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Walk it Off

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Walk it Off

Chapter 4

Steve clenches his hands together in his lap, trying to stop the slight tremble still running through his fingers as Ada wheels him back to his room.

It went quick, thankfully. The trip through the hospital and prepping for the scan took longer than the scan itself.

Everything worked out fine, at first. The scanner was bigger than he expected it to be. A hulking circular machine with a bed positioned in front of it. Ada had helped him from the wheelchair to the white cushioned surface. She’d had him remove his glasses again, with the promise that he’d get them back once they were done. Then, she fitted a padded restraint around his head. She’d said something about movement messing with their pictures. Steve’s never been bothered by small spaces before, so he hadn’t thought anything of it.

A heated flush rises in his cheeks and he clenches his hands a little tighter as they pass a few nurses in the hallway.

He’d never felt more trapped than when Ada left and the machine turned on, whirring softly in the small room. He couldn’t see anything around him, padded material around his head blocking his vision. And normally it wouldn’t be a problem. But the whirring started to sound more like the kind of chirping, clicking that comes right before a petaled face unfurls.

His breath had gone shaky, like it sometimes does when the shadows shift in his house or the lights flicker during a storm. That sound had gotten louder, closer, like one of those dogs was going to climb right over the top of the circular machine to look down at him.

Then the whirring stopped. And the chirping stopped with it. Ada came back in and undid the restraints holding his head in place before returning his glasses and helping him back into the wheelchair.

Now, his hands won’t stop shaking. Even though he’s fine. Even though nothing happened. Even though the gate is closed.

The gate is closed, right?

His head doesn’t hurt nearly as bad and his stomach has stopped trying to jump into his throat, thank you Ada and modern medicine, but everything still feels off.

He knows he’s asked about the gate. Knows he got a definite answer one way or the other, but he can’t remember what it was. It’s like looking at one of those stupid word unscramble activities mom loves so much. He knows all the pieces are there, floating around in his mind, but he can’t for the life of him put them in the right order.

It’s probably closed. Hopper wouldn’t be at the hospital with him if it wasn’t. The uncertainty gnaws at his insides anyway.

It’s a relief when Ada swings him through the curtained off doorway, into his room. Hopper is in the same chair he was in earlier, feet propped up on the edge of the bed, sleeping. Something settles inside his chest at the sight of him, which is weird. Usually, if Hopper is around, it means one of two things. Either his neighbor filed another noise complaint or the world is ending. Neither of which are particularly comforting situations.

He decides not to dwell on it. To just take the win as his hands finally stop shaking.

Ada’s positioned him next to the bed again. She leans down beside him and the locks flip in place with a click.

Hopper snorts at the noise, jumping awake. His wide eyes scan the room before landing on Steve. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he drops his feet from the edge of the bed and sits straighter in the chair.

“Ready?” Ada prompts from in front of him. She’s got one hand held out for him to grab, the other hand braced on the bed.

He takes her hand and stands from the wheelchair. His head throbs as his legs straighten, but not like before. The pain is muted, almost closer to a wash of pressure across his skull than actual pain. The world still shifts around him as he sits on the bed and shuffles across the cushion. It gets worse when he leans his head back and, for a split second, he thinks he’s falling backwards through empty space.

He jolts forward, just enough to lift his head so it hovers over the cushion, and the world rights itself. He releases a slow breath as he lowers his head back down.

A shuffling noise comes from the side of the bed as Ada folds up the wheelchair and tucks it away behind him.

“Dr. Moore will be back in once the scans are ready. If you need anything before then, just press this button,” she fishes out a small remote from the side of the bed and points to a big red button, “and someone will be in to help.” She smiles at him, setting the remote down where he can reach, before leaving the room.

Shifting his gaze, he watches Hopper yawn and stretch out his shoulders before settling back in the chair. He glances down at the watch on his wrist, brows furrowing, before looking back up at Steve.

“Time is it?”

The words come out slower than he means them to, but they’re clearer than they were earlier. It’s a little easier to move his mouth around the words now that the pain and nausea aren’t fuzzing everything out.

“Mmm…” Hopper glances back down at his watch. “Just after two.”

“Huh.” Over twelve hours since he ran into Dustin and got roped into fighting monsters. Again.

That uncertainty comes back, stronger than ever, to chew on his stomach. He picks at a hangnail that’s been lingering on his thumb for the past few days. He keeps forgetting to clip it off. “I know…” he stares intently at his thumb as heat rises in his cheeks, “I’ve asked this already. But…” he peeks over at Hopper, “did you- is it-” He takes a breath. “Are we safe?” he whispers into the small room.

Hopper’s expression softens and he reaches out to gently pry Steve’s hand away from where he’d started tearing the hangnail from his thumb. “We’re safe.” He squeezes his hand. “It’s over.”

Calm settles over him again at the confirmation. He squeezes Hopper’s hand back.

It’s strange how quick Hopper is to offer a hand or a shoulder squeeze in reassurance. He never really took him for a touchy-feely kinda guy, but that’s quickly been proven wrong tonight.

Steve isn’t a stranger to touch. Nancy always sits close so she can lean against him when they hang out and, of course, there’s always the more hot and heavy side of it.

But this is different. This is almost what he’d expect from his parents, were they home more often. Except, even when they are home, it’s never like this. His parents aren’t exactly tactile people. He might get a hug from mom when they first get home and a shoulder pat from dad when he’s really impressed, but that’s about it.

It’s nice. Really nice. Which is dangerous, because it’s not permanent. Still, he can’t bring himself to pull away.

“How’d the scan go?”

Steve looks away from their joined hands to face Hopper.

That whirring, chirping, clicking sound echoes in his ears and he decides he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Good. Quick.”

“Good.” Hopper gives him a look but doesn’t say anything else. They fall into silence for a few moments before Hopper’s face pinches, “Hey, where’s your car?”

“Umm…” Steve frowns, where is his car?

“I assume you left it somewhere. I’m not sure how else you would’ve got all the way out to the-” Hopper pauses, “well, to us without it.”

He thinks back, wading through the fog that’s settled in his mind. Went to Nancy’s, ran into Dustin, went to Dustin’s, then the butcher’s, then the railroad tracks. His head throbs as he forces the pieces into the right order. “Parked it on-” He remembers the street, can picture the sign. “Parked it on, um…” it’s sitting, just out of his reach. “Shit. I don’t remember what the street’s called. Parked it by the train tracks on some side street. Out toward Nancy’s.”

How’s he gonna get it back? That’d be a long walk.

“I think I know where you’re talking about. I’ll see if someone can run me out tomorrow and I’ll drop it back at your place.”

Guilt pools into his stomach because Hopper has already done so much. “You don’t-” he remembers driving the kids back from the tunnels. How the road seemed to shift underneath the car, no matter how hard he focused. The guilt pools thicker as he realizes how reckless it was to drive the kids like that. He doesn’t want to put Hopper out, but maybe it’s better if someone else drives the Beamer. And he’s already offering, so. “Thank you.”

Hopper nods absently, clearly thinking. “So, your parents.”

Something shrivels up inside of him and he’d actually really like to circle back on how the scan went. He pulls his hand out of Hopper’s grip to pinch at a loose thread on his shirt. “Yeah? What about them?” A familiar feeling slides over him as he says it. That feeling when Carol or Tommy would say something that cut a little too deep and he’d smile through it so they couldn’t jam their fingers in deeper, just to watch him squirm.

He must be out of practice because Hopper’s expression shifts into something wary. Like he knows he’s walking on eggshells right now. “You said they’d be gone for a week?”

A calendar swims to the forefront of his mind. The one from the kitchen. He remembers crossing out yesterday’s date this morning. Remembers the big red note marking his parent’s return date next weekend. Only, that one was scribbled out. A new note was written over the weekend below, because his parent’s trip was extended. “No, two.”

Hopper nods again, leaning back in his chair. “How long have they been gone?”

Frustration simmers in his chest, bubbling right at the base of his throat. “I don’t know. A few weeks?” it comes out sharp, bitten off. “What does it matter?” The room is suddenly too big. The chairs behind Hopper sit glaringly, infuriatingly empty. “They’re not here.”

The frustration bubbles higher, threatening to choke him. Maybe he isn’t being fair. He knows, logically, that if his parents were here right now, things would just be worse. Hushed accusations because he must’ve, somehow, provoked Billy into beating him senseless. Disappointed looks because he can’t win a fight he started. And money. Everything would come right back to the bill he’s going to have to explain to dad when it shows up.

Still, it’s impossible to silence the small part of him that thinks everything would be better if they were here.

His vision goes blurry and he’s never been more grateful for Hopper’s sunglasses. Harrington men don’t cry. Especially over something as stupid as missing his mom.

“Did they leave a number?” Hopper is watching him carefully. “Some way to get in contact with them?”

Steve blinks rapidly to clear his vision. The thread he’s messing with pulls a little, tension popping loose as something unravels in the shirt, thread getting longer. He clears his throat, frustration sinking back into his chest, “Yeah. There’s a post-it note on the fridge with the number to their hotel room.” He doesn’t mention that he’s crossed out at least three or four numbers already, writing the new number underneath each time.

“Okay.” Hopper pats his hand against the chair arm twice, “I’ll call them tomorrow, after I get you home. Let them know what’s going on.”

Steve hums so Hopper knows he’s heard him, but his words are floating around in his head, after I get you home.

Most people call him lucky when they see his house for the first time. It isn’t huge, but he knows it’s bigger than most in Hawkins. He thinks back to the Byers’ house, family photos hung everywhere, rooms crowded with too much furniture, dirty dishes lingering in the sink. Filled to the brim with love and life. Steve thinks they’re the lucky ones.

His house is cold in comparison. Stupid showroom furniture mom picked out of a catalogue forever ago. Fake plants and generic paintings spread throughout the space. Not a hint of the people who live there.

Sometimes he hates it. Hates the shadows that move when he doesn’t expect it, the silence that lies thick over the entire space. He loves his room, though. He’s made it his own, slowly, over time. It’s where he takes his friends when they visit. It’s where he took Nancy, most of the time, when she came over.

He doesn’t want to go home. It’s a jarring realization, but no less true. He doesn’t want to face the creeping shadows, doesn’t want to sit in silence and wait for that chirping click to find him. Doesn’t want to go to his room or lie in his bed, surrounded by the lingering scent of Nancy’s perfume. Doesn’t want to be alone. Not after everything that’s happened.

A hand lands on his shin and he jumps, looking back at Hopper.

“Hey. You with me, kid?”

“Yeah.” Steve blinks a few times. “Sorry. Just,” Just what? Throwing himself a pity party? His parents aren’t flying back tonight from wherever they are, so he’s just gonna have to suck it up and deal with being alone for a little bit. “Thinking,” he lands on lamely.

Hopper pats his leg a few times, like he had the chair arm earlier. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep. Those scans can take awhile sometimes.” His hand retracts as he leans back to settle into the seat.

“Thought you weren’t supposed to sleep with a head injury?”

“I think that’s a myth.” Hopper slips a little further down the seat. “But if anything changes, you start feeling worse or I notice something’s up, we’ll press that button.” He motions toward the remote on the other side of Steve’s bed.

He nods, not thinking, and it makes the world tilt just a little to the left. He cuts the motion short, staying very still until everything settles. Then, he shuffles to slip further down the bed, landing in a comfortable position, before letting his eyes close.

It’s a little awkward at first. The sunglasses dig uncomfortably into the side of his face and he isn’t really sure what to do with his arms. His exhaustion wins out eventually, though, because he falls into a kind of half-sleep. He can still hear the general sounds of the hospital and jolts a little every time someone walks past his room. At the same time, flashing shapes dance across his closed eyelids. He can’t make out what they are, but they fill him with a vague sense of unease.

A chittering comes from behind him and he starts running through the darkness. Trees jump into his path, threatening to knock him off course as he races away from the monster at his heels. A light breaks through the leaves and he shoots through the treeline, into his own backyard.

The pool lights wash across the pavement, turning it a sickly pale green-blue. His heart jumps in his throat and he freezes, rooted to the spot like his feet have sunk into the concrete. There’s someone standing across the rippling water. He can’t really make them out, shadows thick across their face, but his body goes cold as they step closer. They reach out a hand and something wet cascades down their wrist, dripping into the pool. “Where’s your bathroom?” It’s Barb’s voice, haunting and distorted, and his feet come free as he lurches for the back sliding glass door.

He breaks through into the Byers’ front hallway. Billy has Lucas hoisted into the air by the collar and he’s filled with a red-hot fury. Gripping his shoulder, he spins Billy toward him and is met with a too wide smile. The fury leaves him all at once as Billy grapples behind him before something smashes across his head. He can hear pieces of whatever it was tinkle to the kitchen floor as he stumbles into the living room.

The lights are flashing, a multicolored christmas-themed strobe light show, right here in the living room. Nancy and Jonathan are somewhere off to his side and they all watch in horror as the ceiling dips, something clawing its way out.

The creature lands with a snarl and he knows he’s alone now. Just him and this monster. It stands up, straightening to its full height before looking over its shoulder at him. The head tilts like a dog’s, except he’s never heard a dog make the chittering, clicking sound that comes from the monster. Its face twitches, petals unfurling to reveal-

Knock, knock, knock.

Steve jumps awake just as Doctor Moore walks into the room. He says something, but Steve doesn’t hear him, stuck halfway between the hospital and the Byers’ living room. His eyes scan over the ceiling, looking for the monster, but there’s nothing there. Just some generic tiling surrounding the bright overhead lights.

He looks over at Hopper. Watches him blink sleep from his eyes to stare blearily at the doctor. He doesn’t seem to notice Steve’s hands shaking against the bed and he takes a few deep breaths to keep it that way.

It was just a dream. The gate’s closed. Everything’s fine.

He sits up slowly, not wanting to make himself dizzy. His head is throbbing in time with his erratic heartbeat and he’s worried the combination of the two might bring back the nausea.

Doctor Moore stares at him expectantly and Steve’s brain stutters. “Uhh…” he pauses, glancing back at Hopper who raises his eyebrows at him. He turns back to the doctor “What?”

“I asked how you were feeling?” Moore says gently.

“Oh. Umm…” He takes a moment to really think about it. His head is starting to settle as his heart rate drops. He still feels off and everything’s still kind of floaty from sleep, but overall, “Good.

“Good!” Moore drops his gaze to leaf through the papers on his clipboard. He flips some papers up to wrap over the top of the clipboard and shifts it so he and Hopper can see a set of black and white pictures.

He isn’t really sure what he’s looking at, but Hopper leans forward in his seat to get a closer look.

“Good news! We didn’t find any bleeding. Your scans all came back clean.” He gestures at the pictures and Steve realizes he’s looking at his own brain.

Moore keeps talking, explaining what they’re looking at with words Steve doesn’t really understand. His eyes have locked onto the ridges and bumps in the picture. They remind him a little too much of his dream. Of wrinkled white skin glistening with slime. His heart starts hammering again in his chest and he has to fight to keep his lips from turning up in a hysterical smile. Does the demogorgon have a brain? Would it look the same as those pictures?

The papers flop back down to cover the photos and Steve jumps. He looks back at Moore as he tucks the clipboard under his arm and leans back against the small counter. “But, you do have a severe concussion.”

Hopper settles back into the chair with a sigh, but he doesn’t look exasperated. He almost looks, relieved?

“Also, your nose has a slight fracture. Nothing surgical, but we’ll need to realign it. That cut on your head will need stitches, too.” He taps his own temple to demonstrate. “So,” he twists to drop the clipboard down on the counter before turning back to them, “we’ll start with numbing your head and nose. Just two quick injections. I’ll clean out that cut a little more and stitch it up. Then, I’ll perform a quick procedure to shift your nose back in place, okay?”

Broken nose, huh? He guesses that explains the swelling. And the soft whistle he hears every time he breathes in. And- you know what, yeah it explains a lot.

Nerves sparkle in his stomach at the thought of the doctor shifting it back in place. He thinks about all the action movies he’s seen. When the main character yanks his own nose back in place with a sharp crack, completely unphased. He’s always figured that’d hurt like hell.

“Okay.”

“Perfect.” Moore spins around and pulls on a pair of gloves before moving to a tray sitting on the counter. He must’ve brought it in with him earlier, while Steve was looking for monsters in the ceiling. He pulls each item out and lines it up methodically, a lot like Ada, and he wonders if it’s a procedural thing.

Moore spins around with two small, soaked sponges held between his fingers. “We’ll do your nose first.” He steps closer. “Lean your head against the bed for me.”

Steve leans back to sit stiffly against the cushion.

“And tilt your head back, just a little bit…” Moore shifts to stoop down in front of Steve, getting a better look at his nose.

His hair rustles against the bed as he tilts his head back slightly. He’s glad he’s already leaned against the cushion because the motion makes the world tilt around him. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the way the walls spin lazily.

“Just some slight pressure…”

Something cold and wet hits his nose and he flinches back, even though he knew it was coming. Huffing out a laugh, “Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” Moore speaks softly, distracted.

There’s a creak off to his side before a hand slips into his own, gripping tight.

He squeezes back as Moore slides the sponges into his nose. It’s more than a little pressure. They press into the bones just hard enough to send sharp pain up his sinuses. His teeth grind together as he clenches his jaw and he tightens his grip on Hopper’s hand to keep himself from squirming away.

His next inhale hisses through his teeth as he switches to breathe through his mouth instead of his blocked nose. The pain lessens just as his head starts throbbing, washing pressure over his skull. Opening his eyes, he spots Moore where he’s returned to the counter. He tilts his head over to look at Hopper. His eyes are pinched at the corners and Steve loosens his hold on his hand.

“You okay?” Hopper asks, hushed.

“Yeah.” Steve responds, just as quiet.

“Head next, while we wait for those to numb up the inside of your nose.” He turns around with a syringe held in front of him. “This one should be easier.”

Moore walks closer and Steve looks away from the needle sticking out of the syringe. He stares down at his and Hopper’s hands, held tight together at the edge of the bed. Moore stops in front of him and Steve feels a sharp pinch near his hairline. There’s a little extra pressure before Moore backs up, dropping the syringe back onto the counter.

Steve breathes out slowly. That one was better.

“Go ahead and remove those shades again for me.” Moore glances over his shoulder at him.

He lifts the glasses up, off his nose, before pulling them away from his face. He squints against the light as he drops them into his lap. It doesn’t hurt his head as much anymore, but everything has a sickly bright halo around it. That off feeling gets worse, flooding down toward his knees.

There’s some rustling before Moore returns with a wad of soft cloth held out. He places it gently over Steve’s eyebrow. “Hold this here, please.”

Reaching up with his free hand, he holds the cloth in place. He closes his right eye against the lights and shifts the cloth slightly so it offers a bit more shade to his left.

“Perfect,” Moore says as he settles. “I’m going to flush this out with a saline solution. Looks like there’s some debris hanging on here, and we don’t want that.”

Some more rustling before the bubbling of a squeeze bottle comes from above him. The sound throws him back to middle school science lab. Him and Tommy and Carol betting on which one could get the liquid higher in the squeeze bottle without it spilling over the top. Chucking pipettes at each other when the teacher wasn’t looking. Doing anything but the assignment laid out in front of them.

A bittersweetness twinges in his chest as Moore backs off, deeming his cut clean.

He drops his supplies back onto the counter before returning to take the cloth from Steve’s grip. “Ready for stitches?” He returns with a needle and some kind of thread.

As ready as he’ll ever be, he guesses. “Yep.”

“Now, this shouldn’t hurt. You’ll just feel some pressure, but let me know immediately if that isn’t the case, okay?”

Steve hums as Moore shuffles closer so he’s positioned over his forehead. It’s…weird. When Moore starts stitching up his cut. It doesn’t hurt, which, thank god for whatever was in that shot. But it’s not comfortable, either. Each time Moore pushes the needle through his skin, there’s a tugging pressure as the thread slides after it. He swears he can hear it drag through his skin and he grips Hopper’s hand a little harder as that off feeling sweeps down to his toes.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus only on the feeling of Hopper’s hand. To ignore the tugging pressure as Moore stitches him up. Hopper’s thumb starts sweeping slowly across his knuckles. A gentle back and forth motion that he latches onto.

He doesn’t realize it’s over until a gentle snip sounds above his head. He opens his eyes to watch Moore dispose of the remaining thread. “Okay! Lean your head back again for me.”

Steve hadn’t realized he’d lifted it, but he sinks back against the cushion as Moore bends down in front of him.

“Let’s take these out.” He reaches out and pinches the sponges out of Steve’s nose.

It doesn’t hurt this time. He barely feels it as the sponges slide out. His sinuses throb, though, as soon as they’ve left his nostrils. More of a deep ache than the sharp pain it was earlier.

A snap filters over from the counter and Steve turns to see Moore pulling on a new set of gloves. “Okay….” He spins around with another shot held out. “Tilt your head back, just a little bit.”

Steve closes his eyes and follows Moore’s direction.

“Perfect. We’re going to do this one inside of your nose, okay? You shouldn’t feel anything, it should already be pretty numb in there.”

He wonders, distantly, why he needs another shot if his nose is already numb, but he holds himself stiff anyway. He doesn’t feel anything this time, only realizing the shot’s been administered when he hears Moore’s footsteps drift back toward the counter.

“We’ll give that a minute or two to take effect.” He shifts to lean back against the counter again. “Once it does, I’ll shift your nose back in place. Again, it shouldn’t hurt. Just some-”

“Pressure.” Steve says along with him. “Right.”

“Exactly.” Moore’s mouth twitches into a small smile. His eyes widen and he spins back toward the counter, pulling a few tissues out of a box against the wall. “Now, your nose might start bleeding when I shift it back into place. It’s okay if it does, perfectly normal.” He holds the tissues out toward Steve.

He takes them with his free hand before glancing over at Hopper, who’s staring at Moore intently.

“I’ll put some packing in your nose to hold your bones in place from the inside. A small splint will go here,” He lifts his hand to hover over the bridge of his own nose, “to keep everything in place from the outside.”

“Okay.” Nerves sparkle in his stomach again.

“After that, there’s just a few administrative things I want to talk you through before you’re good to go.” His focus shifts as he pushes off the counter and walks closer. His fingers come up slowly to hover over Steve’s nose. “Rest your head back?”

Steve presses his head into the bed, tilting his head up a bit so Moore doesn’t have to ask him again.

“Perfect. We’re gonna check and make sure that anaesthetic’s kicked in. Let me know if you feel anything, okay?”

“‘kay.” It comes out weaker than he means it to, the sparks in his stomach climbing into his chest. He can see Moore’s fingers, just barely, as they move across his nose. Can hear the rubber gloves rustle softly as he presses against his skin. But he can’t feel anything. No pain. No pressure. Nothing.

“Anything?”

Steve shifts his gaze to meet Moore’s. “No.”

“Good! Got those tissues ready?”

He watches Moore’s fingers shift across his nose until they’re braced in a specific position. Tightening his hold on the tissues, he hums out a confirmation.

“Good.” Moore says again, softer this time, as his gaze shifts to Steve’s nose. “Okay, you’re gonna feel that pressure in three, two, one…”

Steve tightens his hold on Hopper’s hand as Moore pushes on his nose. A deep pressure builds in his sinuses, getting stronger and stronger until there’s a crack. His vision pops at the noise, sickening halos of light flooding over everything, and he jumps out of Moore’s reach. “Ow, shit!”

Something hot runs down the back of his throat and he leans forward to cough into the tissues. The world tilts as the coughs force him further forward. His head throbs at the jerking motion, a bit of that familiar ache slipping into the pressure and making his eyes water. The world tilts a little more and a hand grips tight to his shoulder.

“Easy, kid. Deep breaths.” Hopper’s hand shifts to rub circles between his shoulder blades.

He coughs a few more times into the tissues before they finally peter out. He focuses on the gentle pressure against his back, breathing deep through his mouth as he waits for the world to stop spinning.

He pulls the tissues away from his face only to see blood splattered across the white material. Alarm sparks in his chest before another drop lands right in the center of the crumpled pile. Right, his nose is bleeding. He brings the tissues back up, bunching them under his nose this time. There’s something sticky dripping down his fingers and he lifts his other hand to hold the tissues so he can get a better look. Blood is smeared over the back of his hand, collecting across his knuckles and dripping toward his wrist.

Grimacing, he looks toward Moore and is startled to see him already holding a fresh wad of tissues toward him.

“It’s okay. Perfectly normal. You did good!”

He reaches out to take the tissues, but Hopper’s arm cuts across his vision and pinches them out of Moore’s hand. He gives him a look and Steve, a little stunned, holds out his hand for Hopper to wipe down.

“Thanks.” His voice comes out thick around the blood and the tissues.

“Don’t mention it.” Hopper replies gruffly as he wipes the blood off his hand.

It’s mostly silent as they all wait for Steve’s nose to stop bleeding. The only sounds come from the slow drag of Hopper’s hand across his shirt and some rustling as Moore messes with his supplies. Eventually, the flow stops and Steve lowers the tissues from his face.

Hopper’s hand pauses as Moore drifts to the edge of the bed. Steve leans back until his head meets the cushion and Hopper moves with him. The continued contact makes something twist in his chest, but he doesn’t pull out of Hopper’s grip on his shoulder.

“Packing, splint, then the worst of it is over.”

Steve tilts his head back slowly in response and Moore stoops down to get a better look. He reaches up and Steve feels pressure slide into his nose. It’s very faint, muted through the anaesthetic, and over before Steve really has a chance to feel any discomfort.

More reaches over to the counter and grabs a small piece of rigid looking material. He peels something off the back before pressing it gently over the bridge of Steve’s nose. The pressure increases a bit as he pushes down on the edges of the material, molding it to his face.

“Okay, all done. You can put the sunglasses back on, if you want.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he slides the glasses over his eyes. It whooshes slowly out of his mouth, since he can’t breathe around the packing. His heart sinks a little bit as he realizes how quickly that’s going to get old.

Silently mourning over his dry-mouthed future, he turns to look at Moore where he’s rifling through the clipboard again. He gestures toward the packing. “How long’s this gotta stay?” His voice is thick, like he’s got the world’s worst stuffed nose.

Moore looks up at him over the clipboard, “One week.” His gaze shifts to Hopper. “We’ll need to see him back here in one week to remove the packing and the stitches. It might be tempting to do it yourself,” His gaze shifts back to Steve, “but that would be a very bad idea. The packing and the splint, together, are holding your nose in place. Removing the packing early could cause it to heal in the wrong position.”

“He won’t.” Hopper says from over his shoulder.

Hopper’s face is stern when Steve glances up at him. It’s familiar. He’s seen this look dozens of times, opening his front door during a party to see the Police Chief on his porch.

“Uh…” he turns quickly back to Moore. Too quickly, because the world continues to move even after he’s stopped. “Yeah, I won’t.”

Moore nods. “The splint will need to stay on a little longer. We’ll evaluate how much longer next week.” He flips through a few more papers before landing on a page. “One thing I want to talk to you about, though. I saw in your history that this isn’t your first concussion. That you sustained a minor injury around this time last year?”

Steve gives a tiny nod.

“Okay…” he chews on the inside of his cheek before letting the papers fall. “I’m going to write you a referral to a specialist located out toward Indianapolis. We’ll talk a bit more next week when we see you, but if your symptoms don’t start to improve over the next two weeks, or you notice any lingering effects, I want you to schedule an appointment with them.”

Hopper gives his shoulder a small squeeze.

“For now, given your history and the severity of this concussion, I want you to refrain from any intense physical activity for the next three weeks. Also, no contact sports until you’ve been cleared by someone here, or by your primary care physician, to return.”

A pit opens up in Steve’s stomach. “You mean, no basketball?” There’s a flash in his mind. A quick glimpse of a disappointed, angry, face.

“Exactly. No basketball until you’ve been cleared by a doctor to return.”

His head throbs and his chest winds tight. “Wh- umm…” Practice is supposed to start next week. What is he gonna do? “How long do you think I’ll be out?”

“Really depends on your recovery timeline. Being safe? I’d say…” he tilts his head side to side, “Two, three, months?”

A chill runs down his spine. He’s in deep shit. Basketball was his ticket into college. Without it, he isn’t sure his grades will make the cut. The pit in his stomach opens up wider, threatening to swallow him. Except, sitting right on the edge of it is a tiny kernel of relief. Because, as much as he knows college is the next step, knows it’s what’s expected of him, how was he ever supposed to leave them behind?

Moore is still talking about medications, return appointments, post-concussion care, things to look out for, but Steve is desperately trying to figure out how he’s gonna fix this. Trying to figure out if he even wants to.

Hopper gives his shoulder another squeeze and he turns to see him listening intently to what Moore is saying.

He forces himself to focus on Moore’s words.

“-will send Ada back in to remove your IV and settle all the discharge paperwork.” He scoops up the clipboard and starts toward the curtained off doorway.

“Wait!” Steve jolts forward, like he can somehow grab Moore from his spot on the bed.

Moore stops anyway, turning back to face Steve.

“Can I get a note or something? About basketball.” He settles back against the cushions, feeling awkward. “For my, uh, coach.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll write it up with the referral note and have Ada bring it in with your paperwork.” He smiles. “I’ll see you in one week for your follow-up.” He gives a pointed look before leaving the room.

Hopper sighs, hand sliding off Steve’s shoulder as he sits back down in the chair. “Doing okay?”

The words almost seem to float through Steve’s ears. “Yeah.”

“Almost done.”

The words bounce around Steve’s head. Almost done. Almost time to go home. His heart sinks in his chest and he wonders if the rest of Moore’s instructions will be written in his paperwork or if he’ll have to call Hopper tomorrow and ask.

Silence envelopes the room as they both wait for Ada to return. The silence stretches and Steve’s exhaustion starts to catch up as time passes. With nothing else to do, nothing to focus on, his thoughts turn loose. Almost floaty. Like he’s dreaming with his eyes open.

He tries to fight against sleep, not wanting another nightmare to creep up on him until he’s in his own bed, but his limbs grow heavy anyway. His eyelids droop, blocking his view of the curtained off doorway for a moment before he opens them again. Then, between one drooping blink and the next, Ada appears.

He watches, distantly, as Ada putters around the room. His eyes stop drooping, but he can’t quite shake the tiredness that’s settled into his bones. Stepping closer, she maneuvers his arm until the inside of his elbow faces the ceiling, before removing the IV needle. A small pinprick of blood wells up where the needle was and Ada places a bandaid over it. His eyes trace over the intricately woven pattern until a hand on his shoulder makes him jump. He turns his head, fully awake now, to see Hopper’s worried gaze.

“Hey, you okay?”

Clearing his throat, he sits up a little more against the bed. “Yeah, sorry. Tired.”

Hopper nods. “Alright. Sign those papers and we can get outta here.”

He turns back to his other side to see Ada holding out a clipboard and pen. He takes both from her, settling the clipboard in his lap. The words swim across the page and he can’t tell where he’s supposed to sign it. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly before refocusing on the page.

Hopper reaches over and points at a spot further down. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles. He traces the pen along the page in a shaky signature before handing both items back to Ada.

“Perfect.” She turns to place both items on the counter before reaching behind his bed for the wheelchair. “You’re good to go,” she pushes down on the seat to unfold the chair. She looks back at him, holding out a hand.

He sits up slowly and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He sits for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to back off before taking her hand. Keeping one hand braced on the bed, he stands from the edge, shuffles over a step, and sinks into the chair.

Hopper comes around the front of the bed, a folder full of papers tucked under his arm, as Ada unlocks the wheels. Then, they’re moving past the curtain, down a series of hallways, and through the waiting room door. It’s practically empty, a few people scattered through the space, and they pass through quickly as Ada wheels him out the front door.

It’s cold, early November air biting into his arms and making him shiver. He wishes his shirt had longer sleeves.

“Where are you parked?” Ada says from behind him.

He twists to glance back at her, but aborts the motion halfway through as it makes his dizziness worse.

Hopper speaks up from where he’s started walking into the parking lot, pointing toward the truck. “Over here, this first one.”

Ada maneuvers the wheelchair across the short section of sidewalk and to a small ramp. Steve holds the wheelchair arms tight as she rolls him down, into the parking lot after Hopper. He watches him open the passenger side door, pushing it wide before stepping to the other side of the door.

Hopper steps forward when Ada rolls him to a stop in front of the opening. “C’mon kid, up and in.” He leans down to loop one of Steve’s arms across his shoulders.

Steve grips the fabric of his hoodie tight as he’s lifted out of the chair. The dizziness washes over him, the world tilting so far that his knees go weak. Hopper tries to move him forward, but he’s stuck. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gives Hopper’s hoodie a little shake. “Wait. Just-” He reaches a hand up to rest over his forehead, hoping that maybe it’ll make a difference. “Wait a sec.”

“Sure.” He shifts to splay his free hand over Steve’s chest, holding him in place. “Whatever you need, kid.”

The extra pressure, being wedged between Hopper’s hand on his chest and his arm over his back, helps. Reminds him that the world isn’t actually spinning, that it just feels like it is. They stand still for a few seconds before the world starts to settle. Opening his eyes, he breathes out a soft, “Okay.”

“Okay. Almost there.” Hopper helps him shuffle closer to the truck before leaning him against the side of the vehicle. “Just like at the house.”

A hazy image comes to Steve of hauling himself into the truck at the Byers’ house and he repeats those motions. One hand on the seat, the other reaching for the overhead handle before lifting himself into the truck cab. He lands in the seat with a huff. Turning his head, he sees Ada give a small smile and a wave before she spins the wheelchair around and starts back toward the hospital. The truck door closes blocking his view of her for a second before he spots her through the window. The truck shakes slightly as Hopper climbs in.

There’s a soft jingling before the engine rumbles to life. Hopper messes with some of the controls in the center to crank the heat. The vents still blow cold air, but Steve knows it’ll warm up once they get going. Only, Hopper doesn’t move the car from its parked position. Steve follows his gaze, turning to look back out of his window. They both watch as Ada finally enters the hospital, sliding glass doors closing behind her.

A few clicks come from his left as Hopper shifts gears and then they’re pulling out of the parking spot. The air coming out of the vents turns warm shortly after they leave the hospital and Steve positions them to blow across his bare arms. He’s almost starting to feel too warm when Hopper cracks his window, tilting his head slightly into the cool air flow.

Finally comfortable, his eyes start to droop again. He lifts his feet onto the seat before leaning against the door. He wedges his arm between his head and the window, elbow resting on top of his knees. The sunglasses dig into the side of his face and he pulls them off, letting them land beside him on the seat, before closing his eyes.

The truck jerks to a stop and Steve’s head slips forward, off his arm cushion, and then he’s falling. Jerking his head up, he opens his eyes with a gasp, sleep leaving him all at once. His vision swims, a rocky picture slowly settling into place through the windshield, and he knows where they are. He’s home.

“Shit.” Hopper hisses, glancing over at him warily as he shifts the truck into park.

Steve sits a little straighter in the passenger seat, letting his feet slide back to the floor. Hopper’s dropping him off. He isn’t really sure what else he expected, but disappointment swirls in his chest anyway. The thought of leaving the truck makes something cut deep into his chest. Still, he doesn’t want to make it awkward, so he clears his throat around the feeling.

“Thanks. For, y’know, taking me.” He avoids Hopper’s gaze as he slowly reaches for the door handle.

A click comes from both sides of the truck right as Steve’s fingers touch the handle. He turns around to see Hopper, hand hovering over the lock button on his door.

His brows are pinched together, mouth slightly open, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Umm…” he points out the windshield, “home?” His own brows furrow at the surprise that crosses Hopper’s face.

He shakes his head, “Nuh, uh. Someone needs to look after you for the next few days, remember?” He gestures toward the folder full of papers, abandoned on the dash, before gesturing toward his house. “I’m not dropping you off, we’re just here so I can grab some of your things.”

Steve pauses, everything falling silent in his mind for a moment. “Wh-” Guilt starts to drip, heavy, into his stomach. It’s not fair that Hopper needs to look after him, just because his parents can’t be bothered to be here. It’s not fair that, after everything that’s happened this week, Hopper ends up with another problem on his plate. It’s not fair how badly Steve wants this to happen. To go back with Hopper, wherever he’s going, so he doesn’t have to be alone.

The guilt pools thicker, like oil in his stomach. It’s not fair that he has to be alone in the first place. That his parents keep extending their trip, taking on more projects, when they haven’t been home to see him in weeks. Fire sparks in his chest, igniting the guilt into a burning inferno. It’s not fair of Hopper to think that he can’t take care of himself, when he’s been doing just fine since he got his license and his parents didn’t need to come home anymore.

“I don’t need you to look after me. I’m not a little kid.” The fire burns a little brighter as he turns back to the door. He wedges his fingers into the pull, lifting it up to unlock the door. It pops up with a click and clicks right back down as Hopper locks the doors again.

He whips around to face Hopper’s bewildered expression, ignoring the way it sends the world spinning. “Let me out!” It comes out sharp, angry, and it satisfies the burning inside him. He can’t remember why he’s fighting so hard to leave when all he really wants to do is stay. A confusing mix of emotions swirls threateningly in his chest.

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself fine, Steve, under normal circumstances. These aren’t normal circumstances. You’ve got a severe concussion.”

“And it’ll be fine! I’ll just walk it off, like last time!”

Hopper’s face shifts into something stern, eyes tightening until he looks angry. “That’s such bullshit.”

Hopper keeps talking, but Steve can’t hear him through the blood rushing in his ears. Everything freezes, like a bucket of ice water’s been dumped over his head.

Flashes of a bathroom, littered with solo cups. A white shirt, stained red with punch. Nancy, wasted and slurring, “No, you. You’re bullshit.”

A year ago, laid up on the couch, ice pack slowly leaking into his hair. Dad standing over him, face twisted with disappointment and anger. “I’ve seen your grades, Steven. How do you expect to get into college if you’re not playing? Cut the pussy bullshit and walk it off.”

Steve is horrified to feel tears well up in his eyes. He tries to push them back down, looking away from Hopper and toward the window, but something big is building like a wave inside of him. He’s so tired and everything still feels so off and he swears that it’s not, that he’s not bullshit.

Something cracks in his chest and he can’t stop the tears from spilling over. He bites his lip, trying to stay quiet, except his chest stutters over his next inhale. It’s wet and broken and loud, because the packing in his nose forces him to breathe through his mouth, and Hopper stops talking.

A hand lands on his shoulder. “Hey,” it’s hushed and dripping with worry.

It makes a lump rise in his throat and he has to hold his breath to keep from sobbing. He curls forward to cover his face with his hands, even though Hopper definitely knows he’s crying now. His head starts to throb again from holding his breath and really what else is there to lose? He sinks further into his hands and lets the wave crash over him, sobbing out choked, hissed breaths.

“Hey!” It’s more alarmed, but no less gentle and Hopper’s hand tightens on his shoulder. There’s some shuffling and the seat creaks as Hopper slides across it. His arm shifts across Steve’s shoulders as he tugs him into his side.

It makes everything better, which makes everything worse. The next set of sobs take all of his breath and then keep going, digging deep into his lungs until he’s shaking, before he’s able to drag in another shuddering inhale. The hand holding, and the shoulder squeezes, and the pressing into Hopper’s side as he helps him walk just isn’t enough anymore.

His body moves before his brain can catch up, lifting his head from his hands and twisting to crush himself against Hopper in a hug. His hands come up to fist into his hoodie, holding on tight as he pushes his forehead into his chest. “‘S not!” He spits out before dissolving into another round of sobs.

Hopper shifts against him and, for a terrifying second, he thinks he’s going to pull away. Instead, his arms come up to wrap around him, squeezing tight. His next breath hitches hard in his chest and he can’t muffle the sobs anymore, can’t choke them back into hissed breaths. His whole body shakes with the force of real sobs, the ones that come from his stomach and travel up his throat like vomit. The kind of crying he hasn’t done in years.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Hopper’s hand shifts across his back to land against his head, holding him into the hug. “I gotcha, kid. You’re okay.” He squeezes a little tighter, “You’re gonna be okay.”

His head throbs and his face hurts where he’s got it pressed into Hopper’s hoodie, but he can’t stop crying. Can’t make himself pull away. It feels like he’s drowning under the force of this thing in his chest and Hopper is the only thing tethering him in place. “‘M not-!” he chokes out before he’s cut off by sobs.

“Yes, you are. You’re gonna be-”

“No!” He forces himself to take a big breath, to force out his words all at once before he’s cut off again, “‘M not bullshit!”

Hopper goes stiff under him, “No!” Relaxing again, hand running gently over his hair, “No, no. Of course you’re not bullshit. That’s not what I meant.” He sighs. “What happened to you isn’t bullshit.”

Steve tightens his hold, some of that urgency to make him understand melting under the confirmation.

“What is bullshit is that someone told you that you’re bullshit. That you think you should just walk off an injury when you don’t have to.” He takes a deep breath, chest expanding under Steve’s forehead, “And I know it wasn’t Todd, kid. That guy took a few hits to the head, himself, back in the day. He’s the last person that would’ve told you that.”

He chokes on his inhale, coughing through the next set of cries because Hopper knows. He knows it wasn’t coach.

“We’re not gonna talk about it right now. But we will talk about it.” That sternness from the hospital shines through, but his voice softens as he continues, “I know you’re used to doing things on your own. I know you’re more than capable of looking after yourself. But I need you to know that you don’t have to. Especially not right now.”

That wave starts to calm in his chest, making it a little easier to breathe.

“You’ve got people in your corner, kid. People who care about you, who know what you’ve been through. You don’t have to be alone with it.”

The words settle over him like a thick blanket and he’s crying for a completely different reason. Because he’s seen it tonight, hasn’t he? Nancy, trying so hard to spare his feelings. To hang onto a relationship he knew wasn’t working anymore. The kids, frantic and worried when they found him curled up in the bathroom. Not perfect, but trying. And Hopper. Taking control of the situation and helping in a way his parents haven’t these past two years.

It dries up the last of the swirling emotion rushing in his chest, shining with a warmth that’s almost uncomfortable. Almost too much. He turns his head to press the left side of his face against Hopper’s chest as the sobs slowly start to taper off.

Hopper doesn’t say anything else, just holds him close until the crying stops. Until his breaths have stopped catching in his chest and the world has stopped spinning around him like a top. He holds on until Steve slowly loosens his grip on his hoodie and backs out of the embrace. Distantly, Steve thinks he should be embarrassed. But he feels completely wrung out, exhausted in a way he didn’t know was possible, and he can’t muster up the energy to care.

Even though there’s some distance between them now, Hopper keeps his hands on his shoulders. Two heavy weights that keep him from floating away. “You gonna let us help?”

Steve nods his head a little.

“If I leave you out here to go get your things, you’re not gonna make a run for it?” His mouth twitches into a small smile.

He smiles back, “No.”

“Okay, then.” He drops his hands from Steve’s shoulders. “Do you keep a spare key or something, so I can get in?”

“Mmm…” Steve pats his pockets before reaching into his right and pulling out his keys. He holds them out toward Hopper, “Here.”

They jingle softly as Hopper takes them. “Alright. I’ll be quick.” He scootches across the seat to open the driver’s side door and climb out of the truck. He closes it softly behind him.

Steve watches him walk up the drive and stop in front of the door. He tries a few keys before getting the right one, pushing inside and disappearing from view. And then he’s alone in the truck. It’s kind of unsettling, but that warmth still lays heavy over him and it acts like a protective barrier against the creeping feeling.

He pulls his feet back onto the seat, situating himself against the window again as he resolves to go wherever Hopper wants to take him. His eyes grow heavy and he lets them close. They itch something fierce from the crying, but his body sinks fast into the tiredness until it doesn’t really matter anymore.

The truck shakes under him an indeterminate amount of time later. Hushed words and gentle nudges filter through his consciousness and he clings to sleep as he follows their direction to lift his head. Something slides over his chest, clicking into place beside him before another gentle nudge has him leaning back against the door. The soft rumble of the truck lulls him deeper into sleep.

A hand on his shoulder, shaking gently, raises him back to alertness. His arms prickle with goosebumps as he registers the wash of cool air coming from Hopper’s open doorway. He says something, but it filters through Steve’s brain without catching. Sleep still hovers at the edges of his mind and it’s making everything hazy.

He shifts his gaze to look out the windshield and is met with the Byers’ house. Hopper’s door clicks shut beside him and he wakes up a little more. He watches him cross in front of the truck and the pieces fall together enough for him to realize what Hopper must’ve said. Dropping his feet, he shifts to face his door just in time for it to swing open.

“C’mon, kid. I’ve got everything set up inside.”

Steve wonders what he means by that as he slides out of the truck. It’s almost familiar, now, wrapping his arm around Hopper’s shoulders as he tugs him against his side. The haziness still lingers and he’s glad for the extra support, even though the world isn’t tilting as much this time.

The door clicks shut behind them as Hopper starts leading him up the driveway, toward the porch. It’s dark when they go inside. Light filters across the hallway from the kitchen, but the living room is washed in the muted grays and blues of darkness. The kids are scattered across the floor, one big blanket pile with Will right in the center.

Steve smiles as Hopper shuffles him through the path they’ve left open to reach the couch. He’s surprised to see his pillow resting against one of the arms and his duffle bag on the floor, shoved into the open space between the couch and the side table.

“Take a seat, kid.”

Steve doesn’t waste any time before sinking into the cushions. He toes his shoes off, not bothering to untie them, before tilting sideways to smush his face into his pillow. Bringing his legs up, he shuffles around to find a more comfortable position against the cushions before closing his eyes. He’s already half asleep again when he feels a heavy weight fall over him. Blinking his eyes open reluctantly, he sees Hopper tucking one of Mrs. Byers’ crocheted blankets around his feet.

Hopper’s eyes catch on his and he reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you for some more meds in a few hours.” He gives another squeeze before dropping his hand and walking toward the hallway.

A hushed conversation filters in from the kitchen and one of the kids stirs by the couch. Dustin’s curly head pops up out of the blankets and he blinks blearily at him. “Steve?” his voice is thick with sleep, “Are you okay?”

Soft sounds still come from the kitchen and the kids’ breathing echoes softly around his ears, a constant reminder that he isn’t alone. Warmth spreads through his chest again, soft and comforting. He fights against his closing eyes as he answers, “Yeah, ‘m okay.” His eyes stay open long enough for him to see Dustin nod before he can’t hold them open anymore. “Go back to sleep,” it’s half muffled into his pillow, but there’s a rustling as Dustin settles back down. His body gets heavier as he falls asleep, surrounded by the sound of people who care about him.

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