--

Steve sat in his bed with his elbows resting on bent knees and one of his hands pressed against his mouth. The position hurt to maintain. His stomach and chest were bruised to hell and back. The wounds on his face throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Even his hands weren't spared from scraped knuckles or the purple marks around his wrists.

Everything hurt and he couldn't even risk taking painkillers because who knew what kind of reaction there would be with the drugs they injected into his neck? The truth serum might have stopped compelling him to talk—to give up his best friend's name, how could he just—but he didn't want to chance it. There was no one around to notice if something happened. They might not notice for days, considering the chaos the Russians and the monster left behind this time.

All Steve wanted to do was sleep. Forget, for a while. If he was asleep, the pain wouldn't be so bad. His heart might slow down. He wouldn't feel the impending danger, the guilt, the fear. It was enough to turn his stomach and keep him from curling up on his side.

Instead he sat, frozen, each breath coming in a little bit faster, thinner. Working himself up all over again though it was over—but was it, really? It was "over" after Will was found and the Demogorgon was lit on fire. It was "over" after El closed the Gate and they burned the demodogs in that tunnel.

Was it only "over" now, too?

"Hey, hey, calm down," he told himself, ignoring the tinge of panic he couldn't stifle. Lifting one of his hands, he dug the tip of his finger into the center of his forehead. It hurt, but there was something almost soothing about being the one in control of this particular pain. "They can't hurt you anymore."

Steve repeated the action—pressing his finger against the hot, bruised skin of his forehead. It was easier to focus on this one spot than the fact that he didn't believe what he was saying. Everything else hurt a little less with each touch. Even his breathing evened out into something calmer, more manageable. His muscles began the slow process of loosening up enough that eventually, Steve found himself horizontal across his bed instead of upright.

He bent his knees again, curling himself into as much of a ball as he could because it hurt more to let the bruises stretch out. His pillow was soft against the less injured side of his face. Steve rubbed his cheek against it, letting out a long sigh.

Falling asleep didn't come easily or quickly and more than once, Steve found himself pressing against one of his many bruises to focus on something besides the mess of thoughts swirling around in his head, but eventually exhaustion won out and the world drifted into darkness.