Gareth didn’t know who had “almost running over a bloodied and very clearly drugged survivor of--if said survivor could be believed-- a mall fire” on their 1985 bingo card, but he’d like a fucking word.
Particularly considering Steve Harrington kept panicking anytime either he or Eddie even hinted at taking him to a hospital.
Instead he insisted, like some kind of bad action movie hero, that he was “perfectly fine” and that it was “not nearly as bad as it looked.”
Both of which might have been believable had he not twice gotten distracted by Gareth’s drums (sitting next to them both, on account of Corroded Coffin having played at the Hideout that night) asking rambling questions that constantly outed him as being high as hell.
Nevermind the fact that Gareth kept finding more blood.
“Really, it’s--mm.” Steve said, wincing as Gareth found yet another wound. “Not bad.”
“I don’t know how a fire even did this.” Gareth shot back, trying to figure out what stain he needed to press on without taking Steve’s shirt off.
Harrington raised a hand. “Service elevator.” He identified.
He made a whooshing noise, following his hand as it dropped back to his chest. “Slammed right into the floor.”
Gareth winced.
“There was a lot of shit in that elevator besides us.” Steve added, and it was moments like this where Gareth could almost believe the guy was sober, until Harrington followed it up with yet another rant about Russians and Russian Truth Serum.
Right as Gareth found another wet spot.
“Fuck the speed limit, Harrington’s bleeding out on me back here!" Gareth called, voice loud and frantic.
Sure that might have been dramatic but then, so were Steve’s injuries.
"Sorry babe." Brown eyes, pupils blown wide from drugs stared up at him with an easy smile, at odds with his beaten face.
In a tone so unimpressed, a middle school teacher would have envied him, Gareth said; "That is not my name."
Harrington didn't even blink. "I know. It's Gareth."
That took him aback.
"I really don't know how to feel about you knowing that." He admitted, half to keep Steve talking, and half as a distraction when he finally figured out which wound needed pressure the most (and then pressed on it.)
Apparently whatever the hell made up “Russian truth serum” was some strong shit, because in a tone so utterly honest (and thus entirely unlike the Steve Harrington that had ruled Hawkins High halls) Harrington said; "Good things, I hope."
Then winked.
What the fuck.
"Eddie drive faster!" Gareth yelled over his shoulder. “I think he’s dying!”
(He wasn’t, but given the flirting, Gareth wasn’t taking any chances.)
