Chapter Text
Steve kind of wishes he could sleep for the next week.
The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, bathing the Byers’ living room in a soft, golden glow. The sleeping bodies of multiple children on the floor didn’t stir at the sight of it, which Steve was vaguely glad about in his dizzy drowsiness.
Good, he thought groggily, his head pounding behind his eyes insistently, making his injuries known immediately after opening his eyes. They deserve to crash after last night.
It had only been a few short hours since the horrifying series of events the night before. The junkyard, Billy Hargrove, those freakish tunnels. After Billy Hargrove hit him with a plate like the dirty sonuvabitch he was, Steve’s mind felt hazy after that, blurring the events after that moment a little.
Only a little though, considering he still remembered those tunnels like he was still in them right this moment, air smelling like dirt, death, and decay. He involuntarily shutters just thinking back to it.
After that horrifying ordeal, he had somehow managed to get the kids to Mrs. Byers’ home to wait for the others, despite his very obvious concussion and facial injuries.
He knew doing that was probably one of the most dangerous things he could have done in spite of what they did that night, especially with passengers. But he needed to get those kids home safe, and Max wasn’t going to drive his car ever again after the first time. It still makes him queasy just imagining himself helpless in the back seat, yelling to stop the car in his panic and confusion.
After shuffling all the kids inside the house, he had somehow wound up falling asleep uncomfortably on the couch, joining the impromptu sleepover the kids and adults made once everyone was safe and accounted for. One look across the room shows him Hopper asleep in the armchair near the couch, head lolling uncomfortably on the back of it as he snores, low and gravely.
He found himself smirking at the sight in spite of himself, though the action didn’t exactly feel good on his face.
He woke up before anyone else it seemed, the house quiet say for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft chirping of birds outside. It must still be pretty early then.
Steve’s head lulls to the side of the couch cushion in contemplation as he weighs his options.
He could try to get some more sleep. As much as Steve tries to disregard his own health a lot, especially last night, he was physically and mentally exhausted. Billy did a fucking number on him, even though he was frankly ashamed to admit it. Despite him having an obvious concussion due to the plate smashing on his skull, sleep would probably be good for him, and he felt like he could definitely use more of it.
However, a greater part of his mind, the more rational side, argues that Steve should just quietly leave and go home.
The adults of the house would probably be getting up soon, and then that would point their attention to Steve, who they’ll realize is up as well. He doesn’t know what they’ll say to him, but adding more stress on their plate with another injured kid, asking about his wellbeing when they should be putting that attention towards Will, El, and the other kids made his chest feel uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite place.
He’s not one of their own, they don't need to worry themselves with him.
Steve was just there at the right time. He was there when they went to find Dustin’s lizard-demadog thing, there when he gave that (slightly embarrassing) talk to Dustin about girls and hair, there in the junkyard, there to intervene with Billy, there in the tunnels to keep the kids safe. He was there when they fought that bigger dema-creature only a year prior too.
Steve sighs gently, rubbing a hand down his face, mindful to keep quiet.
He didn’t regret being there for any of it, even though the events, especially the ones last night, were sure to give him nightmares for months. He also didn’t regret being there to protect those kids. He may have been a bit of a douche not too long ago, but making sure those kids were safe was the best thing he could have done. He’s more than glad he did it.
His eyes trail to the pile of kids on the living room floor. Dustin’s signature curls splayed out unruly under Lucas’s arm, who was curled up next to Dustin’s side. The sight of the calm faces of these kids so starkly contrasted their high-strung tenseness from last night that it was almost startling to Steve. He silently watches them for a few moments, internally grateful that they all made it out safely. Not that he would voice that aloud. Probably.
It has only been one night, but he already finds himself feeling protective of these kids.
Which is why he makes the decision to get himself out of there.
Him getting attached to anything never seems to go too well for him. Or maybe it’s just that he feels a little (or a lot) out of place here. He’s not sure which it is, but he knows that staying here is just going to complicate things further in his mind.
He shifts his body a little on the couch, trying to push himself to sit up. He tries not to make a noise of protest as his body fully rejects the movement, a wave of nausea and pain pulsing through his head. The symptoms cause a slight surge of panic to bubble up in him.
If that’s how his body is going to react to just a simple movement, he’s scared to find out how it’ll react when he tries to stand. But he needs to leave now though if he wants to not risk being spotted.
He takes a deep breath, and braces himself, gripping the edge of the couch tightly for leverage.
In a slow, struggling manner, Steve pushes himself to his feet, arms shaking. His head goes a little fuzzy from the movement, and he barely restrains himself from bending over to hold onto the couch for a few seconds to let his mind settle. He takes another silent breath.
Okay, he’s standing now. Gotta make it to the door.
That proves to be a much harder task than he first anticipated. The kids’ arms are strewn all across the ground, even close to the couch where he’s standing. One wrong step, and he could trip over one of them and wake everyone up, or even worse, step on one of them by accident. It also doesn’t help that he feels pretty lightheaded still from simply standing up, so he’s also only one wrong step away from tripping over his own feet and taking a nosedive. So, even though something as simple as thinking hurts to do right now, he focuses what little concentration he has and attempts to move his feet towards the front door as quietly as possible.
He’s mostly successful, in that he does make it to the door with only a small misstep halfway through in which he almost trips on his feet. But it took him way longer than it should have.
He’s gonna cut himself some slack though, because his head hurts like hell, alright?
His journey has been almost completely successful thus far, so of course the world decides his luck has been too strong.
When attempting to quietly unlock the door and open it to the cool air outside, it creaks. Now, that wouldn’t be a problem, if Mrs. Byers door wasn’t as squeaky and loud as those dramatic doors in horror movies added for suspense. He winces, dread pooling briefly in him. Damnit! Why is this door so loud?
He’s frozen still as he hears some light mumbling and shuffling in the background. It goes on for a few seconds, before dying back down. Thinking it just maybe disturbed them slightly, he let out the breath he was holding onto. He reaches for the door again.
“...Steve?”
It was groggy, and drenched in sleep, but out of the two young girls in the little group, he knew which one it was.
Mayfield.
Shit.
He debates for a second if he should just pretend he didn’t hear her and walk out. But, even if he’s trying to make a subtle exit, ignoring her seemed too rude in Steve’s mind. So, he turns to her.
All the other kids look deep in sleep still, and Hopper hasn't moved an inch. Max is only slightly sitting up, hair askew and eyes blinking up at him blearily, a slightly confused expression on her face. “Where are you going?”
Steve blinks at her for a moment. Somewhere in the back of his brain, a part of him wanted to just stay here with the kids despite what he decided after hearing Max seem so confused by his exit, even in a state of half-sleep. But the rational part won over again pretty quickly, knowing that it’s best to let the kids and adults here worry about more pertinent things once they got up.
He smiles lightly at her, giving a small wave, and whispers in her direction. “I just need to get some fresh air, don’t worry. Go back to sleep, okay?”
It was a lie, of course. Well, a partial one. Fresh air did sound good right now. But, even though he seamlessly lies through his teeth, his smile and words seem to be enough for her, because she nods slightly, and lowers herself back towards the ground. A guilty part of him thinks she must assume he’s coming back, considering she accepts his answer so fast.
He’s sure he’ll see them around at some point, though. They practically ride all over this town anyways. And maybe he’ll need to step in because of Billy again, though he certainly hopes not. His face can only take so many beatings.
After peering at the sleeping kids for a few more moments, perhaps just making sure that they aren’t just going to disappear when he closes the door, he slowly makes his way out, closing the door quietly behind him.
The cool air hits him immediately, soothing his visible injuries, and clearing his brain fog just a little. His breath comes out in visible puffs as he slowly walks towards his beloved BMW, sitting on the edge of the road. He pats his pockets slightly, making sure that he even had his keys on him after driving the kids back here last night. Thankfully, the dull sound of them echo from his right pocket as he taps it.
Getting into the car wasn’t horribly difficult, though he did have to lean on the steering wheel a moment to let a wave of dizziness subside. He ends up laying there for a good minute or two, much to his annoyance.
There’s a logical voice in the back of his head that tells him that moving that little shouldn’t be causing this much issue, and that maybe a hospital visit isn’t such a horrible idea.
However, he has no energy whatsoever to even attempt to get to that hospital. It’s pretty much on the other side of town, no less. Plus, he knows that no one back home is going to tell him to go get checked out. He’s leaving behind the few people that might tell him to, and he just doesn’t have the heart to deal with it right now. It’s been a terrifying past 24 hours and he just wants his bed.
With a deep breath, he starts the ignition and makes his way back home.
The drive is slow, painstakingly so. The early morning sun keeps getting in his eyes despite the pair of shades he’s stuck onto his head, making pulses of pain travel through his forehead as he squints. He's realizing pretty quickly that driving concussed again is a really bad idea, but he didn't wanna rely on anyone else for a ride home. He would’ve had to wake Hopper, or Mrs. Byers, and he knew doing that would just make him feel guilty.
Thankfully his house isn't too far from the Byers.
He pulls up to his long driveway after what feels like ages driving, shutting his ignition off. There's a brief feeling of relief at the sight of his house, though that subsides when he notices that his dad's car is nowhere in sight. A ball of unpleasant feelings forms in his chest as he stares at the spot where his car normally would be.
He must've been called off on another work trip then.
Steve literally saw his parents a few days ago. It's a wonder how they can just up and leave so quickly at the drop of a hat. He wonders if they even left a note for him or not.
He lays his arms on his steering wheel and all but glares up at his house.
Should've stayed at the Byers instead, a small voice says, and Steve feels his heart being poked at like a bee sting at those words. Maybe he should have, but it's too late for that now.
He sighs, and pushes himself to open the car door, but pauses when something catches his eye.
It's barely visible from where he's sitting, over-turned and laying limply on the floor of the backseat, but he recognizes the red, white, and blue colors instantly.
Dustin's hat. The little shit must have lost it when they all shuffled out of his car last night.
He reaches over the seat and picks it up, examining it, noting how it’s slightly worn from excessive use.
That voice in the back of his head is talking to him again, telling him that he's going to be seeing these kids again much more quickly than he originally thought he would.
“Shit.”