Chapter Text
The fire that had consumed Starcourt still smouldered, smoke and the smell of ash filling the sky above Hawkins.
Firefighters and police swarmed the scene, dousing the fires and putting caution tape around entrances and destroyed cars. The ambulances arrived shortly after, tending to wounded and gathering the less lucky ones. Steve sat on a curb, holding the dumb little tie from his uniform. If he hadn’t been fired before, he’s definitely out of a job now. His dad is going to be pissed.
Sighing, he looks up to see the red and blue lights flashing around the lot, making Steve’s head hurt even more. Closing his eyes, he rubs his good one, before glancing across the chaotic parking lot again.
Mike and Nancy were being looked over by their parents, all smiles, hugs and relief. Dustin’s mom squishes his face and hugs him hard. Robin’s parents give her a quick squeeze, before questioning why she was even here. Lucas and Erica’s parents look exhausted, but satisfied at the lack of injuries.
Everyone’s parents showed up after the fire. Everyone’s but his. It left a lump in his throat, but he had forced it away, turning his attention to checking on kids and dragging the little assholes to the ambulances when they avoided them. No one had checked Steve over, but that was okay.
He shook the thoughts away and continued checking on his kids.
Eleven didn’t have Hopper, causing Steve’s heart to tighten. The Byers held her close. Steve knew Joyce would take care of her like her own. Max and her mother sat alone, farther from the large gathering of people, holding one another. They’d lost a lot today.
Steve looked away. He shouldn’t be moping over his parents not showing. At least they were alive.
He wasn’t surprised, really, that his parents didn’t show. They never showed up for anything he did, why would they now?
The moon stands high in the smoky sky, stars blurred and wavering. People who had been cleared were waving their goodbyes and heading towards their cars so they could go home and sleep this nightmare off. It was then that he remembered his lack of keys.
He begins digging around his pockets, knowing it’s hopeless.
“Shit…shit!”
“Why you shitting over there, Harrington?”
He can hear the smile in Dustin’s voice before turning to see it.
“My keys. They’re gone,” Steve sighs, swinging his arms loosely.
Dustin’s face lights up. “Oh! We can drive you home, hold on,” Dustin turns, calling his mom over from an officer she was speaking to.
“No no, it’s okay it’s-“
“Shut up Steve,” Dustin interrupts, before turning back to his mom.
Steve sighs, accepting defeat. The exhaustion is catching up to him, his whole body hurts and he just wants to lay down.
Dustin’s mom comes walking over, her smile of relief dampening a bit at the sight of Steve’s bruises.
“What is it Dusty?” Claudia smiles.
“Steve needs a ride home,” Dustin states, motioning towards an awkward Steve, looking down and fiddling with his hands.
She glances back towards Steve, “Oh! Of course we can take you home sweetie, it’s no problem.”
Before he can decline, Mike yells something across the lot that Steve doesn’t quite catch, before Dustin runs over towards him.
Steve watches him leave before turning back to his mom.
“It’s okay really, you don’t have to drive me, I can-“
Well, he doesn’t really know what he’ll do, but he can find a way home that doesn’t cause anyone else to be out any longer.
“Oh no it’s alright, it’s no trouble at all! It’s not too far from our house,” she insists, smiling brightly, before her eyes soften and her smile turns sympathetic.
She knows all parents were called. She doesn’t know why Steve’s aren’t here, but he doesn’t seem surprised by it.
His gaze turns towards the ground, before uttering a “Thank you.”
“Come on, sweetie,” she offers a hand.
He takes it and stands, hiding the wince of pain from, well everything, but mostly his ribs. Claudia pretends not to notice, but glances over him. He’s more hurt than he looks.
Dustin comes running back while Mike and his family turn towards their car. Claudia looks between the two with a gentle smile.
“Are we ready?”
…
They gather into the car, Steve climbing into the back, Dustin following shortly after him.
The drive is short and uneventful. Dustin falls asleep immediately, and Steve’s bone deep ache worsens. He rests his head on the window, eyes closed. Claudia glances worriedly in the mirror at the boys in the back, noting the lack of injuries on her son, while Steve is covered in bruises and dried blood. He should be at the hospital, but if the paramedics said he was okay, then who was she to question it?
The vibration of the car lulls Steve into a gentle doze. After a few minutes, he feels the car rumble to a stop, before opening his eyes. He glances at his house, lights off, unbothered by the world almost ending a few hours ago. Grabbing the door handle, he sighs, before Claudia speaks up.
“Please get some rest honey,” she turns to look at him, “and put some ice on your eye.”
He nods, not knowing how to respond, before exiting the car. She drives off as he makes his way to the doorstep.
Shit.
His keys are gone.
Including his house keys.
He sighs again, resting his head on the door.
His parents are home right now. Which is rare, usually only a few days a month, since they are always traveling for work, or whatever they feel like doing. He prefers it when they’re gone.
It is easily four in the morning. Knocking is a horrible idea. But Mrs. Henderson has already driven off. And his body hurts.
He takes in a breath before raising his hand, and he knocks, hoping Mom answers. Both options suck, but she would be a bit less difficult.
Silence follows, seconds ticking by before thumps are heard and the handle turns.
He’s faced with his dad, his eyes are tired, but his stare is angry.
Steve looks down, fidgeting in the doorway. Mr. Harrington steps out onto the porch, slamming the door behind him. Steve jumps.
“And where the hell have you been?”
Steve fumbles for the right thing to say, before answering, “There was an incident at the mall, a bad fire, I got caught up.” He looks anywhere but his dad. “And I, uh, lost my keys,” he mutters.
Mr. Harrington's eyes shoot up at that.
“You lost your keys? You lost your fucking keys? You made me get up at four in the fucking morning because you couldn’t keep up with some fucking keys?”
Steve flinches away, inching his way backward.
“Th-there was a fire. It was pretty bad, I lost track of them.”
His dad ignores him, stalking closer. Steve backs up, grabbing the hand railing of the porch steps.
His dad breathes hard in his face, “And what is this, huh?”
He flicks the bruise surrounding Steve’s eye. Steve turns away, the bruise flaring and burning at the contact.
“It’s, uh-“ Steve stammers.
“Always getting into shitty little fights that you'll always lose,” Mr. Harrington laughs.
“It wasn’t-“
“Bullshit it wasn’t,” Mr. Harrington interrupts, pointing an accusing finger. “I’m tired of it. Lying about what you’re doing, not telling us shit. You expect me to believe anything you say, huh?”
Steve opens his mouth to respond, before snapping his jaw shut. There’s nothing he can say to convince him otherwise. It’s not like he can tell him he got the shit beat out of him by Russians hiding under the mall, then afterward fought the Mind Flayer with fireworks, resulting in the destruction of Starcourt. It’s almost hilarious how ridiculous it sounds. What is he supposed to say?
His dad is quiet for a second, thinking, before his eyes snap back up to Steve’s.
“Did you lose your job?”
“What?” Steve snaps back to the present, caught off guard by the sudden topic change. His heart pulses in his ears. This situation is already shit, talking about his unemployment will for sure ruin it.
“Did you?” Mr. Harrington steps closer.
“Th-the mall was severely damaged. A lot of people died, dad,” his voice wavers. That statement drops a new weight on Steve’s shoulders. A lot of people died. Billy died. Heather, her parents. How could anyone care about a job at an ice cream parlor right now?
His dad pushes on, uncaring. “Did you. Lose. Your job?”
Steve swallows. “Yes. I lost my job.”
He doesn’t even see the slap coming, but he feels it lash across the existing bruise. He barely catches himself on the railing, before he’s pulled back up again by the collar of his uniform.
“Worthless, spineless, sack of shit I call a son. We do so much for you, and you can’t keep a fucking job. Can’t get into college. Can’t even keep a fucking bitch.” Mr. Harrington throws his son down, watching him slip down the steps and hit the pavement.
Steve’s vision explodes in white as his breath leaves him. His ribs burn in agony, making him silently wonder if some are broken. He barely registers his dad saying, “Don’t come back,” before the slam and lock of the door.
He doesn’t know how long he lays there before the pain subsides to a dull full body throb, but based on the still darkness hanging overhead, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.
Grabbing the edge of the lowest step, he pushes himself up to his knees, before pulling himself up to his feet. His ribs burn and breathing is painful. He coughs, the action causing a lacing pain through his chest and into his skull.
He wants to collapse but he can’t do it here, otherwise his dad will definitely come back and kick his ass off the property.
He could go to Robin’s, but her house is a five minute drive. Walking there would be a bitch and a half, and would take the better half of an hour.
There is always the Hendersons’.
Yeah. He’ll go to the Henderson house.
…
Letting out a deep breath of relief, Claudia closes the door to her son’s bedroom, satisfied of his safety, and the end of a horrible night. Exiting the hall and entering her kitchen, she places the dirty plates from a four am dinner/questioning into the sink. Not many questions were answered, seeing as both parties were exhausted, but enough was said to make her feel safe in tucking her baby in for the night. Turning off the kitchen light, she makes her way into her bedroom, and changes into her night clothes, hoping to wash away the leftover anxiety the phone call and drive to the burning mall had left her. Eyes drifting to her vanity, she gazes into her reflection, letting her thoughts rush in.
She thinks of Dusty’s friends, Max and Jane. She can’t imagine what these kids are going through right now. Losing a brother, a father. It’s a pain they shouldn’t have to feel, especially so young. Silently, she thanks whatever higher being had protected her son tonight. He hadn’t been in the mall at the time. Why he was there when he was supposed to be at Mike’s for a sleepover, she doesn’t know, but that’s a question for tomorrow. For now, she is grateful he is unharmed.
Her thoughts drift to the Harrington boy, one of her son’s closest friends and babysitter. He had been inside when… whatever had happened, happened. The bruising on his face, his refusal to ask for help, and the out of place shyness of a once confident kid. Her eyes drift down, lost in thought. Why didn’t his parents show? Did he get looked over at all? Concern builds, before she forces herself to calm down. He’s home now, she tells herself. His parents will take care of him.
That thought doesn’t make her feel much better.
She’ll call in the morning to check on him. Yeah. She can do that.
The tension in her shoulders lessens, and she moves to shut off her lamp when she hears a knock at her front door.
Her confusion outweighs her annoyance, and she heads into her living room, glancing through the peephole. It reveals a slightly distorted image of Steve, still in that bloody outfit, shoulders drooped and arms held closely to his middle.
Swinging the door open, she takes in the full sight of Steve Harrington on her doorstep. Scraped knees, bloody knuckles and the most convincing, heart breaking kicked puppy look she’d ever seen. Other than Dusty’s of course.
His knees weren’t scraped before, were they? I’ll ask him in a moment, she thinks to herself, focusing back on the boy on her doorstep. How had he gotten here without a car?
Realization dawns on her face. “Oh, honey, did you walk here?” She steps forward, concerned.
His mouth opens and closes without a sound, eyes avoiding hers. They settle on burning a hole through the welcome mat he stands on.
Claudia notes his wheezing breaths, and how he tries to hide them. She reaches out, grabbing his elbow gently, “Please, honey, come in.”
Gently, she pulls him through the doorway and closes the front door. He glances up.
The subtle glow of the lamp on the nightstand illuminates the living room, a homey, comfortable place, emanating safety. He’s not here often, and rarely ever in the living room. His visits often include climbing into, or out of, Dustin’s bedroom window, or usually just picking him up from the road to go to the arcade.
He’s brought back to reality when Mrs. Henderson leads him to the couch, insisting he sits, before she walks quickly down the hall into the bathroom.
Seconds later, she returns with a small medkit.
“Oh, Mrs. Henderson, it’s okay you don’t-“
“Did you get checked over back at the mall?”
The dumbfounded look on his face is answer enough for her. Kneeling in front of him, she grabs his hands.
“Steve! You need to have your injuries looked at! You could need stitches! Good heavens, you probably do!”
The use of his name surprises him, as well as the reprimands. His injuries weren’t that bad, honestly. He’s had worse and he could handle it just fine.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, I-“
The door at the end of the hall creaks, stealing the attention of the two.
“Steve? What the hell are you doing here?” Dustin asks, stepping into the hall.
“Dusty, honey, could you see if you have any clothes that could fit him, he’s staying the night.”
Steve’s eyes jump back and forth between Dustin and his mother, speechless, before dropping his stare to the corner of a couch pillow.
Dustin stares for a second, before nodding, “Uh, sure, yeah.” His door closes behind him, and Claudia moves her attention back to her patient.
A gentle hand guides Steve’s chin up, forcing his eyes to meet the concerned mother in front of him. His eye looks more irritated than before.
“This is going to sting, but it’ll help, okay?” Claudia explains, holding a small cloth in her other hand. Steve nods silently, his voice a quiet croak in the back of his throat.
It stings a bit more than a little, but shortly after, the cuts on his face, knees and hands have been bandaged and the soreness dulls a bit. Another door creak signals Dustin’s return, holding some crumpled clothes in his hands.
Steve is tall, like, much taller than Dustin, so he doubts any pants he has will fit, but he did find that one oversized shirt he got from Camp Know Where when they ran out of his size. He grabbed a pair of Star Wars pajama pants he had that cover his feet when he wears them, which will probably be high waters on Steve, but it’s the best he’s got.
He silently passes them off to his mom, who passes them to Steve, who takes them awkwardly. He almost laughs. Him. Former King Steve, wearing Dustin’s clothes.
Absentmindedly, he places them on the arm of the couch, hands fiddling with the hem of his shorts. “Uh, thank you, really, I’m sorry to barge in here so late, or uh, early? I forgot I had lost my house keys and I… couldn’t get in.” Steve offers a lopsided smile, hoping that explanation is enough.
Claudia gives him this look that exudes I don’t buy it.
She glances back at her son, looking lost and fidgety. “Dusty honey, can you go grab me some medicine from the cabinet, and maybe some blankets?”
He nods, before turning back down the hall for the second time.
“Let me see your ribs.”
He looks up at that. “What?”
Claudia only gives him a soft but stern stare, before he’s giving in and grabbing the hem of his sailor uniform. He has no idea what he’s going to see underneath, he hadn’t checked yet himself.
Claudia sucks in a sharp breath, a lump immediately forming in her throat at the sight of harsh purples and blues scatters across his chest and stomach. He glances down at himself, also seemingly surprised at the sight. Claudia reached forward, hands trembling slightly, “I need to check and see if any are broken, can you lay down for me?”
Steve fully removes the shirt, laying down across the couch.
Gentle hands press down on his ribs causing him to wince, each one followed by small ‘sorry’s and ‘I know’s.
The placement of a shirt on his chest smelling faintly of outdoors and an old cologne Steve used to use, before donating it to a certain curly haired kid, tells him she is done checking him over.
“I didn’t feel anything rough, but Steve, you need a hospital. You need to be checked over by a real doctor,” she pleads.
“I can’t-“
“How about this,” Claudia holds up a hand. “You rest tonight, and if anything seems off to you, or me, or Dusty, we take you. If not, we will talk more about it tomorrow, and see how you feel.”
She will drag this kid by the ankles into a hospital tomorrow if she must, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.
He nods, accepting the offer. Sitting up, he starts putting on his new shirt.
Claudia’s eyes return to Steve’s, somehow even softer than before. “Were your parents home?” She asks gently, watching him tug the hem of the shirt down.
He shakes his head vehemently, “No just. Another business trip. They’re always traveling,” he huffs a humorless laugh, wincing a bit. His eyes refuse to meet hers.
“Steve. Why didn’t your parents let you in?” she whispers, soft and slow.
His eyes glance up for half a second, before returning to the pillow. That tone. It’s not harsh, but it’s edging too close to ‘I know more than you’re letting on’ for him to give a convincing lie. How does she know? How is she seeing through his bullshit excuses?
His vision blurs.
God not now. Anytime but now.
He blinks, attempting to force the tears away. “I-it was too late at night. A-and I lost my keys,” his voice wavers.
He watches her glance down to his scraped knees, and the dam breaks. Gentle arms pull him in and hold him close as he sobs into her shoulder. One hand rubs circles into his back, while the other cradles the back of his head. She wonders the extent of this treatment. How long do they leave him on his own? Do they hurt him? Why is he so insistent on hiding his injuries, or downplaying them? Those are questions for later. For now, she holds him until his shaking stops.
…
Dustin peaks around the corner, watching Steve Harrington crumble little by little, until he’s falling into his mom's arms. He looks away, feeling like he’s invading a private moment, deciding to just stay back for now.
Placing the blankets and medicine down at the
corner, he turns back towards his bedroom to busy himself with… something.
He circles back, heading into the bathroom, to fill a glass he’d grabbed with water from the tap. Mind drifting, he thinks of the strong and powerful Steve. He loses a lot of fights and gets his ass kicked a lot, but he gets back up. Hell, who knows what the Russians did to him tonight, but he kept going like nothing happened after.
Dustin can’t deny that he and his friends have been through hell. A batshit crazy hell. He’d never admit it, but he still has nightmares from the first time he saw a demogorgon. And he’s sure he’ll have more after tonight. It’s kind of unspoken, but he knows all his friends have them. Nightmares, scars, bad thoughts. This isn’t some shit you can walk out of unscathed.
But they have each other, as cheesy as that sounds. They go to the arcade together, play D&D on the weekends, and hang out all the time. They take care of each other, whether that be in the form of a distraction, or talking abt the shit storm they just experienced.
And Steve is part of this group too. He’s a bit older of course, but he comes along for some of their hangouts. He claims to just be a babysitter, but everyone knows he’s part of the party. What class he’d be, they hadn’t decided yet, but definitely a protector of some kind. He’s a shithead, but he takes care of them.
Now that he’s thinking about it, he takes care of them a lot. He’s risked his life for them without even hesitating. They all realize this, of course, but it’s yet another unspoken thing. They tried to return the favor back when Billy beat the ever loving shit out of him, but they aren’t exactly doctors, and even then Steve went Mom Mode, as they’ve coined it, the second he became coherent enough to do so.
They all like to think of Steve as this untouchable hero, but really, it’s just because he’s older. And, well, he is a badass, of course, but he’s not that much older than them, right? He just graduated high school, he’s a legal adult now, but he gets scared too. Adults get scared, even if they don’t want to admit it. To Dustin’s mom, Steve is still a kid, and while that seems strange to him, after some thought, it starts to make sense.
Dustin is starting highschool this year. Steve just got out of highschool. He’s fun to be around, when most adults are really boring. He likes the arcade like the rest of the party, and they could sit and argue about ice cream flavors for hours.
Holy shit. He’s still a kid.
Or, like, the weird in between of a kid and adult. Young adult? Whatever.
Dustin has learned that adults don’t like to show vulnerability to kids. They think it’ll freak them out, or something, but they get scared and cry and worry too, right? He’s seen Steve freak out plenty, but he never cries or talks about it.
This shithead. He’s being all tough just for them. He thinks he has to be unbothered by it all to seem tough, but he doesn’t. Charging a Russian guard with a gun, and giving himself up to protect others is more than enough, and he’s done so much more than just that.
Dustin leaves the bathroom, returning to his hiding spot in the hallway. He slowly peaks around the corner to see Steve rubbing his face harshly, before glancing up at Dustin, and giving him a smile.
Harrington you shithead.
Picking up the discarded items, he brings them over to the couch, placing the glass of water and a bottle of aspirin into his hands, dumping three blankets unceremoniously next to Steve, before plopping down on the other side.
Steve silently tosses two pills into his mouth, chasing them with quite possibly the best glass of water he’s ever had, before grabbing the blankets. He starts unfolding them, preparing to lay them out on the couch, before Claudia speaks up. “Oh, I’m not making you sleep on this lumpy old thing, you can take Dusty’s bed, the blankets are just extra.”
Dustin is about to complain, before his mom gives him a pointed look. “He’s injured, Dusty, he needs to sleep on something better than a springy couch.”
Steve had also looked up, planning to object, but Mrs. Henderson appears immovable on this. He doesn’t want to kick Dustin out of his bed, but he also finds it a bit funny. He glances at him, grinning a little, to which Dustin gives the expression equivalent of ‘eat shit, dickhead.’
“So I have to sleep on the shitty couch?” Dustin asks incredulously, looking back to his mom.
“If you don’t want to, you can sleep on the floor, you still have your sleeping bag from camp,” Claudia offers.
Steve glances back and forth between the two, before excusing himself to the bathroom to change out of his sailor shorts, and to escape the arguing on his behalf. Once gone, Claudia looks back to Dustin. “Sleep in your sleeping bag, please, it’s just for one night and I want you close to check on him. I checked him over, but I’m no doctor.”
Dustin stares for a moment before nodding silently. He knew Steve was hurt, but he didn’t know how badly. He honestly thought it was just the bruises on his face, but it sounds worse than he knows.
Steve steps out of the bathroom, looking awkward in the way too short pajama pants. Claudia grabs the blankets and stands, walking over to Steve and placing them into his arms. Dustin follows shortly after her.
She nudges both boys down the hall towards Dustin’s room, telling them both to get some rest, and to not hesitate to wake her if they need anything, before stepping into her own room and closing the door.
Both boys stand outside the door awkwardly, before turning and entering Dustin’s room. Steve, utterly exhausted, collapses onto the heavenly looking bed in front of him. He would’ve gladly taken the couch, he’d take the damn floor for all he cares, as long as he can sleep.
“Well make yourself at home then, damn,” Dustin mutters, pulling his sleeping bag out of the closet.
“Oh don’t worry Henderson, absolutely no problem there,” Steve mumbles into possibly the softest pillow he’d ever laid on.
Dustin adjusts his sleeping bag on the floor before climbing in and rolling over.
A few minutes pass, with the subtle sounds of wind and the sounds of Dustin tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position on the floor. Hell, his back hurts at just the thought of it.
This is dumb actually, Dustin decides, staring at his ceiling. He has a queen sized bed, it can fit two people, surely. Don’t get him wrong, Steve deserves the bed, and he gets why, but the asshole can scoot over. He’s not sleeping on the floor after the day he’s had. Plus, when he stays over at his friends, they play Rock Paper Scissors to decide who gets the bed, and who gets the floor. If the person has a queen size, there are two winners, with the addition of a pillow barrier. This shit is customary for sleepovers, for Christ’s sake. Not only does Dustin feel cheated, but this is his house dammit.
He stands, grabbing a pillow, before lightly smacking Steve. “Scoot over, dickhead.”
Steve mumbles something incoherently.
“Could you repeat that?” Dustin requests.
“Whyyyy?” a half asleep Steve drags out.
“Because, asshole, this is my room. Now scoot,” Dustin pushes, smacking him again.
Steve rolls over, before quieting almost immediately, likely already asleep again. Dustin sighs, before building a small pillow barrier between them (because ew) and climbing into bed. He sighs, already feeling much more comfortable than he did on the floor.
Within minutes, Dustin is asleep, a small reprieve from the shitstorm they just had, and a silent hope for a better tomorrow.