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This is not how Jim wanted to end his day. Nothing happened at work all day. Cal and Miles even saved him the biggest donut. And he was going to have a movie night with El. He rented Aristocats and Star Wars and bought plenty of snacks.
But no, Flo had to call him in hours after his shift ended for noise complaints. Noise complaints.
“Just drive up to the Harrington house and see what’s going on,” Flo said, her voice tinny through the phone, “I’m sure the Harrington boy just threw a party or something.”
So there he was. Driving up to Loch Nora with El at home by herself on what was supposed to be their movie night. He told her to pause the movie, but he had no doubt that she restarted it the second he left.
He was feeling especially mean, so he parked a little ways up the road so no stupid teenagers would scram the second they saw the cop car. All of them were getting busted for ruining movie night, not just Harrington.
That kid was responsible and capable in dangerous situations with the other kids, the younger ones, but he was still a teenager. He still did stupid things.
Autumn was ending and it was getting darker earlier; the sun had been setting when Flo called him. Now it was nearly pitch black. And cold. He grabbed his flashlight and coat and started walking.
Grumbling about teenaged parties that surely had underaged drinking, he stomped ahead, flashlight exposing grass, woods, and road. He heard a rock scitter a few feet ahead and snapped the flashlight to the source of the noise.
The light caught on a kid with his hands up, squinting and blinking in the light.
“Jesus,” the kid muttered, shielding his eyes from the light with his hand.
None other than Steve Harrington.
Then Jim realized that there was no music coming from the Harrington house, no lights, no laughter or screaming. He could see it through the trees; the house was completely silent and dark, save for a single light coming through a downstairs window.
Steve was still standing there, one hand up and the other hiding his face. He wasn’t wearing a coat, only a thin long-sleeved shirt. He was standing stiffly, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. There was something red and purple trailing from the kid’s cheekbone to his jaw, and if Jim squinted he could see it disappear under the collar of his shirt.
What the hell?
Noise complaints. Yeah, as if. Silent house, dark except for one window, kid walking away from the house in complete darkness. Noise complaints. A fresh bruise on the kid’s face.
His blood ran cold.
He lowered the flashlight a bit, so it wasn’t blinding Steve.
“You okay?” Jim said.
“Hopper?” Steve sounded confused. He lowered his hand to his side, the other still in front of his face.
“Yeah. What are you doing out here? It’s late and cold,” Jim said. He moved the flashlight away from Steve and off into the distance, creating more of an ambient light than a spotlight. He stepped closer to Steve and forced his body to appear casual.
“I got hungry?” Steve grinned, and it was clear that even he didn’t believe what he was saying.
Jim looked from Steve and back to the house. A beat of silence passed as he tried to figure out what the hell was happening. “Your parents home?”
He didn’t answer.
Jim didn’t know what was going on, but he had assumptions and he had thoughts, and despite ruining movie night, Steve was a good kid.
He sighed. “Get in the car.”
“What?” Steve’s face fell. His hand dropped, and Jim could see the full extent of the bruise. Jesus.
“Get in the car, kid.”
Steve swayed on his feet and Jim rushed to catch him. Steve blinked at him, like he had no idea what was going on. Okay. So the kid was completely out of it. He shoved Steve as gently as he could into the passenger seat. Once he was in the driver’s seat and they were both buckled, he blasted the heat.
He drove away from the house and started driving around aimlessly while making it look like he had a destination in mind. Once it was warm enough, he turned the fan down so he could actually hear and said, “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“I got a killer headache,” Steve muttered, cradling his head in his hands.
“I’m not surprised. That’s a hell of a bruise,” Jim tested. He needed to see how far he could press.
Steve was silent.
“So where did you get it? It’s pretty impressive. You get in a fight?”
“Yeah,” Steve said. He was quieter than before. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Jim glanced at him again. He was curled into a ball the best he could, with his knees drawn close and his head hidden. Shit. Jim circled back around and pulled into the gas station. He left the car running so the kid wouldn’t freeze. “Stay there. I’m gonna get you some water.”
Once he returned with the water, he saw the passenger door was open. Shit, shit, shit. He sprinted to the car and found Steve at the edge of the parking lot, emptying the contents of his stomach into the grass.
He dropped to his knees and rubbed Steve’s back as he finished.
Steve sat back on his knees, then cross-legged, turned away from the sick. He didn’t look at Jim. “Sorry. The lights were too bright.”
“It’s a little late for a hangover,” Jim tried. Accusing people of something else always got them talking. He handed the water bottle to Steve. Jesus, the bruise looked much worse in this light.
“S’ not a hangover,” Steve mumbled. He swished a gulp of water and spit it out, then sipped it slowly.
“I’m gonna ask you again,” Jim said softly. He laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder and stressed every word. “What is going on?”
Steve blinked blearly at the hand, then at Jim. He opened his mouth to say something and decided against it. Then he finally spoke. “A few weeks ago, when you guys closed the gate ‘nd Will was being cooked.”
“Yeah? What happened?” Jim prompted. He’d thought Steve was out of it, but he was out of it. He didn’t like the signs.
“Uh, mm…” Steve held his hands to his face and kept them there. Maybe Jim should’ve gotten him some tylenol or something. “Billy came over to the house for Max. He started threatening Lucas… so I punched him and then we started fighting.”
Jim grit his teeth but waited for Steve to continue.
“Got my ass handed to me, if you remember my face from when you guys came back,” Steve said, his voice muffled by his hands.
“I do remember that. How hard did he hit you?” Jim’s brow furrowed. He really didn’t like the signs.
“Pretty hard… and he hit me a lot… then I passed out,” Steve said.
Jim studied what he could see of Steve’s face through his hands. The bruises and cuts from Billy had faded. The new bruise wasn’t as bad, but the implications of it were worse. “What happened after you woke up?”
“Was in the car. Everything was kind of wooshy ‘nd floaty for a second. Uh… Max was driving.”
Jim decided to ignore the last part. “Have you had trouble sleeping since then? Memory problems? Or has it taken you longer to think about things?”
Steve lowered his hands and looked at him, eyes half-lidded like he was going to pass out. Jim took that as an answer.
“It sounds like you got a concussion that night,” He glanced at the sick in the grass. “You’ve been hiding it pretty well.”
Steve shrugged. “Yeah, well.”
“So how’d you get that bruise?” It was already turning fully purple, the worst of it the darkest shade.
He shrugged again. When it was clear that Jim was still waiting for an answer, he took a drink of water.
Jim sighed. It was cold out and he obviously wasn’t going to get an answer anytime soon. He got up and helped the kid up. They got in the car and left the gas station.
“Where are we going?” Steve asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Jim answered honestly. “You’ve got a concussion from weeks ago. If it goes untreated for any longer, it could mean serious damage to your brain. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Steve was silent.
Jim turned on the radio and flipped channels until he found Christmas music. They play it earlier every year. He turned the volume down until it was soft background noises. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he glanced at Steve, then back at the road.
“Was it always this bad or did whatever cause that bruise make it worse?”
Steve slinked further into the seat. “It definitely didn’t help.” He shot up suddenly, then groaned and rubbed his forehead. “No hospital. ‘M not going to the hospital. Don’t… take me there.”
What?
“Kid,” Jim started. What the fuck. “You’ve gotta go. Did you hear me when I said brain damage?”
“I don’t care,” Steve’s voice was broken. Jim looked at him, he wasn’t crying or anything. What the fuck was going on?
Jim had assumptions and he had thoughts, and he didn’t like any of them. Still, a teenager walking away from his parents house late at night without a coat, with a bruise and an untreated concussion? That didn’t look good, Jim would know that even if he was the stupidest man in the world.
“Did your parents do that to you?”
“No,” Steve said with sudden hardness and a mental clarity that had been missing all night. “I tripped.”
There was no way he expected Jim to believe that. Either way, he wasn’t going back to his parents house, and he was refusing to go to the hospital. There was only one place they could go.
They spent the rest of the drive in silence. Jim parked and helped him out of the car. Steve stumbled a little as they walked up to the door, but he made sure Steve didn’t fall. He knocked the code on the door and waited.
El opened the door, wrapped up in a blanket and holding a bag of chips that were for the movie night.
“Steve,” She said, her eyes wide. She closed the door after they came in and rushed over. “Why are you here?”
The walk to the door must have finally done it for him, because he looked at El, then passed out. Jim grabbed him before he could hit the ground and carried him to the couch.
El looked at Jim, waiting for an explanation.
Yeah, me too.
“He’s sick,” Jim said. He’d tell her more in the morning, but it was late and she needed to go to bed or else she'd be crabby tomorrow. “He’ll be okay, don’t worry. Go get ready for bed. And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
She rolled her eyes at his pointed look, but headed for the bathroom.
Jim looked at Steve. He took off the kid’s shoes and set the trash can next to the couch in case he got nauseous again. He looked at Steve again, focusing on his face. How far did the bruise go down his shirt? He lifted Steve’s shirt up and sucked in a breath when he saw it. The bruise on his face traveled down his neck and then ended. But his ribs and left side were purple and black and blue. Fuck.
He lowered Steve’s shirt and covered him in a blanket. They were going to talk about this tomorrow and he was going to go to a hospital, whether he liked it or not.
He could connect the dots and he could see the clear answer in front of him. He’d suspected it all night. But suspicions and truth were different. Everything could wait until tomorrow. But for now, he was going to say goodnight to El, read her a story if she wanted, and then he was going to sit here and make sure Harrington didn’t choke on his own vomit in his sleep or try to run away.
And he was going to wonder how loud it had been for the neighbors to call for noise complaints.