In honour of Season 2 and Steve Harrington adopting six strange children, @stevemossington and I are proud to present our latest collaboration!
“It turns out I’m a pretty damn good babysitter.” Steve had said it to cut the tension with Nancy, but he didn’t realize just how right he would be.
Chapter One: Eleven
Billy was long gone by the time they returned to the Byers’s house, and Steve thanked whatever god there was for that. The thought of another fight, of meeting that asshole back up there with a stolen car, his face already cut up and his lip swelling wasn’t exactly appealing.
Steve marshalled the kids inside, instructing all of them to go wash their hands and faces immediately. Surprisingly, they listened without protest. That was new. But he just chalked it up to exhaustion and probably a bit of shock.
“You should do the same,” Dustin muttered as he passed by, the last to enter the house, “You look like shit.”
Steve resisted the urge to retort, too damn tired to think of a reply. But Dustin was right. He felt like shit and could only imagine what he’d see when he finally looked in the mirror. Gingerly, he touched his jaw, feeling at the dried blood and dirt mingled there. He’d have to go to the hospital tomorrow, just to make sure nothing got infected.
But before that, he’d need to find a place to stay for the night. Last year, when he’d finally gotten home from the hospital in the early daylight, he’d endured a harsh lecture from his father. No worries about where he had been, no – it was merely the sight of his bloody face. According to Sam Harrington, “only trash lets someone break their face,” and he had “no time for bums.”
“If you’re going to look like a bum, don’t bother coming home.”
“Yes, sir.”
No, there was no way he was going home tonight. Normally he would have slept at Nancy’s, but that wasn’t really on the table anymore. And he was less than comfortable crashing at Jonathan’s. Steve swore under his breath and, resigned, distracted himself with finding blankets and pillows.
One by one the kids nodded off—Lucas and Dustin on the floor of Will’s bedroom, Max on the sofa opposite him. Only Mike remained awake. He was still staring anxiously out the window when Steve felt his eyelids grow heavier, consciousness drifting away.
“You alright, kid?”
Steve turned his neck, a little too quickly, and grimaced at its stiffness. The Chief was standing over his shoulder, arms crossed over his hulking chest.
An uncertain noise fell from Steve’s lips, but it wasn’t much of answer. Hopper raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Need a lift home?”
Steve blinked, sleep still weighing on his mind. Looking at the Chief, Steve decided that he seemed calm and, considering all the shit they’d seen that night, he figured that was a good sign.
“No,” Steve shook his head, “I’m just gonna crash in my car tonight.” Slowly, tenderly, he swung his legs off the couch and made to stand up. He didn’t want anyone to worry about him.
Hopper’s expression softened behind Steve’s back, his lips twitching slightly before he spoke. Before he could get to his feet, Steve felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder. “There’s a shower in the cabin. Water pressure’s decent.”
Stop talking and start doing: My Fallout Shelter for my Tumblr blog 