Chapter Text
Steve’s lungs were burning, like he could physically feel them shriveling with the need for oxygen. He was so close to the surface - just a few more feet. His fingers were a mere few inches from the top; just one more kick and he’d break through. He bent his leg, ready to make that last leap.
He could never be so lucky. That would be too much to ask.
His eyes darted down as something slinked around his ankle - fast and aggressively. He couldn’t get a good enough look at it before it yanked, almost ripping what little air he had left in his lungs out. It was a struggle not to gasp with the shock of it.
‘What the hell!?’ he thought, trying to tear himself free. Whatever had a grip on him, it was not willing to lose its prey, if that’s what he was - prey. He tried to get a good look at it, but it was too dark, he could make out nothing more than about a foot or two. What he could see was that ominous red glow of the gate growing brighter by the heartbeat.
That’s the moment it clicked for him: he was being pulled in. Something was literally dragging him towards the gate. That fresh, unbridled fear renewed his desperation to break himself free. Steve twisted and tried to pry the tentacle from his leg. If anything, it only tightened its grasp on him, digging into his skin. Gritting his teeth, he tugged harder, burying his nails into it. Still, it was no use as the water rushed around him faster.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the water around him was consumed by the red pulsing from the fissure. In a second, all the pressure around him dissipated and the rest of his breath was knocked from him by the impact as he hit the ground. There was hardly a chance to gasp as the tentacle continued to pull him, far too quickly for his liking, across the barren floor of Lover’s Lake. Stones and driftwood scraped across his back; he was sure he could feel his skin tearing from the friction.
The whole time, he continued to fight to the best of his ability: wriggling and thrashing, anything he thought might have a chance of knocking himself loose. His body bounced off the ground a couple times as he was yanked over roots. It was difficult to be certain through the haze of it all, but he thought he heard a piece of the root break off with the force.
He was yanked one last time before being released. The momentum did not give him the smooth release he was hoping for. He was tossed into what was to be determined. He knew, at least, it wasn’t stone as it broke around him. As soon as he stilled, he remained there, unmoving, trying his damnedest to collect himself and piece together what exactly had just happened. Then, slowly, he took a breath.
Just the simple action brought awareness back into his body, reawakening every nerve. He couldn’t determine what part of his body begged for his attention the most. Until he tried to sit up.
A breath raked down his throat as he gripped his left arm, rolling over to curl around it. He swore between clenched teeth, fingers glancing over his skin, over the slight hitch along his forearm. He didn’t need a second opinion to know it was broken.
“Sonuva bitch ,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the sharp pings through his arm. Holding it to his chest, Steve pressed his back against the remains of the structure he’d crashed into, using it as a meager support to get to his feet.
Breaths staggering out, he took his first look around. He exhaled, the sound oddly loud in his ears. He could even hear his own heartbeat, like an echo through his skull. Hearing about the Upside Down was one thing. But to be there, standing in it, was something else entirely. He always had an image in his head of what it looked like. None of his fabrications held a candle to the real deal. And he honestly would have been perfectly fine never knowing what it really was.
He would have preferred his own personal concepts of it.
If he looked at it from an objective point of view, it was arguably quite stunning. Unfortunately, Steve did not see that side of it. All he saw was the place he was going to die.
He shifted closer to the boat, kicking something with the small step back. An oar. Steve scooped it up in his right hand, gripping it tightly. It wasn’t the best option, definitely no nail bat, but it was better than no weapon at all. His other arm remained raised against his chest, held as still as he could possibly keep it.
A screech from the sky pulled his attention upward. He had to squint to see something that looked like birds flying around. The longer he looked, though, the more he realized those were anything but birds. Bats? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was they weren’t natural and he didn’t want a closer look at them.
In fact, he wanted to put as much distance between himself and them as he could. Oar clutched, he shuffled his feet back, never letting his eyes wander from them. No matter how careful he was, or how slowly he moved, they were growing nearer. They were moving … towards him.
“ Shit…” he ground out, taking his first actual step back. A single step that soon turned into another, and a third until he was running - sprinting - towards the nearly dilapidated building at the lake’s shore. He didn’t look back, didn’t want to see how close they were. He ignored the burning in his lungs and the jarring of his arm with every footfall.
He only paid attention to placing one foot in front of the other, keeping his eyes on his destination. He was halfway there and the screeching was getting louder, shriller. They were so close. So damn close. Steve risked a glance back and swore between his teeth.
There was one right behind him. Just a foot behind him. He planted one foot to turn and swing. He was rewarded with the satisfying smack as it was knocked from the air, skidding across the lake’s bottom. His victory was short lived as another instantly took its place, too fast for him to counteract. Balance still thrown off from the first strike, he lost his footing, tumbling to the ground in a heap.
There was no stifling his cry as he rolled across the ground, rolling right over his injured arm. His body stopped, but his vision continued to spin nauseatingly.
‘ Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, ’ he repeated over and over again in his head. If he fainted there, he was as good as dead. He would die there and no one would know. No one would ever find his body.
Swallowing hard, he pushed himself up on one arm, oar scraping along the ground as he gripped it. He faltered as he stood, almost ending back on the ground. Somehow, by some miracle, he regained his balance and started to run again.
The screeching was still behind him. This time, not so much as a fleeting peek was spared in their direction.
He was only a few feet away, two feet … one.
The moment he was on the other side, he slammed the door shut and shoved a chair in front of it.
Steve pressed his back against the doorframe, breaths heaving in and out. Slowly, he slid down, dropping his head back against it. He allowed his injured arm to rest in his lap, hissing with the motion.
Once he had enough composure back, he shimmied his way back to his feet to peek out the window, towards the gate he had been dragged through.
He swore under his breath. There were so many of those things. Those demonbats - he heard Dustin’s voice - surrounded it. There was no opening, they covered all the bases. Well, going back that way was off the table. Unless he wanted to wait and hope they moved on. With the way they continued to swarm, he doubted that was likely.
Deeming himself safe enough for the time being, he set the oar aside, using his free hand to cradle his other arm back against his chest. With his adrenaline waning, the near unbearable throbbing was returning with a vengeance. Priorities, he told himself. He wasn’t going to get anywhere or do anything with his arm the way it was. As it stood, it was nothing more than a painful hindrance.
He had to splint it, at least.
Easier said than done with one arm. He figured he’d just have to find out a way. He kept his movements slow and deliberate as he searched for any pieces of wood or anything that wouldn’t crumble as soon as he picked it up. Which left his pickings pretty slim. It took some searching and a lot of kicking things out of the way, but eventually he found a wooden spoon. That was the closest thing to the length he needed that he could locate. Tossing that to the side, his next quest was to find some fabric. This one, at least, was a lot easier to find. The curtains would work perfectly.
With a knife, he ripped through it, taking the straightest shreds he could, which weren’t many with his uncoordinated slicing. Two thin strips and one thicker.
Now was the hard part - tying everything into place.
It was going to be rough, but he thought of something that might work. First, he laid out the strips flat on the floor and placed the spoon perpendicular. Then, as tenderly as he could, he lowered his arm against it, gritting his teeth as he did so. His breath skipped as it settled into place and he was sure he felt a part of his arm shift that definitely should not.
Stifling a whimper, he placed one end of the fabric between his teeth and used his free hand to hold the other side. It was a slow and awkward process to get both pieces tied around - tightly. By the time he was done, Steve leaned back, arm back in his lap as he panted, struggling to steady his breath.
He found relief, though, in the fact that the worst of it was over. Leaning back, he pulled the last strip over and took his time tying that one into a knot and sliding it over his head. Using his good hand, he pulled his left arm through and allowed it to rest easy in his makeshift sling.
It wasn’t the best handiwork, but it was going to have to do.
By the time all was said and done, Steve had to close his eyes against the sparks of colors twinkling in his vision. His skin prickled with sweat. Such a small accomplishment took way more out of him than he thought it should have.
Next he glanced at his oar. Sure, it had come in handy, but he really couldn’t call it a weapon. His attention drifted over to the knife, something a lot more effective but with much less reach than the oar. And he really wanted to avoid up close and personal encounters as much as possible. It’s not that he was planning to have to fight anything. More like he wanted to know he was prepared if he had to.
Then he realized: he could have the best of both worlds. Cutting an extra strip from the curtains, he used the fabric to secure the knife onto the end of the oar.
And viola: a sad excuse of a spear. Well, it was functional, and that’s all that mattered.
And now that that was done, he was reminded of just how dire his situation was. He still had no idea what he was going to do. Did the others even know he was there? Or did they think he drowned? He wanted to let them know he was alive, that he was relatively alright. But how was he supposed to do that?
He ran his fingers through his hair, cringing at the amount of grime that already coated it. Not even an hour there and he was already filthy.
“What am I gonna do?” he muttered to himself, dropping his hand to his side.
There had to be some way to contact the others. He knew Will had managed somehow. If a kid could figure that out, surely he could. He tapped his foot on the floor, thinking … and thinking.
As he sat there, wracking his brain for any scrap of an idea, a sound scratched deep in his ear.
Those were voices he heard. They were coming from right outside.
“Hello?” he asked, softly. He didn’t want to make too much noise. What if it was a trick, something to lure him out. Steve didn’t trust anything. But he knew these voices, he recognized Dustin’s and Max’s above the rest. They were moving, getting farther away. And there were other voices, some he didn’t recognize. Older voices.
Steve stumbled up to his feet, snatching his oar-spear up along with him and followed the sound along the wall for as long as he could until he reached the other side of the house. They kept going, almost out of earshot.
He had to make his decision right then and there: leave the house and follow, or stay there and let his only hope slip through his fingers. Really, it wasn’t that hard of a choice to make. Holding the spear up, ready to jab, he eased the door open, wincing as the squeak echoed. He tip-toed out, following to the best of his ability.
“Dustin?” he asked, still keeping his voice low, gazing around in every direction. He walked for only a few seconds before the voices vanished altogether. Steve stood, listening, waiting for them to pick back up. But, they never did. He stood for what had to have been a minute. Nothing but silence and the deep rumbling from above.
“H-Hello?” he whispered.
There was no one. It was just him. Completely alone again.
Was that really them he heard? Or did this place really play tricks on you? There was also a third option, one he didn’t want to consider. The possibility that he was just imagining it in his fear-infested mind.
One thing was certain - he couldn’t stay there. Planting his spear, he stared down the road. He knew that had to be them he heard and he was going to find out where they were. Gazing down the road and taking a deep breath, he began to walk, spear swung over his shoulders.