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tartarusknight · 1 year

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5 times Steve had to prove he was worth love + 1 time someone just loved him without needing him to.

_1_

I've been falling much more deep Than I wanna I've been wishing I could breathe Underwater I hold my breath I can't see what comes next I don't know when I'll see dry land again

__Nancy and Jonathan__

His relationship with Nancy had been blooming. It had made him feel giddy whenever he thought about it. He had been striving to prove himself to her. That he loved her. That he wasn’t just some stupid guy working his way through the girls in Hawkins High.

But all of it was over now.

Steve had seen Nancy with Jonathan’s arm around her. He had seen a moment that he wasn’t meant to see and felt the ground crumble underneath him. Any thoughts about the kind Nancy Wheeler, the one who looked at him with adorably innocent eyes, were gone. He had stumbled down and did what he did best. Put on a fake emotion to hide what he was feeling.

The crushing hurt, the heartbreak. It all was masked under annoyance that turned into anger as Tommy and Carol stood by him. Those feelings had stuck with him until he was on the ground, Jonathan straddling him. The anger died then. Too much guilt mixed with the hurt until he was telling Tommy and Carol to fuck off in a desperate attempt to prove that he wasn’t the type of person who’d do what he just did.

He had gone home and had begged for someone, anyone, to show him how to be good. Steve had known that Tommy and Carol weren’t good, that they weren’t kind. But was he? No, no he was an asshole and he knew it. That’s why he hadn’t let himself simmer in the quiet house. It’s why he had turned on his car and driven to the Byer’s house.

He had seen the Christmas lights through the window before he knocked. “Jonathan? Are you there, man? It’s Steve! Listen I just want to talk!” He shouted through the closed door. He paused before knocking once more. Except it wasn’t Jonathan but Nancy who opened the door. “Hey, uh, Nancy?” He felt his heart drop. He had gone to Jonathan’s first because it would be simpler. Apologizing to Nancy would be harder and he wasn’t ready to see her disappointment.

“Steve, listen to me, you need to leave.” She ordered, her voice not leaving any room for arguments but Steve needed to fight this.

He put his hand up, “no, no, I’m not here to start anything, okay?”

She rolled her eyes, “I don’t care about that.” And she looked completely annoyed. It made Steve want to crawl into a hole and die if he was honest. “You need to leave, right now.”

“No, no, no, I- I- I messed up, okay? I messed up.” He said, unsure of what to say to her. Of how to start the conversation. “Really, please, I just want to make things right.” His voice quieted and her eyes softened, leaving only worry behind.

But that made him worry. Because why was she worried? Then he saw her hand and everything became worse. “Wh- Hey, what happened to your hand?” His voice went so soft that it surprised him. He reached out to touch her but she pulled away. “Is that blood?”

“Nothing, it was an accident.” She stammered and he could see the lie in her face.

And it didn’t matter if she didn’t like him how he liked her. He could still be there for her. “What’s going on?” He asked, desperately hoping she’d let him in.

But her face went stony, “nothing.”

As she glanced back into the house his worries grew. He remembered hearing about how Lonnie Byers was a violent man. How he never treated those he loved well but how Lonnie was still seen as a good person. Steve had never understood and now, standing here he wondered if Jonathan was the same way. Steve already knew he packed a mean punch. “Wait a sec. Did he do this to you?”

Her eyes grew wide and worried, “no.” It was sharper this time and Steve thought understood what she was worried about.

“Nancy, let me in!” He pushed his way through and froze at the sight of everything around him. “What is… what the f-” he murmured as he noticed Christmas lights around everything. A baseball bat with nails hammered into it.

Jonathan moved fast and shoved at him. “You need to get out of here.” Jonathan’s voice was dark and he pushed Steve towards the door. But it only made Steve’s eyes catch on the matching bandage. “Listen to me. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, get out of here!”

“What is this? What is that smell?” He was starting to panic and as he glanced around. “Is that- is that gasoline?”

As he struggles against Jonathan he glances at Nancy. “Steve,” she snaps and he hears the cock of a gun as she points a pistol at him. “Get out!”

Jonathan backs off of him to get out of the line of fire and Steve’s unsure of everything now. “What? What is going on!”

Nancy doesn’t look completely confident but that isn’t comforting. “You have five seconds to get out of here.” She snaps and he waves his hands frantically around himself.

“Okay, is this a joke? Stop. Put the gun down.” He tries and the lights flair to life around them.

“I’m doing this for you,” she says and actually looks guilty about it all. Like she wasn’t aiming a gun at him.

Jonathan’s trying to get her attention as he tries to get a sense of what was happening. Nancy counting down like she’s ready to shoot him if he doesn’t leave. “Nancy! The lights!” Jonathan shouts and it’s the first time Steve’s heard him yell. “It’s here,” Jonathan stumbles to the nail bat.

“Wait, what’s here?” He questions but they don’t pay him any attention. They are watching the walls like something was going to jump out at them. “Hello? Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going-”

He’s cut off by the ceiling caving in. Not just caving in. But it’s like something was breaking through. A white creature that Nancy aims and shoots at quickly. It steals Steve’s breath away and he’s sure he’s about to die. He vaguely watches Jonathan pull Nancy back just as the creature hits the ground, snarling at them. “Get out of here!” Jonathan grabs his hand and pulls him along. “Jump!” Jonathan warns and Steve barely sees the bear trap in time. He just runs after the other two listening to the creature roar behind him.

But the silence was worse. It made his panic bubble and explode because there was a monster that broke through the ceiling. Except now the ceiling was fixed and he’s wondering if accidentally smoked some back weed. And as Nancy snaps at him to just leave, he listens. He stumbles out to the car and drops his keys in his panic.

Then his door is open and he’s looking back at the house. God, he just wanted to apologize. He didn’t need this shit. But then the lights are flickering. He thinks of Nancy’s worry and how they were determined to fight this thing. “Jonathan!” Maybe he’s an asshole but he can’t let them face it alone. He runs back in at the sound of gunfire and snarling. Seeing Jonathan on the ground, the nail bat just a few feet from him. Nancy back away from the creature that was moving towards her.

He doesn’t know if Jonathan’s hurt but right now, Nancy’s okay and he’ll keep it that way. Steve picks up the bat and jumps between Nancy and the creature as Nancy’s gun clicks again and again. He smacks it hard and moves to keep it away from the other two. He knew they needed it in the bear trap. So, he was determined to force it into the bear trap. Swing, move, dodge. The thing's long arms almost hit him as he has to get in close to hit the damn thing.

It feels like a life time until he hears the clang of the metal and watches it falter from the bite of the bear trap. “He’s in the trap! He’s stuck!” He shouts.

Nancy moved next to him, “Jonathan now!” She yells and Steve’s relieved to see Jonathan up and moving. He tosses his lighter onto the gasoline he had smelled and the creature went up in flames. But as Jonathan puts out the fire and the smoke clears, the creature is gone.

Steve swears under his breath but then the lights are back on. He stays in front of them and but the lights stay gentle. Just a glow instead of the intense flashing and as Jonathan whispers, “mom?” Steve lets him in front. He has no clue what’s happening but Jonathan looks relaxed.

They stand there for a moment before Steve feels a hand grip his arm. He glances down at Nancy and she gives him a watery smile. She mouths ‘thank you’ and he just nods. He lets them head inside and for a moment he thinks about leaving again, but he pushes that aside. He just leans against the wall out there, letting it wash over him.

And later as they get the call about Will, he offers to drive. Jonathan packs a few things for Will before they both get into his back seat. He drives faster than normal but it’s not the biggest worry in his mind. As they get there and they stumble out, they pause. “You saved my life,” Jonathan says softly and Steve’s unsure what to say.

He swallows, “yeah, well, I figured I owed you one… and well that was a better apology than anything I could’ve said.” They looked shocked for a moment before he smiles, “go see your brother, man. You deserve it,” he grins and Jonathan nods, jogging towards the hospital.

“You’re a better man than I thought you were, Steve Harrington.” Nancy smiles and Steve blinks. “Keep going like this and I might just think you’re a good one.” She murmurs and he thinks maybe he can prove that he is good. She nods to the building and he’s about to say no when Nancy grabs his hand. “Keep proving it to me?”

Steve shuts the door to his car and locks it. “Yeah, I can do that.”

_2_

Another 40 days I'm lost at sea I'm just gonna swim until you love me Hoping that your heart will rescue me I'm just gonna swim until you love me Swim until you love me Swim, swim, swim, swim until you love me Swim, swim, swim.

__Dustin and Lucas__

Steve knows he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But at the same time, he was in the right place at the right time. Because as he sits in the junkyard school bus with Dustin, Lucas, and Max, he knows they’re better off because he’s here. Sure, they’re not completely safe. Sure, there are better people they could’ve gotten. And sure, he probably lost his chance with Nancy. But right now, he’s protecting these little shits with all his heart.

A painfully familiar sound cuts through the air and he’s up on his feet before he can really think about it. Looking out into the fog and feels dread in his bones. “10 o’clock! 10 o’clock!” Lucas’s voice goes up in pitch and Steve knows the kid is scared. Hell, Steve’s terrified. But he looks out and points out the monster to Dustin. For a moment he’s just glad it’s not 7 feet tall this time.

But then that little bit of relief dies because “he’s not taking the bait. Why isn’t he taking the bait?” He questions and there’s a sinking feeling in his chest.

Dustin glances at him and he looks confused too. “Maybe he’s not hungry.” He says softly and something clicks in his mind. And he knows that him just being here won’t be enough, but he has to try.

“Maybe he’s sick of cow.” He backs up from the window and it takes a second to completely hit him. But he knows what he has to do. He steels himself and heads to the door.

“Steve?” Dustin moves like he’s going to follow him but then he stops like he can’t move any further. Steve thought back to school when they taught flight or fight. The response to fear… no one ever talked about freezing up. But it happened to everyone. “Steve, what are you doing?” There’s worry in his tone but Steve knows he has to protect these goddamn kids. “Steve?”

He looks back to Dustin and pulls out his lighter, “Just get ready.” He says and tosses the lighter before he heads out the door.

He hears the door shut behind him and he feels something settle in his chest. He was helping. He was proving to these kids that he could help them. So, he whistles and calls out for the dog-looking creature as he gets up to the pile of meat. “Human taste better than cat, I promise.” He says before the fog clears just enough that can see the thing.

“Steve! Watch out!” Lucas shrieks like Steve wasn’t already completely focused on the target.

He huffs and swings the bat a little, “a little busy here.” He calls back.

But then Lucas says something that makes his entire body flood with fear. “3 o’clock! 3 o’clock!” The thing in front of him hasn’t moved. So, as he glances over and sees 2 more, his panic builds.

Dustin’s calling his name and Steve hopes he won’t get murdered in front of a bunch of middle schoolers. “Abort, abort!” Dustin yells but then the thing is growling at him.

He turns his focus back on the creatures and all at once they rush toward him. He dodges the first, rolls over the hood of a car to dodge the second, and hits the third with his bat. He takes the moment to turn and run. Everything in his body screamed at him to move faster, to be faster. They snarl behind him and all the kids are at the door waiting for him as he jumps in. Slamming it shut and holding it there with his legs. Thankful that he doesn’t skip leg day.

He puts a piece of metal in front of the door as the kids devolve into panicked chatter. It makes him think of his own freaked-out yells back at the Byers’. The whole bus rocks as they slam into it and Steve looks at these three kids. But then one is clawing through. He takes his bat to it repeatedly as the kids back up. Except then things are surrounding the bus and Steve’s not sure he has this under control.

He hears one get onto the roof followed by Max’s screams. He shoves Max out of the way as quickly as he can. Putting himself between him and the damn thing. Once again putting himself between someone and a monster. It roars and the flower petal mouth brings up all the worst memories. But then as the bus rocks one last time the things run off. He’s shaking as it gets so quiet so quickly. Then kids all stand up and look around the best they can through the slots of metal. “What happened?” Lucas asked.

“I don’t know,” Max mutters and she sounds shaken.

“Steve scared ‘em off?” Dustin offered.

Steve shook his head, “no. No way. They’re going somewhere.” He looks back at them, and they all look scared.

They all stand there for a minute and Steve lets the bat hit the ground. However, he’s surprised by Dustin barreling into him. He’s unprepared for the hug and he stands there shocked for a long moment before Dustin pulls back. “You were going to die for us.”

Steve raises an eyebrow to hide the emotions inside, “I mean I was gonna try to live.” He drawls and Dustin smiles up at him.

“The Steve Harrington was willing to die for me.” Dustin is grinning now and Steve rolls his eyes. Steve reaches out and ruffles his hair the best he could with the hat on his head. “Guess your not just a douchebag... suppose I should keep you around.”

Steve snorts, “well I am your ride. Come on, let's get moving.” He calls out and watches Lucas and Max snap out of whatever moment they were having.

_3_

I've been drowning in these sheets Feeling lonely Wishing you were here with me Every morning Over my head The tide comes rolling in I don't know when I'll see dry land again.

__Hopper, Joyce, Mike, and Max__

Steve leans against the wall on the floor of the Byers’ house. His vision is wobbly but he keeps his eyes on the unconscious form of Billy Hargrove. The kids are all around him and he’s got Dustin under one of his arms. Mike is sitting mostly by himself, eyes trained on the door. Max is on Steve’s other side, not touching but not too far away and Lucas was on her other side. All of them were exhausted but unwilling to fall asleep before they learned if they were successful today. If they won or lost.

“I’m sorry,” Max breaks the silence and Steve drags his eyes away from Billy. He looks at her but she isn’t looking at him. Her eyes on trained on her lap and he wonders if she’s talking to him or someone else. “If I hadn’t been here you wouldn’t have- Billy wouldn’t have-” she starts and Steve knows the other kids are staring.

He just reaches out and pulls her so she’s tucked under his other arm. “It’s fine. I’ve been wanting to punch him since I met him.” He grins down at her and she has a slight smile on her face.

He’s starting to struggle to stay awake but he has all the kids next to him. Well, not all. “Mike,” he says and the boy glances over. “Get over here,” he huffs and Mike blinks like he’s surprised. “Come on, over here.” He jerks his head to Dustin but it makes everything a blur. He has to freeze, his entire body tensing up. But once he’s back into his body, Mike’s on Dustin’s other side. All of them together. Steve’s hands are on Lucas and Mike’s shoulders while Dustin and Max curl up into his torso. Steve notices one by one the kids falling asleep and he’s glad. They needed it. He would love to sleep but he forces himself to keep an eye on Billy and the door.

They stay that way until the door opens and Joyce comes in. She’s holding the door as Jonathan and Nancy support Will. None of the kids move a muscle and Joyce goes quiet when she spots them. He gives her a tired smile but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t know if he could with Max and Dustin holding onto him. They disappear down the hall but Nancy reappears. She pauses and looks at him. He smiles back, “done?” He mouths and she nods.

She jerks her thumb at the knocked-out Billy and Steve just mouths, “Drugs.”

Nancy’s mouth twitches like she’s stopping a smile from forming on her face. “You alright?” She mouths to him and he gives her a weak smile in return. Eventually, she disappears again and Steve tries to rest his head against the wall but it makes his head burn. So, he just keeps his eyes trained on the chaos. Soon enough, Nancy and Jonathan reappear and they struggle to pull Billy out of the house. Steve would help but he knew he wouldn’t be much help.

When she gets back, Jonathan gives her hand a squeeze before he’s heading back toward where his brother and mom are. Then Nancy’s moving over to Steve and the kids. She moves and sits down next to Mike. Her arm wraps around Mike and the kid doesn’t wake, just leans into her. They stay in silence and Steve feels himself nodding off.

He’s not sure if he actually falls asleep but he jerks into awareness when Hopper gets back with El. El’s in his arms and Steve’s instantly worried. However, as she’s lowered onto the couch, Hopper notices him. “She’s just tired,” he says softly and Steve relaxes slightly. But he isn’t the only one who woke up to Hopper’s return. The kids all seem to awake and then they're talking. Nancy tells them Will’s okay as Hopper does the same for El.

It’s loud and Steve can’t seem to move from his spot on the ground. He hears Nancy talk about what happened and the kids tell the others what happened on their side. But then it goes quiet. He barely even noticed until he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Hmm?” He questions and blinks to see Hopper looking him over. “Lookin’ at m’pretty face?” His words feel slurred and he knows that’s not the best, but he’s too tired to worry.

“Did anyone look you over?” Hopper questions and Steve snorts. It makes his nose burn and he lets his eyes close.

“Kids bandaged me up,” he jokes. Referring to the colorful bandages they slapped on him before they went into the tunnels.

“Steve let’s get you up,” Hopper orders and Steve groans.

Hopper’s hands try to help him but each move makes his brain swirl like a soup bowl. “No, m‘fine here. M’dizzy,” He groans but then Nancy’s also helping him to his feet. As soon as he’s on his feet his stomach rebels and he gags. Suddenly he’s moving fast with the other two helping out the door. He heaves the small amount of shit he’s eaten that day onto the lawn.

“I’m gonna drive him to the hospital,” Hopper states, and Steve whines. “No, it’s not an option kid. Keep an eye on the kids.”

“Is he going to be, okay?” Max questions.

“He was fine earlier,” Dustin says nervously.

Steve lets himself be manhandled toward the truck. “Adrenaline probably’s worn off. I’m sure he’s fine,” Hopper assures and Steve nods in agreement. It makes the older man snort. “Come on,” he orders and Steve gets some help getting into the truck.

As Hopper drives, Steve just leans against the window. “Kid, I want you to stay awake. I’m no doctor, but even I know it’s not good to sleep with a head injury.” Hopper states and Steve groans. “Shh, I don’t care, just listen to me.”

Steve hums, “I already slept.” He groans and Hopper huffs. He looks over and Hopper’s face is a mess of emotions. “M’sorry about tunnels.”

Hopper looked over and he had something on his face, but it wasn’t anger. “Kid… I know it wasn’t your idea about the tunnels. Just thank you for keeping an eye on them. Joyce and I really appreciate it… You’re a good kid.” He says and Steve blinks, feeling tears welling up.

Hopper clears his throat, “And well, I know you were trouble in the past. Parties, alcohol, fights… But you’ve really stepped it up. You’re becoming a role model these kids need.” Steve looked down at his hands and everything was blurry. Whether it was tears or just dizziness he didn’t know. “That’s why you’re going to be fine. Cause you have to be,” Hopper’s voice is gruff and Steve gives him a jerky nod before he sinks into the seat of the truck. “So, stay awake.” Steve nods but his eyes shut anyways.

_4_

Another 40 days I'm lost at sea I'm just gonna swim until you love me Hoping that your heart will rescue me I'm just gonna swim until you love me Swim until you love me Swim, swim, swim. Swim until you love me Swim, swim, swim.

__Robin__

Steve had his back to Robin, tied to each other, to chairs. Knocked over laying on the ground. He felt like shit but he couldn’t really focus on that right now. Not when there were problems at hand. “Robin, are you laughing?” He groans and she continues to laugh.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” she laughs but then tries to calm herself. “It’s just- I can’t believe I’m gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. It’s just too trippy man.” She starts laughing again and he lets his head rest on the cool tile.

“We’re not gonna die,” he says but it’s a lie. He can’t think of a single way they're making it out of here. That’s why he tried to stay behind alone. But once again he wasn’t strong enough.

First, it was running away from the Demogorgon. Then Max came in to save his ass. And now it was how he couldn’t even block a door by himself. It was pathetic… he tries to stay positive and tries to think but then Robin’s still talking. Not an escape plan that would probably fail but about sophomore history class. “I sat behind you 2 days a week for a year. Mister funny. Mister cool. The king of Hawkins High himself.” She makes it harder to breathe as her tone goes darker.

“Do you even remember me from that class?” She asks but they both know the answer. He sits in his self-hatred as she scoffs, “Of course, you don’t. You were a real asshole, you know that?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer, “Yeah, I know.”

She swallows, “But it didn’t even matter- it didn’t matter that you were an ass. I was still obsessed with you. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular. Accepted. Normal.”

Steve feels like he might break down if he lets her continue. But he knows the right thing to do is let her tell him off. He can’t bury the past. He can’t pretend he wasn’t an asshole. She had every right to bring it up. “If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great.” He admits and tries to hide the emotion swirling in his chest, “Seriously. It just baffles me… everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about, it's all just…” A small laugh escapes him, full of pain. Seeing Nancy’s righteous fury as she looked up at him and said “Bullshit.”

He feels exhausted and sighs, “but I guess you’ve got to mess up to figure things out, right?”

She shifts a little to lean more against him and the closeness makes it a little easier. “I hope so, I feel like my whole life has been… one big error.” She laughs and so does he, even though it’s sadder than funny. Maybe in a better world, they’d be able to laugh about this, years down the line. But the truth was, Steve, expected to die here and he knew Robin did too. Even as they dream about meeting each other earlier. As they wish they never learned about the Russians under their feet.

“Gotta say though, I liked being your schmuck,” he chuckled. In a better world, Steve could’ve proved himself in a different way. But in the end, he’s never really been able to prove himself outside of life-and-death situations. Destined to be alone or never able to truly relax because the next near-death experience will bring another person into his life. He sits there and for this moment… he wanted to be her shmuck. “It was fun while it lasted.”

Robin’s shoulder presses into his and it’s a comfort, “it was.”

***

Steve had sat in his house all alone after getting home. After Russian torture, Monsters, doctors, and government cover-ups. He had taken a shower and curled up on his couch until the sun rose into the sky. Still, he didn’t move. He didn’t know if he had the energy anymore. He had gotten checked over but his brain was too scrambled to really know how he was supposed to do to take care of himself. He was just too exhausted from it all.

Yet around noon, a knock came on his door. He didn’t move until whoever it was knocked again. He pushed himself up and groaned at the movement. When he opened the door, it was to Robin. She stood there in a Madonna tee and baggy shorts. “Hey,” she murmurs and he steps aside to let her in. He walks back to the couch and lowers himself with a groan. “Are you taking any pain medication?” She questions and he glances over to the bag on the coffee table, full of everything they gave him.

He sighs, “Mostly just trying to lay here until I either heal or die.” He smirks and she smiles back at him.

But then she grabs the back and digs through it. Reading a pamphlet and organizing the few bottles on the table. “Steve,” she says and he glanced over here. “You’re not okay, are you?”

Steve sighs and looks back up at the ceiling. “No, I’m really not.”

She’s quiet but then she’s shifting until she is laying down as well. Her head by his, their feet dangling over the side of the couch. “What- why are you here?” He can’t help but ask as they fall into a comfortable silence.

Robin doesn't say anything for a long moment and Steve’s just about to take it back when she sighs. “I told you my deepest, darkest secret…”

Steve shifts his head and looks at her. She turns hers and their faces are inches apart. “Just because I was high doesn’t mean my opinion’s changed, Robin. You like boobies, big deal. So do I…” he pauses and looks back up at the ceiling.

He clears his throat, “I mean I don’t get it. Not really. Never seeing someone as attractive. Like seriously, some guys are ridiculously attractive.” He shrugs, “but to each your own.”

Robin sucks in sharply and Steve winces as she sits up quickly. But she’s not moving away from him. Instead, she’s on her elbows, hovering over him and forcing eye contact. Her face is completely serious, “Steve Harrington, did you just… come out to me?”

He frowns, “I guess.”

Her expression melts into a grin. “You know, for someone who was an asshole, you’ve got a lot of depth.”

“Is that any way to talk to your best friend?” He jokes and she looks so happy at his words.

She shrugs a little and shifts to lie back down next to him. “Ehh, you’ve proved to me that you’re not… you’re a surprisingly good person.”

He lets his eyes close at her words, “thanks I guess.”

“It’s a compliment!” She promises and he nods, letting the words sink in. They settle just like all of the others before.

_5_

I will never get over you.

Another 40 days I'm lost at sea I'm just gonna swim until you love me Hoping that your heart will rescue me I'm just gonna swim until you love me.

__Eddie__

Steve walked side by side with Eddie through the Upside Down. “I guess I couldn’t accept the fact the Steeeve Harrington was actually… a good dude.” Steve looks to the ground, feeling that old familiar feeling stir in his chest. But Eddie had every right to hold those grudges. Steve didn’t know if he ever actually did anything to the guy, but he probably didn’t stop anything either. “Rich parents, popular, chicks love him. Not a douche? No way, man. No way. That like, flies in the face of all the laws in the universe and my own personal Munson doctrine,” Eddie says.

And Steve thinks, maybe he was doomed to be an asshole from the start. Maybe it was just who he was meant to be. Thinking about it, it makes sense. Maybe no matter how much he proves himself, he’ll still be a rich kid who peaked in high school. No matter how much growth, he’d always have that obstacle to overcome.

Then Eddie leaned in closer, so close that Steve had to lean back a little to stop them from touching. “Still super jealous as hell, by the way.” He grins at Steve and Steve can’t help but smile back. Even in this hellscape with his head foggy from pain and the world blurry after he pulled out his ruined contacts after he faced yet another near-death experience… he smiles back. Eddie’s got a good smile, a nice smile.

Steve bumped him back and swallowed back the emotions swirling through him. “That’s why I would’ve never jumped in to save your ass. Not under any, uh… normal circumstances.” Eddie just kept talking, walking right next to him. There’s a noise off to the right and Steve directs the flashlight in that direction, but it’s just more of the decaying landscape. Eddie looks scared for a moment as they stop talking. It makes Steve want to ask him to keep talking. To keep filling the space between them…

Eddie cleared his throat like he heard Steve’s silent prayers. But maybe Eddie needed to fill the silence too. “Nope, outside of d&d I am no hero. I see danger and I just turn heel and run. Or at least that’s what I’ve learned about myself this week.” He says, sounding so guilty that Steve could taste it.

Steve can’t stop himself before he pats Eddie’s chest. “Give yourself a break, man. We all run the first time,” he states and his words seem to hit Eddie.

“You’re telling me that, you, Steve Harrington, the man who just bit one of these creatures, ran the first time,” Eddie says and his voice is so unbelieving that Steve can’t help but snort.

He looks over and knocks their shoulders together. “Yeah, I did,” he sighs. He pictures running from Jonathan, Tommy, and the Demogorgon. He thinks of how he avoided Billy, his parents, and anything about the Upside Down. But then he remembers going to help Dustin figure out the Russians, getting them out of the elevator, knocking out the guard, holding the door, taking the hits… Steve learned to push past his own cowardice.

Steve sighs, “Eddie, you ran and it’s okay. Jesus, it’s okay to run from this shit. Sometimes running means, you live.” He states, picturing all of the people who died fighting. Billy comes to mind. The guy holding his ground. Planting his feet and facing the monster for them. Dying painfully in Max’s arms.

“Sometimes running means someone else dies,” Eddie says and Steve looks over at him. The bags under his eyes. The haunted look that was, no doubt, reflected on his own face.

He looks at the ground, “the first time this stuff happened… someone died in my backyard. She was there for a party and while I was upstairs fucking her best friend, she was being torn apart. I didn’t run, I didn’t fight, man, I didn’t even know it happened. Once again my ability to stand off to the side of everything, got someone hurt... She was there for a party I threw after a kid went missing and I didn’t even care that she was missing the next day.” Steve rambled and felt the old guilt building up. “I was too worried about my parents and- Nancy was right it was bullshit.”

Steve looks over at Eddie, he looks surprised and Steve gives him a small smile. “So, sure, you ran but at least you tried to save her. And I get that it’s easier to blame yourself than to feel like you couldn’t have done anything to save her. But don’t go and do something stupid to make up for it.” His voice goes quiet and Steve glances down at his bandages that were slowly turning red. “Cause dying isn’t going to bring her back.”

Eddie clears his throat, “wow. I- uh, you’re surprisingly wise, man.” He sounds emotional and unsure of himself.

Steve sighs, “nah. I just graduated.” He teases and gets a shove for it. He laughs and Eddie snorts like he couldn’t believe him. He’s got a small smile on his face and he rolls his eyes at Steve. It’s lighthearted and it makes this hellscape feel a little bit lighter.

They fall into silence and Steve breaks it. “But just, thanks for coming in after me.”

Eddie shakes his head, “I was too damn ashamed to be the one who stayed behind. Those ladies, they jumped right in after you. They didn’t waste a second. Didn’t even hesitate.” Steve blinks and looks ahead at the girls. “I don’t know what happened between you and Wheeler or what your deal with Buckley is, but… you’ve got two ladies who are willing to die for you. That’s love... It’s a sign of love if I’ve ever seen it.”

Steve blinks and then he sighs, “Honestly, I would’ve rather you guys run than dive in after me.”

Eddie moves to grab his shoulder, making them pause. He looks back at Eddie, raising an eyebrow. “Well, sucks, man. We came in after you. And now you have to deal with us.”

It makes Steve smile, “trauma bonds us, huh?”

Eddie laughs, “Yeah, Harrington. You got a friend today because of this shit.” It’s not a surprise to Steve. He always seems to get friends from this shit.

“Okay, Munson, sounds like a plan.” Before they can say anymore the earth shakes and Steve holds onto Eddie. They keep each other up as Robin yells for Nancy to come back.

_+1_

Swim until you love me Swim, swim, swim. Swim until you love me Swim, swim, swim.

I will never get over you.

__Eleven__

Steve didn’t have the same childhood as others did. He spent most of his childhood in the back of a car or on a plane. Moving everywhere with his busy parents. He spent more time in a hotel room with his mom than time in his actual house. His mom would put something in front of him and then she’d put as much distance as she could between them.

Once he started school it changed. His mom brought him home and he got used to staying in one place. He met other kids and adults who actually liked their kids. But as he grew up, he began to understand what he had missed all his life.

You’re told that from the minute you’re born, your parents love you. But Steve knew that wasn’t the truth. Just like everyone else, you had to prove yourself to them. Just like a teacher, you had to prove that you were good enough to be loved by them.

And as Steve grew up, he joined sports, played piano to make his mom smile, he learned to use his words to charm everyone. But his parents never believed his charm. It was never enough. Steve was never enough. Eventually not even his mom stayed home with him. It was just Steve in that house. He had tried and tried to be who they wanted but it was never enough. So, he started to act out. He did stupid shit just so they would come home. Even though it was only ever for an argument.

He wanted to prove that he was enough. That he was worth their love. But he never managed it. Over time he learned that was okay. He’ll never prove himself to them, but he can keep proving himself to the family he got through pain and bloodshed. The people he was able to show his love to. The people that were able to love him regardless of his faults.

He drove the kids everywhere they wanted to go. He looked after them so Joyce and Hopper could have a night out. He listened to Robin and supported her through her developing feelings for Nancy. He held Nancy after she and Jonathan broke up. Told her about bisexuality and gently pushed her and Robin closer. He distracted everyone to give Jonathan time to sneak out with Argyle so they could go relax. He sat next to Max’s bed so Lucas and Erica could go get some rest. He talked to Max quietly as she woke up disoriented and sore. He sat with Wayne next to Eddie after the idiot still went to prove himself. He volunteered at the school and pushed himself as much as he could to be the person everyone needed. There was no time to be anything less.

Still, he couldn’t stop the way his body was slowing down. He hadn’t been taking care of himself. How could he when everything else was so much more important? Instead, he said that he’d spend some time at the cabin with El who was once again in lockdown. He made his way through the forest and knocked the weird knock. The door swung open and El stood there looking tired but happy to see him. “Hey, kid,” He greets and heads inside.

“Hello,” she says softly back. It’s shy but kind. It’s expected. Steve hasn’t hung around El too much and never alone. He only really knew her through stories from the others.

“So, what do you want to do? What do you normally do? I uh- I’m not uh…” He trailed off as she grabbed a bowl of already-made popcorn and pulled him over to the couch.

She looked over at him with those big eyes of hers. “I do not have lots of experience with hangouts. Max and I…” she trailed off, her eyes growing watery. He shifts and pulls her into his side.

He clears his throat, “well, I have some. Robin and I do dumb shit together all the time.” He looked over at this girl who hadn’t really had a chance to be a teenage girl and hang out with other girls. Being surrounded by boys who weren’t going to teach her to lean into her feminine side.

He sucked in a sharp breath, “You deserve a girls' night and while I’m not a girl, I can do my best.” She looked confused as he stood up from the couch. He groaned as the movements made his bites pull. “Now, where is your nail polish? That always seems like a good start. I’m going into the kitchen to see what you have to make face masks.” She blinked up at him before her face cracked into a grin.

As he mixes up the oats, using the recipe Robin had told him oh so long ago. El moves around him, the movie long forgotten. “Alright, so I know the next step is talking about crushes and that shit.” He states twirling around to look at El. He easily applies it to her face and he pulled his hair into a half up/half down to keep it out of the mask. “Everything we say is safe and stays within the girl night.” He grins, leaning into overdramatic just so she’ll laugh.

“I uh, broke up with Mike.” She admits and Steve leans over to take a hand of hers to start applying the soft yellow polish.

He hums, “and how are you feeling about it?”

Her mouth twists as she tries to find her words. “I think, I think it is good. But I still love him in a way.”

Steve nods, “love doesn’t just go away. When Nancy and I broke up I went insane. For months I was always upset but then I decided to sleep around to see if that would make me feel better. It didn’t so I don’t think you should go down that road.” He teases and she smiles at him. “But even now I love her. But it’s not romantic love anymore.” He shrugs and sticks his tongue out in concentration.

“I don’t think I love him in a romantic way. But knowing if you love someone in an uh," she paused and looked at him before slowly saying, "romantic(?) way is hard,” She sighs. He nods in agreement; it seems to get her to keep talking. “I thought I loved him in a romantic way but it feels like when I see Will. And Will is my brother… Max, I thought-” she cuts herself off with a sigh. “I thought I liked her but I am happy that she is with Lucas. They are quite cute together. I do not think I understand love.”

Steve pictures Eddie's big smile as he said, big boy. “Love is hard, but sometimes to figure out who you love you have to look at those you already understand.”

She looked confused and Steve smiles at her, moving to her other hand. “I loved Nancy, I know I did. But I understood that I liked men by comparing my feelings when she smiled at me too when a guy would get in my space. But I also thought I loved Robin until she fit firmly next to Dustin in my heart. And with Eddie he easily took up the space Nancy left behind.” He admits and her eyes are wide. “So take two people you know for sure and compare everyone else to them.” He says and she nods, brow pinched.

“Will is my brother, I do not want to kiss him.” She states, “Mike used to make me feel like…” she pulled her hands back and mimed shimming and grinning like a lunatic. He couldn’t help but laugh and she gave him her hand once again. “Lucas is like Will, I love him but I do not feel like that with him. Mike, as you said, left space in my heart. But he feels more like a friend.” She nods and he’s proud of how she sorts through people. She frowns, “Max makes me happy but I do not want to kiss her. I want her to be happy and I want to hang out with her.”

She frowns, “Dustin is my friend. He makes me happy. He makes me feel loved and strong.” She says softly, “I do not know… Steve?” She asks and she sounds so lost.

His heart hurts for her. “Kid, I can’t explain your feelings for someone. I just know that when someone makes you happy, you should hold onto them... With Robin, I think I could’ve lived with her the rest of my life. But then she turned me down. And now, it’s gross to even think about kissing her. She’s my sister,” he laughs and she grins at him. “With Nancy, she fell in love with someone when she was with me… our love faded and it couldn’t be helped. But I hold onto my love for them even now that it’s changed. Maybe one day you’ll know what category to put him in, maybe you won’t. But being around him will help that.”

El nods and Steve’s down with her nails. She waves them around to dry them. “I was happy that he was okay. He is nice,” she’s got a small blush on her face and he hopes that this time it would work out for her. “I am really glad he’s okay,” she says softly and takes the paint from him to start on his nails. He offers them easily, holding the bottle in his free hand for her.

Steve thinks about how Eddie’s blood dripped down his back as they carried him out of the Upside Down. “Fear is one way to kick start crushes.”

She nods, looking sad. “It is not fun,” she sighs and he knows that to be the truth.

They fall into silence as she focuses on his nails. But once she’s done she smiles at him and puts it away. They wash their faces and sit on the couch. He tosses a piece of popcorn and catches it easily. She watches him before attempting to do the same. They stay like that until she looks over at him. “I love you like a brother, like Jonathan.” She says and she makes it sound easy like it’s not a big deal.

It hits him because he’s never been through hell with her. They’ve always been in opposite roles and never once did he put himself in front of a monster for her. “You can’t,” he says softly.

“Steve,” El looks up at him with big eyes. She looks so innocent and it feels like he’s taking advantage of her naivety. She didn’t know that he was always meant to be an asshole. She didn’t understand that he had to prove himself. “You are… Joyce told me that you can say I love you to those you care about. Family, friends, anyone.” She says and she looks a little worried. “She told me that a brother does not have to be a real family member. It is about… being there for each other and caring. You are so kind; you care about us. So, you are our brother.”

Steve shakes his head, “but I- you barely know me, kid. I think you need to take a moment before you decide too quickly. I’m not- I’m not a good person.”

Her nose scrunches up, “you have only ever been kind to me.”

That makes him blink, “well, yeah. But I met you after I worked on becoming a better person. So, you just don’t know.”

El looks over at a picture of the party she pinned to the wall. “They told me you used to be an asshole.” She states and he waits for the words. But you’re better now. You’ve proved that you’ve changed. Instead, she shrugs, “I don’t see it. You have always been kind. You have not proven yourself to be an asshole.”

Steve feels his throat closing and shifts on the couch, “no. El you don’t understand, you have to prove to others that you're worth loving. You can’t just- you can’t just love me. I’m- you-” There’s something pulling in his chest and it’s like he can’t breathe.

“I think you are wrong. For a long time, I did not understand love. It felt wrong. Like a chain to those who demand things of you…” He can see how tense she is and hates that he’s the one making her think back to the lab. “Papa loved me because I proved him right because I was his. But Hop showed me that you can find love everywhere. It is good, it is… it is freedom.”

She looked up at him with determination. “Joyce told me that loving someone is being happy with them. If they make you smile. If they make you feel safe. And if you love freely, you will be happier. My love is free. I want to give you my love.” Steve choked on his tears and she hesitates before she reaches out and takes his hand, “Will you let me?”

“El, I-” he can’t spit out the words he just nods. El easily pulls him into a hug. Always so strong for someone so small.

She loved him even though he was made to be an asshole. She loved him without any hesitance. He cried openly, holding her tightly. She held him just as tight. “I love you too,” he promises and he can feel her smile.

#stranger things #hurt steve harrington #king steve #the party is a family #steve harrington needs a hug #steve harrington #eddie will never die in my stories #steddie is too good #steddie #based on swim by alec benjamin #music inspiration

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kookicat · 10 months

Text

Hair Braids and Bloody Bandages

They're worried, and it's making him uneasy under their gaze. Nate is the best at hiding it; head buried deep in Rucker's file, legs crossed, with one foot resting casually on his other knee. It'd fool the best, if that foot didn't keep twitching in a way that screams nervous energy. Eliot counts five twitches, feels his heart rate ramp up with each one and has to look away before number six, because there's already a coating of cool sweat starting to form on the curve of his spine. He downs the last of his beer, thinks about grabbing another and decides against it. He's already on his third, and the next day is going to suck enough without a hangover too.

Parker is busy picking the locks on a pair of battered wooden chests; Eliot isn't sure how or if they're relevant to the case, and he's not about to ask, because while she's busy with them, she's leaving him alone. She probably understands the best, because out of all of them, she's the only other one who regularly puts herself in physical danger to get the job done. The only one who relies on her body just as much as her mind. Her hands are steady, but there's a nasty little crease between her eyebrows that he doesn't like one bit. One chest clicks open, and she glances at him.

Eliot nods, tips his empty bottle at her, and forces a reassuring smile that he doesn't really feel. But even then, it's not like this. Not going in knowing she'll be bruised and bloody when she gets out, he thinks. Not knowing there's a damn fine line she has to walk, between selling the con and getting beaten to shit.

Sophie passes, neatly taking the empty beer bottle out of his hands and replacing it with a bottle of water that he doesn't really want, heading back to the couch she's claimed. She gets the same smile as Parker, the one that's carefully cultivated to hide the buzz of adrenaline dancing through him.

Sophie's the most anxious; her dislike of the sport clear and well stated, along with her opinion on Rucker. He opens the water, and she nods, once, before returning to the trashy romance novel she's pretending to read, though she hasn't turned a page in minutes. He's pretty sure she picked the book up at the airport on one of their jobs, and this is the first time she's even cracked the cover. The pages dance under her hands, and he realises that she's shaking. It makes him swallow hard, a sudden flare of nerves stealing his breath for a second before he gets his body back firmly under control.

Hardison is packing the ring bag with the same meticulous care he does everything, and something about the sight sends a quiver of nervous resignation through Eliot's gut. It’s the same feeling he used to get before deploying somewhere without a name, just a problem his squad needed to eliminate, on some foreign soil that's already soaked and stinking with blood.

Damn it, he thinks, and swipes his hands on his jeans. Not the first time I've taken a beating. Hell, it's not even the first time I've taken a dive, he thinks, but the nervous energy is only building. He glances at the clock, and knows the gym will be empty, because it's getting late.

"I'm going to the gym," he says and eases to his feet, almost flinching when they turn to look at him as one.

They're all talking at once, words mingling, but he catches their meaning easily. It’s touching, makes something deep in his chest go dangerously soft and tender and that’s the last thing he can afford to be, because the battle that’s coming can’t be won with kindness or compassion, just the penance of blood and bone-deep bruises. They know it as well as him, will be paying, even if the cost isn’t coming directly from their flesh.

"No, I'm fine," he says and makes himself smile. "I'll be back in a bit, don't worry." He wants to growl the words, but he can't do it, not while they're all looking at him like he's going to his execution in the morning. Like this might be the last time they see him.

Their eyes bore into his back all the way out of the door. He closes it quietly behind himself and tries not to sigh too loudly in relief. Love can be a burden as well as a blessing, and right now he’s feeling the weight heavy on his shoulders. Thank you, he thinks, sending it out to a God he’s not sure he still believes in, not after all the bad shit he’s seen and done. Still, he’s paying for that, a debt he’ll never repay in full, not that it’ll stop him from trying. Blood and sweat and pain are fine currencies, and ones he’s well versed in paying. Time to pay some more, he thinks, and heads towards the dark, rainy parking lot, and the gym beyond.

---

He doesn't bother flipping the main lights on in the gym; the moon is full and low, throwing enough light to illuminate the space as he moves through the jumble of equipment towards the changing room. The gym smells like sweat and effort, cut with the tang of leather and rosin. It's a familiar, comforting scent, loosens the tension in his shoulders, and by the time he reaches the changing room, he's feeling much steadier, the armour he spent years building firmly back in place. Like it or not, him and violence have an unbreakable and undeniable link, and he's been spending and receiving that particular coin for more of his life than not.

Putting himself on the line isn't anything new; he's been doing that since he was nine years old and big enough to get between his Pop's fist and his Mother's face. And yet, it is different, because he knows they're all blaming themselves for not finding a different way and that's the bit he's not used to, not used to people caring for him, past the skills he brings to the job and how capable of applying them he is at the right time. It’s disconcerting to realise they care for him as a person, that his wellbeing matters. He shakes his head, dismisses the thoughts, because they're the opposite of helpful and to pull this off, to keep the balance right and not walk away too broken, he needs all the focus he can get.

He strips off his hoodie and hangs it neatly, bending to take off his shoes. He's only sparring, so he doesn't feel the need to tape his feet, and he wants to feel the mat under them, get his bearings on any soft or slippery spots. Hair tangles around his fingers as he scrapes it back and he pauses, letting it fall as he digs in his bag for the tiny elastics that he keeps there.

He can't remember, exactly, when the braids started, just knows it was post Moreau, back when he didn't like himself very much and when connecting with something clean from his family history felt just like another way of hiding how far he'd fallen. There's still a bit of the shake in his fingers when he parts the hair, smoothing it under his fingers before he starts to braid. It's a soothing, methodical process and he makes quick work of the first, securing it with an elastic from between his teeth before he moves to the other side and starts again. Once it’s done, he pulls the rest of his hair back from his face in a messy half ponytail, and stands, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as he heads towards the ring.

The floor shifts and settles under his weight as he makes a quick lap around the enclosed space, and he bounces a little, listening to the ring creak. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to collapse, so he shrugs and stoops to pick up his gloves, slipping them on and flexing his hands against the mild constriction. It’s been a while since he wore gloves and they feel strange against his skin until he starts moving, gets his blood pumping. He starts off slow, gives his muscles the chance to warm up, which is a luxury he doesn’t often get, not when he’s punching bad guys to keep his people safe.

The moves are familiar, soothing and he gives himself over to the routine of them, letting them build the walls he uses to protect the soft parts of himself high and wide and thick, knowing he's going consenting to the sacrifice. A better man, or a worse one, would see the nobility in that, but he's right in the sweet spot where the blood on his hands weighs heavily enough that there's no grace in this act. It's simple, and terribly complicated all at once, brings to mind a Spanish proverb he'd read once, in a book with pages so brittle they crumbled under his fingertips; take what you want, God says, as long as you pay for it. He's not sure exactly how much want played into what he'd taken, but need certainly had, and he's paying the cost still. Isn't sure if he'll ever clear his slate, isn't sure if he even wants to, because the things he'd done feel like they should never be repaid.

The door creaks, and he tips his head, wondering which one of them it'll be. He's a betting man, and his money is on Sophie, so when her perfume wafts through the gym, he can't help but crack a smile. He expects her to speak, but she doesn't, not right away, just finds a comfortable spot next to the ring and watches him. He's vain enough to want to show off a little, display the skills he'd spent a lifetime building in a way he usually doesn't get to, because he's too busy using them to keep everyone safe.

He starts slow, running through a simple routine of punches and feints and dodges, can feel her eyes on him as he moves around the ring, one bit of his mind tracking changes in the floor even as he trades punches with his imaginary opponent, finishing with a one-two combination that would put even the toughest fighter down. He lets his hands drop, rolling his shoulders to ease the mild lactic burn in his muscles, and walks over to the edge of the ring.

She offers him a water bottle. "Don't worry, I brought it from the hotel," she says dryly.

"Thanks," he says and swallows a few mouthfuls. It's cold and sweet, and goes down easy.

"Eliot-" Sophie starts, and he's been around her long enough to know that they're about to have a Conversation, so he leans against the ropes and waits for her opening gambit.

---

The fight is awful; brutal in a way she doesn't expect. There's blood on Eliot's face, and bruises already blooming on his shoulders and arms. He takes a punch he would have usually blocked, the sickening crack-crunch of knuckles hitting unprotected flesh making her stomach turn. Another punch smacks into his cheek, snapping his head back hard enough to splatter blood on the ropes and send him reeling backwards until he catches his balance, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear the stars from his eyes.

Parker, beside her, is pale, sleeves pulled down over her hands as they watch Eliot get pummelled. It doesn't hide how tightly her fists are clenched or the way she keeps swallowing, like there’s something foul lodged in her mouth that she can’t force down.

The fight flips in an instant, the man they're more used to seeing breaking free and taking Tank down, hard, in a flurry of moves that have some of the hardcore wrestling fans cheering in awe. Tank goes limp under Eliot’s hands and the dark haired man looks up, eyes distant and dazed until he blinks, shaking his head as Hardison and Nate gather him up like a load of dirty laundry.

None of them relax until Hardison gets his hands on Eliot, nodding once as he cups the back of Eliot's neck, because it's the only place without blooming bruises.

"You good?" the hacker asks, and Eliot nods once, wearily, swiping a gloved hand over his bleeding lip. There's a shake in his fingers he can't quite control, and he shivers, heated muscles quickly going cold and stiff in the chilly gym air.

Hardison hands over a tshirt and hoodie- zip through, because he thinks of everything, and Eliot pulls them on, carefully, because he's battered enough that he's already hurting. Knows that once the endorphins and adrenaline wears off, he’s in for a bad time, but the thought of swallowing any meds makes his already dicey stomach churn even more.

"You good?" Hardison asks again, shoulders tight with concern. His fingers play over the strap of his bag, eyes running over Eliot.

Eliot isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but the other man seems to find it, because his chin dips in a tiny nod, but he doesn’t move away.

"Go," Eliot says, voice hoarse, and offers a hand for their usual handshake. The contact hurts, because even with the gloves, Eliot’s hands feel bruised and battered.

It's enough. It has to be, because Hardison is needed elsewhere, if they're going to pull any sort of success out of this mess. He claps Eliot once, on his shoulder and steps away, making room for the doc.

Eliot submits to the exam quietly and that's enough to set alarm bells ringing in Sophie's head. She threads through the crowd, one of her biggest, softest scarves in her hand. He's still sitting, elbows on his knees, hands clasped around the back of his neck like he has a monster headache. There’s blood on his knees, and she can’t tell where it’s from, hopes it isn’t his, until he shifts, looking up and she spots the cut through his eyebrow that’s steadily dripping. Even with the hoodie draped over his legs, he looks chilled and all Sophie wants, suddenly, is to go back in time a few hours and find a way to stop this fight from happening.

Parker is digging through their bags by the side of the ring. It’s not her usual, methodical search, but a semi-frantic hunt as she drops things on the floor next to her. She looks up, eyes flicking to Eliot, and Sophie nods, but keeps going, knowing Parker will catch up.

"Here," Parker says, and presses a bottle of ibuprofen into Sophie's free hand as they cross the ring. "We left the prescription stuff in the hotel room," she adds softly.

"He looks like he needs it," Sophie says, quietly, and Parker nods.

The doctor steps away, touching Sophie's arm as he passes. She glances at Eliot, wordlessly handing over the scarf with a quick nod, then turns her attention to the doctor. "What's the verdict, doc?" she asks.

"Concussion, for sure. Some cracked ribs, maybe a busted cheekbone, though it's impossible to tell without an x-ray and he's refusing that…" the Doc pauses, lips pressing together before he shakes his head and moves on. "He's going to be sore as hell in the morning, but I'm guessing he's been through that once or twice before. Damn fool thing he did, but damn brave, too." He shakes his head again, pats her arm and slips away to check on Tank.

Parker has claimed the closest seat, so Sophie sits down on the other side of Eliot, nails digging into her palms as she surveys the damage. He's halfway into the hoodie, face carefully blank as he tries to get his left arm in the sleeve. Parker reaches around, tugging the sleeve into place, neatly evading his hands as she fastens the zip, and sits back.

"What do you need?" Sophie asks, simply and he blinks at her like he was expecting a different question. She holds up the bottle of ibuprofen, and he shakes his head, mouth twisting, because he’s pretty sure the pills wouldn’t stay down.

There's blood in his mouth, tasting like old copper pennies and he swallows hard, touching the cut in his lip with the tip of his tongue. The fierce pounding in his head makes it hard to think, and his stomach is churning in a way that screams concussion. He's cold, despite the hoodie and the silk scarf that's magically spread itself over his legs.

"Can we get the hell out of here?" he asks at last, and the team - minus Nate, who is still tying up loose ends - gather around him like swirling leaves, gathering him up so that he's on his feet and heading towards the cool, dark parking lot before he has chance to think.

The gym door slams closed behind them and he closes his eyes, lets out a breath that he didn't know he was holding.

It's done, he thinks and pushes the gnawing ache in his bones to the back of his mind as he starts walking. Each step jars through him, like he has ground glass filling his joints, and the gatorade he’d swallowed churns uneasily in his stomach like it’s not quite sure if it wants to stay put. Just thinking about it makes the nausea worse, and he has to stop, pulling in slow breaths through his nose until the sensation passes.

A warm hand lands on his back, rubbing circles that are more soothing than he thinks he deserves. “Okay?” Sophie says, and he’s not quite sure if it’s an order or a question. Decides it’s an order, because he’s never been able to disobey one, and right now, he needs all the help he can get.

The hotel lights shine through the night like a sanctuary, and he fixes his blurring vision on them, nods once and starts walking.

---

The hotel is only a short walk away, but he's sweating and seriously uncomfortable by the time he gets there. Parker walks one one side, Sophie on the other, and it should bug him, but he's stiff and sore enough to almost welcome the mothering. The phantom warmth of Sophie’s hand on his back is a comfort he’d never admit to needing, but it helps, because it means she cares, and he’s battered enough for the affection to slink through the chinks in his armour. Knows how dangerous that is, to allow the softness in, but after what he just did, the small bit of grace feels hard earned.

Parker unlocks the suite door and he shuffles in, feeling three times his age. Hardison squeezes past them, heading for the bathroom to get the tub running while Sophie pulls out meds and ice packs. Parker digs in his duffle for the soft, worn sweats he only wears on really bad days and something about the entire, rehearsed routine makes him want to run back out into the damp night. Sends something like panic clawing at the back of his throat, because in his line of work, getting too close is dangerous, and he’s fallen for that trap once already, can’t forget the dark path it sent him down, or the things he’d done because of the attachment. They’re not like… him, he thinks, knows it for a fact, just like he knows his eyes are blue or water is wet or that the glinting silver edge of a knife can cut you deep without you feeling it. Still, he can’t help glancing back at the door, wonders if he could find another room and hunker down until the worst of the pain eases, slink back to the team like a stray when he’s feeling more himself. Not let them get so close, even though in the deepest part of himself they've already wormed so far into his heart he'd have to cut it out to be rid of them.

He blows out a harsh breath instead of retreating, limping over to the recliner so he can toe his sneakers off. Halfway down, he realises that sitting isn't his best idea; it's been a while since he wrestled and his muscles are protesting the abuse in a way that tells him standing back up is going to be about as much fun as a root canal, sans lidocaine. His ribs hurt, a bright flare of pain, and he presses his elbow to them as he sits down. The overhead light stabs into his brain like an ice pick, and he closes his eyes, waits for the throbbing to ease.

“Sorry, man,” Hardison says, and clicks the main light off, leaving the bathroom light on so the room is filled with a soft glow that's much easier to handle. “Better?” he asks, and Eliot peels his eyes open, blinking in relief.

“Yeah,” he says, hoarsely, and takes the wrapped ice pack Sophie offers him, pressing it against the gnawing ache in his cheek.

Hardison sets a bottle of lemon-lime gatorade down next to him. It's not his favourite, exactly, but it's the flavour he finds the least objectionable and that bit of thoughtfulness makes his chest ache for a whole new reason.

Parker is pawing through his duffle for the pouch of meds he keeps in there, stocked with painkillers, anti sickness drugs, and the allergy pills he uses to help him sleep on the really bad days. He fishes through his options, weighing up, because he knows a couple of the options will knock him out and he's hurting enough for that to sound appealing.

He settles for a well used combination of muscle relaxant and painkiller, swallowing the pills with a gulp of yellow flavoured gatorade. Lemon-lime, my ass, he thinks, because it's easier than looking up and facing his team. He shifts, biting the inside of his lip, holding his breath until the flare of pain passes.

"Do you want the bath?" Hardison asks.

Eliot knows the hot water will help, but the thought of moving makes his stomach roll. He's not exactly comfortable as he is, but everything has faded to a background ache and he knows that'll change as soon as he stands. He's itchy, through, sweat and blood dried in his skin in an irritating film. "Yeah," he says and eases his feet down, breath hissing in between his teeth.

Fuck, he thinks as he stands, joints popping as he gets upright. It's ten steps to the bathroom and every one of them jars him.

The tub is full and steaming softly, scenting the air with the herbal Epsom salts mix he uses. Three faces stare at him from the doorway, and while he’s never been shy, the thought of stripping down to his birthday suit in front of them isn’t exactly appealing.

“I don’t need an audience,” he rasps, trying for his usual gruffness, but he knows he’s not quite getting there. Not with the touch memory of them taking care of him still lingering on his skin.

They glance at each other. Sophie breaks first, wagging a finger at him. “Fine,” she says, and turns, towing Parker with her. “But I’m sending Hardison in to check on you in half an hour.”

She closes the door softly behind her, leaving him alone in the steam filled room. The bath is big and deep, the water steaming gently, and he suddenly can’t wait to sink into it. There’s a big mirror on the wall above the sink, and he rests his aching hands on the cold porcelain as he leans close, taking a look at the damage.

One eye is already starting to swell closed, bruising spreading from his cheekbone right up to his hairline. He presses his fingers to his cheek, a vague memory of a heel contacting with his face rising up. The inside of his cheek is raw and bloody, bitten even with the mouthguard. He grabs one of the paper cups and fills it, sloshing cold water around his mouth with a wince. It’s pink when he spits it back into the sink.

Let’s see the rest of the damage, he thinks, and unzips the hoodie, sliding his good arm out first before working it down his left. He’s sweating, breath straining through his teeth by the time it’s off, and he leans against the cool tiles, letting his pounding heart settle. The drops to the floor and he glances down, thinks about picking it up, but the long muscles down his spine are already starting to stiffen and he’s not sure he can bend that much.

He lifts the hem of the t-shirt and stops as the motion pulls on every abused bit of his torso. Thinks about the small silver nail scissors Sophie keeps in her washbag, but he’s pretty sure it’s in the other bathroom. Any of them would be glad to help - except maybe Nate, who tends to leave the Eliot wrangling to the others- but the idea of asking and letting them undress him like a toddler… I’d rather gnaw my way out of the fucking thing, he thinks and sits down on the closed toilet seat. By the time he has the t-shirt off, he’s sweating bullets. Black spots swarm the edge of his sight, and he bends carefully, leaning his forehead on the cool edge of the sink until they stop.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thinks, and closes his eyes, just breathing until everything feels a little less awful. The soft joggers come off easy and he stands, glancing down at his body in appraisal. He’s had worse, he’s sure, but that doesn’t make the blooming bruises any less ugly. Or painful, he thinks, pressing the flat of his hand to a livid purple welt across his ribs.

Despite the steam, he’s chilly, goosebumps rising on his bare skin until he sits on the side of the bath to carefully lower himself in. The hot water envelops him in a soothing cocoon, and he sighs in relief, tipping his head back and letting his eyes close.

He's not sure how long he stays like that, in a doze too light to be considered real sleep. Knows at some point that one of them has been in to top up the hot water, because when he rouses himself, the water is still warm rather than cold like he'd expected. Parker, probably, he thinks, damn women is like a cat. It should unnerve him that she came and went without disturbing him, but it doesn't, and he's too tired and sick and sore to figure out why.

There's a neat stack of fluffy blue towels and his softest joggers in the vanity, a small, thoughtful touch that makes something dangerously fond bloom in his chest. Getting attached is asking for trouble in their line of work. Too late for that, he thinks, because he might lie to other people, but he never does to himself.

Standing hurts enough that he almost gives in. Not the first time I've slept in the tub, he thinks, and probably not the last. He's hungry, in a vaguely sick sort of way, so he keeps going until he's up, clinging white-knuckled to the handy grab rail until he's sure his knees aren't going to give out on him.

The water is vaguely pink around his feet, darker drops hitting the surface. He lifts a shaky hand, feeling the cut through his eyebrow. Needs a stitch, he thinks, and sighs, because being poked and prodded is the last thing he wants.

"Eliot?" Sophie calls through the door, and he startles hard enough to make his breath catch.

"Yeah?" he croaks, then swallows hard and tries again. "Yeah?"

"We're ordering food - do you want anything?" There's a thread of concern in her voice and it makes him feel warm and trapped at the same time.

"Baked potato?" he asks, because the thought of chewing anything isn't appealing.

"Got it," she says, and he can practically feel her worry through the door.

"I'll be out in a minute," he says, trying for gruff, and failing, because he just doesn't have the energy. Instead, his voice comes out flat and a little hoarse, a clear sign of exactly how exhausted he is.

He holds his breath until she moves away from the door, setting the shower running before he lets out the heartfelt groan. Hair clings to his face and he tips his head back, carefully, letting the warm water sluice over him. It feels damn good, soothing out of all proportion, and he’d stay under it longer if his legs weren’t already shaking with the strain. Even with the painkillers, he aches, ribs and face and knees and wrists all throbbing like a bad tooth.

If this wash wasn’t as symbolic as it was practical, he’d step out of the shower, come back later, when everything didn’t feel so raw, so terrible, but there’s a need in him, deep inside, to wash off this latest bit of violence and so he clings stubbornly to the grab rail. He’s not naive or stupid enough to think washing away the physical signs can remove the cost of what he’s done, knows there’s not enough soap and water in the world to do that, but just like the hair braids, somewhere along the line bathing became just another way to lock away the bad shit in the vault in his head, separate himself as a man from the acts he commits. Somehow, somewhere, it became a ritual, and it’s one he can’t think about too hard or the whole thing will unravel.

There's shampoo in easy reach, and he picks it up, fumbling one handed, because his left shoulder doesn't want to bend. He lifts it, gets his elbow to shoulder height and stops with a pained hiss, closing his eyes until the streaks of red fade from his sight. Fuck, he thinks, and blinks, trying to remember if he packed a sling for this little jaunt. Rubs the faint scar that runs from his collarbone to his armpit, breathing through the rush of phantom pain until the clock in his head nags him into moving. Because if they come in here and see you like this, the little cautious voice in his head thinks, and he lets his hand drop, grabbing the shampoo and getting to work.

It stings in a dozen little scrapes and cuts he didn’t know he had until they start screaming at him, and he grits his teeth, doing the best he can one-handed. Any of them - minus Nate, because he tends to dodge anything too personal - would have helped him, but the thought of asking - no. It skates too close to too many things he can't let himself think about.

He rinses, giving himself thirty seconds to just stand under the hot spray, letting it soothe what it can, before he shuts the water off and steps carefully out of the tub, grabbing a towel because the steam-filled bathroom is chilly after the hot water. The clothes- soft as they are- feel like armour as he slips them on, draping a towel around his neck to catch the water running from his hair. The braids are still there, and he touches one, grounding himself before he swings the door open and shuffles out into the hotel room, shoulders a little hunched, like he’s expecting an ambush.

It doesn’t come- Parker, Hardison and Nate are all missing, leaving Sophie alone, in the same spot as earlier, the same book in her hands. If he had a gun to his head, he’d say she hasn’t read a single page.

“Where’s-” he starts, limping over to the recliner and easing down. Sitting feels good, takes some of the strain off his bruised and battered legs.

“Small town.” Sophie shrugs, keeping her voice carefully bland. “Only one delivery driver, and he’s off sick, so they’ve gone to collect.”

It’s a neat bit of thoughtfulness, slickly arranged, and he can’t help but smile because of it. “Thanks, Soph,” he says, and picks up the new bottle of Gatorade sitting on the table by the recliner.

The movement pulls at everything that hurts, and he feels his face go blank as he breathes through the pain. Knows he’s not fooling Sophie, but it’s an old trick and one he can’t quite shed, back from the bad old days.

She activates an instant ice pack and wraps it in a hand towel before passing it over, picking up his med bag on the way.

“Here,” she says, and he takes the pack, blinking down at it for a long second while he tries to figure out which throbbing bit needs it the most. Settles on pressing it to his cheek, breathing out a shaky sigh as the pain radiating through his head eases.

“Eliot-” she starts, and he shifts, tipping his head back against the slowly warming leather. Taps the button to lift the foot rest, because his lower back is killing him in his current position.

“Yeah?” he rasps, because this feels like another Conversation and he’s not sure he’s up to it.

“How do you do it?” There’s genuine concern in her voice that stops his impulsive sarcastic remark in its tracks.

Do what? he almost asks instead, but he knows what she’s asking. Just doesn’t have a good answer for her. Shifts the ice pack while he thinks, breath catching when the movement jostles his ribs.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he says at last, biting his lip when a shiver runs through him. The hotel room is chilly and the ice pack isn’t helping. Exhaustion drags at him like a sail that wants to haul him away. He yawns, tasting blood as the cut in his lip opens again. Can’t keep his eyes open, so gives in, letting them close, letting the darkness soothe the ache in his head.

“As simple as that?” she asks, and draws the blanket over his legs.

“Has to be,” he murmurs. “I take the punishment. It’s what I do.” There’s none of his earlier bravado in his voice, none of the cocky, well earned confidence, which somehow makes his words hit her all the harder. It’s soft with exhaustion, burred with sleep.

Eyes closed, bruised and bloody, curled carefully around his broken ribs, he looks a totally different man. The duality strikes her, brings tears to her eyes for reasons she can’t quite name. He shivers again, and she takes the ice pack, carefully, setting it down on the table and pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

“You take the punishment,” she says, softly, “and we’ll be here to pick up the pieces. Always.”

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