Chapter Text
The rough, vine-covered terrain of the upside down scraped Steve Harrington's back as he was dragged across the ground. He struggled to breathe, coughing up water, but forced himself to come back to reality before it was too late. An opportunity presented itself in the form of a blockade of rock, just big enough for him to fit behind, and Steve took it. He held on like his life depended on it, because quite frankly, it did. The vine wrapped around Steve's ankle snapped off, leaving only a red mark where it once was. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, too soon. He thought he was safe, at least for a minute. But you're never safe in the upside down.
Steve slowly rose from the blockade, taking a few cautious steps forward before snapping his head around at a screeching sound behind him. A bat-like creature appeared in the distance, coming straight towards him. Steve backed away. He spun around, panicked, and caught sight of two more in the sky before taking action. He sprinted towards an old boat, grabbed the oar and started whacking the closest of the bat-creatures out of the sky. His desperate attempt seemed to be working for the first two bats, but the third evaded his swing and wrapped it's slimy tail around Steve's throat.
The bat flung Steve to the ground, the oar flying out of his hands. He struggled against the bat's grasp, but to no avail. He couldn't breathe. His throat felt like it was burning, but Steve couldn't do anything. He was completely helpless against this other-dimensional bat. The bats he knocked out of the sky recovered quickly, circling around Steve's struggling body before diving down. The bats attached to each of his sides, avoiding Steve's weak attempts at knocking them away. His sides erupted in pain. Steve kept one hand at the tail on his neck, using the other to swat away the bats, but every time he swatted them away they just came right back. The pain grew more and more unbearable each time the bats made contact again. He couldn’t do this for long.
He was going to die here, dripping wet and in pain. He's just prolonging his suffering, Steve considers just giving in and hoping the end wouldn't be too painful. But that isn't who Steve is, he'll fight like hell even if it ends in an excruciatingly painful end. Both hands clutch onto the tail at his neck, knuckles turning white. Steve let out a scream, an agonizing cry from a man who's almost certain that he's going to die here. He continued to writhe on the floor of the upside down, screaming in pain and wishing for an end. Red flashes boom in the dark sky, lighting up his death.
Steve Harrington bolts into an upright position, each breath catching in his throat before he can get any air. His wet hands clutch at his throat, but there isn't anything there anymore. He reaches for his sides, ready to fight the bats away, but the only thing he finds is bandages dyed deep crimson. His breaths start to slow down, he's in his own bed, in his own home, it's been a week after the bats attacked him. He's safe, its over. He breathes in and out slowly, the way Nancy showed him after their first encounter with the demogorgon. It's okay, he tells himself, pushing his hair back with a sweaty hand. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, carefully getting to his feet. It's okay, he almost convinces himself.
Steve's side brushes up against a dresser, all of the pain coming back to him in an instant. He doubles over, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach, warmth rising up his throat. He swallows back the vomit, steadying himself with an arm on the dresser so he doesn't collapse onto the floor. It's not okay, of course it's not fucking okay. This pain isn't new to Steve, the wounds have been growing worse. His bandage was only changed once in the week he's had it: after Vecna was defeated and everyone was back safely in Mike Wheeler's basement, Nancy's makeshift bandage was swapped out for an actual one. It's been six days since then, but as long as nothing touches his sides the pain is bearable. Unfortunately, Steve has had these night terrors every night since then, briefly forgetting that his wounds are definitely not okay, and then is painfully reminded. He tried changing the bandage once, two days ago, but the pain was so excruciating that he ended up passed out on the floor before making any real progress.
His breaths slow again, still uneven, and his balance returns. He can't do this for much longer, the pain is so bad today that Steve can barely walk without holding onto something for support. Unfortunately, he has to work today, so he better come up with a good painkilling solution fast. He checks the clock on his bedside table. 5:27 am, work starts at 7. Fuck. He finished the bottle of painkillers yesterday, and he's in no condition to drive and get a new one. He could call someone, but that's completely out of the question. He's the one that takes care of everyone else, he shouldn't need to call anyone to come help him. He can take care of himself. The only option left is his parent's liquor cabinet, an unguarded liquor cabinet since the Harrington's are rarely at home anymore. The difficult part will be getting downstairs without passing out, but Steve is convinced that he's capable.
The railing offers little support, but Steve holds firm onto it, taking the descent one step at a time. Slowly, Steve makes his way down the staircase. He exhales a long breath that he didn't realize he was holding when he finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, the liquor cabinet in sight. He's thankful that his parents keep a stash of shitty vodka bottles in the back of the cabinet, he might be desperate but he'd still feel guilty if he used their good liquor as painkillers. He reaches in and grabs as many bottles as he can carry in one arm, which turns out to be about four, then starts heading back up the stairs. He ascends the stairs even more carefully than his descent, one arm firmly on the railing, the other holding onto the bottles.
By the time Steve gets back to his room, he's completely exhausted. He presses his back against the wall and slides down, careful not to lean one way or the other. He rests the back of his head against the wall, lining up the vodka bottles next to him. He goes to open the first bottle when something across the room catches his eye.
It’s Eddie's vest that he loaned Steve when they were in the upside down. Steve planned to return the vest the next time he saw Eddie, but he didn't ever think to bring it to work with him. Robin and Eddie talked quite a bit at Family Video, the two had gotten quite close since Vecna, Steve was just hoping that Eddie didn't have the wrong idea about her. He decided that he'd bring the vest with him today, on the off-chance that Eddie showed up. He takes a swig of vodka, his face scrunching at the taste.
The first bottle was gone within half an hour, and he's already a few swigs into the second. Steve hadn't intended to drink it that fast, but it was definitely doing its job as an excellent painkiller and it was such a relief to not be in pain anymore. Steve felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, like he was going to float off of the ground and touch the ceiling. He let out a giggle at the thought of that, clutching his sides in pain as he was pulled back to reality.
Alcohol couldn't help him, nothing could help the pain anymore. He pulled his hand away from his stomach and it came back red, the bandage had done all it could but now his blood was dripping down his stomach and started leaving a stain on his floorboards. Steve snapped his head up to the clock: 7:02, he's already late. Maybe Robin will be worried. He took one last swig from the bottle, his head spinning, before his vision started turning black. The last thing he saw before passing out was his own hand on the floor, losing grip of the bottle as alcohol spilled out.
Maybe those bats killed me after all...