Chapter Text
Steve Harrington didn’t know what he expected when he went on a drive that one night, but it definitely wasn’t an almost dead Billy Hargrove.
Even less the “hey, pretty boy” that escaped from Billy’s frozen lips before his eyes fell closed. Thankfully, he was too busy trying to make sure the other didn’t die, to think about how that made him feel.
Billy was collapsed under a few sheets of paper-white snow, lips blue and fingers purple. Steve hurriedly brushed off as much snow as possible, before grabbing at Billy’s arm and shaking it a little. The other didn’t wake, or even flinch back, but there was definitely a small reaction - his eyes closed a little tighter and he shivered - which gave Steve some hope.
He glanced around, debating if he should risk getting his walkie from the car and get help, or drag Billy to the car and drive to, most likely, Hopper. It was then that he mentally thanked the rest of the Party for convincing him to keep a walkie. It would come in handy.
At the sight of Billy’s rapidly paling face, Steve realised that his time was actually limited if the other was going to live through this. It was really cold outside, like really really cold. Genuinely, he didn’t even know that people could get as pale as the teen laying in front of him was, but it was concerning.
“Fuck,” Steve muttered as he stood up from his crouch, wiping melted snow off his hands and onto his jeans.
Another glance around confirmed that they were the only people as far as he could see; everyone was inside with lights off, assumingly sleeping. He knelt back down, slipping a hand under Billy’s knees, and the other under his back. Lifting him up, Steve groaned as his muscles strained. It was the other way he could think of carrying the other, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.
The walk back to his car felt much longer than it actually was. When he finally got there, he dropped Billy, rather ungracefully, onto the back seat, only glancing at the seatbelts once before deciding it was too much effort. If Hopper was alright with them going to his house, they would be there quick enough, hopefully. His own house was empty, with his parents on yet another one of their business trips. It was kind of helpful, for the first time ever, meaning that no-one would be questioning where he was that night.
Thoughts flew through his mind as he drove to Hopper’s. Most of them surrounded Billy, and how in the world did he end up in the situation, but he refrained from glancing to the back seat too often. It was better to not think too hard about these things, he supposed. At least, not until he was sure that the other was safe - or if not safe, just alive.
The drive took a while, but no longer then he had expected, considering the distinct lack of cars around. It was late at night, afterall. Actually, Steve wondered, it might have been morning by then. He grimaced as he realised the consequences of that: he was going to have to wake Hopper up, which, in turn, would wake his pseudo-daughter, Eleven, up. There was no way they were going to be happy with the situation. Then again, it wasn’t like Steve particularly wanted to be doing this either.
When he pulled up outside the cabin, he immediately noticed Hopper’s truck. Good. He was home. Steve looked over his shoulder, examining the state of Billy. Not good. He was deathly pale. A moment passed as he debated carrying the other to the door, but it wouldn’t be easy, and it most likely wouldn’t be nice to wake Hopper up and then shock him like that. With that thought in the forefront of his mind, Steve turned the car off, leaving it next to Hopper’s truck, and did a little jog to the front door. The snow was still coming down, steady as earlier, and he shivered.
It took much longer than Steve wanted for Hopper to come to the door, grumbling and rubbing his eyes as he saw him there. This had better go well, he mentally spoke.
“Steve Harrington? Wh- wha-” Hopper broke off into a yawn, his arm leaning on the door frame now.
Steve gave a forced smile. “I’ll explain later, but just help, please.”
He didn’t know how long Billy was going to survive this, obviously - he couldn’t tell the future, though sometimes he genuinely wanted to. His slightly shaking hand reached Hopper's arm, and he grabbed it hard, pulling the Chief out to the car. The latter stumbled along, barely awake enough to figure out what was going on, but when Steve opened the back door, he sobered up.
“You better have a good explanation, kid,” Hopper said with his eyebrows furrowed, hand reaching to push Steve away from the door.
Steve happily parted, leaving Billy in direct view of Hopper.
He wasn’t looking better, at all. His fingertips and lips were a darker purple than earlier, verging on deathly black, and thick blood was consistently leaking out of his pulsating wounds. Hopper made a noise of disgust, and leaned into the car.
His arms surrounded Billy, lifting slightly, before dropping him back. The injured one was wriggling a bit, face scrunched in pain, fingers twitching towards his shoulder. Hopper peeled the corner of his shirt back a little, revealing the shoulder.
It was at that point that Steve was horribly grateful that Hopper was blocking his view, because the man’s reaction to whatever the hell he saw was bad enough. He had reared back a little, head hitting the top of the car with a thump, a hand muting the mixture of gasps and curses that spewed from his mouth. Not that Steve could see, but he was fairly sure that Hopper had squeezed his eyes together, trying not to look again.
Fuck. That meant it was bad. Really bad, like, the worse than he had thought kind of bad. A moment’s silence passed, and then another, which had Steve opening his mouth.
“Please, can we get him inside? I don’t-” his voice raised a little in both fear and question, “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
Steve looked at the ground.
A minute or so passed, and he could hear Hopper doing something. A car door slammed shut.
“Come on in, kid. It’s gonna be alright, I swear.” Hopper’s gruff voice prompted him.
He sighed, looking back up and trudging through the rising snow to the house, entering after Hopper, and making sure the door was firmly shut and locked. Steve watched as he placed Billy gently down onto the couch, never minding the deep red colour that spread along the fabric, sure to leave a stain.
He hovered around anxiously, nervous to interrupt Hopper, but nervous to not help. The problem was solved for him.
“Grab me a washcloth from the drawer over there,” Hopper pointed, “and a serrated knife from there.”
He moved his finger to aim at the utensil drawer in the kitchen, and Steve released a relieved sigh, glad that the Chief didn’t just have giant murdering weapons laying around his house. He followed the instructions, glad to have something to do with his hands, and gave the items straight into Hopper’s waiting arms.
“What…” Steve gulped, “what now?”
Hopper gave a frustrated look, though not aimed at Steve - more at just the general situation.
“Now, I’m going to get through this shirt of his; try to figure out the shoulder, which looks like the worst part.” Hopper shrugged. “I saw it a bit in the car, and I can assure you, these are hospital type injuries.”
Steve swapped his balance from one leg to the other. “Shouldn’t we wait for him to wake? See what actually happened before getting authorities involved?”
Hopper scrunched up his face. “Kid, I am authority.”
He waved a hand, “I know that, but you’re you.”
“Shut it,” he got in reply, “I need to focus.”
He had been easing the knife under Billy’s damp and cold shirt, dragging back and forth to sever the material while they talked. Steve shut up, retreating a little. Thoughts ran through his head, mostly about what in the world he could do to help. A bucket maybe, for no reason at all, except that Hopper might find a use. And another cloth, definitely another cloth.
Racing around to get the things, he barely noticed the increased volume of the Chief’s breathing. It was only when he arrived back at the couch, panting a little from the quick running around, that he saw the issue.
The bone in Billy’s arm. Collarbone, top of shoulder bone, whatever. He wasn’t good at anatomy in class, though he never tried. But, fuck, the bone.
He could see it.
Plus all the blood, flesh, and weird spongy looking stuff.
Weird, spongy stuff…
Steve felt a rush of blood to his head, and dropping to his knees, bile rose in his throat, spewing out into the bucket he had just managed to find. He choked on a breath, coughing and spluttering, the image of Billy’s arm painted like oil on canvas in his mind.
He dimly realised that Hopper had heard the noise of his sick and turned around to check on him, only to look away in disgust. It was this that caused him to stand up, bucket raised to his mouth, trembling and sweaty. He made his way to the kitchen sink, waited a few seconds to see if there was more bile, and then emptied the bucket. Washing it out, he swirled a little water around his mouth to rid it of the taste, and headed back to Hopper.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he held the now clean bucket out, along with a few cloths. Hopper gave him a grateful but pained smile, blood splattering his face. Steve looked down a little, and inhaled sharply. The Chief's hand was practically inside Billy’s shoulder at this point, hidden with blood and something suspicious that looked like pus, but was stained a darker colour.
“Go to El’s room. Stay there until I give the alright call,” Hopper grimaced.
Steve paled. “Is- has El been here the entire time?” He turned his feet towards the hallway.
“No, no, she’s staying at the Byer’s place tonight. A sleepover with Will and…” he glanced down at Billy’s lifeless form. “and Max.”
Steve nodded, used his foot to nudge a cloth closer to Hopper, then turned in the direction of El’s room, striding off before he became sick again. The metallic stench of blood had long ago filled the air, and it was attacking his nostrils, putrid and stinging. The door shut behind him and he sat on the corner of the flower-patterned bed, careful to not get blood on any sheets.
Hopper had dealt with injuries before, but he hadn’t. At least, not to that extent. He felt himself dizzying again, and slid down to the floor, leaning his back against the bed frame and closing his eyes. Not before long, he felt himself drifting into peaceful ignorance.
It didn’t last long. Well, he didn’t think it lasted long, considering the fact that he was more exhausted when he woke up than he was at the start.
He stumbled a little while leaving the room, rubbing the sleep out of his watering eyes. Hopper was sitting on a couch beside the tv, watching some old rerun of a show. His eyes were closing more than staying open, so Steve assumed that he wasn’t much interested in what was playing. He walked over, making his footsteps a little heavier just so that Hopper knew he was approaching, and grabbed the television remote to turn it off.
“Are you alright, kid?” Hopper mumbled, bloodshot eyes searching his own.
Steve grimaced, then nodded. “Yep.”
“Sorry to do this, but I need the full story of how you found him,” Hopper gave a weak smile.
“I just, you know, was randomly driving down a street late last night - or rather early this morning - and happened to see a figure out in the snow or something,” Steve said, a guilty laugh bubbling up. “I know that sounds real suspicious, but genuinely, I just like going for late night drives.”
Hopper looked slightly amused before waving a hand for him to go on.
“Got out of the car, walked over, found him there,” Steve summarised. “He didn’t say anything-”
Steve kept the pretty boy from Hopper, knowing that it sounded a little weird. Or rather, a lot weird.
“Then he just fainted. Collapsed over in the snow. I grabbed him, got to my car, and decided on coming to your house.”
“Okay,” Hopper dragged out, finger resting against his temple. “Any idea of why he was there - why he was so injured?”
“Nope.”
He sighed. “He probably got into a fight, lost, and messed himself up more when tryna get away.”
Steve reared back. “But to this extent?”
“You know him, he’s just the kinda guy to do this.” Hopper shrugged. “You did the right thing by bringing him to me, though, so don’t question that.”
Steve leaned on the back of the couch. “Anything I can do to help?”
Hopper looked around. “You want some food?”
“No… thank you.”
“Okay kid, but if you do end up wanting anything, just help yourself. Don’t eat all the eggos; Jane will be frustrated. Stay tonight, or rather this morning, I don’t want you back at your house tonight - your parents are on a business trip, right?”
Steve felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he was walking directly into a trap filled with snakes that could kill in less than a bite. “Yes.”
“They’ve been away for an awful while, though, if I’m not mistaken.” The Chief raised his eyebrows.
“Dad was here last week, on Monday.”
He refrained from mentioning that his mother stayed in the car outside, waiting for his father to pick up some important file. They didn’t say a word. Steve saw his father pass in the hall, froze, and ran to shut and lock himself in his room, not prepared to deal with any bullshit that night. He was in the house for ten minutes, tops.
“Right.” Damn. There was no way Hopper was going to believe that. “Anyway, I need you here for when he,” gesturing to Billy, “wakes up. More likely he’ll chat to a kid than a cop, anyway.”
Steve nodded. It was rather annoying, though, that he had to deal with Billy even more. Really, if their places were swapped, he was entirely confident that Billy would let him die. Maybe even get out of his car, walk through the rising snow, see that it was Steve, and laugh while he froze to death or died of blood loss.
“How long has it been anyway? I feel asleep, I think.”
Hopper gave a somewhat forced smile. “We got Billy to the couch about four hours ago. Approximately - I wasn’t exactly focused on the time at that point.”
“Wait, so how long were you… fixing him up?” Steve put a hand on his hip, wincing as the shoulder cracked.
“Eh, probably three hours? Maybe a little less, a little more.”
Steve was concerned. Three hours was a while, so how bad was this actually? Surely not so bad that he wouldn’t live. He mentally cursed himself. Who cared if Billy lived or died. Certainly not him. It would just mean a little investigation on why Steve brought him to Hopper’s, rather than a hospital, where he most likely should be.
“So it was bad?” He asked, a little nervous to hear the answer. “Like, bad bad?”
Hopper sighed. “It was quite bad. I had my hand inside his shoulder for a while. Gross feeling, and I don’t want to be doing that again. It was dislocated, and broken - I think - so I reset it.”
“Oh.”
“He’ll most likely have to go to the hospital after he wakes up.” Hopper spoke.
Steve nodded. “I’ll wait here in case he wakes up. You should go sleep, you need it.”
Hopper sent him a grateful smile and left the room. Steve walked to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Sipping, he turned back to the couch where Billy laid, expecting no change.
A pause.
Two red stained eyes bore into his own.