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After the day Steve has had, you’d think he wouldn’t have the energy to be too bothered by the lumpiness of Reefer Rick’s pullout sofa. But nonetheless, here he is, lying awake as couch springs dig into his back (which is already sore, mind you).
It had been Eddie’s idea to sleep off their adventure into the Upside Down at Reefer Rick’s and the gang, having no intentions of returning home for the night, easily agreed. Well, they agreed after being assured that the elusive Rick would not actually be in the house (“Wait, you guys actually thought he lived there?” As if that cleared it up?).
(Don’t ask Steve, he’s still helplessly confused about the whole Reefer Rick thing. And a little too scared to ask).
The fact is, Steve had been too utterly exhausted, emotionally drained and physically battered, to really rebuke this suggestion. But now, staring up at a peculiar stain on the popcorn ceiling of Reefer Rick’s living room, he wishes he had.
He wonders how the kids are fairing upstairs in their real beds- the kind with mattresses. Not whatever the fuck this is. He’d tried to be nice by offering to take the couch, assuming someone- Dustin, at least- would take pity on him. No Steve, you’ve had a rough day, you take the bed.
That’s not what happened. Of course. So here he is, wide awake on this pullout sofa, his entire body throbbing due to his freshly disinfected wounds, with Nancy Wheeler across the room on the other couch. Oh yeah, did he mention he’s stuck in Reefer Rick’s living room on a pullout couch with Nancy Wheeler sleeping not six feet away? How that arrangement came to be is basically all Robin’s fault. Originally, she was going to share the pullout with him but Eddie just had to mention that there were recliners on the back patio and he and Robin quickly called dibs.
“Sorry dude, but you snore and that couch looks like it's got something living inside it.”
He agrees, but he does not forgive her.
The only upside to the arrangement is that he can keep an eye on Nancy. Steve isn’t ready to admit out loud just how absolutely terrified he’d been when Vecna had her. Can’t admit that he was ready to tear the world apart, raise hell, and take care of this Vecna bitch himself if something happened to her. Can’t admit that he’d been so alarmingly and maddeningly scared.
But they got her back, Steve kept reminding himself. He got her back.
(The power of Springsteen, huh?)
A little worse for wear, but she was still here. That’s all Steve could really ask for.
So maybe this sleeping arrangement is torture, but it’s torture he’ll endure if he can just watch over Nancy for a little while longer.
In the orange glow of lamplight (Nancy had shyly requested to leave it on), Steve watches the unsteady rhythm of her breaths and the shuffling of her legs under the quilt. So he’s not surprised when she finally flips onto her side with a huff, tucking her hands under her head as she faces him.
“Steve?” Nancy murmurs.
“Yeah?” he answers, not bothering to pretend he hadn’t been staring.
“You’re still awake.”
He huffs his laughter. “Can’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” She pulls her knees up to her chest, making her look impossibly small on the old couch. Steve wishes, stupidly, that he could hold her. He thinks he’d sleep easier if he could.
A few moments pass, he finds comfort in knowing he’s not alone in the silence.
“Thank you for today,” Nancy practically whispers, staring up at the ceiling as Steve looks right at her.
“‘Course,” Steve brushes it off with a click of his tongue. “You did all the work, I just butchered some Springsteen.”
Nancy cuts him off with a soft chuckle and a shake of her head, curls falling over her cheek. “No, no you.. You really saved me, Steve.”
Something hot and sharp pierces his chest, filling him to the brim with some weighty emotion he can’t name. It’s uncomfortable in its depth, vast and all-encompassing and a lot like love. He pushes it all aside, swipes a hand through his hair. “Just returning the favor- you follow me into hell, I get you out of it, huh? Quid pro quo, or some shit, right?”
Nancy hums, flopping onto her back. “Or some shit.”
He thinks he might have said the wrong thing. So he figures he’ll just settle on the truth.
“You really fucking scared me.”
Roles reversed- he’s now staring up at the splotchy ceiling while she stares from across the room, brows drawn with emotion and mouth set in a frown.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, sincerely, and it breaks Steve’s heart.
He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out visions of whited out irises and bloody noses and cracking limbs. “No, don’t be sorry, Nance. God, don’t- I just mean I… I really need you not to die anytime soon, alright? I know that’s a hard thing to promise right now but I just need you to stick around.”
She’s looking at him intensely but he can’t bring himself to meet her gaze, scared he will find confusion and rejection as opposed to earnestness and understanding.
But he hears her say, “Only if you promise too,” and he thinks he knows the answer.
Steve gingerly rolls onto his side, laying a hand across the bed as if reaching out to Nancy. He takes a chance, quietly, tiredly murmurs, “C’mere.”
She considers him for a second, eyes glossy and frown deep, a flash of some emotion Steve can’t read as she pads softly across the living room and crawls under the covers next to him.
“Hey,” she says, her warmth creeping into his space, a brush of her knee against his thigh.
“Hey,” he replies, the hand he’d stretched out to her now grazing her fingers. She stares down at their hands, a distant look on her face. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Nancy’s eyes snap up suddenly and she gives him a look. “You’d be overbidding. It’s kind of of a shitshow up here at the moment.” She looks up, as if gesturing to her own brain.
He just smiles gently. “I’m all ears, Nance.”
She sighs, shrugs, brows pulling together as if she’s in pain. “I just… I keep thinking about Vecna- Henry, y’know? It’s- he showed me everything, he showed me all of it and it was awful. And I just…” She trails off and Steve lets her, watching her mind turn right in front of him as he threads his fingers through hers, tracing circles against her hand with his thumb. “I can’t understand why he wants us to know who he is. Why would he tell us? Why would he tell me? Why would he make me see- I never wanted to… I didn’t want to see... any of that.”
He’s itching with the need to reach out and hold her, at least just so he knows this shit is real. When did his life go from sneaking into his girlfriend’s window and pouting about a summer job to this. It’s just pure shit, and he wants to take it all away from Nancy for just a second.
“Don’t think about all that- we can figure out the Vecna stuff tomorrow, just try to sleep.”
She suddenly looks incredibly young and so, so tired as her face crumbles but no tears escape. “I’ve tried. It’s all still there, I close my eyes and it’s still there.”
He can feel her getting frantic and he rushes to fix it. “Okay! Okay, that’s alright. We don’t have to sleep, we’ll just… lay here and count the stains on the carpet, huh?”
Nancy sniffs and shuffles closer, their intertwined hands now nestled between their chests, the only real thing keeping them apart. Steve shifts so he’s lying on his back, practically forcing Nancy against his side, her head now resting against his shoulder. She shuffles, hovering over him, propped up by her forearms and fixing him with a serious look.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Steve.”
He’s not sure if she’s talking about the claw marks marring his abdomen or the boyfriend she’s got waiting halfway across the country. Steve doesn’t really care about either.
“You won’t,” he lies and she doesn’t believe him, her lips drawing in a tight line. But she sighs and lays her head against his chest anyways, lets him pull the covers over them, absently traces her fingers over his stomach, ghosting the edges of his bandages, nearly lulling Steve to sleep.
And it’s not until she finds the strength to close her eyes that Steve does as well.