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The silence of the Upside Down observation room was thick, pressing against Steve’s ears like cotton wool. He sat huddled in the corner, his back against the cold concrete and his shoulder wedged against the heavy desk he had just heaved over. Every breath he took felt heavy, filtered through the oppressive, ash-flecked air of a world that felt like it was finally winning.
His face was a map of dull, radiating heat. Dustin had landed several hits, desperate, frantic swings born of a grief so sharp it had turned into physical violence. Steve hadn’t fought back; he had only tried to catch the kid’s wrists, to pull him into a hold that would make him stop, but he had been unsuccessful. Dustin had been too fast, too fueled by the loss of Eddie, and Steve had eventually just let go, his own heart breaking under the weight of the things they’d said to each other.
“If I’m such a goddamn idiot, how come I’m the one still standing here?”.
The echo of his own voice made him want to heave. He stared at his hands in the dim, blue-grey light. They were clean of blood, but they felt filthy with the memory of the argument. He had called Eddie's sacrifice a "dumb move". He had stood there and watched the light go out of Dustin’s eyes, replaced by a cold, hard loathing that Steve wasn't sure he could ever fix. He was supposed to be the anchor, the one who didn't crack, yet he’d used the memory of a dead friend as a blunt instrument just because he was tired and scared.
He reached out and punched the concrete wall beside him. It wasn't a hero’s punch; it was a clumsy, desperate strike that sent a jolt of pain through his knuckles and up his forearm. He did it again, leaning his forehead against the cold stone, letting the physical sting ground him. He was the babysitter. He was the one who was supposed to bear the brunt of the anger so the kids didn't have to. But he had failed. He had snapped, and in doing so, he had left Dustin alone in the dark.
Steve stayed there for what felt like hours, listening to the wet, rhythmic pulsing of the vines in the walls. He felt smaller than he ever had, not King Steve, not the guy with the bat, just a twenty-year-old kid who was out of his depth and losing the people he loved to a war he couldn't win. He thought about how everything he did seemed to be the wrong move lately.
Suddenly, a sound pierced through the heavy hum of the lab. It wasn't the roar of a monster or the shifting of vines.
"Nancy! Jonathan!"
The voice was distant, muffled by several thick walls, but Steve recognized it instantly. It was Dustin. The anger from their fight was gone, replaced by a high-pitched, jagged edge of pure panic.
"Jonathan! Nancy!?"
The sound of Dustin’s fear acted like a physical electric shock, jolting Steve out of his spiral. The paralysis that had kept him pinned to the floor vanished in an instant. He didn't think about his bruised ribs or the fact that his jaw felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. He didn't think about the cruel things they’d just screamed at each other or how Dustin had just tried to tear him apart.
Steve scrambled to his feet, his boots skidding on the grit-covered floor. He didn't have a flashlight, but he didn't care; he knew these halls well enough by now, and the sound of that voice was the only compass he needed. He threw his weight against the door, bursting back out into the hallway.
"Dustin!" he tried to shout, but his voice cracked, still raw from the breakdown. He didn't stop to catch his breath. He turned the corner at a dead sprint, heart hammering against his ribs, following the sound of the panicked cries. His only thought, his only drive, was that he had to reach the kid before the Upside Down, or whatever was out there, did.