Archive of Our Own ^beta

For a moment, Steve floats. It’s just for a split-second – less than a blink of an eye, really – and then he impacts the ground hard, breath leaving his body as he lands square on his back, kicking up dirt and inhaling a lungful of dust as he groans in pained surprise. 

The creature – the nameless demothing that sent him flying – roars, jaws unhinging like a snake’s, and Steve curls in on himself, hand pressed against his chest as his body instinctively tries to catch its breath again. 

Distantly, he wonders if this might be it. Something inside him feels broken – it grates when he tries to breathe – and fuck, he should have known better – should have known that this would happen because it always does when it comes to the Upside Down; nothing’s ever easy, and nothing ever goes to plan, and it should have been obvious to them all from the beginning that when left to his own devices, Vecna wouldn’t spend an entire year simply licking his wounds. 

He would have worked to amass an army, just like they have been doing on the other side, and he would have created new things to counter whatever they might think to throw at him next – like this hulking beast of a thing that bears down on Steve now, all muscle and power, the size of a fucking van, and Steve doesn’t even know what to call it because the kids aren’t around to name it. 

The creature paces ten or so feet away, eyeing Steve like it’s trying to come up with the best way to approach him – like it doesn’t realize that he’s out for the count, but then again how would it know? Owens’ small party of scouts are probably the first humans it’s ever encountered – and Steve tries to breathe through the pain in his chest and wishes that things would have turned out differently. 

He lost track of the others in the ambush – Hopper and Nancy and El, and all of Owens’ men too – but hopefully they’re still alive and kicking somewhere in the gloom of the Upside Down. He hopes that if nothing else, he’ll be able to distract the creature long enough to buy them time to get away and report back to Owens about what they’ve seen, even if that means leaving Steve behind – even if it means that there’ll be nothing to come back to later once the creatures have had their fill and picked his bones clean, just like they had done with Eddie. 

And oh god, Dustin. 

Steve grits his teeth and pushes himself up on an elbow, feeling something in his chest shift unnaturally with the motion, but he breathes through the pain because he remembers now: he’d promised Dustin he’d try. The words had been easy to say when he hadn’t known what was to come – when he’d been safe and whole and had Dustin pressed up against him, begging Steve to give him his word – and it’s different here in the thick of things, but Steve had promised. 

He’d promised. 

He watches the creature square its shoulders and rise up on its haunches, like a gorilla about to beat at its chest; it throws its head back and roars, and the guttural sound strikes at some kind of primitive instinct in Steve’s lizard brain – jacks up the adrenaline, makes the pain become almost an afterthought, the need to survive overriding everything else – and Steve realizes what sudden clarity that while he’s always expected to go out this way – his life for someone else’s, either in an attempt to save or distract – he’s never wanted his final moments to be of regret. 

And maybe Dustin knows that. Maybe that’s why he sought Steve out, because Steve’s suddenly thinking about how he left things – Dustin, crying in the locker room, and Steve walking away, mind reeling – and he’s starting to wonder if maybe he got it all wrong. 

He’d told Dustin that they would talk about it when he got back but even then he hadn’t known what he would possibly say. Still doesn’t, but he realizes that he wants to find out; wants to see Dustin again, and have him wrap his arms around Steve, and discover what kind of words might fall off his tongue right then and there. 

Steve’s not a planner – never has been – and too often he simply lets his heart lead the way, but so far it has, strangely, always worked out for him. It might hurt in the moment, but he always ends up landing on his feet, gaining more than he’s lost, and he thinks that maybe it will still hold true even now. 

He suddenly, desperately wants to find out. 

The beast charges, as if it can sense that Steve’s gathering his resolve, and he manages to roll to the side just as it lashes out at him with its meaty paw, missing him by a fraction of an inch and striking the dirt where he just lay instead. 

He can feel the impact of the hit reverberate through the ground and into his bones as the dust swirls around him, and the creature roars again, angrily swiping at Steve’s legs and leaving deep grooves in the dirt as Steve once again manages to evade it by the skin of his teeth, and then he hears a loud Pop! and then another, and the beast shrieks and rears back, writhing, before twisting around and launching itself at whatever new thing has caught its attention. 

Steve barely has time to process what just happened before something is grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up, and he jerks away only to realize that it’s one of Owens’ men, rifle in one hand as he uses the other to help Steve to his feet. Another soldier appears out of nowhere to grab Steve’s other arm, and then they’re hauling him towards the gate as the rest of the scouting party come into view through the gloom, the muzzles of their rifles flashing as they lay down fire to cover the retreat. 

“I can walk,” Steve chokes out. “I can—” because there’s no way he’s letting Dustin see him like this – carried through the gate like he’s on death’s door – but the soldiers pay him no heed as they push him along.  

He hears Nancy shout his name from up ahead, and he can barely make out her silhouette against the backdrop of the lab looming before them. They’d entered through the re-opened gate in the basement, opening small enough to somehow escape Vecna’s notice, though sadly they hadn’t counted on the new kinds of demobeasts they would encounter roaming free just outside the building. 

“We’ll need more guns,” Steve groans as he’s hustled past Nancy and in through the entrance of the lab, and she grimly shakes her head, a bit disheveled but thankfully unhurt as she follows them into the building. 

They take the stairs down, Steve’s ribs painfully protesting with every single step, and somewhere along the way Hopper and El join them as well, grim-faced but appearing in better shape than Steve is. Above them the beast is tearing through the lobby of the lab, thankfully too large to fit into the staircase, and its impotent rage is heard loud and clear as it seemingly destroys whatever it can lay its hands on. 

In the basement, the gate pulses a deep red; it oozes as it attempts to crust over, like a scab that’s been picked at too many times, and one of the soldiers takes out a knife and slices it open again, just large enough for a grown man to pass. El and Nancy are the first to be ushered through, followed by Steve as the soldier to his right takes point and pulls him through the gate after him. 

The other side – the real side – is bustling with activity. At first, Steve half expects Dustin to run up and tackle him off his feet, but there are no familiar faces in the crowd – just heavily armed soldiers, and medical personnel, two of which immediately swoop in to manhandle Steve onto a stretcher and whisk him away. They poke and prod at him as they wheel him into the elevator, medical jargon flying straight over his head, and he bites back a yelp of pain as he feels his ribs shift under their touch. 

He tries to ask them where everyone else is – where Robin and Dustin are, because he wants to see them, and he thinks that they probably want to see him too – but the medic standing by his head simply tells him that he’s going to be alright, even though Steve already knows that. 

They take him away for X-rays, which show three broken ribs but mercifully no sign of any punctured lungs, and then they cut his shirt off, wrap him up, and make him swallow some painkillers before dumping him in a bed in one of the old examination rooms on the second floor with orders not to move before they scurry off again, because apparently there are others worse off than Steve who needs their attention more. 

Steve is left with nothing to do but close his eyes in anticipation of the painkillers kicking in as he twiddles his thumbs and waits for Dustin to realize that Steve’s back and set out to find him. And sure enough; twenty minutes later, the door to the room carefully swings open and Dustin quietly peers inside, and Steve can’t help but smile because the sheer relief on Dustin’s face when he spots him makes Steve’s chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with his ribs. 

“Steve!” Dustin breathes, and a moment later he’s at Steve’s bedside, anxiously hovering as he seems to try to figure out how to proceed. “What’s, uh–?”

“Broken ribs,” Steve tells him, indicating the wrappings around his chest, and Dustin seems to deflate. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding to himself, like he figures he can work with that, and then he’s pulling up a chair and taking a seat at Steve’s bedside. ‟Does it hurt? They haven’t told us anything. They looked at you, right?”

He fidgets and stuffs his hands between his knees, like he’s dying to touch Steve to check for himself but isn’t sure Steve would welcome the touch right now, and Steve feels the loss of it almost like a physical thing.

‟What the fuck?” he says, and Dustin flinches. ‟Really? This is when you decide to keep your hands to yourself? Get over here.”

Dustin blinks, appearing a bit taken aback, but then he scoots a bit closer and reaches out to touch his hand to Steve’s arm, fingers curling around his bicep. When Steve doesn’t shrug him off, Dustin, probably figuring a hug is a no-go right now due to Steve’s ribs, quickly removes his hat and carefully leans down to rest his forehead against the bare skin of Steve’s shoulder instead. 

Steve sighs, turning to butt his cheek against the top of Dustin’s head. “See, that’s better, isn’t it?” he says, and Dustin huffs, the warmth of it washing along Steve’s skin. ‟I’ll be alright.”

“I’m gonna yell at you later,” Dustin vows, voice trembling, and Steve closes his eyes and smiles. 

“You can’t do that,” he says. “Not when I came back for you and all.”

He feels Dustin grow still, the grip he has on Steve’s arm going slack in what might be surprise, and then he makes a low sound, like he doesn’t want to be reminded of how close Steve might have been to not coming back at all. 

‟It helped,” Steve murmurs. ‟Just like you thought it might.”

Dustin audibly swallows. ‟You said we were gonna talk,” he mentions, and sometimes it floors Steve just how brave he is, because where some might beat around the bush, Dustin will march right up to the bull and grab it by the horns. 

‟I did,” Steve confirms.

“Is that—” Dustin takes a deep breath. “Was it because of what I said?” 

Steve hums. “No,” he says. ‟I made it back because of what I’m gonna say.”

Dustin pulls away at that, lifting his head to peer up at Steve. He’s frowning, and there’s a red mark on his forehead where it’s been pressed against the skin of Steve’s shoulder. Steve kind of wants to reach out and try to smooth it away with his thumb, but his limbs feel kind of heavy right now. 

“So, uh, what are you gonna say?” Dustin asks, and then he almost immediately starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth, like he’s nervous, only to flush a light pink as he realizes that Steve’s gaze has dropped to his mouth.  

“I dunno,” Steve says, watching Dustin press his lips into a flat line, which isn’t nearly as interesting as what he was doing earlier, before realizing; “They gave me some pills.”

Dustin blinks. “Oh,” he says, sounding almost disappointed, but then he recovers and reaches out to push a lock of Steve’s hair off his forehead. “They got you on the good stuff, huh?”

Steve sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. “Think so,” he agrees as he turns his face into Dustin’s touch. 

“You can go to sleep if you want,” Dustin offers. “I’ll be here when you wake up. We can talk then, if you feel better.”

Steve decides that he doesn’t really like the sound of sleep right now; he blinks his eyes open, even though it takes a few tries and a surprising amount of effort to do so, and makes sure to look Dustin straight in the face.

“You and me,” he carefully tells him, voice only slurring a little. 

Dustin’s fingertips jerk away from where they’ve been tracing a light line from Steve’s cheekbone down to his jaw, as if he hadn’t realized that Steve was still conscious. “What?”

“It’s you and me,” Steve repeats. “That’s what I was going to say, I think.”

There’s a tiny hitch in Dustin’s next inhale. “Yeah?” he says hopefully, like he’s prepared to take Steve’s words at face value despite the drugs. 

And even though he’s probably less than lucid, Steve is still very well aware that if you offer Dustin an inch he’ll immediately try to grab a mile – yet right now, Steve really can’t bring himself to care. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, raising his hand to fumble in Dustin’s direction, until Dustin gets the hint and takes it in his own and slots their fingers together. 

“You better remember this conversation later,” Dustin chokes out as he gives Steve’s hand a squeeze, and Steve smiles. 

“Probably won’t,” he says. 

“I’ll just have to remind you, I guess,” Dustin decides. He brings their hands up so that he can press the top of Steve’s against his cheek, and Steve blinks stupidly at the sight, a bit surprised by the size of Dustin’s hand – the way his fingers seem to fit perfectly between Steve’s own. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, starting to feel the tug of sleep at the edge of his mind, almost insistent in a way it hasn’t been before. “I think I’m gonna sleep now.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Dustin tells him again, and Steve makes a low sound of acknowledgment as he closes his eyes, feeling Dustin turn to press his lips to the top of Steve’s hand, sneaking a soft, lingering kiss like he figures Steve’s too out if it to notice.