I knew it was love
When I rode home crying
Thinking of you fucking other girls
You had always loved Steve Harrington. And Steve? Well, he was oblivious. But a near death experience in the Upside Down causes you to confess your feelings for him.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 2.7k
contains: HEAVY angst, use of y/n, near death experience, talk of death, explicit language, suggestive language.
author's note: very VERY loosely based on dust bones by ethel cain. this fic is a little shorter as my others and I didn’t do a preview for it but the idea came to me after I saw vol 2 a few weeks and I finally got the urge to write it out of nowhere the other night 🤍 also happy harry styles is back day to those that celebrate
to be added to my taglist
You had heard about Steve and Emma Stevens through Robin.
She hadn’t meant to tell you, really. Robin just—she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. You had only asked her if she thought Steve would give you a lift home from the SQWK radio station—where you and Robin were currently prepping for tomorrow’s show.
“Probably not,” Robin says, her brows furrowed in concentration as she fiddles with a cassette. “Probably going to be knuckles deep in that Emma girl. You know what Steve’s like. They’re going on a second date so—”
She realises then—looking up at you with her eyes wide and apologetic.
“Fuck (y/n), I’m sorry—”
You blink. Try not to show how much that revelation had cut you open.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were in love with Steve Harrington. Robin knew, Dustin knew, Lucas knew, Joyce knew, Nancy knew, Jonathan knew—hell, Max probably knew and she was in a damn coma. The only person who didn’t know? Steve. The man was oblivious. Completely and utterly oblivious.
And so the reminder that Steve was fucking other girls on a weekly basis? Well, it hurt. Hurt a lot.
“It’s fine,” you lie as you pick up a few random tapes and pretend to consider them. You weren’t fine. You were trying not to cry.
Robin can tell she’s upset you and genuinely feels awful. The cassette tape in her hands clatters onto the table as she rushes to hug you. The telltales signs you were holding back tears were there—your eyes shining, bottom lip quivering and the way you went quiet.
You should be used to Steve’s casual dating by now. Should be used to the fact that he was fucking women who aren’t you. But honestly? You weren’t used to it at all.
And so, you rode home on your bike that night, crying as you tried not to imagine Steve and Emma—probably hooking up in the back of his beloved Beamer.
But now? Only three days later—Emma Stevens and Steve were the least of your worries.
The Upside Down always came knocking. Because of course it fucking did.
And this situation you found yourself in with none other than Steve himself—well, you were sure you weren’t going to make it out of this alive.
The room you were in—seemingly a boardroom of such in the upper floors of Hawkins Laboratory—was slowly but surely filling with a sludgy liquid that tried to keep you from moving.
You had no idea what was happening—you figured it had something to do with that energy shield (or whatever Dustin had theorised it was) you had just shot. But the guilt you’re feeling as you realise that you’ve condemned not only yourself but Steve to certain death—well, it’s all consuming.
“On the table,” Steve instructs, tugging on your hand so you follow—having to pull your legs up in order to move through the sludge.
Steve makes sure you go first—hoisting you up onto the table by your waist. You could have easily done it yourself but you took any and every opportunity—selfishly—for that man to touch you.
The table offered some reprieve—both of you free of that strange liquid that surrounded the table like an ominous ocean.
Steve looks at you—a look on his face you had seen only a few times before, one that plainly told you he was scared. “Wh-what do we do?” He asks you.
You look around the room, frantic—at the greyish liquid drawing ever closer—at the hole in the wall that had only made the situation worse as more and more sludge poured in—and finally, you look up at the gaping hole in the ceiling that was too high for either of you to reach and your only way of escape.
Steve is still looking at you—the way he’s always looked at you. Expectantly. Waiting to hear your plan. In the few years you had been falling into the Upside Down together, you always had a plan. Always one step ahead. But now—
“Help!” You yell out. “Help!”
And it’s that moment that Steve realises he was going to die. That if you didn’t see a way out of this? He knew there wasn’t one.
“Help!” He joins you, yelling in the hopes that Dustin, Nancy—hell, even Jonathan—would hear you. Though he knew, deep down, the trio were too many floors down to hear you both.
The two of you yell out, desperately. Trying your dammdest to live—to make it out of this alive. But as your voice cracks and Steve keeps yelling, you realise that no one was coming. That Dustin, Nancy and Jonathan couldn’t hear you. That you and Steve were going to die. Slowly, probably suffocating from the sludge. You thought about how painful it would be for that to fill your lungs.
“Steve—ju-just—stop,” you tell him, reaching out to tug his sleeve to get his attention. “They can’t hear us.”
Steve’s in denial. He shakes his head—fucking terrified—as he keeps on yelling anyway.
“Steve!” You yell at him, your voice breaking as the tears finally start to fall. “Stop. They’re not—they’re not coming.”
Steve looks at you—at your tears. At the look on your face and he knows you’re right. Knows there isn’t a way out of this. Knows that you both aren’t going to be saved. That your will to leave alone couldn’t save you.
“We—we gotta try (y/n),” he says finally and you feel your heart do that funny thing it always did around Steve because fuck, he had so much fight in him. Such a will to live and you feel awful that this was your fault. That you were the one to shot the giant ball of matter.
You just look at him and shake your head, tears already spilling down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Steve—I didn’t know that would happen—“
“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve says gently, leaning closer to you and placing a hand on your knee. “Don’t cry. Please. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”
“But it is—”
“It’s not,” he cuts across you. You know he’s just saying it to make you feel better. But the matter of the fact is, if you hadn’t shot that thing, you both would still be up on the roof. Not stuck in this room, waiting to die. But you didn’t want the last few minutes of your life to be spent arguing with Steve’s over whose fault it was. So, you just nod and wipe away your tears.
It’s quiet then. Just you, Steve and both of you quietly accepting your fate.
“Wish I could—you know, listen to like one more song before—” Steve cuts himself off as he swallows. Not looking at you. His hand still on your knee.
“What song?” You ask in a quiet voice.
Steve looks at you and—you see the tears in his eyes for the first time. After everything you two had been through together with every Upside Down ‘adventure’ (because was several near death experiences really an adventure?)—you hadn’t ever seen him cry. Until now. But you don’t comment on it. You just look at him, waiting for his response.
“Take On Me,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching.
You can’t help it, you laugh—despite the situation you both were in. It was just…so quintessentially Steve that you couldn’t help it.
“Haven’t you listened to that song enough?” You ask him, because Steve couldn’t seem to go a day without listening to that song. Robin had even made it a rule at the station that he was only allowed to play it three times a week, after you had received multiple complaints from listeners who counted a whopping eighteen plays of the track in a single week.
“Nah,” Steve says with a shake of his head, sniffling a little, “I bet you’d pick Edge of Seventeen.”
You bite back a smile—looking over at Steve with tears still falling.
“It’s a good song,” you say simply. Steve squeezes your knee.
You look away from him and your eyes dart around at the room again. You feel Steve squeeze your knee again. Grounding.
“Hey, look at me,” Steve says gently and you feel his fingers gently graze your cheek as he turns your head to look at him. Not at the reminder of your unfortunate fate. “Focus on me—”
You could feel your heart hammering in your chest. The gentle reminder that you were alive. Alive. Alive.
You hadn’t ever given much thought to it. Your heart that beat to keep you alive. But feeling it racing against your chest like that? Like it was desperate for you to live—you were grateful for it. Hadn’t ever been so grateful to be alive as you were now.
“I don't want to die, Steve,” you burst out in a panic, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I don't—”
“Neither do I,” Steve admits in a quiet voice. His hand on your knee tightening as his honeyed brown eyes flicker to meet yours, his other hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “But I’m here, yeah? You won’t be alone.”
Your bottom lip quivers and you nod as a small sob escapes you because you were going to die. You were going die with the man you loved. And he still didn’t know—
“I wanna go first,” your murmur quietly. “I don't want to live in a world where Steve Harrington doesn't exist.”
“Don't,” Steve breathes out, jaw tense. Eyes shining and shaking his head. “Don't say that—”
“—and I’m s-sorry that it’s now that I’m telling y-you but I can’t die without you knowing,” you stutter out through shuddering breaths.
Steve looks back at you, lips parted and hanging on your every word. Unsure if he wanted you to keep talking or stop.
“I love you, Steve,” you tell him finally—your face wet with tears. “I always h-have.”
The silence you’re greeted with is the loudest you had ever heard. Your heart still hammering against your chest. Desperate to keep you to alive as death came—the liquid creeping ever closer with every second.
“Fuck—” Steve finally says, the fingers on your shoulder twitching as he shifts closer to you. “I had—I had no idea. And I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been screwing around for months—”
“—it’s okay,” you interrupt him with a shake of your head. “Really, Steve. It’s fine—”
“No. It’s not fine,” Steve says firmly, jaw set and his eyes roaming your face like he was seeing it for the first time. “Because I—shit—I love you too and I—I should've—fuck—I should've asked you out. Should've just done it instead of fucking wasting time. Should have taken you out for milkshakes or some shit—”
“Milkshakes?” You repeat, smiling a little. It was bittersweet. Because he wasn’t running. Didn’t find the idea of you being in love with him repulsive. And he said he loved you too.
Steve lifts his head up and catches your smile and fuck, if he does die—he wants your smile to be the last thing he sees.
“Yeah. Milkshakes,” Steve breathes out, “and bowling.”
“I would have kicked your ass at bowling,” you say, smiling at him as tears continue to fall. “Maybe would have let you get to second base too.”
Steve laughs—despite fucking everything, he's laughing.
“Shit, (y/n),” Steve breathes out, his forehead resting against yours, breath fanning your face. “You can't say that shit to me right now.”
“And I would have destroyed you at bowling. Would have worn a new shirt, bought you the biggest damn milkshake,” Steve's voice falters slightly, going quiet as his eyes flicker up to yours. “Would have kissed you stupid after.”
You smile at each other and for a moment—it’s just you and Steve. No grey sludge that was your death sentence around you.
“Fuck—we screwed up here,” Steve says and you laugh as you cry and suddenly he’s laughing too. You shouldn’t be. You’re about to die. It’s not funny, not in the slightest. But this moment? It didn’t feel scary. Or like death was around the corner. You just felt safe.
“Think we have time for me to kiss you stupid?” Steve murmurs quietly, fingers brushing along your jaw before his gaze falls onto your lips.
“Yeah,” you whisper back, eyes meeting his. Feeling his breath hot against your skin. “There’s time.”
He doesn’t wait a second.
You let out a noise of surprise as Steve's lips descend onto yours. There's no gentleness. No hesitation. Just years of tension and unspoken words between the two of you as your hands find the front of his jacket and tug him closer. Needing him so desperately as you kiss him back.
He groans—fucking groans—against your lips, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth and groaning again when you part your lips for him. His hands scramble to find your waist and he licks into your mouth and in his desperation, begins to press you back against the table.
Your hand shoots out to stop yourself from tumbling back too quickly from Steve's eagerness. But instead of the gooey liquid you're expecting to feel—you feel something solid.
There's a wet noise as you pull away from him. His lips chase after yours.
“S-Steve,” you gasp. “Lo-look—”
Steve’s confused—face flushed, eyes wide and lips still wet from your kiss. “What? Was it too much or—”
It’s then he sees the solidified grey sludge. It had set just beneath the table.
“Does this mean—”
You don’t wait—you lean over the table and place both your hands on the solid surface. It doesn’t crack. Doesn’t budge in the slightest. You start to stand, you needed to be sure—
“(y/n), be careful! It might—”
But you ignore him. You stand up on the solidified sludge and—it’s a solid as concrete.
Steve looks at you for a moment that felt like a lifetime. And then—
He scrambles to his feet—his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you half off the ground.
“We’re okay,” he breathes out as you sob in relief, his free hand cupping the back of your head like he needed to touch you. Needed the reminder that he was alive. That you were alive.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
“We’re okay,” he repeats, setting you down and cupping your face between his hands as he wipes away your tears. “We’re okay—fuck—we’re okay.”
You don’t even have time to breathe before he’s kissing you again.
Soft. Gentle. Like he had all the time in the world. And now, he supposed you did. Had time for that date. Had time for milkshakes, bowling and maybe even second base.
“M’gonna—” Steve mumbles against your lips as your hands fist the front of his jacket. “—kick your ass at bowling.”
“Shut up,” you murmur back before pulling away and smiling up at him like this was the beginning of something, “you’re gonna be a gentlemen and let me win.”
Steve scoffs, his hands moving back down to your waist and squeezing gently.
“Oh, absolutely not if you’re offering to go to second base—”
You whacked him on the arm, feeling elated as he laughed. He ducked his head down to kiss you again and—
The sound of banging from the wall behind you is what pulls you away from each other. Steve doesn’t think as he pulls you behind him. Protective. It was so Steve it made your heart do funny things in your chest.
The banging continues. The drywall cracks. Dust fills the air and—
“What the fuck happened in here?”
You had never been so glad to hear Jonathan Byers’ voice.
Through the hole in the wall—seemingly made by the fire extinguisher in Jonathan’s hand—you see Nancy, Jonathan and Dustin. Looking at you and Steve and how close you were standing. His hands on your waist.
“Are we interrupting something?” Nancy asks with a small smile. “Or do you guys want to get out of here?”
You and Steve look at each other, adrenaline pumping through the both of you—having been so close, so certain you were going to die that it's hard to even stand still.
"Yeah," Steve says finally, keeping his arm around you and pulling you close. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a date to go on.”
I knew it was love
When I rode home crying
Thinking of you fucking other girls
You had always loved Steve Harrington. And Steve? Well, he was oblivious. But a near death experience in the Upside Down causes you to confess your feelings for him.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 2.7k
contains: HEAVY angst, use of y/n, near death experience, talk of death, explicit language, suggestive language.
author's note: very VERY loosely based on dust bones by ethel cain. this fic is a little shorter as my others and I didn’t do a preview for it but the idea came to me after I saw vol 2 a few weeks and I finally got the urge to write it out of nowhere the other night 🤍 also happy harry styles is back day to those that celebrate
to be added to my taglist
You had heard about Steve and Emma Stevens through Robin.
She hadn’t meant to tell you, really. Robin just—she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. You had only asked her if she thought Steve would give you a lift home from the SQWK radio station—where you and Robin were currently prepping for tomorrow’s show.
“Probably not,” Robin says, her brows furrowed in concentration as she fiddles with a cassette. “Probably going to be knuckles deep in that Emma girl. You know what Steve’s like. They’re going on a second date so—”
She realises then—looking up at you with her eyes wide and apologetic.
“Fuck (y/n), I’m sorry—”
You blink. Try not to show how much that revelation had cut you open.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were in love with Steve Harrington. Robin knew, Dustin knew, Lucas knew, Joyce knew, Nancy knew, Jonathan knew—hell, Max probably knew and she was in a damn coma. The only person who didn’t know? Steve. The man was oblivious. Completely and utterly oblivious.
And so the reminder that Steve was fucking other girls on a weekly basis? Well, it hurt. Hurt a lot.
“It’s fine,” you lie as you pick up a few random tapes and pretend to consider them. You weren’t fine. You were trying not to cry.
Robin can tell she’s upset you and genuinely feels awful. The cassette tape in her hands clatters onto the table as she rushes to hug you. The telltales signs you were holding back tears were there—your eyes shining, bottom lip quivering and the way you went quiet.
You should be used to Steve’s casual dating by now. Should be used to the fact that he was fucking women who aren’t you. But honestly? You weren’t used to it at all.
And so, you rode home on your bike that night, crying as you tried not to imagine Steve and Emma—probably hooking up in the back of his beloved Beamer.
But now? Only three days later—Emma Stevens and Steve were the least of your worries.
The Upside Down always came knocking. Because of course it fucking did.
And this situation you found yourself in with none other than Steve himself—well, you were sure you weren’t going to make it out of this alive.
The room you were in—seemingly a boardroom of such in the upper floors of Hawkins Laboratory—was slowly but surely filling with a sludgy liquid that tried to keep you from moving.
You had no idea what was happening—you figured it had something to do with that energy shield (or whatever Dustin had theorised it was) you had just shot. But the guilt you’re feeling as you realise that you’ve condemned not only yourself but Steve to certain death—well, it’s all consuming.
“On the table,” Steve instructs, tugging on your hand so you follow—having to pull your legs up in order to move through the sludge.
Steve makes sure you go first—hoisting you up onto the table by your waist. You could have easily done it yourself but you took any and every opportunity—selfishly—for that man to touch you.
The table offered some reprieve—both of you free of that strange liquid that surrounded the table like an ominous ocean.
Steve looks at you—a look on his face you had seen only a few times before, one that plainly told you he was scared. “Wh-what do we do?” He asks you.
You look around the room, frantic—at the greyish liquid drawing ever closer—at the hole in the wall that had only made the situation worse as more and more sludge poured in—and finally, you look up at the gaping hole in the ceiling that was too high for either of you to reach and your only way of escape.
Steve is still looking at you—the way he’s always looked at you. Expectantly. Waiting to hear your plan. In the few years you had been falling into the Upside Down together, you always had a plan. Always one step ahead. But now—
“Help!” You yell out. “Help!”
And it’s that moment that Steve realises he was going to die. That if you didn’t see a way out of this? He knew there wasn’t one.
“Help!” He joins you, yelling in the hopes that Dustin, Nancy—hell, even Jonathan—would hear you. Though he knew, deep down, the trio were too many floors down to hear you both.
The two of you yell out, desperately. Trying your dammdest to live—to make it out of this alive. But as your voice cracks and Steve keeps yelling, you realise that no one was coming. That Dustin, Nancy and Jonathan couldn’t hear you. That you and Steve were going to die. Slowly, probably suffocating from the sludge. You thought about how painful it would be for that to fill your lungs.
“Steve—ju-just—stop,” you tell him, reaching out to tug his sleeve to get his attention. “They can’t hear us.”
Steve’s in denial. He shakes his head—fucking terrified—as he keeps on yelling anyway.
“Steve!” You yell at him, your voice breaking as the tears finally start to fall. “Stop. They’re not—they’re not coming.”
Steve looks at you—at your tears. At the look on your face and he knows you’re right. Knows there isn’t a way out of this. Knows that you both aren’t going to be saved. That your will to leave alone couldn’t save you.
“We—we gotta try (y/n),” he says finally and you feel your heart do that funny thing it always did around Steve because fuck, he had so much fight in him. Such a will to live and you feel awful that this was your fault. That you were the one to shot the giant ball of matter.
You just look at him and shake your head, tears already spilling down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Steve—I didn’t know that would happen—“
“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve says gently, leaning closer to you and placing a hand on your knee. “Don’t cry. Please. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”
“But it is—”
“It’s not,” he cuts across you. You know he’s just saying it to make you feel better. But the matter of the fact is, if you hadn’t shot that thing, you both would still be up on the roof. Not stuck in this room, waiting to die. But you didn’t want the last few minutes of your life to be spent arguing with Steve’s over whose fault it was. So, you just nod and wipe away your tears.
It’s quiet then. Just you, Steve and both of you quietly accepting your fate.
“Wish I could—you know, listen to like one more song before—” Steve cuts himself off as he swallows. Not looking at you. His hand still on your knee.
“What song?” You ask in a quiet voice.
Steve looks at you and—you see the tears in his eyes for the first time. After everything you two had been through together with every Upside Down ‘adventure’ (because was several near death experiences really an adventure?)—you hadn’t ever seen him cry. Until now. But you don’t comment on it. You just look at him, waiting for his response.
“Take On Me,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching.
You can’t help it, you laugh—despite the situation you both were in. It was just…so quintessentially Steve that you couldn’t help it.
“Haven’t you listened to that song enough?” You ask him, because Steve couldn’t seem to go a day without listening to that song. Robin had even made it a rule at the station that he was only allowed to play it three times a week, after you had received multiple complaints from listeners who counted a whopping eighteen plays of the track in a single week.
“Nah,” Steve says with a shake of his head, sniffling a little, “I bet you’d pick Edge of Seventeen.”
You bite back a smile—looking over at Steve with tears still falling.
“It’s a good song,” you say simply. Steve squeezes your knee.
You look away from him and your eyes dart around at the room again. You feel Steve squeeze your knee again. Grounding.
“Hey, look at me,” Steve says gently and you feel his fingers gently graze your cheek as he turns your head to look at him. Not at the reminder of your unfortunate fate. “Focus on me—”
You could feel your heart hammering in your chest. The gentle reminder that you were alive. Alive. Alive.
You hadn’t ever given much thought to it. Your heart that beat to keep you alive. But feeling it racing against your chest like that? Like it was desperate for you to live—you were grateful for it. Hadn’t ever been so grateful to be alive as you were now.
“I don't want to die, Steve,” you burst out in a panic, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I don't—”
“Neither do I,” Steve admits in a quiet voice. His hand on your knee tightening as his honeyed brown eyes flicker to meet yours, his other hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “But I’m here, yeah? You won’t be alone.”
Your bottom lip quivers and you nod as a small sob escapes you because you were going to die. You were going die with the man you loved. And he still didn’t know—
“I wanna go first,” your murmur quietly. “I don't want to live in a world where Steve Harrington doesn't exist.”
“Don't,” Steve breathes out, jaw tense. Eyes shining and shaking his head. “Don't say that—”
“—and I’m s-sorry that it’s now that I’m telling y-you but I can’t die without you knowing,” you stutter out through shuddering breaths.
Steve looks back at you, lips parted and hanging on your every word. Unsure if he wanted you to keep talking or stop.
“I love you, Steve,” you tell him finally—your face wet with tears. “I always h-have.”
The silence you’re greeted with is the loudest you had ever heard. Your heart still hammering against your chest. Desperate to keep you to alive as death came—the liquid creeping ever closer with every second.
“Fuck—” Steve finally says, the fingers on your shoulder twitching as he shifts closer to you. “I had—I had no idea. And I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been screwing around for months—”
“—it’s okay,” you interrupt him with a shake of your head. “Really, Steve. It’s fine—”
“No. It’s not fine,” Steve says firmly, jaw set and his eyes roaming your face like he was seeing it for the first time. “Because I—shit—I love you too and I—I should've—fuck—I should've asked you out. Should've just done it instead of fucking wasting time. Should have taken you out for milkshakes or some shit—”
“Milkshakes?” You repeat, smiling a little. It was bittersweet. Because he wasn’t running. Didn’t find the idea of you being in love with him repulsive. And he said he loved you too.
Steve lifts his head up and catches your smile and fuck, if he does die—he wants your smile to be the last thing he sees.
“Yeah. Milkshakes,” Steve breathes out, “and bowling.”
“I would have kicked your ass at bowling,” you say, smiling at him as tears continue to fall. “Maybe would have let you get to second base too.”
Steve laughs—despite fucking everything, he's laughing.
“Shit, (y/n),” Steve breathes out, his forehead resting against yours, breath fanning your face. “You can't say that shit to me right now.”
“And I would have destroyed you at bowling. Would have worn a new shirt, bought you the biggest damn milkshake,” Steve's voice falters slightly, going quiet as his eyes flicker up to yours. “Would have kissed you stupid after.”
You smile at each other and for a moment—it’s just you and Steve. No grey sludge that was your death sentence around you.
“Fuck—we screwed up here,” Steve says and you laugh as you cry and suddenly he’s laughing too. You shouldn’t be. You’re about to die. It’s not funny, not in the slightest. But this moment? It didn’t feel scary. Or like death was around the corner. You just felt safe.
“Think we have time for me to kiss you stupid?” Steve murmurs quietly, fingers brushing along your jaw before his gaze falls onto your lips.
“Yeah,” you whisper back, eyes meeting his. Feeling his breath hot against your skin. “There’s time.”
He doesn’t wait a second.
You let out a noise of surprise as Steve's lips descend onto yours. There's no gentleness. No hesitation. Just years of tension and unspoken words between the two of you as your hands find the front of his jacket and tug him closer. Needing him so desperately as you kiss him back.
He groans—fucking groans—against your lips, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth and groaning again when you part your lips for him. His hands scramble to find your waist and he licks into your mouth and in his desperation, begins to press you back against the table.
Your hand shoots out to stop yourself from tumbling back too quickly from Steve's eagerness. But instead of the gooey liquid you're expecting to feel—you feel something solid.
There's a wet noise as you pull away from him. His lips chase after yours.
“S-Steve,” you gasp. “Lo-look—”
Steve’s confused—face flushed, eyes wide and lips still wet from your kiss. “What? Was it too much or—”
It’s then he sees the solidified grey sludge. It had set just beneath the table.
“Does this mean—”
You don’t wait—you lean over the table and place both your hands on the solid surface. It doesn’t crack. Doesn’t budge in the slightest. You start to stand, you needed to be sure—
“(y/n), be careful! It might—”
But you ignore him. You stand up on the solidified sludge and—it’s a solid as concrete.
Steve looks at you for a moment that felt like a lifetime. And then—
He scrambles to his feet—his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you half off the ground.
“We’re okay,” he breathes out as you sob in relief, his free hand cupping the back of your head like he needed to touch you. Needed the reminder that he was alive. That you were alive.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
“We’re okay,” he repeats, setting you down and cupping your face between his hands as he wipes away your tears. “We’re okay—fuck—we’re okay.”
You don’t even have time to breathe before he’s kissing you again.
Soft. Gentle. Like he had all the time in the world. And now, he supposed you did. Had time for that date. Had time for milkshakes, bowling and maybe even second base.
“M’gonna—” Steve mumbles against your lips as your hands fist the front of his jacket. “—kick your ass at bowling.”
“Shut up,” you murmur back before pulling away and smiling up at him like this was the beginning of something, “you’re gonna be a gentlemen and let me win.”
Steve scoffs, his hands moving back down to your waist and squeezing gently.
“Oh, absolutely not if you’re offering to go to second base—”
You whacked him on the arm, feeling elated as he laughed. He ducked his head down to kiss you again and—
The sound of banging from the wall behind you is what pulls you away from each other. Steve doesn’t think as he pulls you behind him. Protective. It was so Steve it made your heart do funny things in your chest.
The banging continues. The drywall cracks. Dust fills the air and—
“What the fuck happened in here?”
You had never been so glad to hear Jonathan Byers’ voice.
Through the hole in the wall—seemingly made by the fire extinguisher in Jonathan’s hand—you see Nancy, Jonathan and Dustin. Looking at you and Steve and how close you were standing. His hands on your waist.
“Are we interrupting something?” Nancy asks with a small smile. “Or do you guys want to get out of here?”
You and Steve look at each other, adrenaline pumping through the both of you—having been so close, so certain you were going to die that it's hard to even stand still.
"Yeah," Steve says finally, keeping his arm around you and pulling you close. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a date to go on.”
Steve was not a hero, but you were and why did the hero always have to die alone?
This is pure angst. Language, character death(s), sacralises, tissues? Gif credits: go to @levanterhaze
Steve Harrington was never meant to be the hero, but he did fall in love with one.
While Mike, Dustin and Lucas were busy finding El in the woods you'd been busy building a life. You had a fake name, a fake life- a regular one.
See, when Steve met you he met you by the pretence. You'd turned up in school a year before everything that begun, settling into high school life quick, like you were trying to hide. No new girl got through without Steve's attention and he was annoyingly enamoured by you.
You weren't trying to be known by him, or anyone. You kept your head down, did your work and didn't make a sound.
Then Will Byers went missing, then the gate opened and closed and opened again and the both of you were taken into a world of monsters. Except it was always your world and kidding yourself any different was a game.
Steve always remembered when he and Dustin found you in the woods, in the small garden shed you'd made a home, sobbing because you were a monster, like them, like everything they fought against.
002.
But Steve never saw you as that, just like Mike never saw El as 011. You were a person with a name you'd made for yourself and you... you were Steve's person.
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" We don't need a magic bean!"
Nobody had been listening to each other, let alone Steve as they all tried to come up with some great plan to kill Vecna. But he yelled out and got everyone's attention.
Steve bristled under the eyes watching him, looking for help. He met your gaze and found your small smile.
You nodded. You always knew Steve knew a little bit more than he let on and maybe than he knew. There was no time like the end of the world for him to figure it out.
Steve met your gaze and took a deep but shaky breath in. " We... we don't need a magic bean. We got a bean stalk right here."
No, you did not doubt your boyfriend but you wished he'd get to the point.
Steve gathered everyone around the table, grabbing a torch and a slinky.
Robin followed next to you. " Does your boyfriend think now is a good time to play with his toys?"
You shrugged. " He might yet surprise you."
" Dingus usually does," she smiled, nudging you with her elbow.
Steve placed the torch up and began: " Okay, this flashlight is the Squawk radio tower and this slinky is the bridge," he said, putting it over the torch. " We'll never reach the Abyss from the tower, right? But Max said Vecna is drawing our worlds together. So, we let him and we wait and we wait as he draws it closer and closer. When it's close enough and the tower is poking through one of the rifts and boom, my girlfriend makes her move-"
He said it so proud, throwing out an arm in your direction.
Some thought this wasn't the time for him to be bragging and flirting but few smiled.
Steve gave you one of his grins before turning to your sister. " And El, of course. I'm talking meditation things, entering Vecna's mind, ambushing him. In your face dickhead and then, stopping the spell, halting the worlds from moving and- boom! We've got a beanstalk, it's perfect."
Dustin shared an astounded impressed look with you.
That was your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who never had to be in the fight but stayed because he loved you and had made a promise that one day it'd all be over and you'd live happily ever after.
" All we gotta do is climb up it into the Abyss."
Erica nodded. " I like it."
" It's not totally insane," said Mike.
" Thank you."
" But there's a big problem, a big one."
" We can't reach into Vecna's mind when he's too far away," said El.
Steve sighed, thinking his plan had failed.
You knew it hadn't. " Maybe not," you said to El, taking Steve's side and taking the slinky. You needed to do something with your hands. You'd been avoiding El for reasons you still couldn't face. " If the Upside down is under his realm or whatever it's still frozen in time which means all of Brenner's things will be there including-"
" The bath," said El.
" If you can make it into his mind, I can walk you through it, guide you," said Max. " I know his sick mind in and out."
You looked at Max, who was as much a little sister to you as El. " You've already been through so much."
" I can do it," she insisted.
Steve's hand squeezed your shoulder, a small curve to his lips to comfort you.
" I should be there too," added Kali. 008.
You had not met her with El, you only knew her as if today. The one who wanted to kill Dr Kay for the experiments she'd done and kill Henry. The one who wanted it all to end, one way or another.
You looked to Hopper as Kali spoke. His head shaking just enough for you to tell he knew what she was doing and he didn't like it.
There was a needle at the edge of your mind, a pull for attention.
El.
You glanced at her only a little. She stared blankly at you.
You straightened up, grabbing the hand Steve had on your shoulder and held it. You banished El from your mind. She only winced enough for you to see.
" Dig it," said Steve, breaking you out of your trance. " Kill the dick, rescue kids, we're all heroes. If Lucas is right we don't have a lot of time, so we have to move fast."
" One final thing," said Dustin, walking over to the two of you with a timer in hand. " The cherry on top. On the way out we drop a bomb near the exotic matter. Set a timer, escape the Upside down. The bridge collapses and with it: the Abyss, the Demos, the Mind Flayer, all of it, gone. Game. Set. Match."
You smiled at Dustin. You hated to see the bruises, the cuts on his face but knew you were slowly getting him back. That grief was slowly becoming something for him that he could wear and not be itchy in. You ruffled his hair under his hat. " Game set match."
" Let's do it," said Nancy, nodding. She was already gearing up for the fight of their lives. " Kill Henry, save the kids get the hell out before it blows up!"
Lucas yelled an agreement, his sister following as everyone hoped. There was a chance, a high chance you did it and all got to go home.
" Did I just come up with the plan to save the world?" asked Steve as the gang started to pile up to ready themselves.
You glanced at him. " Was about time." You rose up, pecking him on the cheek.
Everyone got to business, everyone but-
Steve's arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you into him. You'd have gasped if Steve didn't slot his lips over yours, kissing you deep and pouring everything he'd ever promised you in the kiss. His arms were tight around you as you bent at the knees, arching into him as he dipped you.
He pulled the both of you up. You squealed.
Steve pulled back, gazing at you. " I love you."
You looked down at his lips, up to his eyes. Your fingers brushed his cheek bone as you brushed back his hair. You wanted to remember it all.
Steve kissed you quick before moving past. " I've got a good feeling about this!"
Your stomach was twisted into knots, un-determined if they were the good sort that came with hope.
" Hey kid, you ready?" you heard Steve ask.
" Yeah, Steve. I am." El.
You turned in time to see Steve place a comforting hand on her head. You knew he wanted to ruffle her hair as he often did with Dustin or Max but it was brushed back and gelled in place.
He left you and El alone.
El stood there like she didn't want to be where she was. " Can we talk?"
It was the talk you never wanted. The sort you'd hoped wouldn't have to be said out loud because looking at you sister, you already knew what she was going to say.
────────────────────────────
So the battle was won and all bad things must come to an end.
The Abyss had been made of sand, fire, mountains and rocks that jutted out more like talons and claws.
It had been you who took the axe to Vecna's head as he lay impaled on one of his own spikes. He had turned to you, recognising you as the closest thing he had to an ally when under Brenner. He'd spat our blood as he pleaded.
" Please... no."
You took the axe to him and in two harsh fell swoops killed him.
Still everything weighed heavy. Your talk with El, Kali's death. And Steve-
Jesus Christ, you'd almost lost him. You'd been with him when the radio tower met the crashing down sky and he pulled you to safety, tumbling down himself. You'd never been so terrified in your life, never felt your pulse race as fast as it did then.
You'd dove for him without care if you went over with him. You'd caught him in time and the both of you had collapsed holding each other. Still it wasn't enough.
Steve drove the truck with the kids in the back and the party.
As much as you wished you could sit next to him, hold him too tight you thought you might throw up if you did. Why he had to run under the belly of the beats and pop those eggs, you'll never know.
You settle for winding down the window and lie your head out. " Never thought there'd be a day I like breathing this stuff in."
" Hey, what're you doing? You're gonna get cold," he said, reaching for your hand and holding it.
" I'd rather die of frostbite then have to not have the window open," you said. " Steve, I love you but you're killing my nostrils. You stink."
He cringed, daring to look at you. " That bad, huh?"
You looked at him and slowly nodded. You squeezed his hand.
With great apprehension, Steve bowed his head and took a whiff of his jacket.
" Holy shit," he didn't even let go of your hand, driving with no hands on the wheel as he quickly cranked down his own window. " God baby, how can you even be sitting this close to me?" he gagged, fingers gripping the wheel tight.
You smiled at him. Because no matter what state, beaten up by bullies or Russians or demobats, you'd always be with him. You'd never have it any other way.
There was a sudden blare of horn and a flash of light as a military truck over took you. There was only a glimpse of Hopper and Murray's grinning faces before they cut you off.
" Assholes," you both uttered.
If Steve didn't have one hand in yours and the other on the wheel you were sure he'd have flipped them off.
But he wasn't letting go of your hand until he was.
" Hey, I know that was difficult back there but you did it," he brushed his hand through your hair, however sweaty and covered in sand it may have been.
You relaxed into his touch.
He glanced at you. " Hard parts over and now we get the rest of our lives."
Steve went back to watching the road but you watched him.
" Tell me about the rest of our lives," you said like asking for a story to send you to sleep.
Steve didn't take his eyes of the road but he licked his lips and there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. " Okay... okay, well you know about the six kids we'll be having."
Any other time you'd have kicked up a fuss about six, instead you nodded and waited for more.
" And every summer we'll go up somewhere, Yellowstone maybe. You know like a real family like we never had. But before that... I mean, I've been thinking. We get jobs, maybe sell my parents place and get somewhere smaller and save up to get that house you like Forest Hill. We'll paint the kitchen yellow cause you've always wanted a yellow kitchen. I figure Dustin won't let us off that easy, he'll be on uncle duty, heck he's probably got Godfather t-shirts ready."
You couldn't help but laugh, only turning away when a stray tear rolled your cheek.
Steve looked back, trying to get a look at you. " What? What is it?" he chuckled.
You wiped at your face quickly. " Just. sounds nice."
" It will be."
Steve was looking at you when Hopper and Murray swerved.
" Steve!"
He only knew something terrible was about to happen because of the panic in your voice.
Spikes in the road were waiting to welcome you home, piercing your tires and throwing you off. The kids in the back screamed and yelled as Steve swerved, breaking hard and trying to make as safe a stop as possible.
You'd hardly gotten to a stop when your door was thrown open.
" Out! Out! Get out now!"
You did so, hands up.
" Don't touch her!" Steve yelled, trying to get to you over the seats, but he was being pulled out the other end. " Don't you hurt her!"
With a jerk of your neck the soldiers were sent crashing into the truck. In the middle of the chaos, dozens upon dozens of soldiers pulling at you all nobody noticed you run as you tried to interfere with everyone's minds so you'd go un-noticed.
Only one saw you.
El called your name but was thrown up against the truck, next to Mike. Their hands were reaching desperately for each other but never quite touched.
El knew what you were going to do. She couldn't be there with you.
────────────────────────────
Steve lost sight of you as he was being carted away by soldiers, guns nudging into his back harshly. " Alright! Alright!" he'd comply, heck, he'd been in this situation before. All he cared about was getting a look at you. He couldn't see you in the chaos.
The military, they'd use you and El just like they had Kali. Your life of freedom was supposed to start today, not whatever this was.
" Steve!" he'd wanted it to be you calling his name but it was Robin who was pushed next to him. Their hands were made up on there, guns at their backs.
" Robin! Robin! Where is she? Can you see her?"
" No!" she sounded as panicked as he felt. She looked around but nothing other than the kids being pushed and shoved, torn apart. Holly was taken from Nancy, Joyce was trying to hold onto Will and Jonathon at once.
Dr Kay marched past them. " Sargent! Sargent, where is she? Where's zero-zero-"
There was a sickening crunch that nobody could miss as Dr Kay's neck snapped and she crumbled to the floor.
The soldiers didn't know what to do, the kids all looked around in the shouting and screaming.
Steve tried to look for El. " El?"
There she was, next to Mike. But she wasn't looking at the dead body of the Doctor that was hunting her. Neither was Mike, or Lucas.
Steve's brows furrowed, lights blinding him slightly. It was Dustin who gave it away as he looked past Steve and toward the gate to the Upside down.
" Oh no," the kid had mumbled but it reached into Steve's ears as he turned.
Oh no.
Oh god no.
You stood in the gate. No soldier in sight, no friend there either. There was only you and what any minute could be death.
Steve pushed against the soliders with all his might.
" Steve!" Robin yelled.
The solider made a grab at him.
" Get off me! Get off!" he yelled, cried, pulled or pushed he didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't stand still.
" Steve! Steve, don't-"
" I said let me go-"
Steve pitched forward but didn't land in the gravel, he landed in water, in some place dark and far away.
" Steve."
Was he dead? Had the soldier's shot him? Were the both of you dead?
He glanced up and found you walking toward him in the darkness, in the water. You were the only thing of light.
Steve got up and ran to you. " Hey, woah, baby, baby," the stress and shouting of his voice wasn't there. He coaxed you gently. He wasn't even sure he was speaking but he felt your body soften when he caressed your arms. " What are you doing? What are you doing?"
You shook your head, tears falling.
" Hey, hey, hey, why are you crying?"
" It's the only way," you chocked.
It took Steve a moment to realise the two of you couldn't just hide out in here. That this wasn't a safe space but a final goodbye in the hole of a void.
" No," he said, disappointed. " No."
" Listen to me-"
" No, I won't-"
" Listen to me!"
" Put me back! I have to be there- I have to save you!"
You grabbed his cheeks, caressing them. " You have saved me, so many times, more than you know. Let me- let me save you."
" Save me? You're killing me baby, you're killing me," he cried, gripping your arms hard enough to bruise. Good, If he hurt you you'd make him apologise to you a thousand ways. For that you had to stay.
" I know, I know it'll hurt at first-"
" Hurt? You're killing me-"
" But I need you to understand-"
" No, no I don't," he cried. " Why are you- why are you doing this?"
You squeezed your eyes shut, tears falling. " Because it's the only way. If I live there will always be a key to the gate, there will always be Henry's blood in me and there will always be a chance this happens again. To some other poor kids. To some other town with innocent lives that I can't put at risk."
" Well I can't lose you," said Steve, spitting out the words as the salt of his tears stung his cracked lips. He was losing breath. The very air that he breathed was you. " I won't lose you."
" I'll always be with you, for as long as you want me to be," you sobbed.
" Now," he said. " I want you now, here, with me, always baby, why can't you see that."
In desperation Steve grabbed your cheeks and forced your heads together, like by some divine intervention you would know his thoughts and feel his feelings and feel his very soul being ripped out of him.
" I need you," he grit out, chocking on a sob. " I need you, why can't you see that?"
" You've never needed me, Steve-"
" Yes I have- I have, I do! I am nothing without you, nothing!"
" I need you to-"
" No... no don't say it-"
" Tell the kids I'm sorry," you cried.
Steve pulled you into him, gripping you and hiding his face in your shoulder to cry. " No." How could he face them knowing he let you go? How could he even look in the mirror.
" Tell Dustin I'm sorry he had to lose another friend-"
" What about El?" asked Steve, weeping now.
" When-when this place blows I'll use the last of what I have... wipe out the soldiers. She'll have to run but we talked about this."
Steve looked back, looking at you. He couldn't quite believe his last look upon you would be blurred by tears. " We talked about it."
" Tell Hopper I'm sorry-"
" Why are you doing this to me, baby?" asked Steve, searching around you for a way to stop it all.
" Tell Robin I'm sorry-"
Steve cried. " We were gonna have kids-"
" Tell- Tell Lucas he better marry Max-"
Steve hung his head. " You were gonna be the mother of my kids-"
" You'll find someone else, Steve, you can have everything you ever wanted."
" We were- our kitchen was gonna be yellow."
You took his face again, trying to wipe away his own tears when your hands were wet with yours. " I will always love you."
Steve didn't have any time to argue. Your hands came down to his chest and he thought maybe you'd kiss him and he'd wake up from the dream- the nightmare this clearly was.
You pushed and then he heard screaming.
" Steve! Steve!"
" No, please, don't do this!" Dustin?
The soldiers picked Steve up off the ground and he was in the camp, watching you in the gate of the Upside down.
He couldn't understand, he would never understand.
Your nose was bleeding, your arm out-stretched as you kept El in her place as she screamed and writhed against whatever force stopped her reaching you.
You. You sacrificing yourself again and doing it all alone.
Because you always did things alone.
You always assumed you'd be alone, like-
Like Steve.
He wouldn't find another. You were his lover, his one and only. Steve didn't have a family he had you.
You had him.
" Steve, come back!"
What was he doing? Letting you play the hero, letting you kill all of the dreams you'd made together?
Steve was in love with you. He loved you.
And he'd made a promise when he found you crying in that hut.
You'll never be alone again.
No soldier could keep him down. No words could stop him and make him live a life without you.
" Steve! Stop!"
" Oh god, no, no!"
Steve pushed the soldiers and punched another in the face and then he ran to you.
You were so focused on keeping El back, letting the soldiers hold the rest of them that you didn't notice Steve running at you until it was too late. " What are you doing?" you yelled, blood dripping down to your lips.
Steve wasn't going to let you go down alone.
You die. He dies.
The children cried, the others yelled.
Steve grabbed you and kissed you, the iron of your blood, the salt of his tears and the roar of the wind as the vinyl ended.
You'll never be alone again.
The upside down closed in a ball of fire, taking you and Steve with it.
um... hope you enjoyed? GIF https://levanterhaze.tumblr.com/
summary: when borrowing steve’s car ends in an accident that destroys his darling car, you’re left shaken and terrified of his reaction. except when he finds you, it’s painfully clear he couldn’t give a fuck about the car.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: car accident, totaled car, panicked sobbing, slight bleeding minor injuries, blood on face/hair, guilt, hurt/comfort, comfort, reassurance, overthinking.
“He’s going to kill me.”
The words spill out of you before you can stop them, thin and shaking, ripped straight from your chest.
You barely recognize your own voice. You’re staring ahead, eyes unfocused, fixed on nothing and everything at once. Not the spiderwebbed windshield. Not the hood crumpled inward, steam ghosting up into the air.
All you can see is Steve’s face when he finds out. When he sees the car. His precious car.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman says gently. “Try not to worry about that right now.”
You shake your head, breath hitching. “No, you don’t understand. He’s—fuck—he’s going to lose it.”
Because not even twenty minutes ago, you’d been driving just fine. Careful and hyper-aware, even, because it was Steve’s car. His stupid, perfect red BMW that he loved more than most people, the one he washed by hand and showed off whenever he got the chance to.
The road had been clear, that’s until a cat darted into your headlights, and your body reacted before your mind could, wrenching the wheel to avoid it—sending the car headfirst into the tree instead.
If it weren’t for the passing car that saw the whole thing, for the woman and her daughter pulling over without hesitation, you don’t know what you would’ve done.
Steve’s car, though, was completely fucked. And that thought keeps looping in your head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else around you.
The woman sighs and gives your shoulder a careful squeeze before stepping away. “I’m going to call for help, all right? My daughter’s a nurse. She’ll look at you.”
She hurries across the road toward the phone box, sensible shoes crunching against gravel.
You’re still trying to slow your breathing when the car door opens again.
“I need a number,” she says gently, already leaning across the seat. “Who owns the car?”
Steve’s name sticks in your throat, except you can’t even pull the words out. You point instead. “Glove compartment.”
She finds it quickly — a worn little address book, containing numbers and details— and flips until she nods. “Got him.”
“Hey,” a voice says nearby. “I’m Vickie.”
You look up to find a girl. She can’t be much older than you, short hair pulled back, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. There’s something steady about her, practiced, and it almost makes your chest cave in.
“Can I take a look at you?”
“I’m fine,” you say immediately, the lie automatic. Then your mouth trembles. “I mean—I’m not fine. But I don’t think I’m that injured.”
Vickie gives a small, understanding huff of a smile. “Okay,” she says gently. “Still gonna check you.”
She guides you toward the back seat of the car—which is much less damaged than the front, one hand hovering near your elbow like she’s afraid to startle you. The air smells like antiseptic and gasoline, sharp and overwhelming your senses.
“I swear I wasn’t speeding,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “The road was clear, and then there was a cat, it just ran out in front of me and I didn’t even think, I just—”
“Hey,” Vickie says softly, crouching in front of you. “Pause. Breathe first. Then talk, alright?”
You try. The breath stutters anyway.
“That’s okay,” she murmurs, already pulling gloves on. “We’ll take it slow.”
She tilts your chin carefully, eyes scanning your face. “You’ve got a split lip and a cut on your temple.” Her voice stays calm. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“I feel sick,” you admit. “But I think that’s just because of… everything.”
“That makes sense.” She presses gauze gently to your forehead.
You hiss despite yourself, tears spilling hot and fast. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “Glass scratches bleed a lot. It always looks worse than it is.”
“It is worse,” you choke. “Steve’s going to see this and he’s going to lose it. God—the car—”
She stills, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Steve’s your boyfriend?”
You nod, but it only makes the lump in your throat worse. The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s his car. His brand new BMW—which he, by the way, saved up forever for it. He literally washes it by hand, like it’s some sacred thing, and shows it off every chance he gets.”
A laugh slips out despite the fear and guilt coursing through you, and you hate it. “I’m dead. I’m actually so dead.”
Vickie gives a small, incredulous smile. “I don’t know your boyfriend, hon,” she says, smoothing the tape down with careful fingers, “but cars can be fixed. People can’t. I really don’t think he’s going to care about the car when he sees you like this.”
“He will,” you say immediately, shaking your head. “He’s gonna take one look at it and just—God. I shouldn’t have borrowed it. I shouldn’t have touched it at all. I should’ve just walked, I—fuck.”
“Well, my mom already called him,” Vickie says softly, not stopping her work. “And she called your friends too. He’s already on his way.”
Your chest tightens at that, panic blooming fresh and hot. “No. Oh my God.” You drag a hand under your nose, trying to breathe around the pressure. “You should go, both of you. You’ve done more than enough, and I really don’t want you here when he—when he sees it.”
The image won’t leave you alone: Steve’s face hardening, his jaw tight, disappointment cutting deeper than anger ever could. Your stomach twists, nausea rolling up hard enough to make you swallow.
Vickie shakes her head before you’ve even finished. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
From across the road, her mom’s voice carries over, firm and unmistakable. “None of that, honey!”
Mrs. Dunne walks back toward you, arms folding like she means business. “We are not leaving you stranded and scared on the side of the road. Not for a second.” She softens just a touch as she looks at you. “We’ll stay right here until your boyfriend or one of your friends gets here. That’s that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dunne.” you smile warmly at her despite the worry churning in your guts.
Time stretches thin and horrible. Every passing car makes your heart jump. Your thoughts spiral tighter and tighter, replaying Steve handing you the keys earlier, the grin on his face, the way he’d said, Be careful, okay? like it was a joke, like nothing bad could ever happen to you—
A sharp screech of tires cuts through the air.
You flinch hard, breath catching painfully in your throat as a truck skids to a stop on the side of the road, door flying open before it’s even fully parked. Steve steps out, and the look on his face steals the air from your lungs completely.
You’ve never seen him look like that. Not angry, smug, or teasing.
Terrified.
His eyes scan the wrecked car, the tree, the road, wild and frantic, until they land on you. His face goes slack with shock and then he’s moving, fast, running like the ground is on fire beneath his feet.
Vickie and her mom both straighten. “Well,” Mrs. Dunne says softly, already reaching for you. “That’ll be him.”
They each pull you into quick, careful hugs, murmuring reassurances you barely register. Then they step back, giving you space, watching until Steve reaches the door and drops to his knees in front of you like his legs have given out.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Hey. Hey—look at me. Fuck—are you okay?”
The Dunnes’ car pulls away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red before disappearing down the road. The quiet that follows is almost worse as you try to register Steve’s frantic words.
He keeps saying your name, softly at first, then a little louder, but it barely reaches you through the ringing in your ears.
“Hey. Hey—look at me, okay? Baby, c’mon.”
You can’t.
Your eyes stay glued to your shaking hands, to the dark flecks of blood dried beneath your nails. Your chest heaves in sharp, ugly bursts as the sobs finally tear loose, choking and uncontrollable.
“I’m sorry,” you manage, words tripping over each other. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happened so fast and I tried to stop and—and I know how much you love it and I shouldn’t have taken it and—”
“Hey.” His voice cuts through, “Hey. Stop.”
Your voice cracks completely. You hiccup on a breath as the words choke out, panic spiraling tighter.
“I know it was stupid,” you ramble, tears blurring everything. “I know it’s your car and it’s new and you worked so hard for it and I ruined it and I didn’t mean to, Steve, I swear it was an accident—”
“—look at me,” he says, low and steady. “Hey. Look at me.”
Steve’s hands come up suddenly, firm and warm, cupping your face on both sides. His thumbs press just under your cheekbones, forcing your head up despite your instinct to pull away.
Your eyes flicker up at last, red and glassy, breath stuttering.
“Breathe, baby,” he says immediately, softer now. “Just breathe with me. In and out. Come on.”
You suck in a shaky breath.
“Good. Out. Yeah, that’s it. Again.”
You follow him, lungs burning as you inhale and exhale in uneven pulls, his thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes, grounding you.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. You’re here.”
Your body trembles again as he studies your face, eyes moving fast, cataloging every mark and every scrape.
“Now,” he says, voice firmer, sharper, like he’s trying to anchor you to reality. “Are you hurt?”
You swallow hard, your throat tight, and the words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves. “No—but your car, it’s—”
Steve’s jaw snaps tight, his hands gripping your face just tight enough to make your skin tingle.
“Did I ask about the goddamn car?” His voice cuts through the trembling air, sharp enough to make your heart drop.
You freeze, the panic climbing higher, and he steps closer, pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to pin you in place—but it’s not dominance, it’s urgency.
“I asked if you’re hurt,” he says again, softer but no less intense. “not the car.”
You look up at him, and it hits you as your stomach drops. The expression on his face, the tension coiled in his body, the raw, frantic light in his eyes—it isn’t anger. It’s terror. Pure, unfiltered, all-consuming fear of losing you.
His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tracks of your tears, and for a second, you see the world mirrored in his eyes—a world where nothing matters but you, and every fierce, frantic care he holds is yours alone.
You shake your head slowly, trembling. “No,” you whisper, voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat. “M’not.”
He exhales hard through his nose, “Does your head hurt? Your temple?” he says gently now.
You sniff, shaking your head again. “No. It stings, but—there was an old woman and her daughter. They stopped. The daughter’s a nurse. She helped me.”
Steve nods. “I know. She called me.”
Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his chest suddenly. His arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you so tight to his chest it knocks the air from your lungs.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes into your hair. You cling to him, fingers twisting into his jacket as the last of the sobs shake out of you.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You hear me? Don’t scare me like that. I thought something much worse happened to you.”
In truth, the moment he’d gotten that phone call, his heart had dropped straight through the floor. He hadn’t thought about the car. Not even for a second. He’d pictured you bleeding, broken, not breathing. He’d borrowed a truck, hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the key, every worst-case scenario slamming into him one after another.
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead pressing briefly to yours. Then he kisses you, quick and desperate, like he needs to feel you over and over again.
You blink up at him, voice small. “So… you’re not mad about your car?”
His expression softens instantly, the tension melting out of his features. “Mad?” he echoes. “No. God, no.”
He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. “I don’t give a damn about the car. I can replace it, sweetheart—hell, I can buy another one tomorrow if I wanted.”
You laugh against his chest, still sniffling. “I don’t think you’re that rich, Steve.”
He snorts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Oh, come on. I might not have a Scrooge McDuck vault full of coins, but I can definitely scrape together a replacement BMW. You? Not so lucky.”
You pull back a little, squinting at him through your tears. “Are you seriously laughing right now? I just totaled your baby!”
“I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of you panicking like this,” he says, voice shaking with relief and amusement. “You looked like someone had just told you the world was ending.” His hand slides to your cheek, thumb warm against your skin. “Besides. You’re my baby. Not that damn thing.”
Your throat tightens all over again, heart warming up at his sweet words.
“Now, come on,” he murmurs, shifting closer, careful as he helps you to your feet. “Let’s get you checked out at the hospital.”
You hesitate, glancing down at the gauze. “But Vickie already wrapped me up—”
“I know,” he says softly, squeezing your hand like he needs the contact as much as you do. “I just need to hear it from a doctor, alright? Humor me.”
You nod, letting him guide you toward the truck, his arm never leaving your back, like if he does you might disappear.
mike realized his parents didn't love each other when he was very young, and he rationalized this as all couples don't love each other. that's until he sees the way steve treats you.
c.w. none, a little angsty in the beginning but not really sad, mostly fluff, canon divergent bc i'm pretending the byers never moved to california and max is still hanging out with the party
a/n: wrote this instead of studying for finals, do not bring ship wars into the reblogs. this is me psychoanalyzing a sad teenage boy and writing self-indulgent domestic fluff
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Mike Wheeler's parents do not love each other. Maybe they have some semblance of love between them, but they are not engaged in the act of love. He isn't quite sure at what age, or even exactly when, he realized this. He can't point to one exact day of his life but rather a blur of the hundreds of evenings he's spent the same way.
Sitting at the dinner table with his parents and two sisters while his mother puts out emotional fires and his father picks at his chicken then tells his mom it's over salted. Nancy has a teeth-cleaning on Saturday so she needs to move her date with Jonathan. Also how is her chemistry grade? Mrs. Sinclair recommended a great tutor. Holly's daycare closes early tomorrow so someone needs to pick her up. Does one of Mike's friends want to earn some cash babysitting? Oh and is Mike still going out with his friends after school tomorrow?
Somewhere in the middle of his mother's rambles his father will stand up muttering a "thank you," not to be polite but because it's expected, and walks over to the couch to watch TV without putting his dish in the sink. He'll watch whatever sports game is on and crack a beer while his mother cleans the kitchen.
There is no animosity or arguing between Ted and Karen, only tolerance and mutual existence.
Eventually, the idea of love becomes near repulsive to him. The idea of his parents engaging in any sort of affection makes him nauseous. It's not the childish disgust Lucas has seeing his father kiss his mother but a deep-seated discomfort. A part of him (smaller or bigger than he'd like, he's not quite sure) believes love doesn't exist. It's simply a pleasant lie society feeds one another, because the idea of being alone is terrifying.
That's until he finds himself half-asleep on Steve Harrington's living room floor.
He's been having a lot of sleepovers with his friends since the Starcourt Mall incident. None of them want to be the person who says it but they're all terrified of being alone. He's woken up quite a few times in a cold sweat with gory images in his mind, and he doubts he's the only one. Steve's parents are hardly ever in town so his house becomes the designated place for sleepovers.
The credits are rolling for whatever movie they watched, Mike can't remember because he fell asleep half-way through. His memory is hazy of what time they started but if he had to guess it's probably close to one in the morning.
Dustin is fast asleep next to him on the floor and Will's knocked out on the couch above them. They had been designing their characters for a new DND campaign, Mike's pretty sure there's pen on his cheek from falling asleep while writing the character details.
One of the other side of the couch Max is squished between El and Lucas, and he sincerely doubts she'll mind come morning. She'll probably be grateful considering she's been having some of the worst nightmares.
His eyes make his way over to the loveseat where you had been sitting with Steve. What once started as a respectable distance to avoid incurring any teasing has disappeared. You're leaning on Steve, curled into his side and he has an arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulders. You're trying to focus on the credits, dangerously close to dozing off while Steve stares down at you with something in his eyes Mike can't quite understand.
What he does understand is that his parents have never held each other like that.
"You sleepin' over there baby?" Steve's voice is a soft murmur, smiling as he looks down at you.
"Mmmm…" you let out a sleepy hum, barely acknowledging his words before burrowing deeper into his side.
Steve's smile widens in response and all of a sudden Mike's stomach twists. It's not disgust or repulsion but… embarrassment. He's intruding on something special, he should just close his eyes and go back to sleep. That's what he should do, but he can't bring himself to.
"Mmm…. need to put… the kids,” you mumble just barely comprehensible in your sleepy stupor.
“What about the kids sweetheart?” Steve whispers brushing hair out of your face.
“Put em to bed….” you’re practically in Steve’s lap despite the fact the loveseat was made for two. “Mike and Dustin are on the floor… and clean up…..”
“I’ll do it,” Steve murmurs gently and kisses your forehead, “but first I'm putting you to bed.”
“No…..” your brow furrows in your half conscious state.
“Yes,” Steve smooths out the crease with his thumb and kisses your cheek. Then in one smooth movement he’s standing up and hoisting you into his arms, all while making sure the blanket is still tucked around you. You let out a quiet giggle when he picks you up and he notices.
"Having fun over there?" he teases quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, he can't keep his lips off you.
"I feel special," you whisper as if you're sharing a secret and Steve's face softens even more. Mike didn't know it was possible for someone to look at another person like that.
"You are special," Steve whispers in that same secretive tone and kisses your forehead. "C'mon pretty, let's get you to bed."
Your words fade into quiet indecipherable whispers and giggles as Steve carries you to and up the staircase and Mike finds himself staring at the empty loveseat. A million thoughts swirling in his head and none at the same time. He's about to sit up when he hears Steve coming down the staircase and immediately closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.
He doesn't know why, he could just pretend he woke up now. He doesn't have to give Steve any indication that he witnessed their intimate moment, but for some reason a part of him believe that waking up now would ruin something. Something he can't quite put words to.
The older teen shuffles around a little, turning off the TV, before coming over to where Mike and Dustin are laying on the floor. Then before Mike knows it Steve is lifting him up and placing him on the couch. He feels like a little kid being carried to bed after falling asleep on the car ride home. Though that only happened once or twice at his mother's insistence, usually his father woke him up to walk inside.
He hears some more shuffling and then the couch dips presumably with Dustin's weight. He hears the sounds of Steve cleaning up trash and crafts, carefully organizing their DND papers as to not be scolded later. Just when he thinks Steve is about to head upstairs a blanket is gently tucked around his shoulders and a damp cloth is pressed to his cheek to wipe the pen marks off.
"Wheeler?" Steve whispers gently, and his body tenses but his eyes don't open.
Noticing the tension in his body, Mike hears Steve let out a huff indicating he's smiling. He tucks the blanket a little tighter and ruffles Mike's hair.
"Go to bed kid."
Steve tucks a blanket around Dustin before flicking off all the lights and setting the heater to a comfortable temperature. Then he quietly creeps upstairs and Mike can hear the soft murmurs of you two speaking. He doesn't need to be in the room to have an idea of what's being said.
Part one: Vecna/henry has kidnapped you to be his wife or ‘Mrs whatsit’ and your boyfriend Steve and all your friends think you are dead till he kidnaps someone who’s a little close to home. Holly wheeler
part two: max tells Steve that you’re alive and that henry has taken you
part three: with all these kids in your home you are asked to go to the attic to get a dress ‘just like yours’ when you try you fall and start remembering things you shouldn’t
part four: all your memories start coming back one by one and at the same time your friends are fighting for their life. And then finally you make it back to Steve.
contains: fat cock steve harrington; reader with a vagina; very slight mentions of pain bc steve is hung; not proofread 💔
“shit,” steve breathes. it’s a little bit like a laugh, incredulous. “you hear that?”
you sure do. the lewd sucking of your cunt taking his thick cock. you’re so tight on him, wrapping him in a vice grip, that the noise continues when he draws his cock out of you.
“feels so good,” he continues, looking down at you with dazed eyes. “i’ve never felt something so tight before.”
you blush, stomach flipping. you’ve never felt something so big before. you knew steve was big, but god. he’s only pushing halfway into you and you feel like he can’t possibly go any further.
the head of his cock, warm and soft and wet, glides through your folds. kisses your clit before moving back down to your entrance. steve pushes in nice and slow, eyes rolling back and a rough groan following it. it’s obscene. the way you’re stretched around him. he knows it has to hurt, but you’re being so good, not complaining. just staring up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, perked nipples and red lips.
“oh god,” he pants, seated halfway within you again. “flutter round my cock, baby.”
you clench your walls, which is so easy to do with the way he’s looking at you. he grunts again and presses his forehead against yours when he slowly moves back out, that wet noise filling the room again. “love this little pussy, baby, she’s so fuckin’ greedy.”
he pushes in again. each time feels like the first, a dull ache and burn, a stretch unlike anything you’ve felt before. you whimper, “steve,” and he nods his head in understanding. this time, he pushes in a little further - further than you thought possible - and the tip of his cock hits a spot inside of you that makes you keen and cry out.
“there?” he chokes out, hips pulling away slightly just to push back and hit it again. “oh, yeah, baby, right there. that feel good?”
steve’s fingers reach for your clit, a welcome relief - he rubs you in tight, slow circles. the pressure of his cock adds to your pleasure, and he pushes in and out again, right up against your sweet spot.
“steve - oh my fucking god -“
“so pretty taking me like this, y’know? fuck, baby, i can’t stand it. wanna fuck you so deep, peach - we’ll get there, don’t cry about it - mmm, gonna have you feelin’ me in your tummy - shit… shit… shit… be patient, angel, gonna get you there.”
you’ve never been this confused before. Memories of two completely different worlds and completely different timelines have fallen into one like pages of a book that’s been bound wrong. You have memories of Steve, messy and chaotic. And off Henry all so perfect. How do you know which memories are real? How do you know which part of your memories to believe?
“You’ve been quiet,” Henry says, tilting his head. His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he doesn’t push them back up.
You blink. The room feels too still.
These memories must be real. This must be your life. Henry is your husband. You love him. You must—why else would you have married him?
You remember the wedding like it was yesterday. The soft music. The vows. The way Henry looked at you like you were the only person in the world. Holly was there. Derek too. And the other kids. Laughing, running between the chairs, throwing petals like confetti.
And… that’s it. That’s everyone.
It’s strange, isn’t it? A wedding with only children. No parents. No friends. No officiant you can picture. Just kids. You try to remember when they arrived—Holly and Derek and the others. It was after the wedding, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
You glance at Henry. He’s watching you, patient, like he always is. Like he’s waiting for you to remember something important.
But now that you think about it, you haven’t seen anyone else in… how long? Weeks? Months? Years? You try to summon a face—any face—but they all blur.
Your voice comes out smaller than you expect. “When was the last time we had visitors?”
Henry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Visitors? Well i think it must’ve been last month. When my parents came. Why?”
His parents? What are their names? Why don’t you know them?
“Right, i was just wondering. Maybe they could come around soon again? See the kids?”
Henry’s smile tightens, just slightly. “They’re very busy,” he says, voice smooth. “You know how they are.”
But you don’t. That’s the problem. You don’t know how they are. You can’t picture their faces, can’t summon a single memory of them. Not a birthday card. Not a phone call. Not even a name.
You nod anyway, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. “Right. Of course.”
Something inside you flinches. A warning bell, low and urgent. Don’t tell him. Don’t mention the memories. Don’t say Steve’s name. Don’t admit that you’re not sure which life is yours.
You force a small smile. “I think I’m still a little dazed from the fall,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I’m sorry.”
Henry’s expression softens, “Don’t be sorry,” he says, reaching across the table to brush your hand. “Next time, just ask me when you need to reach something. That’s what I’m here for.”
You nod again, but your skin prickles where he touched you. Familiar but unfamiliar at the same time.
He brushes your knuckles with his thumb. “You know I worry about you,” he says. “You’ve always been a little… fragile.”
That word lands like a stone in your stomach.
Fragile.
You’ve never been fragile. Not in those other memories. You remember being messy, loud, stubborn, alive. You remember yelling at Steve across a crowded parking lot, angry, seething. You’ve never fought with henry before. Still. here, you flinch.
You apologize for things you don’t remember doing. You hesitate before speaking, before moving, before asking. You act like you’re fragile now. So maybe you are. why would you believe those other memories over this life? This house? This man who brings you tea and calls you darling and tells you to rest?
Why would you believe those memories over this perfect man? Because it’s too perfect, something inside you says. Because in the memories you were angry and cried and everything was messy. you had friends. You had a job. You had a favorite diner and a chipped mug and a keychain Steve won you at a fair. You had a life that didn’t feel like it was being performed for you. Here, everything is soft and quiet and curated. The house is always clean. Henry is always calm. Everything feels like a dream, or a trance.
“I know” you tell him “but that’s why i have you, right?” You look up at him, eyes wide, hopeful—because some part of you wants this to be real. Needs it to be. Because if Henry loves you, if this life is real, then maybe the confusion doesn’t matter. Maybe you don’t need to dig. Maybe you can stay here, in the quiet, in the calm, in the version of your life where someone always brings you tea and tells you to rest.
Henry smiles, warm and reassuring. “Of course,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll always have me.”
And for a moment, you let yourself believe it. Let yourself lean into the comfort of his touch, the steadiness of his voice. You don’t want to know the truth. Not if it means losing this. Not if it means waking up to something colder, messier, lonelier.
But then you remembered something else something irritating and stubborn or rather someone else. The finally his name came to you again. Dustin. God that kid. He’d laugh in your face if he saw you sitting here, wrapped in a cardigan you don’t remember buying, sipping tea you didn’t ask for, nodding along like a porcelain doll. He’d call you out in a heartbeat. Probably with some ridiculous Star Wars metaphor and a mouthful of cereal. You almost smile. Almost.
Because Dustin wouldn’t like Henry. Not because Henry’s mean—he isn’t. He’s polite. Polished. Perfect. But Dustin doesn’t trust perfect. He trusts real. And Henry… Henry is curated.
You miss Dustin. You miss his chaos. His loyalty. The way he’d show up at your door with a busted walkie-talkie and a conspiracy theory and a bag of stale chips, like that was normal.
You blink hard, trying to hold onto the memory before it slips away again.
“I should rest.”
Henry nods, his smile gentle. “That’s a good idea.”
You return the smile—small, practiced—and rise from your chair. Your legs feel steady, but your mind wobbles like a table with one short leg. You turn toward the stairs, the carpet soft beneath your feet, the house too quiet behind you.
As you climb, you try to remember. Really remember. Before Henry. Before this house. Before the tea and the silence. You close your eyes and reach back.
A trailer park. Gravel crunching under your boots. The sun too bright. Steve yelling, “Wipe your feet!” at Dustin, who was already in his car.
But that wasn’t the last memory. That wasn’t the moment everything changed. That memory doesn’t explain how you got here.
You pause at the top of the stairs, hand on the banister.
There’s something after that.
A gap.
A flicker.
A moment you can’t quite touch.
Like a dream you almost remember but slips away the harder you chase it.
And then—
“You don’t get to give up, not here, not now, you hear me?”
The words crash into you like a wave. Not Henry’s voice. Steve’s. Raw, desperate, cracking at the edges. You remember the way he grabbed your shoulders, blood on his temple, eyes wild with fear and love and something that felt like goodbye.
The memory slams into place.
The demogorgons were ramming the door. You’d barricaded it with a dresser, a chair, your own body. Steve had cupped your cheeks, Still trying to convince you that you’d grow old together, that this wasn’t the end.
You remember the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And then the door gave away. The demogorgon lunged, all teeth and shadow and rage. Steve shouted something—your name, maybe—but it was too late. He collapsed, unconscious, and you ran to him, dropped to your knees, tried to shake him awake, to scream him back to life.
You remember thinking, This is it. This is how I die.
But the beast didn’t kill you.
It grabbed you.
Its claws wrapped around your ankle like a vice, cold and sharp and wrong. You kicked, screamed, clawed at the floor as it dragged you backward, away from Steve, away from the light, into the dark. You remember the sound of your own voice breaking, the burn of its nails slicing into your skin, the way your fingers scraped uselessly against the floorboards.
And then—nothing.
No pain. No light. Just a sudden, suffocating silence.
Until you woke up here. In this house. With Henry.
You look down at your ankle now. The skin is smooth. No scars. No pain. No sign anything ever happened.
But you remember. You remember the terror. The blood. The fight.
And Steve.
Your knees nearly buckle beneath you.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You grip the banister like it’s the only thing tethering you to gravity. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, your mind racing faster than your body can keep up. If Steve is real—if that memory is real—then this life is a lie. A trap.
Vecna.
It has to be him. The dragging, the silence, the perfect house with no past. The way your memories were scrubbed clean and replaced with soft lighting and chamomile tea. This is his doing. A cage dressed up like a dream.
But then—Henry.
What is he? A puppet? someone Vecna controls? Or something worse—something that believes it loves you?
And why were the kids here? Why was Holly fucking wheeler in this goddamn place and not with her family?
And then—
The fox.
Your stomach drops.
The girl that watches you through the window. The red hair. The sharp eyes. Max.
Your Max.
The girl who used to steal your fries and pretend she didn’t care. The one who never said thank you but always showed up. The one who called you her emotional support adult with a smirk and a punch to the arm. The one who never let you lie to yourself.
How could you not have recognized her and why was she here? For so long?
Because you weren’t supposed to.
Because Vecna didn’t want you to.
You walked down the stairs you needed to know if Henry would say something if he was even real. You found him at the head of the table head tilted up looking at the ceiling all around the table were the kids all holding hands in the exact same position. You looked to henry who was also holding the hands off Josh and Debbie “henry? darling? what’s going on?” No reply
Panic surged through you. What was he doing to these kids?
You turned and bolted into the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for anything—anything—to break the spell. Your hand closed around a knife. You froze.
No. No, you couldn’t.
You shoved it aside and grabbed the cast iron frying pan instead. Heavy. Real. Solid.
You stormed back into the dining room, heart in your throat. “Fuck,” you muttered, and without another thought, you swung.
CRACK.
Henry’s head snapped sideways with the blow. His body slumped forward, hands slipping from the children’s.
The room shifted.
The kids gasped in unison, eyes snapping open like someone had flipped a switch. Holly was the first to move, stumbling back from the table, blinking rapidly.
“Y/N?” she breathed.
You dropped the pan. “Holy shit.”
Holly ran to you, throwing her arms around your waist. “You remember?”
“Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Sorry—don’t curse. Shit. He won’t be out for long. We have to go.”
Debbie stood, eyes narrowed. “One of the monsters took over Mrs. Whatsit.”
You scoffed, breathless. “I’m not a fucking monster, and I’m not fucking Mrs. Whatsit either.”
Josh blinked. “She’s cursing a lot.”
“Yeah, well,” you snapped, already moving toward the hallway, “I just woke up from a fake life and hit my dream husband with a skillet, so maybe give me a break Josh”
you heard Derek chuckle softly “i like her better like this”
“Shut up Derek!” The table echoed
“Guys, this isn’t Mrs. Whatsit!” a girl cried out, voice high and trembling. “Mrs. Whatsit wouldn’t be this mean!”
You spun on her, eyes blazing. “Mean?” you scoffed. “I just saved you.”
“From what?” another boy asked, his voice small but defiant.
You pointed a shaking finger toward the head of the table. “From him!”
As if on cue, Henry stirred. His fingers twitched. Then, slowly, he sat up, brushing a hand through his hair like he’d just woken from a nap, not been knocked unconscious.
“Darling,” he said, voice smooth as ever, “I thought you were resting.”
You stepped in front of Holly, shielding her with your body. “I was,” you said, forcing a brittle smile. “Imagine my surprise when I came downstairs for a glass of water and found you conducting a séance with a table full of hypnotized children.”
“You’re confused again, darling,” he said gently, like he was soothing a child after a nightmare. “You’ve been under so much stress. The fall—”
He reached for your hand, the same hand he used to cradle when he brought you tea, when he whispered that you were safe, that you didn’t need to remember.
But this time, you yanked it back like he’d burned you.
“The only reason I’m confused,” you snapped, voice rising, “is because you’ve been fucking with my head!”
Henry’s expression twitched—just for a second—but then he smoothed it over with that same infuriating calm. “You are happy here—”
“You don’t get to tell me that!” you shouted, the words ripping from your throat like glass.
A flicker of something darker—rage, maybe—flashed through his eyes. And then it was gone, replaced by a cold, patronizing smile.
“Children,” he said, voice syrupy and false, “Mrs. Whatsit is confused. She’s had quite the tumble, and I think she must be concussed. I’ll take her upstairs.”
Before you could react, his hand shot out and clamped around your wrist—tight, bruising. You gasped, tried to pull away. “Fuck you!” you spat, struggling, but his grip was iron.
He dragged you up the stairs, your feet stumbling to keep up, your free hand clawing at the banister, the wall, anything. The kids’ voices faded behind you, muffled by the pounding of your heart.
When he reached the bedroom, he flung the door open and shoved you inside. You stumbled, hit the floor hard, palms scraping against the wood. The door slammed shut behind you with a finality that made your stomach twist.
Henry stood over you, breathing hard. His face was no longer calm. It was alive with fury.
“Is this what you wanted, Y/N?” he hissed.
You froze.
He’d never said your name before.
Not once. Not in all the time you’d lived in this dream. It had always been darling, sweetheart, love. Never you.
“Answer me,” he snapped, voice sharp and cracking.
You pushed yourself up, hair falling into your face, your body trembling with adrenaline. “Does it look like I want any of this?”
He paced, hands clenched at his sides. “I saved you,” he growled. “You were living a miserable life. Working yourself to death for scraps. Your mother had just died. You were alone. You hated yourself.”
You stared at him, chest heaving. “But it was my life! And you don’t get to take that from me!”
He stopped. “You were drowning.”
“I was grieving,” you said. “I was trying. And you—you took that from me. You took me from me.”
“I gave you peace.”
“You gave me a lobotomy,” you snapped. “You erased my pain, yeah—but you erased everything else with it. My memories. My friends. My choices. You made me into someone you could control.”
Henry’s face twisted. “You don’t understand what I’ve done for you.”
You rose to your feet, every muscle in your body trembling, but your voice was steady. “No,” you said. “I do understand. You built a world where I’d never fight back. Where I’d be grateful to be kept. Where I’d forget who I was, what I’d lost, what I loved. But I remember now. I remember who I am. And I’m not yours.”
Before he could respond, a sudden force slammed into him like a freight train. His body lifted off the ground and hurtled backward, crashing through the bedroom door and tumbling down the stairs in a blur of limbs and rage.
You stood frozen for a beat, heart hammering, until a voice called out from the top of the stairs.
“Y/N?”
You turned, breath catching in your throat.
“El?”
She stood there, framed in the hallway light, blood trickling from her nose, eyes wide and fierce
“Holy shit,” you breathed. “Are you actually here?”
“Yes,” she said, already moving toward you.
“How?” you asked, stunned. “How did you—?”
She shook her head, grabbing your wrist. “I’ll explain later. We need to get out of here. Now.”
She didn’t wait for your answer. She yanked you forward, and together you sprinted down the stairs, your feet barely touching the steps.
Henry was already pushing himself up from the floor, blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes black with fury. “Where are they?” he growled, voice no longer human.
El didn’t flinch.
She stepped in front of you, her stance wide, her chin lifted, shielding you the way you’d shielded Holly not long ago. Her voice was calm, but it cut through the air like a blade.
“With Max,” she said. “Safe.”
You flinched as Henry raised a hand, and El was suddenly lifted into the air, her limbs rigid, her boots dangling inches above the floor. Her breath hitched, her jaw clenched.
“Where are they?” Henry repeated, his voice low and venomous.
“I told you,” El ground out, her voice strained with pain. “With Max. Far away from here.”
You stood frozen, heart hammering, watching the scene unfold like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.
El’s eyes locked on Henry’s. “You can’t believe it, can you?” she said, her voice trembling but defiant. “That they’d ever see through your lies.”
Henry’s expression flickered.
“That’s why you take children,” El continued. “Because you think they’re easy to mold. Because you think they have weak minds.”
It took you a second to realize what she was doing. A distraction. A setup.
And then you saw it—a flicker of rainbow light, just at the edge of your vision, shimmering through the dining room like a mirage. You reached out, hesitantly, pinky extended.
It disappeared.
Shit.
You hadn’t realized El could do this. Or maybe it wasn’t just her. Henry rolled up his sleeve, and your breath caught in your throat. His hand twisted, skin splitting until it became something monstrous—long, blackened claws where fingers should be.
You gasped.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Henry said, his voice syrupy and cruel. “I’ll take this memory out of your mind later. And the others as well.”
He raised the claw, hovering it above El’s face.
And then—
El dropped.
Her body crumpled to the floor. Immediately henry walked over to the dining room A strange, curling mist hovered in the air for a heartbeat—then vanished. He barely had time to react before she flung him backward with a force that flung everything off the table and him on it.
“Now!” she shouted.
From the hallway, a girl burst into the room—short, sharp-eyed, her presence like a blade drawn in the dark. A knife gleamed in her hand as she leapt over the wreckage, landing above Henry’s crumpled form.
“Hello, brother,” she said, voice low and cold.
But before the blade could fall—
Henry vanished.
“Where did he go?” you asked, breathless, heart still pounding.
El didn’t answer. She just grabbed your hand, her grip firm and urgent. “We have to go,” she said, and then she was running—pulling you with her, out of the house, through the back door, and into the woods.
You stumbled after her, feet catching on roots and moss, until the house was gone behind you and the trees opened up into a clearing you’d never seen before.
That’s when it hit you.
You’d never made it this far.
Not once.
Not past the garden. Not past the white picket fence. Not past the illusion.
“Wait—” someone hissed just as you burst through the bushes, sunlight blinding after the darkness of the woods.
You stumbled into the clearing, breath ragged, and before you could even register where you were, arms wrapped around you tight.
“Y/N!” a voice gasped.
You blinked, and there she was—Max. Real. Solid. Her red hair glinting in the sun, her eyes wide with relief.
“Missed you,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
You let out a breathless laugh, hugging her back. “I missed you too.”
She pulled away just enough to look you over, then turned to El and the other girl beside her
“Did you find him?” Max asked.
The girl shook her head, her expression tight. “He just vanished.”
Max’s jaw clenched. “Then he’s back in the real world. He can come back. Will come back.”
“How far to the cave?” El asked.
“Not far,” Max said, already scanning the trees. “C’mon.”
You ran and ran, El’s hand locked tightly in yours, her grip the only thing anchoring you to the moment.
Then—dum dum.
A low, rhythmic thud echoed through the trees.
You skidded to a stop, chest heaving. “What’s that?” you asked, eyes darting through the trees.
El’s face was pale. “Hopper.”
You blinked “what?” Wasn’t hopper dead?
Max caught up, her brows furrowed. “Why is he signaling?”
El didn’t answer.
Max’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not a signal.”
And then, without warning, El’s hand dissolved in yours—her fingers turning to smoke, her body unraveling like mist in sunlight. You gasped, reaching for her, but she was already gone.
“No, no, no—El!”
The other girl (Kali, though you still didn’t know her name)
vanished next, her silhouette flickering like a dying flame before it, too, disappeared.
You were left standing in the clearing, stunned, surrounded by the kids, all of them looking to you now.
Max grabbed your shoulders, her eyes fierce. “Y/N, listen to me.”
“What—what just happened?” you stammered.
“Take them to the cave.”
“The cave?” you echoed, heart racing.
“Holly knows where. They’re safe in the cave,” and then max disappeared as well
The kids around you were unraveling fast—tears, shouting, frantic glances toward the trees like they expected the shadows to reach out and grab them next.
“Okay, okay. Guys, calm down!” you said, raising your voice over the chaos. “Guys—”
“The black thing took them!” a girl shrieked, her voice cracking.
“Shut the fuck up!” you snapped, sharper than you meant to be—but it worked. The clearing went still. The girl’s mouth clamped shut, eyes wide.
You took a breath, trying to steady your own panic. “Thank you. The plan hasn’t changed. We’re still going to the cave. That’s where we’re safe.”
You turned to Holly, who was pale but standing tall, her little fists clenched at her sides.
“Holly,” you said, gentler now. “Lead the way.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes. Okay. Follow me.”
Without another word, she turned and started toward the trees, her small figure cutting a path through the underbrush with surprising certainty.
—————-
Steve couldn’t believe how close he was to getting you back.
Every step he took across the jagged, otherworldly terrain sent a jolt through his legs, but he barely felt it. The sky above him was odd and the ground cracked but none of it mattered. Not the shifting shadows, not Mike bickering with Nancy about how she has two guns and he has none. All he could think about was you.
Your eyes, the way they crinkled when you laughed. The way your hair used to fall into your face when you were focused on something. The way your hand fit into his like it was made to be there. The way you used to look at him like he was something more than the guy who always messed up. the rocky world stretched out like a shattered mirror, fractured and endless. Somewhere here, was your body. Empty now a shell. But he’d get you back.
Then Will dropped to his knees, his breath catching in his throat like something had punched the air from his lungs. He clutched his chest, eyes wide, unfocused.
“Mrs. Byers!” Steve gasped, voice cracking.
Joyce was at his side in an instant, her hands on his shoulders. “Will!” she cried. “What’s going on? What do you see?”
The others crowded around—Mike, Lucas, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Dustin. Will’s voice was thin, distant. “Henry… he’s made it to the cave.”
Will’s eyes fluttered, his fingers twitching like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through him. “He’s found them. Holly. The kids. He’s there.”
A beat of silence.
Then Mike leaned in closer, desperate. “What about El? Kali? Max? Are they with them?”
Will shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t see them. But… I see Y/N.”
Steve’s heart stopped.
“She’s helping the kids out of the cave,” Will said, voice trembling. “But Henry—he’s close. He’s right there.”
Steve froze.
“Don’t hurt me,” you said, voice trembling as Henry loomed over you, his shadow stretching long across the cave wall.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your skin crawl, “I’d never.”
“Please,” you whispered, “leave them alone.”
He sighed, almost regretful. “Now you know I can’t.”
“Why not?” you asked, voice cracking. “They’re just kids.”
“That’s why,” he said, and there was something final in his voice. Something monstrous.
Your hand closed around the handle of the old teapot beside you You didn’t think. You just moved.
The teapot shattered against his head with a sickening crack.
“I fucking hate tea,” you spat, and ran.
“Go! Go! GO!” you screamed, sprinting after the kids.
Derek stumbled ahead of you, eyes wide. “She’s insane!”
“She’s a badass,” Holly corrected, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.
You caught up to them, herding them toward the narrow tunnel that went under the ground Behind you, you heard Henry roar—more beast than man now.
“Move!” you shouted again, your voice echoing off the stone.
“She hit him,” Will said, a flicker of awe in his voice. “She hit him with a teapot. She’s okay. She’s running.”
Steve’s heart surged.
“She’s fighting,” Will added. “She’s still her.”
—————
Everything that happened until you woke up was a blur—fractured images and half-formed sounds, like a dream slipping through your fingers. You remembered Holly’s scream, the fire poker clutched in her tiny hands, the way she drove it into Henry’s side with more fury than fear. You remembered Derek pulling your arm and guiding you towards the light. You remember the red world and Holly telling you you need to think about what makes you happiest. You remember thinking about Steve, and Dustin and Robin and Nancy and Max and El.
You remembered running, stumbling, the cave walls pulsing like a heartbeat around you.
And through it all, you swore you could hear Will’s voice. Not in your ears, but in your mind—urgent, echoing, like a thread pulling you forward. She’s running. She’s fighting. She’s still her.
Then everything went black.
And now—
Now, something was being peeled from your face. you couldn’t tell what it was but you could taste something disgusting. You gasped, lungs aching like they’d forgotten how to breathe.
“Y/N?”
The voice cracked. Familiar. Raw.
You blinked, vision swimming, and then arms were around you—tight, trembling, real. You knew that scent. That warmth. That voice.
“Steve?” you rasped, barely above a whisper.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face streaked with dirt and tears, eyes wide and shining. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Thank god. Thank god.”
You tried to sit up, but your limbs felt like lead. He caught you before you could fall, cradling you like something precious. “You’re okay,” he said, over and over, like he was trying to convince himself. “You’re okay. You’re here.”
You blinked again, and your eyes finally focused. What the hell was this place?
Steve pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His hands trembled where they cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t realized were falling.
“You’re so strong, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You’re so fucking strong. I thought I lost you. I thought—” His voice cracked, and he pulled you closer, like he could anchor himself in your heartbeat. “I love you so much.”
You blinked up at him, dazed and aching and overwhelmed. “You found me,” you breathed, the words barely holding together. “You really found me.”
He let out a soft, broken laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Of course I did,” he murmured. “You carry half of my heart with you. I couldn’t breathe without it.”
You let out a shaky chuckle, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Wow,” you said, voice still hoarse. “You’re so cheesy.”
Steve grinned through the tears, brushing your hair back gently. “Yeah, well, you almost died. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
“Oh my god!”
Dustin’s voice cracked through the hum of the camp, and before you could even turn your head, he was already there—racing across the clearing like a blur of curls and panic.
“I thought he was crazy,” he gasped, dropping to his knees beside you. “But you’re alive. You’re actually alive.”
You barely had time to react before his arms were around your neck, squeezing tight. He smelled like dirt and sweat and the faintest trace of marshmallow cereal. You let out a soft, choked laugh as you hugged him back, your arms trembling from the effort.
“Dustin,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder. “You grew.”
“You died!” he shouted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and glassy. “You died, and then Steve went full-on feral and—“
“Oh I went feral?” Steve scoffed, throwing a hand in the air. “He’s been fighting everyone who said you died because of an earthquake. He nearly tackled a guy at the gas station for saying your name was on the memorial wall.”
Dustin didn’t even flinch. “He said she was a symbol of loss, Steve. What was I supposed to do? Agree?”
You choked on a laugh, still half-curled in Steve’s lap, your voice hoarse but warm. “God, I missed you guys.”
“Y/N!”
Robin’s voice cut through the chaos, and then she was there, practically launching herself at you. She wrapped her arms around you so tight you thought your ribs might crack, but you didn’t care. You clung to her like a lifeline.
“Does this mean I have to apologize to Steve,” she mumbled into your shoulder, “for thinking he was crazy when he said he was dreaming about you?”
You pulled back just enough to look at her, your brows raised, voice dry. “Of course not. Never apologize to a man. Ever. That’s feminism, Robin.”
She snorted, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “God, I missed you.”
You smiled, still breathless, still aching, but the warmth in your chest was real. “I missed you too.”
Steve scoffed, trying for sarcasm but failing to hide the relief in his voice. “Okay, yeah, cool, just gonna ignore the part where you told Robin never to apologize to a man. Even me.”
You smirked. “Especially you.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Alright, feminist icon. You think you can walk? You haven’t used your limbs in what—eighteen months?”
“Yeah, I think so,” you said, bracing your hands against the ground and pushing yourself up.
You made it halfway.
Then your knees buckled, and you tumbled forward with all the grace of a newborn deer.
“Whoa—” Steve caught you before you hit the ground, his arms wrapping around you instinctively. “Guess not, huh?”
You groaned, forehead pressed to his chest. “I was so confident.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm in your ear. “Yeah, well, confidence is sexy. So is not concussing yourself.”
Before you could protest, he scooped you up in one smooth motion, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing. Bridal style. Classic Harrington.
“Seriously?” you muttered, your arms looping around his neck as he carried you like some overdramatic prince in a soap opera. “This is so dramatic.”
Steve grinned, not even pretending to be ashamed. “Never letting you go ever again.”
You chuckled, your fingers drifting up to the brim of the backwards hat on his head “I like this on you,” you said, voice soft but teasing.
He raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking up to where it now sat slightly crooked on your head. “Yeah? You planning on stealing it?”
in this new year I want you to be alright. I hope you move out. I hope you have enough money to feel safe. I hope you abandon shame and forgive yourself. I hope you get enough sleep and some good news. I hope you laugh a lot and the heaviness of the world eases a bit. I wish you to be alright.
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