Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

‘And all things end
All that we intend is scrawled in sand
Or slips right through our hands
And just knowing
That everything will end
Should not change our plans
When we begin again’ 

-All Things End, by Hozier

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"... Hey, you're okay, we're gonna get you out. Just try not to panic, okay? Stay entirely still, like as still as a statue or something equally stationary-" 

Steve let out a strangled breath, the vines tightening around his chest and neck, the asphyxiation quickly fucking up his senses, leaving everything with a hazy, slightly unreal quality. 

"... Robin, you're not helping!" Nancy said in front of him, moving Robin out of the way as she tried grasping at the vines, letting out a choked sob as Steve let out a pained breath. 

"I-" Steve wheezed out, trying to force out the words that felt physically stuck in his chest, the syllables unwilling to leave his throat in more than short, unattractive wheezes. It would have been embarrassing if it weren't for the pure fear raging through his head. 

"Fuck!" Nancy shouted as she struggled against the vines, trying to pull them off him, the desperation on her face wholly unfamiliar. 

Dimly, Steve registered her hands trembling. 

And for some reason, that was the last nail in his metaphorical—or, well, not so metaphorical—coffin.

With startling clarity, he accepted that he was going to die here. He was going to die in the Upside Down, his last fucking breaths being his final words. 

He let out a gasp as the vines tightened, his vision starting to blot over with dark spots, reminding him vaguely of a kid playing with watercolors. 

Nancy and Robin had to end this—make sure no one else died. 

He tried to speak again, to tell them to keep going, to leave him and go kill Vecna, to finish this, to say fucking anything all the while the vines continued tightening around his throat, ridding him of anything other than pained breaths and the tears welling in his eyes.

And fuck, he was going to die. 

He was going to die. 

Tears in his eyes, Steve watched Nancy and Robin, their voices lost amid the ringing in his ears. The sound surged like a relentless tidal wave in his head, drowning out all other senses. He felt faint, as if floating in a vast ocean, weightless and buoyant.

“I- I’m sorry,” he wheezed out, the words finally managing to come out of his throat. 

He was unsure whether the apology was for himself or the others. After all, he felt sorry for a lot of things. For his inability to help. For the fact that his last moments were spent here like this. For the fact that he wasn’t sure whether the kids were safe.

He watched blearily as Nancy's face contorted in fear, her mouth moving quickly, her words swallowed by the deafening roar inside his head. Robin's hands were fumbling against the vines, her eyes wide with alarm. Steve tried to focus on their faces, trying to desperately ground himself in the moment, the pain and the noise making the effort all the more difficult. 

Ultimately, he never got to know what Nancy had been saying as the vines tightened around his neck and chest, the black dots enveloping his vision entirely like someone had taken a paintbrush to a canvas, filling it with an inky black paint, allowing him to slowly slip away, everything fading away like a bad dream, the mental image of him floating in a serene ocean quickly disappearing with his consciousness.

As he let himself go, he was unaware of Eddie Munson following suit not long after him as hundreds of bats sunk their fangs into his skin.

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The first thing Steve noticed when he came back into consciousness was the faint sound of voices talking, too far off to parse any real words. 

Dimly, he registered someone call what sounded like a name, though the specifics of exactly whose name was being called remained lost on him over the loud ringing still echoing around his ears like rolling waves crashing against rocks. 

The second thing he registered was the feeling of grass grazing against his cheek, the blades just short enough to gently poke at him, likely having been recently mowed.

Without meaning to, eyes still shut, he gasped as if taking his first breath after a deep dive, his lungs burning as he inhaled the scent of freshly mown grass.

“Fuck,” Steve coughed out, his voice hoarse.

Remembering the literal death vine that had been wrapped around him, he quickly moved his hands up to his neck, finding nothing but cool, unblemished skin.

Slowly as the ringing gradually decreased in volume, allowing him to actually fucking think, he blinked his eyes open, only to blink again as he was met with the wide expanse of his fucking backyard.

“... What the fuck?” Steve mumbled to himself, his voice barely above a whisper as he pushed himself upright, sitting sprawled out in his own backyard, the stars glimmering mockingly above him, watching down on him as he gradually lost his fucking mind. 

As he sat there, confused as all living hell—or would it be dead? Hadn’t he died? Fuck—he allowed himself to shut his eyes again as an overwhelming panic clawed at his chest.

Trying—or more accurately willing—himself to calm down, he took a deep staggering breath, listening to the trees gently rustle against the wind, the cool night air hitting against his clothes.

He focused on the sounds around him, registering the soft sloshing of water, barely audible over the pounding of his heartbeat.

Suddenly remembering the voices from earlier, he quickly opened his eyes, staggering up from his sitting position, wobbling on his feet as panic struck him full throttle.

Fuck, shit. Someone was here with him.

The sound of water sloshing continued from the pool. The exact person—or thing, his mind added through its evidently fucked-up state—causing the noise was just out of sight due to the small incline leading from the yard to the pool area.

And honestly, fuck his parents for their layout choices.

He looked around the yard, spotting an abandoned tennis racket discarded beside the wall.

Steve blinked at it for a moment. 

He could have sworn he lost that ages ago.

At the continued sloshing, he disregarded the thought, grabbing the racket as he slowly crept up the incline, his heart hammering in his chest.

"... Steve?" a familiar voice said as he reached the top, causing the sloshing to instantly stop.

Steve froze as he watched Barbara fucking Holland staring back at him from his pool, her hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage.

"I thought you went inside?" Barbara continued at Steve's lack of a reply, a confused expression drawn across her features.

Like a deer frozen in headlights, his heart stuck in his throat, he watched blearily as she slowly stood up, her hand still wrapped in what looked like a teatowel.

She moved toward him, now looking concerned. "... What are you wearing?" 

Steve opened his mouth, his voice getting choked up somewhere in his throat as he stared at her, taking in the same soft auburn he remembered her hair being.

"Okay, yeah, this is a really funny prank, Steve," she said finally reaching him, frowning at the racket still clutched in his hand.

She sighed at Steve's continued silence, "Seriously, did Tommy put you up to this? Is this some kind of dare?"

Still unable to speak, his voice caught somewhere in his throat—similar to how it had been when he'd died—he gaped at her, barely registering when a single drop of blood fell into the pool from her cut-open palm.

The lights of the pool flickered, causing him to snap out of whatever trance he'd momentarily found himself in as he suddenly grabbed Barbara by the arm, pulling her behind him as he heard a growl emanate from the darkness.

And fuck. He knew what was going to happen.

He knew this night. How could he not?

"What the hell?" Barbara swore as Steve put all his force into smacking the Demogorgon now standing in front of him, the racket breaking with the effort, the thing letting out a loud shriek as he quickly pulled them away, his heart racing a mile a minute.

"Fuck! Move, move!" Steve shouted at Barbara as he pulled them away from the Demogorgon, the thing chasing after them.

Blearily, he registered the soft click of a camera going off somewhere in the distance, the sound far off. 

"No time! Shed now!" Steve yelled, stumbling as he ran, quickly opening the door and pulling them inside—thanking whatever benevolent force was at work for the fact that the door was unlocked as he shut it behind him, the Demogorgon screeching just beyond the threshold, banging itself against the door.

"What the fuck is that?" Barbara asked, her voice shaky as she stared at the door. The thing had quit its racket and was making a vague clicking sound.

"I'll tell you later," Steve panted, clutching at his chest, willing his heart rate to lower as he squeezed his eyes closed for a second, willing away the oncoming panic.

And fuck, he still had no fucking idea what was happening.

He'd died. He was sure he'd died. After all, he remembered the pain and the distinct lack of oxygen that hadn't been able to reach his lungs-

A thought struck him then, its vague concept filling his mind like smoke.

"It's Tuesday?"

"No," Steve forced out, his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he tried to ground himself, "What's the date and year?"

Barbara took longer to reply as she stared at him, her eyes boring into the side of Steve's face.

"... It's November eight, 1983?"

If he was understanding correctly, he was in the past. Three years in the past, to be exact.

The lights flickering in the shed snapped him back to the present, causing him to remember the fucking Demogorgon still outside currently trying to kill them.

Ignoring his trembling legs, Steve willed himself to look around the shed, rushing forward as he caught sight of a can of gasoline and some matches.

"... Steve, what are you doing?" Barbara asked, her voice tinny.

Steve didn't respond as he unscrewed the cork, throwing it to the ground as he slowly approached the door, opening it and peering outside, expecting to find the Demogorgon hiding somewhere in the shadows, only to still as he was met with an eerie silence, the lights outside having turned back on.

"Stay here," he said to Barbara, his heart in his throat as he slowly moved outside, surveying the area, confused as he found it empty.

He moved around the yard, searching until the lights in the house suddenly turned on, someone coming down the stairs causing him to scamper into a bush, his heart racing a mile a minute in his chest.

"... Okay, what the hell happened out here?" a voice asked, stepping outside, followed by another set of footsteps.

"It looks like someone wrecked the place," another voice said.

Steve blinked because he knew those voices. 

He peered out just enough to see Tommy and Carol surveying the knocked-over beach chairs.

"Wanna bet it was Barbara having a manic episode?" Carol asked, stifling a laugh like she genuinely believed she'd just said something really funny. 

"... Care to explain what the hell happened to my backyard?" a voice asked stepping outside and oh.

Oh fuck.

Steve froze as he stared at his own face looking out at the pool area, grimacing.

Steve watched blearily as Nancy, looking exactly as she had in '83, stepped outside next to him—himself? What the fuck?—as she looked around before scampering forward as Barbara emerged from the shed, a bewildered look filling her face as she stared at him—the younger him?—standing in front of her.

He watched as they spoke, their words not quite reaching his ears as the ringing that had previously left returned with vengeance, causing panic to slither up his chest, constricting air from getting into his lungs.

Before he could register himself doing so, he let go of the gas, pocketing the matches as he ran as far away as he could from his own house—as far away as possible from his past self, not stopping even as he heard the soft click of a camera going off.