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Summary
Telling the whole story’s basically every form of whiplash rolled up into one, so: Steve usually goes with the abridged version, as best he can, when he absolutely has to explain.
Basically: after he swung a bat at a petal mouthed hellbeast, he felt weird for a few days after. He got a rash; woke up for a week with the hardest scabs he’d ever seen, like pebbles, and less blood colored. Weird.
The second time, in hindsight, is probably what makes it…worse. Like, as in: longterm worse. The dust, the stuff in those tunnels? It felt alive, like it got in your lungs to burrow and choke with intent. And Steve’s little bandana-mask was better than nothing, he guesses, just…
Not better enough, as becomes very clear once Steve starts half-turning into a fucking demogorgon, like an stress-triggered were…y’know, wolf would be better.
Than this.
It’s a bitch, but he handles it. Learns how to deal. Hopes life’s calmed down enough when he meets, and falls for, Eddie Munson—hopes that it won’t be a concern any longer.
And it isn’t. A concern.
Just not…not at all the way Steve expects.