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Steve Harrington was on a date, and it wasn’t going very well.
Most prominent was the fact that he’d apparently just forgotten how to talk to girls. There had been a time when he’d oozed with charm, hadn’t he? Girls had fallen at his feet, literally and figuratively, for better and definitely for worse. Now, every word that came out of his mouth felt clunky. The only thing he could think to talk about was the weather or the ambiance in the overlit Italian restaurant they were seated in or, most prominently, his six kids. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but now everything he saw and talked about reminded him off those kids. All he wanted to do was talk about them, about their accomplishments and funny one-liners and opinions, but he forced the impulse down, because that was weird, wasn’t it?
Secondly, he’d forgotten his wallet. He’d realized it almost as soon as they sat down and he hadn’t felt the usual square shape press into his thigh. His date was a girl named Missy who he’d had one or two classes with in high school. She worked as a barista and made even less than he did and he was sure his face was covered in guilt when he let her know that she’d have to pay that night. He promised to pay her back but the way things were going, he doubted she’d want to see him again, even just to exchange a couple of bucks.
And lastly, there was the walkie talkie.
“You’re… bringing that with you?” Missy asked skeptically when Steve grabbed the old, taped-together walkie from the backseat of his car.
Steve froze, still half-twisted into his backseat. Should he not? Was it paranoid if he did? He always kept the walkie-talkie on him, even when he slept. In this town, there was no telling when something bad would happen. And with these kids, there was no telling how bad it would be.
Missy was looking at him expectantly. “Uh… yeah, sorry. It’s… it’s for emergencies,” he mumbled, grabbing the walkie-talkie and trying to hide it in his coat as they walked through the freezing air toward the restaurant, even though she’d already seen it.
He remembered to grab the door at least.
Now, the waiter was just setting down their food and Steve was letting out a breath of relief that their mouths could be occupied with eating instead of talking, even if just for a few minutes, and the walkie crackled.
“Is anyone there? Over.”
Steve looked towards the walkie-talkie, leaning against the corner of his booth, then back to Missy, who was frowning at him in confusion, a forkful of pasta halfway to her mouth.
“Who’s that?”
Dustin. It had been Dustin.
“Um, just, um… I babysit,” Steve said lamely. That didn’t really do it justice. He—he parented, really. He did school pickups and packed lunches and hosted birthday parties and bought hauls of Christmas presents.
“You do?” Missy gave him a look up and down. “Really?”
He couldn’t tell how she felt about this. He’d noticed a strange mix of opinions about him being a babysitter—some girls thought it was hot, some girls thought it was weird and not something a guy should be doing unless he was forced into it as a big brother.
Steve sighed, glancing back at the walkie. His chicken parm steamed in front of him. Dustin was probably just bored, right? Going open channel to see if anyone wanted to hang out on a Saturday night.
But then he remembered: Dustin should already be with his friends. Joyce and Hopper were away on a much-needed getaway weekend, and they’d agreed to let the boys, Max, and El have a weekend-long D&D session and sleepover (with the firm instructions that boys and girls could not sleep in the same room, because they would know. Don’t ask them how, they would know). Everyone should already be at Hopper’s cabin, which had been chosen over the Byers’ place for the ambiance and so that El could more safely join in.
“Yeah…” Steve muttered vaguely. Dustin hadn’t spoken again—
On cue, the walkie crackled again. “Steve, come on, man, pick up. Over.”
Dustin again, more urgently.
“I’m sorry,” Steve sighed, grabbing the walkie-talkie and sliding out of the booth in one quick movement. Missy stared at him incredulously as he strode a few paces away, headed sort of in the direction of the bathrooms, trying to avoid any speed-walking waiters as he pressed down on the talk button. “Dustin, I’m here, what’s wrong? Over.”
He didn’t mention the date because, at this point, he was willing to take this as a tidy excuse to get out of here.
“Steve, finally. Over.” Dustin huffed.
Unfair. “Cool it, Henderson, I picked up as fast as I could,” Steve returned. “Now what?”
“It’s Max.” The worry had returned to Dustin’s voice, and with it came a sinking feeling in Steve’s stomach. He’d just pushed open the door to the men’s room but immediately wheeled around, dodging to avoid another diner who had come up behind him, and sprinted back to his table.
Missy was staring at him with even more incredulity but Steve barely glanced at her. “Keep the leftovers,” he said, nodding at his plate of food, then he grabbed his jacket and ran for the door.
“Dustin, I’m on my way.”
W / T \ Y
Steve broke more than a few traffic laws in his haste to get to Hopper and El’s cabin. His tires screeched as he pulled over on the dark road and slammed on the brakes, then jumped out of the car and began sprinting down the familiar wooded path to the cabin. Saying he was on his way had seemingly been enough for Dustin because he’d immediately replied with “Okay, gotta go!” and the walkie had been dead ever since, no matter how many times Steve hollered at him for more information.
Steve was panting when he reached the cabin and there was the vague taste of blood in the back of his throat from trying to run in the freezing cold. He pounded on the door before remembering that there was a secret knock that the kids forced everyone to do to keep El safe, even though a real intruder probably wouldn’t bother with knocking.
This once though, it didn’t seem to matter. A second after he stopped knocking, the door flew open and there stood El. The kid was almost always serious, but now she looked downright grave.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, doubled over with his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. “What’s wrong with Max?”
“Come on.” El grabbed his arm and dragged him into the cabin. Everything seemed to be in place: a D&D board was set up on the coffee table and there were open bags of snacks surrounding it. The sleeping bags were rolled in a corner, pillows scattered across the floor. What Steve thought was a bowl of soup had spilled onto the carpet, but when he got closer the smell hit him.
Vomit.
Steve swore under his breath and increased his pace, following El into her bedroom. Dustin, Will, and Mike were crowded around the bed and Lucas was on the mattress. Max was cradled in his arms. Her face was white as snow (not that Steve would ever verbally put her and Snow White in a sentence together for fear of being knocked unconscious) save for two red flushes high on her cheekbones. Her hairline was soaked with sweat and she was twisting in Lucas’ grasp, mumbled uncomfortably.
“What happened?” Steve demanded.
The boys jumped and Dustin immediately ran to his side, grabbing his arm and jostling it. “We were just playing the game!” he babbled. “Max had been really quiet but she just said she was tired, Lucas joked that she probably had hypothermia because she skateboarded here because her parents didn’t want her to come in the first place and they definitely didn’t want to drive her—”
“She skateboarded here?” Steve demanded, shaking Dustin off and pushing his way through Will and Mike to get to the side of the bed.
“Well, you were on a date!” Mike exclaimed accusatorially.
“Which I would have cancelled if I knew she needed a ride!” Steve shot back. He reached out and cupped Max’s face, tilting it towards him. Her skin was burning hot and when her eyes opened they were glazed and unfocused. “Hey, kiddo. Can you hear me?”
“Billie…” Max mumbled, trying to twist away from his hand. “Don’t… don’t…”
She let out a little whimper that just about broke Steve’s heart.
“We were just sitting around and playing,” Dustin went on, speaking even faster. “And then all of the sudden she just threw up everywhere, so Will ran her to the bathroom and then she threw up a lot more, like a lot more, and she was crying and could hardly breathe and then we thought she passed out because she just kind of collapsed next to the toilet. So El got her in bed with her mind-powers and then I called you and we’ve been trying to keep her awake ever since just in case she’s not supposed to go to sleep or something, I know sometimes you’re not supposed to go to sleep when—”
“Okay, okay, you guys did great.” Steve pushed a hand through his hair, trying to think. Max was just sick. He could handle sick, right? He was an adult.
But he also knew that fevers could be dangerous, even deadly. How confident was he, here, that he knew what to do?
He took a deep breath. “Have you tried to reach Joyce or Hopper?” There was no point in trying Max’s parents; this sick, she was probably better off with them.
Will nodded. “I called the hotel they’re staying at but the front desk said they were out and wasn’t sure when they’d be back. Mom said we should call Nancy in case of emergencies but she wasn’t picking up, either.”
Steve allowed himself two full seconds to feel hurt that Joyce had picked Nancy over him as a fallback before he reminded himself that Joyce had known about his date because he’d talked to her about it and she’d been the one to suggest the restaurant. She knew how much time he spent on these kids and was probably just trying to do him a favor and let him live his life.
He hoped Nancy was okay. It wasn’t like her to be unreachable, but maybe she’d just stepped out for an errand or something. Maybe it was just bad timing.
Regardless, he couldn’t worry about her, not right now.
“Okay,” Steve repeated, exhaling. “El, where’s your medicine cabinet?”
She grabbed his hand and rushed him down the hall to the bathroom. There was still puke in the toilet and the acrid stench made Steve wince. He did a quick, grossed-out check for blood then flushed it away. El showed him a drawer in the cabinet which was filled with off-brand bottles of medicine and an extraordinary amount of medical-grade gauze and antiseptic. Pushed in the back, Steve found a thermometer. He let out a breath of relief and grabbed a fever reducer to take back with him to the bedroom.
“She needs fluids,” he instructed, pushing past the throng of teens again. “Someone go get some water—gatorade, if you have it.”
Mike looked at El hopefully but she shook her head. “Water, yes. And beer?” she offered.
“Absolutely not,” Steve said, shooting her a scandalized look as Mike ran out of the bedroom.
“All right, kid…” Steve muttered, carefully opening Max’s mouth and sticking the thermometer underneath her tongue. He checked his watch, noted the time, then busied himself checking the dosage on the medicine bottle and getting two pills ready. He wasn’t sure how hard it was going to be to get Max to swallow when she was this spaced out, but they had to try.
“Is she going to be okay?” Lucas asked quietly. His eyes were huge, face drawn with worry that shouldn’t ever have to exist on a fourteen year old’s face.
“She’ll be fine,” Steve told him firmly. He checked the time again and then tugged the thermometer out of Max’s mouth. “Shit.”
“What, what?” Dustin exclaimed, scrambling over to look at the thermometer. “Shit!”
103.7.
“What is it?” Lucas asked, voice cracking as he hugged Max closer. She mumbled something unintelligible, face creasing with distress. “What?”
“She’ll be okay,” Steve repeated, voice tight as he set the thermometer. Mike returned with a glass of water and trust it at Steve. A good quarter of it sloshed over and Steve sent him an unimpressed look.
“I’ll get more!” Mike promised, sprinting back out.
“All right.” Steve leveled himself onto the bed and patted Max’s cheek gently. “Max, you gotta open your mouth, okay? Just gotta swallow this.”
There was something you were supposed to do, some way to rub someone’s jaw or something to make babies or kids swallow when they were unconscious. Steve didn’t know how to do that, though. He didn’t know how do any of this.
Max, thankfully, tilted her head towards him. “Mom?” she whispered.
It was concerning that she didn’t recognize him, but the word still made Steve’s insides go fuzzy. “Sure, kid,” he sighed. “Can you swallow something for me, here?”
Max nodded dazedly. He had Lucas keep her head upright then pressed one of the pills to her tongue and carefully tipped the glass of water against her lips. Max coughed a little, water sputtering out of her mouth and dripping down her chin, then swallowed with difficulty.
“Great, kid, one more,” Steve mumbled, repeating the process. When she was finished, Max curled back against Lucas and shut her eyes.
The medicine would help, but Max’s temperature was still high.
“I think we might need to get her in the shower or something,” Steve sighed, getting off the bed.
“The shower?” Lucas echoed, confused. “Why?”
“Cold water,” El supplied, realization dawning. She held up her finger, forehead creasing in thought. “Not shower—ice.”
“Yeah!” Mike sprinted back in with a new cup of water. “My mom does that, too. Ice packs under your armpits and on your forehead and your, um…” He blushed. “Your… groin.”
“Okay.” Where had Steve heard about a cold shower? Was it wrong? Should he trust his gut or trust his kids?
That was a ridiculous question. He always trusted these kids more than himself.
“Ice packs, then—do you have any, El?” he asked.
El chewed on her lip. “Frozen peas?” she suggested. “Hop uses peas.”
Steve knew that old trick well. “Okay, go get them. Four bags—if you don’t have four bags, divvy them up.”
El ran off, Dustin close behind, and Steve looked around for something else to do to be useful. Max had begun to shiver, whimpering softly as she curled closer into Lucas. He rubbed at her back, eyes filling with tears that he couldn’t blink away quite fast enough to hide from Steve.
“What d’you think’s wrong with her?” Mike asked, fidgeting nervously. Will plopped onto the end of the bed, putting his hand on Max’s ankle through the blanket and patting it comfortingly as she whimpered in her half-sleep.
“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, leaning against the headboard and keeping one careful eye on Max the whole time. “But if she was sick when she came here, the cold probably made it a lot worse. It’s probably just a stomach flu. School is just one giant germ pool.”
He hoped it wasn’t worse. The last thing he wanted to do was drag six kids, one of them barely conscious, to the ER. How would he explain that to Joyce and Hopper when they got back? They’d never leave their kids again.
Another brief silence, then Mike looked at him with squinting eyes. “Would you actually have cancelled your date just because Max needed a ride?”
Steve thought about it, but only for a moment. “Yeah,” he sighed. He probably would have complained about it, but he would have. “It’s not her fault her parents suck.”
On the bed, Max suddenly started thrashing. For a brief, terrifying moment, Steve thought she was having a seizure, but then she started crying out: “Stop, stop stop stop, please, please-!”
“Max, Max, it’s okay,” Lucas soothed, hugging her closer. “You’re okay, it’s just a dream.”
Steve exhaled shakily, pushing his hand through his hair. “Hey, where’s that ice?” he yelled out into the kitchen/living room.
“COMING!” Dustin screamed back, always one to understand the urgency of a situation and escalate it to a level 190.
Max let out a scream, sobbing into Lucas’ chest and gripping his shirt fit to rip it. Steve reached out and a rubbed hand over her back. “You’re okay, kiddo,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”
Lucas rested his chin on the top of Max’s head, holding her tight.
Dustin and El came sprinting in with four plastic ziplock bags of frozen peas. Steve grabbed them and quickly arranged them around Max’s body, wincing a little as he pulled back the covers to try and get one between Max’s legs in the least weird way possible. Max was still crying, holding onto Lucas and twisting away from the cold encroaching on her body.
“I’m sorry,” Steve muttered over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, we gotta do it, kid.”
Whether it was the shock of cold or Lucas’ soothing murmuring, the nightmare seemed to fade from Max and she sank more deeply into the pillows. Steve let out a sigh of relief and took stock. The kids were all wide-eyed and pale, Will looked like he was trying not to cry. Lucas looked almost angry, a close fist pressed into the mattress.
“You kids eaten yet?” Steve asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
A few shrugs and head-shakes. Steve nodded and eased around his kids, heading for the kitchen.
It was quiet, too quiet, a heavy quiet that made Steve feel like his breath was thick in his throat. He leaned against the counter for a second, head bowed, trying to shake the sound of Max’s whimpers out of his memory.
“You okay?”
Steve spun around. Dustin. Of course Dustin had followed him. He was watching Steve with an almost condescending sort of sympathy, and Steve’s lips quirked at the expression. “Yeah, buddy, I’m fine. Want to help me whip something up here?”
Dustin nodded, and the two of them raided Hopper’s cabinets. They found a lot of microwavable food—ramen, canned soup—and Steve quickly realized that the Chief wasn’t much of a gourmet.
He did, however, find a loaf of bread and a block of cheddar and had Dustin heat up some tomato soup while he made six sandwiches.
Steve was just flipping the last sandwich when Will wandered into the kitchen. Steve was immediately on alert. “What happened? Is she okay?”
Will shrugged. “She’s just sleeping now, so I guess that’s good?” He passed by the coffee table and winced, nose wrinkling. “Ohhh.”
“Oh yeah, she puked all over the floor!” Dustin remembered, grimacing. He stared over at Steve, still making a face. “Um…”
“I’ll clean it up,” Steve sighed. He slid the grilled cheeses onto paper plates. “Why don’t you get the others and eat something while I deal with that.” There were, he supposed, worse things than a grilled cheese gone cold.
Cleaning up Max’s mess was no worse than taking care of cat puke, really, and Steve had been the sole caretaker of his family’s cat until she died when he was fifteen. The kids had chosen to take their food into the bedroom so they could keep an eye on Max, and he could hear their low conversation, words indistinct, as he scrubbed at the wood grains of the floorboards.
By the time he brought his own sandwich into the bedroom, the group was mostly just licking crumbs off their fingers. Max was asleep on the bed, a little less restless than before but with cheeks still flushed bright red. Steve set down his plate and eased the thermometer back into her mouth. When he swallowed a bite of his sandwich, it felt dry in his throat going down. His chest was still tight with anxiety and the feeling like he was the worst person for the job.
“Good sandwich,” Lucas said quietly, wiping his fingers on his shorts. Steve wasn’t sure when he’d left his station on the bed but he was glad the kid had taken a moment to eat. Boyfriend or not, he shouldn’t have to take complete responsibility for Max’s well-being.
“Uh, thanks,” Steve said distractedly, checking his watch and pulling out the thermometer. He let out a breath of relief when the number red 102.9. Still high, but it had gone down.
“Better?” El asked, staring at him seriously.
“Better,” he confirmed. “But we’ll keep on eye on it. Are there any more frozen peas or ice?”
El bit her lip and shook her head and Steve winced a little. “I’ll check if there’s an ice cube trey,” he said, heading back for the kitchen with his sandwich still mostly uneaten. Maybe they wouldn’t need it—he hoped they wouldn’t—but if Max’s fever spiked again he didn’t want to have to run out to the 24-hour general store and leave the kids to fend for themselves.
As Steve filled up a small plastic ice cube trey that was sitting, empty, in the freezer, he wondered again where Nancy was. Should they call her again? Max had never been particularly close with Nancy, despite the fact that they were both totally badass ladies, but she had to be better than Steve at all of this.
He decided to throw it out to the kids and stepped back into the bedroom. “Hey, uh… any of you try Nancy again?”
“Why?” Mike asked, wrinkling his nose. “You have somewhere to be?”
“I think your date is probably ruined for the night,” Dustin added, more apologetically.
“No, I don’t have anywhere to be,” Steve huffed. “I just thought—I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“And you think Nancy does?” Mike scoffed.
“Because she’s a girl?” El demanded, glaring at him.
“Steve, you take care of us all the time,” Will reminded him. “You’re practically our second mom.”
There was that word again, mom. It was such a gendered term for something that existed outside of the realm of genders. Moms were more than just women, they were care and comfort and safety and… well, Steve couldn’t exactly put it into words, but to be mom to these little twerps meant more to him than he could believe.
He let out a breath, sinking onto the end of the bed and glancing at Max again. Her head twisted against the pillows and the bag of semi-thawed peas slid off of it. “I just… I don’t want to do something wrong and put Max in danger as a result.”
“You won’t,” El said firmly, crawling forward and putting a hand on his knee. “We trust you.”
“Yeah!” Dustin exclaimed, beaming at him. The others nodded their agreement.
It meant a lot, their trust. Steve just desperately hoped he wouldn’t do anything to let them down. Deep down, he knew he would, someday.
“Hey, you should eat,” Lucas piped up. Steve’s plate was still resting on the end of the bed and he reached over and nudged it toward him. “Take care of yourself too, man.”
Dread had replaced most of Steve’s appetite but he still nodded and took another bite of the grilled cheese.
“What now?” Mike asked, picking at some loose threads in El’s bedroom carpet. “Guess D&D isn’t happening this weekend after all.”
“Hey!” Lucas glared at him. “Don’t blame this on Max; it’s not like she meant to get sick.”
“I didn’t blame her!” Mike retorted, glaring back. “I’m just making a comment!”
“Guys, guys,” Steve spoke up, sighing. “Keep your voices down.”
Mike muttered something about Max being dead to the world anyway, but at least he muttered it quietly.
“I guess we don’t have to not play D&D…” Will said slowly. “I mean, it’s not like we’re helping Max by sitting on the floor and watching her.”
“Will’s right!” Dustin piped up. “She’s sleeping and she’s okay, and Steve will keep an eye on her, right Steve?”
Normally, he’d give Dustin a hard time for voluntelling him like that, but Steve hadn’t planned on leaving Max’s side for much less than a demogorgon attack, so he let out a sigh and nodded. “You guys should play. I’ll stay here.”
“I have books,” El offered, jumping to her feet and hurrying to a small, handmade bookcase in the corner of her room. She grabbed an armful and dumped them in Steve’s lap as the boys got up and headed for the living room, leaving their empty paper plates and the ceramic bowl of soup scattered around the floor.
“Uh, thanks,” Steve muttered, bemused. He finished up his sandwich and then gathered up all their trash. The bag in the kitchen was getting full, partially from all the paper towels Steve had used to wipe up Max’s throw up, so he took out the trash and replaced the bag, then sat down in a chair beside Max’s bedside.
It got late. Eventually, Steve got up to help the boys sort out their sleeping bags in the living room and suggested that El sleep in Hopper’s bed instead of sharing with Max like they’d planned. If Max was contagious they were likely already screwed, but keeping them separate probably didn’t hurt.
Steve hadn’t brought a sleeping bag—he hadn’t been planning to spend an overnight in Hopper’s cabin when he was driving to his date earlier that evening—so El got him several blankets and pillows and he did the best he could with making a bed on the floor beside the bed Max was still sleeping in. He knew they should probably try and get some more water into her, but she’d been sleeping mostly peacefully for the last several hours and Steve didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. He knew firsthand how hard it was to sleep when you were nauseous.
Steve eventually dropped off to the sounds of the boys’ low voices in the background as they continued their campaign.
W / T \ Y
He awoke to silence.
Steve lay for a moment, trying to figure out what had woken him up. It was probably just a tree branch on the window or a dream or some sleep cycle nonsense, but paranoia got the better of him. He rolled to his feet, checked on Max (still sleeping), and headed for the living room.
The boys were all accounted for. Lucas was snoring, Dustin’s mouth was wide open and drool was dribbling from the corner of his lips. Mike and Will were curled up like armadillos, mirror images on the ground by the coffee table. Their game was still set up, dice loose and a few stray chips crushed onto the wood floor.
Steve poked his head into Hopper’s bedroom. El was similarly asleep, starfished across the bed with her hair a mess over her face and the pillow.
Satisfied, soothed, but now no longer tired, Steve made his way to the kitchen. The clock on the wall read just after 4am, and he considered making himself some coffee and just giving up on sleep all together. He was loath to wake the boys, though, so he got himself a cup of water instead.
Shuffling footsteps and a quiet sniffle made him turn. Max was slouched in the doorway of El’s bedroom, eyeing him blearily. Her face was ghostly pale, practically glowing in the dark. Steve somehow hadn’t noticed earlier that she was still wearing a pair of jeans.
“Hey…” Steve whispered, hurrying over and grabbing her arm. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doing?”
“Steve?” she mumbled, blinking up at him and then around the living room. “What… what time is it?”
“Early,” he replied quietly, leading her over to a chair by the counter. She collapsed into it gratefully. “Here, let me get you some water. How do you feel?”
He grabbed her a glass and filled it, and when he’d turned around she was watching him with a vague, bewildered expression, his questions unanswered. “What’s up?” he asked, setting the cup down in front of her.
“When…” Max squinted. “When did you get here? I thought I’d… dreamed you, or something.”
Steve smiled a little. “Nah, you’re not that lucky. I’m actually here.”
She smiled back, then rubbed at her face and took a few sips of water. Her eyes drifted over to the living room and they widened slightly. “Oh, shoot, I totally puked on the floor. Sorry about the mess…”
“Hey, no, don’t apologize,” Steve told her firmly. He headed around the counter and took a seat next to her, reaching out a hand to see if she felt any cooler. She was still pretty warm, but at least she was up and talking in full sentences. “You feeling any better?”
Max shrugged, taking another sip of water and then pushing the glass away. She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched over to rest her forehead on the counter. “Steve?” she whispered.
“What’s up?”
“Are you gonna take me home?”
Steve froze. “Uh… do you, um… do you want me to?”
“No,” Max said immediately, jolting back up. She sniffled and hugged herself tighter. “They—they wouldn’t care if I’m sick. Probably wouldn’t even notice.”
A tear rolled down her cheek and Steve shut his eyes for a second. He understood that more than most. He couldn’t remember the last time his parents had actually, actively, taken care of him when he was sick.
Another sniffle from Max. She swiped at her face, staring at the table. Before Steve could think better of it, he was reaching out and pulling her into his lap.
If Max had been more with it, or if the boys had been watching, she probably would have socked him in the jaw, or at least yelled at him something nasty. Now, though, she just wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face into his neck. She was shivering, or maybe just shaking, and Steve rubbed his hand up and down her back.
They sat there for a while, and Steve thought Max might have fallen back asleep, but then her body went stiff.
“Hey, you good?” he asked, pulling back to try and see her face.
Her throat bobbed and she shook her head.
“Gonna be sick?” Steve asked, ready to stand and run her to the bathroom.
She nodded, but that was all the warning he got before she hiccuped and threw up a small mouthful of water and bile into her own lap. For a moment, Max just gazed down in horror as the mess slowly absorbed into her jeans, before her eyes welled again and she stared fearfully at Steve. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I—I didn’t—it just happened so fast—”
“Hey, hey,” Steve said quickly, wiping her cheeks with his thumb. “You’re okay. Are you gonna be sick again?”
“I don’t—I don’t know,” Max whimpered, gripping his shirt while at the same time looking like she was ready to run away from him.
Steve quickly gathered her up and headed for the bathroom just in case. She was so light—had she always been that light?—and fever-warm. He set her down on the floor and she hung her head over the toilet, tears still dripping off her chin.
“I’m really sorry,” she sobbed again before her back spasmed and she gagged up another mouthful of bile.
“You’re okay, Max,” Steve repeated with a sigh, rubbing her back. “It’s not your fault, okay? You’re sick. You’re, like, really sick. Besides, you didn’t even get any on me.”
“Okay,” Max sniffled, spitting into the toilet. Her body jerked and she retched again, but nothing came up. Panting and still crying, she collapsed back against Steve’s chest.
“All done?” he asked, flushing the toilet.
“I think so,” Max whispered, voice raspy. She tucked her face into Steve’s neck. “I don’t feel good.”
“Yeah, you don’t say,” Steve replied wryly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “How about we get you some water and see if El has any pajamas you can change into, huh?”
“I don’t want any water,” Max groaned. “I don’t wanna hurl again.”
“Well, tough.”
She pulled back and glared at him, though it was perhaps at 2% it’s usual fierceness. Steve smiled affectionally back and dropped another kiss to her head. “Come on, Red. Up you go.”
He guided her out of the bathroom.
El must have heard the commotion, because she was hovering in the doorway of Hopper’s bedroom, twisting the sleeves of her pajama shirt anxiously. “Max,” she whispered when she saw the other girl. “Okay?”
Max shrugged, face pinching up like she was going to start crying again.
“El, could you find her some pajamas?” Steve asked, giving Max a gentle nudge towards the bedroom. “Or something comfortable to change into, at least.”
El nodded and took Max’s hand, leading her away. Steve let out a sigh and leaned against the wall, dropping his gaze to his pants to double check that they were, in fact, vomit-free. Then he pushed himself upright and went to refill Max’s water.
He had done it. He’d handled a crying kid, a vomiting kid, and crying-and-vomiting-simultaneously kid. Him. Steve Harrington.
Steve exhaled, blowing his bangs out of his face. He didn’t even want to know what his hair looked like right now and was somewhat relieved that the boys (Mike) weren’t awake to make fun of him for it.
When he thought he’d given them enough time, he knocked on El’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” he heard Max said, voice rough. Steve pushed open the door to find both of them in the bed, Max curled into El’s shoulder and El’s hand rubbing her back.
Steve sighed. “El, what did I say about germs?” Hopper would kill him if El got sick. The man had enough medical trauma and Steve would hate to know what El’s fever-induced nightmares would look like—the standard ones were bad enough.
El just glared at him. “Staying,” she said.
Steve let his head fall back. He had a sneaking suspicion if he forced El to leave, she’d be sneaking right back in after he fell asleep. She was protective like that. “Fine,” he grumbled, marching over to the bed. “But I want it in writing that I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Fine,” El echoed. Her forehead creased, and then Steve smothered a laugh as a pencil and notepad floated in through the doorway. El swiped a drop of blood from underneath her nose and scribbled a quick message, then handed it to Steve.
Steve told me not to. I don’t care. -El
Steve was unable to resist a laugh this time, shaking his head and tucking the note into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said wryly as she set the notepad and pen aside.
He was still holding Max’s water, so he came around the side of the bed to hand it to her, ignoring the dirty look she sent him. “I don’t want it,” she pouted.
“Come on, Max,” Steve sighed. “Throwing up with nothing in you is worse, anyway. And you need to take these.”
He shook out two more fever reducers and handed them to her. Max was still glaring, but she took the pills and downed a couple small sips of water before putting the glass aside. Steve considered fighting her on it, but her eyelids were drooping, so he caved.
He took her temperature again, found it a few points lower, and then settled back on his nest of blankets on the floor. Quiet settled upon the room, but Steve didn’t fall asleep until he was positive the girls were out.
W / T \ Y
Hopper and Joyce, helicopter parents that they were, cut their trip a bit short and walked up to the front steps of the cabin just after ten in the morning. Steve had just barely woken up and was trying to tame his bedhead in the bathroom mirror. The boys were still passed out in the living room (it made him wonder just how late they’d been playing D&D) and Max was asleep. El was not, but she had been contentedly staring out of her bedroom window with an arm around Max when Steve got up.
The sound of a key in the lock surprised him. Steve swiped a last hand through his hair—lost cause, sadly—and hurried out of the bathroom. Dustin sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily. “What time is’t?” he mumbled, curls flatted on one side of his head.
Steve ignored the question, hovering by the wall as the door swung inwards. It wasn’t that he was nervous to see Hopper and Joyce, exactly, though he knew they’d be surprised to see him. It was just that, well… he wanted so badly to have handled the situation well, and he was worried that Joyce, a tenured mother, would take one look at Max and inform him he’d done it all wrong.
The expressions on Hopper and Joyce’s faces when they laid eyes on Steve were duly startled. “Hey, kid…” Hopper said, eyes narrowing. “Uh…”
“Mom!” Will jumped up from his sleeping bag and trotted over to Joyce, giving her a big hug. “You guys are back early! How was your overnight?”
“It was very nice.” Joyce hugged him back, looking at Steve quizzically. “I didn’t know you were coming over, Steve.”
“We called him.” Will pulled back, frowning a little. “Max was really sick and we didn’t know what to do.”
“We couldn’t reach Nancy,” Mike spoke up, sitting up in his sleeping back and letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. Steve smirked at his immediate instinct to throw his big sister under the bus.
“But Steve showed up in like 5 minutes!” Dustin exclaimed. He glanced over at the last sleeping bag and gave it a kick. “Lucas, get up, everyone’s here.”
Lucas groaned unintelligibly and pulled his pillow over his face.
“Max is sick?” Joyce stared over Will’s head worriedly. “How sick? Sick how?”
“Uh…” Steve rubbed the back of his head. “She’s—I think she’s okay, now, or mostly, anyway. She just had a high fever and was throwing up. Probably just some sort of bug.”
“Oh, poor baby…” Joyce made a beeline for the bedroom. Steve supposed that maybe she had some sort of mom-sense for sick children because no one had said where Max was. He did, too, in a weird way—he was always happening to stumble upon his kids getting bullied or put into dangerous situations.
Steve made to follow Joyce but Hopper caught his arm. “You alright?” he asked gruffly. “You look beat, kid.”
Steve shrugged. He’d slept restlessly after Max had thrown up again, ears straining for any telltale sound that she might need him or that her fever had spiked again. “I’m fine,” he deflected and headed towards the bedroom.
Max was stirring, looking at Joyce with muted confusion. “You guys are back already?” she mumbled, leaning away a bit as Joyce tried to feel at her forehead. El got out of bed and slipped away, presumably to go see her dad.
“Yeah, sweetie,” Joyce murmured. She frowned as her fingers finally landed on Max’s face. “You are warm. How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” Max huffed. She still seemed on edge, and Steve felt for her. Joyce was the group mom to be sure, but that didn’t meant she had the same relationship with each kid. She and Max had never had much opportunity for interaction unless the world was ending, and even then it wasn’t one on one. Steve knew that, despite that, Joyce still loved Max like one of her own, but that didn’t mean it was fully mutual.
“Did, um… did Steve leave?”
Steve’s head snapped up, eyes widening. He realized he was in just the right spot that, between the doorframe and Joyce, Max couldn’t see him.
“Hey, no, I’m here,” he said, stepping into the room and giving her an awkward wave.
The tension left Max’s shoulders. Joyce looked between them, eyes widening. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, well, I’ll just… I’ll leave you both to it.”
Steve felt a little guilty, right up until the moment when Joyce patted his shoulder and shot him an impressed, searching look.
“How ya feeling, kid?” Steve asked, ruffling her hair. Her hairline was soaked in sweat and she was still very pale, but he thought she felt a bit less warm.
Max lifted a shoulder. “All right. Kinda woozy.”
“Want to eat something?” Steve jabbed his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I can ask Hop what he’s got instead of just… rooting through his cupboards like a vagrant like I did last night.”
Max’s lips quirked. “Uhh, I guess so? I dunno. I’m still kinda…” She mimed gagging.
“I’ll see if I can find crackers or something.” Steve gave her shoulder a squeeze and headed back to the kitchen.
The boys were packing up their things, talking quietly amongst themselves. Lucas looked up when Steve walked in. “How’s Max?” he asked urgently. “Does she feel any better?”
“She’s fine, dude, seriously,” Steve told him with a shake of his head. He was secretly quite touched by Lucas’ concern. That was a lot of care and devotion to find in a teenage boy. “You can just go in and see her, you know. She’s awake and not delirious.”
“How high’d her fever get?”
Steve jumped a little, not having realized Hopper was standing directly behind him.
“Uhh, first time I checked it it was 103.8,” Steve said, edging towards the cabinets. He still had this feeling that they were going to discover he’d messed up somehow, even though Max really did seem fine now. “We brought it down with some medicine and ice packs and stuff. You got any crackers?”
Hopper reached around him, opened a cabinet, and grabbed a box of oyster crackers. “I like soup,” he supplied flatly when Steve looked at the cute little crackers in surprise.
As Steve took the box and made to follow Lucas back into El’s bedroom, Hopper stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for being here. Kinda feels like you always end up being here.”
“Not always,” Steve evaded.
“When it counts,” Hopper insisted. “When it’s most important. You’re here. You did a good thing last night, kid.”
And with that, the last of Steve’s self-doubt faded away. He smiled, tried to hide it, and gave the box of crackers a shake. “I, uh… yeah.”
Hopper let him go, and Steve returned to Max’s side feeling like a whole new person.
Forget a damn good babysitter.
Steve Harrington was a damn good mom.