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pesterloglog · 1 year ago

Text

Jane Crocker, Jake English, Roxy Lalonde, Fefetasprite

Act 6, page 5521-5540

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

GT: Greetings!

GG: Oh. Hello, Jake.

GT: Im not interrupting anything am i?

GG: Um, not really? Roxy and I are just setting a few things up here.

GT: Ah i see. I would be happy to message you again later if it would spare you any inconvenience.

GG: No, it's fine! It's really nice to hear from you, actually.

GG: I was starting to worry you might have forgotten.

GT: Uh.

GT: Forgotten?

GG: Oh no...

GT: Forgotten what now?

GG: Never mind.

GT: Wait dont tell me.

GT: Is it a tomb or a crypt or somesuch? Are you preparing for another grist seeking expedition??

GT: Oh shit did you schedule my assistance for the raid and i forgot all about it???

GG: No, Jake.

GG: We didn't need your help raiding a tomb. But thanks for thinking of us.

GG: I don't know what this clueless pair of damsels would do without you.

GT: Blast.

GT: Well what in the name of willy howard tafts great tub choking bottom could i be forgetting then?

GT: This is going to drive me CRAZY! Can you give me a hint?

GG: Yes. It has to do with the day I was born, which was almost exactly sixteen years ago.

GT: Of course! Your birthday!!!

GG: Didn't you get Roxy's invitation?

GG: It was my understanding that she gave you and Dirk notice weeks ago.

GT: Yes thats right. Now i remember. The date sure snuck up on us quick didnt it?

GT: Sorry you know how things can slip my mind. The gourd on my shoulders isnt the steel trap it used to be. Nothing like the well oiled puzzlebuster you've got up there.

GG: Mm.

GT: Well damn.

GT: Looks like the egg monster took quite the spirited dump on my face this time.

GG: Jake. I... what?

GT: I feel so dumb. Ill be right over.

GG: Well, if you recall, the party is actually tomorrow.

GG: Like I said, we're just setting a few things up.

GG: Roxy is putting up some decorations. I baked a cake. You were of course free to join us early too. I just thought since I hadn't heard from you in quite some time, you had better things to do.

GT: You baked a cake for your own party?

GG: Yes. So?

GT: I dont know something seems amiss about that. Isnt that against tradition or inviting bad luck or something?

GT: But I guess it makes sense since you love baking cakes. Its like a present you give to yourself!

GG: Jake, what was it you actually wanted?

GT: Oh. I just wanted to get your advice on some stuff.

GT: But since ive been a heel and forgotten about your party maybe i shouldnt bother you with that?

GG: Mmm.

GT: So sixteen big ones huh! The ole sweet sixteen.

GT: Last one of us to notch the vaunted one sixer. Its a big step! I knew youd make it, i always said i believed in you didnt i?

GT: Just kidding, the inexorable nature of times passage virtually assured you would get that old so you didnt really have anything to do with it. I mean not that i dont still believe in you, i do.

GG: ...

GT: I cant believe its already been...

GT: How long?

GT: What, like a year already since we entered? Holy moly, where does the time go.

GG: It's been more like five months.

GT: Oh.

GT: Well thats still a pretty long time.

GT: I have to admit its been a longer stint than i expected. Certainly one involving more downtime than i would have guessed.

GT: I really thought we would have been treated to more action, what being legendary players of a mysterious cosmic game. But no, it seems the primary duty of the so called nobles is to wait around twiddling our thumbs.

GG: Mmhmm.

GT: I am really beginning to wonder when these fabled heroes will arrive? And are they really going to be those we have been led to believe?

GT: I sure hope so. Id so love to meet my pen pal. Dear old departed grandma. But as a feisty youngster! What a hoot thatll be. And you with your poppop. Lets not forget about him.

GT: Not to mention the young strider and lalonde relatives. I bet theyre a barrel of laughs. I met them once but i was too shy to say anything. Then i got in a fight. Did i ever mention that jane?

GG: Yes.

GG: Many times.

GT: Not to say its been all downtime and doldrums. Exploring has been great. Finding treasure, solving riddles, becoming better friends. I wouldnt trade that for anything.

GT: And maybe we are getting close to something big happening regardless? Every day it seems like more and more undead creatures crawl from out of the shadows. Bigger ones and stronger ones. Does their presence herald something worse coming, just as the legends indicate our presence heralds something better?

GT: I just wish we could actually kill the fucking things. Even the little ones can absorb so much damage before yielding any spoils!

GT: Remember jane? Remember at the start how we kept trying to kill them?

GG: Mmhmm.

GT: We would all gang up on like an imp skeleton for an hour just clobbering it repeatedly. Knocking its bones down, waiting for it to reassemble and keep coming at us. Only to finally be rewarded with a shitty pittance of grist!

GT: But i guess the silver lining was it forced us to explore ruins more often and scavenge for loot there. So i think weve learned a lot more this way.

GT: But it sure makes resources hard to come by, having to get them exclusively from chests and whatnot. Sometimes i wonder if weve been missing out on a really rewarding part of the game by neglecting to build up our houses? Makes you wonder. But it just costs so much! Better to stick to making more practical stuff dont you think?

GG: Mm.

GT: Sometimes i wonder if the heroes had the same problems in their game. Do you think they found an easier way to kill skeletons?

GT: Were they just as shameless as us when it came to splurging our precious grist on swanky new duds?

GT: Did the same enigmatic bard haunt their game? And if so which hilarious dead trolls did he throw into the flashy blobs?

GT: Mr erisol tells me he knows many things about the heroes because he saw them in action when he was alive. But he wont tell me a thing about them! These troll sprites sure do love keeping their secrets dont they? Heheh.

GG: That's nice, Jake. I'm kind of busy though.

GG: What did you actually want to talk to me about?

GG: Actually, why don't we just talk about it tomor-

GT: Okay we can talk about that if you insist.

GT: Really jane you sure know how to twist a fellas arm!

GT: I just wanted to get your take on what you might call my own personal ultimate riddle.

GT: It involves dirk.

GG: You don't say.

GT: Its true. I havent seen him in a couple days.

GT: I have been laying low for a while but i just received another series of pushy inquiries from him.

GT: Maybe i shouldnt be too hard on the guy since he was probably just concerned, not having heard from me and all.

GT: But i still couldnt help but detect a tone of desperation, like he could sense i may be having doubts.

GT: This kind of thing has been all too common unfortunately.

GT: Im not sure its going to work anymore.

GG: Mm.

GT: He can be so needy!

GT: If only he could just relax and trust that i wont spontaneously tire of his company.

GT: Although the irony i guess is that his overbearing tendencies are beginning to fulfill his own paranoid prophecy.

GT: Its such a shame. Weve had so many capital adventures together.

GT: I dont know why he has to be like this. He always was an intense fella. But in person... holy cow.

GT: I wonder if it has to do with the fact that he grew up alone in the middle of the ocean? And now he doesnt know how to deal with people without suffocating them?

GT: But then again i grew up under similar circumstances and i think i turned out pretty much ok socially, at least i hope so. Do you think so jane?

GG: Mmmm!

GT: Actually it just occurred to me. Its funny he didnt mention your party in his text.

GT: Im SURE he wouldnt have forgotten. He never forgets ANYTHING what with all his calculations and his computerized brain. Both figurative and literal.

GT: I wonder what his game was? He invited me on an expedition without mention of your party as a potential conflict...

GT: If he sensed i could use some space perhaps he was concerned that if we both showed up to the party it would be awkward?

GT: Or maybe he didnt want to mention he was going to the party in case it would spook me away from attending?

GT: Argh! Do you see jane?? This is what his endless machinations do to you!

GT: Anything he says could be part of some grand convoluted scheme and it just makes you agonize and boggle and wonder until your brain hurts and you just KNOW its a battle you cant win.

GT: You know what i mean jane?

GG: Mmhmm.

GT: Do you think i should just bite the bullet and end it?

GT: Its probably the right thing to do.

GT: Boy am i not looking forward to that conversation though.

GT: Its going to be a doozy. What did i get myself into here?

GT: I think ive made a lot of mistakes honestly.

GT: Not the least of which was getting this shitty tattoo, now that i think about it.

GT: Yes yes i know we all thought it was a riot at first.

GT: I guess it still is maybe? But lately ive been wondering if it might not have been an act of sound judgment.

GT: Can you believe that jane?

GG: Hmm!

GT: I dont know. Its a real pickle im in here but i do feel better just being able to get it off my chest.

GT: You are such a good friend jane, always ready to listen to my relationship woes. What a trooper!

GT: It never ceases to amaze me how excellent you are at this friendship business. Where would we all be without you?

GT: In a way you really have been the glue holding us all together on our adventure. Gosh youre a standup gal.

GT: Oh which actually reminds me of ANOTHER thing thats been bugging me about dirk.

GT: He can often be almost hilariously self absorbed. Dont even get me started on when he starts going off on these long monologues about his philosophical gobbledygook.

GT: I'm not sure he actually has much of a filter when it comes to what others regard as interesting points of conversation.

GT: Not to rag on the guy too hard but i guess at times i would just like to see a little more self awareness from him is all.

GG: Jake.

GT: Did i tell you what happened on our last expedition together?

GG: Jake.

GT: I cant remember if i mentioned. Oh man but thinking back on what happened its even more ridiculous in retrospect.

GT: Where do i begin?

GG: Jake!!!

GT: What?

GG: Shut up!

GT: Huh?

GG: Shut up!!!

GT: Errr.

GT: Did i say something wrong?

GG: JAKE.

GG: PLEASE.

GG: STOP TALKING.

GT: I dont...

GG: JAKE.

GG: I SAID SHUT UP.

GT: Wha...

GG: JUST,

GG: SHUT,

GG: THE FUCK,

GG: UUUUUUUUUUP!!!

GT: Ay caramba.

GT: What in tarnation is the matter jane?

GG: WHAT'S THE MATTER?

GG: WHAT'S THE MATTER???

GG: I AM SICK.

GG: AND FUCKING TIRED.

GG: TO DEATH.

GG: OF YOUR INSUFFERABLE BLITHERING BULLSHIT!!!!!!

GT: Whoa there.

GT: You seem really worked up. Maybe we should just calm down and talk this through like sensible adults?

GT: Also youre going kinda heavy on the caps there arent you? Sort of makes it seem like your shouting. Just saying.

GG: I AM SHOUTING!

GG: THERE ARE LITERAL SHOUTS OF ANGER COMING OUT OF MY ACTUAL MOUTH, AND THEY ARE DIRECTED AT YOU!

GT: Yikes.

GT: Well ok then.

GT: Can you tell me why youre so upset with me?

GT: Is it because i forgot your birthday party? Because i do feel awful about that.

GG: OH MY GOD. WHY ARE YOU SO CLUELESS?

GG: I CAN'T STAND IT!

GT: Really i feel like a tool about forgetting. You know how i am. I forget stuff.

GT: I mean...

GT: Shucks buster. If i knew how to make it up to you i would.

GT: If it ameliorates matters any i am sighing pretty much the shucksiest buster of contrition i can manage.

GG: IT'S NOT ABOUT MY BIRTHDAY!!!

GG: THE FACT THAT YOU FORGOT CERTAINLY DOESN'T HELP, BUT THAT'S NOT IT. SEE, YOU JUST DON'T GET IT!

GG: OH, AND COULD YOU PLEASE STOP SAYING SHUCKS BUSTER?!

GG: SHUCKS BUSTER WAS MY THING! AND YOU STOLE IT!

GT: I thought shucks buster was...

GT: Sorta our thing?

GG: NO, IT WAS MY THING, BUT I ALLOWED IT TO BE OUR THING! BACK WHEN YOU USED TO GIVE A SHIT! BUT NOW IT'S JUST MINE, AND YOU CAN'T HAVE IT ANYMORE!

GT: Uhh.

GT: Ok?

GT: I suppose i could go with shoot buddy. Or...

GT: Fudge junior?

GG: .................

GT: Or maybe forgo an analogous catch phrase altogether heh.

GT: But i clearly stepped in it big time with you and id really like to know what i did.

GG: JAKE, LET ME ASK YOU.

GG: DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER THE LAST TIME WE TALKED?

GT: Hmm.

GT: Wasnt it a few days ago?

GG: NO. TRY A FEW WEEKS AGO!

GG: AND EVEN THEN, YOU MESSAGED ME JUST TO TALK ABOUT SOME STUPID SHIT THAT HAPPENED WITH DIRK.

GG: A TEDIOUS GESTURE WHICH YOU THEN SAW FIT TO REPRISE ON MY BIRTHDAY OF ALL DAYS, WHILST CONSIDERATELY FORGETTING ABOUT IT!

GG: AND EVEN WHEN I REMINDED YOU ABOUT IT, YOU STILL BARGED AHEAD WITH YOUR SELF-INDULGENT RELATIONSHIP CLAPTRAP ANYWAY!

GT: I didnt realize it was so long ago. Sorry about that.

GT: Again all i can say is where does the time go? I guess i have trouble keeping up with everything im supposed to. Which it would seem includes personal relationships as much as calendars.

GT: Im not much of a leader of people. Not like you are jane. I think when it comes to adventuring maybe im more of a solo act?

GT: Which now that i think about it might be contributing to my problems with dirk. Maybe thats part of the reason why i needed some space?

GT: Oh brother there i go again blustering about my problems. I guess i see what you mean.

GT: But really if you wanted to talk sooner then why didnt you get in touch with me?

GT: It feels as though im always the one to say hello to you lately.

GG: YEAH! THAT'S BECAUSE EVERY SINGLE TIME WE CHAT, YOU DO NOTHING BUT TALK ABOUT YOURSELF!

GG: YOU NEVER ASK ME HOW I'M FEELING OR WHAT I'VE BEEN UP TO. YOU JUST LAUNCH INTO YOUR ROMANTIC PROBLEMS, AND I JUST LISTEN LIKE AN ACCOMMODATING FOOL AS ALWAYS!

GG: SO I JUST STOPPED BOTHERING! WHY SHOULD I SUBJECT MYSELF TO THAT REPEATEDLY?!

GG: YOU MIGHT ACTUALLY BE THE MOST THOUGHTLESS, SELF-CENTERED PERSON I HAVE EVER MET!

GG: I CAN'T BELIEVE I USED TO FEEL...

GT: Huh?

GT: Used to feel what?

GG: JAKE, HAS IT EVER OCCURRED TO YOU HOW IT MUST FEEL FOR SOMEONE TO LISTEN TO HER FRIEND GO ON AND ON ABOUT HIS BOYFRIEND PROBLEMS WHEN...

GG: WHEN ALL ALONG SHE...

GG: BUT SHE JUST COULDN'T SAY BECAUSE SHE BLEW IT AND IT WAS TOO LATE TO...

GG: I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I'M BOTHERING TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU. NEVER MIND.

GT: Now hold the phone.

GT: Jane i think i may finally understand whats been going on here.

GT: In retrospect i cant believe ive been this blind.

GT: Youre right i really can be deplorably thick sometimes.

GT: Looking back i can see how many of our conversations must have been torment for you.

GT: You really should have told me how you felt sooner!

GG: YEAH. I...

GG: I know. :(

GT: If you told me you had the hots for dirk i would have backed off without another word.

GT: What are friends for!

GG: RAAARARRAAUUUAAAAUUAGHGHGGHGGGGHHGH!

GT: Wait...

GT: Did i say something dumb again?

GT: Consarn it.

GT: I think maybe something is getting lost in translation over our respective chat clients.

GT: Maybe we should wait until tomorrow and just clear the air face to face at your party?

GG: NO!

GG: YOU AREN'T COMING TO MY PARTY!

GT: Aw come on jane. Be a sport.

GG: YOU AREN'T COMING TO MY PARTY, BECAUSE THERE ISN'T GOING TO BE A PARTY!

GG: GO RAID SOME TOMBS WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND. GO MAKE OUT WITH HIM OR BREAK UP WITH HIM, OR WHATEVER IT IS YOUR FICKLE, SELFISH HEART DESIRES!

GG: I AM AT THE END OF MY ROPE WITH YOU!

GG: I AM FED UP WITH YOUR STUPID MOVIES AND YOUR STUPID ADVENTURES AND YOUR STUPID OLD TIMEY CHARMS AND YOU STUUUUUUPID DASHING GOOD LOOKS. WHO NEEDS ANY OF IT?????

GT: I say jane. Before you do anything rash...

GG: OH, WILL YOU PLEASE,

GG: JUST,

GG: STFU BUSTER!!!!!!!!!

ROXY: jane

ROXY: yo uh

ROXY: janey

ROXY: u ok there

JANE: I WILL BE PEACHY FUCKING KEEN ONCE I STOMP THIS NOVELTY MUSTACHE HEADSET INTO OBLIVION, AND NOT A MOMENT SOONER!

ROXY: janey uh

ROXY: that aint a reasonable thing you said

JANE: AU CONTRAIRE.

JANE: I BELIEVE YOU WILL FIND THAT ONCE THIS PIECE OF SHIT HAS BEEN REDUCED TO SUBATOMIC PARTICLES, WE WILL ALL COME OUT SMELLING LIKE FUCKING ROSES.

ROXY: jaaaaane

ROXY: stoppit :(

ROXY: ur upsettin fefeta

ROXY: just

ROXY: think of fefeta is all im asking

ROXY: poor fefeta :'(

FEFETASPRITE: 3833 < 383

JANE: OH POOR FEFETA MY SWEET PATOOTIE!

JANE: YOU AND I BOTH KNOW FEFETA HAS HAD TO DEAL WITH GARBAGE FROM JERKOFF BOYS BEFORE.

JANE: SO DON'T GIVE ME THIS POOR FEFETA CRAP.

ROXY: lol yeah

ROXY: my girl fefeta knows whats up

ROXY: she been around the d bag block a time or 2

ROXY: em i rite fefeta

FEFETASPRITE: 3833 < 3;3

ROXY: shit yes gimme a paw bump

ROXY: BOMP

ROXY: jane u want in on this action

ROXY: come give us a fist fulla sugar

ROXY: complete the 3way for max girl power + solidarity against dumb dudes

ROXY: janey jeez dont leave us hanging here

JANE: SIGH.

JANE: FINE.

ROXY: jane that was the piss poorest paw bump ive ever seen

ROXY: that was like a negative bump

ROXY: we are going to have to bump long and hard into the night to dig us outta this fuckin bump hole you dug us into

ROXY: w/ that tragic bump

ROXY: that bump was like

ROXY: shakespearean

ROXY: makes me want to weep softly and leave a bouquet somewhere

ROXY: someone plays a sad trumpet in the distance

ROXY: look fefeta just sniffled a little at how sad that bump w-

JANE: SHHHHHHHH!

ROXY: ok god

ROXY: was just tryin to cheer you up

ROXY: take ur mind off whatever the hell that was

ROXY: you werent serious about calling off the party were you

ROXY: here let me just get the chess guys to help put the table back on the roof

ROXY: and maybe salvage the cake out of that sand dune over there...

ROXY: aaaaand NOPE the chess guys just finished eatin it

ROXY: lets just bake another k?

JANE: NO, I WAS SERIOUS!

JANE: I'M NOT...

JANE: I'm not in the mood for a party anymore.

ROXY: so it sounds like

ROXY: u got jaked

JANE: >:(

ROXY: why yes

ROXY: that is the face of a girl who just got english'd with extreme prejudice

ROXY: he was a block head and forgot your birthday didnt he

ROXY: im sorry jane

JANE: Yeah, me too. Can we maybe not rehash the whole terrible conversation though??

ROXY: yeah we dont have to

ROXY: just maybe try not to hold whatever dumb shit he said against him forever?

ROXY: thats just how the guy is

ROXY: its like

ROXY: he doesnt mean to be a douche

ROXY: but its just kind of a byproduct of the whole ridiculous jake english experience

ROXY: like his dunkass shenanigans leave behind a residue that looks like douche and tastes like douche but it aint the real thing?

ROXY: like douche substitute

ROXY: "i cant believe its not douche"

ROXY: um

ROXY: im just trying to say not terrible things about him in hopes you dont start hating each other but i guess this isnt what you wanna hear now

JANE: >:(

ROXY: soooo yeah

ROXY: i guess jakes dumpin dirk soon?

ROXY: hahah like the writing wasnt so on the wall with those two from day one

ROXY: poor dirk

ROXY: ive wanted to say something to prepare him for that but

ROXY: never had the heart to bring it up i guess?

ROXY: what can u do....

ROXY: hey

ROXY: but the silver lining is

ROXY: i mean if you can forgive him for shitting on your bday and stuff

ROXY: maybe this is finally your chance to make a play 4 the j man??

ROXY: ehhhh??? ;)

FEFETASPRITE: 3833 < 38D

JANE: ROXY, PLEASE.

JANE: AS IF THAT ISN'T THE FURTHEST THING FROM MY MIND RIGHT NOW!

JANE: I AM SO DONE WITH THAT WHOLE TRAIN OF THOUGHT.

ROXY: so you really think youre just

ROXY: completely over him?

JANE: YESSIREE!

JANE: IF JAKE'S THE RAINBOW, THEN JUST CALL ME A LITTLE HOUSE FROM KANSAS!

JANE: WHEEEEEE!

ROXY: wait rly

ROXY: as in like you dont give a shit if he dates anybody or

JANE: MMMMMMMHM!!!

ROXY: i seeee

ROXY: iiiiiinteresting!

FEFETASPRITE: 3833 < 38O

JANE: WAIT...

JANE: WHAT??

JANE: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN???

ROXY: nothing!

ROXY: i was just...

ROXY: it was a joke!

JANE: WAS IT REALLY?!

ROXY: ok maybe not a total joke

ROXY: but still mostly a joke!

ROXY: im only

ROXY: trying to

ROXY: blurgh

ROXY: i dont know

JANE: ROXY, I GET YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER, BUT A LOT OF THINGS YOU'RE SAYING HERE AREN'T REALLY HELPING!

JANE: DO YOU EVEN REALIZE WHAT YOU'RE SAYING HALF THE TIME?

JANE: I THINK I LIKED YOU BETTER WHEN YOU WERE DRINKING!

ROXY: jaaane no

ROXY: dont say that

ROXY: i had a problem :(

FEFETASPRITE: 3833 < 38(

JANE: OK, YEAH!

JANE: I WAS WAY OUT OF LINE THERE AND I'M SORRY!

JANE: THAT STUPID CONVERSATION WITH JAKE JUST PUSHED ME OVER SOME KIND OF EDGE AND NOW I AM FEELING REALLY, REALLY DISTRAUGHT!

JANE: THIS GAME IS SO MUCH MORE DEPRESSING THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE! EVERYTHING IS DEAD AND EMPTY AND FULL OF GRAVES AND ALL WE'RE SUPPOSED TO DO IS JUST KEEP WAITING AND WAITING AND WAITING! BUT FOR HOW MUCH LONGER? AND I STILL DON'T KNOW WHERE MY DAD IS, AND YOU STILL HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO REACH CALLIOPE, AND WHAT IF THEY'RE BOTH...

JANE: AND NOW ON TOP OF ALL THAT, I MAY HAVE PERMANENTLY DESTROYED MY FRIENDSHIP WITH JAKE!

JANE: AND NOW...

JANE: Now...

JANE: I just want to be alone.

ROXY: jane wait

JANE: I have to go!

ROXY: where are you going!

JANE: HOME!!!

ROXY: good lard

ROXY: all my friends are being disasters

ROXY: welp looks like its just us

ROXY: party nite w gcat and fefeta

ROXY: fefeta???

ROXY: oh dangit

ROXY: hey you know i could have used some support there

ROXY: where was all that profound shippin expertise when we really needed it!

ROXY: usually i can barely shut you up girl

ROXY: maybe you just clammed up at all the drama?

ROXY: hehehe youd have loved that pun

ROXY: the one i just said about the clams

ROXY: aw its ok you had enough drama in your lives

ROXY: you deserve some rest

ROXY: good night sweet princess

ROXY: sooo

ROXY: gcat

ROXY: i guess that just leaves the two of us

ROXY: wow this is

ROXY: great?

ROXY: you gonna behave urself

ROXY: not do anything too uh

ROXY: vexing or cheshire catty

ROXY: i hope?

ROXY: oh mother fuck

1 note · View note

sexybabystevie · 2 years ago

Note

hurt/comfort steve thought (if you’re still accepting them!): he really hates crying in front of ppl so throughout the beginning of your relationship you try to gently remind him it’s ok if he cries in front of you, it’s not a sign of weakness etc. and when something happens that makes him break down in front of you for the first time, he’s like rly shy & embarrassed at first :(

A/n: Oh my gosh this took SO long to answer, I am SO SO sorry about that. Anyways, I enjoyed this thought so much that I decided to pair it with a running idea that I had in my brain lately, so this ended up Steve-Thought-turned-whole-fic, so I hope you enjoy it, lovely!! Once again, thank you for sending this in and partially inspiring this!

His Knight in Shining Armor

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: Post Volume 2 Setting, Mentions of Eddie's Death and Max's Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Guilt, Comfort/Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Finally Gets to Cry, Despite the Title Reader's Gender is Ambiguous, Episode: s04e09 "The Piggyback"

Word Count: 5527

Summary: Even as Steve's long-term partner, you've never once seen him cry. In the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, and in the very hospital room where a barely-living Max Mayfield lies, that changes.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

“Steve!”

Your legs burn as you chase your boyfriend out into the hallway, black Converse tapping softly at the dingy grey tiles beneath you. Everything is a blur – white walls and white coats and white lights that are far too bright and probing at you; it’s all blending together – and the smell of chemical antiseptic gives you a nauseating headache. Still, all of your grievances are floating, fading, flying away at the sight of the man before you.

Steve Harrington is too strong for his own good. A lover, probably one of the most caring people you’ve ever known, and yet he carries so much. The guilt of being Nancy Wheeler’s bullshit for much too long, the awareness of Hawkins’ looming and inevitable doom, the instinct and need to be there to protect you and Robin, to protect the kids – all of these are things that Steve Harrington has placed upon his own back, heaving emotional weights that even a sumo wrestler would struggle to uphold, and yet you had never once seen him cry. Or, rather, he had never once let you see him cry.

You had cried in front of him several times – stress from work and just shitty days in general tearing you down – so it was difficult to imagine just how he was holding himself together. With the thinnest of threads, is what you would assume.

You had always told him that it was okay to be vulnerable, that you would be there to catch him if he ever fell, to hold him during his starless nights, but he was persistent. He shrugged off your offers, not in an unappreciative way, but in a manner that seemed to mean that he wanted you to be under the impression that he was fine. That he didn’t need you to sweep up the broken pieces of him and put them into the dustpan, because he had only ever tried being so defenseless with one other person before, and what had that gotten him? Bullshit…

You never pushed him, hoping with everything in you that he would absorb your words into his heart and come to you when the walls crumbled, but you had a feeling that the first cracks were forming in his foundation when this entire mess with Vecna started.

When you had stepped into Max’s hospital room together, hands interlocked, you almost felt his breathing catch as if you shared the same lungs. His palm stilled against your own, cold and clammy, and he was slinking away from you, back out the door you had barely stepped through to begin with. He was running down the hallway, towards the emergency fire exit at the very end, and you knew that the river was overflowing the dam.

“Steve, please–” you breathlessly call out to him, gaining a few confused glances from patients and visitors nearby, but he’s out the door before the words have fully fallen from your lips. Whether he’s ignoring you in the hopes that you turn away or he somehow just hasn’t heard you yet, you’re unsure.

Regardless, you’re still hot on his heels, your feet hitting the ground impossibly faster. The force of your speed causes them to go numb, nerves firing like you’re stepping on little knives, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on watching Steve’s hazy outline through the blurred windows to really notice. Everything in you hopes that his silhouette doesn’t get smaller – he’s not walking away into the parking lot, he’s not – and you must be really good at manifestations because your wishes somehow ring true. That, or maybe it’s the fact that you know Steve Harrington like the scenic backroads to your parents’ house.

You underestimate just how rapidly the door to the outside is approaching, too caught up in your own worry to think about your physical body. The breath is knocked out of your lungs as you collide with the exit, harsh metal bruising your hipbone as the force of your being sends the door flying open. Wincing and gasping for air, you wobble and step down onto the concrete landing below, eyes scanning for your boyfriend with the intensity of those futuristic pieces of spyware that Joyce Byers said local conspiracy theorist Murray Bauman owned. Maybe your eyes were as powerful as the spyware too, because you easily found Steve’s mop of ruffled-through hair even when it was barely visible over the stairs.

Posture slumped, a man – no, younger; he’s a helpless boy now, a boy who has bravely bitten off far more than he’s able to chew – with shaking shoulders, hollow and yet so unbearably full. His palms shield his face from the world, the only way he can go about holding himself up in this moment, and he caves in on himself, a statue who’s been pushed a little too far over the edge and who is now facing the irreparable consequences. Statues only are made for heroes, how did he end up with one anyway?

You tentatively approach him, walking a little over halfway down the staircase with each move forward feeling like a punch to the gut, and his despondence is like someone has taken your favorite sweater and tried to replace it, but the material isn’t as soft as before and the stitching on the inside isn’t in the same pattern. You stand three steps behind him – his shadow is on your shoelaces – and he says nothing. Three becomes two and two becomes one, and he says nothing. You sit down next to him, a gust of wind and your legs against the cool rock below making you shiver, and again, he says nothing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge that you’re there or that your breathing is still heavy from chasing him, and a pit begins to form in the most sensitive area of your stomach. The tides are receding and the morning skies are red – Steve Harrington is becoming a tsunami.

You, then, say nothing. You’re afraid to reach out to him, afraid he will turn away from your touch like he’s been burned, afraid that you’ll try to mend his heart and it will scurry away from you forever, and you love him. You love him so much that you can’t risk it – the prospect of loving him so much that it drives him away is your very own circle of Hell – so you sit and you say nothing.

Minutes pass, and the air feels like it’s rocky – you’re inhaling pebbles when you breathe. There seems to be a mountain between you – better yet, he’s at the top of the mountain and you’re a traveler without the proper gear to reach him – and you feel as though your hand would have to go through lightyears of space and time to brush upon his shaking arm. The silence doesn’t seem like it will let up, and you’re growing to think that maybe he won’t open up to you at all.

Steve’s position shifts – he buries himself further in his hands, somehow – and that almost gives you the impression that his body isn’t violently shaking. He talks then, moreso brokenly whispers, and if you weren’t right next to him then you might have mistaken it for the whimpering wind.

“I can’t go back in there.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to do next. Your most basic instinct in that moment is to wrap yourself around him like a warm coat, keeping him from the cold of the air and the cruel of the world, but you don’t even settle for resting a palm against his arm. Any move is a push too far when it comes to Steve Harrington and allowing himself to feel for once.

Instead, you pray that he continues on. To your luck, again, he does.

“I know they need me. The kids need me, Robin needs me…” His voice trails off, and he retreats from his hiding place between his hands. He doesn’t turn to you, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement that’s moving in the right direction, nonetheless. “She needs me. Max–” His voice cracks and he tries to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip, but you can already see the sheen of unfallen tears on his waterline.

All thoughts of moving too quickly thrown out the window, you shuffle closer and angle yourself so that your knees are inches away from one of his. The warmth from his body fades into yours, intermingles and creates a voluntary bubble of safety around the two of you, and you don’t stop your hand from reaching out and snaking its way down his forearm. A ghost against his skin, leaving goosebumps along your wake, you carefully interlock your fingers with his, and while he’s trembling and resistant at first – stoic – he seems to surrender to himself as his grip hardens against your own, leaving his knuckles white and your hand feeling a little cramped, but you know better than to say anything. Not now.

The reciprocation of his hand to yours settles his internal battle – it’s okay if he keeps going, keeps feeling – and so he finally lets out a long, quivering breath that is reminiscent of the steam above a volcano.

“I’ve already failed her once, and now I’m doing it again.”

The words are what you expected to hear from him, but that doesn’t mean that they make your airways feel any less constricted. Imagining the guilt that he must be carrying – the guilt of losing a friend, a sister, almost a daughter – somehow is more painful than when you collided with the heavy hospital door a few minutes ago.

Everything is suddenly too real. Just days ago you felt like you were on top of the world with your plans to take down Vecna, overconfidence being the sunlight that kept all of you on your toes, and now you were here. Here, with several of your friends gone and one on the verge, skirting the veil between life and death, and you hadn’t really had time to process it all until now. With Steve’s fear and guilt and grief bleeding into you via osmosis of the hand, reality is finally settling in.

It was easier to pretend that none of this was real when you were packing up all of your things to move into Steve’s – all of you had seen the empty ground where Vecna’s gunshot-riddled body should have been, so Steve wasn’t going to have you living in your place alone, even if it meant there was a minuscule chance his parents came back to awkwardly find you there – and it was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when you went to volunteer at Hawkins High, mindlessly going back over the clothes your boyfriend had folded to make sure that they were presentable. The days after the rift was created between Hawkins and its Upside Down counterpart were hazy; it was as if everything before had been some fever dream that all of you had shared, and your schedule was so busy with volunteering and moving that you didn’t have time to fret or to try and tackle what had happened and how that had made you feel.

Everyone had spent those first few nights in sleepless petrification. Joyce hadn’t surprised the group by returning and recovering Hopper yet, and Jonathan and Argyle were still making their way back to Hawkins with El, Will, and Mike. The party was broken, in more ways than one, and so everyone who remained stayed together.

None of you even bothered with packing up night bags or suitcases – truthfully, no one knew when you would all be returning home – and none of you complained when Steve led the rest of you back to his place on foot, ushering you inside the door with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Max had already been transported to the hospital then, and while Lucas had traveled with her initially, they sent him home after she went into emergency surgery. The home he went back to was Steve’s, and those who were inside – Robin, you, Steve, Erica, Dustin, and Nancy – greeted him with heavy embraces and unspoken solemnity. No one spoke at all that night; rather, everyone piled up on extra mattresses and couches in the living room and huddled together as the TV displayed movie after movie. Each time one went off, Steve got up to find another one to put in the VHS.

Once an old helicopter from Russia and a pizza van from California touched Indianian soil, the family reunion had begun. Some victories and losses were shared with one another, but certain topics remained unmentionable. Max. Eddie. Their names were like lava on your tongues, and saying them meant that it was real – Vecna was still out there and he was real, several innocent people had died and had been declared missing since the rift had opened and that was real, and just as Max was finally becoming more forgiving with herself, she was gone again, and that was real too. It was too much all at once, too much for a group of children who had somehow fought for the world and won, even on more than one occasion, and so, however wrong it may have been, you couldn’t dare utter a word.

It was still too soon when Wayne Munson touched his nephew’s missing persons poster at Hawkins High, but Dustin was more brave than anyone else and stepped forward. The rest of you watched with grief-stricken hearts as he stood up for one of his best friends and role models, and while you couldn’t say everything that Dustin did because the words wouldn’t stop getting caught in your throat, everyone else did give Eddie’s poor uncle the reassurance that his nephew was, in fact, innocent, and was, unfortunately, a hero.

It was still too soon when the hospital rang Steve Harrington’s house to let Lucas Sinclair know that Max Mayfield was now allowed to have visitors, but you all piled into Steve’s BMW anyway and rushed to the hospital. Steve broke several traffic violations and there were so many people in his car that you were genuinely shocked you could all fit, but none of that mattered. It was almost as if your chance to see her would be gone if you were even a fraction of a second too late, and none of you were willing to take that chance.

Despite how quickly you all bombarded into the hospital and into Max’s room, your feet never once hit the ground. You were walking on air, somewhere far above the earth that was dreamy and made your head spin, and all of that crashed and burned the second that Max’s mother opened the door.

The severity of your situation was so dark, so desolate that it took Steve Harrington’s hand squeezing the life out of yours and the declarations of exclamatory guilt coming from his lips to get you to finally adjust to how things would have to be from now on. The crushing weight of it all brought bile to your throat, and you subconsciously returned Steve’s death grip on your fingers.

“She relied on me.” You can hear Steve talking, you can still feel him right next to you, but you’re still floating. You’re still trapped in some kind of daze, and his words only make your chest ache with loss. “She relied on me, and I let this… I didn’t do anything to stop it. I promised her I’d make sure she’d be okay. I promised her that she would make it out of this.”

The pain and guilt of Steve’s voice goes right to your gut, making you feel more nauseous than the chemical scent of the hospital ever had, and dizziness overtakes your body despite the fact that you’ve been sitting entirely still.

Even in his current state, your boyfriend takes notice of the way your palms grow more shaky and rigid. By habit, he turns to direct his gaze towards you – always more concerned about anyone other than himself – and you have one small moment of eye-contact, a glistening of pain and anxiety and understanding between the two of you, before a single tear escapes the confines of Steve’s pretty brown eyes and he panics.

His stare widens impossibly further and he’s too quick to turn away, to shut down anything that might follow afterward. His head shoots away, focus lingering on some wilting bushes that are to his left – any scene without you is suddenly of intense interest – and gradually his body shifts away as well, his knees no longer parallel to your own. A gap is left on the concrete stairs between you, and just the sight of it makes you feel colder than you did when the unrelenting wind previously froze you to the bone. The gap doesn’t just freeze your bones, it erodes them too.

Steve takes what you can only assume to be an attempted deep breath, but he seems to be too forceful and instead lets out a strained half-gasp, half-cough. Sniffles and the sound of poorly restrained tears ring throughout you like a church bell, and you snap out of your stupor as your protective nature kicks into overdrive. You want nothing more than to whisper your mantras of love and reassurance to him, a hand snaking up to groundingly, softly, curl the delicate hairs on the back of his neck around your fingertips, but you hesitate. Again.

“You can… uh, go back inside now,” Steve says, so quiet that a ladybug landing on a four leaf clover would have been an explosion in comparison. The only reason you hear him at all is because the breeze carries his voice over to you like one of the gruesomely thoughtful dead mice a beloved pet cat would leave on your doorstep at midnight.

In another situation, you may have laughed out loud at his suggestion, but you know the significance of this moment. You know that things are delicate, as is Steve’s relationship with emotions, so you settle for subtlety, a choice that you’re hoping lets him know that you aren’t trying to be pushy, you aren’t trying to push him to the point of driving him away. Truthfully, the very last thing that you wanted to do was leave him, and you hoped with everything in your soul that he felt the same.

“I could,” you say, voice soft and matching his from before, quiet enough to be spoken between the two of you only – not even the swaying oak tree nearby can hear the words exchanged among you like a sacred secret. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

Your carefully chosen words imply more, other things you wanted to tell him on the tip of your tongue – I know you need me, I want to be here now and always, I want to be the one you go to forever, please let me. You’re all too aware that his previous offer for you to go back inside was more – that it was his way of letting you know that you can go back, back to the way things were before, when he hadn’t been vulnerable like this – and you hope that your answer speaks the same riddles he does, only in reverse.

Steve says nothing, which might be alarming any other time, but he hasn’t made any other covert suggestions about how you should be reacting to this situation, so you take that as the small victory that it is. His shoulders quivering, he still keeps his back to you, clearly not quite ready for facing you head on, and you ever-so-gently bring one of your hands to his back, hoping and praying that it isn’t too much too soon. His walls fall one at a time, castle crumbling brick by brick, and you hope that he’s let his guard down enough to finally let you comfort him. You’ll dig him out of the rubble and debris every damn time; you’ll be his knight in shining armor if he’ll let you.

The muscles in his back tense a little, making you hold your breath for what feels like ages, already expecting him to turn to you, a teary smile on his face as he tells you that he’s fine, he was just being silly, and aren’t you ready to go back inside now? like he’s said in the past. Like when you accidentally stumbled into the bathroom that first night, when he was wiping tears from his eyes in front of his aged, rusting sink. You couldn’t help thinking he was like that sink then, looking broken down and far too old for his true age, and the thought of seeing him like that again is enough to send a cold chill through your chest. Everyone knows what too much rust does to something – it corrodes and eats away at the source until nothing’s left – and it was with cruel irony that the very image of that happening to your ever-loving boyfriend made you feel like something was eating away at you.

You’re so in your head with worry that you barely notice that Steve hasn’t shrugged your hand away. You shake yourself out of your spiraling thoughts, away from the shock that fights for you to freeze up in uncertainty, and decide to test the waters. Your fingers trace small shapes into the material of his yellow sweatshirt like you’ve imagined doing thousands of times before, their movements a bit stiff and awkward but neither of you seem to care. Steve seems to relax into your touch, feeling his body loosen right under your palm in such a way that makes your heart partially melt – both at being capable of being able to do that for him and also because it was you that was calming him down, not someone else.

Even if it was only miniscule, to be the one to provide him a sense of comfort was an honor. Still, though, you don’t plan on moving away until he’s either all cried out or he asks you to back off. While you’d prefer the former, just this moment in itself is proof that you’ve made progress, and you’ll accept any kind of growth at this point, even if it means you don’t get the chance to hold him in your arms like you know he deserves. One step forward may be twenty steps away from that – your perfect fairytale ending where you can finally share the burdens that Steve has been carrying solo for far too long – but you’ll take ninety more days like this as long as Steve’s finally letting himself feel something.

A choked up sob escapes his throat, a noise that simultaneously relieves you and takes a chunk of your heart from your chest and stomps on it. If you really focus on the sound of him crying, on the way his body uneasily shakes, you begin to feel your own eyes prickle with the potential of unshed grief. Your first instinct is to shove it away, to try and be a rock for the utterly drained man next to you, and maybe it’s the exhaustion eating away at you post interdimensional battle – or maybe it’s just the heat of the moment – but, regardless, you let down the barriers and allow teardrops to cascade down your cheeks.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice you’re crying with him until he hears you loudly sniffle, and in his haste to check in on you, he forgets about his emotional hesitancy. His body shifts back towards you, a small sense of warmth crossing over your legs as his knee gently knocks into yours. His eyes scan carefully over your face, his eyelashes wet and clumped together and his eyelids slightly swollen and tinted pink.

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think about having said them, and it takes a second for you to truly understand that you’ve spoken out loud rather than harmlessly thinking it to yourself.

You’re not sure how you expect Steve to react, but what you don’t anticipate is the soft and intrusive blush that begins to creep onto his cheeks. Gaze diverted to the ground, he takes in a long, deep inhale of air before quietly replying with a bashful, “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t have to explain that, you know he’s talking about his vulnerability with you, and you instantly shake your head at him, the shine of the sun showcasing the half-dried and abandoned trek his tears fell from. With the burning light directly behind him, casting his brown hair a few shades lighter and leaving behind a residual warm yellow glow, he looks like a fallen god.

“Don’t be.” Your hand slinks away from his back and down to where his hand rests upon the concrete, and when you take it into yours, you feel the indents of the rock and gravel below in his palm. “Remember what I said before?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to scold me about it.” The sprinkle of playfulness in his tone takes you by surprise, and you’re relieved to spot the edge of his lips tilted up into the tiniest of smiles. Despite all the horrific events of the past few days, Steve Harrington can still have a smile on his face, and that makes you feel like maybe everything else is going to end up alright.

As abruptly as it was there, however, it’s gone, and your boyfriend’s voice is back to the quiet hoarseness of before.

“It’s just…” He trails off, features scrunched up as he appears to be struggling with words. Luckily for him, you know him better than the flavors of ice cream you had to painstakingly memorize when you were merely coworkers at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hard, I know,” you say, finishing his sentence for him. “But I’m happy you let me in. Even if it was only for a little while.”

Steve shifts to form eye contact with you, his own gaze softened as he drinks in your words, the gentleness of your hand, and everything about you. For the first time in his life, he finds true trust in another person. Your little smile holds a kind of affection that’s almost dizzying, the kind of dedication one only sees in those horribly cheesy romance movies he’ll never admit he likes watching with you, and he feels like being next to you, showing even the tiniest sliver of his pain to you, is like a baby being swaddled into a security blanket.

He stays silent, overwhelmed with his onslaught of adoration for you, and the two of you let the moment pass just like that. Hands entangled, gazes interlocked, and thoughts filled with nothing but one another, the comfortable silence filled with words unspoken but understood between you.

You know better than to bring up his guilty confessions from before. Your conversation has shifted and you’re afraid to backtrack, afraid that doing so might result in him hiding away from you again, so you decide to let it go. Even though the only thing you want to do is relieve his pain, reassure him by telling him that he’s taken on too much – that the best course of action anyone can take for Max is being patient, having hope, and kicking Vecna’s ass – but you let it go for now.

“Thank you.” Steve breaks though the quietude to beam at you, grin still small but never any dimmer, and practically offers his heart to you alongside it. He’s more than certain that you’ll be careful with it, especially after today. He thinks that maybe he can get used to this, to being vulnerable with you and to seeing your pretty smile afterward, and he’s almost looking forward to it. Almost, but not quite.

The way he looks at you, so full of love that it’s more obvious than the answer to some elementary math problem, is nearly enough to bring you to tears again. Never in your life had you imagined finding someone so soft, so genuine and caring for everyone around him, and your chest is beginning to ache as it longs to beat directly next to his.

Consumed by this feeling, you reach out with your free hand and grasp the sleeve of your sweater into fisted fingers before using the plush material to wipe away what’s left of his breakdown. Your motions linger as you shake your sleeve back into its proper place and scoot closer to him, index and middle fingers rising and tracing along his cheekbone. You can’t help but get lost for a moment, sidetracked and taken into another world as you closely examine the smoothness of his skin, the tiny little freckles that are sparsely scattered onto the side of his face. You already knew they were there, of course, but you never get tired of finding them. Sometimes you wish you could thank whoever it was that painted them there.

Steve’s breath is warm against your chin, causing your stare to automatically flicker to his. You’re not surprised when you find that he’s been looking at you all this time, absorbing this memory with you while he can make it, but it still makes your lips upturn nonetheless.

“You ready to head back in there yet?” he asks, voice low and a tad bit teasing as his ego undoubtedly takes a boost from how unintentionally hypnotized he’s made you. “Those shitheads are probably losing their minds right about now. Think we’ve left and they’ve lost their ride home or something.”

His joking tone is laced with worry; you both know that just talking about going in there means your minute of peace is over. You’ll be back into the throes of whatever new hell Hawkins endures next, back to living in uncertainty surrounding the safety of not only yourselves, but also your friends. It was true that people had been dying this whole time, the years being tainted with the blood of those like Barb who never really had a chance, but this was your first real taste of a different kind of loss. A kind of loss that’s more than just being sympathetic or upset for a few days; the kind of loss that’s felt in the absence of people at birthday parties, in the way that sometimes conversation seems normal until there’s a lull that should’ve been where someone else was cracking a joke. It’s the kind of loss that you can’t ignore because it’s felt everywhere, and just the minor glimpse of it that you’ve caught in the past few days has you feeling terrified.

You’d always naively thought that you and your friends were safe, untouchable, too relevant to the status of Hawkins and the world at large to be taken from this world. Eddie and Max had proven your beliefs wrong, and that meant that no one was really safe at all. Vecna could and would strike again, and it was only a matter of time before you’d be walking on eggshells and avoiding stepping on the vines of the Upside Down again.

A flash of yellow and a hand being offered out to you snaps you back into reality. You weren’t even aware Steve had gotten onto his feet and was no longer sitting next to you, no longer tracing his fingers on the delicate skin of the back of your palm, but you don’t get caught up in that.

Instead, you accept your boyfriend’s outstretched hold and let him help you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly, halfway numbed from lack of movement, but Steve’s right there by your side, iron grip on your hand like he’s seconds away from rushing forward to catch you, if necessary. You don’t need it this time – your body comes back to life quite quickly, leaving you with legs again in replacement of the jelly-like limbs you had prior – but something in the gleam of his eyes and the sureness of his hold tells you that he’ll be there to catch you next time and the time after that too.

You give his hand a small squeeze, noticeable enough to act as the okay to start heading back inside, and when he squeezes back, you know that you’ve got one another. Both physically and emotionally. The next move from Vecna is inevitable, but you feel a little more certain about things like this, fingers intertwined and with souls that you chose to be twisted together. When misfortune strikes again, Steve will be there to hold you close, and you’ll be more than willing to do the same for him. You know there’s years of trauma and pain that he hasn’t shown you, hasn’t yet informed you of, and you look forward to the days when he decides to open up. As long as he keeps letting you wipe the residue of his tears away with your sweater sleeves, of course.

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