Chapter Text
“See ya later!”
Steve shot a wave back to Tommy as he wheeled his bike over the curb. It was a few weeks into sophomore year and things were actually going well so far. Although Steve had been dreading the prospect of whispers and stares from his classmates, they never came, at least not that he could tell.
Next week would be team try-outs, and even though Steve had bitched about it to Hop earlier this summer, he was definitely planning on going for basketball again this year. Swim was a no-brainer, too. With his asthma finally under control, he’d been able to build his stamina back up and now he was cruising through laps in the lake with ease. Not to be cocky, but he was pretty sure he was going to be a shoo-in for first string.
Even though tomorrow was an institute day, Steve figured he would head home - it was still weird saying that - and try to figure out how in the hell Mr. Mulaney expected him to read three chapters of what had to be the most boring-sounding book of all time: The Catcher in the Rye. Maybe it was some rite of passage, Steve thought, as he hopped on the seat of his bike, for all kids to be put through the absolute worst slag teachers had to offer. He wasn’t the greatest reader, to be honest, but three full chapters by Monday? It was like Mulaney wanted him to fail or something. He’d hopefully be able to get through at least half of one before Baumgartner’s Halloween party tonight.
At least he didn’t have to put a lot of effort into his costume; one of Hop’s tan shirts and that dopey fedora he saved for special occasions and he’d would be Indiana Jones. The chicks were sure to go nuts for it. Fingers crossed that Hop wouldn’t be mad when he discovered the sleeve all tore up, but that was a problem for future Steve.
Cutting across a lawn, Steve pumped the pedals faster. He hadn’t yet gotten used to the distance from the high school to his new place of residence. Hopper always offered to drive him to school on the way to the station if he wanted, but wasn’t able to pick Steve up given his crime-fighting duties (as if Hawkins had any real crime, the irony of his own situation notwithstanding). It wasn’t a big deal now, since it was still kinda-sorta warm out, but man, was it going to suck in the winter.
The sidewalk began to narrow before turning into a gravel path on the side of the road. This was Steve’s official landmark to tell him when he was ten minutes out. Good - he was starving and it was starting to drizzle. Steve was contemplating his misery when a blue sedan sped past him, dust kicking up. “Asshole,” he muttered, blinking debris out of his eyes.
The vehicle started to slow to Steve’s pace. He didn’t give it a second glance, not until the car pulled off to the side of the road, idling in wait. As Steve approached on his bike, the passenger window rolled down. A deep voice called out from the car. “Hey, son.”
Steve’s blood ran cold. Head whipping to the left, his dad was staring back at him, a grin on his face. His heart leapt into his throat because Steve hadn’t seen his dad, hadn’t spoken to him since the night he ran away. Steve hit his brakes, bike halting to a stop. His hands gripped the handlebars tightly, like somehow the contact would keep him safe.
“H-hey, dad.” Hop had been clear on what to do if Steve ever ran into his dad: don’t say a word, come straight to the trailer, and if he tries anything, “punch his sorry ass right in the mouth.” Steve thought that Hop was kidding about the last one, but with his dry sense of humor, he couldn’t really be sure. He’d already failed at not saying a word, what with the pathetically stuttered “hi dad”, but he could still get the hell out of there. “I can’t talk,” Steve said shakily, fumbling to get his feet back on the pedals. “I gotta go. Sorry.”
“Well, why don’t you get in, bud? I’ll give you a ride.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s just right -”
The smile disappeared. “I said get in. Now.” His clipped tone didn’t leave any room for discussion. “And leave the bike. Maybe some other kid will make use of it.”
Steve froze. He knew what he should do. He should listen to Hop and run like hell. But despite Steve’s brain knowing the right thing to do, his body wouldn’t follow. He slid off of the bike, hit the kickstand, walked towards his dad’s car like the biggest idiot in the world. Steve didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to do any of it, but his body betrayed him. It was as if a switch was flipped and there was someone else controlling him, like some screwed up marionette.
The passenger door closed and all Steve could hear between the blood rushing in his ears was the sound of the door locking. His dad pulled the car back onto the road, left hand casually draped over the top of the steering wheel. Steve’s eyes were fixed on the odometer as the speed ticked up - twenty, forty, sixty-five miles per hour. Fast enough for the trees to whir by like green blobs. Fast enough for them to leave the trailer in the dust.
“Dad, you, uh. You were supposed to turn there.”
“Really? Huh.”
But his dad made no effort to stop and turn around. A sinking reality hit Steve: his dad wasn’t just “giving him a ride”. Where was he taking him, then?
“So, Steven.” His tone was light, lilting, like he was simply talking about the weather instead of reuniting with the son he nearly put in the hospital. “I see you’ve been busy.”
Steve tore his eyes away from the odometer, kept them trained ahead, palms pressed to his thighs. His dad’s gaze flicked back and forth between him and the road, as if daring Steve to look at him. Well, Steve refused. His throat felt like sandpaper, but finally he mustered up the courage to ask the question. “Where are we going?”
“Oh, we’re just taking a ride,” his dad answered casually. “We have some things to talk about, don’t you think?”
“What kind of things?”
His dad ignored the question. “It’s nice to see you. I missed you.”
“I…” Steve knew his dad probably wanted him to reply with a similar platitude but he couldn’t make himself lie. “Thanks.”
His dad exhaled, slow and measured. A well-practiced patience, like he was biting back his temper. Steve just hoped he wasn’t about to end up the target of it. “So, how was school today?”
The question caught Steve off guard. “It was… fine. School is school.”
His dad nodded. “That’s good. Do you like your classes so far?”
Steve furrowed his brows. What was happening? Why was his dad was asking him these boring questions? He never cared before, at least not about Steve’s opinion on anything. “I don’t know, they’re just regular classes, I guess. Dad, why are you -”
“It’s nice, isn’t it, son, that you get to go back to school and hang out with your friends and, hey, even still parade around with that pretty little head of hair?” Steve flinched as his dad’s arm shot across the car. A broad hand ruffled his hair before withdrawing back to the steering wheel. Steve exhaled shakily, looked over to see his dad grinning at him.
“Hopper buys you the good shit for that mop, huh? What a stand-up guy,” his dad continued. His expression, Steve realized, wasn’t a nice one. There was something in those dark eyes that was wild, manic. “Look at you, Steven, on top of the world, your own family beneath your feet.”
With the last sentence, the air shifted, a dangerous undercurrent sending Steve’s nerves sky-high. Not daring to say a word, Steve kept his mouth shut. Like he should have done from the very beginning.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The damage you caused with your little stunt? You about killed your own goddamn mother, and I - “ His dad inhaled sharply, drawing a hand through his hair. Steve could see the hint of a tremble in it. “I worked so hard for the life I built for us. Sixty hours a week, sometimes more. And you- you destroyed it, without a second thought. You’re a greedy little bastard, you know that?”
Though he tried to will them away, tears sprang to Steve’s eyes at the ferocity behind his dad’s words. He knew that going to Hopper’s was going to cause trouble, but he didn’t think he had any other choice. The night his dad wailed on him, Steve thought - truly thought - that he was going to die. He’d never seen his dad that angry before, not even when he got brought home in a squad car for tagging the library.
He could still feel the ache in his ribs, the blood on his face warm and sticky and stinging his eyes. Just the thought of that night made Steve’s skin crawl with fear.
It’s why he dragged himself out of the second-floor window, why he waited in the bushes for Hopper to find him - because Hop told Steve that he could go to him for anything. And boy, did getting leveled by his old man qualify as Anything.
As they sped away from Hawkins, Steve trembled under the lens of his dad’s rage. The venom dripping off of his dad’s words was piercing. He had the same foreboding sense that he had on June twenty-sixth when his dad found Hop’s number in his wallet: something very bad was going to happen.
At that moment, Steve couldn’t help but think that maybe - maybe he made the wrong choice that night. If he would have stayed home, laid low until his cuts and bruises went away, maybe his dad would actually have been proud of him for taking it like a man.
Maybe that beating would have been the last one.
Maybe they would have become that happy family his mom always pretended they were.
Maybe he wouldn’t be here right now, speeding away from everything he’d grown to love.
Maybe.
His dad was right. This was his fault, all of it. All Steve could hope for was that he could talk his way out of this. He’d made a mess of things, but he was still a Harrington, and didn’t that have to count for something? “Dad,” Steve stammered. “I’m sorry. I just - you went off and I - I didn’t know it would happen like that and -”
His father’s face was calm but his foot pressed down on the gas pedal, the speed creeping up again. Steve’s breath caught in his chest as the odometer hit ninety. “You, uh, you’re going a little fast. Could you - could you slow down?” His voice pitched. “Please?”
Steve’s plea went ignored. “I know you didn’t know any better. It was a mistake,” his dad hummed. “Just a mistake.”
All of a sudden, a desperate yearning for home tore through Steve. Not for his sprawling two-story in Loch Nora; no, he wanted his trailer - Hop’s trailer - and his bedroom with the too-small closet, and his chair on the deck, the one that was a little bent at the legs because Hop had tripped over it. He wanted to go home.
The car whipped into a little forest preserve lot, its force sending Steve flying against the window. His dad cut the engine, the air going eerily still. “The good thing about mistakes, son, is that you can learn from them.” Steve’s heart hammered in his throat as his dad twisted in his seat to face him. “Do you want to learn from this? To make this right for our family?”
What Steve wanted was for this nightmare to be over. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say anything at all, because if he spoke, he might crumble into pieces. Steve nodded as he blinked back tears. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes before drying it on his jeans. He hated that he was crying; he felt like such a baby.
“Good, son. Good.” Steve startled at the sudden weight of his dad’s hand on the side of his head, thumb tenderly stroking his temple. Bile rose in his belly. He wanted that hand off of him, wanted to tear it apart. Yet Steve couldn’t find the strength to move. “You’re my blood, Steven. I love you. I hope you know that.”
“Yeah, dad,” Steve choked out. “I know.” Why was he talking like that? Was this it? His dad was actually going to kill him right here in broad daylight, wasn’t he?
A sudden adrenaline coursed through him at the thought. If this was going to be it, then he should go out swinging. Do what Hop said and punch him in the face. He just needed to find the courage, which was really freaking hard to do when he could barely look his old man in the eye.
Before Steve could make a move, his dad’s fingers threaded through his hair. The air left his lungs. “Here’s what you’ll do,” his dad said, tone shifting. He was using his professional voice now, the one he used when he talked to his employees. “You’re going to tell the police you lied. You’ll tell them about how I grounded you for getting into yet another fight, and how you were mad at me so you made up this bullshit story in retaliation.” The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Do you remember when that happened?”
Steve didn’t respond. The prospect of lying after all that he and Hop have been through made him physically nauseous. Hop would be so disappointed, he’d never talk to him again. And would Steve get in trouble with the police for wasting their time? He’d probably have to move back in with his dad and -
Steve winced as the grip on his hair tightened. “I asked you a question, Steven.”
“Y-yeah,” Steve said, voice cracking. “I remember.”
“And you never meant for it to go this far, did you? It just got out of hand?”
Steve bit back a cry as his hair was yanked back. He thought he knew what hate was when his dad threw out his card collection, but that feeling was nothing compared to the anger and hurt that coursed through him right now. He hated how small his dad made him feel, like he was worthless. A nobody. He hated himself for the words that came out next. “Yes,” Steve whimpered. “I’ll tell them the truth.”
His dad released his grip with a rough push. “Good. Because if you don’t?” Steve’s eyes flicked to the left, his head still stinging where his hair was pulled. “I will dig up every little thing I can on Jim Hopper and I will ruin his fucking life. You’re my son, you hear me? Not his.”
His dad let him out of the car where he’d picked him up. His bike was gone, because of course it was.
Steve was numb. With his dad threatening Hop, he knew what he had to do. There wasn’t any other choice.
He was going to lose everything.
Backpack limply at his side, Steve walked the rest of the way home.