Chapter Text
She never said I love you back.
Of all the things clawing at Steve Harrington in the aftermath of Vecna—blood loss, concussion fog, images of Max dying and living and dying again—that was the thought that refused to leave him alone.
She never said it.
Not once.
He’d lost count of how many times he said it to her. Quiet ones whispered into her hair when he thought she was asleep. Awkward ones he tried to swallow down but spilled anyway. Half-joking ones he hoped she’d answer with something real.
Nothing.
Not once.
And honestly? He had no one to blame but himself.
Why did he let himself get that attached?
Why did he let himself think there was even a chance?
Stephen Harrington isn’t someone who gets chosen.
He’s someone people pass through on their way to someone better.
It wasn’t even that she went back to Hopper.
How the hell could he ever resent that? Joyce had practically brought the man back from the dead—had given El her dad back. Hopper was her constant, her what-if, the man she’d built half a life beside even when he wasn’t there. Of course she chose him. Of course she ran to him.
What hurt wasn’t that she chose Hopper.
What hurt was that she didn’t even say goodbye to him first.
He’d hoped—stupidly—after Nancy that he’d be done with people moving on without bothering to actually end things with him.
But apparently that was just who he was. Someone you left behind on your way to your real life.
It wasn’t fair to think that way, and he knew it.
Joyce had never promised him anything.
They’d never had a conversation about what they were, or weren’t.
He’d been the one orbiting her life, not the other way around.
But it didn’t change the fact that he’d spent nearly every night in her bed for months, that he’d stayed loyal to her without ever being asked, that he’d convinced himself he meant something to her.
And now he was sitting here alone—bruised, bandaged, exhausted—with the one truth he couldn’t escape: she never said she loved him.
Steve hated himself for how pathetic that made him feel.
How predictable.
From worshipping Nancy Wheeler to falling hopelessly in love with Joyce Byers—apparently “intimidatingly strong women who could crush him emotionally and physically without batting an eye” was his type.
Great.
He very firmly did not think about a bright-eyed, sharp-tongued red-haired girl who used to sit beside him at recess, whose scraped knees turned into perfect curls and perfect insults—none of which were ever directed at him.
Not until everything else in his life exploded.
Steve isn’t blind. He knows he wasn’t a good person before the Upside Down chewed him up and spat him out. He knows he needed to change, and he did. And as messed up as it was, part of him was grateful for it—because the monsters gave him a second chance at being a human being.
But sometimes—like right now—he just felt so unbelievably fucking alone that he wished he could go back to the days before monsters and gates and heroism. Back when he was sure, absolutely sure, that there were two people who would drop everything to be at his side.
It wasn’t fair to think that either.
His closest people were mostly kids—his kids—and of course they needed to be with their families right now.
He shouldn’t even be out of the hospital.
He should be with Max, tube down her throat, fighting for every breath.
But there was no room for him at her bedside—not with her mom and Eddie and Wayne all gathered tight around her. And Hawkins Hospital was so overcrowded that Steve didn’t feel right pushing in. He’d learned not to take up space he wasn’t wanted in.
Robin’s parents had dragged her home the minute she called to check in. He knew she would have stayed at his side if she could—she was his person, after all—but that only reminded him of another truth he didn’t want to look at too closely:
His own parents hadn’t even called to check if he was alive. Everything that had happened in Hawkins, at least what people thought happened had made the news, Steve had checked, yet he still wasn’t even worth a single phone call.
Anthony and Emily Harrington were many things, but “parents” wasn’t really one of them. His mother tried, sometimes, in her own distant way. His father never bothered. Steve had grown up rich, charming, handed everything on a silver platter—and still, sometimes, he felt like that lonely little boy waiting at the top of the stairs for parents who never came home.
They were the first people to decide he wasn’t worth sticking around for. But they were far from the last.
People liked to joke that Steve was great with girls, always dating, always moving on quickly. Steve laughed along, because it was easier than admitting the truth:
It was never his choice.
Girls threw themselves at him and left just as fast.
He was practice. A rebellion. A stepping stone. Usually a last hoorah before settling down, often for good because in a small town like Hawkins a couple that wasn't high school sweethearts is far rarer than one who was.
Nancy was the exception, or so he thought.
She stayed longer.
She was brilliant and fierce and terrifyingly strong, and so out of his league. Any guy would happily fall to his knees for her.
And then immediately after they slept together, she was spending her time with Jonathan Byers instead.
He hadn’t handled it well—he knew that. What he said—and wrote—about her was truly horrible. He had no right to pretend he was the victim.
But it was another confirmation, wasn’t it?
That no matter what he gave, no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t someone worth staying for.
And then came the nailed bat.
And the monster.
And the moment he threw himself between Nancy and Jonathan and the thing trying to fucking eat them and thought maybe—just maybe—he had finally done something worth choosing.
But of course he hadn’t.
Because at his core, all he was—and all he would ever be—was the word Nancy spat out that night:
Bullshit.
And if it wasn’t true, it wouldn’t have cut that deep.
Everyone leaves, he reminded himself for what felt like the hundredth time. Everyone always leaves. Why the hell had he even convinced himself that Joyce Byers would be any different?
She said me too, a voice in the back of his mind whispered viciously. When he told her he loved her—quiet, embarrassed, trying not to choke on the words—she’d said me too.
Soft, warm, almost tender.
And he’d believed it. Like an idiot, he believed it meant something.
But of course it didn’t.
He was just a stepping stone. Another phase. Another safe place to land until she could get back to where she really belonged.
He curled over his knees, ignoring the pulsing pain from every bite, scrape, and bruise the Upside Down had gifted him, and stared down at the stagnant pool in front of him. The water was thick with disuse, greenish at the edges, quiet in a way that felt wrong.
He only had two modes with this stupid pool.
Either he had panic attacks just thinking about it being out here…
or, like tonight, he dangled his legs in the water and thought, distantly, that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if something dragged him down like it did Barb..
His thoughts drifted—familiar, painful pathways well-worn from too many sleepless nights. Back to that conversation with Nancy just a few nights ago. He wanted a family. He wanted a wife. He wanted someone who chose him. Someone who stayed.
But that just wasn’t something that ever happened for him.
Never had.
Never would.
For a while—these last few months—he had let himself believe maybe it wasn’t entirely impossible. That maybe Joyce and Will and El could be part of the family he’d always dreamed of. That maybe it didn’t matter if it wasn’t the conventional picture he had imagined.
He already had six kids.
Seven, honestly, if he counted Erica—and he did. She was mostly Robin’s, but she was his too, deep down where it mattered.
He wouldn’t change a single one of them.
He just… wished he had someone at his side, too.
Well—he did. He had Robin.
And the fact that the only person he could imagine as his life partner was a weird, brilliant, endlessly loyal lesbian was not lost on him. If he could convince her to marry him—platonically, obviously—he would do it without hesitation.
But she deserved better than to hitch her life to his bullshit.
She deserved someone who didn’t ruin everything he touched.
Steve pushed his feet through the water, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the broken sky above. He tried to steady his breathing by thinking of his kids instead. His real family.
Dustin—his brother in every way that mattered—was safe at home with Claudia and their weird little cat, D’Art. Dustin had escaped with barely a scratch, and Steve had personally checked him over just to make sure. The relief had hit him so hard it made his knees weak.
Mike would be with his parents and sisters… unless Nancy snuck out to see Jonathan, in which case Mike would absolutely worm his way to the Byers’ house to be with El and Will. Steve had seen the Wheelers’ car leave, but he wouldn’t be shocked if Mike changed course the second they got home.
El and Will would be together regardless.
And Joyce and… Hopper would be with them now, too.
They didn’t need him.
And that was fine. That was good. That was what he wanted for them.
He still ached to see them with his own eyes.
Then there was Lucas—the one Steve understood most. Dustin was his little man, the one who clung to him, but Lucas was the one whose heart he recognized. Lucas had his fierce sister with him; that was good. He shouldn’t be alone after everything with Max.
And Max—
Max was fighting for her life in a hospital bed, and Steve was out here wallowing over his own pathetic relationship drama.
A surge of disgust crawled up his throat.
What the hell was he doing?
What right did he have to feel sorry for himself when one of his kids was lying unconscious with machines breathing for her? He had failed her. He knew it. He’d let her slip through the cracks while he was trying to keep everyone else together. If he had paid more attention—if he had kept a closer eye on her—maybe he could have…
He sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head, hard enough that it made his vision pulse.
No.
He needed to get his shit together.
For his kids.
They needed him stable, not spiraling.
The whole mess with Joyce was on him—on his stupid hope that he could be loved, that he could matter to someone in a way that lasted. He was unimportant, unlovable, unnecessary. Fine. He could deal with that. He’d dealt with it before.
He pushed himself upright on trembling legs, dragging his body away from the pool. Away from the water that threatened to pull him under. Away from the thoughts that tried to drown him just as effectively.
He trudged back inside the empty, echoing house, down the familiar hallway, toward his room. He attempted to keep his thoughts firmly away from the direction of the Byers’ house—just a few streets over—where the perfect little family reunion was unfolding.
Joyce got her happy ending.
She got Hopper.
She got her family back.
He should be able to be happy for her.
He should be able to move on.
So why did it feel like something inside him had cracked clean in half?