“It’s all over, I promise. Their base was destroyed and the majority of them were killed. You’re safe now.”
Doctor Owen’s past words replayed over and over in Steve’s mind, a stabbing reminder of what should’ve been true. Steve had spent more than a year trying to convince himself of it. He’d woken up in a sheen of sweat countless times, whispering to himself that the Russians were gone - that he was free.
Bullshit.
“We know you know about the portals to the other dimension, Steve Harrington,” the Russian in front of him leered in a thick accent, the man the others referred to as Konstantin. “You will give us their precise location or we will kill you and everyone associated with you. Do you understand?”
Steve let out a garbled sob, his own blood coating his throat. Welts from whips were strung across his back, making the slightest movements agonizing. He was sure at least three of his ribs were broken and god, he swore he could feel one of them pierce against his organs with each strangled inhale. He tried to look up at Konstantin, but the relentless pounding in his skull was effectively making him blind in one eye. He knew he’d developed head injuries over the years, but hadn’t dared tell anyone that the headaches were sometimes so intense that he lost his vision and he couldn’t hear out of his left ear.
If he survived this, maybe he’d finally tell someone.
“I told you.” Steve’s head fell forward, his somewhat still-drugged body unable to hold it up any longer. The only thing that kept him from face-planting was the crude rope restraints that tethered him to the splintering chair. “They’re closed. All of them. Vecna’s dead. There’s no-”
Konstantin took the whip in his hands and lashed it across Steve’s forearm, forcing a wrecked scream from his bloodied lips. The tears began to fall harder as waves of raw anguish crashed into Steve.
“You lie!” Konstantin hissed, baring his rotting teeth.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Steve mumbled out in a hopeless beg, dark spots beginning to cloud his remaining sight.
Steve heard the crack of the whip and shot his head up. “Please! Please! It’s true! Fuck, I promise, I’m telling the fucking truth!”
Slowly, Konstantin lowered his weapon and Steve nearly sobbed again from the relief.
“Sir.” Steve tried to turn his head around to see the person coming in behind him, to no avail. He heard the metal door swing open with a shrill creak before slamming shut once again.
The man stepped around Steve, shooting him a look of raw disgust, before turning to Konstantin and murmuring, “We can’t find Munson.”
Oh, thank god.
“Hawkins is a small town,” Konstantin spat. “He is a freak of nature, a black sheep, and yet you still can’t find him? Pathetic, Iosif.”
Iosif stiffened and nodded curtly. “My apologies. We will continue searching.”
“My men are certain this Munson was infected by something in the other dimension. He can surely lead us to what we seek,” Konstantin paused to glare at Steve. “I thought this sorry excuse for a man would be of some help, but it seems not.”
Steve barely registered the insult, everything in his mind focused on Eddie. His name replayed like a chant in Steve’s mind, a solemn prayer as though the thought of Eddie alone could save him from the torture. He begged the universe to keep Eddie safe, to keep him as far away as possible from Steve and all his shit. Eddie wasn’t “infected”. He was just some guy that happened to sell drugs to the wrong girl at the wrong time. He deserved to get away from Hawkins, away from all the bullshit, away from Steve.
Iosif saluted to Konstantin, mumbling something in Russian, before retreating to where he’d come in. A shiver wracked Steve’s marred back as Konstantin’s gaze shifted back to him.
“You will pay for wasting my time,” Konstantin said quietly, as though he was making an off-handed comment rather than directly threatening someone. Steve’s bloodshot eye followed Konstantin, watching him roll over a metal cart. His gaze followed Konstantin’s gloved hands to the instruments he was inspecting. His stomach plummeted.
“Please,” Steve croaked, voice spent from his previous screams. “Please, no. Just kill me. Shit, just- please. No one will care to look for me, I promise. I’ll just disappear and you won’t have to worry about anyone fucking up your shit.”
“I know no one cares enough to search for you, Steve Harrington,” Konstantin whispered, eyes trained on the hook-like tool in his grasp. “That is why I will break you apart limb by limb, taking my time doing so. After all…” Konstantin’s voice trailed off, coming to stand in front of Steve once again.
“No one is coming to save you.”
~~~
Six missed calls.
It’d taken Eddie six missed calls before he’d given in to his panic and sped over to Steve Harrington’s house.
For once in his life, his incessant worrying had actually proved helpful.
At first, he’d just rung the doorbell. After a few failed attempts, he’d resorted to slightly aggressive knocking. When both led to no response, Eddie had given up and picked the lock, letting himself in.
Harrington’s house looked like a fucking crime scene.
The living room was a mess of flung open drawers, knocked-over furniture, and smashed glass. There were books and papers all over the floor, strung about in such a way that it looked like someone had been searching for something.
Jesus Christ, had Steve been robbed?
“Harrington?” Eddie called, trying to stifle the panic in his voice. “Uh, I know I’m not the best when it comes to interior decorating, but this doesn’t really feel like your style.”
Silence.
Eddie shoved his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets, slowly walking through the house. “C’mon, Stevie, I know our friendship has been kinda iffy since the whole Vecna thing, but I just wanted to make sure you-”
Eddie froze. He smelled the blood before he saw it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Steve? Steve?!” Eddie yelled, breaking into a sprint. The wreckage passed from the living room to the adjacent dining room and kitchen. He followed the metallic scent like a dog on a hunt, eventually leading him to what he could only assume was Harrington Sr.’s office.
Shit.
Blood stained the expensive carpet like spilled wine, partially covered by even more scattered documents. Eddie’s nose twitched. That blood wasn’t Steve’s. It was unfamiliar and bitter. Eddie’s eyes trailed across the room, finally landing on a stained bat with nails crudely pointing out of it. There was older blood on it, one similar to the Demobats’. That wasn’t what concerned Eddie, however. What got his attention was the fresh blood on it: the blood that was undoubtedly Steve’s.
It took him three minutes to try not to have an anxiety attack. Seven more minutes to try and figure out what happened. Two more to remember the location trackers he’d discreetly put in each of his friends’ walkie-talkies. Eighteen more to track down Steve’s. Twenty-three more to get to the location.
“What the fuck?” Eddie mumbled to himself as he climbed out of his van, inspecting the scene in front of him. It looked almost like something from the military - a small, lone, dome-like building sat in one of the many plain expanses of outer Hawkins. It appeared abandoned.
Eddie double-checked the coordinates messily written on his wrist. It was supposedly right, but-
“Hey!” a voice shot Eddie from his thoughts. His head snapped up to see a gruff-looking man with a whole-ass rifle strapped to his back approaching Eddie.
“What are you doing here?” the man asked, a strong accent covering his words. Russian, if Eddie had to guess.
“Uh, hey, sorry, man,” Eddie said, lifting his hands up in a show of peace. “I was, uh, trying to get to my grandma’s house and I guess I got really lost, huh?”
“No grandmas live here,” the man deadpanned and if it wasn’t for the circumstances, Eddie might’ve laughed at how seriously the guy said it.
Eddie cleared his throat. “Yeah… I can- I can definitely tell. Listen, I’m like cool with military people, okay? My dad’s one. James Munson? Maybe you know him? He’s not in Hawkins, but-”
“Munson?” The man raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m his kid, so I-”
The man grinned, something unsettling and dangerous. “We haven’t been able to get anything out of Steve Harrington. Konstantin will be pleased to know we got you now.”
Eddie froze.
“You have Steve?” he asked slowly.
“We’ve had him for two days now,” the man said as though he was proud of it. “I’m surprised he’s lasted this long after all Konstantin has put him-”
Eddie lunged at the man, barreling him to the ground with inhuman strength. He felt the familiar sting of fangs unsheathing from his gums and animalistic claws emerging from his fingernails. Sadistic pleasure coursed through him at the horror on the man’s face.
A string of what Eddie could only assume was Russian swears spilled from the man’s mouth. “Konstantin was right. You really are a-”
“Shut the fuck up and tell me where Steve is or I will rip out your throat.” One of Eddie’s hands lifted to wrap around the man’s neck, claws piercing the tender skin. He relished in the pained gasp that it received.
“Inside- inside-” the man spluttered out. “Konstantin has him. Don’t kill me. Please, don’t-”
The man’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of him gargling on his own blood as Eddie quickly clutched his claws shut and pulled, tearing out the Russian’s jugular in one movement.
Carelessly, he threw the body to the side and sprinted for the base’s door. His eyes fell on a screen and he pressed his finger against it. Immediately, the screen flashed red, Russian words appearing on the screen. Beneath the unfamiliar letters was an image of a fingerprint with an “x” over it.
Realization clicked in Eddie’s mind and he walked back to the body, placing one boot on the man’s limp forearm and bending down. He drew a knife from his back pocket and pressed it against the base of the Russian’s index finger. With ease, he pressed down, slicing the digit from its hand, and took it, making his way back to the door.
A press of the finger against the screen and the door opened.
Eddie was immediately met with two armed guards. They jolted to attention, surprise overtaking their faces. Eddie’s eyes trailed down to where blood was splattered on one of the men’s shoes - Steve’s blood.
Something in Eddie snapped.
Finally.
They deserve it, the voice hissed. Eddie took a step forward, fangs bared. They stood by and let Steve suffer. Tear out their hearts. Make them pay.
Eddie barely registered his actions, his mind a whirlwind of white noise. His attention focused on the screeches of agony erupting out of his victims alongside the addicting feeling of his claws and fangs digging into flesh. He slashed and stabbed and bit and fuck, it felt good.
More, the voice pleaded. The only one that makes it out alive is Steve. Everyone else will stay in this prison forever. I want their insides painting the fucking walls.
Eddie obeyed.
~~~
Steve was rapidly falling in and out of consciousness.
“Inject him again,” Konstantin instructed someone. Steve could see the blurry outline of the man’s bloody shoes in front of him, but his voice still sounded distant.
He felt the needle against the back of his neck and he willed his body to jerk away, to fight, to do something. It simply wouldn’t. He didn’t think any of his body could move anymore.
“Sir, any more shots of stimulants after this could result in heart failure,” another far-away voice said.
Konstantin’s shoes disappeared from Steve’s line of vision. “If he dies, then so be it. He’s stopped reacting to anything. He’s no longer entertaining to me.”
“Any news on Munson?” Konstantin asked.
Please say no. Please say no.
“No, sir.”
Thank god.
“You will find him by tomorrow morning or you will experience exactly what this boy has. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, now-”
Konstantin’s voice was cut off by a loud thud. Steve willed himself to look up, but his neck stayed limp. He tried to focus on what was going on - tried to understand why there was screaming and crashing - but his mind was drifting. His eyes lulled. Finally. Fucking finally, he could rest.
“Steve? Stevie?”
Steve barely heard the voice in the thick fog of his own head.
“No, no, Steve. C’mon, Stevie, you gotta wake up.”
Waking up was too hard. Steve just wanted to sleep.
“Focus, Stevie, focus. Look at me, please, look at me. You’re stronger than this. I know you are.”
Steve wasn’t strong. Steve was broken. He was always broken.
“I can’t fucking lose you, okay? You gotta fight for me, okay? You gotta fight to stay alive.”
No one cared about Steve. The voice was just another illusion from the drugs.
“Steve, please. It’s me. It’s Munson. I’m right here. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? Just stay with me. God, just stay with me.”
… Eddie?