[ Steve definitely wants to fill that hole. No pun intended. ]
I want that play-by-play, and I want it STAT. But that's rough man, if I lost mine. Well. I already know how crazy I'd go. I lost her for so long here. Things, they won't ever really heal over fully, but, I'm here for you to help that process. You're not alone dude, I can't replace your best friend, but I am here for you. Whenever.
[ He wants to type more but he's getting light headed from the axe wounds still losing seeps of blood as he slowly heals. ]
Iām not eating it this second. ā¦ yeah, I guess I didnāt go crazy. Or maybe I did. Thanks. Again.
[ Steve keeps saying things like that. Stuff thatās supportive. Itās nice to know someoneās there.
Luckily for Steveās lightheadedness, the medkit guy is right there. He moves with a speediness that shouldnāt exist for the state of exhaustion to Steveās side, head tilted and a frown on his face. Thereās an immediate move, taking Steveās hand and positioning it where pressure should be. Heās by no means a doctor but practice, practice, practice, - infinite practice. Between Claudette and him, as long-running team medics, they might as well slap the doctor title in front of their names. ]
Hold that there a second.
[ He kneels down in front of him, placing a hefty medkit to the side and opens it up. Itās one he doesnāt bring to trials and uses outside of it. More valuable items kept inside. Steveās worth some higher quality things. ]
Hi. You failed to mention you took it directly to the head.
[ Steve is incredibly thankful when he sees an angel approaching him, backed by glorious white light behind them... Or wait that's Quentin, an angel in his own right, but hey Steve's not dying now that he's got some aid at his side.
Quentin places Steve's hand firmly on the gauze on his shoulder wound, his hands buzzing slightly from lack of bloodflow. ]
Starting to feel like the static before Sadako comes out of the tv... But thanks, man. I mean it.
[ Steve looks over and sees Quentin's nicer kit, and is relieved, but also worried about the fact that he needs it. ]
Oh you brought Quentin's big bag of fun, that bad huh?
[ "Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him"
Steve's hand holding the shoulder wound because Quentin is focusing on the more pressing one on his head, carefully mending it so it can heal easy and without interference. It'll take a bit longer than other wounds, as all the killing blows always seem to do here. It's always wise to patch those up, as nobody here is really as skilled at going into a trial already injured as David is. ]
That's usually a bad thing and how I feel right before I pass out. You dizzy? [ He states it with a quiet dry tone, dropping a dirtied bloody gauze and grabbing a fresh one. He switches to the shoulder after wrapping his head up, putting a hand over Steve's and moving it away to take over, now that he knows the head isn't going to kill him again. A small smile. ] Mmhm. Anytime.
I wasn't sure if the flan was going to add some weirdness to this so I'm just making sure I have anything and everything, you know? You might be uncontrollably vomiting in the next second but- [ A shrug. ] I got you covered for that too.
[ Steve can certainly be mithered with it, unlike David, that's for sure.
He half smiles drearily at Quentin caring for his head wound. Usually it's Claudette for stuff like this, one of his first friends here, but something has really taken ahold of him with Quentin lately, he's just such a nice guy. Really useful in situations like this too, but also a great friend in his own right. ]
Yeah, little dizzy but getting better by the minute, 'specially with you here man. Feel like I might as well be at John Hopkins the way you're switching out gauze and shit. I'm lucky to have you Quentin... [ A whole lot luckier than Steve probably deserves ] We all are.
Almost tempted to start spewing just to see what else you have up your sleeve in that case. I don't think I'm going to start hurlin' any time soo-
[ You see where this is going Q? Get the bucket and the tums. ]
[ Claudette is, of course, Quentin's go-to when he needs healing. Taught him a whole lot about medicinal plants. He gives her anything she needs. Designated healers, the two of them. Then Lisa came. Then Rebecca. They're professionals but because Claudette and Quentin have been here long before them, the survivors with more time under their belt ask Claudette first. Then him. ]
Maybe I'll just go there instead of anywhere else. [ He shrugs, shaking his head with a sheepish expression that then looks a little forlorn. ] I don't know about that. I added to everyone's problems. [ It's an admission of guilt he's been carrying around, quietly stated. It just slipped out because Steve is trustworthy and good. Makes him laugh, which is hard these days. A friend when he desperately needed one. He sighs, focusing on the wound.
Then raises an eyebrow and, in an amusingly swift motion, pulls a brown paper bag out of his actual sleeve and shakes it open, placing so Steve can grab hold and catch anything that might be coming up from Steve's stomach. ]
[ The guilt, it's there again, plain as day on his face but now Steve at least has the inkling of an idea why it's shown up this time. He's been curious before, especially with how close they've become recently, but never wanted to pry too deeply, cross some unknown boundary or something, risk offending Quentin or pushing him away. ]
Hang on, hang on. Added to our problems? What do you mean, man? All you ever are is the solution to mine, ours. [ He'd be saying that even if he wasn't delirious from blood loss and and pain.
Thank god he had that paper bag up his sleeve though, because Steve hurls up whatever's left in his stomach. ]
[ Steve asked. Of course he asked about a statement like that. Quentin would've asked if Steve said something like that. He looks down, rubbing at his nose with his upper arm to resist doing it with his hands, in order to keep that clean with what he's doing. Quentin shrugs at the question, just shaking his head and making a disagreeable face that makes it obvious he doesn't want to clarify that exactly. ]
No, I'm...- [ Another sigh, one that's a frustrated huff. He does answer though, pulling his hands back completely and staying crouched in front of Steve while he watches Steve's face go pale and green. His face carrying anger past the guilt being worn on it. ] I brought a killer with me. It's not exactly being a solution. That's just causing everyone here a ton of grief and putting them at risk.
[ A little half smirk slips in, at the 'nice'. Quentin shifts and pulls a very flask of water out of one of this jacket pockets and passes that over two so he can rinse his mouth out. ]
Bet Cheryl's boo-boo kisses don't come with my efficiency.
[ Steve's concerned, as concerned as he could be while puking and bleeding out, about Q's mentality about this. He doesn't want to push, but he can tell, Quentin NEEDS someone to talk to about this stuff. And if it's not going to be his Nance, then it's gotta be Steve right?]
Everyone brought a killer dude. I brought a killer. Pretty sure that 5 jawed freak tracked me from my hairspray, and sure I feel guilty as hell when one of y'all gets your head eaten, but I try to remember I don't control it. It does. Ol striped sweater makes his own choices, you're not responsible for them.
[ Wow that certainly was a lot of words, effort, and oxygen for someone who is essentially staving off death. His eyes flutter shut for a second, while he takes a second to breathe and focus on Quentin's healing hands helping him fight.
He takes and spits out some of the water Quentin offered to him, feeling better without the taste of bile present. Wow, he must look so cool to Quentin right now. Half dead and covered in puke. This is going to be embarrassing later. ]
Ok first of all if you tell anyone I told you that, you're ass is grass, Smith. Second of all, yeah you here is a lot better than a kiss from her.
[ He's laughing softly though. He's feeling a lot better with the bandaging helping to stop pools of blood from pouring out of his wound, and the flan finally fully out of his system.]
[ Itās been there the whole time, pushed down in a black festering puddle of rage and guilt and more rage and it bubbles over little by little until some trials he just snaps. He doesnāt talk about his own things, not unless someone said something first about their own problems or he was specifically asked ā and even with asking heās prone to changing the topic if it regards that or switching to defense. Quentin offers to listen about anything and everything in a calm, non-judgmental manner but never asks if someone will listen back. It's not like anyone's offering, really, everyone up until recently has been tip-toping around it. Better not to ask. Perhaps they're scared of what his answer might actually be.
Not speaking of it is maybe a product of his upbringing, where his father (and every other parent in Springwood) decided it was better to suppress suppress suppress. Repressed memories are certainly easier to deal with than one's that plague the mind. It's better to keep that all on lockdown. And Alan Smith was never a talker, for all his hovering and protection. He didn't exactly discuss things. A good relationship that has a major communication issue if you scratch the surface away. It's why the first time Quentin found a truth he yelled at Nancy for trying to explore the idea any further, dismissing and pushed it down as something not to be dealt with, and went to swim practice like nothing was wrong when everything was crumbling beneath him.
Steve starts taking and Quentin wears a visibly pained look on his face, breathing a little harder and looking away from him. A roll of his eyes. A glare to nowhere in particular. By the time Steve gets towards the end of it, all out of his breath, Quentinās spilled over. His words elevated with sharp emotion that's so unbelievably upset. ]
No, itās not- Steve! Shut up! Thatās not the same. [ He throws his hand to the side and pointing towards the foggy nowhere in the distance, as if gesturing towards the fog will point out the monster being referenced. ] You didnāt bring that thing here on purpose! [ His hands move in on himself, tapping his chest and getting Steveās blood smeared on his blue shirt. ] I did! I made the Entity grab me.
I summoned it because I needed that piece of shit gone and I didnāt care where and it showed up just like I wanted something to. [ He gesticulates outward, a large shrug. ] Did anyone else here fucking summon the Entity intentionally? Anyone thatās not a killer? No. No, they didn't. And then itās my memories, mine and not anyone elseās, that keep him fucking going and thatās all on me. Every time he hurts somebody here, I made that possible. Thatās not the same! Thatās my fucking fault and -HEY HEY!
[ His ranting shatters like glass as he inhales deep and grabs Steveās face, cupping his cheeks in his hands and moving his head to look straight at him when Steveās eyes flutter. Pure panic crossing his features. He just helped you. Don't pass out or die anyway. ]
You with me? [ He waits for Steve to catch his breath, and pulls his hands back with a forced calmness when the water he handed a moment before is being ingested. Quentin looks away again, face flushed and breathing purposefully deep to calm himself. He busies his hands with his necklace, his legs crossed now and a foot tapping against the floor rapidly. He shouldn't have said any of that.
How Steve looks right now, covered in blood and puke justā¦ increases his guilt. Like somehow he did that. Maybe he did by giving the Entity something extremely powerful to feast on. It's entirely possible he upped its power. Steve came in after him. Maybe he gave it enough juice to grab him. Anyone after Quentin, even. And all he can do is try to save them.
He sniffles, probably a little grossly and full snot-filled, his nose just deciding running was a good idea as he bordered the verge of just outright crying in the middle of that whirlwind of releasing a small bit of what he holds in. Heās trying to reel back and forces a smile at Steveās soft laughter. Tries to focus on the rest of what they were saying. Just ā¦ suppress suppress repress. White hot in the face from having gotten it out there. He doesnāt feel any better. ]
Edited (ignore those grammatical errors.) 2022-09-30 22:38 (UTC)
steve just exploded this poor boy and steves gotta pick up the pieces now, of quentin and himself
[ Passing ever on endlessly, time never stops its flow here. And it's still going strong, despite not exactly working like how it used to in Hawkins. Some realms seem like they're eternally stuck in a single moment, like the blinding, white blizzards at Ormond, or the shadowed, frigid nights near Macmillan's, or the loooonnngggg warm sunsets at Glenvale.
And when you're there, you can still count the seconds passing, the minutes ticking away as gens get worked on in search of temporary escape, the vastness of time still exists within these places, but you're never really sure if days are passing, or weeks, or months. If one hour at the campfire is one hour back in Indiana, or perhaps it's a year gone by, or ten, or a hundred? Or maybe none at all, like Steve will just walk back out of the fog like nothing ever even happened.
With the Upside Down, the doorway to literal Hell was opened. And Steve could've stopped it, stopped the Demogorgon, Nancy, and himself from getting sucked into its cold embrace. Where time keeps flowing, unending cycles, peoples' endings just becoming new beginnings in this torture fest that Steve could've done something, anything to stop. Instead, he let Nancy drag his ass here, instead of stopping her and thinking about a plan or solution to close off access to all these realms, steal Russian Data on it, literally anything. When Steve's alone, he thinks about all this. And he's alone a lot, his visage reflecting back at him in the pond as he thinks of all the paths he could've taken to save his friends, and prevent more people from getting sucked into this world.
Quentin now looks a lot like Steve does then. And it's guilty-ass look. ]
I'm with you dude. And hey, there's a lot more to this shit you don't even know the half of. You might've brought one guy but at least you didn'tā [ He stops because he knows he's coming off a little too angry, only at himself, and has to blink away a single frustrated tear. Focus on the soft laughter Quentin was able to muster after getting worked up too.
It's not that Steve wants to suppress it, it's just that, everyone needs him to be the hero. The funny guy. The good-looking guy who's all laughs and not a care in the world. But the truth is Steve doesn't always feel like a hero, and now is one of those times. But he's got to put on a brave face, make sure that Quentin doesn't suspect that Steve's not ok. Because Steve's gotta make sure Quentin's ok. ]
It doesn't matter, look I can tell we're both worked up over some shit. Are you really going to let one bad moment define who you are, for eternity? If one moment of weakness determined who I am, I'm pretty sure I'd be Indiana's biggest asshole. The best we can do is try to attack the issue head-on, not wonder about what we should've or could've done differently. The entity and Freddy are responsible for their actions, not you.
[ The irony is not lost on Steve that its advice he needs to take himself, but it feels different delivering it to Quentin, someone that's truly good at heart. ]
[ His eyes snap back to Steve quicker than a bullet, narrowing with a painful sharpness to them. ]
How could you possibly be with me on this?
[ It's a whispered statement but with a harsher tone than he's ever used before. How could Steve be with him on this? He didn't bring in a predator that can enter the mind. Quentin's crumbling. Layers of repression slipping through the cracks like the orange glow of hell comes through the ground and boils the trial over once those gates open. The entire place collapsing in on itself.
He follows Steve's tear down his face, his bloody hands balling into fists with his nails digging deep into his palm and leaving marks. Holding his breath to not say anything. ]
It's not some shit. [ He knows Steve doesn't mean it in a way that's dismissive. He knows this. He still snaps at him, voice loud and a little hoarse. ] It's not a moment of weakness. Nothing you did to get here was your fault and you should be able to leave. But I...I want to be here if it keeps him trapped. I don't regret it, either. I'll die a thousand times to see his soul burn into oblivion and if I have to go down with him, I will.
[ His fist unclenches just enough to be raised and have a finger pointed at Steve. ]
But nobody was supposed to burn with us and they are. I handed an Entity something that can get you while you're the most vulnerable, that feasts on fear and memories of it, and you're all at risk now. Do you understand me, Steve? Tell me how your monster uses your head and your head alone as its power source. Tell me it can't be killed outside of here. Tell me it's killed every single person you know.
[ He shakes his head, breathing uneven and somewhat erratic as everything he's feeling is completely skyrocketed and making his chest and lungs hurt by how he was already riding too many outside things in his system. Enough caffeine to cause brain damage. Enough lack of sleep to crack someone to insanity. ]
I'm not-- I'm not trying to say anything you're feeling is wrong. But it's not the fucking same. You're not with me on this. You have no fucking idea what I did. You're all fucked because of me.
[ There's not one modicum of hesitation within Steve when he matches Quentin's gaze at speed. ]
Because I'm with you on anything.
[ Whispered, too, but ice cold in tone, not directly at Quentin, but at the notion that he wouldn't be on his side till the bitter end. Quentin. Of all people at this campfire, he's the one who deserves that the most.
It's still weird, the outburst. But to be honest, it's not entirely unexpected. Quentin always gave Steve the same vibe green skies and calm winds do in Hawkins, the calm before the storm. And now the tornado is here, but Steve isn't going to be one of those flying cows.
Especially when he knows what caused the turbulent winds in the first place, or at least thinks he does. ]
You don't think it's my fault people are here? That Nancy is here? You're looking at the reason right here, buddy! It's my fucking fault, could've stopped it all, saved Nancy, prevented Jonathan and Robin from ever looking for us, stopping the Entity from ever taking us, but I didn't. And I could've.
[ Steve has kept a mostly cool head, but it's trying its best not to pop off his body now, the frustration at himself, the situation, the entity evident in each stuttered vibration of his voice and body. ]
Quentin, do you really think the Demogorgon is the end-all-be-all of the monster I brought here? There's so much more to it all. That's like a pawn, on a fucking chessboard compared to what we're facing. The Mindflayer Quentin, that's what we're up against. The Queen. And I think the Entity is related to it. It takes over your mind, controls your body, makes you kill, makes you do things that you never thought you'd do in a goddamned million years.
Don't tell me I don't know about this shit, I'm pretty sure I'm the reason it got here. Maybe the Entity is controlling it, maybe it's controlling the Entity, I don't fucking know, but what I do know, is that we weren't able to stop whatever's happening to us all, and it's my goddamned fault.
So don't tell me I don't know, and don't tell me I'm not with you, asshole.
[ Steve's just as out of breath as Quentin, and red in the cheeks, he's with you Quentin, till the end, even though you're making it so hard right now. ]
[ Quentin emphases his words, voice cracking an shaky. He's shouting and he doesn't care that he is. They're far enough away from everyone else and everyone usually is in one trial or another, or exploring during this hour anyway. ]
I don't think it's your fault. I really don't. You can't take the blame for someone everyone else's actions or some interdimensional monster running a hive mind or the entire Russian government! I know you feel that way but you're wrong and it's not comparable so stop fucking comparing us!
[ It's at this point he shoves him, right in the chest. Not hard enough to hurt. Not on any of the wounds he just mended but it's a shove none the less. It's both hands and it's like he can knock some sense into Steve. ]
Oh fuck off! You can't take responsibility for the ENTITY! Are you fucking insane? You're actually fucking stupid if you think that. The Entity! The thing that's been here well before you have? I've been here longer than you, asshole! You're going to take credit for it time-travelling now? Oh, Steve from the 80s didn't stop Nancy from going through a portal so that's why Oni from, like, Feudal Japan, who came in after you is here - right? You can influence that? Get out of your stupid guilt hole and stop feeling sorry for yourself for something you have zero control over! It's SELFISH. You're being a selfish self-absorbed prick if you think you being here is that fucking important! Maybe your Mind Flayer and it are connected but you know what? Not your fault because they would've been long before you're even born because they're both old as hell ancient beings of darkness. Your Mind-Flayer isn't here because if it was, it would've did something already and it hasn't so cut the shit! It's cut off! Your lab isn't even around anymore! You have your one monster that might've followed you and Nancy and that's it! Nothing you did!
[ He shoves him again, a little harsher. Every word laced with pain and venom. He takes every fiber of his being to just not keep shoving him. He pushes himself up to his feet, pointing at him accusingly with a finger both hands shaking unimaginably. ]
So! Just stop! Stop telling me you're with me on this because you're clearly not and stop claiming fucking credit for your horrors and stop comparing it to me intentionally dragging a sleep-controlling rapist here, you piece of shit!
[ It's at that point he outright turns to storm off, furious, angry and definitely crying. He kicks his medkit on turn, as hard as he can, sending the box through the air and the carefully gathered contents all over the area. He's aiming to go fast, a whirlwind of emotion storming through the grounds. ]
still rusty af with steve's voice but powering through
[ He's never seen Quentin like this, hell, has anyone? All the kindness, his composure, the warmth... gone in a flash of fiery rage. And the absence is what's so unsettling to Steve, not so much the anger, he's got so much anger.
And when the nice guy gets angry, well no one likes that.
And the shove, it means business. Like, yeah, avoided his wounds and it wasn't hard enough to actually hurt him and all, but still, it hurt. Just not physically. But it also accomplishes Q's goal of getting Steve to listen, as much as he might deny not listening in the first place. ]
Dude. You fuck off.
[ But it's softer, kind of bewildered, and eschewed of the bite he had a moment ago while Quentin verbally assails him, shoves continuing too, but Steve doesn't do much to stop it other than quiet exclamations. He doesn't want to fight, but at the same time wants this to end.
Quentin's making good points, he knows that in the back of his mind, but it will never rid him of the guilt and responsibility he feels for everyone, especially the rest of the Hawkins crew being stranded within the fog. The dissipating physical pain is just being replaced with a worse emotional one, for everything.
But then he turns to leave, kicking the absolute shit out of his medkit, sending it careening into the air, just for it and everything within to land with a splatter of crashes and thuds, the sounds resonating and reverberating as harshly as Quentin's last few expletives in Steve's ears. ]
Wait, Quentin!
[ He's got no words in his head for what he wants to say, just the thought that he doesn't want Quentin to leave on that note. One so negative, he hates leaving things unresolved, it's just... just all so bullshit. All of it.
He doesn't have much hope for Quentin turning around or stopping, and his sapped strength just leaves him almost whispering: ]
[ No, nobodyās seen this. Nobody thatās come in after him, anyway. He hasnāt hit the same level. Not since he first got here and realized the full implications of the situation. That first day where he woke up from a nightmarish sleep to a trial that started him in an all too familiar basement. The loud echoing laughter that followed. Realizing on the manās person was a box that shouldnāt exist.
He had to be physically restrained by the others in that trial and dragged through an exit gate, screaming obscenities until his voice was hoarse. Luckily they never spoke of it after. And so people were none the wiser.
Thereās moments, here and there where he becomes agitated but itās never cruel. Never rage filled. Never unkind.
The edge here is a culmination of an already unstable state - build up and build up until it snaps. Picking at a wound until it bleeds. It comes from a place of pain. And the pain is worse because he cares. That someone so completely innocent of anything would think to carry a weight like that? To warp their head so hard into thinking he caused any of it? The comparison is shit. No. He likes Steve and heās not standing for that. It seemed selfishly dismissive to him at worst.
But Quentin does stop. Against the lack of Steveās hope, he does. He hears wait and stops. He doesnāt turn around but he stands there, head low and tense in every definition of the word. Staring with unfocused eyes at parts of his supplies that made it as far as he did when he kicked it. ]
What? [ It comes out with a bite and then he goes quiet, waiting for whatever it is Steve needed him to wait for. To not leave on a warpath. ]
ā¦ what? [ Again. But itās like a bomb diffusing in slow motion. He looks over a shoulder at him then runs his entire sleeve over his face and turns around. Glaring at first then a microcosm of expressions. Absolute confusion because Steve whispered and he isnāt even sure he heard him correctly at first. Then annoyance. Exasperation. He fidgets in place while heās thinking it over. Sorry?
Not cruel. Not unkind. Not harsh. Steveās guilt is naively devastatingly lacking in self-esteem. He moves like he might run but never does. Oh. ]
Youāre an idiot, Steve Harrington. [ His entire body deflates as he says it, slouching with his arms hanging. Like a cartoon character about to pass out. Like he just canāt keep the energy up to stay mad at him. The words come out in a single breath, a long sigh. Tired but weirdly fond in a way. He hiccups after he says it, from still crying- from yelling-
ā¦ He shakes his head and flips Steve off. ]
Iām telling you not to be sorry. Werenāt you listening? Cut it out.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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No pun intended.]I want that play-by-play, and I want it STAT. But that's rough man, if I lost mine. Well. I already know how crazy I'd go. I lost her for so long here. Things, they won't ever really heal over fully, but, I'm here for you to help that process. You're not alone dude, I can't replace your best friend, but I am here for you. Whenever.
[ He wants to type more but he's getting light headed from the axe wounds still losing seeps of blood as he slowly heals. ]
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[ Steve keeps saying things like that. Stuff thatās supportive. Itās nice to know someoneās there.
Luckily for Steveās lightheadedness, the medkit guy is right there. He moves with a speediness that shouldnāt exist for the state of exhaustion to Steveās side, head tilted and a frown on his face. Thereās an immediate move, taking Steveās hand and positioning it where pressure should be. Heās by no means a doctor but practice, practice, practice, - infinite practice. Between Claudette and him, as long-running team medics, they might as well slap the doctor title in front of their names. ]
Hold that there a second.
[ He kneels down in front of him, placing a hefty medkit to the side and opens it up. Itās one he doesnāt bring to trials and uses outside of it. More valuable items kept inside. Steveās worth some higher quality things. ]
Hi. You failed to mention you took it directly to the head.
no subject
Quentin places Steve's hand firmly on the gauze on his shoulder wound, his hands buzzing slightly from lack of bloodflow. ]
Starting to feel like the static before Sadako comes out of the tv... But thanks, man. I mean it.
[ Steve looks over and sees Quentin's nicer kit, and is relieved, but also worried about the fact that he needs it. ]
Oh you brought Quentin's big bag of fun, that bad huh?
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Steve's hand holding the shoulder wound because Quentin is focusing on the more pressing one on his head, carefully mending it so it can heal easy and without interference. It'll take a bit longer than other wounds, as all the killing blows always seem to do here. It's always wise to patch those up, as nobody here is really as skilled at going into a trial already injured as David is. ]
That's usually a bad thing and how I feel right before I pass out. You dizzy? [ He states it with a quiet dry tone, dropping a dirtied bloody gauze and grabbing a fresh one. He switches to the shoulder after wrapping his head up, putting a hand over Steve's and moving it away to take over, now that he knows the head isn't going to kill him again. A small smile. ] Mmhm. Anytime.
I wasn't sure if the flan was going to add some weirdness to this so I'm just making sure I have anything and everything, you know? You might be uncontrollably vomiting in the next second but- [ A shrug. ] I got you covered for that too.
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He half smiles drearily at Quentin caring for his head wound. Usually it's Claudette for stuff like this, one of his first friends here, but something has really taken ahold of him with Quentin lately, he's just such a nice guy. Really useful in situations like this too, but also a great friend in his own right. ]
Yeah, little dizzy but getting better by the minute, 'specially with you here man. Feel like I might as well be at John Hopkins the way you're switching out gauze and shit. I'm lucky to have you Quentin... [ A whole lot luckier than Steve probably deserves ] We all are.
Almost tempted to start spewing just to see what else you have up your sleeve in that case. I don't think I'm going to start hurlin' any time soo-
[ You see where this is going Q? Get the bucket and the tums. ]
no subject
Maybe I'll just go there instead of anywhere else. [ He shrugs, shaking his head with a sheepish expression that then looks a little forlorn. ] I don't know about that. I added to everyone's problems. [ It's an admission of guilt he's been carrying around, quietly stated. It just slipped out because Steve is trustworthy and good. Makes him laugh, which is hard these days. A friend when he desperately needed one. He sighs, focusing on the wound.
Then raises an eyebrow and, in an amusingly swift motion, pulls a brown paper bag out of his actual sleeve and shakes it open, placing so Steve can grab hold and catch anything that might be coming up from Steve's stomach. ]
See? Exactly what I meant!
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Hang on, hang on. Added to our problems? What do you mean, man? All you ever are is the solution to mine, ours. [ He'd be saying that even if he wasn't delirious from blood loss and and pain.
Thank god he had that paper bag up his sleeve though, because Steve hurls up whatever's left in his stomach. ]
Wow. Literally up your sleeve. Nice.
no subject
No, I'm...- [ Another sigh, one that's a frustrated huff. He does answer though, pulling his hands back completely and staying crouched in front of Steve while he watches Steve's face go pale and green. His face carrying anger past the guilt being worn on it. ] I brought a killer with me. It's not exactly being a solution. That's just causing everyone here a ton of grief and putting them at risk.
[ A little half smirk slips in, at the 'nice'. Quentin shifts and pulls a very flask of water out of one of this jacket pockets and passes that over two so he can rinse his mouth out. ]
Bet Cheryl's boo-boo kisses don't come with my efficiency.
no subject
Everyone brought a killer dude. I brought a killer. Pretty sure that 5 jawed freak tracked me from my hairspray, and sure I feel guilty as hell when one of y'all gets your head eaten, but I try to remember I don't control it. It does. Ol striped sweater makes his own choices, you're not responsible for them.
[ Wow that certainly was a lot of words, effort, and oxygen for someone who is essentially staving off death. His eyes flutter shut for a second, while he takes a second to breathe and focus on Quentin's healing hands helping him fight.
He takes and spits out some of the water Quentin offered to him, feeling better without the taste of bile present. Wow, he must look so cool to Quentin right now. Half dead and covered in puke. This is going to be embarrassing later. ]
Ok first of all if you tell anyone I told you that, you're ass is grass, Smith. Second of all, yeah you here is a lot better than a kiss from her.
[ He's laughing softly though. He's feeling a lot better with the bandaging helping to stop pools of blood from pouring out of his wound, and the flan finally fully out of his system.]
no subject
Not speaking of it is maybe a product of his upbringing, where his father (and every other parent in Springwood) decided it was better to suppress suppress suppress. Repressed memories are certainly easier to deal with than one's that plague the mind. It's better to keep that all on lockdown. And Alan Smith was never a talker, for all his hovering and protection. He didn't exactly discuss things. A good relationship that has a major communication issue if you scratch the surface away. It's why the first time Quentin found a truth he yelled at Nancy for trying to explore the idea any further, dismissing and pushed it down as something not to be dealt with, and went to swim practice like nothing was wrong when everything was crumbling beneath him.
Steve starts taking and Quentin wears a visibly pained look on his face, breathing a little harder and looking away from him. A roll of his eyes. A glare to nowhere in particular. By the time Steve gets towards the end of it, all out of his breath, Quentinās spilled over. His words elevated with sharp emotion that's so unbelievably upset. ]
No, itās not- Steve! Shut up! Thatās not the same. [ He throws his hand to the side and pointing towards the foggy nowhere in the distance, as if gesturing towards the fog will point out the monster being referenced. ] You didnāt bring that thing here on purpose! [ His hands move in on himself, tapping his chest and getting Steveās blood smeared on his blue shirt. ] I did! I made the Entity grab me.
I summoned it because I needed that piece of shit gone and I didnāt care where and it showed up just like I wanted something to. [ He gesticulates outward, a large shrug. ] Did anyone else here fucking summon the Entity intentionally? Anyone thatās not a killer? No. No, they didn't. And then itās my memories, mine and not anyone elseās, that keep him fucking going and thatās all on me. Every time he hurts somebody here, I made that possible. Thatās not the same! Thatās my fucking fault and -HEY HEY!
[ His ranting shatters like glass as he inhales deep and grabs Steveās face, cupping his cheeks in his hands and moving his head to look straight at him when Steveās eyes flutter. Pure panic crossing his features. He just helped you. Don't pass out or die anyway. ]
You with me? [ He waits for Steve to catch his breath, and pulls his hands back with a forced calmness when the water he handed a moment before is being ingested. Quentin looks away again, face flushed and breathing purposefully deep to calm himself. He busies his hands with his necklace, his legs crossed now and a foot tapping against the floor rapidly. He shouldn't have said any of that.
How Steve looks right now, covered in blood and puke justā¦ increases his guilt. Like somehow he did that. Maybe he did by giving the Entity something extremely powerful to feast on. It's entirely possible he upped its power. Steve came in after him. Maybe he gave it enough juice to grab him. Anyone after Quentin, even. And all he can do is try to save them.
He sniffles, probably a little grossly and full snot-filled, his nose just deciding running was a good idea as he bordered the verge of just outright crying in the middle of that whirlwind of releasing a small bit of what he holds in. Heās trying to reel back and forces a smile at Steveās soft laughter. Tries to focus on the rest of what they were saying. Just ā¦ suppress suppress repress. White hot in the face from having gotten it out there. He doesnāt feel any better. ]
steve just exploded this poor boy and steves gotta pick up the pieces now, of quentin and himself
And when you're there, you can still count the seconds passing, the minutes ticking away as gens get worked on in search of temporary escape, the vastness of time still exists within these places, but you're never really sure if days are passing, or weeks, or months. If one hour at the campfire is one hour back in Indiana, or perhaps it's a year gone by, or ten, or a hundred? Or maybe none at all, like Steve will just walk back out of the fog like nothing ever even happened.
With the Upside Down, the doorway to literal Hell was opened. And Steve could've stopped it, stopped the Demogorgon, Nancy, and himself from getting sucked into its cold embrace. Where time keeps flowing, unending cycles, peoples' endings just becoming new beginnings in this torture fest that Steve could've done something, anything to stop. Instead, he let Nancy drag his ass here, instead of stopping her and thinking about a plan or solution to close off access to all these realms, steal Russian Data on it, literally anything. When Steve's alone, he thinks about all this. And he's alone a lot, his visage reflecting back at him in the pond as he thinks of all the paths he could've taken to save his friends, and prevent more people from getting sucked into this world.
Quentin now looks a lot like Steve does then. And it's guilty-ass look. ]
I'm with you dude. And hey, there's a lot more to this shit you don't even know the half of. You might've brought one guy but at least you didn'tā [ He stops because he knows he's coming off a little too angry, only at himself, and has to blink away a single frustrated tear. Focus on the soft laughter Quentin was able to muster after getting worked up too.
It's not that Steve wants to suppress it, it's just that, everyone needs him to be the hero. The funny guy. The good-looking guy who's all laughs and not a care in the world. But the truth is Steve doesn't always feel like a hero, and now is one of those times. But he's got to put on a brave face, make sure that Quentin doesn't suspect that Steve's not ok. Because Steve's gotta make sure Quentin's ok. ]
It doesn't matter, look I can tell we're both worked up over some shit. Are you really going to let one bad moment define who you are, for eternity? If one moment of weakness determined who I am, I'm pretty sure I'd be Indiana's biggest asshole. The best we can do is try to attack the issue head-on, not wonder about what we should've or could've done differently. The entity and Freddy are responsible for their actions, not you.
[ The irony is not lost on Steve that its advice he needs to take himself, but it feels different delivering it to Quentin, someone that's truly good at heart. ]
steve setting of a nuclear bomb
How could you possibly be with me on this?
[ It's a whispered statement but with a harsher tone than he's ever used before. How could Steve be with him on this? He didn't bring in a predator that can enter the mind. Quentin's crumbling. Layers of repression slipping through the cracks like the orange glow of hell comes through the ground and boils the trial over once those gates open. The entire place collapsing in on itself.
He follows Steve's tear down his face, his bloody hands balling into fists with his nails digging deep into his palm and leaving marks. Holding his breath to not say anything. ]
It's not some shit. [ He knows Steve doesn't mean it in a way that's dismissive. He knows this. He still snaps at him, voice loud and a little hoarse. ] It's not a moment of weakness. Nothing you did to get here was your fault and you should be able to leave. But I...I want to be here if it keeps him trapped. I don't regret it, either. I'll die a thousand times to see his soul burn into oblivion and if I have to go down with him, I will.
[ His fist unclenches just enough to be raised and have a finger pointed at Steve. ]
But nobody was supposed to burn with us and they are. I handed an Entity something that can get you while you're the most vulnerable, that feasts on fear and memories of it, and you're all at risk now. Do you understand me, Steve? Tell me how your monster uses your head and your head alone as its power source. Tell me it can't be killed outside of here. Tell me it's killed every single person you know.
[ He shakes his head, breathing uneven and somewhat erratic as everything he's feeling is completely skyrocketed and making his chest and lungs hurt by how he was already riding too many outside things in his system. Enough caffeine to cause brain damage. Enough lack of sleep to crack someone to insanity. ]
I'm not-- I'm not trying to say anything you're feeling is wrong. But it's not the fucking same. You're not with me on this. You have no fucking idea what I did. You're all fucked because of me.
nuclear fallout map in dbd when?
Because I'm with you on anything.
[ Whispered, too, but ice cold in tone, not directly at Quentin, but at the notion that he wouldn't be on his side till the bitter end. Quentin. Of all people at this campfire, he's the one who deserves that the most.
It's still weird, the outburst. But to be honest, it's not entirely unexpected. Quentin always gave Steve the same vibe green skies and calm winds do in Hawkins, the calm before the storm. And now the tornado is here, but Steve isn't going to be one of those flying cows.
Especially when he knows what caused the turbulent winds in the first place, or at least thinks he does. ]
You don't think it's my fault people are here? That Nancy is here? You're looking at the reason right here, buddy! It's my fucking fault, could've stopped it all, saved Nancy, prevented Jonathan and Robin from ever looking for us, stopping the Entity from ever taking us, but I didn't. And I could've.
[ Steve has kept a mostly cool head, but it's trying its best not to pop off his body now, the frustration at himself, the situation, the entity evident in each stuttered vibration of his voice and body. ]
Quentin, do you really think the Demogorgon is the end-all-be-all of the monster I brought here? There's so much more to it all. That's like a pawn, on a fucking chessboard compared to what we're facing. The Mindflayer Quentin, that's what we're up against. The Queen. And I think the Entity is related to it. It takes over your mind, controls your body, makes you kill, makes you do things that you never thought you'd do in a goddamned million years.
Don't tell me I don't know about this shit, I'm pretty sure I'm the reason it got here. Maybe the Entity is controlling it, maybe it's controlling the Entity, I don't fucking know, but what I do know, is that we weren't able to stop whatever's happening to us all, and it's my goddamned fault.
So don't tell me I don't know, and don't tell me I'm not with you, asshole.
[ Steve's just as out of breath as Quentin, and red in the cheeks, he's with you Quentin, till the end, even though you're making it so hard right now. ]
no subject
[ Quentin emphases his words, voice cracking an shaky. He's shouting and he doesn't care that he is. They're far enough away from everyone else and everyone usually is in one trial or another, or exploring during this hour anyway. ]
I don't think it's your fault. I really don't. You can't take the blame for someone everyone else's actions or some interdimensional monster running a hive mind or the entire Russian government! I know you feel that way but you're wrong and it's not comparable so stop fucking comparing us!
[ It's at this point he shoves him, right in the chest. Not hard enough to hurt. Not on any of the wounds he just mended but it's a shove none the less. It's both hands and it's like he can knock some sense into Steve. ]
Oh fuck off! You can't take responsibility for the ENTITY! Are you fucking insane? You're actually fucking stupid if you think that. The Entity! The thing that's been here well before you have? I've been here longer than you, asshole! You're going to take credit for it time-travelling now? Oh, Steve from the 80s didn't stop Nancy from going through a portal so that's why Oni from, like, Feudal Japan, who came in after you is here - right? You can influence that? Get out of your stupid guilt hole and stop feeling sorry for yourself for something you have zero control over! It's SELFISH. You're being a selfish self-absorbed prick if you think you being here is that fucking important! Maybe your Mind Flayer and it are connected but you know what? Not your fault because they would've been long before you're even born because they're both old as hell ancient beings of darkness. Your Mind-Flayer isn't here because if it was, it would've did something already and it hasn't so cut the shit! It's cut off! Your lab isn't even around anymore! You have your one monster that might've followed you and Nancy and that's it! Nothing you did!
[ He shoves him again, a little harsher. Every word laced with pain and venom. He takes every fiber of his being to just not keep shoving him. He pushes himself up to his feet, pointing at him accusingly with a finger both hands shaking unimaginably. ]
So! Just stop! Stop telling me you're with me on this because you're clearly not and stop claiming fucking credit for your horrors and stop comparing it to me intentionally dragging a sleep-controlling rapist here, you piece of shit!
[ It's at that point he outright turns to storm off, furious, angry and definitely crying. He kicks his medkit on turn, as hard as he can, sending the box through the air and the carefully gathered contents all over the area. He's aiming to go fast, a whirlwind of emotion storming through the grounds. ]
still rusty af with steve's voice but powering through
And when the nice guy gets angry, well no one likes that.
And the shove, it means business. Like, yeah, avoided his wounds and it wasn't hard enough to actually hurt him and all, but still, it hurt. Just not physically. But it also accomplishes Q's goal of getting Steve to listen, as much as he might deny not listening in the first place. ]
Dude. You fuck off.
[ But it's softer, kind of bewildered, and eschewed of the bite he had a moment ago while Quentin verbally assails him, shoves continuing too, but Steve doesn't do much to stop it other than quiet exclamations. He doesn't want to fight, but at the same time wants this to end.
Quentin's making good points, he knows that in the back of his mind, but it will never rid him of the guilt and responsibility he feels for everyone, especially the rest of the Hawkins crew being stranded within the fog. The dissipating physical pain is just being replaced with a worse emotional one, for everything.
But then he turns to leave, kicking the absolute shit out of his medkit, sending it careening into the air, just for it and everything within to land with a splatter of crashes and thuds, the sounds resonating and reverberating as harshly as Quentin's last few expletives in Steve's ears. ]
Wait, Quentin!
[ He's got no words in his head for what he wants to say, just the thought that he doesn't want Quentin to leave on that note. One so negative, he hates leaving things unresolved, it's just... just all so bullshit. All of it.
He doesn't have much hope for Quentin turning around or stopping, and his sapped strength just leaves him almost whispering: ]
I'm sorry...
i know this and I appreciate you
He had to be physically restrained by the others in that trial and dragged through an exit gate, screaming obscenities until his voice was hoarse. Luckily they never spoke of it after. And so people were none the wiser.
Thereās moments, here and there where he becomes agitated but itās never cruel. Never rage filled. Never unkind.
The edge here is a culmination of an already unstable state - build up and build up until it snaps. Picking at a wound until it bleeds. It comes from a place of pain. And the pain is worse because he cares. That someone so completely innocent of anything would think to carry a weight like that? To warp their head so hard into thinking he caused any of it? The comparison is shit. No. He likes Steve and heās not standing for that. It seemed selfishly dismissive to him at worst.
But Quentin does stop. Against the lack of Steveās hope, he does. He hears wait and stops. He doesnāt turn around but he stands there, head low and tense in every definition of the word. Staring with unfocused eyes at parts of his supplies that made it as far as he did when he kicked it. ]
What? [ It comes out with a bite and then he goes quiet, waiting for whatever it is Steve needed him to wait for. To not leave on a warpath. ]
ā¦ what? [ Again. But itās like a bomb diffusing in slow motion. He looks over a shoulder at him then runs his entire sleeve over his face and turns around. Glaring at first then a microcosm of expressions. Absolute confusion because Steve whispered and he isnāt even sure he heard him correctly at first. Then annoyance. Exasperation. He fidgets in place while heās thinking it over. Sorry?
Not cruel. Not unkind. Not harsh. Steveās guilt is naively devastatingly lacking in self-esteem. He moves like he might run but never does. Oh. ]
Youāre an idiot, Steve Harrington. [ His entire body deflates as he says it, slouching with his arms hanging. Like a cartoon character about to pass out. Like he just canāt keep the energy up to stay mad at him. The words come out in a single breath, a long sigh. Tired but weirdly fond in a way. He hiccups after he says it, from still crying- from yelling-
ā¦ He shakes his head and flips Steve off. ]
Iām telling you not to be sorry. Werenāt you listening? Cut it out.