( no, it isn't the alcohol, or the sting. though that'd be an easy excuse, it really is too bad that Nancy is so intensely aware of how used to being banged up and patched over he is. because for all Steve has gotten better about talking about things, some things still feel better off unspoken. how to even explain, why he's suddenly more on edge, when objectively this should be good. he was worried about how ugly all these new marks would heal up, and they're already halfway there, somehow! good news. it should be good news. Nancy sure seems to think it is. Steve should agree, that it looks good. let it go, leave it behind, worry about it later. or never, never sounds good, too.
only, he's starting to learn that sooner or later, it catches up anyway. the ugly things he doesn't want to talk about. isn't sure how to talk about. things that feel better left unsaid. they go rotten and cruel and crooked, worse for being ignored. or they just hurt, holding on when it'd be easier to just say it. maybe it wouldn't change anything, to have them out of his system. but at least he wouldn't be on his own, trying to carry and contain something too heavy for anyone to handle alone.
Nancy's hand on his shoulder feels like an anchor, comfort that Steve isn't entirely sure he deserves. it makes him feel a little worse, in fact, for not saying anything — which is stupid. telling Nancy he cut a huge gash in his arm personally is not going to make her worry less. she's not going to pull away in disgust or anything, he knows that. in fact, it will definitely make her worry more. the idea of that is almost enough to keep from saying anything, because Steve doesn't want her to worry about him. or... he does, and he doesn't. she's got enough to worry about, here, she doesn't have to worry about him, too. but if it happened to him, then it's some wrinkle to this place they all should know about, right? so maybe they could stop it, next time around.
his shoulders sag, a little, dark eyes wandering a little from the gash. Nancy's comfortable shirt. absolutely giant, actually, where did she get a shirt this big??? and why??? it's a nice distraction. cute. grounding. compared to what has to come out of his mouth, ugly and unhappy. )
I don't like looking at it. It was the... the food, I think. One of the meats? I don't know. But it just made me so hungry, I wanted... ( Steve grimaces, because fuck. talking about shit! is harder! than he thought! especially confessing to Nancy goddamn Wheeler that he cannibalized his own arm, all right? it isn't fun. so the rest of it comes out in a rush. ) I did it to myself, Nance, all right? Something here, got in my head, and I couldn't stop. I wanted blood, like... like a goddamn vampire. What the fuck. So I did it, for more, that was all I could think about. ( his shoulders slump a little further, and Nancy will have to hold on or she'll slip right off, like his body is determined to reject undeserved comfort. Nancy should know it is a risk, another freaky fucked wrinkle to being here, but she shouldn't have to try and reassure him because he should have known better, or fought it, or something.
and he didn't. )
I just don't like looking at it. That's all. ( Steve repeats, tone a little dulled down and distant. so, yeah. even if it is scabbed over, keeping it covered. yup. they should do that. )
[ what the fuck is an understatement. her brain automatically starts to compartmentalize the different parts of his story, although it's really just three compartments. one she uses to store the points about what happened that she needs to keep in mind for the future, and that they need to share with the other displaced hawkins teens, as soon as they touch base with them next, if they don't know already. the second is the vampire box that contains the points she's not going to address because she can tell it was hard enough for him to say it the first time, and the third is empty and reserved for whatever comes to mid while she processes what he's saying. and for her to mentally rampage instead of actually doing it. she feels sort of sick. and really pissed off. and the way she presses her lips into a thin line is her only outward reaction to it, but it's not subtle.
her hand doesn't exactly slide forward as he slouches even further, it ends up kind of staying where it was, except now that means it's the back of his shoulder under her palm. she's absently rubbing her thumb back and forth right there before she can think better of it, but even once she notices it, she doesn't actually have that gut impulse to take her hand back, or give him a little more space again. she just gives him one sweep of her full hand, down just past his shoulder blade, before moving it back where it was ]
Steve... [ packing a bunch of emotion into the way she says his name is apparently a hard habit to break. ] I'm sorry you had to go through something like that. Shit. I knew this place liked to mess with our heads, but I never thought it could do things that made that so.. literal. [ she shakes her head, watching him for just a moment longer before dropping her attention back to the half removed bandage, then her first aid kit. then the small roll of tape she already took out and put next to the box. smart move, past!nancy.
and in the interest of keeping things simple, she does loop around his knee to stand between his legs again, her eyes flicking up just once to make sure the rewind to her original spot doesn't make him wildly uncomfortable. from there she gently guides him to extend his arm, then takes to ripping a longerish strip of tape off the roll and carefully realigning it with the original piece of tape before smoothing it down with a light slide of two fingers.
there's a short pause after that, but she ends up siding her hand down his arm that last little bit from the edge of the bandage, and curl her fingers over the back of his hand to give him another squeeze. she watches her hand as she does it, instead of his face, but eventually she looks up again, attempting to catch his gaze. ]
So... I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last ..minute - [ not really. it's a thought she's entertained actually voicing for quite a few, um, years at this point. but the corner of her mouth quirks up to give him the world's tinies smile at her own joke ] And I've decided that you're not allowed to get hurt anymore. Not even a stubbed toe. Not even a paper cut. Got it? [ she tilts her head sideways a little bit more, still trying to convince him to look at her without actually telling or asking him to ] I'm very serious about this, so I'm going to need some verbal confirmation, Harrington.
Yeah. ( the world's most lackluster answer to a conversation that is this heavy. but what the hell is he supposed to say? there's no good answer. there's no right words for this situation. and if there is, Steve Harrington was never gonna be the guy to know them. instead his eyes linger on his arm, even as Nancy secures the bandage again. covering it up isn't quite as good as forgetting it happened entirely, but not having to look at it makes him feel immediately better, if nothing else.
Steve hasn't moved, much. even with Nancy shifting between his legs, fingers curling around his hand. trying to avoid looking her in the eye was the idea, but sitting exactly at her eye level makes it hard. especially when she seems determined to put her sleep rumpled curls directly in front of him. he doesn't respond much, at first, to Nancy's not-at-all spur of the moment proclamation. it takes awhile. not even a stubbed toe. not even a papercut! got it? the corner of his mouth wearily quirks upward, his attention finally shifting from somewhere past her shoulder back to Nancy's serious-but-trying-to-cheer-him-up-anyway expression. )
What about brainfreeze, from the fancy ice cream they've got here. ( he's just testing his boundaries, okay? that's all. he's not ready to give up ice cream! honestly, he's not entirely sure he's willing to promise he won't get hurt again. because if there's a situation where he can get in front of something trying to hurt someone, he's gonna do it. sorry, Nancy, that's just how it is. it's gonna happen. it is who Steve Harrington is, as a person. you couldn't convince him to get out of dodge in junior year, he's a lost cause now. )
I'll be careful, Nance. ( that's a promise he can make, without being a complete liar. and he will, he will be careful. does that really translate in not getting hurt? no. but careful is about all he can promise, in a place determined to fuck them up every month. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tw: more selfharm stuff
only, he's starting to learn that sooner or later, it catches up anyway. the ugly things he doesn't want to talk about. isn't sure how to talk about. things that feel better left unsaid. they go rotten and cruel and crooked, worse for being ignored. or they just hurt, holding on when it'd be easier to just say it. maybe it wouldn't change anything, to have them out of his system. but at least he wouldn't be on his own, trying to carry and contain something too heavy for anyone to handle alone.
Nancy's hand on his shoulder feels like an anchor, comfort that Steve isn't entirely sure he deserves. it makes him feel a little worse, in fact, for not saying anything — which is stupid. telling Nancy he cut a huge gash in his arm personally is not going to make her worry less. she's not going to pull away in disgust or anything, he knows that. in fact, it will definitely make her worry more. the idea of that is almost enough to keep from saying anything, because Steve doesn't want her to worry about him. or... he does, and he doesn't. she's got enough to worry about, here, she doesn't have to worry about him, too. but if it happened to him, then it's some wrinkle to this place they all should know about, right? so maybe they could stop it, next time around.
his shoulders sag, a little, dark eyes wandering a little from the gash. Nancy's comfortable shirt. absolutely giant, actually, where did she get a shirt this big??? and why??? it's a nice distraction. cute. grounding. compared to what has to come out of his mouth, ugly and unhappy. )
I don't like looking at it. It was the... the food, I think. One of the meats? I don't know. But it just made me so hungry, I wanted... ( Steve grimaces, because fuck. talking about shit! is harder! than he thought! especially confessing to Nancy goddamn Wheeler that he cannibalized his own arm, all right? it isn't fun. so the rest of it comes out in a rush. ) I did it to myself, Nance, all right? Something here, got in my head, and I couldn't stop. I wanted blood, like... like a goddamn vampire. What the fuck. So I did it, for more, that was all I could think about. ( his shoulders slump a little further, and Nancy will have to hold on or she'll slip right off, like his body is determined to reject undeserved comfort. Nancy should know it is a risk, another freaky fucked wrinkle to being here, but she shouldn't have to try and reassure him because he should have known better, or fought it, or something.
and he didn't. )
I just don't like looking at it. That's all. ( Steve repeats, tone a little dulled down and distant. so, yeah. even if it is scabbed over, keeping it covered. yup. they should do that. )
tw: more selfharm stuff
her hand doesn't exactly slide forward as he slouches even further, it ends up kind of staying where it was, except now that means it's the back of his shoulder under her palm. she's absently rubbing her thumb back and forth right there before she can think better of it, but even once she notices it, she doesn't actually have that gut impulse to take her hand back, or give him a little more space again. she just gives him one sweep of her full hand, down just past his shoulder blade, before moving it back where it was ]
Steve... [ packing a bunch of emotion into the way she says his name is apparently a hard habit to break. ] I'm sorry you had to go through something like that. Shit. I knew this place liked to mess with our heads, but I never thought it could do things that made that so.. literal. [ she shakes her head, watching him for just a moment longer before dropping her attention back to the half removed bandage, then her first aid kit. then the small roll of tape she already took out and put next to the box. smart move, past!nancy.
and in the interest of keeping things simple, she does loop around his knee to stand between his legs again, her eyes flicking up just once to make sure the rewind to her original spot doesn't make him wildly uncomfortable. from there she gently guides him to extend his arm, then takes to ripping a longerish strip of tape off the roll and carefully realigning it with the original piece of tape before smoothing it down with a light slide of two fingers.
there's a short pause after that, but she ends up siding her hand down his arm that last little bit from the edge of the bandage, and curl her fingers over the back of his hand to give him another squeeze. she watches her hand as she does it, instead of his face, but eventually she looks up again, attempting to catch his gaze. ]
So... I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last ..minute - [ not really. it's a thought she's entertained actually voicing for quite a few, um, years at this point. but the corner of her mouth quirks up to give him the world's tinies smile at her own joke ] And I've decided that you're not allowed to get hurt anymore. Not even a stubbed toe. Not even a paper cut. Got it? [ she tilts her head sideways a little bit more, still trying to convince him to look at her without actually telling or asking him to ] I'm very serious about this, so I'm going to need some verbal confirmation, Harrington.
no subject
Steve hasn't moved, much. even with Nancy shifting between his legs, fingers curling around his hand. trying to avoid looking her in the eye was the idea, but sitting exactly at her eye level makes it hard. especially when she seems determined to put her sleep rumpled curls directly in front of him. he doesn't respond much, at first, to Nancy's not-at-all spur of the moment proclamation. it takes awhile. not even a stubbed toe. not even a papercut! got it? the corner of his mouth wearily quirks upward, his attention finally shifting from somewhere past her shoulder back to Nancy's serious-but-trying-to-cheer-him-up-anyway expression. )
What about brainfreeze, from the fancy ice cream they've got here. ( he's just testing his boundaries, okay? that's all. he's not ready to give up ice cream! honestly, he's not entirely sure he's willing to promise he won't get hurt again. because if there's a situation where he can get in front of something trying to hurt someone, he's gonna do it. sorry, Nancy, that's just how it is. it's gonna happen. it is who Steve Harrington is, as a person. you couldn't convince him to get out of dodge in junior year, he's a lost cause now. )
I'll be careful, Nance. ( that's a promise he can make, without being a complete liar. and he will, he will be careful. does that really translate in not getting hurt? no. but careful is about all he can promise, in a place determined to fuck them up every month. )