#Steve doesn’t think he can stop the tears this time. eddie fiercely whispering into his ear ‘you are okay man. Bette than okay. okay? fuck’

[corrodedcoughin]

I was wondering if you saw that ask about Steve's character analysis from @steveharrington and how he's abandoned by the narrative, written very 2 dimensionally and never gets a follow up for his physical/ emotional/ mental trauma while all the other characters do. Lil fic idea where Steve and Eddie don't really know each other yet. It's maybe right before vecna, where the party somehow ends up at Steve's place for Hellfire where the older Hellfire members are still snide and bitter towards him, and something happens where Steve has to take of his shirt or something, and it's the first time everyone (maybe besides Robin) actually sees how physically scarred Steve is, and that maybe he really isn't emotionally okay either. (bc I am Sure that boy has SCARS even before the bats with everything he's been through)

I have seen it! It’s an incredible commentary that is far more coherent than I could ever hope to be, op explains their thoughts so well and really is a wonderful post (thank you op)

I’m firmly of the belief that Steve has capital s Scars. And the thought of the impact on him is heart shattering. Steve sitting at home on his own, getting changed in the dark but can feel the scarred skin under his fingers tips. His thoughts spiral. He’s been commodified his whole life, packaged up to be an ‘ideal’ and now he sees these imperfections and he’s scared. He’s terrified. What value does he hold now? Why would anyone bother with him now that he’s visually damaged and belongs at the back of the shelf. He cries. Cries so hard his head hurts and he can’t make it stop, travels down his head to his neck and shoulders as he sobs. Body wracked with it. After the first night he pushes it down, refuses to acknowledge it again, wants to pretend that things are okay when his thoughts lurk in the dark telling him he’s worthless.

So he puts on a face, and carries on. Avoids showing skin successfully for a good few months. Until there’s a Christmas party for everyone but the adults at Steve’s place and it’s fun and loud until Mike bumps into Erika who knocks into dustin who trips into Steve. Steve who was holding a mug of hot chocolate that is now covering him head to toe. It’s not even that hot but before he knows what’s happening Robin is whipping his jumper off ‘it might scald Steve! We need to check!’

He fights her but his reaction is delayed after the shock of the liquid hitting his skin. And that’s when everyone sees it, sees him. And the silence is deafening but he can’t stop them from seeing. Can’t stop them from knowing that he’s ruined and good for nothing and a disappointment so he tries to walk off, fighting the hot and angry tears threatening to spill. He won’t cry, he can’t, not again. He manages to take a step away but then Robin is hugging him, Dustin too. He drags air into his lungs. Not sure if what to do next but then he hears the party slowly start back up and he’s thankful, thinking he’ll get out of this one alive.

[loveinhawkins]

The first notes of Eddie’s guitar solo tear through The Upside Down; Steve watches in horrified fascination as the bats follow the noise, as they form a thick, black cloud, like a plague of locusts.

And it hits him then that he simply cannot set one foot inside the Creel House.

“Nance,” he says. His voice cracks.

She turns to look at him, and suddenly she isn’t a vengeful warrior with a sawn-off shotgun: she’s just a girl who lost her best friend, who has spent years haunted by ‘what if…?’

“Trust your gut,” she says firmly, and that’s all he needs.

He spends a fleeting second squeezing Robin’s hand, just to steady him, and then he’s running back to the trailer.

The one thing that reassures him is that Eddie and Dustin are perfectly on time, the song cutting off just as they planned. Now run, you two, Steve thinks, as his chest burns with the effort, get inside and be safe, be safe, be safe.

But then he reaches the trailer, and he knows that something’s wrong.

Because the bats are clustered in one spot on the roof, scrabbling over the top of one another, and it makes him think of flies descending on roadkill.

He gets past all the wire and defences, and none of them take any notice. He pushes the front door open with the force of his shoulder, slams it shut again, makes sure it sticks.

And then he hears screaming.

He whips around to find Eddie driving his spear through a bat with a guttural cry. He’s on the floor, his upper body shielding something.

And then Steve sees Dustin. Dustin on the ground. Dustin bleeding.

No.

He sprints across and covers Dustin, too, slotting next to Eddie to form a complete shelter.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers, and his face is ashen. “Fuck, it’s the vents, they’re in the fucking vents. I tried to—D-Dustin—I wasn’t quick enough, Christ, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

And he keeps repeating that, as if feverish, striking out again with the spear as another bat swoops for them. His aim is true, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.

Steve looks down at the wound on Dustin’s thigh, at the blood spilling out relentlessly. And as Eddie cups Dustin cheek, pleads, “Stay awake, H-Henderson, you hear me? Dustin? Dustin, please,” Steve spots the bite on Eddie’s wrist. It’s barely anything, just a nick.

But it’s enough. Steve knows that it doesn’t matter how fast he is—the bats will just keep coming. They’re on the scent, to hunt. To devour. And his wounds are dried up. Old.

Fresh blood dripping from Eddie’s wrist. Dustin’s bloody leg.

Oh, you’re going to die, Steve thinks. Both of you.

Then he thinks Well, fuck that.

He flings off his jacket, wraps it tight around Dustin’s thigh. Dustin whimpers, eyelids fluttering.

“Shit, sorry, bud,” Steve whispers. “I know it hurts, I know, I know…”

Underneath the screech of more bats, he presses a brief, fierce kiss to Dustin’s forehead, pushes back his sweaty curls. I love you.

Eddie takes out another pair of bats in quick succession, slamming them with his shield—narrowly avoids their tails wrapping around his wrist. His luck won’t last forever, Steve knows that.

So he just has to be quicker.

He rips the end of his shirt with his teeth, pushes the torn fabric into Eddie’s hand.

“Eddie. Eddie, listen,” he says urgently. “It’s the blood, okay? They’re coming for the blood.”

Eddie wraps the fabric around his wrist as if on autopilot, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s the blood,” Steve repeats, as calmly as he can. “You’ve gotta stop the bleeding, okay? You can do that.”

Eddie nods jerkily, and some of his panic fades away, replaced with a white hot determination. He sets his jaw.

“Hey, Dustin?” Steve says. Tries to be gentle while raising his voice, praying it breaks through the pain-induced fog. “Eddie’s got you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie chokes out. “I’ve got you, Henderson.”

His hand strokes through Dustin’s hair, too, and God, Steve trusts him. Trusts him so damn much.

Trusts him enough for this.

Steve jerks his head upwards to the gate. “Stop the bleeding. Get him home.”

Eddie nods again, but a wrecked laugh comes out. He ducks as another bat breaks in; Steve temporarily takes the spear, kills it without flinching.

“Jesus! How the fuck are we supposed to do that, Harrington? There’ll be hordes of those fuckers in a minute.”

“You’ll be fine,” Steve says. He discreetly pats at his pockets. Feels the handle of the switchblade. Touches Dustin one last time, a palm across his brow. “Look after him.”

“Hey, I—I don’t like your tone, man,” Eddie says. “We’re looking after him, together. Together, all right? Fucking promise me, Harrington.”

“You promised me first, remember? Stop the bleeding, get him home.”

“No, no, no, Steve, don’t you fucking dare—”

But Steve is already heading outside. He locks the door behind him, just in case, but he already knows Eddie can’t leave—won’t leave Dustin behind. There’s a thump at the door, a desperate jiggling of the handle. Steve shouldn’t look behind. He shouldn’t.

But, God. He can’t help it.

Through the glass, he can see Eddie standing there, breathing raggedly. Terrified.

Steve can’t hear him through the cacophony of the bats’ cries, the thunder and lightning. But he can read his lips.

Don’t. Please don’t.

Steve brings out the blade. Slashes it right across his palm.

Eddie screams.

I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to do.

Steve runs. He grins savagely as he hears the bats following him, all of them, like he’s the fucking Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Yeah, that’s right, you sons of bitches. Steve laughs through a searing pain in his side. You’ve already had a taste. Come and get me.