Surrender // Steve Harrington x Reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

Darkness shrouds your every sense. Were you dead? You didn't know. To finally give up once and for all, to greet the Reaper after the struggles of your lifetime... Were you ready? God, who knows. Your life before Steve, at its best, had been misery. Then suddenly, everything was technicolour; bright and loving and happy. 

Perfect. It was perfect.

To reach such heights after such lows was an accomplishment of a lifetime. So, did that now mean that you deserved that lifetime to be over? Now that the goal had been reached, your heart satisfied and calm. 

No. That little voice in your head coaxes you, washes you over with sense you'd been losing. They still need us. It tells you, drawing you back from the clutches of lifelessness. 

Oh, but it looked so peaceful, at the end. The shimmering glow of the afterlife radiated warmth and life, despite being the very end of life. Small licks of it flick against your skin, whispering for you to go with it, to feel at peace at last.

Stay. That voice tells you once more. Wake up. It says, they're in danger. They need you. He needs you.

A loud and gasping breath chokes free of a scratchy throat. You wake with a start, vision blurred and struggling to decipher what it was looking at. What happened? You panic, trying to remember. 

The demogorgon took you. The pain in your leg where its talons had dug so deep it added more wounds to your scarred form tells you as much. It dragged you, skin grating and scraping across rough, chipped asphalt. Four distinct screams as their blurred silhouettes chase after you. The bumper of a desolate car coming fast towards your head. Then darkness. Only darkness.

Until now.

Eyes glare back into your own, holding the fury of an erupting volcano. Eyes you knew, and yet deep down felt as unfamiliar as a strangers. They were pale blue, pupils a fine point in the very center. 

Henry.

What was left of his lips were twisted into a vile grimace, his entire torso trembling with rage as he bent in front of you. There was comfort beneath you. A couch. You try to move but your body is restrained by thick black vines. You couldn't see past Henry, but you recognised where you were regardless. The Creel house.

Henry's warped hands were planted either side of your hips on the filthy couch cushions, his mouth opening to elicit words that were eerily calm for how he looked. "Welcome home, Two."

You swallow your guilt, your fear, and keep eye contact. Perhaps there was still a chance you could play dumb. Perhaps there was a chance you could feign innocence, claiming you were simply doing as he asked and befriending them. That your allegiance still lie with him.

"Henry." A breathy whisper, unconvincing to even your own ears. You level it for your next words, hoping it helps. "It's good to see you."

"It is?" He mocks, cocking his head a little to the side. There was a flash of curls behind him, but it's gone as soon as his head rises again. "Well, you should have come sooner, then. Or at least told me you were coming. Hmm?"

"I -- I was-- I didn't have a chance to-" 

His hand is covering your mouth before you can even spew whatever lies you had to give. His fingers grip tightly to your cheeks, squishing them together as he roars into your face, hot breath foul as it insults your nostrils. "DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL?!"

Your eyes close and you freeze up in fear, a small whimper muffled against his hand. Tears wet your cheeks and you tremble against your slimy restraints. "Look at me." He commands in a lower voice, though all venom. When you refuse, he insists. "Look. At. Me."