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One never really got used to pain.
Steve Harrington knew this for a fact, the same way he knew that laughing with a bloody mouth hurt and every nasty stage of a black eye fading and the difference between bruised and broken ribs. So no, one never did get used to pain, but one could get better at pushing through it. Because the other thing he'd learned in the past three years was that there are things far worse than pain: people you love in danger, the chill running down your spine when you know anyone in the room could die any second, the utter helplessness of realizing you are not enough to protect everyone, the quiet calm that came with accepting you are about to do something that might get you killed.
It is the pain that wakes him up.
Steve clenches his teeth tightly to keep himself from groaning. He's got Dustin tucked under his arm, in a way that is both cute and hilarious because he's sure the kid would die of embarrassment if he knew how he's holding onto Steve like he's his favorite teddy bear or something. Kid worships you, Eddie'd said. The memory sends a rush of affection through Steve's chest, even as he pulls his numb arm out of under the kid. You're getting too big for this, Henderson, he grumbles mentally but the thought turns grim quickly. At this pace, he'll be lucky if he manages to get Dustin to adulthood in one piece.
Speaking of- He finds Max and Lucas cuddled together, so tightly knit that Steve can hear his mother tutting in his head. He shushes her voice with a roll of his eyes as he crouches down above the kids and starts rewinding the tape. Seriously, did no one else keep an eye on the life-saving song? He has to do everything around here.
Once the song is playing again —Max stirs a little, and settles back down in Lucas's embrace— he sighs and stands up.
Nope. No, no, no, that hurts like hell. His vision sways at the sheer stab of pain that runs through his torso. The smallest whimper escapes his throat before he can smother it. Looking around, he makes sure no one heard it. Luckily, they are all exhausted and too deep in sleep to notice him moving around Hopper's abandoned and torn-apart cabin. Which is exactly why someone should be keeping an eye out for trouble. What if he was Vecna, or a demogorgon, or something entirely new and terrifying praying on them? The sole idea terrifies him.
Slowly, he makes his way outside to the porch. The smell hits him before he sees it: a small timid red light in the darkness, and behind it, the fire reflected on Eddie's dark eyes. Munson gives him a questioning look. Trouble? Poor dude is clearly getting used to the idea of constant danger. Steve waves dismissively. Eddie finally breathes, releasing the smoke he'd inhaled. Tabaco, not pot, it seems.
"Don't let Robin see you with that, she hates it," he murmurs, leaning against one of the porch's columns.
Eddie, sitting on the railing, feet swinging a few inches above the floor, shrugs. "I survived another dimension and a bunch of monsters today. I think I can have a smoke in peace without her giving me shit."
"Nothing's ever gonna stop her from giving you shit," Steve huffs, bemused.
Eddie gives him a funny look. Steve knows that look. He rolls his eyes.
"We are not dating."
"No, yeah, I know, I know. But I'm trying to figure out if she's, like, tragically in love with you or something like that."
That startles a laugh out of Steve, which is a terrible idea because the sides of his stomach flare up with pain and it's all he can do to keep himself from crying out. He ducks his head and clenches his eyes shut for a second, hoping his hair will mask his expression.
"That's your brilliant theory?" He mutters, straightening up.
"I'm working on a couple of others," Eddie grins cheekily.
Steve purses his lips and pretends he finds it annoying rather than nervewracking. He doesn't want Eddie working theories. He doesn't want anyone working on theories about them. On one hand, because he's terrified of what could happen if the wrong person got the right impression, but also because whatever they have, whatever this intense and symbiotic friendship is, feels too precious for outsider's eyes. He's afraid that if he lets too many people touch it, too many know it and see it and pick it apart, somehow it will break and disappear like everything else in his life.
"You should probably sleep, man," he says to divert attention. "You're talking nonsense. And you look like shit."
"Look who's talking, Harrington. You look like you're about to fall over."
"Not my first rodeo," Steve dismisses. "I can take it. Look, somebody's gotta keep watch and if you fall asleep we are all fucked."
Eddie hesitates.
"Go, man, seriously!"
Two steps towards the door, Eddie stops and Steve swears he could kill him right now, except his face looks positively haunted as he glances back his way.
"Do you ever get used to it?"
"What?"
"Almost dying."
Yes.
"No," he says, because that's the healthy thing, the normal thing, the thing that people who don't keep throwing themselves into the fire say. "But it gets a little easier when it doesn't grab you by surprise. Believe me, next time this happens? You'll be an expert."
"N- Next time?" Eddie blinks, terrified.
"Relax, Munson. I'll show you the ropes."
That gets Eddie to smile back, though the tension doesn't leave his shoulders, even as he offers Steve a cigarette. He takes it, not because he wants to smoke —he used to smoke to impress Tommy H. back when he cared about what people thought of him and started dialing it down when he no longer had to look cool for other people— but because Eddie's offer feels poignant, like he's offering an olive branch or whatever. So he takes it, let's Munson light it for him, and huffs a puff of smoke into the night air. It does help a little with his nerves, actually, though the smoke makes his throat ache like it did back in the Upside Down.
"Alright, I'm gonna go catch up on some nightmares," Eddie says and finally, finally, leaves.
And it's then, alone in the darkness, with no one to be quiet or careful for, that Steve drops the cigarette... and the act.
Slouching back against the porch's railing, he takes stock. There's the obvious, with the bite marks that keep bleeding through his bandages. Then there are the smaller and somehow more annoying things, like the scratches along his back and arms that burn whenever his clothes so much as rub his skin and the way his crushed windpipe feels swollen and hurts when he breathes —but, hey, at least he can breathe. For a second there, he thought those things would choke him to death.
The bites on his sides pulse with pain with every heartbeat, and it's so bad that he's barely been able to focus on any conversation since they came back. All he feels is PAIN, PAIN, PAIN, PAIN. Over and over again like a broken record.
He bends over slowly to clutch his sides. His breath hitches. Fuck, this is bad. Gingerly, his trembling fingers explore the wounds on his sides. He can't quite feel them through the bandages (actual ones that they found on Eddie's bathroom) but there's still blood three, hot and sticky and his. Nothing new. He remembers vaguely how Nancy and Jonathan had used blood to lure the demogorgon out years ago and wonders, idly, if he has to worry about it. Probably not. Hopefully. Maybe.
"Steve?"
Robin.
He tries to straighten up quickly, act like everything is alright, but the impulse backfires when the pain manages to flare beyond what he believed to be possible. The edges of his vision darken, and he nearly loses his footing like he did back in Skull Rock. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Before he can regain some semblance of composure, Robin is already there with her arms around him and a stream of questions he doesn't dignify with an answer.
"I'm fine," he groans, trying to push her arms away. It's a lame attempt, apparently, because she manages to hold on to him tightly and all but force him to sit down on the floor.
"Bullshit," she barks. "What the hell is wrong, Steve? Seriously, if you start having any weird-"
"Robin, I swear to god, if you start with the rabies thing again, I'm going to scream so loud the whole town will find us here," he says, eyes still shut tight, as if that could keep the pain away. "It's not rabies, okay? It just- it just hurts."
Understatement of the century, but what else is he supposed to say?
The silence that follows is unnerving, especially coming from Robin Buckley. An image assaults his mind: Robin, eyes blank and vacant, trapped in her own mind with Vecna and seconds away from being broken like a porcelain doll. It's that horrifying possibility that finally gets him to open his eyes. Thank goodness, Robin's expression isn't vacant, though she does look haunted as she pins him with an uncomfortably intense look.
"I took some painkillers earlier," he says, hoping she will relax and stop fuzzing. "They helped a little, but there's only so much that drugs can do without my brain going all woozy. And this isn't really the time to be on drugs, because if one of those things shows up... well, someone's gotta fight it, right?"
The breath that Robin sucks in is shaky and wet and it sends a wave of worry through Steve's body.
"Robs? You good?"
And that's when she starts sobbing. Full-on sobbing. Panic shoots through Steve's mind like a police siren. He brings his arms up, ignoring the way the fabric burns against the wounded skin of his arms and tries rubbing her shoulders.
"Robin? What's wrong?" He asks, as softly as he can. "Hey, Robin, look at me, please. Are you alright?"
"Stop asking me that!" She whines, sitting next to him. "Stop! Just stop!"
Steve pulls his hands away, hurt. He feels like an idiot, useless. He doesn't know how to help his best friend, and she's crying. She's crying next to him like the world ended, like she lost everything, and his heart can only take it for so long until he risks speaking again:
"Robin, please."
"I really thought you were dead."
"What?"
"I thought- You weren't coming out of the water. And neither was Nance. And even when I dove into the water, I thought you might already be gone. And then on the other side, those things, they looked like they were eating your fucking corpse like vultures and I thought- I thought you were really dead."
Oh.
"I'm okay, though..." he offers, and even as he says it it sounds like a lame excuse.
Robin, still crying, shakes her head stubbornly.
"Every time. Every time something happens, you're jumping in like an idiot and all I can think about is how you're totally going to die in front of me. You're my best friend, Steve. You can't leave me alone like that."
"Hey, hey, hey," Steve slowly puts his arm around her shoulders to pull her in. "You wouldn't be alone, alright? You've got Dustin, and Erica, and Max, and Lucas, and yeah they are all tiny and annoying, but they are pretty great. Besides, I'm pretty sure Nancy and Eddie like you so-"
"Stop being dense on purpose, Steve!" Robin snaps, and he braces for an elbow to the ribs that, thankfully, never comes. "You know what I mean."
He deflates completely.
He does. As much as he likes to play the doufus card, Steve is not stupid, and he knows what Robin is trying to say. But what is he supposed to say to that?
He can't promise he won't die, not with how their lives are right now, and he can't promise he won't throw himself into the fray because somebody has to. Because he has to. He stopped questioning the reason long ago. All he knows is that when danger comes knocking on their door, something inside him growls with courage he never knew he had. The idea of any of these people he loves getting hurt is unbearable. He cannot stop putting himself between them and danger, even if he wanted to. And the thing is —he doesn't want to. No matter how much it hurts, he would choose the pain every time over any harm coming to them. But he can't tell Robin that.
"I know," he says, pulling her close. "I'm sorry I scared you, okay?"
Robin lets herself be hugged, resting her head on his shoulder, and then, hoarsely, says: "If you die, I think it might actually kill me, Steve."
Every inch of his body tenses at once.
"Don't say that."
She can't really mean that. The idea of Robin dying is too terrible to even fathom, more painful than any hit and slash and burn he's endured in the past three years. The sole concept of a universe in which Robin Buckley isn't alive and well disturbs him to his very core in a way nothing has ever scared him before.
"Please, don't say that."
"Then don't fucking die!"
The unease inside his chest persists, and he wonders if that's the same thing that pushed Robin to tears just now. That fear. Steve must be the most selfish person on the planet because he likes that. A small part of him relishes the idea that she loves him as much as he loves her, that he is 'hers' as much as he considers her 'his'. There's something incredible about the idea of being considered precious, something irreplaceable, in a way he's never been to his parents, or to Nancy, clearly, or even to Dustin, who has his other friends and Eddie and what not... but it dawns on him that perhaps to Robin he is. Realization hits him like a fist to the gut and he finds himself swallowing back a lump of tears on the back of his throat. God, he can't die on her. He can't hurt her like that.
"I'll be more careful. I promise."
He means it, and maybe Robin can tell by the way she finally relaxes against him. He presses his forehead against the top of her head.
"Now, be honest," she whispers, "how much does it hurt?"
"So much," he finally groans, knowing there's no need to act around her. "All over."
"We'll get you to the hospital when this is over," she promises.
"That'll be a fun one to explain to the nurses."
"Well, too bad, because I love you and I'm not letting you die of like an interdimensional infection or internal bleeding or something, doufus."
Steve laughs, though the sound is cut short by the pain in his sides. Robin pulls back to look at him, big eyes filled with concern. Fuck.
"So you are secretly in love with me," he deflects.
"Did you hit your head?" She laughs now.
"Yes, but this one's not on me. Eddie's got this theory..."
"And he thinks I'm in love with you?" Robin sounds utterly offended. "Why couldn't it be that you are hopelessly in love with me?!"
"We already did that, remember? You broke my heart and all."
"Don't say that!"
"It's true," he chuckles. "But it's alright. It only lasted like five seconds and then, instead, I got an awesome best friend who would jump into hell to rescue me, so all in all, I think I got the better deal."
Robin's grinning now, thankfully, and it's the kind of smile that makes him feel like everything is going to be okay in the end.
"C'mon," she stands up, "let's get you to bed."
"Robin, I don't-"
"Don't give me that 'somebody's gotta keep watch' bullshit, Steve."
"But-"
"I know there are monsters out there, but just because somebody's gotta keep watch it doesn't mean it has to be you, okay? I'll do it, or Nance, or hell, one of the kids if that's what it takes for you to finally get some goddamn rest."
"Robin!" He glares up at her, frustrated. Then, averts her eyes, swallowing back his pride. "I don't- I don't I can get up on my own right now. I'm gonna need a hand."
He doesn't look, but he can picture the way her face falls. He can't bring himself to face her. He just waits, silently, feeling raw and open as she crouches by his side, and gently —more gently than he thought her capable of— she helps him up. When he finally dares to look at her, there's no judgment or pity in her eyes, only fierce determination.
"You let me know if it gets any worse, okay?"
"Kinda hard to get a word in when you start rambling..."
"Steve."
He sighs and nods.
"Good."
Slowly, moving as a single creature with four legs, four arms and two heads, they stumble back inside the darkness of the cottage.
One never really got used to pain, but maybe Steve could get used to being loved.