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Joyce's house has never been the "fun" house. When Lonnie was still around, it was a house to avoid: no one wanted to be around his screaming and yelling, his drunken stumbling and quietly cruel accusations. After Lonnie, it was a cold house, a hungry house. Joyce did what she could to make ends meet, but with two boys, there was never quite enough. And because no one was home, it was also a cluttered house. All three of them were guilty of running in, dropping something where it shouldn't be, and running out again.
After Will went missing and was found, all of that began to change. Loathe to let Will out of her line of vision, Joyce encouraged the boys to hang out around the house more. She found reassurance in hearing their laughter from the other room, in the music blaring through the speakers and in the arguments that broke out over usage of the living room.
She had assumed, in keeping the boys home more, that she would see more of Mike, Lucas and Dustin, Will's best friends since kindergarten. She had thought, maybe, that Nancy would accompany her younger brother and hang out with Jonathan more. What she had not foreseen was that Nancy would frequently be accompanied by Steve Harrington.
And yet, he became one of the most frequent visitors of the Byers home. At first, he came trailing Nancy, quiet and unobtrusive. Then, he began coming without her, on the pretense of asking Jonathan about homework or music. He was a lovely guest, helpful and kind, always bringing something with him, happy to help the younger boys with their own tasks.
Eventually, it began to feel like he spent more time at Joyce's house then at his own. Joyce didn't prod. The world had turned upside down. If Steve felt more at home at her house then his own mansion, well, she was sure he had his reasons for it. Besides, he was a charming young man.
Joyce had thought Steve would vanish with the rest of the children in the week leading up to Christmas. The Harringtons had various holiday obligations and appearances to make around town, and she was sure that he'd vanish back to his own family. Instead, the opposite happened. It began to seem like Steve was spending every waking moment in the Byers household, there even when Jonathan and Will weren't.
"Does your family have any plans this Christmas?" she had tried asking, but Steve had just shrugged.
"I think my parents do," he said. "But they haven't told me. They haven't been around much."
Joyce's eyebrows crept up her forehead, but she did her best to keep her mouth level.
"Don't they want to spend time with you?"
Steve just shrugged, a pink flush coloring his cheeks, and didn't answer, instead reaching up to tug at his ears.
That was something Joyce had noticed him doing a lot over the course of the past week: tugging on his ears, twisting them, smushing the shell inwards. He didn't seem to think about it much. It was almost absent minded. Instead of pressing about his family further, since Steve didn't seem to want to talk about it, Joyce changed the topic. "Are your ears bothering you?"
Another shrug.
Joyce rolled her eyes internally. Teenage boys. Such excellent communicators.
He reached up again to tug on an ear, and she caught his hand before he could grab it.
"You're going to hurt yourself," she said. "Why do you keep messing with your ears?"
Steve shrugged again. "They've been bothering me," he said. "It's like they're too full, or something."
Joyce frowned, and reached a hand up to cup Steve's cheek, standing on her tiptoes to look at Steve's much-abused ears. She was distracted for a moment by the warmth radiating from his cheek, and moved her hand instead to his forehead, before peering back at his ears, tilting his head from side to side to look at each one.
They were, just as she expected, red and irritated, though without a penlight she couldn't get a proper look at them. She patted him on the cheek gently and stood back down.
"I think you have an ear infection, sweetie," she told him. "And you feel a little warm, do you mind if you check your temperature?"
Steve just shrugged, and Joyce noticed for the first time the glazed look he had in his eyes, the flush to his cheeks. She wondered how long it is he'd been feeling ill, wondered again why his mother was perfectly fine letting her only child spend all his time at another house.
She left him on the couch, and went to grab a thermometer from the bathroom. She wiped it down with rubbing alcohol before tucking it under Steve's tongue, somewhat shocked by the quiet complacency. Steve had never argued with her before, but still, her own boys have never been ones to sit quietly by and let her care for them. Even her sweet Will frequently argued with her about sick days, aware that a high reading on a thermometer would mean a day spent indoors instead of out with friends, a vastly preferable way to spend a day.
Just as Joyce had expected, Steve was running a fever. Not high, just over one hundred — just high enough for him to feel crummy.
"You should probably see a doctor," Joyce told him, as she handed him a glass of water and Tylenol.
Steve just shrugged. "I'll be ok," he said. "It will go away on its own."
In Joyce's experience, that was never the case, but what did she know. She wasn't his mother, and she'd only known him for a month, if that. Maybe Steve was one of those kids that disease just slid right off of, like oil on a hot pan.
"Do you want me to call your mom to come and get you?" Joyce asked him. "You'll probably feel better in your own bed."
"Oh, that's ok." Steve replied. "She's not home. I'll get out of your hair, though. I can drive myself home."
That wasn't really what Joyce was trying to get at. "Where's your mother then?" She asked.
"I think they're in Indianapolis?" Steve said. "They didn't really tell me. I haven't seen much of them this week. They came to town for the tree lighting and then they left again."
Joyce stared at him in shock. Well, that answered her question on how Steve's mother had let him out of the house: she hadn't seen him at all.
"They aren't home?" She asked again, just for the clarification.
Steve shook his head. "They're never home," he said. "I think I see them like, once a month?"
Steve is seventeen, Joyce thought to herself. A junior in high school. Barely older than her oldest son. Jonathan was certainly capable, and she had left Will in his hands more then once when he had to work. But to see him once a month? She couldn't even fathom it.
"It's ok," Steve said. "I'm used to it. I'll get out of your hair. I know you probably have family plans."
Joyce shook her head. "I don't want you going home to an empty house," she said. "Why don't you stay here until you feel a bit better?"
"I can't do that," Steve said. "I don't want to put you out."
"Oh, hush," Joyce told him, and that was the easiest thing in the world to say. "You're not putting me out, I'm happy to have you here. I wasn't doing much of anything anyway. Stay and watch As The World Turns with me. The boys never will."
That, clearly, was the right thing to say. Steve relaxed again, and by the time Jonathan and Will came back from Christmas shopping, Steve was sleeping quietly on the couch. He was still flushed, still warm - probably would need another dose of Tylenol soon, and if he was still feverish the next morning, she was going to drive him to the urgent care whether he wanted to go or not - but he seemed more at ease then he had earlier in the day.
If Steve Harrington's parents weren't going to look after him, well, it would be her pleasure.