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this is also being uploaded to my tumblr. you can find it here.
“What are you thinking about?”
Your voice filters into Steve’s mind, reaching him through the anxious worries he’s been so focused on beneath the reporter’s drawl on the television. The back of your index finger glides gently across the line of his jaw, helping to coax him away from what made him cast his gaze down towards his socks. His skin is smooth under your own, freshly shaved and moisturized to perfection.
Steve’s eyes shift to you, who’s comfortably tucked under the weight of his arm. Your irises are as warm and inviting as ever, quietly beckoning him to divulge. He grins lightly as the answer reaches the tip of his tongue.
“You.”
The only reason he’s so blunt is because he wants to see your reaction — a brilliant smile that fades into awe and pure love. He feels your body melt further against him as you try to play it off with a rather endearing roll of your eyes. Steve’s sure that some joke about him being a sap rattles around inside your pretty head, but it never comes to fruition. It must be the look on his face that keeps words from escaping you because once again, your gentle eyes silently plead with him.
He bites down on his lip before anxiously darting his gaze across the room; this is the last topic of conversation he wants to bring up, but it keeps shouting at him from the depths of his mind. Before Steve gets the chance to speak, you reach over to take his free hand between yours, lightly massaging his tired knuckles. The crease in his brow softens.
“When are you going back to the city? I know you weren’t supposed to leave for another week but…”
Steve pauses like he’s carefully choosing his words. His hand, which you’ve dragged to your lap, shifts to intertwine a few of your fingers together. He swallows harshly, “I don’t know, maybe that’s… changed. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go sooner.”
It was this morning that Steve remembered what the initial plans for Spring Break were. Just over a week ago, you two had been excitedly swapping ideas about what to do with all of your free time. But now, he can barely remember what any of them were. The only thing that crosses his mind is the intense and gut-wrenching desire to keep you close, but simultaneously out of harm’s way.
You blink in surprise as a deep inhale is pulled into your lungs. In the wake of all the destruction your actions have caused, it’s hard to imagine leaving Hawkins without attempting to rectify what you’ve done. In comparison, your education seems like the least important thing in the world right now. But then again, who knows how long it could take to hunt down Vecna once more?
He’s still out there… you can sense it, burrowed deep in your soul. It’s the same feeling that told you the Russian code was more than a transmission — a feeling that’s grown into more than intuition or anxiety, but rather the upsetting truth that you know intimately how the Upside Down works. There’s more to come and soon; when it does, you want it to be the last time.
You’re tired. You want to rest. You feel like every ounce of courage you once had has left your body. You’re terrified to plan anything that could backfire again. But you want your family safe. You want Steve to be safe. These horrors have plagued you long enough. They’ve stolen so much of your life from you.
You’re angry.
It scares you, but you know that there won’t be a sense of closure until you watch the life leave Henry’s eyes — whether by your hand or someone else’s, you don’t particularly care.
Are you willing to see this through to the very end? To do what it takes to get the life you crave?
“I don’t… I don’t think I can go, Steve,” You mutter, “At least not until this is over.”
Confirmation washes over Steve’s face — the slight lift of his brow and the sigh he expels says it all. As he cards his free hand through his hair, he speaks.
“Yeah, I was afraid you were gonna say that.”
Suddenly, you realize his reaction was not one of reassurance and relief, but rather disappointment.
Steve’s arm slides to the back of the couch as you sit up straighter. Your voice is a bit more stern, straddling the line between genuine confusion and vexation, “What, you’d rather have me leave?”
“No, no,” Steve replies immediately as his anger suddenly begins to churn. It’s not directed at you, no, but at the mere thought of having to watch you drive away from him. Selfishly, he wants you by his side at all times. He wants to turn to you for support whenever he needs or offer you his shoulder to cry on at a moment's notice. Whether it’s healthy or not, Steve cannot imagine himself without you. He needs you now.
But hurt is starting to cloud over your irises; the slightly cold and calculating look Steve knows will impale him through the heart if he doesn’t act fast to clear this up. Maybe a different approach would be best considering you both are so high strung at the moment. He shouldn’t have assumed that you’d want to leave right now — that much is clear.
Steve has begged you to leave Hawkins more than once; now it feels more like a matter of life and death.
He sighs and re-adjusts, moving from a laid-back posture to one of thought and concern. He wants to lean in closer even though you’ve shifted away, but decides to reach for one of your hands instead — you don’t recoil from his touch. Your gaze stays locked on his face, analyzing every micro expression so you can attempt to understand.
“God, of course I don’t want you to go, baby. I never want to be away from you ever again,” Steve begins softly, gently holding your hand between both of his, “I just…”
He stops again, recognizing that your face has slightly relaxed due to his tone and touch. Something in him withers knowing that his instinctual reaction and initial question prepared you for a fight he never wanted.
And then that image and sensation flash through his mind again.
Your cold skin. The whites of your eyes. The weight of your limp body in his arms. Overwhelming grief — the kind he’s only read about in your books. Emptiness. Fear. Longing. Pure, unfiltered anger.
All of that was real. Steve didn’t know he could feel something so strongly. He never wants to experience anything as intense as those feelings for the rest of his life, unless it’s his love for you. That’s an exception he’s willing to overlook.
“I can’t do… that again.”
You see it too; the pain in his eyes that’s lingered since returning home. You’ve noticed it every time he looks at you, as if it’s the last time he’ll see your gentle smile. He’s touched your bare skin with such intention it’s addicting and branded kisses onto everywhere he can reach. The most beautiful words have fallen from his lips — how excited he is for all of this to be behind you, how lucky he feels to be a part of your future.
You did this to him. Even if it couldn’t be helped, you still damaged him. For the first time, Steve Harrington has felt truly desired. You want him for more than just his body or his parents’ money. With you, he finally has a life in front of him; one that promises fulfillment and unabashed happiness.
You understand his fear perfectly. You sigh too, your hard exterior cracking instantaneously.
Defeated, you nearly pout as you murmur, “And I’m not gonna leave you here, Stevie. I don’t care how long it takes.”
You don’t have to say anymore for him to accept this fate. If you’re willing to give up your education over this, something you and Steve have been discussing for years, then he knows you’re set in your choice. He understood how much it meant to you to leave Hawkins then, but now you’ve made the decision to stay and fight.
How could he have asked you to leave in the first place? It would hurt you just as much. With the phones still down, there’s no telling when he would get word to you about his or your brother’s safety. If there’s one thing Steve doesn’t want, it’s for you to be living with uncertainty as cruel as that.
“I know, I’m sorry,” He frowns as you shuffle closer again and relish in the warmth of his palm against your cheek, his fingers deftly tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear. How fortunate is he to have someone who’s unwilling to leave his side?
He continues as you turn your head to kiss his wrist, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
You tut softly with forgiveness, despising the feeling of a disagreement no matter how small it is, “No, I understand why you did. I mean, all of this has been so…”
No other words come to mind, so you chuckle in disbelief instead; you’re relieved Steve’s frown quirks up at the sound, his hand dropping to clasp both of yours now. He loves the varying texture of your skin; he could get lost for hours exploring it, even though it’s already committed to memory.
“It makes sense why you’d want me to go, even if you don’t want me to.”
You’re glad Steve’s arms open up for you when you worm in closer still, now awkwardly pinned to his side; when you press your cheek to his shoulder, you can practically feel his love for you radiating like his warmth. The soft fabric of his sweater against your skin is an added comfort you can’t quite describe. How lucky are you to have someone as dedicated to your safety as Steve?
A smirk crawls across your lips as all four wandering hands finally settle somewhere in this embrace, “What a shame I feel much safer when I’m with you, hmm?”
It’s half-hearted sarcasm, of course; a playful jest that has Steve’s chest rumbling a bit in soft laughter, “Yeah, what a shame.”
He’s more uneasy than he was before.
—
If it weren’t for the plumes of smoke billowing up into the clouds, this would be the most gorgeous day of the year. Selfishly, a part of you wonders if there’s still a chance you and Steve could sneak off to the lake and drown in sunlight. On second thought, given your previous visit, maybe you aren’t willing to go swimming anytime soon.
It’s hard to confront the consequences of your failure. For many, this cataclysmic event was the final straw — dozens, if not hundreds, of families have continued to flee. As Steve drives through the suburbs, you watch a father frantically loading the trunk while the mother lifts their toddler into the car seat. On your street, there was a home left abandoned with the front door wide open.
Continuing into town, the destruction grows more severe. The flames from a gas station have finally been contained. The diner you and Steve used to frequent has been reduced to crumbles, the neon sign shattered against the pavement. Your eyes linger on it a bit too long, heart aching that you’ll never get to return; Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.
As gut-wrenching and upsetting it is to see the carnage, nothing prepares you for what washes over you upon entering that hospital room.
A different type of guilt pools in your stomach — nausea that you’ve grown used to over the past few months. It’s unmistakable as the sight of sterile white plaster and bruised skin floods your vision.
“The doctors said it’s… pretty much a miracle that she survived,” Lucas says, continuing his explanation of that fateful night as he returns to Max’s side. His hands remove a book from his chair before sitting down — he must have been reading to her. More pain echoes in your chest.
You wish you could’ve visited sooner. When you received his call on the radio this morning, another wave of emotion made itself known. After everything, you didn’t make sure Lucas and Erica were safe. You didn’t bother to check on the others. All that mattered to you was if Steve was okay, if Dustin was. They’re not the only family you have in this fight anymore.
As Lucas goes into more detail about the events at Creel House, your brain grows cloudy from thought. The older they’ve gotten, the similarities between Lucas and Steve have made themselves more apparent; they’re fiercely loyal, unapologetically kind, gentle, and compassionate. But a striking similarity is their willingness to get bloodied and blue to protect the one they love.
Lucas has come to you many times over the course of the last couple years seeking advice over Max. Not only does he trust you and your opinion, but you and her also share many similarities. You both can be incredibly stand-off-ish and suspicious of others, but those that prove their worth are given a plethora of love and care in return. If Lucas asked you for help with his love life, he knew you’d never steer him wrong because you understand the one he’s tried to woo — whatever you worked worked every time. Well, except for the last time.
Steve knows it’s the reason why Max’s involvement in all of this chaos has been weighing so heavily on your conscience. In your mind, if you had done more to help her, Vecna never would’ve seen her as a viable target. He hates to think of the alternative, that the fourth victim might have been you instead, with guilt loud enough to beckon that monster closer. But one way or another, Steve nearly lost you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to come to terms with that fact.
You can’t help but reflect on how close you were to a similar outcome. If Steve hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did, maybe you’d be in another room in this hospital, your love wrought with worry and fused to your side until you woke. Maybe your body would be enclosed in a wooden box and buried beneath a willow tree, an abundance of flowers curling around your headstone — peonies, probably.
Your love is mirrored in theirs. But made clear is the fact that you and Steve have gotten lucky. You never thought you’d look at your life and consider any part of it to be more fortunate than someone else’s — a flaw you understand to be incredibly selfish and blind. You still have your twin flame, burning brightly in this room with you and a kind of warmth felt even with a lack of touch.
The other pair has dimmed, one of them too weak to fight anymore.
You want to help again. You need to help again.
“Can you…” You whisper, wrapping your fingers around Steve’s arm as you pull yourself closer to him. You glance back to the Sinclair boy, noticing the desperate way he clutches the redhead’s hand.
“Can you gimme a minute alone with him? Please?”
Concern immediately blossoms in Steve’s chest with your request. Knowing that your last attempt to support Lucas was ultimately in vain and a heavy burden on you, he’s not super keen at the idea. But Steve also knows you. You’ll find some way to help the boy either way, and he’d rather it be here in this room than during a moment of danger and desperation. Whatever it was you said to Max seemed to have helped her — maybe this will be different. Steve nods, remaining silent as he answers.
Clearing his throat, Steve turns to Erica and Dustin and gestures to the hall, pulling a couple of loose dollar bills from his pocket. He mutters something about the nearby vending machines and ushers the two of them out of the room, closing the door while flashing you a brief look. You’re not quite sure what he’s feeling, but you can’t imagine you’re particularly easy to read right now either. Between the pair of you, there’s enough compartmentalization happening to last a lifetime. But keeping a straight face in front of the others isn’t quieting the raging thoughts as well as you thought. Instead, you can feel them building — your fault your fault your fault.
As you sit in the chair beside Lucas, you can’t figure out where to begin. He doesn’t seem to blame this on you; if anything, he’s being too hard on himself. There wasn’t much more he could’ve done to try and keep Max safe, but you’re confident that’s not what he needs to hear right now.
“I, um… I almost didn’t make it back the other day.”
It takes a moment for Lucas to register your words. His eyes drift to you upon the realization, but you quiet his concerns before they ever make it out of his mouth, lips parting to speak.
“I’m fine,” You mutter. A lie, of course. The skin of your throat is still tender to the touch and there’s a roughness in your voice that hasn’t faded. If you think too hard, it feels like the tendrils have returned, crushing your esophagus more and more with each second. The fear kicks in again, until the face of your rescuer greets you out of the darkness.
“But Steve, he…” You pause, forcing yourself to avert your gaze from the boy because you see too much of your love in him. A younger version perhaps, a soft reflection in Lucas’ bruised eyes, but enough that your heart grows heavy once more. You shake your head gently, a wobbly breath falling from your lips.
“I’m only here because of him. I wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for Steve. I don’t know what-”
You immediately stop yourself, refusing to consider the alternate outcome any further. You shove it away deep into the recesses of your mind. When you finally look to Lucas again, you don’t have to say anything else for him to understand what it is you’re trying to tell him.
For a while now, Lucas has wanted what you and Steve have. Everything about the two of you… seems perfect. Even though he knows you haven’t always had good times, that doesn’t matter to him. He had hoped maybe Max would want that too.
But now?
Lucas nods silently, fully embracing the support you offer. There’s still hope. The road may be difficult, but he can’t let this be the end for them.
“She said she wasn’t ready.”
“Hm?”
“Max,” He clarifies sadly, his demeanor rapidly shifting to one of sorrow, “She said she wasn’t ready to die.”
Immeasurable grief swarms you. The air is drawn from your lungs as the hefty weight of his words burrows deeply into your soul. It’s the final nail in the coffin that solidifies your shame and remorse. You feel numb.
—
There’s a steady stream of people that filter into the school from the parking lot; it seems that you’re not the only group in Hawkins that felt inclined to help those affected by this disaster. Numerous boxes packed with all manner of clothing, toiletries, and other necessities line the walls and coat the tables. Resources are passed around to those who need them while the rest is organized to be distributed around town to multiple relief sites. Those that were displaced and can’t afford to leave rest on the various cots sprinkled throughout the gymnasium. It’s a bit overwhelming to say the least.
After Steve’s recruited to fold donated clothes, one of the volunteers leads you away.
“How do you feel about being around kids?”
“I think I could handle that, yeah,” You say, forcing a somewhat warm smile to pull at your lips. She gestures towards a young girl, no older than six, fiercely clutching a well-loved stuffed elephant between her soot stained fingers.
“Her house was destroyed, just torn right down the middle. We’re trying to find her parents,” The woman whispers, her hand touching your shoulder gently in gratitude, “But still nothing.”
You sigh, feeling your throat tighten, now able to put a face to all the destruction you and your friends weren’t able to stop. You approach the girl by asking if you can sit with her, to which she eventually nods at you with tired and exhausted eyes. When you introduce yourself and ask her for her name, she shifts a bit, “Erica.”
“Erica, huh?” You smile again, “I have a friend with that name. She’s pretty tough and strong.”
With your comment, the girl turns her head toward you; her skin’s coated with dirt and dust, hair a touch matted up. There’s a bit of blood on her forehead too.
“Is she like She-Ra?”
You can’t help but laugh a little at her reference. You pretend to think about it for a moment, even bringing your finger up to your chin to sell it further, “I think she’s more like Firefly. You know, from My Little Pony?”
Your answer brings a slight grin to her face; it simultaneously warms and breaks your heart. You put your hands down onto your knees, trying to remain as casual and maternal as possible, “What do you say we get you cleaned up? Would you like that?”
Erica nods before she grabs your now extended hand and uncurls herself from the plastic chair. As you start to walk forward, one hand wrapped up in yours and the other still tightly around her stuffed animal, she freezes unexpectedly. Her eyes are darting between the seas of people milling around, anxiously unable to focus on anything. You crouch down, meeting her eye line once again.
“I get nervous around a lot of people sometimes, too. I can hold you… if you want.”
Erica nods quickly, reaching her arms up for you to lift her. It takes a bit of effort ao you don’t anger your back, but you manage to settle her onto your left hip.
The added closeness seems to comfort her as you continue forward, taking a moment to grab a spare plastic bag. She’s a bit harder to carry than you expected, but now’s not the time for you to complain. You wander through the tables, picking out anything that you might need to get her freshened up. The longer you walk, the more she begins to speak, telling you to grab certain items that she likes — a butterfly hair clip, some berry scented chapstick. You even make time to stop by the snacks to grab her something to eat; Vickie makes her a strawberry jam sandwich when Erica tells you she’s allergic to peanuts. She gobbles it up quickly, smearing some of the jelly onto her cheek, which you wipe it off with the back of your sleeve. Your smile grows more genuine the longer you spend with her.
Steve thinks he nearly has a heart attack when you eventually stride up to the clothing table, this small child latched tightly to your side. You look so at ease with her head resting against your chest, whispering little comments that manage to engage her amidst all the chaos. At a quick glance, this child could be your daughter. Her eyes have a similar hue to yours — even your noses are similar. His brain starts to go quite fuzzy the longer he spends watching the two of you together.
“What’s your favorite color?” You ask Erica as Steve hands you the small pair of folded sweatpants, underwear, and socks you point to. The girl hums for a second, adjusting her grip on her elephant, “Green.”
“Good choice. I like green too,” You answer, focused intently on her as you shift your arm to hoist her further up your side. Steve watches you with this kind of dumbly adoring look, lips pulled back in a small but optimistic smile as he gets lost in a daydream.
He sees flashes of you, curled up on the couch wrapped in blankets with your children — your children. Yours and his. He sees the smile that spreads over your face on their birthdays, the sadness in your eyes when one of them gets sick, the anger you feel when they mention they’ve been bullied at school.
He sees the road-trip summers with your baby girl — little Marcie Harrington, maybe a younger sister too. He nearly swoons at the thought of your family taking in the sights at Mount Rushmore, the redwood forests, even the Finger Lakes. He imagines you wrangling your daughters in front of the Moab arches while he tries to figure out the damn timer on the camera; he ends up accidentally taking three pictures of himself before finally getting it to work. Then the two of you are splayed out in the sand on some beach while your children nap in the RV — you’re clad in that stupid red bikini you keep taunting him with, your warm and exposed skin practically irresistible. Steve looks at you fondly before leaning over to give you a big kiss under the Californian sun, so incredibly thankful for the life you’ve been able to build together.
“You got any green, Stevie?”
He blinks once, then once more; the first for snapping him back to reality and the second for the nickname. He clears his throat, trying desperately to forget about the blood that rises in his neck. He looks around for a moment, forcing the dream from his mind as he searches for something small enough to fit the girl in your arms. You watch him almost knowingly, like you could picture the same images behind your eyes.
Eventually, he finds a couple of options and holds them up for the girl to pick from; she’s made up her mind from the first one he shows her. Erica gasps, hand immediately shooting outwards to grab the small tie-dyed tee with wide eyes. The pink and green gradient twists and turns across the fabric, clearly enthralling to a child her age.
Her enthusiasm takes you by surprise but it’s a welcome one; you chuckle a bit before speaking, “Oh, that’s a nice one. Good choice.”
As she puts the clothes into the bag, you smile across the table at Steve, effectively punching the air out of his lungs. You casually address him, “Thanks, baby.”
Trying to regain some of his composure, he winks at you as he starts refolding the other shirts, “Any time, ladies.”
Before you get a chance to reply, Erica’s desperately trying to wiggle free from your grasp. The moment she touches down onto the ground, she takes off in a full sprint and gets scooped up into the arms of a couple — you instantly understand this to be her mother and father. The girl looks like a perfect mixture of her parents, maybe more like her dad. It’s hard not to let their reunion warm your veins, the relief in all of their joyful sobs making your eyes a bit misty. You don’t particularly care that she left without any thanks, knowing that her and her family are back together is more than enough.
“You’re good at that.”
Your gaze moves back to Steve. In this light, his eyes are as soft and warm as liquid caramel. He rests a sweater on his shoulder — a gentle smile curls his lips. A bashful expression washes over your face as you feel blood pool in your cheeks, the underlying meaning of his words bringing back a hint of hope inside your chest. You can see your family too.
A flash of red breaks you from the comfort Steve’s attention brings; both of your faces drastically warp as you glance out the window, a very familiar feeling washing away any source of happiness. You find yourself frozen as you stare up at a rapidly moving cloud of smoke. It spreads, expanding large enough to cover the expanse of blue sky until none of it remains. Crowds begin to flock to windows, watching in awe while you and Steve join them, soon joined by Robin and Vickie. White particles begin to gently fall, earning a few shocked noises from the onlookers. You sigh as Steve’s hand finds yours, a silent solace; you both know what this is.
“An earthquake and snow in two days?” Vickie says in a moment of innocent disbelief.
The worst kind of dread rolls over you, the kind where you know that this is only the beginning. Everything that’s been happening has been building to this. You hate to spoil her childlike wonder, but as another bolt of red lightning cracks through the sky, you can’t help it.
“That’s not snow.”
—
see you for season 5! <3