and when i'm back in chicago i feel it

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve wasn’t scared of the Upside Down - until you started bleeding

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, hurt/comfort, graphic injury/bleeding, fluff (let me know if I missed anything)

W/C: 2.6k

A/N: i got carried away last night and wrote 2 fics in a few hours :D my requests are open too!

The first thing Steve notices is the blood.

Not the vines. Not the wet, rotten stink of the Upside Down. Not Dustin shouting somewhere behind him, or Robin swearing as Eddie hacks at something with the nailed bat.

Blood.

Yours.

It’s running down your thigh in dark, fast sheets, soaking through your jeans and dripping off your boot into the ash-coated ground.

For a second, Steve just stares.

Like his brain refuses to make sense of it.

Then your face twists, and you let out this sharp, broken gasp that snaps him back into his body.

“Steve-”

He’s at your side instantly.

“Hey, hey, hey - no, no, no - sit down, sit down.” His hands are already on you, one at your waist, the other gripping your arm as he lowers you against the trunk of some dead, twisted tree. “What happened?”

You’re pale. Too pale already.

“A bat,” you choke out. “One of them got me, I didn’t-”

Steve’s hands move to your leg and you cry out when he touches just above the wound.

His face changes immediately.

“Oh, shit.”

It’s bad.

Not bone-bad, not gutting-bad, but bad enough that his stomach drops straight through the floor. Your jeans are torn open at the upper thigh, fabric glued to your skin with blood. There’s a deep slice there, ragged and ugly, like something sharp tore right through you and kept going.

Robin skids to a stop beside him. “How bad?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. Can’t. His jaw clenches so hard it hurts.

“Steve,” Robin says, sharper.

He looks up, eyes wide and furious and scared all at once. “Bad enough.”

Your fingers clutch weakly at his wrist. “Don’t do that,” you whisper.

He snaps back to you immediately, expression softening so fast it almost hurts to look at. “Do what?”

“That face.”

His throat works.

You’re trying to smile. Jesus Christ.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice going rough, “now is really not the time to be thinking about my face.”

"I'm always thinking about your face," you joke through the pain, and he shoots you an unamused look.

You suck in a shaking breath as another bolt of pain hits, your head thunking back against the tree.

Dustin appears a second later, breathing hard. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Not now,” Steve barks.

“The gate's too far if she can’t walk.”

Steve closes his eyes for half a second.

Of course it is. Of course this hell dimension can’t just let one thing be easy.

“Can you stand?” he asks you, already knowing the answer.

You try anyway. Because of course you do.

You push up on your elbows, shift your leg, and make a strangled noise that ends in a sob before you collapse right back down.

Steve catches you before your head hits the tree again. “Okay. No. Nope. Don’t do that.”

“I was just trying-”

“I know.” He’s crouched so close now his knees are pressed to yours, both hands framing your face for a second like he needs to keep you here. “I know you were.”

You blink at him, glossy-eyed and breathing too fast.

“Hey.” His thumbs brush under your eyes, smearing grime and tears together. “Listen to me.”

Your gaze locks onto his.

“I need you to stay with me for like-” he lets out a shaky breath, trying for something lighter and missing by a mile “-ten very annoying minutes, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You let out a weak, pained laugh.

“That depends,” you murmur. “Are you gonna be annoying the whole time?”

His mouth twitches.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I’m unbearable in a crisis.”

Robin is already yanking supplies from the emergency bag Nancy insisted they bring. “We’ve got gauze, bandages, one bottle of water, and - oh, good, antiseptic.”

Steve takes the bottle from her and looks at the wound again.

You see it happen - the second his expression tries to close off, tries to go blank and practical.

You know him too well for that.

“Steve.”

His eyes flick to yours.

“You’re freaking me out a little.”

That breaks him out of it.

He nods quickly. “Right. Right, okay. Sorry.” He swallows hard. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Are you lying?”

“No,” he says immediately.

Then, after the smallest pause: “Not much.”

You huff a little laugh that turns into a wince.

Steve hates that the sound of your pain is becoming something he can recognize on instinct.

“Okay.” He shifts closer. “I need to clean it and wrap it enough to get you topside.”

You nod once.

Then your hand shoots out and grabs his forearm with surprising strength. “Wait.”

“What?”

Your voice comes out smaller now. “Is it gonna hurt?”

Steve’s whole face softens.

“Oh, baby,” he says quietly.

You look away, embarrassed, but he catches your chin and turns your face back.

“It’s gonna suck,” he says, honest and gentle. “I’m not gonna bullshit you.”

You groan softly. “Great.”

“But I’m gonna be quick,” he says. “And I’m right here, okay? You can yell at me, break my hand, call me names, whatever works.”

Robin snorts. “That last one sounds fun, actually.”

Steve glares at her.

You manage the tiniest smile.

There it is. That’s enough for him to keep going.

He tears the denim wider, as carefully as he can. You hiss and your head falls back again, your fingers digging into the dirt.

“Sorry, sorry-”

“I know,” you grit out.

He pours water over the wound.

You cry out immediately, body jerking hard enough that he has to brace your knee with one hand.

“Shit - okay, okay, I know, I know.” His voice drops lower, steady and warm despite the panic clawing up his throat. “Breathe. C’mon. Look at me, not the leg. Look at me.”

You try. God, you try.

Your eyes finally find his through the haze, huge and wet and frightened.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Stay with me. Stay right here.”

He cleans it as fast as he can, jaw tight, hands steady only because they have to be. The antiseptic makes you gasp and curl forward, and Steve instinctively leans in too, pressing his forehead briefly to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Your nails bite into his sleeve. “You didn’t do it.”

“Still sorry.”

Something in your expression crumples.

Maybe it’s the pain. Maybe it’s the way he says it like he’d take it into his own body if he could.

Probably both.

Robin passes him the gauze. “Pressure.”

“Yeah.”

Steve folds it and presses it to the wound.

You let out a full, broken cry this time, and your free hand fists in the front of his jacket, dragging him closer.

His face goes stricken. “I know. I know, sweetheart, I know.”

“You keep saying that,” you choke out.

“Because I do.” He keeps pressure on the wound, the other hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. “I know it hurts. I know you’re scared. I know this place is hell and this is not how today was supposed to go.”

You make a shaky sound that might’ve been a laugh in another universe.

“I really, really hate this hellscape,” you whisper.

Steve lets out one breathless huff. “Yeah, well. Join the club.”

He wraps the bandage tight around your thigh, secure enough to slow the bleeding. Every time the fabric brushes your skin, your face twists, but you don’t pull away. You just hold onto him harder.

“That’s it,” he says softly. “You’re doing so good.”

You give him a damp, incredulous look. “I’m literally just bleeding.”

“And doing amazing at it,” he says.

Robin makes a face. “That was disgusting.”

“Thank you,” Steve says.

When the bandage is finally tied off, he sits back on his heels for half a second, just looking at you.

Your face is streaked with grime and tears. Hair matted to your forehead. Chest still rising too fast.

But the bleeding’s slowed.

Thank God.

Steve sags a little with relief he doesn’t let himself feel all the way.

Then he reaches up and brushes damp hair off your face with bloody fingers.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey.”

“You still with me?”

You nod weakly.

“Good.”

You stare at him for a second longer. “You look worse than I do.”

Robin points. “I was gonna say it.”

Steve ignores her, eyes still on you. “Can you move your foot for me?”

You do, slow and shaky.

He nods immediately. “Good. Good, that’s good.”

You squint at him. “Was that a test?”

“Yep.”

“Did I pass?”

He leans in and kisses your forehead, quick and fierce and a little desperate. “Highest score in the class.”

Your eyes flutter shut for a second.

And when they open again, you look so tired it scares him in a whole new way.

“Steve.”

His hand is on your cheek instantly. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

“You’re not gonna.”

You blink. “What?”

He stands in one motion, shrugging off his jacket and tying it tighter over the bandage for extra pressure before crouching in front of you.

“You are absolutely not walking on that leg.”

“Steve-”

“I’m carrying you.”

Dustin, somewhere behind him, says, “That’s romantic. Horrifying, but romantic.”

“Shut up, Dustin.”

You let out the tiniest laugh, then wince again. “You can’t carry me all the way to the gate.”

Steve glances back at you over his shoulder, offended. “Excuse you. I’m very heroic.”

“You’re also dramatic.”

“And strong,” he says. “Don’t forget devastatingly strong.”

Robin gags.

But then Steve turns back fully, and the joke slips right out of his face.

He crouches closer, hands settling carefully at your sides.

“Hey,” he says, low enough that it’s just for you now. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

Something in your face softens.

You nod.

He slides one arm behind your back, the other under your knees - careful, so careful with the injured leg - and lifts you against his chest.

The second you’re off the ground, your arms go around his neck automatically. A sharp breath leaves you, but once you’re settled, you melt against him like there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

Steve looks down at you, eyes scanning your face for pain.

“You good?”

You tuck your face into his shoulder. “No.”

He huffs softly. “Yeah, fair.”

Then he adjusts his hold and starts walking.

The Upside Down crackles and groans around you, vines twitching underfoot, distant shrieks echoing somewhere far off. Robin and Dustin move ahead, clearing the path, but Steve barely notices anything except the weight of you in his arms and the heat of your breath against his neck.

Every now and then, he glances down.

Every time, you’re looking worse.

Sleepier.

That terrifies him more than the blood did.

“Hey,” he says after a minute. “Nope. None of that.”

You make a sleepy noise. “None of what?”

“Don’t go all quiet on me.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.” He hikes you up a little higher. “But I need you awake.”

You crack one eye open. “You’re bossy.”

“Yeah? And you love it.”

Even half-conscious, you manage to mumble, “Debatable.”

That gets a real smile out of him.

“There she is.”

Your fingers curl weakly against the back of his shirt. “Steve?”

“Yeah, baby?”

Your voice is so soft he almost misses it.

“Were you scared?”

He looks ahead for a second, jaw tightening.

Then he answers honestly.

“Out of my goddamn mind.”

You’re quiet at that.

Then your forehead presses a little harder into his shoulder. “Sorry.”

That makes him stop dead for half a second.

He shifts you closer and starts moving again.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“What?”

“Apologise for getting hurt.”

You blink up at him, dazed.

“I’m serious,” he says. “No apologising. Not for this.”

You swallow.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

By the time they haul you through the gate, into Steve's beamer, and eventually into the Wheeler basement, Steve’s shirt is slick with your blood and his own sweat. Nancy’s barking orders, someone’s moving furniture, and towels are being thrown around, but Steve barely hears any of it.

He gets you down onto the couch as gently as he can, kneeling immediately beside you.

The second his arms leave you, your hand shoots out.

“Wait-”

He catches it right away. “I’m here.”

Your grip loosens, but you don’t let go.

Nancy appears with a better med kit. “Let me see.”

Steve starts to move aside, but you tighten your hold again.

He looks at you.

Your lip trembles. “Stay.”

Nancy’s expression softens in that quiet, knowing way she gets sometimes. “He can stay.”

So he does.

He stays while Nancy cuts away the rest of the fabric and cleans the wound properly. He stays while you cry again, quieter this time, exhausted and embarrassed and hurting. He stays while you squeeze his hand so hard his knuckles crack.

And every time you tense, every time your breathing starts to run away from you, Steve leans in close and talks you through it.

“That’s it.”

“You’re okay.”

“I know, I know.”

“Just one more second.”

“You’re doing so good.”

At one point your eyes fill and you whisper, “It still hurts.”

Steve brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know, sweetheart.”

And then, softer: “I know. I wish it were me instead.”

Your face crumples instantly. “Don’t say that.”

He looks wrecked. “Can’t help it.”

Nancy finishes at last, wrapping the bandage neatly and sitting back. “She’ll be okay. She needs rest, fluids, and someone to make sure she doesn’t try to limp around and be brave.”

Steve snorts weakly. “Yeah, I know exactly who we’re dealing with.”

You would glare at him, but you’re too tired.

Nancy leaves to wash up. The others drift somewhere else in the house, their voices low and muffled.

And then it’s just you and Steve.

Again.

His hand is still wrapped around yours. His other comes up to brush your hair back, gentler now than he was even with the bandages.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “Sorry.”

He gives you a look.

You sigh. “Right. No apologising.”

“Thank you.”

You’re quiet for a second, studying his face.

He looks pale under the grime. Eyes still too wide. Like the adrenaline hasn’t figured out it can leave yet.

“Come here,” you whisper.

He hesitates. “I don’t wanna jostle you.”

“Steve.”

That tone does it.

He leans in carefully, and you lift your arms just enough for him to fold himself around you without touching your leg. His chest presses to your side, one arm sliding behind your shoulders, the other anchoring lightly at your waist.

The second he’s there, you relax.

So does he.

A little.

You tuck your face against his neck. He smells like sweat, blood, and that stupid cologne he insists he barely wears even though you can always tell.

His lips brush your temple.

“You did good,” he murmurs.

You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “I got mauled by a demon bat.”

“And survived,” he says. “Very hot of you, honestly.”

You laugh for real this time, then immediately wince.

“Easy,” he says, smiling now too.

You settle again after a moment, boneless with exhaustion.

His fingers move slowly through your hair.

“Try to sleep,” he whispers.

You’re already halfway there, but you force your eyes open one more time.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I knew you’d get me out of there.”

That one lands somewhere deep.

His face goes unbearably soft.

“Always,” he says.

Then he kisses your forehead and stays there, holding you together while your breathing evens out and the worst of the pain finally starts to ebb.

And long after you fall asleep, Steve doesn’t move.

Just keeps one hand in yours and the other resting carefully over the bandage on your thigh, like he can protect you from anything if he just stays by your side.

requested vampire!au sequel: you're still you