Work Text:
Steve was totally slacking on his clothes sorting duties. He couldn’t rip his attention from Dustin and Wayne Munson.
Half a sports hall separated Steve from them. Steve could tell Dustin was crying, Mr Munson, too. Facing death was scary as shit. Yet somehow easier than this.
Dustin parted from Wayne, limping off aimlessly across the massive room. Steve deserted his duties, and wove his way between the camp beds to join him.
“Hey, you need to take it easy.” Steve slipped his arm around Dustin, guided him toward a bench. The kid gave him a hard look. Which hurt. Hurt as much as the pain in Steve’s side where he’d been bit… Nah, that didn’t matter. Tears streaked Dustin’s face. Once he sat, he shrugged Steve from him.
“How’s he doing? Mr. Munson, I mean?”
“How d’ya think?” Dustin sniffed hard, dabbed his eyes.
“Listen, I’m here for you,” said Steve. “I know I’ll never be, I dunno—creative and stuff like Eddie was. I can never be what he was to you, but—”
“No, you can’t!” Dustin’s words hitched on hopeless sobs. “There’ll never be anybody else like Eddie. Anyone! He was true to himself, right to the end. He knew who he was—and he was a hero, not a fucking decoy. He knew who I was, better than I knew myself.” His soft words had a bitterly serrated edge, which cut through the noisy clamour. “Better than you’ll ever know me, or your damn self, that’s for sure.”
That hurt, too. Steve bit back any reflex attempt to punch back. Whatever he and Eddie had joked about Dustin’s ego, this was not the time. He swiped his hair from his suddenly sticky feeling brow:
“Sorry, that was stupid. Comparing myself, I…”
“No, I’m sorry, man.” Dustin looked up sharply, his face nearly as pink as his eyes. “I’m not good to be around right now. Nothing’s gonna fix this. Ever. I need space to process, okay?”
Steve nodded mutely. Christ, he was crazily sweaty, but also kinda chilly. Maybe Vecna had screwed with the weather in this town, along with the rest of it. “Can I get you some water or something?”
Dustin sniffed again. “Been carting water around for the last hour.”
“Seems a mean job for a guy with a dinged ankle,” pointed out Steve. “Surely there’s something you can do sitting down?”
Dustin sighed into his lap. “Haven’t you got clothes to sort?”
It wrenched Steve’s heart to walk away. Christ, this was horrible. That said, nobody in this town was good right now, except perhaps for…
He scanned about the hall for Robin. On spotting her, his lips quivered toward a smile. She’d taken tenure with Vickie at the sandwich stand, and their bashful giggles had evolved into all-out laughter. Which was awesome.
Also, not awesome. Steve really needed to talk to somebody about Dustin and Eddie, because—
“Hey you! Harrington, is it? You deaf or just dumb as they say?”
Steve turned around. Some dick he faintly recognised—probably graduated from High School a year or so before him—stood there, bare arms folded. “We need some muscle back here loading water onto the truck. Gonna help? Or do you not care if poor ol’ granny can’t wash her face tomorrow?”
“Okay, keep your fucking hair on. I hear ya,” said Steve. Christ, but he was so damn hot! He pulled his blue sweater off over his head, and followed the guy outside.
***
“You know that bit in that Sousa march,” said Vickie, “where the fingering and tongue-work goes totally loopy-fruit, and—”
“Oh my God, yes!” interjected Robin. “You have to keep tooting away, and there’s no time to breathe, and it’s like your head is totally going to explode.”
“The worst bit is the dribble, right?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, YES! My chin is, like, so gross and slimy by the end of it!”
Robin broke her breathless tag-team conversation with Vickie for the first time in what felt like a happy eternity. Initially, this was because they were both laughing so hard, but then… She glanced around the hall, her peanut butter-slathered knife gouging chunks out of the bread.
“You okay?” Vickie already sounded panicked. “Did I say something more than average levels of grating?”
“No, don’t worry. Not you.” Never you. Robin smiled—adoringly, yeah, because things were going so well it was too good to be true. However, at least briefly, she was hot and bothered for a reason other than her first ever bout of very-possibly-requited lust. “I’ve lost track of Steve. Do you mind if I go check on him? Steve was hurt, when, uh, all Hell came calling. I’m sorta worried he’s not doing as well as he pretends.”
“Of course! Go, go, go, go, go!” Vickie’s hand flew to her totally lovely chest, as if mortified… or…
Oh shit-brains, does she think..?
“Just to be clear,” said Robin, slowly, “Steve and I are platonic. With a capital P.”
Not that that line had gotten Nancy Wheeler to perform the hoped-for about-turn. For a smart chick, she could be pretty dense. Nevertheless, Robin hoped her admission might sink a little deeper with Vickie—alongside one or two other if-you-squint-you-might-see-them hints.
Vickie bit her lip against another fast-spreading smile. “I totally get it. Go check on him. I’ll be… making more PBs and Js. Waiting for my partner in the crime of sorry-ass cuisine to return.”
Robin ventured a squeeze of Vickie’s arm. “I’ll be back,” she whispered. “Not in an, uh, massacring everyone in sight, Arnold Schwarzenegger kinda way.”
It was such a dumb joke. Vickie’s latest giggle rang happily in Robin’s ears, as she hurried off to find Steve.
After a while, she located him outside. He was in the parking lot, helping load vats of water onto a van.
“Hey! Steve!”
Robin stopped herself running with an effort. She’d not gone tits over ass at a crucial moment in the Upside Down. Ergo, odds dictated she was due to go flat on her face damn soon.
He didn’t hear, and went to haul more water. Then stopped short, pressing his hand to his side. When he lifted his hand, his white shirt was spotted with blood—big enough patches to be seen from over ten yards away. Robin threw aside the laws of averages and sprinted the distance remaining between them.
“Steve! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He pressed his hand back to his side, blinked at her. “What does it look like? I’m helping lift this shit onto the truck.”
She grabbed his wrist, drawing his hand away from where he clasped it over the worst batch of bat bites. “Oh my God, you’re still bleeding.”
“Only a bit,” he mumbled. “Just… kinda leaking. It stopped. Then it started again. But don’t freak. I’m getting enough grief for slacking as it is.”
“They can go kiss One forward-slash Henry forward-slash Vecna’s ass.” Robin glared at the other guys loading up the truck. “They didn’t get hurt while selflessly saving the entire town from him.”
“Didn’t save the entire town, did we?” Steve sat down on the vat he was supposed to be lifting. “Dustin’s totally devastated, Robin. About Eddie… and I… I… Ow, what are you doing?”
It wasn’t that Robin didn’t want to listen; she w as listening, and she cared huge amounts. At the same time, she carefully peeled Steve's shirt up. Historically, she was squeamish, but lately, she’d gotten tougher. For a start, she’d seen and somehow stomached more disgusting sights in the last week than she’d have ever believed. And secondly, this was Steve, and he was…
On seeing the state of him, she almost gagged. More with fear than anything. At least Steve wasn’t still bandaged in Nancy Wheeler’s cast-offs. However, fresh blood soaked the gauze that covered his wounds, and seeped through to the bandage that wrapped around his torso. Worse, the dressings were kinda crusty and yellowy at the edges, with the surrounding flesh all red and swollen. She didn’t dare peel any deeper.
“Okay. Officially freaking out now, Steve. You need to see a doctor. Right away.”
“Seriously? What with Max literally on death’s door, twenty-eight dead, and God knows how many more hurt? And how the hell do I explain the bites and the rest of it? I listened enough in class to know earthquakes don’t munch, let alone throttle you.”
“There’s enough crazy shit going for them to give you a pass. I mean, this looks infected.” She pulled his shirt back down, and he grimaced even at that slight friction. “It hurts, right?”
“Of course it does, genius. Kinda… I dunno, like it’s hot or something. I feel goddamn rough, if I’m honest, and my head hurts too. I guess I should get some ice.”
“I don’t think that’ll do much. Besides, didn’t you give the last batch you got your hands on to Henderson?”
“Yeah. For his ankle.”
Robin lifted her scrutiny to his face, and baulked as strongly as she had at his wound. Up close, she could see how tired Steve was starting to look, dark shadows smudging beneath his eyes.
“Dustin’s struggling, huh?” she ventured.
“Yeah.” Steve ducked behind his hand, and his voice went shaky. “Eddie is dead, and Dustin is hurting, and there’s nothing… nothing … I can do to help.”
Her heart ached. She curled an arm around him, the hotness of tears in her throat, too. “All you need to do is keep being his friend, Steve. Believe me, you’re shockingly good at that.” He leaned slightly into her. “It might help if you admitted you’re hurting too.”
“For Eddie?” Steve glanced up. His cheeks were now kinda flushed, his brow shiny and waxy, though his eyes remained dry. “I barely knew him. I got not right to—”
“You’ve got every right. Yeah, we didn’t know him that long, but what we went through together—we all learned to love him. So, if Dustin’s not okay, neither are you, and it majorly sucks, but you have to take care—”
From the far side of the truck, some dude whistled. “Hey, Harrington! You gonna help us with this last load, or is smoochies with your chick more important than helping folk.”
Steve sighed hard and pushed himself up from the vat.
“You’re not serious?” said Robin. “I’m gonna tell that a-hole to go fuck himself. On top of everything, you’re all sweaty and totally disgusting—you’re running a mild fever, or something.”
“I’m fine. Go back to Vickie and the sandwich emergency, because I gotta be of some use… Uuuuuugh.” Steve trailed off into a groan, face-palming even as his legs wobbled beneath him.
Fortunately, Robin’s knee jerk panic paid off. She’d already leaped forward to grab him, before he crumpled completely onto the parking lot.
***
Steve couldn’t breathe.
Slithering vines drew tight around his throat. He fought for air, which came in thin, whistling threads, and failed to relieve lungs that felt clamped in iron bands. He was burning, too, flames licking up his bare torso, stabbing and tearing at his flesh… or was that those demobats!?!
He fought in another breath, though it tasted disgusting—of dying and dead and rotting things. He was still on fire, yet shivering violently, and everything ached. Everything. The horizon glowed blood-red, broken only with the silhouette of a huge, leggy spider and…
“Steve? Steve? It’s me… it’s Robin… Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me.”
Her voice sounded foggy, like she shouted from the Upside Down. Or from the real world into it. He kept fighting the vines, or the bats, or whatever. Yet there was a tender brush on his brow, cool against the blaze of his skin.
“Steve? Shhhhh… It’s okay. You’re safe. Whatever’s going on in your dreams, it isn’t real. God… I hope it isn’t… please.”
With a wretched gasp, he forced his heavy eyelids wide… and… Shit, where was he? The world whirled giddily, though breathing got easier. The vines around his throat vanished and… Huh?
Robin leaned over him, and swiped a cool, damp cloth across his brow. “Oh, thank God—you’re awake!”
“Buckley?” he murmured.
She kept dabbing him, fixing him with a very Robin wild-eyed stare. “You’re fine, you’re good. It’s a nightmare, okay? We were so scared… Uh, Vickie’s gone to find a doctor.”
“Vickie?” Steve was horribly bewildered. Above him, however, the sky wasn’t blood-red, but a grimy white, and he lay on one off the camp beds. Robin was there, and, when he turned his head, he saw… “Henderson?”
“Hey, buddy.” Dustin blessed Steve with an endearing smile, which didn’t reach his sad eyes. “Don’t be alarmed, okay? In case you were wondering, this is a temporary hospital tent.” Dustin swatted away a bluebottle that buzzed between them. “Looks like something outta a boring old war movie, huh?”
“Yeah,” mumbled Steve. “I don’t remember… how did I..?” Actually, he did remember, and he cringed. Robin—who’d backed off with the damp cloth for now—had been right.
“Your bites are infected,” explained Dustin. “They’ve given you eleven stitches, and dosed you up on antibiotics, plus morphine for the pain. You should be okay. As long as there’s no…”
“… Upside Down gunk in me?”
Steve figured he might as well say it. The looks that passed between Dustin and Robin told him they’d thought the same thing. Of course, they had. They were way smarter than he’d ever be, and he was feeling less sharp than usual now. He could do with a drink of water. His eyelids were so heavy, he wasn’t sure he’d stay awake long enough to ask.
“Listen, Steve,” said Dustin. “I’m sorry about what I said—”
“No.” Steve’s determination wrenched him awake. “You already apologised. What you said, I can handle it, and—”
“Steve, I was hurting, and I lashed out. Look, I lost Eddie. We lost Eddie, and I forgot how close I came to losing you too, and that would…”
He crumpled forward into more tears. Steve conjured the energy to push himself up onto an elbow, and drew Dustin into a hug. Which wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world right now. Robin jumped, looking like she wanted to intervene, but Steve nodded, warding her off. Dustin buried his face in Steve’s bruised and grazed neck.
“Losing you would destroy me,” sniffed Dustin. “I can’t lose you, man. I can’t.”
“You’d be okay,” said Steve, into Dustin’s curly hair. He thought of Eddie, how goddamn wise the dude turned out to be, and so stupidly brave, and… Shit, he realised he was crying harder than Henderson. He sounded pathetically broken. “You’ll… always… be okay.”
God, he prayed that was true, even as Robin pried Dustin off him. Steve was kinda grateful, simply because the small effort of hugging—and goddamn sobbing—had drained him. Vickie appeared next, with a doctor who looked at least as shattered as Steve felt. She hurriedly checked Steve’s vitals, and allowed Steve to assure her any breathing problems were the result of a morphine-fuelled nightmare. Then she dashed off again to tend to other patients.
Steve found himself lying there, with Dustin, Robin and Vickie all staring at him like three, startled, wide-eyed bunnies. He laughed, which reminded him how dry his lips and throat were. “Glad you’re enjoying the show. Any chance of some water here?”
Dustin facepalmed. “I had one job. One son-of-a-bitch job!”
He fetched some, and Steve drank a bit. He then dozed off, though it couldn’t have been for long. When he stirred, Dustin clung to one of his hands, as if it was a lifeline. Robin and Vickie perched awkwardly together, on a single chair, on the opposite of the bed. It was stupid levels of cute, and gave him what could only be described as warm, fuzzy feelings.
“Don’t let me spoil date night for you two,” said Steve, as his eyes closed again.
He jolted wide awake. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!
Dustin looked baffled already. “Date night?”
Steve’s blind panic had his lungs tightening again, his breaths coming too hard and fast. Robin blushed ruby-red. “Hey, hey, Steve, it’s okay! We…”
“I blurted something stupid, then we talked it out,” whispered Vickie, leaning forward. “I guess, we both kinda knew, deep down. It was just who was going to—”
“—have the guts to say it first,” giggled Robin. Then she stopped laughing abruptly. Steve was mortified, and today, his emotions proved way too intense to fight, let alone hide. He’d kept her secret for the best part of a year, as if it was sacred. And it was sacred to him, because her friendship was everything , and now he’d been sleepy and stupid and let her down.
“You’re okay, Steve. Come on, nice and steady breaths. It’s fine.”
She squeezed his shoulder, and he melted a little beneath her touch. He melted further, somehow, when he noticed how Vickie glued herself to Robin, kinda cuddling around her already. Okay, if happy things still happened, maybe there was hope.
“I think you might’ve outed us to Henderson, though,” whispered Robin.
Steve dared peep Dustin’s way. He’d slumped back in his chair, but his grin was adorable and seemed heartfelt—of the kind Steve feared earlier he’d never see again. “You were so right,” beamed Dustin. “There was another logical explanation for your refusal to date Robin, other than you being in love with Nancy. I was too braindead to see it. Wow! I mean, awesome.”
Okay. Steve shouldda seen that coming, really. How had he ever survived without friends like these? Still felt bad, though…
“In the totally freakily, horrible circumstances, this is somehow the best first date night ever,” said Vickie. “Nothing says romance like, uh…”
“…septic bat bites and soggy PB and Js?” mumbled Steve.
Vickie and Robin shot off to fetch the latter. They returned with the bonus of a tube of Pringles and some neon-green lime squash.
Steve still felt too trashed to eat much, and drifted in and out of an uneasy slumber. He told the others to go. He didn’t really want them to. None of them listened, anyhow.
After a while, despite the constant noise in the hospital tent, he slipped toward a deeper sleep. His fingers still tangled with somebody’s—it could’ve been Dustin or Robin, or even Vickie placeholding. Whoever they were, they grounded him somewhere safe.
When he awoke, however, terror struck through him. He could smell the Upside Down—the reek of rotting, dying and dead things, with a heavy hint of burning. The raw fear on Dustin and Vickie’s faces did nothing to assure him this was a nightmare he could fight free of. “What’s going on?”
“Vecna’s happening,” said Robin, appearing suddenly. “A load more fissures have opened up, and the earth’s, like genuinely quaking, and, uh… outside, it’s raining ash.”
“Oh.”
With a groan, Steve tried to push himself up. Robin and Dustin were all over him. “Woah, big guy.” Dustin eased him down. “Eleven’s back in town, and you’re in no condition to save the world. I can’t lose you as well, remember?”
“Yeah. At this specific juncture, I think it’s acceptable if we all just cry and hug,” said Robin. Vickie nodded vigorously. “I mean, we already flambéed the son-of-a-bitch. Why couldn’t he just dieeee…. Ooooh shit!”
Thunder crashed, the earth shuddered, and the tent-poles of the enormous marquee wobbled like matchsticks. Shrieks and yells pierced Steve’s aching brain, and he found himself enveloped in a four-way hug. Yup, this was bad. Both Robin and Vickie had stopped any frantic commentary. Dustin had zipped it, too. So, yeah, epically bad. He clung to the others, and waited for the earth to stop trembling.
Even when it did, they remained there for several beats. Steve was scared; fucking terrified even, and kinda wished this hug would last forever. Because it was pretty obvious what he had to do next. And, yeah, he still felt like crap. Also, slightly better, as if the fever had broken. He drew a deep, steady breath and steeled his nerves. As soon as they silently unwound from each other, he sat up straight again.
“Stop being mental!” Dustin moved in to push Steve back again. This time, Steve took his arm and resolutely peeled him off.
“Somebody bag up those antibiotics.” Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Maybe some spare bandages? We gotta move.”
“But—” started Robin.
“Screw your buts.” Steve smirked, and went in for the kill. “Eddie said make him pay, and we’re not done there. Perhaps we’re not leading the charge this time, but we have to find the others. Find how we can help.”
This time, nobody argued. Vickie gathered the medical supplies, while Dustin and Robin helped Steve up from the bed and onto his feet.