Chapter Text
-1985, Hawkins-
"Harrington. Stop.", Jonathan sighed, itching across the mattress in an attempt to pry himself from his boyfriends arms. Steve only began to squeeze him tighter, pressing kisses to his cheek and following them with dramatic "mwah!"s, ignoring Jonathan's complaints. "Steve!" The older cracked a sleepy eye open, smirk evident on his face.
Grunting with the effort, Jonathan shoved him off. "I have to go to work. Hopper can't find you in here, understand?" Steve only blinked, staring at his boyfriend in a way that clearly said "nope. I understood none of that.". Very helpful. Deep down, Jonathan knows that Hopper would be supportive of his relationship, just.. protective. Jonathan is 17. 17 years old! The old man was always unhappy about El being with Mike- and now that he has two new sons, he didn't hesitate to tell them that he was going to be the exact same way with their girlfriends.
Or, boyfriends. Jonathan wants none of it. So, dragging Steve out of his bed every morning is routine- smacking the snoring lump in his bed with pillows until he gets up so that Jonathan can make his way to work. Steve always requires a hug and a kiss before he climbs out of Jonathan's window each morning, something they've dubbed "Steve tax".
This morning is no different. Once they're both dressed, Steve yawns and holds his arms out with a tired grin. "Mmm.. Steve tax." Shaking his head, Jonathan complied- pressing his lips to Steve in a soft kiss, letting the older wrap his arms around Jonathan and just hold him. In Steve's arms, he feels safe and grounded, like he's resting on a cloud, floating away to an unknown destination.
Steve still lets him go in the end, climbing out of the window with all the sneakiness of the hulk. Jonathan watched, a smile playing at his lips, before grabbing the remains of his things and opening his bedroom door with a resounding click.
The gentle hum of his car feels empty, lacking whatever's in Jonathan's sleepy breathing that makes it feel so safe. Steve always hated cars. They always felt unsafe to him, having grown up hanging around with utter lunatics such as Tommy that would speed through the roads like a madman, thankfully never getting anyone killed in the process. He'd crashed his car back during the Battle of Starcourt too, earning a concussion that had him asleep more often than he was awake.
Cars are dangerous.
He walked into Family Video with eyebags too deep and hair messily styled- not thinking it to be too obvious, until Robin emerged from the back and gave him a look of clear disgust, dumping a pile of.. something into his hands. "Wow, Harrington. You look rough.. hangover?", she mused, already retreating to grab another pile.
Steve shook his head, sorting through his pile and pricing them with tired movements. "No.. no, Rob. I stayed at Jonathan's.", he mumbled. He received a low whistle in return, and resisted the urge to launch the cash register at her. Robin was one of the only people who knew about their relationship through a confession in Starcourt's bathroom, when the two of them had nothing in their systems beside Russian drugs. Robin had come out to him, thinking that he had a crush on her, only for him to giggle like a drunkard and confess that he'd been having sex with Jonathan Byers after Nancy had dumped him back in 84- neither of them ever bothering to put a label on it.
It was Robin that urged him to ask Jonathan to be his boyfriend, Robin who'd supported him throughout it, even after laughing at him when she found out that Hawkins High's "King Steve" was in fact, gay- and in love with the school's loner. Now that he thinks about it, it really is ironic.
"We actually just cuddled, thank you Rob.", he breathed out, pacing around the store and starting to place things on certain shelves.
"Must've been some aggressive cuddling.", was the reply. Robin was lucky that the store was empty in the early hours of the morning, so that no poor soul would be the witness to this conversation. He'd had enough. With a sigh, he moved on.
The day passed slowly. Slower than he'd liked, when all he wanted to do was sneak in through Jonathan's window and cuddle the love of his life until he passed out. 5 O'clock rolled around, and Robin had to chase him as he practically bolted out of his door to the car.
He jumped into the seat like a man on the run, not paying attention to Robin- who clambered in after him with an agitated expression. "Dingus! Slow down. You can have 'cuddles' with Jonathan any time you like.", she grumbled, putting her seatbelt on just as Steve pulled out of his parking spot. She jolted in her seat, but shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand so that Steve couldn't see the smile beneath it.
The roads were calm and empty, until they weren't. Eventually, they'd reached a spot crowded full of people, some scared, some panicked, some angry. The commotion, mixed in with an odd gut feeling caused him to pull over, Robin's complaints falling on deaf ears as he walked and pushed through the crowd of worried people. Robin trailed after him, murmuring into his ear once she spotted a parked car- and a man, obviously drunk, being questioned by officer Callahan. Robin hissed. "I think he hit someone.", she muttered into his ear, the words settling in like ice in his veins.
He ignored people's shouts as he shoved them aside, willing to get to the front of the crowd, and when he did- he wished he hadn't.
The person who'd been hit, lay bloody and broken on the ground as they were tended to by paramedics. Blood pooled on the concrete, a bone was visible somewhere, but it was the person's face that increased the nausea by 10.
It was Jonathan.
Numbness spread throughout his body like a disease, his eyes were so fixed on the body that the hands pulling him away from the scene, he couldn't feel. Couldn't feel anything. Could only see. See the image of Jonathan, sprawled across the pavement like a ragdoll. He looked dead. So dead.
He didn't realise he'd been crying until Robin's arms were around him, the touch comforting and painful all at once. Simultaneously, he wanted to hug back and run away. He did neither. His world spun, and everything went black.
"Steve." There was a voice talking to him, calling him from somewhere. His eyes flitted open, to find a very worried, tired looking Joyce Byers hovering above him. He blinked, letting his sore eyes adjust to the light. His throat felt like sandpaper when he spoke. "Was it a dream?" The tears on her cheeks and the regret laced in her expression told him a very clear no, but he prayed anyway.
She shook her head. "No, Steve. It wasn't a dream." He bolted up from the couch he'd been laid on, eyes scanning the room to find Will Byers, Jane, and Jim Hopper all looking at him with similar looks to Joyce's. They all looked scared.
"Is.. is he okay?", he said, voice aching. Will's big eyes met his. "They don't know if he'll make it."
They don't know if he'll make it.
Jonathan could die. Jonathan could already be dead. It almost felt like they'd ripped his heart out right from his chest and wrung it dry like a dirty washclosh, squeezing out the joy and letting it sink down the drain.
Hours passed, sitting on the Byers' couch as they all focused on the TV and not what was playing in their minds. They couldn't visit the hospital until the next day. For now, they let Steve stay there. He felt out of place, an intruder.
Joyce hugging him felt so foreign. In all the years he'd known her, she'd barely even spoken to him, yet there had been something knowing in her eyes whenever they were on him and Jonathan. Maybe she knew.
Another voice sounded out from behind them. "Didn't know you were close with Jonathan.", Hopper commented, his usual gruff, sarcastic tone laced with something unfamiliar. This is what he'd feared. He separated from Joyce with a frown, forcing out a quiet "Not really." It hurt to tell that lie, even to his boyfriend's family. "You're not close, but you spend almost every night in his bedroom.", Will mumbled, eyes glued to the ratty carpet by the coffee table.
Jim Hopper's eyes widened comically as he took in the information. Steve pretended not to notice the way they were shiny, and rimmed red. "Is this true, Harrington?"
He swallowed, looked away. "Yeah."
"Why?", Joyce asked. He sniffed, trying to ignore the way his chest was tightening. He didn't want to talk about him. Not now. "We had sleepovers."
Joyce cleared her throat. "Jonathan never-"
"We were together! Okay?!" It came out scratchy, raw and painful, with the way that his throat was beginning to close up and his lungs stuttering like they were being filled with water. "I'm a fag, is that what you want to hear?" Every person in the room fell quiet, Will's eyes brimming with some sort of recognition. Then Joyce has hugging him again, rubbing his back as the dam finally broke and he sobbed into her shoulder. He poured everything out, his grief, sorrow, and regret. "Shh, it's okay.", she breathed out, almost sounding relieved in a way that felt odd to him.
He'd expected a punch, being kicked out and forbidden to see Jonathan ever again. Not this. Not Hopper making his way over to pat his back, Will and Jane sitting side by side on the couch as they watched Steve cry with such guilt in their faces. He wanted Jonathan.
They let him sleep in Jonathan's room that night. He buried his face in his boyfriend's favourite blanket- worn, and the edges frayed from use, and curled up beneath the sheets. The room felt so empty without its owner inside, just full of things that reminded him of Jonathan. Things that reminded him of Jonathan's absence.
They don't know if he'll make it.
The last thought he had as he drifted off to sleep, tucked into Jonathan's bed with no body to curl around.
He woke the next morning to the smell of pancakes, rich and syrupy as it wafted into the bedroom under the door. Limbs felt like lead as he stretched them out and forced himself up onto his aching feet, though each step towards the kitchen made it worth it. At the table, sat the Byers family- eating in silence, like it was too fragile to break. There was an empty chair between Will and Jane, presumably Jonathan's, that felt painful to sit in even when Joyce eased him into the seat and set a plate down in front of him. "Eat.", was all she said.
He did. The pancakes were soft and creamy, melting on his tongue. If this were any other situation, he'd scarf them down and compliment Joyce's cooking, but he didn't. Chewing mechanically, he finished them slower than anybody else at the table, looking up to find that the rest of the family was done and has been patiently waiting for him.
"We're going to visit Jonathan in half an hour, make sure you're ready.", Hopper said, turning to him. It was then that he realised that everybody else was dressed and ready to go- and that they were again, waiting for Steve.
Still, he nodded and excused himself from the table.
Borrowing Jonathan's clothes was such a familiar thing to Steve. If he'd forgotten to pack before spending the night, Jonathan would always throw whatever he found first at him, knowing that there was a chance he wouldn't get it back. It wasn't like Jonathan didn't steal his clothes. Now, it almost felt like he was stealing. It felt so wrong to pull a band tee from his boyfriend's dresser and slip it on, to pull on some of Jonathan's old joggers- fabric like knives against his skin.
The drive to the hospital was just as quiet, wedged in between Jane and Will like a Byers-Harrington sandwich. Steve's nausea only intensified as they got closer to the hospital, as they pulled into the parking lot and traversed through the sterile white halls of Hawkins General, devoid of emotion. The lady at the front desk, Doris- is somewhat kind to them, probably because she recognises Steve as one of Robin's friends (who she absolutely adores).
When they reached Jonathan's room, they froze. Joyce's hand moved forward, almost robotic- to twist the door handle. They enter the room, and time stops.
Laying still, bandaged and pale in the hospital bed- was Jonathan. He didn't look as bad as he did when Steve saw him on the road, but the sight is still almost too much to bear. He's hooked up to countless IVs, a large bandage covering the left side of his forehead as well as multiple small plasters dotted around his face to cover other cuts. His left leg is in a cast, and he has a nasal cannula. Joyce winced, rushing to his bedside to tentatively run a hand through her sons hair.
The rest of the family does similar things, standing by the bed, and all Steve could do was watch. The ability to move had escaped him somehow as he stared at the group of people surrounding Jonathan's hospital bed. He felt so out of place, like an intruder amongst people he barely knew. Joyce looked up at him, understanding dawning on her face. "Steve, honey? Come here, it's alright.", she called.
The thing preventing him from moving vanished, and he took a few steps towards the bed, allowing himself to reach down and take Jonathan's bony hand in his own. he couldn't help it, the moment Jonathan's hand was in his- he sobbed. Will wordlessly moved from his seat to hug him, and he only cried harder.
"We'll get through this together, he'll be okay.", was all that Will said. He didn't need to say more.
Steve could barely breathe. All he could force out of his throat was a choked, "I hope so."