Flipped: A Steve Harrington Enemies to Lovers

The Massacre at Hawkins Lab

Red lightning splits open the sky. Grey and thunderous. Bellowing in a wrathful chorus, branding you an unwanted intruder.

Which you are. This is Vecna's hellish domain.

At first, however, you barely register your surroundings. Because as you're spat out the gate and rise on shaking legs, you hear it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It's louder. Unbearably so. And you catch fistfuls of your hair and double over to let out a throat-tearing scream.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" You demand.

But the sound of the ticking lends no answer.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" You beg, unsure who you're even pleading with. Vecna? The ticking? The echoing chime of a grandfather clock that now reverberates inside your skull?

What does it mean? What does he want?

You're going crazy, you're sure of it.

The wind carries the distant echoes of Steve's wailful terror. It slaps you in the face and assaults your senses, tugging at your chest. With a huge, steadying breath, you press on with determination pumping through your veins.

Meanwhile, Steve writhes in a heap on the ground, the skin on his back shredded and crying in agony, weeping blood from the merciless drag across dirt and stone.

Desperation consumes him as he claws at his throat, his bloodshot eyes scanning the bleak landscape for a means of escape, only to find endless darkness and the relentless onslaught of bats. And more bats. So many fucking bats. One coils itself around his neck, reaching closer and closer to that crucial point of snuffing out his life.

However, his concern lies in the cluster of bats ravaging his stomach. They huddle together to make an overwhelming swarm as they sink in their teeth before pulling pieces of him away.

Until there's a sudden release of pressure, like a knife being pulled from a wound; Steve senses a sharp set of teeth be forcefully extracted from his side. It's followed by a harrowing screech. And there you are, swinging the grotesque beast by the tail to smash it against the ground. It twitches, stunned. Then Nancy drives a decisive blow into it with the hard wood of a discarded oar.

"FUCKER!" You grunt, swinging it again for good measure before using its massive carcass to swipe at a second one which drops to the floor. You're flanked by Robin who peels more bats from Steve's floundering frame. Then, there's Eddie, armed with the second oar and warding more off.

Steve seizes the tail of a third bat, powerfully thrashing it from side-to-side until it lies broken and pulsing in his grasp. With a final crash to the ground, he steps on it with his bare foot, wrenching it, ripping it in two.

Yet, the rhythm of his breathing remains unsteady, his chest rising and falling erratically as a trickle of black blood congeals and drips from his mouth. Not his own, thank fuck, but from the bitten head of one of those creatures. He wipes it away with the back of his arm, his breath trembling, intermingled with frayed groans of pain.

He hisses and clutches his side before buckling at the knees.

You fly to catch him.

"Oh my God," You guide his body to lean against you, bearing his weight as you brush a droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. "You okay?" You ask with wide, concerned eyes.

He tries to laugh, but can only cough, "I think I lost about a pound of flesh but other than that, yeah, never better." He peers down his body, swallowing the thick copper taste in his throat when he catches sight of his own gaping flesh.