Chapter Text
Four hours past midnight, Steve tumbles out of the bed, making his way downstairs to the persistently ringing phone.
He tiredly rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and yawns. His mind is a little fuzzy, like he’s been woken from a deep sleep. But he hasn’t. He’s been wide awake, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think. He hasn’t been sleeping well, lately.
The stairs are cold under his feet. He walks so quietly he can’t hear his own footsteps. Through the window in the hallway, he sees the empty pool outside and the darkened forest. Steve grips his bat a little tighter, it’s all clammy. The shadows are tall, the light from the street lamps doesn’t reach them. He forces his eyes away and picks up the receiver.
“You’ve reached the Harrington’s, this is Steve speaking.” His voice comes out even.
On the other end of the line, only silence.
“This is Steve. Hello? Can you hear me?”
The hair on the nape of Steve’s neck stand up as a shiver runs down his spine. He’s about to hang up but then he hears it, the breathing. Quiet and unsteady.
“…Hello?” he tries again, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.
There is a puff of breath followed by a guttural grunt and some rustling and Steve is straining his ears to hear more, to place the sounds, horrific scenarios dancing in front of his eyes. There could have been another attack. Nancy could be hurt and bleeding out, grasping for the phone as the speaker slips through her fingers and she’s choking on her blood, unable to tell him to get help.
There is another grunt and a small, strained moan. It doesn’t sound like it could be Nancy. It sounds like a lot of pain, though.
“Hey, are you all right?”
There is only a little huff in response. Steve’s ear is going red, he’s pressing the phone to it so hard, desperate to hear anything that could help him place the caller.
Nancy would have called Jonathan.
“Do you need help? Say something. Are you hurt?”
A choked off sound, amused.
“If this is a prank call,” Steve exclaims, voice too loud in the quiet house, “I’m hanging up.”
“…don’t.”
Steve is frozen to the spot. “O-okay,” he manages. His eyes stray to the line of the forest again. He can see the tree tops swaying in the wind. He waits for the caller to follow up with something but there is only the sound of rugged breathing and some rustling. The night is dead silent and Steve takes a little comfort in that, knowing there would be growling and a whole lot more screaming if things were going bad.
“Look, why did you call me? What do you want?”
It takes a while till he gets his answer but when he hears the two small words, his blood runs cold. “Help… Max.”
He can place the voice, damn straight he can. “Hargrove?”
There is a hitch in the breathing, something that sounds like a sob. “… diner. Help her.”
“If this is your stupid plan to get me alone at four in the morning so you can finish me off, Hargrove, I swear I’m going to kill you.”
There is no witty comeback, no, ‘as if you could take me, Harrington,’ there is just the same choked tone and a barely audible, “…please.”
Steve’s grip on the phone tightens, knuckles going white, heart pounding in his chest.
The line goes dead.
He lets out a curse. His breathing is now coming in harsh, uncontrolled puffs that crackle through the static of the line, reverberating through the speaker.
On the other end of the line, only silence.
A few more seconds pass before Steve shakes himself, propping the bat over his shoulder, pulling on some clothes so he doesn’t freeze his ass off, and grabbing the keys to his car.
The air outside is crisp and the wind carries more bite than he thought. His fingers are shaking but he gets the car unlocked, throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder as he does so. The forest is quiet. Too quiet, now that he thinks about it. Damn it.
He scrambles in, slams the door shut and puts the car into reverse, tearing out of the driveway so impatiently that the tires squeal in protest.
If this is a prank, Hargrove’s going to be sorry to ever think of it.
Steve drives through the night, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm to the steering wheel.
The diner is closed, the lights are out. At first glance, it’s deserted.
Steve pulls into the parking lot, keeps the lights on and the car running. He grabs the bat before he gets out.
“Hargrove?”
He can’t see him anywhere. Only the swirls of darkness, the empty parking lot, two beaming cones of light from his car. Steve slowly circles around the diner. Something is off about this.
“Hargrove! Show yourself, you coward!”
He spots the t-shirt first, then the blood.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters. The shirt is shredded, the blood is fresh. “Ha-hargrove? Max?”
He should have brought a flashlight, goddamnit.
He finally sees a figure, hunched on the stairs. “Max?”
There is no response and Steve hurries over to her. She’s well hidden from the main road, one would easily overlook her if they were to look from the road, the parking lot or the terrace of the diner. She’s well hidden because who would actually walk the stairs at the dead of the night. Well, Steve Harrington, apparently.
“Hey, Max. Max. Can you hear me?” He’s kneeling down next to her, checking her pulse and finding it.
There is a huge gushing wound on her upper arm and it’s wrapped up in a makeshift gauze. The blood-soaked stripes come from the ruined t-shirt he saw earlier.
Max’s eyes flutter open. “Steve?”
“Hey, hey, kid. Easy, okay.” He helps her sit up.
Max looks around, confused. “What are you doing here, Steve?”
Steve’s asking himself the same question but he puts on a smile. “Helping you out, kid.”