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luckyyluka · 1 year

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Steve Harrington x gn!reader

Summary: Reader is at their limit but Steve interrupts their plans for the end. (hurt/comfort fic)

Disclaimer: Technically this is an OC because reader is Dustin's older sibling, but it is intended as a reader insert fic, so I am going to keep it listed as such. However, if you feel like being related to Dustin does not accurately fit you, you are free to interpret this however you'd like. Reader could be adopted, or maybe has a different father. Maybe reader isn't even related, but Dustin's mother kind of took them in when something happened in the past. Reader doesn't have to have the same genetics to be family with Dustin.

Notes: Reader is Dustin's older sibling. Reader uses they/them pronouns. NO use of y/n. I can't even tell you how long this has been in my drafts bro

Credits: gif from @appocalipse , dividers by @cafekitsune

Trigger Warnings: no specific mental illness is mentioned but in a general sense, SEVERE depression is heavily implied. Detailed depictions of depression, self harm, suicidal thoughts, almost attempted suicide using pills (all from reader).

This fic has a fairly detailed moment where reader is cutting themselves. I wrote this originally only for myself as a form of comfort. Please THINK before you decide to read this. The most important thing here is for you to stay safe. The sole purpose of me posting this fic is for readers who are similar to myself that might find comfort in this, but not everybody will get the same thing out of this fic, so please please please do NOT read if this will trigger you in any way.

Empty. The room feels empty. Your heart feels empty. Your hope feels empty. The emptiness pierced through your chest like an arrow, cold and sharp and leaving you breathless. Your tears fall from your face like a flood as you sit on the ever-so-slightly scratchy carpet underneath you, one hand brushing over the fabric, the other playing with the necklace you wore around your neck. The necklace with the guitar pick. Eddie's guitar pick.

Eddie Munson was your best friend since the first grade. He meant the world to you. He helped you through your darkest times, the times when depression would hit too hard, the times you'd feel like you were wasted space in the world around you, the times you got too sick to function, the times you relapsed. He stayed there with you until his last dying breath, a breath that shouldn't have come. It wasn't at all fair that he died saving a town that only ever judged him, outcast him, berated him. It wasn't at all fair that he was gone.

He took that last dying breath only days after he witnessed the gruesome death of Chrissy Cunningham, framed for murder, and tragically stuck in the middle of the most cursed parts of Hawkins, Indiana. You'd been there before. Three times. Starting when your little brother's best friend, Will, disappeared. Dustin snuck around in secret at first, but you knew him well. You knew him better than anyone did, aside from maybe himself, so you figured it all out pretty quickly. And that's the thing about the trust between you two - it made it easy for him to tell you everything when you asked. To trust you to hold him in your arms on the most difficult nights, softly singing the lyrics to Heroes by David Bowie to help soothe him as he would slowly but surely fall asleep. Just like you did when you were younger.

Those three times had left you to mourn the loss of your friend, Barb, your little cat, Mews, and the man that made Joyce Byers smile for the first time in over a year, Bob. And as much as you hated Billy Hargrove - the man that abused his sister, Max Mayfield, made racist remarks about Lucas Sinclair, verbally spat in the faces of anybody he spoke to, and beat Steve Harrington to a pulp - even he had died tragically. Though you were sure it wouldn't have effected you near as much if it weren't for the shattered heart of Max Mayfield - a heart that you and your friends desperately tried to help piece back together - it still left your own heart heavy.

The fourth time around was different, though. As your best friend, you had done everything in your power to protect Eddie from the things you've had the misfortune of witnessing before, even if it created a barrier in the middle of your relationship. But the Upside Down had other plans when a monster named Vecna gave Eddie the burden of witnessing Chrissy shake in a trance, eyes rolling to the back of her head, floating, limbs folding and crunching, eyes sucked into her body. He had no choice but to be a part of it all. Vecna gave him no choice.

The monster got into the minds of anybody who was suffering. He fed off of defeat, distress, heartache... it made him stronger. He tried taking Max, and he almost got her, but Eleven brought her heart back. That didn't change the fact that she did die, though, even if only for a moment. It still gave Vecna that little ounce of power that he needed. The power to open up the rift to the Upside Down, a rift that split Hawkins into quarters... the great "earthquake" of Hawkins, Indiana.

You grieved the loss of Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, and even basketball player Jason Carver, all while praying desperately to anybody above who would listen that Max would wake up from a coma, miraculously escaping death. You all visited her every single day, none of you dared to leave her alone. Her hospital room, despite being arid and lifeless, was unofficially deemed the spot, all of you gathered there to hang out almost every day as she recovered. You covered the room in posters and knickknacks, left behind toys and board games that you could have simply brought back the next time you came, just to mask the bleak atmosphere. It took half a year, but your prayers were answered, and she did miraculously escape death.

Two years later and her body grows closer and closer to fully healing everyday. Her sight came back faster than her smiles, but eventually, she got those back too.

But the reason for your tears as you sit on the floor in a dark, empty room at this very moment, gripping onto the pick that hung around your neck, wasn't to mourn your best friend Eddie Munson. The pick only helped to nudge a few breaths back into you, reminding you about all of the times Eddie held you in his arms and begged you to keep going, to stay alive, trying desperately to convince you of the truth - that everyone around you loved and needed you here, that you couldn't die, not even if it was at your own hand.

The reason was your mind. The way your thoughts were able to make your heart ache, your body shake, your lungs desperately scratch for air. You felt like you were drowning, and to make things worse, you had no one reason why. It was a mix of everything. Everybody you had mourned in your life, every intrusive thought that had you second guessing reality, every time your mind would flash back to every trauma you've experienced.

You turned on music, started watching tv, writing, dancing, anything to help you to slow your thoughts, make them more bearable. But it didn't work. They just wouldn't stop.

You've coped with this burden for as long as you can remember, Eddie, Dustin and your mother being there for you every step of the way as you were in and out of hospitals, therapy, relapses. When everything with the Upside Down kick-started, you thanked whatever higher being out there that your meds were working like they needed to be. It helped to grow close to the new people around you - Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Joyce... Hell, even the little ones, Will, Lucas, Mike, Eleven, and Max. Your support system was strong. You weren't alone. And while it undeniably helped, nothing was cured.

You made it through every time, and you thought that should have helped, that it should have put everything into perspective. You're alive, most of your loved ones are alive, you've got a long list of people surrounding you who understand exactly what you've been through... yet it only made your stomach churn with guilt. Guilt that you had no right to be depressed over anything, not when things like the Upside Down existed, not when there were worse things out there. But you couldn't help it. You didn't understand how you couldn't even bring yourself to get out of bed a lot of times, but your friends were getting out of bed, getting dressed, showering, existing every single day...

You wondered why you couldn't do that. You wondered why your mind worked so hard against you every second you were awake. You wondered why you were still alive and not Eddie. Not Barb. Not Bob. If you can barely exist, so weak, so cowardly, so ungrateful, but they were giving their all every single day, then why were you the one who made it out alive?

It was eating you from the inside out. The guilt. The survivors guilt. The guilt of just simply feeling. The fleeting guilt of hurting your loved ones if you were to die, though it was quickly washed away by the knowledge that it wouldn't matter, that they would be better off without you, that you didn't matter enough for anybody to be effected by your death.

You hadn't talked about how you were feeling in two years. Since Max almost died, that guilt had gotten so severe that you just couldn't bring yourself to let anything out anymore. So you held it in. You held it in until you were about to burst at the seams. And even then, you couldn't seem to allow yourself to let it out.

But now here you were, alone in the empty room you sat in, the spare bedroom of your house. The only room that had a lock on the door. Usually, your mom, Dustin, and you were respectful of knocking, respectful of each other's privacy... but you couldn't risk it. Not right now. On the floor beside you was a Coke can - the classic, not the new kind - next to a bottle of pills, a note you had carefully hand-written, and your pocket knife. You had this planned for weeks now, and you finally reached your limit. It was time to set the plan into action.

Your grip on Eddie's guitar pick tightened, if that were even possible. Your forearm wiped away at your tears, which deemed to be useless when the tears fell far too quickly. The emptiness you had once felt moments ago was suddenly gone, replaced with the weight of a burden much too heavy for you to bear. A burden of existing with a mind so relentless. Reluctantly, you let go of the pick around your neck and grabbed your knife, popping the blade out and sucking in as much of a breath as you could take.

Without thinking, you pushed down. The cold sting on your wrist made you shudder, eyes closing in relief. Feeling the blood trickling down your wrist had urged you to open your eyes, to take in the sight of every emotion you endured being put on display. The breath you held finally escaped your lungs, and for the first time in days, you noticed your breathing begin to even out. As if you weren't drowning anymore, yet simply floating at the surface of the water you were once drowning in only moments ago.

You continue your actions, the crushing heaviness you felt in your lungs lessening with each cut. When you felt satisfied with your work, you let the blood trickle down and make a mess. That was the most satisfying part of it all. The visible mess and what it represented; hey, this pain is real, it's not all in your head.

You sighed, your tears lessened just a bit as your breathing evened out and you felt more at ease. Your shakey hands slowly but surely untwisted the cap of the bottle of pills, fumbling a bit more than you should have - damned safety cap. Nevertheless, you popped it open and poured about a dozen pills into your hand, but before you could wrap your other hand around the coke can next to you, you heard the front door open. Fuck.

"I just need to grab my bag! It has all the walkie talkies."

Dustin.

"Dude is that really necessary?"

Mike.

"Can you two shut up and hurry? We've got places to be!"

Steve, ending his sentence with a clap. He must have been the last to enter because you heard the front door shut shortly after.

You winced at the sound. The sound of your little brother talking, not knowing you were about to end your life in the next room. The sound of your friends, Mike and Steve, mostly unaware of your mental struggles and completely clueless to your current state.

You heard shuffling footsteps and indistinctive murmuring between the three boys. Dustin shut his door and you let out a short breath knowing they were finally about to leave - except they didn't.

"Wait, Dustin, where's your sibling?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to hold back from sobbing at the mention of you. The tears were hard enough to control as it was.

"I don't know, probably with Robin," Dustin shrugged it off and you hoped it'd end with that, but it didn't.

"But their car is still in the driveway," Steve speculated, "plus, Robin's working."

You heard the footsteps growing closer to you, and the door to your room opened. "They're not in here," Dustin said with worry. He called out your name, but of course he didn't get a response. He knew you were at an all time low right now, he saw it every day, so of course his first response would be to worry.

The door knob on the spare room that you were in wiggled. "The spare bedroom is locked!" Dustin called out, frantically fumbling with it.

Little did you know, Dustin had been updating everyone of your struggles. He couldn't bear the weight of it all alone. Plus, they all cared for you. They wanted you to be okay. They missed you. They loved you. So they tried to help in every way possible.

"You don't think they're... like, cut-"

Steve cut Mike's words short, "I got a paper clip. Let me open it," he got closer to the door, "step back with Mike, okay Dustin?"

"Okay," you heard your little brother's voice crack and you could tell he was on the verge of tears. You, however, were way past tears. Your sobs had you almost gasping for air as you tried desperately to hold them back, but you know they'd heard them. Quickly, you reached for the bottle of pills before the door swung open.

"Shit," you whispered when the bottle of pills tumbled over.

Steve was quick to hide you from the kid's line of sight with his body. He looked at you with sad eyes, talking in a breath as you frowned at him with guilt.

He turned around, "wait out here," he instructed the boys and turned to face you. He slowly walked closer before sitting next to you on the ground.

He wrapped his arms around you gently as you finally let yourself cry. Sobs ripped from your chest as the tears flooded, and you knew his shirt was already tear-stained. Steve held you long enough for you to finally catch a breath before he pulled away to assess the current situation.

He gently wrapped his hand around your wrist, maneuvering your arm so that he could see the cuts. "How many did you take?" His eyes scanned the still bleeding cuts as he asked about the pills.

"None," you told him, "the bottle tipped over," you frowned, "I made a mess..."

"My love..." His eyes glossed as tears threatened to fall from the corners of his eyes. "You're okay, don't worry about the mess. Let's just get you cleaned up, alright?"

You shook, more than you were before, as your sobs evened out slowly. Steve stood up, helping you slowly get on your feet, and he guided you to the bathroom.

He helped to pick you up and you sat on the counter, but the movement made you realize just how groggy you were starting to feel. You felt tired - exhausted, even - and almost fell over, but Steve held you up. "I got you, baby. You're okay. Stay awake for me, alright?"

He grabbed a wash cloth and wet it before guiding your arm under the water. He did his best to be gentle with you as he helped to clean your cuts. Finally, he wrapped a towel around your arm, instructing you to hold it there as he searched the medicine cabinet for some bandages.

"Aha," he pronounced when he found the bandage wrap that he was looking for. He got some antibiotic cream and covered your now-clean wounds, wrapping the bandage just tight enough around your wrist to help the bleeding slow down and protect the cuts from worsening.

"There. All clean," he smiled at you as he held your wrist in his hand while his other hand covered yours. You were much too tired to try and fake a weak smile for him.

"Now, do you want to talk? Or would you rather watch some movies or something?" Steve gave you options, and none of them included leaving you alone. "Dustin and Mike are here, too. I can call Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Max... Anybody you want around. We all talk if you want, or we can order a bunch of pizza and binge your favorite show on Netflix."

He rambled more and more options for you to choose from, proving that he would really do pretty much anything to comfort you in this moment. You sighed, but a real smile actually seemed to form on your lips - albeit small, but it was there.

"I think... I'm really tired, Steve..." you confessed, really only wanting to sleep. Steve frowned a little.

"Let's get you to bed, then," he rubbed circles on the back of your hand soothingly. "I'll let the boys know. They won't mind playing some video games or something while we take a nap."

"We...?" you questioned hesitantly, suddenly feeling a bit nervous, but too tired to care enough.

"If that's alright with you? I'm a little sleepy too," he smiled gently.

You only nodded in response.

He'd assumed you didn't really want to talk to Dustin or Mike right now, and that assumption was correct, so he went to update them on the situation and they both understood.

When Steve returned to the bathroom, he helped you down from the counter and lead you to your room, practically tucking you in. He climbed into the bed next to you and the two of you faced each other.

"I think you're fantastic," he said to you, "and you mean a lot to me. You mean a lot to all of us. Especially Dustin," he smiled. "That boy would die for you in a heartbeat."

You frowned slightly, taking in his words as much as possible as your eyes got heavier. "I'm sorry," you apologized.

"No, love, don't apologize. You've got nothing to be sorry for. Pinky promise."

It was a joke between the two of you. The first time you really spoke to each other, you made him pinky promise to keep his end of a bargain - you buy the drinks and he doesn't talk about his hair for the rest of the week. It was funny, and neither of you expected it to mean anything, but it stuck.

"Okay," you smiled at him.

"There's that beautiful smile," Steve tucked your hair behind your ear, careful not to startle you.

"We need you here," he finally began, "you light up the room every time. You're our light. You're funny and kind. You're amazing. You've gone through so so much. You're allowed to be sad. To cry. But please, talk to us when you need to. Please stay."

Steve's words resonated with you, so much so that a small tear escaped from the corner of your eye. "Okay," you repeated from the last time.

And before he could say anything else, your eyes closed and you were asleep.

With him there, you finally got a genuinely good sleep for the first time in a long while.

When you finally woke up from your nap, Steve wasn't in the bed anymore. You frowned slightly, until you heard his voice bantering with Mike and Dustin's in the living room. A sigh escaped your lips as you rolled out of the bed and headed into the living room.

Dustin was the first to notice, not bothering to pause whatever video game was on the TV as he dashed towards you. His arms wrapped around you immediately, "you're awake!!"

A small smile formed on your lips as you pat his head and hugged him back, "I'm awake."

"I love you so much," Dustin mumbled against your shoulder, tightening his grip on you. "Please stay."

Your hug tightened around him this time before you pulled away and looked into his eyes, "I'm not going anywhere, Dustin."

Mike stared from afar, his attention on you and making sure you were okay had occupied his mind, any attention towards the video game he was playing with Dustin was lost.

Steve made his way over to you, Dustin going back to the couch to let the two of you speak. "How are you feeling?" Steve questioned.

"I don't know," you admitted, "but I finally got some actual sleep for the first time in a while." A weak chuckle escaped your lips.

"That's good..." Steve ran his fingers through his hair, "you know, uh... well, Dustin isn't the only one who really needs you here. I mean, Mike was lost trying to process what had happened... he was terrified. And, well, I..." he stopped himself there, inhaling deeply and averting his eyes from yours to the ground.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, his eyes meeting yours again as he continued, "I can't lose you."

Your breath caught in your throat as you studied his eyes and took the time to process what Steve had just told you.

Before you could say anything, he continued his words in a frantic effort to explain himself, "I, uh, I know we weren't ever very close.. I mean, before I started hanging out with your brother, I was... kinda a shitty dude," he let out a breathy chuckle, "and you were so shy, you hung out with Eddie, who didn't exactly get along with my clique, and..." he paused, letting out a deep sigh before continuing his ramble, "what I mean to say is, letting Dustin drag me to your house that night to help him explain all of this upside down shit to you... Well, it led me to you, so..."

You raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curved upwards, fully understanding what he was saying, but teased him anyways. "So....?" You pushed for him to finish what he was saying.

"So, I guess maybe I should thank the little shit," a breathy laugh escaped his lips as he joked with you.

You giggled quietly and put both of your hands on either side of his face, locking eye contact with him. Judging by the way your cheeks burned, the blush on your face was prevalent, you were sure. His left hand went to your waist, pulling you in a little closer as his right hand gently curved around the back of your neck.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nodded in response, "Yes," you whispered.

He leaned down and brought his lips to yours, kissing you slowly. He had to force himself to break the kiss before he was in too deep to stop, the closed-lip, dopey smile on his face as he looked at you would have made you think that he was in love with you, if you didn't know better.

Or maybe, you were on the right track. Either way, you knew you had a friend in him, and everybody that you cared about truly did care about you, too. You finally felt safe for the first time in a very long time.

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