Chapter Text
“Steve! Abort! Abort!”
Yeah. That sounded like a good plan. There was a limit to Steve’s abilities with a singular bat and a horde of monster dogs surrounding him.
They began to run at him, and Steve tried to squash down the terror rising in his chest. The first one pounced, and Steve threw himself out of the way, rolling over the engine of a car. Instincts overcame him as one of the dogs appeared behind him, and he struck it as hard as he could with the bat, feeling the wood connect with flesh.
The shouts of the kids guided him as he legged it back to the bus, the dogs hot on his heel. Steve threw himself through the door, slamming it shut and immediately reaching for a board to wedge against the door with his feet, fighting with the dog pressing in on the other side.
“They can’t get in! They can’t get in!” Sinclair shouted, and Steve could only hope he was right. A loud crash rocked the bus from the back, and they all screamed, turning to look in that direction. There was a seconds reprise, and then there was another crash as the dog at Steve’s feet burst its way into the bus. They all screamed again, and Steve instantly began to whack it with the bat, barely feeling a sharp stab in his leg as he finally forced the dog back and out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut again and shoving the board in place.
He glanced up, noticing that the kids were all still safe. Though for how much longer, Steve couldn’t say.
“…going to die!” Dustin was screaming into his headset.
Then there was a loud clang. From above. And another one. And another. A dip in the ceiling of the bus. Oh shit.
Max screamed.
Without even thinking, Steve lunged forwards, shoving the girl aside. “Out of the way! Out of the way!” The dog loomed above him through the hole in the roof of the bus. “You want some? Come get this!” Steve raised his bat, prepared to swing, prepared to go down fighting. The dog’s mouth opened in a screech as it leaned down closer to Steve. He braced himself.
But then it’s head retracted suddenly, looking off to the side as though someone had called it’s name. Then, inexplicably, with a growl, it leapt off of the bus. Outside, Steve heard the scrambling footsteps and shrieks of all the other dogs running off in the same direction.
What… the hell?
There was a long pause as the four of them stared around the bus, too shocked to speak. Steve kept the bat raised, just in case. After a long moment, he moved back to the door and opened it carefully. The bang of it hitting something outside made him jump, but he shook it off with a muttered “Jeez.” Keeping his bat raised, he stepped out the vehicle slowly.
The junkyard was draped in a layer of fog, but there were no dogs in sight.
“What happened?” Lucas asked, stepping out of the bus after Steve.
“I don’t know,” Max answered.
“Steve scared ‘em off?” Dustin suggested. That couldn’t be right.
“No. No way.” Steve turned around to face them, swinging his bat onto his shoulder. “They’re going somewhere.” The kids all stared at him, but he knew he was right. That was the only explanation for why they had just run off like that. And if they wanted to know where they were going, they were going to have to follow them.
But Steve had barely taken another step when pain flared up in his right leg. He suddenly remembered that dog in the bus biting him. Oh shit. Was it bad? It certainly felt it. Somehow the pain had been muted during the adrenaline fuelled fighting, but now the injury was making itself well known. Steve gasped, and stumbled over to the nearest car, raising his foot to rest it on the anti-roll bar and leaning down to pull up the leg of his jeans, noticing something wet soaking thorough the fabric with a stab of horror. Blood? That couldn’t be good. It was hard to see in the fading light, but Steve could just about make out the patch of something dark on his calf.
Suddenly, light illuminated his limb, and he looked up to see Dustin shining his flashlight over it.
“Holy shit! It got you!”
“It’s not so bad,” Steve muttered, and in the glare of light, he found he was barely even lying. The wound was clearly in the shape of teeth marks, but they weren’t too deep. And even though the injury was dripping sluggishly, the blood loss didn’t seem serious. He’d gotten lucky. With all those teeth, one of those dogs could have easily hacked off his whole limb.
“What do we do?” Henderson asked, sounding panicked. Steve looked up to see his eyes fixed on his leg.
“We don’t have any supplies,” Max pointed out, as she stepped closer.
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve reassured them, tugging the hem of the jean leg back down and lowering his leg. “It’s really not that bad.” Blood was going to get on his jeans, but they were ripped anyway.
“Are you sure you don’t-” Sinclair too?
“Relax, kid.” Steve wasn’t used to so many people worried about him. He guessed the sight of the wound and the blood might have freaked them all out. They were only kids, after all. “It looks bad, but it’s really not serious. I can still walk on it.” It would suck, walking on it, but what other choice did he have?
Halfway to the lab, weaving around trees in woods that never seemed to end, Steve was wishing he’d been able to hold that dog back with the board. He couldn’t really help a limp, and, even though he insisted on walking at the back of the group, the kids still looked back occasionally, and Steve could see their worry in their pinched lips. His leg was honestly pretty painful, but as long as he focused on not putting too much weight on it, it was bearable.
But, later, when he heard something move through the trees, he thought regretfully about how much harder it would be to fight with only one uninjured leg. At least he had his bat. He raised it up, pushing through the kids to get to the front of the group. Steve broke through the tree line, praying that whatever they had heard was just a squirrel or something. He didn’t think he could take another demon dog.
Luckily, the something turned out to be Nancy and Jonathan.
———
“Steve?”
Nancy’s brain short-circuited at the sight of her (soon to be ex) boyfriend emerge from the trees, followed by Dustin, Lucas, and a small ginger girl. Her confusion was only heightened when Steve began to move towards her and Jonathan with an obvious limp.
“Nancy?”
“Jonathan!” Dustin exclaimed. The pair moved forwards to meet the group of four.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, bewildered, taking in the flashlights, and familiar bat with the nails hammered through it. Another question slipped out before Steve had had a chance to answer the first. “Why are you limping.”
“Oh. Um…”
“Steve had a run in with some demodogs,” Dustin reported proudly.
“Demo… dogs?” Jonathan pressed. Dustin nodded.
“Yeah. Like a cross between ‘demogorgon’ and ‘dog’. It’s word play. Steve took on three at once. It was insane.”
“It was crazy,” Lucas muttered.
“Wait, back up,” Nancy said, creeping horror casting its bitter shadow over her. “There are demogorgons - sorry, demodogs - around here?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, “So you guys really shouldn’t be out here.”
“We were looking for Will and Mike,” Jonathan explained.
“They’re not in there, are they?” Dustin asked, nodding at the lab, all traces of humour gone from his voice.
“We’re not sure,” Nancy said slowly, chills starting to run up her spine. Something very bad was happening right now - she could feel it.
“Why?” Jonathan asked. In response, a demogorggon screech sounded from inside the lab.
Oh god. No. Not in there. Not Mike.
———
Nancy was getting déjà vu in the worst way, with everyone stood around the Byers’ kitchen comparing notes about what was happening alternate-dimension wise. Of course, this time two people were missing. El. And Joyce, who had shut herself in her bedroom.
Joyce had had to watch her boyfriend be ripped apart by… demodogs. Nancy didn’t think that would leave her head for a while. Poor Joyce.
As everyone finished talking, Hopper moved over the phone, going to ring the military, and Jonathan went through the door into the living room, going to where Will had been lain on the couch. The kids all hovered awkwardly around the table, looking between each other with faces full of worry no child should ever have to bear.
Nancy glanced at Steve, who was stood on the other side of the kitchen to her. She took him in - the way he kept his weight entirely off of his right leg, and the dark red patch on his jeans, something she had missed in the dark.
She hadn’t properly spoken to him since their fight a couple days ago, but she knew she had to help him. He was still technically her boyfriend after all. And, knowing Steve, if Nancy didn’t take charge, he would just ignore the injury and act like he was completely fine.
And, you know, she cared about him. The fact that he had taken on three demodogs at once, armed with nothing but a bat, and all to protect three kids he didn’t even know… it was impressive. She hated to see him hurt now, and, after a quick mental assessment on everyone else in the house, Nancy decided that she was the only one to help him.
“Come on, Steve,” she said, grabbing his arm and leading him towards the bathroom. “Let’s sort out that leg.”
“Nance, it’s okay. Really. I can do it myself.”
“Sure,” Nancy scoffed, “And by ‘do it yourself’, do you mean just ignore it and pretend that you’re fine?”
His silence said everything.
She tugged him into the bathroom and closed the door behind them. “Sit,” she said, nodding at the toilet. He obeyed silently, and she turned to raid the bathroom cabinet, finding a first aid kit quickly. Setting it on the floor as she crouched down, she pushed up the leg of Steve’s jeans as carefully as she could.
She was by no account a medical professional, but the injury didn’t seem in-need-of-urgent-medical-care bad. It wasn’t even bleeding much anymore. Nancy could see the tears in the flesh, the blood making her stomach flip; she forced herself to take a deep breath. They didn’t look deep, but it must still be pretty painful.
“What’s your diagnosis, doctor?” Steve joked. Nancy tilted her head.
“You’ll survive,” she answered wryly, finding a cloth in the first aid kit and moving over to the sink to dampen it. “You might want to consider getting it checked out, though.”
He shook his head, just as she had expected him to. “Nah, I don’t need that. It’s not that bad.”
She decided not to push it - it was his choice after all - and anyway, it would probably be fine, as long as she wrapped it up now. She pressed the cloth to the wound, trying not to gag as warm liquid soaked through and onto her fingers. She wiped as gently as she could, cleaning away the blood. The injury looked a little better afterwards, which made getting blood on her hands worth it.
After rinsing them, she dug through the first aid kit again, coming up with disinfectant. She paused, not quite sure how she was supposed to apply it. Pour it directly into the wound? No, that seemed wrong. Soak something with it? She sifted through the supplies again, finding a wad of gauze. That could work. She flattened it, and after pouring a little disinfectant on it, she held it close to the wound. Then she hesitated.
“This might hurt,” she warned, glancing up at Steve. He just sighed.
“It’s fine. Just do it.” She nodded, and pressed the gauze over the wound, wincing as Steve hissed slightly. She quickly covered the whole thing in bandages, wrapping them tightly, doing more layers than was probably necessary just to make sure it definitely wouldn’t bleed through.
Once she finished, she pulled the Steve’s jean leg down over the bandages for him, then shoved the medical supplies back into the kit. Putting it back into the cabinet, she then perched on the edge of the bathtub. “Does it hurt?” she asked, knowing that it did.
Steve shrugged. “Not really anymore.”
“That was really good of you to help the kids,” she said softly, “And putting yourself in danger like that.”
“Yeah, well, those little shits owe me,” he muttered, but Nancy saw his smile. She shifted slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the fact that Jonathan was only a few feet away down the hall. Oh god, she was talking to Steve, but he didn’t know that she had cheated on him.
“So,” Steve began, after a pause, “You and Jonathan?”
Nancy froze. “It’s not like that. We were just… I wanted to get justice for Barb, make the lab to pay for what they did, you know, and and then the Hollands could get some closure. So we made a plan, got arrested, and-“
“Arrested?”
“Yeah, but, it’s fine. It was part of the plan. We got a recording of Dr Owens admitting what they did, then went all the way to Illinois to find this investigator, and…” She trailed off, biting her lip. Steve was looking at her with an odd expression.
“It’s okay Nance.”
“I… really?”
“Yeah. Me and you… well, I know you haven’t been happy lately. I’m sorry if I’ve had something to do with that.”
“No, Steve, no. It’s not you. I just…. I…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it. You guys make sense. Together.” He didn’t seem angry, or upset. Almost like he’d accepted this a while ago. Nancy’s nails were digging into her palms. She didn’t understand why she felt so uncomfortable. This was the best way this conversation could have gone. But then… why did she feel so guilty?
“I’m sorry Steve. I still care about you. But our relationship, it’s just…”
“Bullshit?”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She looked at him wordlessly, and after a moment he shook his head. “Sorry. That was… I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No,” Nancy said firmly, “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” She really was. She couldn’t apologise for their relationship ending, but she shouldn’t have said any of the things that she had while she was drunk.
“Right. Well, um.” Oh god, it was awkward. It was so awkward. Nancy’s nails dug harder. Steve stood up suddenly, shifting his weight off of his bad leg. “I’m gonna go check on the kids.”
“Okay,” Nancy said, watching him move to the door, still limping. Maybe it should be her leaving the room, considering she still had two working legs, but Steve was already opening the door.
“Don’t feel bad about it,” he said suddenly, turning back. Nancy fought against the guilt twisting in her gut. “It’s okay. Really.” Then he disappeared down the hallway.
———
Nancy was dead on her feet as she trudged through the front door of the Byers’ and into the living room. The kids had already swarmed around Will, held in Jonathan’s arms, and Jonathan was trying to weave around them to take Will into his room.
Nancy looked over them one by one, checking that they were all okay. Not that she didn’t trust Steve’s babysitting skills.
Wait. Where was Steve?
“Where’s Steve?” she asked, eyes flitting between all the kids, before settling on Mike. He shrugged, then gestured vaguely down the hall.
“He went to the bathroom to go and sort out his face.”
“His… face?”
“He got in a fight.”
“A fight?” Jonathan stopped dead, looking back at the swarm of children. “Wha… with who?” His tone was incredulous, and Nancy was struggling to drudge up any emotion other than shock.
“My brother came over here. Billy Hargrove. He was looking for me.” Nancy hadn’t even spoken to Max before, but now the girl was looking at her with deep honesty. “When he found Lucas here, he kind of lost it. He really doesn’t like Lucas.”
“He had Lucas pinned against the wall,” Dustin cut out, sounding far too enthusiastic, “And he was all like ‘you’re dead Sinclair’.” Oh god, he was doing voices. Nancy didn’t have the energy for this. “Then Steve, like, pulled Billy back and went ‘no, you are’, then rammed his fist into his face. It was so badass.”
“It was stupid,” Mike cut in flatly, “Because Steve lost.”
“Steve lost?” Nancy questioned, “Like, he got knocked out?” The kids all nodded in confirmation.
“It was after Billy smashed a plate over his head,” Dustin put in. Nancy exhaled heavily.
“So what happened then?” she pressed.
“I injected Billy with Will’s drugs,” Max said simply, “To make him pass out.”
“Wow,” Jonathan said softly, “That’s… a lot. Are you all okay?” The kids all nodded again.
“I’m gonna go check on Steve,” Nancy decided. What was with the guy and putting himself between danger and these kids he barely knew? And Nancy’s brother being one of them? Who knows what might have happened to Mike if Steve hadn’t been there. But getting a plate smashed over his head? That sounded bad. Really bad. Someone had to go check if he was okay after that.
Nancy hurried down the hallway, then knocked on the bathroom door.
“Steve? Are you okay?”
“Nancy?”
“Yeah, it’s me. The kids said you got in a fight?”
A pause. “I’m fine.”
“Let me in, then.” Another pause. The door swung open. Nancy gasped.
Steve’s face was mottled with purpling bruises, and there were a few dried over cuts, probably from Billy’s rings. He had clearly not faired well from the fight.
“Jesus Christ.”
“It’s not that bad, Nance.”
“You probably have a concussion.” Nancy stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. “Be honest: do you have a headache? Do you feel tired, or dizzy?”
“Yes to the headache, no to the tired and dizzy.”
“Okay. That’s something. What’s your name?”
“I don’t have a concussion, Nancy. Or at least not a serious one.”
“So tell me your name.”
“Steve Harrington.”
“And the year?”
“1984. Your name is Nancy Wheeler. We’re in the Byers’ house. Reagan is the president.” He gave her a look, and Nancy sighed slightly, content with the fact that he wasn’t acting confused. Maybe he really had gotten lucky from the fight and hadn’t suffered anything too serious. “Did you get it out of Will?”
“Yeah.” She moved over to the sink. “It was awful, though.”
“How so?”
Nancy sucked in a breath. “I had to poke a twelve year old with a hot poker.”
“Christ. I’m sorry. That must have been…”
“Yeah.” Nancy began to run the water, preparing to help Steve wash the blood off his face. “Promise me you’re not lying, Steve. You’re really not dizzy at all? You’re not seeing double or anything?”
“I promise, Nancy. I’m okay, really. And I can do this myself.” Nancy reached up to start wiping away the worst of the blood, ignoring his wince.
“Well I’m already here, so you may as well just let me do it.” She could see the protest forming, and quickly changed the subject. “How’s your leg?”
“No worse,” he said vaguely. Nancy glanced down at the still red stained jeans with pinched lips, but didn’t press the issue. She finished cleaning his face in silence, then reached up to feel through his hair.
“What-“
“Dustin said he smashed a plate over your head?” Her hands found a spot of dried blood, Steve flinched. “Sorry. Is it bad?”
“No. It’ll be fine.”
“Do you need stitches?”
“No. Look, I’ll clean it tomorrow, okay?” Nancy pulled her hands away with a frown. She knew they should probably do it now, but honestly the thought of washing away the blood and potentially reopening the wound made her feel a little sick, so she just nodded.
“You’re staying the night,” she told him firmly, “Joyce won’t mind, and I’m sure the kids are anyway. Concussion or not, you shouldn’t be driving on that leg.”
Surprisingly, Steve didn’t push the issue. “My car’s in the middle of nowhere anyway.”
“I can give you a lift tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
It was hard to remember that he was no longer her boyfriend. They had been together for so long, and standing so close, it felt just like normal. Just her and Steve. Her and her boyfriend. But things were different now. Jonathan was right down the hall, and as much as Nancy cared about Steve, and as much as the relationship had meant to her, it was never going to last. It couldn’t last. Nancy’s heart belonged to someone else.
She gave Steve a small smile, before moving back into the hallway to find Jonathan. She felt a small thrill at the thought of being able to share his bed. Not that they would be doing anything, with the night they had just had, and the house full of people; just being able to be close to him, and sleep next to him, made her feel a spark of warmth.
———
Nancy dropped Steve at his house the next morning, watching him limp to the door with a twinge of guilt knotting in her gut. Should she be leaving him alone in that state? Probably not, but she knew he wouldn’t let her stay with him, especially when there didn’t seem to be anything actually wrong. No concussing, leg healing - or as far as he’d told her.
There had been the small matter of his temperature. She had reached out to check a cut on his forehead that morning, and felt his warm skin under her fingers. He had denied it, saying that he was just hot. And who was Nancy to dispute that? What did she know about fevers anyway? Maybe that heat she had felt had just been normal body heat?
Still, she made a mental note to call his house later to check on him.
That evening, she called four times.
All of them went unanswered.
———
Nancy parked her car at the end of Steve’s driveway, then sat for a moment, staring at the way her hands were gripping the steering wheel. She was only here to check on him - just to make sure he hadn’t suddenly gotten a concussion or something. Weren’t delayed concussions a thing? And, honesty, she was a little worried that he hadn’t picked up last night. What if something was wrong? She would only stop by for a minute - she was cutting it fine to get to school on time as it was. Jonathan never even had to know. Not that he would be mad at her or anything - or at least she hoped he wouldn’t. She was only going to check on Steve, nothing more. She was with Jonathan now, and she had no regrets about that.
Nancy opened her car door, and stepped out onto the chilly driveway. She wished she had dressed warmer; her baby pink cardigan was barely doing anything to keep out the cold. Pulling it tighter around herself, she walked briskly over to the front door, and knocked.
After a minute, she frowned. What was taking him so long? She knocked again.
“Steve!”
Okay, she was starting to worry now. It must have been at least two minutes since she’d first knocked. Nancy banged again on the door, her knuckles aching from the impact. The house loomed in front of her, dark and empty looking, but she wasn’t fooled.
“Steve! Open the door!”
She tapped her foot impatiently as the door remained firmly closed. What was going on? He had to be home. He had told her his car was parked in the middle of nowhere, so he couldn’t have driven anywhere.
She banged on the door again.
“Steve, I know you’re in there!”
But if he was home, why hadn’t he picked up the phone? Part of Nancy was worried that Steve just didn’t want to talk to her - that after their breakup he was done with being around her. But in her heart she knew that wasn’t true. She still cared about Steve - a lot - and she hoped he still cared about her too.
But he must have a reason for not picking up the phone.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he just wasn’t home. It was plausible that one of his friends could have come and picked him up, maybe dropped him off wherever his car was at. He could be on his way to school right now, while Nancy stood shivering on his driveway. Would he be at school today? Was his leg already better?
But Nancy couldn’t shake the mental image of Steve bleeding out on the floor right behind the door ahead of her. Or at a complete loss of cohesion from a severe concussion. Or-
The door swung open.
“Steve!”
“Nancy?”
“What took you so long?”
“I was sleeping!”
He looked awful. His hair was messy and flat from how he had slept on it, and while the bruising on his face from Billy’s fists had gone down, it was still painfully obvious. He was leaning heavily on the doorframe, weight shifted off his bad leg, and, although it was hard to tell with how messed up his face was, Nancy thought that he looked a little flushed.
She instinctively reached forwards to feel his forehead. He stumbled away, taken aback.
“What are you doing?”
Nancy ignored the question. Steve’s skin had felt far too hot under her fingers. There was no doubt about it this time.
“You have a fever.” She stepped over the threshold. “Why didn’t you answer the phone last night?”
He ducked his head. “It was a long way away… I couldn’t face the stairs again.” He glanced back at her. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. How’s your leg?” Bad, by the looks of it, but Steve just shrugged.
“Could be worse.”
He was avoiding putting any weight on it, so Nancy doubted that was true.
“I don’t think you should be walking on it.”
Steve scoffed. “I wouldn’t have had to come all the way down here if you hadn’t been trying to knock my door down.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Nancy conceded, “But let’s get you back to bed now. You look awful.”
She turned and closed the door softly, then moved closer to Steve.
“Nance, you don’t…” Steve looked slightly panicked, but also guilty. “Go to school!”
“Go to…? Absolutely not!” Nancy spluttered, shocked that he would even suggest it. “I’m not going to leave you like this!”
“I’m fine!”
“You really don’t look fine. And besides, I’ve already missed like a week of school - one more day isn’t going to make any difference.”
“Nancy, come on. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask - I’m insisting! Look, if you’re feeling better, I’ll go in this afternoon, okay?” That was a lie - there was no way Nancy was going to leave him in this state - but she felt that was the only way to get him to agree with her staying.
Steve still looked unsure (what was it with him and never wanting to seem vulnerable?), so Nancy pulled her face into a pout.
“Come on, Steve, I have maths first period. Let me use this as an excuse to skip it.”
He smiled a little, then shook his head and sighed. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs before you keel over.”
Steve let out an indignant noise, but to Nancy it was a genuine concern. She gently grabbed hold of his arm to support him as he moved away from the wall, limping heavily as she guided him to the foot of the stairs.
They both stared up at them.
“Maybe I’ll just sleep on the couch,” Steve muttered. Nancy shook her head.
“No. You should be in bed. We’ll go slow, okay? One step at a time.”
She gripped his arm harder as he moved onto the first step with a small gasp. She didn’t bother asking if he was okay - he would only lie and say yes.
The Harrington’s house had twelve steps, and Nancy counted them in her head as they moved up slowly, Steve getting paler and more out of breath the further they went. Nancy was starting to really worry about his limp. It definitely hadn’t been that bad yesterday. Was his leg getting worse?
He was making a decent effort at hiding how much pain he was in, but Nancy could see right through it. The leg was bad, and after a particularly hard step, she decided to make a stop before taking him to his bed.
“Let’s go to the bathroom first,” she said as they reached the upstairs landing. Steve looked confused.
“Why?”
“I want to check your leg, and I’m guessing you haven’t changed the bandages?” His sheepish expression told her all she needed to know. “I’ll be quick, okay?”
“Okay.”
They walked to the bathroom, and Nancy got him situated sat on the toilet with his leg stretched out and resting on the edge of the bathtub. She gingerly pushed up the leg of his sweats to reveal the - thankfully still white - bandage.
“Do you have a first aid kit anywhere?”
He gestured vaguely at the bathroom cabinet, and she came back armed with bandages, gauze, and disinfectant. Nancy set about unwrapping the old bandages, then peeled away the gauze, wincing when it stuck slightly to the wound. Steve didn’t made a sound as she pulled.
The wound looked different, but she couldn’t really tell if it was better or worse. It had scabbed over a bit, and the bleeding had definitely stopped, but the skin looked red and inflamed. Was it infected? Nancy had never seen an infected wound aside from in films, but maybe this was what they looked like. That would explain the fever.
If it was infected, she needed to get Steve to a hospital stat, before it got worse.
Her stomach flipped. This wasn’t good. She had hoped that Steve would be okay, but he was the opposite. Why hadn’t she bothered to check on him properly?
Steve hated hospitals. Always had. She remembered when he had hurt his wrist playing basketball a few months ago, and refused point blank to go. He had rested his wrist on ice for a week, claiming that it helped and he could handle it all himself.
Nancy was fairly sure Steve still had wrist pain from that.
So she decided to drop the bomb about the hospital after she had finished with his leg.
She set about soaking the gauze in disinfectant, repeating the movements of two days ago, when she had first wrapped the wound. She held the wet gauze over the injury. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
She pressed it down, and noticed Steve wince, although he still wasn’t making a sound. She wrapped the wound quickly with the bandages, then tided away the medical supplies. “All done.” Steve exhaled heavily, then pulled his leg down from the edge of the bath. It was time to tell him. Nancy steeled herself. “Look, Steve, that wound looks infected.” Oh god, he was looking at her with those big brown eyes. She didn’t have the heart for this. “And you have a fever, so…”
“So?”
“We need to take you to a hospital.”
“No.”
“This could be serious!”
“Nance, I said no.” Damn it.
“Steve, come on.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine!”
“You’re not fine. If this gets worse, you could… I don’t know - lose your leg!”
“That’s not going to happen!”
“How do you know?”
“How do you know?” This was impossible. His eyes had turned hard, and Nancy knew she was fighting a losing battle. “I’m not going, Nance. The wound will heal on its own. It’s not that deep or anything.”
“Please, Steve.”
“No.” What was she meant to do now? She could hardly drag him to her car! She looked at Steve with pleading eyes, but he stared back at her with stoney ones. “You’re not going to change my mind.” No, Nancy didn’t think that she would. She sighed heavily, giving up.
“Okay, fine. But if this gets worse, then we’re going, okay?”
“Okay.” She wasn’t sure she believed him, but what choice did she have? She stood, then held out a hand to help Steve up, then helped him walk out of the bathroom and down the hallway. “Nancy, you really don’t have to stay. You can still make it to school on time.”
“I’m staying,” Nancy said firmly, pulling Steve into his bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, and his bed was a mess, obviously recently slept in. They walked over to it, and Steve sat on the edge. “You should go back to sleep. Hopefully you can sleep off the fever. Do you have any other symptoms? Tiredness, nausea? Headache?”
“I’m tired, but nothing apart from that.” Nancy gave him a look, and he sighed. “Okay, I have a headache too, but it’s not that bad.” Not that bad her ass.
“I’m getting you some Tylenol.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She walked back out his room and down the stairs, into the kitchen where she knew he kept the Tylenol. She found the box, poured a glass of water, and went back into his room, handing him the items. “You go to sleep now. I’m gonna be downstairs, okay? I’ll come check on you in a bit.”
“Okay.”
“Give me a shout if you need me.”
Nancy went back downstairs, then after a moments thought went back outside to her car, retrieving her school bag. If she was gonna be at Steve’s house all day, she may as well get some work done. She was super behind in school anyway, from all the days she had missed getting arrested and then driving all the way to Illinois.
She’d finished her history essay at just past noon, and stood up from the kitchen counter with a sigh, shaking her hand to get rid of the ache from writing for so long. She had been at Steve’s house for a few hours now, and hadn’t checked on him yet. And it was midday, and she didn’t know when Steve had last eaten. Not since last night, at least, but since he hadn’t been able to get down the stairs to answer the phone, he probably hadn’t been able to make it to the kitchen either.
Nancy tidied up her books and papers a little, then walked up the stairs, moving down the landing and back into Steve’s room. He was asleep, head turned away from the door and towards the closed curtains, where light was streaming in through the cracks at the bottom. Nancy crept closer. It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting, but he definitely looked flushed. She brushed back the hair from his forehead, pressing the back of her hand to it. Then she gasped, recoiling as she felt his hot skin. Oh god, that was definitely worse than it had been just a few hours ago, when she’d first got to his house.
“Nancy?” Steve mumbled, cracking an eye open.
“Steve, you’re really hot.”
“Thanks. You’re pretty nice looking yourself.” He was smiling at her, but was it her imagination or were his eyes a little unfocused?
“I’m serious. Do you have a thermometer?”
“Bathroom, maybe.” He turned his head away again as she rushed out of the room and back to the bathroom, rootling through the cabinet until she found the thermometer and moving back to Steve’s room with it. How had he fallen asleep again in the minute she had been gone?
“Steve, wake up,” she said softly, shaking his shoulder. He mumbled something, but opened his eyes, sitting up slightly. “Open your mouth,” she ordered, then stuck the thermometer inside. She had no idea how long she was supposed to leave it for, but she counted to one hundred in her head as she paced the length of his room, then pulled it out. “102.5” she read aloud, horror seeping into her gut. “This is bad.”
“S’not that bad.”
“Do you still have a headache?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Can we please go to the hospital now?”
“No.”
“You said we could if it got worse!”
“But are you sure it’s worse?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “You didn’t take my temperature before.” Nancy felt close to snapping the thermometer in her frustration.
“Fine! How do you feel? Honestly?”
“Tired. Like, really tired. And… cold.”
“Cold?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” What the hell did that mean? Did that mean it was getting worse? Nancy felt completely clueless. She hadn’t dealt with this kind of stuff before. Was the fever related to the bite? The head injury? Was it even unrelated to either of those things - just a random illness? It was November after all, prime time for fevers. She paced anxiously, then remembered the actual reason she had come upstairs in the first place. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Um. Yesterday?”
“When?”
“Morning.”
“I’m gonna go make you a sandwich.” She didn’t wait for his response, just placed the thermometer on the night stand and went back downstairs. She bustled around the kitchen, finding the ingredients and putting together a ham and cheese sandwich. She put the two halves on a plate, poured out a new glass of water, then made her way back to Steve’s room. He was awake this time, but honestly looked like he was struggling to do so. Was that a side effect of the fever?
“Here.” She handed the plate to him, put the glass next to the half empty one on the nightstand, then moved to go and sit on his desk.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to make sure you eat it. Are you nauseous or anything?” He shook his head, then started on the sandwich. Nancy looked around the familiar room as he ate, taking in the Steve-ness of it all. She had slept in here a million times over the past year, but now it all looked different. Now that she wasn’t dating the boy it belonged to. Now that she had slept with someone else.
Nancy winced. She still felt guilty about that.
She took the plate from Steve once he’d finished, then felt his forehead again, feeling no change from last time. She opened her mouth, but Steve cut her off. “I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Fine. But I’ll be back in an hour, and I’m taking your temperature again. Go back to sleep.” She left the room, and went back down to the kitchen, making herself a sandwich before opening up her chemistry textbook. She would be in chemistry right now, if she was in school, sitting two desks down from Jonathan.
Jonathan. He would be wondering where she was. She would call him later, when he was back home; explain the whole situation. She was sure he would understand.
Nancy went back to her textbook, rereading the same paragraph three times before realising none of it was going in. She was worried about Steve. Really worried. That fever didn’t feel normal. And she couldn’t shake the fact that his limp had definitely seemed worse. She wished Steve would let her take him to the hospital, but she knew he never would. Steve was stubborn like that.
Nancy shook her head and forced herself back to her textbook. She had three chapters to read before her next class. If only chemistry was more interesting.
An hour later, she marked her page and went back to Steve’s room. He was asleep again, but she shook him awake, putting the thermometer in his mouth and waiting the one hundred seconds.
“103.” She raised her eyebrows at him.
“M’not going.”
“Steve, come on. You’re being stupid. This could be really serious!”
“I already told you, Nance. The answer is no.” He could be so stubborn at times. Nancy felt frustration rising in her.
“Then what do you want me to do? I don’t know how to treat this, Steve! I’m not a doctor!” What was he expecting her to do? Magic up a cure? She had no fucking clue what she was doing, and Steve was only getting worse.
“I didn’t ask you t’stay. I told you, I can handle this.”
“Handle this? By not handling it, you mean.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Why do I care? Because I’m worried about you!”
“Why? I’m not your boyfriend anymore.”
“So?”
“So, you said it yourself. Our relationship: it’s bullshit.” Oh, that was low. That was really low. Nancy stepped closer.
“I’ve missed school to stay here and take care of you. And you throw that in my face?”
“I didn’t ask you t’do that.”
“God, Steve, you’re impossible.”
“I’m going back to sleep.”
“Fine. You do that.” Anger was bubbling through Nancy’s veins. “You won’t let me take you to a hospital, so I can’t help you. I’m leaving.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” Nancy threw the thermometer aside and stormed out of the room. She paused at the foot of the stairs, breathing heavily. Steve could be so infuriating. So stubborn. Just because they weren’t dating anymore, he felt like he had the right to say that stuff to her? Why was he even trying to pick a fight with her, after she had spent all day taking care of him? He was right: what was she even doing here? She had no obligation to help him.
But deep down, she knew she couldn’t leave. Not when he had a fever and was sick and had a potentially infected leg wound. He was terrible at taking care of himself, and what if she left and it all got worse? No, she had to at least stay close by. She might be mad, but she wasn’t heartless.
She went back to the counter, and opened her chemistry textbook again. Luckily she had enough homework to keep her occupied for a while, and to distract her from the thought of her sick… not boyfriend, friend, upstairs.
Four hours later, Nancy was at her limit. If she saw another chemical formula, she might explode. She pushed away her chemistry homework sheet with a deep sigh, thankful to finally have it finished, then stood up to stretch. All she had left was her maths homework, and she was really not looking forwards to that. Who cared what x equalled anyway?
She checked the clock. It was 5:30, and she hadn’t checked on Steve since their fight. Maybe she should have checked on him at some point. She was still mad, but the anger had dissipated a lot, and now there was space for a little guilt. She really should have checked on him a couple hours ago. Yes, she had been close by, but that didn’t mean Steve hadn’t had a medical emergency in his room that she hadn’t witnessed.
Nancy walked back into his room, seeing him asleep in the same position as he had been earlier. She approached the bed, then shook him awake. “Steve?” He murmured something, but didn’t move. “Steve.” She shook him again, then reached down to press the back of her had to his forehead. It still felt awfully warm. Was it her imagination, or was it… warmer? She gulped, and shook harder. “Steve, wake up!”
He finally opened his eyes, and her stomach dropped as she saw how glassy they were. “N’ncy?” he muttered, sounding genuinely confused. Oh no. This was not good.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she said, voice softer.
“Thought you left?”
“No. I… I’ve just been downstairs.” He squinted at her, clearly confused. She opened her mouth to explain, but he suddenly paled. Then all of a sudden he was sitting up. “Steve, hey, what’s…” He pushed her aside, and stumbled out of bed, limping out of his room and down the hallway with more strength than someone as sick as he was should have. “You shouldn’t be up. Where-“ She stopped as she heard the sound of retching. “Oh.”
Nancy walked down the hall to see him knelt over the toilet in the bathroom, throwing up the sandwich she had made him earlier. Her stomach flipped, but she forced herself to move closer, rubbing his back comfortingly as she tried to avoid looking at the vomit, lest she started throwing up as well.
He finished, eventually, then reached up with a shaking hand to flush. Nancy helped him sit back against the edge of the bath. In this lighting, she could clearly see how flushed he was. And how dazed his eyes looked.
How had this happened? How had this happened so fast? Just a few hours ago, he had seemed okay. Well, fevered and sick, but still okay. Not like this. It had to be an infection in his leg. Surely that would explain how he had deteriorated so quickly. And if the infection had gotten worse, then she must be able to see it.
“Can I take a look at your leg?” she asked, already moving over to the limb and pushing up the leg of his sweatpants.
“Go ahead,” Steve muttered anyway, closing his eyes as she peeled back the layers of bandage. She braced herself before pulling away the gauze, preparing for the worst.
But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.
She let out a half gasp, half scream as she took it in. The redness had gotten so much worse, but that wasn’t the problem. The veins around the injury had turned black. And those black lines trailing away from the wound reminded her harshly of what Will had looked like while they were burning the mind flayer out of him.
This wasn’t a normal infection. This was something upside down related.
“That doesn’t look good,” Steve commented blearily, leaning forward slightly to get a look at his leg and Nancy’s shaking hand hovering over it.
“No. It doesn’t.” Her voice was shaking as badly as her hands.
“M’not going to the hospital.”
“I don’t think… I don’t think we can take you there. This looks like something upside down related.” The truth was horrifying, but Nancy kept speaking. “If we took you there, it would raise too many questions. And I don’t think they would be able to help you anyway.”
“Yay,” Steve muttered. Nancy just shook her head, feeling hollow.
“No Steve, that’s a bad thing. It means that medical professionals can’t help us. And I… I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t panic.” That would be much more reassuring if he was any more coherent. As it was, he looked worse than Nancy had ever seen him. His face was flushed, and still bruised, his hair was messed up and sweaty, and his eyes were unfocused, with dark shadows underneath. Okay, she needed to get him into bed before he passed out on the bathroom floor.
“Okay, I’m going to wrap this up again, and then we’re going to get you back to bed. Do you think you’re gonna throw up again?” Steve shook his head, and Nancy breathed out a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about, at least. She set about wrapping up his leg again, using the same gauze and bandages because honestly she didn’t see the point in changing them.
Once she finished, she straightened up, holding out both her hands for Steve to take. With some effort, they manned to get him upright. She didn’t know how he had managed to stumble to the bathroom unassisted a few minutes ago, because now his strength seemed to have completely left him. Nancy supported him as best she could as they slowly made their way back across the upstairs landing and into his room. She helped him into his bed, and pulled the covers over him. On second thoughts, maybe the covers weren’t such a good idea - he already had a fever. But then again, she doubted it would make it any worse.
What was she meant to do now? She meant what she had said before - taking him to a hospital was out of the question. As was asking for help from anyone who didn’t already know about the upside down.
She couldn’t handle this on her own, but there was someone she knew she could ask for help from. She hurried back down the stairs, finding the phone and dialling the familiar number. It rang four times before being picked up.
“Hello?”
“Jonathan!”
“Nancy? Where were you today?”
“I’ve been at Steve’s house.”
“Steve’s… why?”
“I wanted to check on him before I went to school, because he wasn’t picking up last night, and, you know, because of his leg and all that, but he seemed kind of sick, and he had a fever, and I didn’t know…” She was rambling. She was rambling and she never rambled but she was scared; Jonathan could clearly hear it in her voice.
“Okay, take a breath. Tell me what happened.”
“He’s sick. Like, really sick. And his leg… you know what Will looked like, with the black veins? His leg looks like that. I think it’s infected… and I think it’s something upside down related. And I… Jonathan, I don’t know what to do!” There was a pause, and Nancy could hear Jonathan breathing over the line as she clutched the phone closer to her ear.
“I’m coming. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Thank you! I… thank you.” The line went dead, and Nancy breathed out in relief, putting it back on the wall with shaking hands. She felt slightly dizzy from worry and relief, and made her way back upstairs slowly, stopping at the entrance to Steve’s room.
He was back asleep - good, he needed it - but anxiety made her go over and check that he was still breathing. He was. Thank god. She paced anxiously by his bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Then she moved closer to press the back of her hand to his forehead again. Still far too hot. Should she wake him to check his temperature again?
“Hey Steve,” she said softly, shaking his shoulder in a routine that was becoming horribly familiar. “I need to check your temperature.”
“M’sleeping.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’ll only take a second.” She got him awake enough to poke the thermometer in his mouth, and counted the one hundred in her head, then pulled it out. “103.5. That’s really not good.” It was getting worse. She looked back down at Steve, but he had already passed back out. Nancy placed the thermometer down and went back to her pacing, anxiety twisting her stomach into knots. 103.5 Fahrenheit was really, really not good. Even without whatever was going on in his leg, that was a dangerous fever level. How was she meant to treat a fever? Everything she knew about illnesses had evaporated from her mind. All she could remember were those stupid chemical formulas she had spent all afternoon agonising over.
Knocking sounded through the house, and Nancy started, before rushing to the front door, swinging it open to come face to face with Jonathan.
“Jonathan! Thank god.”
“Hey Nancy.” He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.
“I don’t know what to do. His fever’s at 103.5.”
“A hundred and…? Christ.” Jonathan was starting to look panicked now, and that was doing nothing to calm Nancy’s nerves.
“Come upstairs.” She led the way back up the stairs and down the hallway into Steve’s room, where he was still asleep. Jonathan moved closer to the bed, placing a hand cautiously on Steve’s forehead, retracing it instantly.
“Christ,” he said again.
“Let me show you his leg.” Nancy pulled back the covers to get to the bandages. There was no way she was getting him all the way back to the bathroom, so she sent about unwrapping them right there, pulling away the gauze as she braced herself to see the wound again. She heard Jonathan’s horrified gasp as she revealed it, and struggled to contain her own as she was met with the black veins again.
“We can’t take him to a hospital,” she explained, quick to hide the wound from sight again and start wrapping it. “It’s clearly to do with the upside down. They’d ask questions.”
“Right,” Jonathan agreed, “We should call Hopper. He’s an adult. He’ll know what to do.”
“Do you… have his number?”
“He’s working tonight. That’s what my mom said. We’ll call the station.” She heard Jonathan move back out the room, and gave Steve one last look to confirm that he was definitely still breathing before following him out. They walked back downstairs to the phone, and Nancy watched as Jonathan dialled the number.
“Hello, I need to speak with chief Jim Hopper… yeah… thank you.” He pulled the phone away from his ear. “He’s out on duty. Flo’s getting him on his radio.”
Nancy nodded. “Okay.” They waited a couple minutes before a muffled voice came through the phone again. Jonathan pressed it back to his ear.
“…What?…Is there any way you can-… This is an emergency!” Nancy’s heart started to pound. What was going on? “Well how long will that be?… okay… okay, well, thank you… bye.” He hung up the phone.
“What happened?” Nancy demanded. Jonathan sighed.
“Apparently his radio’s out of battery or something. Flo can’t get a hold of him.”
“What?”
“She says he’ll come back to the station when his shift ends in a couple hours, and she’ll tell him to give us a call then.”
“A couple hours?”
“I know it sucks. She says there’s nothing she can do.” A couple hours? They couldn’t wait that long. Steve could be dying at that very moment! They needed Hopper now!
“Well what are we meant to do!”
“We just have to wait until he calls us.”
“But what about Steve?” What if he got worse? Nancy didn’t know how much worse he could get before it became too bad.
“We’ll just have to try and stop it from getting any worse until Hopper gets here.”
“How can we do that when we don’t even know what’s wrong with his leg?”
“I don’t… I don’t know.” Great. They were just a couple of dumb teenagers who didn’t know what the hell they were doing. They weren’t doctors. Nancy had never treated anything worse than one of Mike’s colds before. “Okay. We’ll just treat it like a normal fever.”
“How do we treat a fever?”
“We’ll put a cold cloth on his forehead. That’s what they do in films, right?”
“Right,” Nancy echoed. Would that even work? She didn’t know. But it was all they had, so she tried to mentally pull herself together as she made her way to the kitchen, finding a cloth and running it under cold water from the tap. Then she wrung it out, not wanting it to be too wet, and made her way back upstairs and into Steve’s room.
She crossed over to the bed, and perched on the edge of it, gently placing the damp cloth on Steve’s forehead. He let out a soft groan at the contact, and turned his head away slightly in his sleep. Nancy automatically went to pet his hair, shushing him in a way she meant to be comforting. Then her hand stilled, and she looked back at Jonathan standing in the doorway, feeling a flash of guilt. Jonathan was her boyfriend now, not Steve. As much as she cared about him, she didn’t want it to seem like she cared too much about him, or wished that they were still together or anything. This was all very confusing. Luckily, Jonathan seemed unfazed by her actions. Nancy turned he attention back to Steve, noticing the tension in his flushed face, even in his sleep.
“Should we wake him up?” she asked Jonathan softly. “Shouldn’t we be trying to keep him conscious or something?”
“No, I think that’s just for concussions.” She heard Jonathan move a little further into the room. “I think for fevers you’re supposed to let them rest.”
“Okay.” She went back to her anxious hair stroking. Was she imagining it, or did the motion make his face a little more relaxed? That could only be a good thing, so she kept on going.
They stayed like that for a long time, Nancy sat on the bed, and Jonathan hovering close to the doorway. Nancy stopped her hair stroking as she noticed something.
“The cloth’s gone warm.” She pulled it away from Steve, then instantly went to feel his forehead. She couldn’t tell if there was any change. “He might be a little colder?”
“Let me feel.” Jonathan’s rough hand replaced her own. “I can’t really tell.”
“Should we take his temperature again?”
“I don’t know if there’s much point. What are we meant to do if it’s higher?” He made a good point. Nancy fiddled with the cloth in her lap, trying not to think about Steve’s temperature being even higher than what it had been. She wanted to take it just for peace of mind that it wasn’t any higher, but that would be a stupid reason to wake him.
“Nance, you look exhausted.” Nancy looked up to see Jonathan peering at her. Now that he mentioned it, Nancy realised that she really was tired, although it couldn’t be later than 7pm. “You’ve been with him all day, maybe you should go take a break.” A break? She’d had a break that afternoon, when she’d spent four hours mentally whining about chemistry because she was too stupidly angry to check on Steve, and because of that, he had gotten so much worse.
But she didn’t want to say any of that, so she just said, “I’m fine.”
“Okay. But you still look tired.” Jonathan knew her so well. Even though they had only been friends for the past year, he could still read her like a book. “Look, why don’t you go downstairs for a bit. Just take a breather. I’ll stay here.” It was tempting. Nancy stared at the cloth in her lap. She meant to tell Jonathan again that she was fine, that she wasn’t tired or worried or scared at all.
But instead what came out was “Are you sure?” in a small voice.
Jonathan smiled. “Completely.”
And so Nancy left the room and went back downstairs, pacing around the living room, staring at the phone, trying not to think about how she had left Steve upstairs again. The fever would not get worse. It just couldn’t. Steve had to get better. He was Steve Harrington, for gods sake. Steve was never sick for long. He always bounced right back up.
But then again, nothing like this had ever happened before.
What if this was the time that Steve didn’t bounce back up?
———
Jonathan shifted his weight from foot to foot, alone in the room - not counting the unconscious Steve. He couldn’t shake how weird the whole situation was. He, Jonathan Byers, was in Steve Harrington’s room, while the King of Hawkings High himself slept. Life really was unpredictable.
Jonathan had never been inside of Steve’s house before. While he was constantly throwing parties, Jonathan had never been to one of them. He wasn’t really a party person. Or a people person. He had only ever seen the Harrington’s house from the outside. It seemed even bigger from within. And with the way it was decorated downstairs… Steve’s parents must really be rich.
Although, come to think of it, where were his parents? They obviously weren’t home, and the only car on the driveway had been Nancy’s. Maybe they were just away on a work trip or something? Steve threw a lot of parties - maybe his parents were just away a lot.
Jonathan glanced back at Steve. This whole situation was weird, and the only thing making it not awkward was the fact that Steve was unconscious. As long as he didn’t wake up before Nancy came back upstairs, or Hopper called, it should be fine. Jonathan would be able to deal with it.
But then, just as he’d thought that, Steve sat up suddenly. Jonathan really did have shit luck.
“Woah.” Jonathan actually stepped backwards in surprise. “Um. Hi.” Steve just stared at him, then inexplicably stumbled out of bed, moving across his room to the door with an obvious limp. Jonathan watched him in shock. “What are you doing?” He reached the hallway. “Steve?” Jonathan followed him out, walking after him as Steve entered a bathroom.
Then he started to throw up. Oh.
Jonathan stood in the doorway awkwardly as Steve retched violently, one hand gripping the edge of the toilet. What was he meant to go? Hold back his hair? He didn’t even like the guy! He tapped his foot nervously, at a complete loss. Going any closer just felt too awkward. Should he get Nancy?
Steve eventually finished, reaching up to flush the vomit away as he shifted back to lean against the bath, leg stretched out in front of him. He leaned his head back, looking completely spent. Jonathan stepped inside the doorway slowly.
“Are you…okay?” He internally cringed. Of course Steve wasn’t okay. What was he thinking?
Steve squinted up at him. “Um.” He didn’t seem to have much of an answer. Jonathan didn’t blame him.
Then, Steve grabbed at his leg frantically, leaning forwards. “Shit. Fuck. It’s moving.” His hands scrambled erratically, and his breathing quickened. Jonathan completely froze. What the fuck was he meant to do now? Steve was muttering, words Jonathan couldn’t make out. He was clearly getting delusional, and all Jonathan could think was that he was way out of his depth.
Nancy would be much better suited to dealing with this, but, honestly, Jonathan didn’t want to leave Steve alone for even a minute to go and get her. He had started clawing at the wound, and he was only going to make it worse.
Without thinking, Jonathan crouched down and tugged his hands away from his leg. His skin felt hot and clammy under Jonathan’s touch. He was still trying to pull his wrists out of Jonathan’s grip, but wasn’t getting very far, his strength clearly diminished. Instead, he focused his gaze on Jonathan, and Jonathan looked back into unfocused, feverish eyes.
This was not the Steve he knew. This was someone sick and confused, and clearly losing their grip on reality.
Jonathan needed to pull himself together.
“Just… just calm down, alright?” he said, tightening his hold on Steve’s wrists, a motion he wasn’t sure if it was meant to be comforting or restraining.
“Moving,” Steve mumbled, “It got me. The demogorgon got me.”
“Look, you’re not thinking properly,” Jonathan said, looking directly at him to try and get him to understand. “You’re fevered, and delusional, okay? So just try and stay calm. Me and Nancy… we’ve got it under control.”
Steve stared at him as if he hadn’t followed anything that Jonathan had said, but he had stopped trying to pull away from Jonathan’s hold. That had to be a good sign. Now Jonathan just had to get him back to his bed, and then maybe he would be able to leave him long enough to grab Nancy. Maybe he would even go back to sleep before Jonathan even left the room. He looked exhausted enough.
“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” He stood up, still holding on to Steve’s wrists, and pulled gently. Steve slowly stood, relying on Jonathan as he practically leaned on him, barely able to even let his bad leg touch the floor. How had he even managed to get to the bathroom in the first place? Jonathan shifted his hold slightly, trying to figure out the best way to get back to his room, when Steve suddenly went back down with a cry, half pulling Jonathan down with him.
“It’s moving. It’s in there. I have t’get it out.” He was pulling away from Jonathan with more determination than anyone with that high of a fever should be able to muster. Jonathan, bewildered, crouched again.
“Steve, man, nothing’s wrong. You’re just confused.” He pulled his arms away from Jonathan, finally managing to free himself from Jonathan’s grip, and instantly went back to clawing at his leg. “You’re gonna hurt yourself!”
“Moving. I c’n feel it. In my leg.”
What was he on about? What was the fever making him think? Jonathan decided to humour him, praying that he would be able to calm him long enough to get him into bed and hopefully pass back out. “Okay, let me look.” Steve allowed his hands to be brushed away as Jonathan carefully pushed up the leg of his sweatpants and began to unwrap the bandage. He reached the gauze, and pulled it away, trying not to gag as it stuck to the wound slightly.
The injury looked just as it did earlier. Red, inflamed, with black lines trailing from it. Still obviously infected, still painful looking, but completely still.
“See,” he said gently, “There’s nothing moving. You’re not thinking straight.” He made to put the gauze back over it, but retracted his hand suddenly as Steve cried out. Jonathan’s stomach dropped.
What… the hell?
Something had shifted right under the worst tear in the flesh. Something was nestled under the skin. Something was in his leg.
“What the… what the fuck.” Jonathan was starting to panic now. Steve was breathing faster, clearly getting more anxious now that Jonathan was too.
“It’s in there. I have to get’t out.”
“What the hell is that?” Jonathan asked, still staring at the injury. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the slight bulge of something trapped under the healing wound. He felt like he was about to throw up.
“From the dog,” Steve mumbled, “It got me. It’s growing.”
Growing?
Oh this was not good. This was not good at all.
The bulge moved again, shifting further down the leg by about a centimetre, and Steve let out a long, pained groan. Jonathan’s hands hovered uselessly. What was he meant to do? He couldn’t just pull it out of the leg!
Could he?
He suddenly felt Steve’s hot skin touching his, and looked down to see Steve’s fingertips brushing his wrist, trying and failing to cling on.
“Jonathan,” he murmured, eyes struggling to focus.
“Get it out. Please.”