Chapter Text
Steve was not having a good time.
Not only because of his recent encounter with Russian torture was undoubtedly going to become a reoccurring nightmare.
No, Steve was not having a good time because he stupidly tripped on the rug while grabbing another beer and landed face first on the hardwood flooring.
If his face wasn't bloody enough already, well-
Groaning, he drags himself over to the phone, squinting through his one good eye at the swirling numbers. The doctors had warned him to be careful, to not drink alcohol, to have someone around to monitor him. Everyone else in the party had a loved one to get back to. Someone to care about them when the nightmares got bad. Steve knew there was no one for him. To be fair, he knew he was being stupid with the booze but honestly, it was the small comfort he was granting himself after the last few days he’d endured. Well, look where that had gotten him.
The phone line rings.
And rings.
And rings.
And, just as he's giving up hope, Hopper’s gruff grunt finally greets him.
In Steve’s experience, Hopper was a man of few words. Usually, Steve shared this sentiment after another upside-down incident, but this time, he’d screwed up.
"Heeeey Hop, it's Steve. I need- fuck I don't know what I need. You told me to tell you if I injured myself again and I thiiiiink I just broke my face more?"
He sniffles around the wet.
Wet?
"Hey, Ah, Hop, I don't even really know why I called, but my face is wet. I really hope my eye isn't leaking out of my head. Can an eye leak out?"
He knew he shouldn’t have gone for that second beer, not only was he concussed for the third time in three years, but now his already affected balance was shot. The taste of copper reaches his tongue and, suddenly, it's everywhere. It overwhelms all his senses and without warning, he's back in the interrogation room, taking hit after hit.
"Oh fuck. I think that’s blood. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fu-"
The thick metallic fills his mouth as he breathes in sharply.
Bad idea.
Droplets spatter the wall as Steve chokes and coughs. He knows he’ll have to clean it before they stain the wallpaper. His parents would be furious when they finally decide they have a son again.
Getting all the blood to the front of his mouth, Steve leans forward and forcefully spits the glob onto the floor.
The lack of oxygen had brought him back to the bunker. Back to when he’d been beaten mercilessly for information he didn’t have. To the suffocating knowledge he could die, he could die, tied back-to-back with Robin, knowing no one except a few kids knew where they were.
But his arms aren't tied.
He's not there.
Robin is not there.
They had gotten out.
"Hey Hopper? I don't think I'm okay. The Ambulance people were saying something about a broken eye socket? Could I- Robin would know, Robin knows everythi-. I just don't think I can drive to her place right now. Yanno, with the concussion and everything."
He gently places his forehead on the wall beside the receiver, though it did little to actually help the throbbing.
"My parents are out and I- I can't even go upstairs"
Steve couldn’t muster the effort to try going upstairs. He also knew that with his concussion as bad or maybe even worse than last year, going up and down would make him feel dizzy and at risk of falling. See? He wasn’t completely brainless Dustin!
He rubs his hand over his face.
Ow
"I just, I just don't know what to do."
Robin had tried to stay but Steve knew her family had been worried. Wary of him. His reputation never left him after school despite his efforts to change. He got it.
For the first time in their whole conversation Hopper clears his voice to speak.
"Son, I ah, I don't know what's happened to you but- I think you got the wrong number"
Steve froze.
That was NOT Hopper.
"Who the fuck? Why are you on Hopper’s phone? What-. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fu-"
The memory of Mrs Byers slowly shaking her head, already in tears as El fell into her arms came rushing back.
How could he forget? How could- This isn't real. It can't be.
But it is, it is real. How could he forget? His memory isn’t that shit is it?
"No. No no no no no nononononononono-"
His breath shutters. Static began to fill his ears, completely overwhelming him.
Hopper is dead.
Hopper is dead and Steve just let it happen. It should have been him. Hopper is- was so good. It can’t be real, but it is. His breath catches. And catches.
The voice on the other side tries to keep talking but it's all muffled, as if Steve is underwater.
Something is wrong. Everything is spinning and Steve can't breathe.
He's going to die.
He survived the upside-down shenanigans and now he’s going to die from the complications? He was an idiot. The doctors warned him! Someone should have stayed to make sure he didn’t die. But, would anyone actually care? He’d lived most of his life taking care of himself, good only to others for taking hits. This shouldn’t have been any different.
Dark pinpricks start encroaching on Steve's vision.
The voice is still talking.
He's going to die.
He can’t breathe.
He's going to die.
He can’t breathe.
He's going to die.
He's going to die like Hopper.
No one will care. No one-
The phone slips out of Steve's hand as he desperately claws at his hair. His knees buckle and the world goes dark.
~~~
The last thing Wayne Munson expected on his one night off was a drunk caller.
Correction.
The last thing he expected on his one night off was a very drunk Harrington boy calling him the chief of police.
Wayne was no stranger to late night calls from his nephew to tell him of his whereabouts when he had smoked too much or gotten too drunk with his friends so Wayne wouldn’t worry. Hell, he wasn’t even a stranger to the odd prank caller hoping to antagonise his boy, but this call seemed utterly bizarre.
The vaguely familiar slurred voice on the other end of the line suddenly had his full attention.
“...You told me to tell you if I injured myself again and I thiiiiink I just broke my face more?".
Something was definitely wrong with the Harrington boy.
Wayne knew the basics of this boys life. Eddie had certainly raved enough about King Steve’s downfall for Wayne to know that this kid had no one around.
Wasn’t he working at that ice cream spot Eddie liked so much?
While Eddie shared his morals on the mall being the cause of downtown businesses having to close their doors, he, like so many others, couldn't resist the flashy newness it brought to the small town of Hawkins.
The tinny sound of Steve’s voice hadn’t stopped this whole time. His slurred voice getting more distraught as time passed.
"Hey Hopper? I don't think I'm okay. The Ambulance people were saying something about a broken eye socket? Could I-” The kid's voice broke through his thoughts.
Holy fuck. What did this kid just say?
How the fuck did this kid get a broken eye socket?
How the fuck had this kid managed to get in even more trouble?
Was the Hargrove kid involved again?
Eddie had said Harrington junior looked miserable after their last fight, From Eddie’s descriptions, the Harrington boy had had a nasty knock to the head.
Wayne felt slightly bad for the boy when Eddie gleefully told him about Harrington no longer sitting in the cafeteria, his apparent posse turning against him for good and the rumours that his then girlfriend had cheated on him with a fellow outcast as Eddie liked to call them.
While Wayne may have felt bad, a shorter Harrington reign may not have been a bad thing for Hawkins High. If Harrington junior was anything like Harrington senior, then maybe this was the youngsters' proverbial punch in the right direction.
But this?
This boy sounded nothing like what Wayne had been told.
This boy sounded traumatised and scared and, fuck, he’d called the wrong person.
Chief Hopper is a good man. Hell, he’s let Eddie off with just a warning more times than he can count even though he’s a legal adult now. If he had taken the Harrington boy under his wing, then surely the chiefs’ forgiving nature would steer this boy in the right direction.
But fuck. Wayne knew whatever this boy was spouting wasn’t for him.
Whatever had frightened this boy so badly, he clearly wasn’t the person this kid needed to be hearing this.
Finally, he cleared his voice.
"Son, I ah, I don't know what's happened to you but- I think you got the wrong number"
The voice on the line suddenly cut off.
Breathing took over for a couple of seconds then Harrington quietly said, "Who the fuck? Why are you on Hopper's phone? What-. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fu-"
The boy's breathing immediately became agitated, picking up in speed.
Wayne gripped the phone harder.
Fuck, did he mess up? He couldn’t just let this kid ramble to the wrong person indefinitely but he got the distinct feeling he’d messed up somehow in revealing he wasn’t the right person on the line.
A sharp inhale came from the phone.
"No. No no no no no nononononononono-" the voice moaned in agony.
Shit.
If he hadn’t already, this kid was now rocketing into a full-blown panic attack.
Wayne needed to speak. He needed to calm this boy down.
“Harrington, Harrington! You need to calm your breathing. Can you do that?”
Harrington couldn’t hear him. He was already too far gone.
Fuck, Wayne felt hopeless. He needed the boy to concentrate on his voice, but he couldn’t even remember the kid's first name.
“Kid, please, you need to slow your breathing now,” Wayne tried again.
The kid's breathing was erratic. Wayne wished he was there to help. Fuck, he needed to call Hopper, but he couldn’t hang up on the kid.
Just as Wayne was about to try coaxing the kid again a horrid series of thumps were made clear through the receiver.
“Harrington, Harrington! Can you hear me?”
Wayne could no longer hear the kid breathing into the phone.
Had he dropped it?
Did the kid fall?
Harrington was clearly not okay. Even worse than before.
Wayne needed to call Hopper, he needed to call someone who could go check on this boy.
Wayne hurriedly hung up, the urgency now calling for him to get off this line.
Hopper’s phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Eventually turning over to the chief’s voice mail.
Was he not in?
He dialled the police station next and was left with the same non-response.
Fuck, where was everyone?
The jingling of keys caught Wayne off guard.
What time was it?
His nephew casually swung the door open.
“Hey Wayne, band practice was awesome! I got this new riff that I was playing around with perfect while we were practicing and now that song is being added to our next set at the Hideout. Our next gig is going to be epic!” His nephew gently places his amp and guitar down in the entryway and then unceremoniously tosses his battle vest over the couch.
“If I knew any better, I’d invite you to come but we both know that’s not going to happen, is it old man,” Eddie finally turned to face him properly, dimples giving way to a mischievous grin.
Wayne would normally entertain his nephew with a few quips back and forth but with Harrington's ragged breathing freshly burned into his mind and his inability to get even a semblance of help from more qualified personnel, Wayne can do nothing more than stare at the arrival of his nephew.
Eddie’s grin slowly morphs into a look of confusion as the silence lingers.
“What’s wrong Wayne?” Eddie slowly approaches his uncle and takes the phone out of his hand.
Wayne jolts.
His nephew.
His nephew who went to school with the Harrington boy. His nephew who has attended multiple house parties to deal. His nephew who has probably at some point dealt at Harrington house parties.
His nephew who is now undoubtedly looking at him with concern.
“Do you know where the Harrington boy lives?” He blurts at Eddie.
Eddie’s frown deepens. “I mean, I’ve been there a few times for business you know, though that doesn't happen as much with him being the fallen king and all. I’m a bit sad at that you know, Harrington parties were one of my best sellers, and with so many of the popular kids around it wasn’t hard to pick up gossip from them. It was always fun when they’d reveal something I could use to improve business. You know one time Hagan-”
“Eddie,” Wayne said, cutting him off. “What’s his address?”
Eddie frowns, “I mean- I don’t actually know his address, I just know where it is. Wayne, what is this about?”
Wayne ignores his question, instead, grabs and quickly pulls on his boots from beside the door.
“Could you direct me there? It’s urgent Eddie, we need to go. Right now. I’ll tell you what I know on the way. I’ll drive.”
~~~
Wayne’s urgency is something fairly unfamiliar to Eddie.
Sure, his uncle had had his moments when Eddie had come home from a scrap with the jocks or when he was caught by Chief Hopper.
He’s still mad at the time his car had decided to stop working after a Loch Nora party and someone had called the cops on him. On the other hand, at least all Eddie had on him that night was three joints from his own personal stash.
His uncles rush right now though?
Highly unusual. Wayne was usually the epitome of a laid back attitude, his gruff voice and blunt personality making him easy for Eddie to read.
Jesus H Christ, what was going on? And why did they need to head to Harrington’s house?
They drove quickly, Eddie barking out directions as Wayne drove way above the speed limit.
They flew through the suburbs of Hawkins with a frightening haphazard nature that Eddie had never seen within his uncle.
Eddie had some people to apologise to. While he knew he drove like a madman most of the time, his uncle’s abnormally erratic driving had him bracing for impact.
In a truly impressive feat, they finally came to a screeching halt in front of Steve Harrington’s house without any new dents or scratches to the van.
Eddie was no stranger to this house. However, the typical thrumming music and drunken teenagers were nowhere to be seen.
This house looked eerie.
Eddie couldn’t suppress a shiver that ran down his spine at the emptiness it portrayed.
“Come on” said Wayne, hauling himself out of the van.
Eddie quickly caught up just as Wayne began to bang on the door.
“Harrington, open the door. Are you alright?” Wayne shouted.
Unsurprisingly there wasn’t an answer. From what Wayne had briefly told him, Harrington had been unresponsive.
As Wayne continued pounding on the door, Eddie made his way to the kitchen window, which was seemingly the only light on in the mansion.
The kitchen appeared spotless.
There were no mugs in the sink or even plates drying. There weren’t even any water stains. The kitchen's pristine nature gave the impression that no one lived here.
If this is how the rich lived, Eddie didn’t want it.
Eddie rolled his eyes and began to turn away when something caught his eye.
At the entrance of the kitchen, just in view, was somebody's sock covered foot.
Jesus H. Christ.
“Waaaayne. You might want to see this” Eddie exclaimed, beckoning him over wildly.
Wayne peered in, finally relenting on the poor door.
“Fuck” Wayne sighed. “Alright, is there any way to get in?”
Scouring the Harrington home for some way to breach it absolutely felt like a violation to Eddie. Logically he knew they needed to get in to help but he couldn’t help feeling like an intruder, there for nefarious deeds.
As uncle and nephew met back up the last door to try was the sliding back door, it slid open without resistance.
They met eyes briefly before Wayne darted into the house, Eddie at his heels.
The living room looked lived in compared to the other rooms they passed through. A couple beer bottles lay empty on the coffee table and there were blankets that had clearly been used recently.
What stood out though, was the small heap of bloody bandages and tissues.
Jesus H. Christ.
Eddie robotically turned to his uncle who had gone pale at the sight of blood drops that led to the other side of the room.
There in a heap, laid a very bloody and very bruised Steve Harrington.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Eddie screamed, spurring his uncle into action.
Wayne dashed to Harrington’s side.
“Boy. Boy! Can you hear me?” said while checking his pulse.
Harrington twitched, but besides that he gave little indication he’d actually heard Wayne.
Eddie slowly made his way over to where Wayne was attempting to sit Harrington upright. Harrington’s work uniform which Eddie has enjoyed mocking with the boys and secretly envisioning in his fantasies was a mess. Torn and bloody Eddie was half surprised it hadn’t magically fallen off him.
“I’ll go grab something to wipe his face.” Eddie says, scrambling to the still illuminated kitchen.
He grabs a tea towel at random, gaudy embroidered flowers on the ends sit starkly against the otherwise pristine white. Running it under the sink, he darts back to where his uncle has finally propped Harrington up.
“I’m just going to see if the Harringtons have a medical kit,” said Wayne, leaving the unconscious boy for Eddie to deal with.
If Eddie thought last year’s beating Hargrove delivered was brutal, it had nothing on this one.
Harrington’s normally pretty face was marred with a multitude of cuts and bruises with the worst being his left eye and what appeared to be a broken nose, if the newly forming bruises meant anything.
Eddie began dabbing his face, trying to get the worst of the congealing blood off. He knew that if Steve was awake this would hurt like a mother fucker.
Once his face was sufficiently clean Eddie moved onto his hands.
He methodically cleaned, not letting his brain linger on how the calluses on Steve’s hands made them slightly rough.
As he was about to finish, strong fingers gripped his hand causing Eddie to yelp in surprise.
“That’s my mum’s favourite tea towel.” Steve slurred.
He clearly wasn’t fully aware of his situation.
“What?” Eddie said in astonishment, too shocked to utter more.
“I’ll have to wash it now.” Steve whined, sounding like a petulant child. “Why’d you have to do that man.”
“Steve, do you know where you are? What’s happened to you?” Eddie asked, lightly patting Steve’s bruised knuckles in a reassuring manner.
“Russians.” Steve said matter of factly. His eyes met Eddies and held his gaze. Almost daring Eddie to disagree with him.
Yep, thought Eddie, Steve very clearly wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings.
Luckily the eye contact was broken by Steve as Wayne appeared through the doorway carrying a massive med kit.
“Found this in an upstairs cupboard, seems well stocked” Wayne mused.
Harrington snorted. “I sure hope it does, I restocked it just last week.”
Wayne’s face twitched in a way that Eddie knew that he wanted to ask what Steve meant. Eddie was almost inclined to agree but they clearly had bigger problems, such as Harrington’s possibly serious head injuries.
“Okay Harrington. It’s clear you banged your head. Can you tell me your full name?”
Steve frowned at Eddie, slightly wincing when he agitated his bad eye, yet he complied.
“Stephen Richard Harrington.”
A snort came from Wayne’s direction causing Eddie and Steve to glance towards him.
Wayne’s head stayed down, still looking through the med kit, pulling out everything he thought necessary.
“He gave you his name? I’m sorry son but it doesn’t surprise me at all with how Dick is.”
Harrington sighed. “Yeah, it doesn’t surprise me either. He’s not exactly a likable man. Power and success don’t mix with being a good dad apparently.”
Wayne’s head snapped up. “Did he do this to you son? I know your daddy has all the higher ups of Hawkins on his side, but I swear to God if he actively prevented ambulance and police from being reachable tonight I-”
It was Steve’s turn to snort.
A smile that looked more like a grimace appeared on his face.
“Nah, they are probably all still at Starcourt. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re still trying to clean up that mess.” said Steve, practically spitting the word mess out as if it had personally offended him.
Stunned, Eddie looked to Wayne only to be greeted with an equally baffled look.
Starcourt?
“Wait, what are you talking about Harrington? What happened to Starcourt?” Wayne demanded.
“It burned down. Over a dozen people are dead and I couldn’t stop any of it.” Steve said in a detached voice.
Eddie stared, completely bewildered at what had just come out of Harringtons’ mouth. Starcourt was gone? He had just been there a few days ago to get new strings for his sweetheart and the idea that it was suddenly gone couldn’t be comprehended in Eddie’s brain.
“Couldn’t prevent it? What do you mean by that Harrington, you’re talking as if you were there.” Wayne’s voice cut through Eddie's thoughts.
Steve’s hands attempted to curl into fists, squeezing Eddie’s from where he had loosely been holding before. Eddie winced, his left hand taking the brunt of the pain as Steve restricted his blood flow.
“That’s because I was.” Steve says, hand squeezing incredibly tighter.
Unable to stand it anymore, the biting pain finally causes Eddie to yelp. As quickly as it had started, Steve’s hand releases Eddie. He mourns the lack of Harrington's warmth immediately even if the sudden release produces the necessary blood back into his fingers.
Steve shudders. “So many people are dead and I couldn’t save them even though I was right there. Not Heather, Not Billy not, not-” His breath shudders. “Not even Hop. I was right there and did nothing.”
Uncaring of his injuries Steve rakes his hands up his face, slowly making his way to his hair, fisting clumps in a desperate motion of control. His legs curl up, slowly bringing him into a foetal position.
Hopper... was dead?
He couldn’t describe the look on Wayne’s face. A mixture of shock and disbelief that Eddie no doubt shared. The chief hadn’t exactly been Eddie’s biggest fan, but he was kind. He understood why Eddie was dealing and instead of shutting him down like he should have, he let Eddie off with countless warnings. Countless warnings that Eddie didn’t know to appreciate at the time, that he’d never hear again. No. The chief couldn’t be dead. He- he just couldn’t.
A wheezing cough brought Eddie back out of his head and back to Harrington who had somehow managed to make himself look smaller despite being a fairly muscular guy. His breathing began to rapidly increase, coming out in short uneven puffs, a high-pitched whine escaping his mouth as he continued to grip and pull his hair.
Desperate for Harrington to stop hurting himself, Eddie attempted to pry Harrington's fingers out of his hair to no avail. Only eliciting another drawn out whine from Harrington when touched.
Eddie should have known better than to touch Harrington without warning.
This may have been his first time seeing a panic attack, but he’d gone through a dozen before and knew how terrifying they could be. He desperately looked over at Wayne, but he’d remained stupefied at the news. Eddie did the only thing he could think of.
“Harrington, I need you to breathe with me.” Steve made no attempt to move, breathing getting more laboured as time progressed. “Harrington, you’re having a panic attack. You’re okay, you’re safe. Can you loosen your grip on your hair?” Despite beginning to panic himself, Eddie knew he needed to keep a level voice and talk to Harrington in a soothing manner.
After a few seconds Steve’s eyes darted to him, slowly releasing his grip slightly. “That’s good. You’re doing so good. Can I have your hand Steve?” Eddie held eye contact with the clearly terrified boy, willing his face to convey a pleasant and non-threatening expression. Steve slowly extended his hand towards Eddie’s, placing his trembling fingers onto Eddie’s outstretched palm. “You’re doing so good Steve. I’m going to place your hand on my chest and we’re going to breathe together.”
Telegraphing his moves he slowly splays Steve’s hand over his own heart. “Alright Stevie, breathe in for four and hold it. Good. And again.”
They continued this cycle until Steve’s breathing became more stable.