Your fingers curl into the wooden door, posture going rigid as the reality of it slowly settles in.
You knew what to expect, you knew what he would say, but hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way it never was before, because now it’s finally closing the door of possibly you’ve been clawing at for years. It locks away every maybe you’ve told yourself, every small ounce of hopeful desperation is gone, just like that.
A broken sound escapes before you even have the time to stop it, something small and wounded, completely unlike yourself. You clamp your hand over your mouth instantly, as if you were trying to shove the sound back down your throat, like you can hide the way you’re falling apart right here in front of you, but it’s too late, everything is too late.
“I’m sorry, [Y/N].” He says quickly, the words rushing out like he’s trying to figure something that can’t be repaired. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” He whispered as another sound ripped out of you.
The sound is sharper this time, not quite a sob, but somewhere in between. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for that.” You choke out, shaking your head as tears stream freely down your face.
Because what else is he supposed to do?
Lie?
Pretend?
No, that’s not what you want. You never wanted that, all you wanted was something real, and he can’t give you that, no matter how hard you both try. You take another shaky breath, forcing your hand away from your mouth, even though it leaves your emotions exposed, even though he can already hear every broken piece of you now. “That’s all I needed to hear.” You say quietly, and saying it hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt, but it’s clear.
There’s no confusion or uncertainty left behind, just the truth, the ugly truth that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Finally, you push yourself away from the door, hand lingering on the wooden material before falling to your side again. You don’t turn around or look at him, because if you do, you might not be able to walk away, and you have to walk away from this.
“I think this is where I leave.” You say, voice wavering, but you push through it even though the words feel strange on your tongue, too final for your liking, as if you’re closing a chapter you never wanted to end.
Behind you, you hear him shift again, trying to move close enough to reach out for you. “[Y/N], wait.” He tries to say, but you cut him off quickly, shaking your head.
“No.” You whisper, quietly but firmly. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be your friend like this. It’s not fair, to you or me.” You finish off, and the stretch of silence is heavy with the reality of it, the understanding that this is a goodbye to a decade-long friendship.
You take a step forward, pushing open the door, the creaking sound settling uncomfortably through the air, like it’s aching along with your heart, like it knows you’re stepping away from something you never wanted to leave. “I hope she makes you happy, Jonathan.” You say sincerely, ignoring the way your vision blurred with unshed tears.
It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever said, and it’s the most honest, because despite the jealousy, the anger, and the heartbreak, you want the absolute best for him, even if it’s not with you. You don’t wait for a response, because if you do, you might not ever walk away, and it’ll all be for nothing.
So, you push open the door, the warmth of the house drastically different from the coldness outside, like it’s welcoming all the heartbreak coursing through your body as you close the door behind you, ending the chapter that you never wanted to say goodbye to.
• this was a req, so i really hope whoever requested this fic enjoyed it!
The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter twenty five
⭐︎ Can you, can you find me?
Warnings: hurt/comfort, grief, angst, mentions of death, sunshine losing her family, fluff fluff fluff at the end I promise
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 10.5k
Summary: Can Steve save you from the darkness that is pulling you down after the loss of your family? Or will it claim you the way it once claimed him?
Author's note: We are slowly coming to an end :') two more chapters and this story is over! Thank you @hellfire--cult for writing this with me, and proofreading even on your trip! ilyyyy
series masterlist
☀︎
Steve’s fingers cascade through your hair, carefully picking out the strands and adding them to the braid. His touch is soft and gentle, like he is afraid to hurt you. Your eyes are closed, and you listen to his breathing, focusing on it as if you need to hear it, like you need to know that he is still here, that he didn’t stop breathing.
You hear birds chirping outside and the sound of Eddie’s and Nancy’s quiet chatter. The sun is shining, and the light is coming through the blinds in the RV. You know that you will be hit by warmth when you step outside, you know that you will walk out and look up to see a blue sky, so different from the one above your house, so different from the place where you buried your family, so different from what used to be your home.
It’s been four days since you found your family dead. Four days since you left them behind. Four days since the end of the world came crashing down on you.
Two days ago, you crossed the border between Nevada and California. Everyone is so close to reuniting with their friends and family now Everyone except for you.
“Alright.” Steve’s voice is soft as he fixes the hair tie at the end of your braid. “Done.”
You open your eyes and take a deep breath. You turn to face him. He is already looking at you – soft brown eyes filled with guilt and sadness. He insisted on doing your hair, you started neglecting it, no longer bothering to braid it after getting dressed, he does it for you now.
His eyes are scanning your face, looking into yours intensely, like he is trying to find something.
You place your hand on his knee and squeeze it. You don’t smile or kiss him like you normally would. He doesn’t expect you to. He doesn’t deserve it, he thinks.
“Thank you.” For taking care of me. You don’t say it, you don’t have to.
Steve nods. His eyes soften, and his heart clenches in his chest. Before you remove your hand, he places his own on top of yours, giving it a tight squeeze.
“Of course.” He whispers. He wants to kiss your hand so badly. He wants to pull you into his arms so badly it hurts; he wants to do so many things, but he is afraid.
You try to smile, but you can’t. You look into his eyes for a moment before you pull away. You get up and walk away, leaving the RV. He stays there for a moment longer. He sits there, staring into a blank space. His chest is aching. Everything in him is aching. The guilt has been eating at him, dragging him down slowly, pulling him back into the pit you pulled him out of when you stumbled into his life. He feels like it’s his fault. He feels like it’s all his fault. Like he was the cause of it all. He told you what you would walk into so long ago; he laid it all out for you, and then he spent months hoping that what he said wouldn’t be true, but it is, and now he doesn’t know what to do with himself, with you.
You are still standing. You are still breathing. You are still talking, not much, but you talk when you have to; he didn’t even do that when he lost Robin. He can tell that you are trying to stay strong, even after losing your entire family, after losing everything you fought for. You are strong, so much stronger than him. He carried so much hate in his heart when he was grieving. Hate that you don’t feel, not even towards him, not even when he deserves it.
You are strong.
But you are suffering.
You don’t eat. Your face is losing color, a little more day by day. The light in your eyes has faded that day on what once used to be a sunflower field. It’s gone. And Steve, he feels dead inside, now realizing more than ever that he can’t, that he could never live without you, that if this means losing you, it also means losing himself with you. It means death.
He wants to be there for you. He wants to fix this, but how can he? He can’t bring back your family.
He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheeks until he runs his hand down his face. He wipes them away quickly and gets up to walk into the bathroom. He splashes his face with cold water and fixes his hair. He looks into the mirror for a moment before he turns away with a heavy heart.
He walks outside.
Eddie and Nancy greet him with tight-lipped smiles, and he nods at them. His eyes instantly look for you. You are sitting on your camping chair, holding a cup of coffee in your hands. Your face is turned away from him, eyes focused on the hills afar, though your mind is somewhere else. He looks down, seeing the untouched bowl of oatmeal on the ground next to your chair. The steam is still rising from it, and an extra amount of brown sugar melting on it. He takes a deep breath and glances at Eddie, who is already looking at him, and he knows that he was the one who handed you your breakfast.
Your friends are worried for you, in the same way they worried for him. Steve remembers it now like it was yesterday, how Eddie brought him food when he was hauled up in his room, grieving Robin. How Eddie kept showing up despite Steve yelling at him to leave, how he sat beside him, and even tried to feed him when he refused to pick up the food himself.
Steve clears his throat and nods at him.
“You guys can get some sleep.” Steve mumbles, looking between Eddie and Nancy. “We will sit out here for a while before we get back on the road.”
Nancy tears her eyes away from you, though she lingers by your side for a moment longer. She puts her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it before she makes her way inside.
“Yeah.” Eddie sighs. His eyes look for yours, but your gaze is still stuck on the cup in your hands. He can’t even be the cheerful self he always is. He can’t bring himself to be the comedic relief the team has. He is hurting for you, and he feels like he is selfish for having some people waiting for him while you have none.
Nancy feels the same way. She is excited to finally find the community, to be reunited with the rest of her family, her friends, but there’s some place inside of her that she refuses to feel that excitement. It felt unfair. Unjust. You didn’t deserve this, you of all people, didn’t deserve what happened to you.
She gets up reluctantly, walking towards Steve so she could whisper to him, even though she knew you didn’t even listen. Not because you couldn’t, you just wouldn’t process anything if words were not directed your way.
“Make her eat… I tried, but–”
“I know. I’ll take care of it… Just go rest.” She gives a final nod, looking towards Eddie. His eyes finally leave your figure, not really knowing what to do anymore. His way of handling grief had always been physical touch… Which is something he knew you weren’t particularly welcoming right now.
“Just call us if you need something… I marked the map…” He looked at the sky, passing by Steve to pat his shoulder before letting Nancy go into the RV first. The door closed, and now it was just him and you.
He walked over towards you, pulling a chair to sit next to you. He licked his lips, grabbing the pot of oatmeal from the floor, stirring it a bit as he tried his best to smile.
“Always a lot of sugar. Eddie and you probably have your blood sugar on the very floor.” He tried making a joke, anything that would get a reaction from you, but he got nothing. He had envisioned this moment differently from what it was now.
The winter was coming to an end, the weather turning warmer and warmer the closer you got to the coast, where everyone was waiting for all of you. He imagined your smile, jumping around, excited to finally settle, to finally be with him the way you two had talked about. He imagined you sitting here with him, talking about how you two were gonna live together. If you would get a cottage, a bungalow, an apartment, anything that’s there.
He imagined that you two would be bickering about what decorations you could have inside the home. What roles would the two of you decide on to contribute to the community. He imagined you… With your family. He imagined that your mother, your father, and your brother, would be around all of you right now.
He imagined a happy ending for you… But now, he doesn’t even believe he is worthy of being that for you.
Not when you look like your soul is gone. Not when you look like a puppet. Not when you look like… Like Max did two years ago… How he probably looked like before you even met him. Everything he imagined was gone in the lapse of hours, and he doesn’t think he’ll see it again.
He can’t see a future, not because he doesn’t want you… But because he doesn’t think he deserves you.
“Baby… You need to eat…” He softly spoke, trying to make you look at him. He grabs a spoonful of the oatmeal, and raises it towards your mouth. Your eyes dart to it, and you shake your head slightly.
“I am not hungry, Steve…” Not Stevie. That little nickname was gone.
“I know… I know, but you need to eat. I’ll be happy with just a few, okay?” Your eyes meet his for just a moment, before you nod and open your mouth so he could feed you. Your eyebrows meet in the middle, and your eyes closed as if swallowing hurts you. You put the cup down on the floor, before grabbing the bowl from him as well as the spoon.
He was trying not to shake as he grabbed himself a bowl, and he wasn’t hungry either, but if he ate, maybe that would make you eat more too. Your bites are small, just taking bits of it every ten seconds. You eat slowly, almost as if you were a robot and you were commanded to do so.
The silence killed him, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if apologizing would gain anything at all. Maybe you hated him and you were not voicing it. Maybe you found him despicable now. Maybe you didn’t want to be by his side any longer.
He didn’t want you to remember that day. He didn’t want to say anything at all that would make you revisit that memory, but he wanted to. The lump in his throat grows each day, and it’s turning painful. Yet, he cannot speak a single word.
“Smell the corpses around you!”
He can’t believe himself. He can’t believe he said something like that to you. The words keep repeating in his brain, and even if he holds you at night, it was as if he was holding a cold doll. You never said anything. You never kissed him, held his hand, nothing. He cried himself to sleep the past few days, making sure you were asleep so you wouldn’t hear him.
And even when he held you, the nightmares began creeping in. That same scene, in front of Robin’s grave, over and over again, and each time your face becomes more and more visible. Clearer. Then, the scene changes, to you standing over your family’s graves.
Graves. Everything involved graves.
You put the spoon down, and Steve snapped out of his thoughts, looking at how much you ate. Not even half. Fuck. Should he push you to eat a little more? He didn’t want to command you to do anything, but he was worried that you were withering away. That it was what you decided instead of following him into the community.
“You… can you eat a little mo–”
“No.” Your voice was cold. Colder than the entire winter the four of you went through. Fuck, it hurt. He was afraid that he would turn away from you for just a second and that you would run off. He was afraid that you… would–
Both of you straightened up when you heard an animal cry. Steve immediately stood up, grabbing onto the first thing at hand, which was Nancy’s rifle. It wasn’t far away, and it sounded like a painful noise. You slowly got up from your chair, looking towards the far end bushes.
The RV’s door opened, Nancy and Eddie rushing out with guns in their hands, wearing their sleep clothes.
“What was that?” Nancy asked quickly, looking at the same spot. Steve pointed the rifle, waiting for whatever was grunting behind the bushes.
“I don’t know, but there are no red clouds, can’t be monsters.” Another cry came out, making the four of you straighten up, and all guns were pointing at one specific bush that was rustling just a few feet away.
Suddenly, a deer came out, stumbling on its feet, blood smeared over the belly, as if mauled by another animal. Relief washed over, because this meant that wildlife was living in this side of the country.
Nancy had flashbacks to 1983, seeing an injured deer in the forest, and her hand could not pull the trigger… Just like now. She didn’t want to kill this deer, even if it was suffering and bleeding to death.
But Eddie and Steve were too. You all got closer, as the deer finally stumbled over, breathing heavily. The opportunity of eating meat, fresh meat, appeared in front of you, yet, no one could give the final blow.
“Eddie… Do it…” Nancy asked, but Eddie’s hand was trembling as it pointed at the deer’s head. Images of your mother’s corpse falling onto the ground before him after he pulled the trigger flashed before his eyes. Just like your mother, the deer didn’t ask to be bitten. The deer tried to run away most likely, yet it got to her.
“I– Steve–” Eddie was borderline panicking, and Steve noticed. His rifle pointed at the deer’s head, but again, he stopped. What would you think of him if he killed an innocent soul, even if it were to help it? Would you look at him in disgust? Would you look at him differently? Would this death remind you of what happened four days ago?
“Maybe… We can leave her to… go by herself…” He said with a trembling voice. Eddie and Nancy were still petrified, looking down at the bleeding animal, knowing it will suffer until it finally decides to part.
“I think that’s… for the best–” Nancy couldn’t finish talking before she saw something slamming down on her peripheral vision, and next thing she saw was that the deer stopped moving after a final cry.
The three of them turned their heads your way, as you straightened up with the machete in your hand, the blood of the animal dripping down from the blade. You had cut the head off, or well, almost. They were frozen, because you were the last person they thought would do this.
Even before knowing what happened to your family, there were many times where you rushed to the RV so you wouldn’t see Eddie hunting a rabbit. You would sometimes eat with guilt, but you knew that you had to eat meat.
But this time, you were the one to strike.
“She is not hurting anymore.” Your voice was made of steel as your eyes never left the nearly decapitated animal before you. Steve’s eyes were wide, tears threatening to fall at any given moment. This wasn’t you. This definitely was not you.
“Sun–”
You didn’t let Steve finish that nickname. You didn’t like it anymore, and he could feel that. He saw you turn around, and walk back towards the chairs to clean your weapon with a water bottle. He heard a sniffle, and he turned to see Nancy looking away, hiding the tears that formed in her eyes.
“I-I don’t think it’s safe to eat,” Nancy mumbles, wiping her cheeks. “We don’t know what bit her… so…”
“Yeah, I’ll uh… I’ll carry her away, don’t think it’s safe to have a bleeding animal lying around our camp.” Eddie says, looking down.
Steve nods, though his mind was already elsewhere. Nancy immediately left, passing by you without a second glance because she couldn’t bear to see you this way. Normally, you would be crying your eyes out if you were the one that had to do that. You would be saying sorry, over and over again. You would be asking her to reassure you this was the right thing to do for the animal.
But you were outside, cleaning your machete as if you hadn’t just cut the neck off that deer. She couldn’t blame you, and she couldn’t be mad at you for who you were now. But she could be scared. She didn’t know if you would return to your old self anytime soon, but it was scarier to think that it would not return at all.
After an hour, Eddie and Steve were washing off the blood from their hands and arms. They did their cleaning behind the RV, in a bucket, soaking their arms in.
They were in silence, already noting that it was 9 AM, and Eddie had yet to sleep.
“You can go finish washing inside, Eds. I think Sunshine is done with the shower… I’ll hit the road soon–”
“Steve…” And he knew that tone. He knew that Eddie was going to talk to him about something that Steve was not sure he wanted to talk about.
“I know. I know, and–”
“What can we do? She is not herself… It’s been days–”
“She lost her entire family, Eddie, what do you expect?” Steve’s voice was loud, angry, and his eyes snapped to meet his best friend’s.
“I understand that. Don’t snap at me as if I didn’t!”
“What do you want her to do? To just wake up and smile and be her cheery self again?” Steve scoffed, trying to pretend as if his own words were not cutting through his heart. Eddie frowned, looking down at the reddened water, pulling his arms out of the bucket.
“Steve, she is not the only one who changed.”
And Steve froze. He could feel his fingers shaking underneath the water, and a cold sweat wrapping all around his neck.
Finally, he couldn’t handle it anymore, his hands coming out from the water, not caring that it was cold or if there was still blood on his skin. The palms of his hands came to cover his eyes, shaking his head as the tears started flowing down, the lump in his throat breaking loose.
“I can’t pretend that I didn’t cause this… I can’t pretend that I wasn’t the one who broke her–” Eddie’s eyes widened, his hand coming to rest on Steve’s shoulder.
“You can’t blame yourself for this Steve… Her family didn’t die because of what you said–”
“I destroyed her that night, Eddie.” The metalhead’s hand fell, tilting his head in question as Steve’s hands finally dropped. His cheeks were stained with tears, water, some dirt and blood from not washing thoroughly. “I killed some of her hope that night…”
Eddie just stood there, a frown in his face.
“You didn’t destroy her, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for it…”
“It’s not a matter of me manifesting it or whatever. It’s not about me telling her the future or some shit. It’s the matter that she is like this because this is how she felt when I said those words. At that moment, it was a split second of her hope fading, yet she held onto it… But now, that feeling is permanent because it’s true. I caused it. She already knew what her reaction would be, because I put that thought in her head before.”
Steve finally sobbed, frustration clear in all of his features. He kicked the bucket with his foot, making Eddie jump at the action. Steve wanted to scream into the sky, but he didn’t want you to hear. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to act that you were okay for his sake. Eddie slowly approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder, but Steve instantly turned to wrap his arms around his best friend, sobbing into his shoulder.
“Steve, she is not like this because of that… Please, understand that not everything is your fault…”
But he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t processing any of his words, because he knew that he was right. He knew that he fucked you up all those months ago. Then he kept fucking you up by saying that your family was waiting for you, that your family was alive, that your family would be welcome at their community.
His voice broken, his soul crashed, and the reality of the situation finally settled in,
“My sunshine is gone…”
–
Another day passed, and you were still nowhere to be found.
Body, you were present. Spirit, it was missing. Steve’s fear grew, and grew, and each day he was more sure that you were not in there any longer. He didn’t know how to bring you back. He didn’t know how to fix you. He didn’t know what else to do, nor how to interact with you.
Your embraces were becoming nonexistent. That clinginess he had learned to love from you was gone. You preferred alone time, rather than spending time with everyone. Nancy tried to talk, but your responses were just hums and nods. No one knew how to converse with you anymore.
He felt as if his own soul were leaving him. He felt like he was losing you, and it was killing him slowly. Will he ever get you back again? Will you ever come back to him…? And if you do, will you ever be happy again? Will he get the chance to make you happy? And… How can he compare to your family?
He can’t.
No one can.
“Do you really think… she is gone? That this is her new self?” Nancy asks Steve as they both sit at the steps of the RV’s door. You are sitting under a tree, looking at nothing in particular as the wind blows through your hair. Hair that Eddie helped wash because lately, Steve couldn’t help you eat or take care of you like in the past days. He couldn’t because he believes he shouldn’t be the one to do it, thinking that he is doing you a favor, because why would you want him to help you? He who broke you long before you found your dead family.
The lingering fear that you don’t want him around grows bigger and bigger, that you no longer feel what you felt for him before that day, that you feel the opposite now. He fears that he makes you uncomfortable, that you feel disgust when he touches you.
“Yeah…” He says with a broken voice. He doesn’t want to accept it, but for now, it did seem like it. It might take years if you do return to your old self, but even then, he doesn’t know if you would ever act like it again.
“I tried… Eddie tried… I don’t know if I should even talk about it with her, you know… About her family… I don’t even know if she accepted what happened yet…” She spoke softly, nervously, looking at Steve for some advice, but she saw his eyes starting to lose their own spark.
“I don’t know…”
“Steve–”
“Nance, I tried too… We are not her family…” At that, Nancy finally recoiled, looking at him.
“We can be–”
“Nancy, she is gone. She doesn’t feel that way, and she shouldn’t need to. We can’t force her to settle with us.” His words were knives, swords, spears going through every inch of his body. He didn’t want to accept that fact, but there really was no more hope in him either.
Nancy stares at him in confusion, in shock, like she can’t believe what she is hearing. Anger rises inside of her.
“What… so you are just gonna give up on her?” Nancy asks through gritted teeth.
Steve’s head snaps towards her, and his blood runs cold, color fading in his face. He frowns at her.
Nancy’s blue eyes are glaring into his; her nostrils flare.
“After everything she did for you? After everything you two have gone through… you are just gonna give up on her, leave her to suffer through her grief… by herself?” Nancy’s voice trembles. “You are gonna do this… to her?” She points at you.
Steve’s hazel eyes are full of pain, of heartbreak.
He would rather die than do this to you, but her words make him realize that this is exactly what he’s been doing these past few days, and it shatters his own heart. But how can he explain that he’s keeping his distance, not because he doesn’t know how to handle you, but because his guilt is killing him alive, because he fears that you hate him after what he said to you.
He shakes his head and his eyes water.
Nancy’s eyes soften when she sees the tears in his eyes, though her anger is still burning inside of her.
“Eddie told me what you said to her.” Nancy says with a clenched jaw. She turns away from him and looks back in your direction. “But I think you should know her well enough to know that she would never hold some stupid words against you, words that were said when you were still grieving–”
“I told her that–”
“That is Sunshine we are talking about, Steve.” Nancy talks over him, shaking her head.
Steve closes his mouth. He runs his fingers through his hair.
“She is grieving her family, she is suffering not because of what you said, but because she lost her entire family, and now she is losing you too? Why? Because you can’t forgive yourself for what you said to her months ago? Because you worry about something that she probably isn’t even thinking about. You think you are doing her a favor by staying away, by pushing her away, now when she needs you the most?”
Steve almost chokes up. She is right. He knows she is.
But it wasn’t only his worry that kept him away from you; it was also shame. Shame for all the words he threw at you.
“If you love her, which I think you do… then be there for her the way she was there for you. Fight for her the way she always fought for you. You hurt her before, don’t do it again, not now, not ever. She needs you. And if someone can bring her back, it’s you.” With those words, she leaves him sitting by himself, though she lingers by the door of the RV for a moment. She turns around in his direction, but her eyes are on you. “She brought you back, didn’t she?” She taps the door before she walks in, closing it softly.
Steve’s face softens. His eyes well up with tears once more as he watches you. Your eyes are closed, leaning against the tree. It looks like you are enjoying the sun.
Nancy is right.
He knows she is.
He knows what a fool he is. He knows the mistakes he made, the same ones he is repeating again; pushing you away. He is already regretting so many things he could have done differently; he could have done better. And now he is on his way to making more mistakes, causing more regrets, something he never wanted to do with you, not you.
A tear rolls down his cheek, watching the wind mess up your hair, which you tuck back behind your ear.
You should be the one to decide whether you still want him or not, not him, right?
He brings his hand up to his face, wiping his tears away. He looks down at the grass, and his eyes catch onto something by his boot, something he didn’t notice before. A little flower, the only one growing on this field it seems. He picks it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. You didn’t even notice it. You love flowers, you are always looking for them, yet you didn’t see this one.
He gets back up on his feet, his eyes finding your figure again. He stands there for a moment, twirling the flower between his fingers as he looks at you. His heart aches for you, and it aches even more when Nancy’s words repeat themselves in his head.
You fought for him, you always did, even when he pushed you away, even when he was mean to you, when he tried to keep you away from him by throwing awful words at you. Even when he gave you the cold shoulder. You always fought for him.
Seeing you like this, all alone in your grief, it breaks him.
It’s not that he gave up on you; he never would, not even when Nancy threw that at him. He would never give up on you, but going over her words makes the guilt twist even worse in his chest, the same guilt that kept him at arm's length from you, the one that made him keep his distance.
Distance he needs to close again, so he can try, try, and see if you are really better off without him by your side.
He approaches you slowly, careful not to startle you. He doesn’t call for you, doesn’t say your name. He just settles down beside you, sitting on the grass next to you. You don’t move at first, still keeping your eyes closed, enjoying the sun.
He is looking at you, eyes trailing over your face, the crease between your eyebrows, the softness of your skin, your lashes that flutter from the kiss of the wind, the curve of your lips that he misses so much. His eyes get stuck on the small scar on your cheekbone, the one you took when you fought one of the guys that attacked you that day on the road, the day when you killed for him.
Steve’s breath gets caught in his throat when you open your eyes and turn to look at him. His heart stops for a moment as he scans the look in your eyes, like he is trying to find something that could absolutely break him – he doesn’t find it, he won’t, not even if it’s something he feels about himself. If anything, your eyes soften.
For a moment, you both just look at each other. No words, no exchanges, nothing. Your eyes stay connected, and your knee bumps into his when you angle your body towards him.
Your body language speaks enough words. You wouldn’t do this if you didn’t want him around, right?
His lip twitches when your eyes find the flower between his fingers. Your eyebrows rise up in surprise, and he sees something he hasn’t seen in what feels like forever; hope.
“The flowers started blooming for you, Sunshine.” Steve whispers shakily.
Your brows scrunch together, lips parting for a second before they close again. You look up again, and the look in your eyes kills him. Emotions he thought were gone completely flash in them. It makes his heart beat strongly, aching yet feeling alive again.
Without second guessing it, he scoots closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face, shaky fingers tuck your hair behind your ear, before he puts the flower in your hair. His heart screams for you as he feels you so close again. Everything inside of him starts hurting, like his body, his soul can’t understand why there was this distance between you in the first place, like everything in him was dying slowly the longer he kept away from you.
He can feel your eyes taking in every inch of him; he can hear your soft breathing, matching the shakiness in his own.
He can’t help but place his palm against your cheek, cupping it. He caresses your cheekbone with his thumb. And he almost breaks right there when you close your eyes and lean into his touch. Your eyebrows are still drawn together as though you are in pain, as though you are suffering, but his touch is slowly mending it. You bring your hand up, and for a moment, he fears that it’s to remove his touch from you, but instead, you press your palm against the top of his hand, lingering there for a moment before it slides down to his wrist, and you wrap your fingers around it, holding onto him.
Steve feels his heart beating strongly at the gesture.. His eyes well up with tears, and the coil in his throat tightens. He has to hold back the sob that starts rising up.
You are still in there.
You are still here.
You are still here, and you need him.
You need him more than anything.
And he knows exactly what he needs to do, what he’s been wanting to do for so long now.
-
On your next stop, which seems to be your last before reaching the community in California, Steve goes off on his own. You are completely unaware of it, waking up to an empty bed isn’t new these days. You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. The sun is already up and bright, peeking through the blinds and the curtains, casting a warm orange light over the RV.
Steve’s scent lingers on your pillow, the only comfort you get when he isn’t next to you. It takes you a while to sit up on the bed, to let your feet touch the ground. Your eyes fall on the flower he gave to you a few days ago. You found a small glass and filled it up with water, wanting to keep the flower blooming.
You make your way into the bathroom, splashing your face with water and brushing your teeth. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, something you had been avoiding these past days or maybe even weeks. You don’t know how much time has passed since leaving your house, but your chest tightens when you look at yourself. Your skin is dull, and the circles under your eyes are dark despite getting enough sleep. Your cheeks are hollow, and your collarbones are more prominent than they were before. You stand there for a moment, staring at your reflection, staring at it like you can’t believe what you are seeing.
You know why he looks at you like that.
Every time you catch him staring, you see the pain in his eyes, the sadness, the grief. He looks at you the way you looked at your dad, the way you looked at your mom. Like you are already gone, and he is grieving you.
But you are not gone. Your heart is still beating. At least you can feel it when you press your palm against your chest. It’s still there.
You don’t know how much time passes while you're just standing there and staring at your reflection, but you almost yelp when the RV door bursts open. Your hand stays pressed against your chest, and you turn to look at whoever hurried inside.
“Sunshine.”
Steve stands in the doorway, and his eyes shine with something that’s been missing in your eyes; excitement. His expression falls a little when he notices the way you are still clutching your chest.
“Are you okay?” He asks softly, taking a step towards you. He looks you up and down, the look in his eyes now replaced by worry. He holds his hand out to you, though not touching you.
“Yeah, just startled me, that's all.” You nod and remove your hand from your racing heart. “Did you need anything?”
Steve blinks. His lip twitches when he remembers what he came for.
“I– I want to show you something.” His voice is filled with excitement. “Get dressed, I’ll wait outside.” He is determined, not taking no for an answer. He looks you up and down once more before he leaves again, closing the door behind him.
Confusion grows inside of you when you hear bickering outside, or well, it sounds more like Steve getting scolded by Eddie and Nancy for something. You stand there for a moment, listening, but you can’t make out their words. Their scolding continues even after you are done getting dressed; they only stop after you step outside.
The anger in Nancy’s eyes that was directed at Steve instantly fades when she looks at you. Eddie’s expression immediately softens too.
“Is everything okay?”
Eddie nods, his eyes flicker back to Steve for a moment, glaring.
“Yeah, peachy.”
Steve steps forward, and he holds his hand out to you, ignoring his friends who are looking between you.
“Come.” Steve murmurs softly to you.
Your confused eyes find his, and he only nods at you, like he is encouraging you to take his hand.
You take a deep breath and place your hand in his. His fingers instantly curl around your hand, and he squeezes it. “Let’s go, Sunshine.” He pulls you away from the RV and from your friends. You give them a puzzled look, but they only shrug at you.
You don’t know where he is taking you, don’t even have an idea of where he could lead you, but you still follow him without questioning him. You would follow him everywhere. You look around as you follow his footsteps. He is leading you through a huge field, one that leads to a forest.
He doesn’t talk, and neither do you.It’s darker in here, but rays of sunlight peek through the trees from above. You hear the birds singing, feel the wind nip at your skin, blowing through your hair. The smell of soil and pine lingers in the air. You can’t help but take a deep breath. You have always liked the smell of the forest; in a way, it gave you a sense of freedom and safety. When you adapted to the new world, you had always looked for shelter in the woods; they always kept you safe.
Steve’s warm hand keeps squeezing yours, his thumb brushing over your skin. You look down at his hand, and you realize just how much you have missed his touch. The lack of his presence by your side didn’t go unnoticed by you. Even in your grief and in the state of numbness you were in, you noticed how he touched you less and how whenever he looked at you, there was pain and guilt in his eyes. You know him well enough; he stayed away, thinking he was doing the right thing for you.
You’re so lost in thought, looking down at his hand, you don’t realize that the trail through the forest is already ending, and he is leading you out to a clearing. You squint your eyes when the sun hits you directly in the face. Something yellow flashes in your peripheral vision, and you turn towards it. Your lips part in surprise when you see the butterfly; your eyes follow it.
It’s been so long since you’ve seen a butterfly or any other insect, for that matter, and it shouldn’t surprise you as much since you’ve been stuck in the cold states for the past few months, but even before that, you barely saw any butterflies or bees or even animals out here.
You almost bump into Steve’s back when he stops walking, too distracted by the butterfly. He turns around, still holding your hand. His hazel eyes shine so bright with hope, while yours mirror the emotions he felt when you just met him.
Your eyes don’t stray away from his. His lip twitches slightly, curling into an anticipated smile.
“Look around, Sunshine.” Steve whispers, squeezing your hand.
You furrow your eyebrows, staring at him for a long moment before you slowly tear your eyes away from him. You look down, noticing how green the grass is, noticing the little flowers growing, not just one or two, there are so many of them.
Steve is watching your face, taking in the way your expression changes, how your eyes widen, and your lips part. You look up at him, and his breath gets caught in his throat when he sees the look in your eyes.
He nods at you, smiling softly.
You squeeze his hand and look over his shoulder, only now noticing that the flowers didn’t only grow in the little spot you are standing in, they are everywhere, blooming in different colors, taking up all the space in this field, filling it with life.
You walk around him and take a step forward. Your hand slips from his grasp as you take another step and then another, walking further into the field where the flowers grow bigger and taller. You turn, and everywhere you look, you find another flower, yellow, orange, pink colors, everywhere.
Steve’s feet carry him to you slowly. His eyes take in all your reactions. His heart beats so strongly, squeezing in his chest as something he can only describe as fascination crosses your features. Your eyes light up, and he sees you. He sees traces of you coming back again. Your hands reach out to touch the flowers, and your lips curl into a smile. The sun shines down on you, kissing your skin. The wind blows through your hair that grew even longer in these past few months. You look like an angel. His angel.
“You saved me.” Those words fall from his lips easily. His voice is shaky, and his heart beats strongly, especially when you turn around to face him. “You saved my life, Sunshine.”
You stay quiet, standing still in your spot as your eyes trace his features. He steps closer to you, closing the distance between you with each step he takes. Your breath gets caught in your throat when you really look at him. The circles under his eyes are prominent like your own. His cheeks are more hollow too. His face lost color just the way yours did. His features are etched with pain. He is suffering because you are suffering.
“That day you stumbled right into Hawkins… I don’t think it was a coincidence, you know?”
You tilt your head in confusion.
Steve takes another step closer. He huffs at the memory, smiling slightly.
“I wasn’t supposed to be on patrol that day, and you weren’t supposed to walk down that route. You once told me that Robin would send me a sign… I think she sent you, or well, she sent the bat that ripped the map from your hands, so you would walk right into Hawkins because, knowing you, you must have tried to follow the bat.”
You scrunch your nose up, making him smile.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Steve murmurs, and finally, he stops right before you. He reaches for your hand. “You found me. You found me during a time in my life when I was dying, when I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and never open them again, but then you happened and god… I’m so fucking happy you happened, Sunshine. You are everything I dreamed of.” He stops for a moment, taking a deep breath. “And you are the light in my life that pulled me out of the dark hole I was trapped in. I… I wanna be that for you now.”
He doesn’t realize just how much his hands are shaking until you tighten your hold on them. His eyes well up with tears, and he closes them for a moment, needing to collect himself before he continues. Everything he’s been holding back is ready to be spilled.
He opens his eyes again, and he breathes shakily as he looks into your eyes.
“I know I will never replace your family– and I don’t even want to do that!” He says, wide eyed, like he worried that he said the wrong thing. “But–” He stops as a tear runs down his cheek, the sob he’s been trying to hold back is rising up now. “I want to start a new one with you. I want to become your family. Eddie too, Nancy too– but especially me. I want to marry you, have children if you desire so, and I want to make you feel safe and loved… Because I love you so much. I love you so fucking much, you have no idea.” He cries. Tears cascade down his cheeks, and he is shaking so much.
And you, you stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed and lips parted.
And the world started making sense once more, despite the darkness that surrounded you the last few days. The skies cleared from the red clouds that invaded your mind. The world had color again. And finally, you took a breath. A breath that you felt so strongly, as if you had been drowning or lacking it lately.
Your heart beats stronger than it has in a while. Your knees nearly buckle. You stare at him, at the tears in his eyes, at the way he looks at you with nothing but love, with nothing but despair.
Your family is gone.
But it’s not.
You have found one on the way here. You found him. You found Eddie and Nancy. You still have one. And the one about to come with him, the man who just gave you his heart.
“So please… please come back to me, Sunshine. I need you. I–” You cut him off by pressing your lips against his. He sobs against you, though it’s one out of relief the moment he feels your arms wrapped around him, the moment he feels your lips moving against his, the moment he feels you again. He doesn’t even know where to touch first. His hands cradle your face, wiping your tears as he deepens the kiss, swallowing your whimper.
His hands then slide down to your neck and your shoulders before he pulls you against him, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that he pulls you flush against him. Neither of you knows how long you stand there in each other's embrace, kissing, but it’s all you need right now, all you want. Only when the lack of air breaks you two apart do your lips stop moving, and you pull away, but only enough to catch your breaths. He leans his forehead against yours, sniffling.
“I love you, Steve. I love you so much.” Your voice is shaky, full of tears, just like your eyes that get blurry all over again as you look at your man. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I was just so afraid, after losing them… all I could think about was losing you too, and I can’t lose you, not you.” Your voice breaks once more, tears continuing to roll down your cheeks.
Steve’s brown eyes widen, and his heart nearly explodes in his chest. Light rushes back in, and he can’t even help the cry from falling from his lips.
“You– You love me? Sunshine, did you say you love me?” He whispers, his hand finding your cheeks again.
Your heart almost breaks when you hear the surprise in his voice, like he can’t believe that you feel this way about him.
“Of course I do,” you whisper, leaning closer to peck his lips. “I love you.”
The look in his eyes kills you. He is genuinely surprised and shocked that you actually love him. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and you catch it with your thumb, wiping it away.
For the first time in a while, you both feel joy, happiness. Your souls are beginning to heal from this pain.
Steve can’t help but smile through his tears, and his eyes light up when you do the same.
“I love you so much more, my sweet girl.” Steve whispers before he leans in and starts pressing kisses all over your face, pulling that beautiful sound of your giggle out of you, making his heart flutter and his smile widen.
Your hands catch his face again, and you pull him away from your face so you can look at him.
“You… You want to marry me? You want to have kids with me?”
Steve nods so quickly, “yes I do, baby.”
You could feel every emotion crushing towards you at once, your lips trembling, and Steve knows. Steve can feel it as your body starts shaking. He knows you will finally let it all out.
“They’re gone…” You start talking, small, almost a whisper. Your eyes had so many swirling emotions that he couldn’t keep up with. They look lost and ready to burst. He nodded slowly, his eyebrows falling, and his eyes softened.
“Yes… They are… They are, Sunshine…”
And finally, finally, you break.
You pull away as your breathing starts to become erratic, hunching as you grab at his biceps for support as your cries fill the field. Your tears start coming down heavily, your grip is bruising but he holds onto you by your elbows as he helps you to not fall on the ground. Your stomach is twisted as if you had been punched, but you just sobbed. You were heavily crying, letting your suffering out.
“They didn’t deserve that! They– My mom! My dad! My brother! They’re gone! They’re gone!” He just lets you cry, tears running down his own cheeks to see you like this, but he knows you have to cry. Your mind is flashing with the images of that day, the bodies, your house, the sunflower field, the graves.
Your cries continued, and finally your knees gave in, falling to the ground and he followed, still holding onto you. You were trying to breathe, chest heaving rapidly, and Steve suddenly grew worried because he didn’t bring the inhaler with him. He sat on the ground, quickly pulling you to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, as he rocked the two of you, trying to soothe you.
“I know… I know, love…” His voice was choked up, and the side of your face was against his chest as you held onto him. You were still crying, choking on your spit.
“Why them… Why…” Your voice was lower now, slowly calming down from your breakdown, and he kept rocking the two of you, kissing the top of your head and keeping his lips there as he clenched his eyes. If you were in pain, he was in pain.
It took minutes for your breathing to come back to normal, or at least a bit. Your eyes opened, spotting the flowers that were all around you, waving at you thanks to the wind. Slowly, another emotion started creeping in. The one you had lost. The one you almost forgot existed.
Hope.
You slowly pulled away, straightening up to sit next to Steve, but his arms were not leaving you. Your eyes searched for his, and then the images of him trying to feed you came. The ones of him doing your hair, helping you wash yourself, even helping you sleep. So lost in your grief, you didn’t realize how much he was showing that he loves you.
You felt completely… loved. Realizing that not only he loves you. Eddie and Nancy love you too. They all tried. They all tried to bring you back… And the feeling of being abandoned, or lonely without any family… Vanished.
Your blood family is gone, and that pain will never go away. Nobody will replace them… But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a family at all. The man before you wants that. He wants that with you. He wants a forever with you. He wants a little one with you. He wants it. He wants to be in your life for as long as you let him.
Which is forever.
“You’re… Through this whole winter… You have been my sunflower, Steve…” Your whisper is soft and filled with so much love. A kind of love he never thought he would get to feel.
His eyes well up with tears all over again. He can’t describe the feeling that is coursing through his veins, not even if he tried. He cups the side of your face and he looks down at you with nothing but adoration.
He can see that the wall between you, your wall of grief had vanished again and now he gets to see you, to feel you again.
“Winter is over, can I still be your sunflower?”
His question makes you laugh softly. You nod and lean into his hand, closing your eyes as another tear rolls down your cheek. He wipes it away and kisses your forehead.
“Please.” You whisper.
Steve pulls you into his arms, needing to hug you, needing to hold you and you don’t hesitate to bury your face into his chest, breathing in his scent as he buries his face in your neck.
For a while you sit there, surrounded by the flowers, by the nature that stayed untouched from the dead and the evilness that spread across the world, the one that touched you both. The one that took Robin. The one that took your family. The one that led you to finding each other.
“You said that Robin sent me to you…” You whisper, pulling away from his chest to look at him.
He nods, smiling softly.
“I think… I think my mom sent you.”
You know that she was gone long before you met Steve. It didn’t happen on your journey. It didn’t happen while you were in Hawkins or after you left. It happened long ago. Your family was gone by the time you left New York.
Steve's lips curl into a sad smile. He brings his hand up to your face, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“Yeah? You think they teamed up?”
You nod, blinking away tears.
“You know… I would have found you in the old world too.” Steve murmurs, face suddenly growing serious. “This, us, we belong together. Perfect world or this one, I would always choose you.”
Everything inside of you bursts into joy, feelings that you were afraid of lately rushing through you again. The love in his eyes makes you melt into his arms even more.
“I would always choose you too, Steve.” Your voice breaks and his trembling hands pull you in, closing the gap between you so he can kiss you once more. And he keeps on kissing you, holding you the way he couldn’t in these past days.
You don’t know how much time passes of you sitting out here on this field, loving one another but when you finally return to your camp, you feel like yourself again. The aching in your heart won’t disappear anytime soon but you feel so much lighter than you did this morning.
Eddie and Nancy get up from their chairs when they see the two of you coming back, hand in hand, a sight they haven’t seen in a while.
You squeeze Steve’s hand and turn to him to find him already looking at you. He gives you a sweet smile and an encouraging nod. After a moment, your hand slips from his and you pick up the pace, making your way back to your friends. You stop before them, looking between them for a moment. Eddie’s worried but hopeful eyes, Nancy’s sad ones. And then, you take another step forward and throw your arms around both of them, pulling them into a hug.
They both freeze. Both stiff beneath your touch. Eddie’s eyes lock with Steve’s, who is standing a few feet away from you. His eyes are glassy, red rimmed. It’s clear that he cried, though his lips are curled into a smile, eyes filled with the softness that was missing. One look at him and Eddie knows, he brought you back. He is the first to wrap his arm around you.
A shaky breath falls from Nancy’s mouth, a sigh of relief. Tears well up in her eyes as she slowly wraps her arm around you.
“Oh Sunshine.” She whispers, pulling you closer.
Eddie wraps his arm around Nancy as well and for a moment, the three of you hug, holding each other. And Steve, he stands there, watching with a smile on his face. He hears your sniffle, he sees the tears that Eddie is trying to hold back, he sees the way Nancy clings to you.
He always knew how much they loved you but seeing this fills his heart with warmth. You are so loved.
“Whatcha standing there like a creep?” Eddie calls out to him, wiping his tears away. “Get your ass over here, man.”
You and Nancy giggle at that. You let go of Eddie and hold your hand out to Steve, smiling at him over your shoulder. The smile he missed so much. The smile he yearned for. He walks over, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. He moves in between you and Eddie, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and his other around your waist. He gives Nancy a nod, a silent thank you for talking sense into him. She knew just what to say. And Eddie, he squeezes Steve’s shoulder and gives him a proud smile.
He has come a long way since leaving Hawkins.
“Thank you.” You whisper, breaking the silence between you all. “For everything… For being my family.” You don’t need to say much more to touch their hearts. You don’t need a speech to show gratitude. These words, the tears in your eyes, the love you showed them all on this journey and how much you fought for them was enough.
“Thank you for coming into our lives, Sunshine.” Nancy whispers, reaching for your hand. “You’re my family too, my best friend.”
Eddie’s brown eyes are glassy. He tries to hide the tears but it’s hard to do so when he sees you back again, when he sees the smile on your face and the softness in your eyes that he wasn’t sure would come back again.
“You’re my family too. You are the only one who knows who my sweetheart is, I think it’s safe to say that you are my favorite family member.” Eddie chuckles, ruffling your hair.
Nancy rolls her eyes at the mention of his sweetheart.
Steve chuckles and shakes his head at his best friend.
The sound of your giggle makes them all light up though.
You lean your head against Steve’s shoulder and he doesn’t hesitate to lean his cheek against the top of your head.
“Okay…” You whisper, wiping at your cheek yet again. “You two should get some sleep.” You look between Eddie and Nancy, who share a glance before they look back at you.
“We wanna stay up.” Eddie clears his throat, his arms falling to his sides as he is the first to break the group hug. “If the roads stay clear we’re gonna arrive at the community tonight.”
Nancy nods, looking down.
Steve might have managed to bring you back, but you still need to come to terms that you will be the only one without a family there, without someone waiting for you. You are the reason why they are finding their families in the first place.
Steve’s hand stays pressed against your waist, he pulls you closer against him.
“Oh.” You nod, eyes finding Steve’s for a moment who is already looking down at you, who will stick by your side no matter what. “Okay, yeah. You still need some rest though.”
“I will drive, Sunshine will keep me company, right?” Steve speaks, his hand reaching for yours.
“Yeah, I’ll keep you company.”
Nancy and Eddie both feel relief seeing you smile again, seeing you back again, seeing you be yourself again, even if not completely yet. Though they both feel their heart aching, knowing that tonight you will have to watch them reunite with their families, the way you couldn’t.
“Now go… lay down for a bit, Steve and I will have some breakfast before we hit the road, right?”
Steve’s eyes light up, a mixture of hope and relief swirling in them. It’s been a while since you have eaten a proper meal, a while since you had been the one to bring it up in the first place, even when you don’t end up finishing your bowl of oatmeal fifteen minutes later, he is still satisfied with the small step towards healing. You finish your cup of coffee that is too sweet as always and you clean up, getting ready to get back on the road one last time.
You get comfortable in the passenger seat while Steve settles down in the driver's seat. You welcome his touch when he reaches for your hand and you give him a small smile that he returns instantly.
“Ready?”
You look outside, at the sun beaming down, at the road waiting for you. The sky is blue, clear of any clouds. For the first time in a while, the feeling in your chest is one of peace. You know the rest of this journey will be smooth. You know that this is the last time you will be sitting in this seat, looking out onto the road, looking out for any danger. This will be the last day where you will have to fear for his safety, for his life, for your friends’ life.
This journey won’t end the way you always thought it would. Your parents, your brother were supposed to be here now with you. They were supposed to greet the gates of the community with you but instead they greeted the gates of heaven.
You didn’t think it would end like this.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
But life had different plans for you, for your family.
But the darkness didn’t claim you, not even when you thought it did.
You look into the eyes of the man you love, and you know that everything will be okay. He squeezes your hand, his lips touch your knuckles, his eyes shine for you.
“Ready.”
And your future with him is just in reach.
Because by nightfall you are greeted by the breeze of the ocean and the gates of the community.
Summary: Steve Harrington hasn’t been the same since his relationship with Nancy Wheeler. Hes more insecure about himself, about where he stands in relationships — always worried about if he’ll get replaced by someone else. The thoughts ease a tiny bit when he meets you, but your gentleness and reassurance isn’t enough to fully wash away his self-doubt. He felt okay for a while, until one night at the bar sent him spiraling into a panic of jealousy, insecurity, and fear.
Pairings: Steve Harrington & Fem Reader
Tags: Angst, Comfort, Heavy Dialogue, Insecurities, Past Trauma, Cheating Accusations, Self-Doubt, Alcohol Consumption, Arguing, Imperfections/Flaws, etc.
Word Count: 4.6k
S.T Masterlist
The bass from the party still lingers in your bones, the kind of feeling that doesn’t fade when the music stops and keeps pulsing underneath your skin, tangling with the dizzy warmth of cheap alcohol and the echo of laughter that already feels too far away.
The night air outside is cooler than you expect, sharp against your flesh, just enough to make you shiver as Steve’s car door slams shut a little harder than necessary. The drive to his place is quieter than it should be, not silent, because it’s never front silent but wrong in a way that weighs heavily on your chest. The radio hums low in the background, some familiar rock song playing, but Steve doesn’t sing along like he usually does.
Instead, his fingers tap against the steering wheel, restless and uneven as his jaw tightens, just enough that you can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin every time he glances at the road — or at you.
You’re not sober, not entirely, but you’re not oblivious either. The alcohol softens the edges of things and blurs your thought process, but it doesn’t make you stupid. It doesn’t make you miss the way his hand doesn’t reach for yours across the center console like it always does.
It doesn’t make you miss the distance.
“Steve?” You murmur, voice coming out quieter than you intended. It comes out a little slurred at the edges, uncertainty thick in the vowels. “You’re driving like you’re mad at the road.”
He huffs something that might be considered a laugh, but it’s too sharp to be real. “I’m fine, just tired.”
You shift in your seat, pulling your legs closer, the fabric of your dress riding up slightly. The movement makes your head spin just enough to remind you how much you drank, how the room had tilted at the party, and how everything felt a little too loud and easy to get lost in.
How easy it had been to laugh while leaning in close, and not notice the way Steve had been watching.
“You don’t sound fine.” You say, softer now, more careful because that’s always how you are with him.
Because you know him. You know the parts of him that most people don’t bother looking for, the crack underneath the surface, the way he carries things that he doesn’t talk about, especially the way his confidence is something he wears like a jacket that doesn’t always fit right.
You know about Nancy, not just the story everyone else knows — the breakup, the quiet shift, the way she drifted toward Jonathan like gravity had changed. You know about the way it still lingers in the small things, the hesitation before he lets himself get too close, the way he sometimes looks at you like bracing for something to go wrong.
You’ve never held it against him, not once.
Steve exhales sharply through his nose, eyes fixed on the road. “I said I’m fine, alright?” He says, the words landing heavier this time, more final.
You swallow whatever you were going to say next, letting the silence stretch again, even though it already feels like it’s pressing into your skin. You glance out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, each one smearing into the next like streaks of gold.
You attempt to replay the night in your head, the blurry memory of drinks and laughter filtering in before settling on Eddie. You remember him leaning against the wall, grinning wildly like he always does. You remember the way the two of you laughed easily over shared drinks, how effortless it had been to fall into that kind of energy because he has always managed to pull people in without trying.
You didn’t think anything of it at first because the two of you have always been close friends, strictly platonic even before you met your loving boyfriend — but maybe Steve had, and your stomach twists at the thought.
“Is this about the party?” You ask, gently testing the waters.
“Drop it,” Steve says, hands tightening around the steering wheel and when you know it’s not nothing.
The rest of the drive passes in a thick and suffocating quietness. By the time he pulls into the familiar driveway, the tension between you feels like something solid, something you could reach out and touch with your hands.
The engine cuts off, and Steve doesn’t wait to get out of the car. You follow a second later, a little slower, and off balance just enough that you have to steady yourself against the door. The world tilts again, and you laugh softly under your breath, more of our nervousness than amusement.
“Okay, maybe I did have a little too much.” You mumbled, hand resting over the car door as you tried to regain your balance again.
“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve cuts in, his voice flat and void of any amusement.
You blink at him, caught off guard because the words sting more than they really should. “Hey, I was just enjoying myself.”
“C’mon. Let’s just get you inside.” He says, not bothering to react or respond to what you said.
There’s no bite to his words, but there’s no warmth either, and that bothers you in a way that feels ridiculous.
“Yeah, okay.” You mumble softly, letting him guide you inside, his hand hovering at your back rather than resting there like it usually does. It’s a small thing, but you feel the absence immediately.
The house is quiet when you step inside, the kind of quiet that settles deep. Steve flips on a light, the soft glow filling the room, and you squint slightly as your eyes adjust.
“Okay,” you say, trying to shake off the unease curling in your chest. “You’re definitely mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” he mutters, kicking the door shut behind you.
“You just sound like it.”
“I said I’m not mad.”
The edge is back, and you study him for a second, really looking now. His shoulders are tense, his posture stiff, like he’s holding himself together too tightly. His eyes flick to you and then away again, like he can’t quite stand to look for too long.
That’s not normal.
“Steve, talk to me.” You try again, softer this time.
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once across the living room before stopping short. “Can we not do this right now? You’re drunk.” He says.
“I’m not that drunk.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I can stand just fine, Steve.” You argue, even as you lean slightly against the wall for balance.
His eyes snap back to you, frustration flashing across his face. “Yeah, you look great. Really convincing, babe.” He says, the sarcasm in his voice cutting in a clean condescending way.
You flinch, not because of what he said, but how he said it.
Steve notices it immediately, the way your expression falters, the way you go quiet for half a second too long, and something flickers in his face. It almost looks like regret, but it's gone just as quickly, swallowed by something heavier.
He exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Just, come on. Let’s get you to bed.” He says, quieter now, and this time you don’t argue.
The walk to his bedroom feels longer than usual. Your steps are uneven, and your head still feels like it’s spinning, but it’s not the alcohol that’s making your chest feel tight now.
It’s him.
The way he doesn’t look at you.
The way his hand barely brushes yours when you stumble, like he’s forcing himself to help instead of wanting to.
By the time you reach his room, you’re more aware than ever that something is wrong. Steve moves around you, pulling back the covers slightly, his movements mechanical and distant.
You stand there for a moment, watching him, feeling your confusion growing. “Okay, seriously what’s going on?” You say slowly, a little frustrated by his avoidance.
“Nothing, I keep telling you this.” He replies immediately.
You let out a small, disbelieving huff. “I know you better than that, Steve.”
“I said it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” You insist, your voice firmer now. “You’ve been acting weird since we left the party. Did I do something?”
“Yeah, you did,” Steve says.
The word hits harder than you expect, and your breathing catches just enough to make your chest tighten. “What exactly did I do?”
He laughs again, but it’s hollow this time. “You really don’t know?”
“No, Steve.” You say, shaking your head. “I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”
“You were all over him,” Steve explains briefly, jaw clenching with annoyance.
“Are you talking about Eddie?” You ask.
“Yes!” He says, like it should be obvious, almost like you’re stupid for not getting it. “You were all over him all night.”
“That’s not—” You start, but he cuts you off.
“No, don’t do that.” He snaps.
“Do what?”
“Act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Steve, I was just talking to him.” You say, staring at him with genuine confusion because it truly wasn’t like that at all in your eyes.
“Yeah, okay.” He says, his voice rising. “I saw it. The way you were laughing, touching his arm, leaning in like he was the only person in the room.”
Your stomach drops, tinged with disbelief and frustration that he would even come to this conclusion. “That’s not what it was. I was talking to a friend that we’ve both known for a while.” You say, trying to keep your voice steady as you explained.
“Right, okay. You were just being friendly?” Steve questions, completely unconvinced as he takes a step closer.
“Yes, that’s literally all it was.” You say, frustration evidently creeping into your voice.
“Totally friendly.” He shakes his head, pacing again.
“Steve—”
“You think I didn’t see the way he was looking at you? The way you didn’t pull away from it?” He continues, his voice tight and laced with anger.
Something uncomfortable twists against your chest, suddenly sobering quicker than intended. “I didn’t think I had to because I trust you, and I thought you trusted me.” You say, voice quieter now.
Those words make him stop, and for a moment the room goes still. “I do trust you,” Steve says, but it doesn’t sound convincing, not even to him.
You cross your arms, more to steady yourself than anything. “Then why are we fighting about this?”
“Because—” Steve starts, then cuts himself off, his expression tightening with conflicted emotions.
The word hangs there, heavy and unfinished. You watch him closer now, studying the glint in his eyes and suddenly it clicks. This wasn’t about Eddie, not entirely, this was about something deeper and older.
You exhale softly, crossed arms loosening in front of your chest. “This isn’t just about tonight, is it?” You ask him, voice losing the frustrated edge.
Steve looks at you, eyes widening slightly like you’ve hit something he wasn’t ready for. “Don’t, not tonight.” He says, but there’s no sharpness behind it this time, just exhaustion.
“This is about what happened with Nancy.” You say cautiously.
The mention of her name snaps something inside him, his voice switching to that sharpness from moments ago. “Why does it always come back to her? Why is that the first thing you go to?” He demands.
“Because you’re still hurting, and it’s affecting us.” You say, just as quickly. “But, you won’t admit that.”
“I’m not—”
“You are, Steve.” You interrupt immediately, your own frustration breaking through more clearly. “And that’s okay, but you can’t keep pretending it’s not there and then taking it out on me when it shows up like this.”
“I’m not taking anything out on you.”
“But, you are! You’re mad at me for something I didn’t do because it feels like something you’ve already been through.” You insist, voice growing in volume, just slightly above usual.
The truth of it lands heavily between you and his expression shifts, something raw flickering through his eyes. For a second, he looks like he might say something honest and real, but then his walls go right back up.
“Yeah, because I have been through it so I know when I see it.” He says, his voice colder now.
Your expression twitches, the intoxicated dilation in your pupils switching to something of annoyance. “I’m not Nancy, Steve!” You defend.
“I know that.”
“Then stop acting like I am.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re acting like I’m going to leave you after one interaction between two drunk friends and that’s not fair to me, or you.” You cut in again, voice shaking slightly with vulnerability and frustration.
Steve flinches slightly, his breath catching in his throat as the words hit him because he knows there's truth to them. “I didn’t say that,” Steve mumbled quietly.
“You didn’t have to say anything, it’s all over the way you’ve been acting tonight.” You reply.
The silence falls between you again, thicker this time as both of you take a quick breath to steady yourselves, like you’re trying to find grounding with your emotions.
“I’ve been patient and understanding. I’ve given you all the reassurance I could because I know you’ve been through something that hurts you, but you can’t keep punishing me for someone else’s mistake.” You say, softer this time as your voice loses the edge of frustration.
Steve looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do with you, like he wants to believe you but doesn’t quite know how. “I’m not punishing you for it.” He says again, weaker this time like the words are hurting him.
“It feels like you are.”
And, that’s what breaks him. It wasn’t your anger or frustration, it was the honesty in your words. His shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of him in an instant. He looks tired now, really tired, like he’s been carrying something for too long and doesn’t know how to set it down.
“I just—” He starts, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know how to not think like that.”
There it is, the raw and unguarded truth you’ve both been dancing around.
“Then let me in so I can help you, Steve.” You say gently, expression softening at his confession. “You can’t shut me out and then get mad when I don’t understand what’s going on in your head.”
He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I just saw you with him, and it's just—” He admits quietly, shaking his head. “It felt like I was back there again, like I was watching it repeat itself.”
Your heart aches at his hesitation, carefully stepping closer, giving him time to pull away. “Steve, I’m not going anywhere.” You tell him quietly. voice carrying a softened edge.
“I know. It’s just, I don’t always believe it.” He says, letting out a shaky breath.
The vulnerability in his voice hits harder than anything else tonight. You reach for his hand, this time not hesitating when your fingers lace together. “I’ll keep reminding you, as many times as you need but you have to talk to me.” You say, fingers tenderly brushing over his skin.
He finally looks at you, and for the first time since you left the party, the distance between you starts to close. The room starts to feel quieter again after everything settles, but it’s not the peaceful kind of quiet. It’s the kind that lingers in the spaces between you, humming faintly under your skin, like something unresolved still breathing and waiting.
The argument is over, the sharp edges of it have dulled and the raised voices replaced with softer and understanding whispers, but it doesn’t disappear — it never really does.
You can still feel it looming through the air, written into the silence between your words. It’s written in the way Steve moves around you now, gentler than before but still hesitant, like he’s second-guessing every step, waiting to make the wrong step again.
You lean slightly against the edge of his bed, fingers clumsily reaching the zipper at the back of your dress. Your head starts feeling heavy again, limbs moving slower than usual as the alcohol has dulled into something softer now, lingering just enough to leave your body with the dazed buzz of intoxication.
Steve notices before you say anything. “I got it, don’t worry.” He murmurs, voice quieter than it was earlier. He steps closer, his fingers brushing yours lightly as he takes over, finding the zipper with ease. The touch sends a small and familiar warmth through you, but even that feels different now.
It’s not gone, just uncertain.
His knuckles graze the bare skin of your back as he slowly pulls the zipper down, the sound soft in the quiet room. He doesn’t rush it, he never does. Steve has always been like that with you, gentle in ways that feel almost protective, like taking care of you is something he doesn’t even have to think about.
But tonight, there’s a pause. A slight hesitation in his movements like he’s thinking too much about it, like he’s wondering if he still has the right. Your chest tightens with guilt, glancing over your shoulder at Steve. “You can keep going, it’s okay.” You say softly, giving him a faint nod.
Steve swallows, nodding stiffly as he finishes pulling the zipper down, his fingers lingering for half a second too long before he pulls his hand away completely and the absence of his touch feels louder than it should.
You slip the dress off your shoulders yourself, letting it fall down your body and gather at your feet. You step out of it carefully, steadying yourself on the bed, and reach for one of Steve’s shirts, the same one you always wear when you stay over.
It smells like him, laundry detergent mixed with his faded cologne, something safe and familiar. You pull it over your head, the fabric falling loosely against your skin. For a moment, you just stand there, letting yourself breathe and adjust to the heaviness.
“You need anything else?” He asks, shifting his weight behind you.
There’s something in the way he says it, like he’s asking more than just the question. “No, I’m okay.” You reply, shaking your head gently. “Thank you, Steve.”
He nods, even though you’re not looking at him directly anymore. “Yeah, of course.”
Steve changes quickly after that, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a worn t-shirt. His movements are a little stiff, like he’s still shaking off the remnants of everything that just happened, like his body hasn’t quite caught up with the calm yet.
You climb into bed first, sinking into the mattress with a soft exhale. The room is dim now, lit only by the lamp on his nightstand, casting a warm glow across the walls.
Steve turns it off before joining you, and the darkness settles around you both. For a moment, neither of you moves, then he shifts closer, slow and careful like he’s testing the space between you.
His arm slides around your waist, tentative at first, before pulling you closer against him. You don’t resist, you never do. Your body fits against his like it always has, familiar and instinctive, your head resting just beneath his chin.
He exhales softly when you settle into him, like he needed that, needed to know you were still here. Your hand trails up to his chest, resting right below his heart, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt. It’s the same position you’ve fallen asleep in dozens of times before, nothing has changed but yet, everything feels different.
You can feel it in the way his heart beats a little faster than usual. In the way his hand rests against you, not quite as sure. Your breathing evens out not long after, letting your body relax fully into his as sleep takes you quicker than usual. The alcohol helps with that, pulling you under gently, your grip on his shirt loosening as your consciousness fades.
Steve notices, he always does. He stays still for a long time after you fall asleep, long enough that the quiet starts to feel too loud again. His eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling, but he’s not really seeing it. His mind is somewhere else entirely, somewhere tangled and restless because you didn’t say it. He didn’t either, but it feels different when you don’t say, it always feels different.
Steve tries to tell himself that it doesn’t mean anything. He tells himself that you drank too much and tonight was so messy that you just forgot, but his brain doesn’t stop there. It never does, because the thing about Steve Harrington is that he doesn’t just think, he spirals.
It starts small with a single thought, the lingering realization that you didn’t say it, then it grows into something heavier because you always say it, and that’s when it twists into over-questioning.
His chest tightens slightly, his arm shifting around you to pull you just a little closer, like he needs to reassure himself that you’re still real, still here.
That you’re still his, but even that thought makes something uneasy settle in his stomach because he knows that’s not how it works. He knows you’re not something to keep, not something to hold onto like you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.
And yet, the fear is still there because Nancy Wheeler didn’t disappear all at once. That’s the part that stuck with him because it wasn’t sudden or dramatic, the drift was slow and subtle. It was the shift in the way she looked at him, a distance that grew without him noticing until it was already too late.
Until one day, she was just gone. She wasn’t physically gone, but emotionally she was. Steve didn’t even see it coming, and that was the worst part about it. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, trying to push the memory away, trying to remind himself that you’re not Nancy.
You’ve never been her.
You’ve never made him feel like that.
You’ve always been patient with him in ways he still doesn’t understand, gentle in ways when he didn’t think he deserved, and understanding in ways when he expected frustration.
You stayed, you always stayed, so why does it feel like something just shifted? His thoughts keep turning, over and over, each one feeding into the next.
You didn’t say I love you.
You were laughing with Eddie.
You didn’t pull away.
You didn’t say it.
His grip tightens slightly around you without him realizing, the weight in his chest feeling heavier now, almost making it painful to breathe the way he wants to. The hours pass like that, with the uncomfortable ache pressing against his ribs with each lethargic breath, leaving him stuck with restless anxiety.
At some point, he stops staring at the ceiling and stares at the window, his gaze unfocused and lost somewhere deep in his own head. His thoughts loop and twist until they don’t even feel like thoughts anymore, just a constant low hum of doubt.
Steve doesn’t even notice when you stir beside him, doesn’t notice the way your hand slowly slides away from his chest as you wake up just enough to feel the uncomfortable dryness in your throat. You blink slowly, disoriented for a second before realizing you woke up thirsty.
Your hand reaches blindly toward the nightstand, fingers brushing against the surface until they find the glass you left there earlier. The movement is quiet, but it’s enough for him to notice. He looks down immediately, his thoughts snapping back to the present as he notices you shifting.
“You okay?” Steve asks, his voice low, rough from exhaustion.
You hum softly, lifting your head just enough to take a large sip of water. “Yeah, just thirsty.”
You set the glass back down, hand lingering on the nightstand for a second before you turn slightly, facing him more fully and that’s when you notice he’s still wide awake. Your brows knit together faintly, your sleepy expression shifting into something more aware.
“Steve?” You murmur.
He doesn’t answer right away, and that’s all it takes for you to fully wake up. You push yourself up slightly, your eyes adjusting to the dark as you look at him properly. “You haven’t slept.” You say softly.
He exhales quietly, shaking his head. “No, couldn’t sleep.”
You can feel it this time, the weight of whatever’s sitting on his chest. “What’s wrong, Steve?” You ask him, gentler this time.
He shifts slightly beneath you, his arm wrapping around your waist again, like he’s grounding himself before he speaks. “I just… I got in my head.” He admits quietly.
That’s not new, but it still makes your heart ache.
“About what?”
“You didn’t say it.”
“What?”
Steve’s gaze drops, his voice even softer now. “You didn’t say you love me, [Y/N].” He says, voice cracking as he says your name.
And, there it is laid out in front of you, void of any anger and jealousy, just raw and unfiltered fear. Your expression softens immediately, the sleep fully gone from your eyes now. “Steve… Baby.”
“I know it’s stupid,” Steve rushes to add, his words tripping over each other slightly. “I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, and you were tired and drunk and everything was just a lot tonight, I get that. I do. It’s just—”
He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “But, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“Hey, look at me.” You whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek gently, guiding his gaze back to yours as you try to ignore the ache in your chest.
He hesitates for a second, then he does, and the vulnerability in his eyes is enough to break you. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just tired, and my head was spinning, and I just fell asleep. That’s all.” You explain carefully.
He nods slightly, but it’s not enough to fully convince him, you can easily see that because this was never just about the words.
“I got scared,” Steve admits quietly, almost shamefully.
There it is again, the unguarded truth he doesn’t show anyone else. “Of what?” You question, thumb brushes lightly against his cheek,
“Of missing something, of not seeing it happen again until it’s already too late.” He says, and you can physically feel your heart sinking.
“Steve…”
“I know you’re not her, I know that. I really do,” He says quickly. “But it doesn’t stop my brain from going there. It feels the same sometimes.” He exhales shakily.
You shift closer to him, your forehead resting lightly against his. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise you.” You whisper against his skin.
He closes his eyes for a second, like he’s trying to hide the emotion behind them. “I want to believe that.”
“Then believe me.”
“I’m trying.”
Your hand slides down to his, intertwining your fingers with his again. “You don’t have to try alone, I’m right here.” You reassure him.
He squeezes your hand slightly, nodding at your words. “I know.” Steve adds, softer this time.
You shift closer, lips brushing lightly against his cheek. “I love you, Steve Harrington.” You whisper sweetly, thumb still caressing his cheek. “I’ll love you on every bad day you have, and every good day you have.”
Steve’s breath catches, feeling a weight of tension slipping from his shoulders as he eased against your touch.
“I love you too.”
A/N: this was a request so i hope you enjoyed it!! also not entirely proofread, im eepy because im publishing this at 1am :3 (i kinda don’t like this, pls pls dont kill whoever requested this)
The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter twenty four
⭐︎ God loves you, but not enough to save you
Warnings: hurt/comfort?, death, grief, lots and lots of angst, grab ur tissues, grumpy x sunshine (no more sunshine?)
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: You found your way back home, you found your way back to your family but are they still the same people you left behind all these years back? Is it all still the same?
Word count: 8.6k
Author's note: I'm really sorry about this one! I don't have much to say but this sad chapter was planned from the start and now we are almost at the end of this story, only three more chapters + the epilogue! this was cowritten with @hellfire--cult as always ♡ ps: blame her for the ending.
Series masterlist
☀︎
“Would you two stop bickering for a second, and help me harvest these damn sunflowers!?” Your father yelled as he cut the head of a sunflower in full bloom and already dropping. You pushed your brother again, sticking your tongue out at him.
“Just because you are leaving for college in a week, doesn’t mean you can treat me like shit! I am still the oldest!” He flicked his thumb and index finger against your forehead, making you wince in pain and take a step back.
“I am taking my fill for all the months I won’t have the chance to punch you!” You said and suddenly your cheek was pinched as well as your brother’s by your father.
“Now… The two of you will stop this nonsense, and we will harvest these sunflowers, like every year!”
“Kit kat started it!” Your brother yelled, completely muffled, and you whined as your father let go of your cheeks. You both rubbed them, pouting, and then you whispered to your brother.
“We are young adults, and he still treats us like kids.”
“Cheek pinching? What am I, five?”
“Lunch is ready!” Your mom yelled from the backdoor, and your brother and you looked at each other, a few seconds going back, and you moved first, and strongly so.
You shoved your brother into the sunflowers, running towards the backdoor to get to the kitchen first, knowing that your mom made fried chicken. You wanted the drum of it, and your brother always fought for it.
His screams could be heard from behind you, laughing as your mom cheered you on to get inside first.
Your father's body is on the kitchen floor.
Partially decomposed, the smell nauseating, the flies all over him... The decomposition is pure black, no red blood, or stains around... Your father didn't go as a human.
You don’t know how long you stand there, frozen in place, your eyes fixated on the body in the open kitchen. Your hand is still in the air, inching towards your chest in slow motion. You don’t hear Steve’s voice behind you, don’t even feel his touch when he places his hand on your shoulder. Your head is underwater, and everything moves so slowly.
Out of everything you expected to run into, this has never been a possibility in your mind. You were always supposed to find your family. You were always supposed to find them here, alive, well. Your dad is gone. He is dead. He has been dead for a long time now.
The floorboard creaks beneath your boot when you take a step into the house you used to call your home. Your feet carry you to him. You are clutching your chest now as each step brings you closer. Your face crumbles, your lips curl downwards. The smell is awful, so awful, worse than anything you have ever witnessed in your life.
You see the hole in his head. A bullet that put him out of his misery. Your eyes flicker to the gun lying next to his hand, and your heart drops. Oh god.
“Dad…” You whisper, knowing he’s long gone. You want to reach out to him so bad, but you know better not to touch him, even through your grief. You kneel down before him, eyes flickering over his body. You recognize the plaid shirt on him, the one he always wore whenever he worked on something in the garage or the backyard. He was working that day too. Your heart is filled with pain when you look back down at the gun. He shot himself. He still had enough control to do this, to make this decision to protect your mom, to protect your brother. “I’m sorry, daddy.”
Your sniffle, your broken whisper, is enough to shatter Steve’s heart as he stands in the doorway watching you mourn your dad. Eddie and Nancy didn’t dare to step inside just yet, your reaction was enough for them to see what was inside, they decided to check the area outside, the red lightning over the town was enough of a warning sign for them to know that this place is far from safe.
Brown eyes are watching you, filled with nothing but pain, heartbreak, and guilt all at once. Steve’s lips part, like he wants to say something, like he wants to call out to you but no words come out. What is there to say? He hears your sniffle, knows there are probably tears running down your cheeks. Tears he wants to wipe away so badly, just like he wants to pull you into his arms, comfort you, say he is sorry. But he can’t. He stands there, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to reach out to you. He doesn’t know how much time passes of you just kneeling next to your dad, staring at him while Steve stares at you.
The room, your house, is frozen in time. He notices the calendar next to the fridge, and his stomach drops when he sees the month on it, the last time the page was flipped. The same month all hell broke loose. The guilt inside of him sinks deeper and deeper into his veins, making his blood run ice cold, taking over completely when he realizes that he laid it all out to you months ago. That he told you back then, what was waiting for you here, and god, it makes him want to puke his guts out. He broke your heart then. He feels like he did it all over again.
It’s so quiet in here, frozen. Not even the clock is ticking anymore, not even the birds are chirping outside, there’s none in this area, not anymore. It’s silent until it isn’t. It all moves too quickly, too suddenly, for you to react in your grieving state or for Steve in his state of shock. The footsteps are loud and aggressive, tumbling down the stairs too quickly for anyone to react.
But Steve turns around just in time. His eyes widen when he is met by bloodshot eyes and baring teeth. The sound of hungry growls filled the once quiet room.
“Steve!”
Your scream is so loud, filled with fear and horror, loud enough to make your friends outside think the worst. You watch wide eyed how Steve gets tackled to the ground, landing harshly on the wooden floor. His hand moves quick enough to save himself from getting bitten. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest, and you’re back on your feet quicker than you've been before. You run towards him and throw the infected off him, shoving it hard enough that it tumbles to the ground in the hallway.
“Steve!” You cry out to him, eyes filled with panic as you grab his sweater. Your eyes move over him so quickly, looking for any blood, looking for the bite that almost happened. Your shaking hands cling to him. Your glassy eyes show nothing but despair.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, baby.” Steve rushes out, assuring you, though his eyes match the look in yours. His eyes move over your shoulder, and he suddenly grabs your body, hoisting you both back up to your feet. He grips you so tightly, holds you like he is afraid of what could happen if he let you go right now, as his eyes find the ones that look at you like you’re the next meal. He pulls you back, putting distance between you and the infected, rising to its feet, ready to lunge forward. He feels it all at once, panic, fear, despair. You had been in such situations before, though none have felt this heavy.
You keep a tight grip on Steve’s sweater until you turn around in his arms, and your hands fall slack beside you, and everything inside of you shatters. You recognize the flowers on the dress. You recognize the ring on her finger. You recognize the necklace. You gave it to her. It was your gift. It was her favorite necklace, she never took it off, not once, not even when she–
“Mom?”
Your bottom lip is trembling, your throat feels tight. You feel like you can’t breathe, everything inside of you is aching. You are staring at her, eyes moving up and down what is left of your mother. You feel nothing but sickness as you stare at the black veins, the darkening blue skin, the bloodshot eyes, the saliva dripping down her chin, staring at you in hunger.
Steve’s grip on you is so tight, his hand trembling against your shoulder. His heart is pounding so strongly against his chest, and everything in him is frozen. He hears your sigh, that broken sound leaving your lips as you stare at your mom. He pulls you back more, heart lurching to his throat when she lunges forward.
“Mom, please!” You beg, even though you know it’s not her, it hasn’t been her for a long time now and yet… she stops, for a fleeting second, her body grows still, and her head tilts to the side like she is curious. And then her eyes meet yours, and your breath gets caught in your throat.
It feels like time slows down once again as you stare at her. For a moment, you are back in the kitchen, sun beaming through the windows, as a ten year old you cried because a boy ripped a bit of your hair in class. Your mom baked you cookies, and told you to fight back. To always fight back, even if the consequences can be bad. You come first. You always come first.
You see the monster inside of her, see the hunger and the emptiness behind her once pretty eyes. You see the blood stains on the dress that was her favorite one. You see the chipped nail polish, her favourite colour. That’s your mom. That was your mom. And you want nothing more than to feel her warm embrace, to feel her arms around you, to feel her cupping the back of your head, to hear her say, ‘it’ll be okay, you will be okay.’ You would do anything to hug her one more time, to have her take care of you the way she always did when you were still her little girl.
‘Always fight, no matter what.’
Steve feels you moving, and his heart almost stills, thinking you want to approach her, but instead your hand moves to the gun in your holster. Oh no. He can’t let you do this. He can’t. You turn the safety off and raise your gun, holding it in your trembling hand.
You don’t even see her anymore through your blurry vision. You don’t even feel the tears running down your cheeks, don’t hear your own voice as you start crying. You don’t even feel Steve’s hand covering your own, reaching for the gun in your hand, but your hand doesn’t budge.
“Sunshine–”
Your mom lunges forward again, but before she can get any closer to you, she is grabbed from behind by Eddie. He holds her arms against her back and manages to throw her down on her knees, holding her down against the ground with force. She is snapping her teeth, struggling against him.
“Give me the gun!” Eddie orders, looking between you and Steve. He doesn’t want you to be the one to do it. He doesn’t want Steve to be the one to do it. This shouldn’t be on any of you. “Steve!”
Steve hesitates, even after you let go of the gun and turn away, unable to watch. He hesitates. Eddie shakes his head at him slowly, his eyes filled with sadness when they flicker to yours.
“Let me.” Eddie whispers.
Steve blinks, and then he swallows the lump in his throat. He throws the gun to the ground and kicks it over to Eddie.
A whimper falls from your lips when Steve pulls you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you against him as he places his hand over your face, like he is trying to shield you from what is about to happen. He holds you so tightly in a way that says, ‘I got you. I will never let you go. I’m here.’
You shut your eyes tightly, like a kid afraid of a storm raging outside at night. You curl your fingers around his sweater, holding onto him in a way you never did before. You breathe in his scent like you need it to be able to breathe. You listen to his heartbeat like you need to know that he is still here, that he is still alive, that he hasn’t left you.
Steve’s grip on you tightens, his palm resting on the back of your head as he keeps you pressed against his chest.
And then your heart stops, and your ears start ringing. A yelp falls from your lips. Your ears feel like they are bleeding. Your heart is broken.
The loud thud indicates the gun dropping to the floor. She stops struggling. She stops growling. She stops moving. She is gone. It’s over.
Your knees give out, and you grow limp in Steve’s arms.
“I got you. I got you.” You hear him say as he brings you both to the ground, his arms never letting go of you. His hand stays on the back of your head as he holds you through it all. “I’m here.” Steve whispers, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, Sunshine.”
Steve’s eyes are hot with tears, and the coil in his throat grows bigger and bigger. His chest feels tight, heart breaking at the sound of your cries, at the feeling of your tears seeping through his sweater. He can’t look at it, he can’t look at the sight before him, at Eddie, who is hunched over your mom’s body, looking down at her with eyes full of sadness. Eddie huffs softly. He sits down, resting his back against the wall behind him. He rests his elbows on his knees, and for a brief second, his eyes flicker to your trembling body in Steve’s arms, pain crossing his pale features. Then Eddie’s eyes meet his, and they look at each other for a while, sharing the same thoughts. This is gonna hurt.
A shaky breath falls from Steve’s lips, and he closes his eyes. A tear rolls down his cheek as he leans his chin on the top of your head.
And Nancy, she stands in the doorway, blue eyes filled with shock, hand cupped over her mouth as her eyes are glued to the body on the ground. Her hand clutching her stomach as she listens to your soft cries.
And just like that, silence takes over once again. Dead silence.
No one talks. No one moves. For the longest time, you all just stay like this. Your boyfriend holding you in his arms. Eddie staring at your mom. Nancy frozen in place, unable to even step into your house. No one knows how much time passes of you all just sitting and standing in silence, frozen to your spots.
Steve’s arms stay around you, hand moving up and down your back. He tenses up when you pull away slowly, sniffling. You bring your hands up to your face, wiping at your wet cheeks. His soft eyes follow you worriedly. His throat tightens when your eyes find his, and your hand settles back on his chest.
“You’re okay, right…?” You whisper weakly, and it’s enough to make him tear up again.
Steve nods quickly, a loose strand of hair falling over his forehead. He grabs your hand, assuring you. “Yeah, Sunshine.” He whispers, watching the relief flash in your eyes. A shaky breath falls from your lips, and you nod. His grip tightens on your hand when you push yourself back up to your feet. You are weak on your knees, and his eyes flicker over your trembling form. He stands up too, ready to catch you again.
“I need… I need a moment.” You whisper, letting go of his hand.
Steve hesitates. His eyebrows furrow, eyes flashing with worry. His hand still lingers in the air where you had let go of it.
“Just a moment…” You gesture to the staircase. Your voice is trembling still, eyes staying watery.
Steve takes a deep breath and nods, though not liking the thought of leaving you alone, even for a second, now more than ever.
Eddie stands up slowly, and Nancy finally steps inside. Her blue eyes finding you instantly, eyes full of sadness and sympathy.
“Can you…” Your voice cracks, and you stop for a moment, bringing your hand up to your face. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. “Can you please wrap them in blankets? I wanna… I need to bury them.”
Steve nods, his voice wavers just the way yours just did. “Yeah, of course.”
“Thank you.” You whisper before you turn around. You force your eyes away from the ground where your mother lies in the pool of her own blood. You ignore Eddie’s worried looks, Nancy’s sad eyes. You make your way towards the stairs, walking up them for the last time.
Steve’s eyes follow you until he can no longer see you. His shoulders grow tense when you disappear from his view, and everything in him itches to follow you up there, to make sure that you are safe, to make sure that there isn’t another unpleasant surprise up there waiting for you. Your brother. Steve’s eyes widen when he remembers your brother. What if he is like your mother, what if he is still up there–
“Steve… If anything was up there, it would’ve been here by now… look…” Eddie gestures to your mom, to her wrists and the lines around them. “She was tied up.”
“Maybe… it was her brother.” Nancy finally speaks up, her eyes not straying away from your mom. “Maybe he got out…”
Eddie nods, eyes finding Steve’s again, “yeah… come on…”
Steve is staring at the staircase , his heart is still pounding, hands shaking. It stays silent just like before, only the sound of your footsteps upstairs now sounds through the house. He blinks. What now? Everything you’ve ever known, everything that you’ve been fighting for, is just gone, dead. His eyes fall on your mom’s body, then your dad’s. Your parents, your loving parents, were taken from you in the cruellest way possible.
“Steve.” Nancy whispers shakily, tapping his shoulder as she hands him a blanket, gesturing to your mom. He looks down at it, eyebrows furrowed. He takes it and walks over to the body on the ground. He halts his breath as he bends down. Her lifeless body, the black veins on her skin, the dried blood on her makes him sick. This isn’t fair. He closes his eyes for a moment, bringing his fist up to his nose.
He wanted to meet your family. He wanted to meet the people who raised you, who turned you into this strong, loving woman. He wanted to meet your mother, tell her how special her daughter is to him. He wanted to meet your dad, despite how intimidated he would be by him, knowing how protective that man must have been over you. He wanted to meet them, and looked forward to being a part of this. His arms are moving, wrapping your mom’s body in a blanket, careful not to touch her skin. He is moving but he feels nothing.
Eddie and Nancy share a glance before they turn to your dad, using the bigger blanket for his body. Their eyes are filled with sadness, just pure and utter sadness.
And you, you are frozen in the hallway upstairs. Stuck between your room and your brother’s. His door is wide open, the room just as messy as always. Clothes thrown over his desk chair, papers and books lying around, guitar in the corner of his room, dumbbells lying around– the ones he would always trip over. His room is a mess, but his bed is made. He always made sure to make his bed. Your eyes find the empty spot on his wall, the spot that was always reserved for his baseball bat and for a moment, you feel a sliver of hope. He isn’t here. And maybe you should step into the room, maybe you should look for a hint, maybe you should look for a sign that he might have left for you, but you can’t. You hold onto that hope and look away from his room, which looks just as frozen as the rest of the house, and you don’t dare to step inside, just like you don’t dare to step into your own room when you turn around to face your door.
Your hand reaches for the door handle, but you never touch the metal. Your hand freezes mid air, lingering there. You have looked forward to this. You have looked forward to being back home, to visiting your room, and to showing Steve your room. You did. You look down at your trembling hand, unable to grab the handle, unable to open the door to the past, knowing that it will only shatter your heart even more, knowing that you will be reminded of a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore, that will never exist again. You can’t.
You take a step back.
You let your hand fall to the side.
And then you slowly turn away again. With a heavy heart and a blurry vision, you make your way back downstairs. You don’t look at your parents. You halt in your tracks when you reach the last step. You breathe in shakily.
“My brother isn’t here.”
At that, your friends light up a bit. Steve stares at you with his hope in his hazel eyes, the kind of hope that you had at the beginning of this journey.
“He must have ran away… escaped from here” Nancy speaks up, her own eyes wide. Eddie nods beside her, his eyes flickering up and down your body in worry.
“Maybe we can find him.” Steve says softly, already stepping towards you.
“Yeah…” You whisper, nodding. “Yeah, maybe… At least not all is lost, right?”
Steve watches you almost painfully, hearing that fading hope in your voice, seeing that panicked look in your eyes, makes him feel so goddamn scared and helpless. He can see how much you are trying to hold yourself together, to keep your head up, to stay strong, to look strong. He can see the way the light has already begun to fade, and it breaks him.
He nods, giving you the smallest smile.
You try to smile back, but it’s weak, barely there. You look down and brush past him, making your way out of the house without saying a word, forcing your worried friends to follow you out. You walk down the steps, passing your dad’s truck as your feet carry you to the garage where your dad always kept shovels and other gardening utensils.
“M-Maybe we can check some nearby towns, maybe there’s a community somewhere.” Steve says behind you, trying to keep your hope up.
You only nod, not saying anything to that as you walk past the gate, using the side door to walk into the garage. You open it and step inside, letting light in through the open door.
“Yeah, o-or we could… I don’t know, is there a place he always wanted to go to?” You hear Eddie ask.
You look around, breathing in the cold air. The garage is dark. Your mom’s car is still in here. Everything is still in here. Your brother's bike. Your old bicycle that you kept telling your dad to get rid of. Your dad's toolbox. You look around, not realizing that you could even miss this – Saturday evenings, watching your dad work on your mom’s car while you sit on the stacked up boxes, sipping on fresh lemonade, rambling his ear off about the new town gossip that he always laughed at.
Your friends talk behind you, trying to keep your hopes up, trying to assure you, trying to fix this, trying to save this.
But a wave of nausea washes over you, and everything in you stills completely when your eyes catch onto something else. You move towards it, hand reaching for one of the rags on the shelf.
Steve steps inside as well, watching you with furrowed eyebrows, his words die on his tongue. He watches you stand over something, and then you lean down.
“Sunshine?” Steve whispers as he takes another step forward, wanting to approach you. He freezes instead when you turn around.
“It’s my brother’s.”
Steve stares at your face, eyes filled with confusion, before they move down to see what you are holding. His blood runs cold once again. And his heart continues to shatter. His face flashes with realization. Purple, dark blue skin covered in veins. The forearm of an infected. A silver chain around the wrist. Your brother’s.
Your brother was infected just like your dad was, just like your mom was. He was infected, and this is all that is left of him.
Eddie’s confused eyes move from Steve, to you and then down to the arm you are holding. His face dawns in realization.
Nancy pushes past the two men, her eyes catching onto it immediately, “oh god… Sunshine.” She whispers, bringing her hand up to her mouth. Her eyes water as they scan your face, watching your light go out completely.
And Steve, he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to move, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to keep you here with him, how to stop you from losing yourself completely, just like he lost himself back then. All is lost. All is gone. Everything you’ve been waiting for, everything you’ve been fighting for, everything you’ve risked your life for is just gone, and so is the life in you.
He expects you to fall to your knees, to break down into tears, to cry, to sob, to scream, but instead, you do nothing and somehow that feels even worse. Without letting go of what is left of your brother, you reach for a shovel and start to walk out of the garage, brushing past him and the others. You make your way to the front yard, picking a spot close to a tree. You put your brother’s arm down and start digging a hole with the shovel.
For a moment, your friends just stand there and watch you, all frozen in place. The question hangs heavy in the air. What now?
“Fuck…” Eddie whispers and leans back against the wall. He takes a deep breath. His eyes lock with Nancy's, whose eyes are filled with tears. He then glances at Steve, who looks absolutely lost. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips curled downwards, and his brown eyes are filled with sadness and heartbreak at having to watch you do this. He stands there unmoving for another moment before he starts blinking. He runs his hand down his face like he just snapped out of it. He looks around and picks up a shovel as well before walking out onto the field. Eddie can see that no words are exchanged between you; Steve just starts digging the hole.
“We should…” Nancy mumbles beside him, not having to finish the sentence.
“Yeah.” Eddie nods.
They join the two of you, wordlessly helping you dig holes for your family.
The air is heavy now, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to move. It’s like they can feel your grief. It’s like they can feel death in this place. And the thing is, it’s everywhere; death. It’s all over the world, it’s every town they step into, every abandoned house they searched for food or clothes inside, but nothing has felt as heavy as this.
This is pain, this is sorrow, and it’s so strong because it once was the complete opposite. You were happy. Your family was happy. Your parents loved each other. Your parents loved you and your brother. You loved family dinners. You loved holidays. You loved skipping parties to have movie nights with your parents instead. You loved playing hide and seek with your brother when you were kids. You loved baking and scolding your dad and your brother for eating it all away in less than a day. You loved sitting outside on the porch with your mom, talking about boys and giggling about it when she’d start teasing you. You loved your family, and they loved you, and now they are gone.
This place, this home that was once filled with love and happiness, is now full of pain.
You lost it all.
Your shovel keeps hitting the ground angrily, digging deeper and deeper. Your forehead shines with sweat, your cheeks have some dirt on it from wiping tears off angrily with fingers covered in the soil from the earth.
Your friends keep glancing at you, checking on you, but nobody speaks up, nobody asks questions, nobody says anything. Steve’s eyes stay on you the whole time. His heart continues to break in his chest from seeing your pained expression, your glassy eyes and your trembling lips. Your hands start shaking, arms growing weak from digging, but you refuse to stop, refuse to even take a break. He can see how much you are trying to hold it in, and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before you break down. Even as he and Eddie carry your parents out of the house, you try to stay strong. You don’t really look at your dad or your mom, though, when you catch a piece of her hair peeking out from the blanket she is wrapped up in, you instantly turn away. You clench your jaw and hide your face from him, from your friends.
Steve can hear your shaky breath; he can see how you are digging your nails into your palms. He can see how much you are hurting, and it’s slowly starting to kill him, to tear him apart. He feels helpless, just as helpless as he felt when Robin was dying in his arms.
You refuse to look down at your parents in the makeshift graves. Your friends keep glancing at you, watching you with sympathetic, sad eyes – you can’t stand it. You can’t bury your brother, not like you can bury your parents, all that is left of him are his remains. You don’t know what happened to him, whether he was eaten, and this was all that was left of him or if he lost his arm before he turned, if he is walking around somewhere, looking like your mother did before Eddie shot her. One thing is for sure: whether his body is gone completely or not, he was infected. He was a monster. He died too.
You kneel down after putting your brother’s arm next to your parents. You stay there for a moment. You don’t look down at them. You just sit there for a moment, eyes closed. This overwhelming emptiness inside of you starts spreading at this final moment. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
You feel his touch, feel his hand on your shoulder. Not everything is gone. Not yet. Your chin starts to tremble, and your heart starts beating against your chest painfully.
Steve can hear your shaky breathing, he hears your sniffle and he feels the tension in your shoulder. You are still trying to keep yourself together.
“Sunshine…” Steve’s broken whisper fills your chest with pain.
“We should bury them…” You whisper and get up. His hand falls from your shoulder. “We should… before it starts raining…” You point at the darkening sky above you.
Steve hesitates but grabs the shovel nonetheless. It feels like a blow to his chest watching you throw the soil into the hole; it lands on the bodies loudly, harshly. And he sees the expression on your face, the way you freeze when you truly register just what is happening, just what you are doing as you bury your family in your front yard.
This is the opposite of what you wanted.
This is not how it was supposed to end.
You were never supposed to lose them, not like this, not so soon.
Steve and Eddie help you bury your family while Nancy is carving the names of your parents and your brother into a wooden board, a makeshift cross she made.
The wind picks up, blowing through your hair. Goosebumps rise on your skin as the cold nips at you. Your vision is blurry, your whole body is aching and shaking. You can no longer see them as they are covered now by inches and inches of soil. You drop the shovel on the ground and look down at your trembling hands. Your palms are burning, skin raw. Your breathing gets heavier.
You hear your name being called. You hear his voice. You feel his touch on your shoulder. Your vision starts to blur, and your throat starts closing down on you, especially when you see Nancy and Eddie digging the cross into the ground.
“Sunshine.” Steve whispers, standing before you now, both hands on your shoulder. Brown eyes filled with worry. “Hey… baby.” He tries to shake you softly, noticing the state you are in. Frozen. Paralyzed. Your wide eyes are not on him; they are on the ground where your family is buried.
Steve starts calling your name, not Sunshine, not Baby, he is calling you by your name. Your chest rises up and down heavily. Your knees start shaking, and you take a step back, his hands falling from your shoulders.
“Sunshine–”
You freeze once more when a raindrop hits your forehead. Your eyebrows knit together and you look at him before you look up into the sky. You knew it was gonna rain, you said it yourself. Though the expression on your face is more of a realization than confusion.
“What–”
“This isn’t good.” You mumble. “This isn’t good for them.”
Eddie and Nancy glance at each other, questioning looks on their faces.
“What do you mean?” Steve asks softly.
You turn around. Without another word, you start walking away, away from your family, away from them. You start walking slowly at first and then you pick up the pace and start running.
“Sunshine!” Steve yells as he starts running after you, thinking that you are gonna run back into the house. Instead, you run past it, making your way to the backyard. The rain starts falling harder, thunder starts rumbling. Your boots dig into the dirty ground, leaving footprints. Your heart starts pounding harshly out of fear, out of panic, out of sadness, you don’t know it. You run and then… just like before, just like when you saw your dad on the ground, just like when you saw your mom’s bloodshot eyes staring back at you, just like when you found the remains of your brother, you freeze.
“No.” You whisper, turning in every direction, looking around wide eyed, terror written all over your face as you continue to whisper; “no, no, no…”
Eddie is the one who freezes the way you just did. This was one of the things you had told him about in the very beginning, when he took you fishing in Hawkins. This was one of the things that made you smile from reminiscing about it.
“There used to be this big sunflower field behind my parents’ house, it was beautiful. I got lost in it as a child though… once or twice.”
Now there is nothing to get lost in anymore. There is nothing left. The ground is rotten, nothing but black soil beneath your boots. The remaining sunflowers lie dead on the ground, rotten and dry.
Steve’s eyes flicker across the field that once bloomed with flowers, that once bloomed with life, with happiness. He can feel your pain, your heartache. He can almost hear the echoes of the past, of your laughter in these fields. Now it’s your cries that leave an echo when your knees hit the ground, and your fingers dig into the rotten soil. The tears you tried to hold in, the tears that you kept wiping away every time they tried to roll down your cheeks, fall freely now. Sobs you didn’t want to let out fall from your lips.
Pain spreads inside Steve’s chest, watching you break completely. Everything inside of him turns, the knife twisting deeper and deeper. His body moves on its own accord, and he drops down beside you, not hesitating to pull you into his arms. He almost expects you to push him away in your grief, but instead, you bury your face in his chest. You sob with an open mouth, yelling, screaming your pain, and everything you once knew is gone.
Everything is gone. Every single memory is now a stab to your heart. The happy memories are now stained with dark blood. Not a single memory could bring you joy right now, not ever. You were never getting back what you just lost. It was gone, forever.
Nancy couldn’t hold it anymore, and she turned to dig her face into Eddie’s chest, trying not to sob so you wouldn’t hear her. Eddie’s arms enveloped her, and he looked up at the sky trying to hold it all in. He could feel her trembling in his arms, and he knew what she felt. He knew it because he felt it too.
Their families are waiting for them at the community. Dustin is waiting for Steve, Wayne is waiting for him as well as his sweetheart, and then Nancy has her entire family. You are gonna go into that community… and have no one. They will be happy, while you are left with no one.
It felt unfair that they have the happiness that was just ripped away from you. It felt selfish. He was now afraid of being way too happy when he gets to the community, because he didn’t want you to feel broken. Nancy felt the same. How could she hug her parents and siblings, while you stood on the side, no one coming to receive you?
“They–They’re gone! They’re–” Your sobs never stopped, and they only made your throat start to hurt and pulse from how loud they were, from how much they were painfully coming out of you. Steve nodded, his hand rubbing at the back of your head as he rocked you back and forth.
“I know, I know, baby, I’m so sorry–” He didn’t know what to say as he clenched his eyes tightly. He was trying to keep himself together for you, but he couldn’t, not when he was basically feeling your pain.
“Dead! They’re dead!” You screamed in agony into his chest, your brain pounding in your head, and your heart probably wishing to stop. Wishing to just go with them. Wishing that you could turn back time, and change so many things. The fact of it all, was that you couldn’t. But you couldn’t accept this either.
Because they weren’t just gone. They didn’t go somewhere for them to return. Gone is very vague. They were dead. They weren’t coming back at all. They were now underground, no air coming into their lungs, their hearts completely still, and their memories of you gone as well.
The rain was starting to get heavier, and Eddie was looking around to make sure they were not going to get jumped at by anything or anyone. If your family was turned, then it meant there might be monsters or turned nearby. He didn’t want to interrupt. He didn’t, but the soil was getting muddier, and the terrain was getting tricky if they were caught in a predicament.
He patted Nancy’s back, and she sniffled, looking up at him. She pulled away from his body, getting her hands on her rifle, her pained eyes looking down at you and Steve. She took a deep breath in, before slowly whispering.
“Steve…” His eyes opened, and he looked up at her. She was frowning in worry and sadness, and his gaze finally looked around. Fog started building from how heavy the rain was falling, mixing with the humidity of the soil that built up underneath.
And there was a point where he couldn’t see anything at all. They needed to move. That’s what Nancy’s eyes were telling him. He didn’t want to interrupt your grief. His eyes begged at his friends for just one more minute, but as he begged for that, he could feel your body relaxing, or rather, growing a little limp on him.
Your sobs stopped, your body stopped shaking, and he grew worried that you might have passed out on him. He gently moved, pulling away, still keeping his arms around you, and what he saw was as terrifying as when he saw your father lying on the kitchen floor.
The tears running down your cheeks, leaving traces of them because of the dirt that was on your face when you dug up the holes. The rain all over your hair, your clothes. Your lips… no longer trembling. Your eyes are void of any feelings, of any spark. Your body was swaying slightly, and Nancy’s eyes widened, moving forward, remembering the state you were in when you saved them from the three people who were gonna do unspeakable things to all of you.
Steve stopped her with a hand, shaking his head.
“No… I…–” He looked back at you, and he rubbed your cheek gently, wiping away the mud, the tears, the rain. “Sunshine? Are you there?”
“-- Leave.”
“What?” His eyes widened for a second, but you took a breath and continued.
“We need to leave.” He nodded, feeling a lump forming in his throat. For a second, he thought that you were deciding to stay behind, and that thought hadn’t crossed his mind until now.
If you had decided to stay… He was gonna stay too.
But instead, you got up slowly, the soil on your knees, on your pants, just everywhere in your clothes. He followed right after, holding your arms gently, but you were not looking at him. You were looking at his chest, as if he were see-through. He turned his head around, and Eddie nodded at the house.
“Okay… Okay, baby… We’re gonna go to the RV, and we’re gonna shower, okay?” You didn’t reply. Nancy was still crying, so before you could see her, or hear her, she started walking, quickly, towards your house. Eddie took a deep breath in, his eyes worried as he looked at your still form.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes… Take your time…” He mumbles to Steve, and the latter nods, wrapping his arm around you as Eddie walks after Nancy. Steve could only assume that they would scavenge the house either for supplies or just letting you two have a moment to yourselves.
“Come on, Sunshine…” He started walking the two of you towards the RV. Your feet digging into the soil, the mud covering your boots, but even if it was tricky, you didn’t complain. You didn’t twitch. You didn’t make a sound, which only made Steve’s worry grow. He kept an eye out for danger, making sure that there was nothing around the two of you.
Once you reached the RV, the two of you got inside, and he started taking the jacket and dirty clothes off, as well as his boots, leaving him in just his shirt and underwear. You were still looking at nothing, standing at the entrance of the RV after he closed it. He whispered your name, and helped you take the clothes off.
You were like a ragdoll. Your arm fell when he took a sleeve of your jacket off, then the other. You let him take off your pants, helping him just slightly to step out of your boots and the denim. He grabbed all the dirty clothes and threw them in a basket that was on the kitchen counter. He left the boots close to the entrance, noting that they had to be cleaned later.
He rushed to the shower, turning it on so it could start heating up. His eyes found your form, standing in the middle of the vehicle, eyes… not even lost. He didn’t know how to explain it but it felt as if your body was vacant. Empty.
He had seen horrible things. He had seen monsters, friends dying, friends almost dying, people getting possessed, but seeing you like this, had to be in his top five. You looked terrifying like this. With no emotions. With no twitch of the eyebrow. With no tears. He didn’t expect you to smile right now, but he just hoped… he hoped this was just the shock.
He ripped his shirt off, and tested the water with his hand. It was rather hot for him, but he knew you liked it like this. He held your hand, gently, your eyes finding his. A shiver was sent through his body, your body automatically moving towards him as he guided you towards the shower.
He fully undressed the two of you and stepped into the crammed space, taking you with him. You stood under the stream, and he closed the small door. He helped you wash yourself, or well, you let yourself be washed. You weren’t moving. He felt his heart racing, dread slowly dawning on him the more you two stood underneath the shower.
He cradled your face, making you look up at him. He started to slowly wash your face, and he knew your eyes were unfocused. He knew you weren’t looking at him. Your breathing was steady, and he wondered what was going on inside your head… But he had a guess… Nothing.
There was nothing.
He lifted your arms to wash you thoroughly, bent down so he would wash your legs, the water running down in brown and dark colors, falling into the small drain. He got up and turned you around to start washing your hair, as softly as he could. You didn’t whimper or complain. He didn’t know if he was tugging too hard, or if he was being rough with his scrubbing.
He washed himself after he was done with you, doing it as quickly as possible, wanting to put you in bed and for Nancy and Eddie to have a chance to clean themselves before they head out. His mind was racing as he moved, turning off the water to wrap you in a towel. He stepped out after you, grabbing a towel from a cabinet so he could wrap it around his waist.
He pulled the blind door open, making you sit on the bed. He was breathing heavily, his eyebrows furrowed as he stood there. The water only helped with cleaning you, but it didn’t help your soul. Was your soul even here? Or did it bury it alongside your parents?
He gulped heavily, bending down, pressing his hands on your knees. He tried finding your gaze, but you were still… nowhere.
“Sunshine… Talk to me? Please…?”
You remained silent, but slowly, your eyes moved to find his, and he expected something. Anything. He expected you to light up, even if it sounded too selfish of him to wish for it at this time, but he wished for your eyes to glint with happiness every time that you looked at him. He knew them because that's exactly how he looked back at you, whenever you moved, talked, or kissed him.
But what he didn’t expect was for you to talk. Low, rough… lifeless… And his heart broke even more.
“You were right… I should have listened… I shouldn’t have come.” Those words aren’t meant to make him feel guilty, they aren’t filled with anger, they aren’t directed at him in a way that could make him believe that you didn’t forgive him back then and now. No. You just agree with his past words, now knowing that what he said was nothing but the truth. He can see there is no hate in your eyes, not the kind he had in his when you stumbled into his life back then, when you tried to pick up his broken pieces. But it hurts. He felt like something just struck him in the chest. You remembered. You remembered what he said all those months ago. You remembered every word and how he manifested and predicted what you were going to find here.
And it slowly dawns on him… You had always thought about it. You had always remembered. You had always gambled on this option. That day, in front of Robin’s grave, he killed a bit of your hope. He was the beginning of the void you are now… and he was now only realizing this.
His eyes averted from yours, and he was stunned into silence, a ringing falling in his ears. Everything stood still for a moment, and he felt so awful. He felt like he was going to be sick. Your parents were now resting underneath a broken patch of sunflowers and he had predicted all of it.
He only snapped out of it when he heard the RV door open, and he closed the blinds from the room. He put one of his shirts over you, and he put on just boxers as sleepwear. He got you in bed, and he laid down next to you, almost mechanically.
Your head was on his chest, but there was no warmth coming from you. No sobs, no cries, no heavy breathing. Steady, silent, and no words were exchanged. He couldn’t even say he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t even tell you that he didn’t expect it, and that this wasn’t supposed to happen. He started being hopeful that he was wrong, thanks to you.
He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t tell you how sorry he was… He couldn’t speak to you… What if he said something else? What if he made a mistake? Did you need to hear him right now? Even as he laid there on the same bed as you, his arm wrapped around your frame, both awake… It felt lonely. You weren’t there.
Your body was in the room, but you really weren’t. He wanted to hug you, calm you, rock you back and forth, and for some reason, he couldn’t. You weren’t doing anything. Only then did your breath started being slower, deeper, and he realized you were asleep. You probably passed out.
After an hour, he was still staring at the ceiling, the RV moving away from your house, away from that horrible moment you had gone through. But the grief remained in it. His eyes watered, and tears started slipping down the sides of his face. He felt guilty. He felt like a complete piece of shit. He felt unworthy of everything that had happened the past few months.
He couldn’t even be mad if you hated him now. He couldn’t be sad because, why wouldn’t you? You lost it all, and he had told you so.
He held in his sobs as your body felt cold against him under the blankets. It felt as if you were dead, and maybe you were. Maybe you were as buried as your parents and brother were back in your house.
He had someone, Nancy had family, and Eddie had family. You had no one.
