Chapter Text
Steve Harrington never thought about dying in a way that was concerning, but he sure as hell would die in place of someone he loves.
It was foggy and rainy the second he stepped off the plane and into the awaiting air of Hawkins. He wrinkled his nose, but wasn't going to complain. At least he had somewhere to stay, and that was good enough. Even if he had no idea who his distant relatives were, he didn't have to deal with his parents' shit anymore. He already owed the Byers his life for that.
Steve looked around the Indianapolis airport, shoulders slumped with one hand shoved deep in his pocket and the other on his barely packed suitcase. He tried to settle the feeling of worry in his chest, heartbeat speeding up in anticipation until he locked eyes with a taller man who held a piece of paper with Harrington written across the front.
He went ahead and approached the man, warily sidling up to the (very obvious) cop and lightly clearing his throat.
"Steve Harrington?" he asked, looking at the sign and back to the man. He was tall, broad-shouldered with a bit of weight to him. Probably his dad's age, if he had to guess.
The man nodded, sticking his hand out for the boy, "Chief Jim Hopper. Joyce sent me for you; she had a shift and Jonathan's carting around the kids."
Steve shook Hopper's hand before quietly shifting back and handling his suitcase. He was always too quiet with adults, too awkward.
"Let's get going, we'll stop by the diner for some food and to catch Joyce. Her shift'll be done by then and I can drive you both home."
Hopper turned, leading Steve out to an old truck. He climbed in, the seats' leather well-worn and scuffed, with his suitcase at his feet. The soft drizzle of rain blurred the windshield, forcing Hopper to turn on the wipers to low before they pulled out and began the long journey back to Hawkins.
The drive was mostly spent in silence, the tones of classic rock played low on the radio. It was different to Steve, the young boy used to softer classical music or even jazz since his parents were higher-brow than this. But, he wasn't with his parents right now...so, why not try a new genre?
Trees sped by, blurring together and making Steve only slightly car sick. The small, dank town of Hawkins was quick to come into view and the awkward feeling of otherness settled in his chest. He didn't belong here, but he didn't belong with his parents either. They made sure to point that out every time he stuck to their side at whatever fancy party they'd been invited to, no matter who was lingering around them listening in.
The diner came into focus sooner than Steve thought it would. It was a small spot, really a hole in the wall compared to the places he had gone to with his parents. Of course, that just made it all the better to him. He hopped out of the old truck and gently closed the door, waiting for Hopper to walk ahead of him before quietly following (and nearly getting whacked by the door). Inside was busy, very obviously full of locals and well-worn elders. The floor was made of greying tiles, and the walls showed a long history of patrons moving throughout the space. An older man, balding but with an impressive beard, grinned at them in greeting and waved as he cooked at the grill right behind the bar. Two or three waitresses spun around the floor, all warm smiles and midwestern charm. Hopper chose a booth, grunting for Steve to sit across from him as he passed a menu to his side of the table. Steve sat, just in time for an older woman to saddle up to the table.
“Oh my god, Steve,” she gushed, shoving her notepad and pen into her apron and grabbing his face. Her warm brown eyes flicked over his face like she was taking in every inch of his face, and she probably was. “You’re so grown up! Look at you! Every bit the handsome boy I knew you’d be.”
Steve’s cheeks burned. He wasn’t used to being looked at so intensely, like he was worth being here and being around.
“Joyce,” Hopper’s gruff voice broke her concentration and she immediately dropped her hands. Steve didn’t want to admit that he already missed being looked at like he was the world.
“Sorry,” Joyce said sheepishly, “It’s just been so long. You were barely up to my knee the last time I saw you.”
“It’s okay,” Steve said, smiling awkwardly, “It’s nice to see you again, Joyce.”
“Oh, the boys are going to be so excited to have you with us,” she said, still grinning, “They get bored around here, you know?”
Steve didn’t know exactly how to respond to that, but thankfully, he didn’t have to. Hopper cleared his throat and gave both of them a long-suffering look.
“I’m sure you two can catch up after we eat, kids gotta be starving after his flight,” he said, closing his menu.
“Yes, yes, sorry,” she rushed, pulling out her notebook and pen again. “The usual, Hop?”
The man grunted in agreement, putting the menu back into its spot on the side of the table. Steve pursed his lips, scanning over his quickly before looking up.
“Can I have the tuna melt?” he asked, shifting slightly in his seat. He wasn’t too sure about American diner foods, but that didn’t seem too bad. He had to get used to it anyway.
“Of course, Steve,” Joyce replied, “Anything you want.”
Joyce stared at him, smiling just a bit too earnestly before snapping out of it and turning on her heel to give Benny the orders. Steve sighed softly, turning his gaze to the table.
“She means well,” Hopper said gruffly, “Gutted her when your mom had that huge fight with the Byers side of the family and moved off with you in tow.”
Steve winced, “Yeah. I heard it…wasn't good.”
Hopper snorted, “Nah, kid. But she was excited you called. Had her cleaning up the guest bedroom like the pope was on his way.”
“I didn't need that—”
“Probably not, but she did it anyway. Joyce always goes the extra mile, just gets a little too excited about it.”
Steve nodded silently, filing that information away for later. Joyce seemed like a nice woman; he'd hate to take advantage of her while he tried to get settled in here.
Their food came out soon after, as did Joyce, who climbed into the chair beside Hopper, and the two men dug into their food. It was quiet for a while, only broken by Joyce saying hello or goodbye to coworkers and regulars, until the curiosity got to be too much and Joyce just had to get it over with and ask.
“So,” she said softly, “Steve. You didn't tell me much over the phone. Not that I'm not excited you're here, I'm so glad you called, but…”
“It's weird that your nephew you haven't seen in six years called and asked if you had a spare room?” he supplied, swallowing down a fry.
Joyce winced but nodded, “I was going to ask a little…less harsh.”
Steve picked at his meal for a second, debating on how honest he wanted to be. He sighed softly and looked up at them, “Wasn't exactly my choice. Dad had an affair and blamed it on Mom. He ran off, Mom sold the house, and I…came here. Didn't want to follow either of them around the world and fuck up my already shitty high school transcripts.”
And, y’know, he wanted to know what it was like in a real family. He always remembered the warmth the holidays used to have before the family split. The way Joyce always made sure Steve felt at home in their little rundown home. How he always had to fight his parents to not say anything snide or backhanded. For Steve’s mom to be a Byers, she moved onto that Harrington wealth quickly.
“I was actually surprised you picked up,” he said after a second, “And agreed.”
Joyce nodded softly, “Well, I know my sister…and I’m just glad you knew you could call.”
The rest of the dinner was quiet as Steve finished his meal and just tried to get used to this smaller town. He watched Joyce and Hopper talk, their small glances at each other and the way Joyce would lean just a little bit closer whenever Hopper would speak again. Steve bit back a smile as he finished his tuna melt, wiping his hands clean and thanking another waitress when she came and collected their empty plates. He moved to put money on the table, some savings he'd kept in case, but Hopper refused and put down a singular $50 bill. Steve couldn’t stop the many thanks from tumbling out of his mouth, even when Hopper looked like he’d rather be buried six feet underground than listen to another thanks.
All three of them climbed into the old police truck, Hopper driving with Joyce in the middle and Steve in the passenger's seat. From the diner, it was only a three-minute drive to the Byers home, a small one-level with a shed off the back and treeline grazing just the edge of the lot. It was a cute space, very homey and lived-in. It was a brand-new experience for Steve, who was accustomed to two-story homes that would fit in a Better Homes and Gardens issue.
Steve and Joyce said their goodbyes to Hopper, who waited for them to unlock and open the door before he drove off, before making their way inside the warm home. Clutter backed up on various surfaces, showing the love and care this home had inside. The entire Encyclopedia Britannica collection was shoved haphazardly in between various other books on one of the many bookshelves in the living room. Lamps lit the house rather than ceiling lights, something that Steve was grateful for. He followed Joyce through the home, down a hallway and into another smaller room. His room.
“Will and Jonathan share the room across the hall,” Joyce explained, “Mine is on the other side of the house. If you need anything, just knock on one of them. Jonathan is out with the kids right now but they should both be home tonight, and you’ll meet them then. I’ll make sure of it.”
Steve nodded and looked around the room. It was pretty bare, but he guessed that was good for him to be able to decorate. The bed was covered in a blue plaid comforter, darker blue sheets underneath.
“Will helped me pick out the bed stuff,” Joyce said, a small smile on her face, “I hope you like blue.”
“Blue’s cool,” Steve replied. He winced internally before forcing a smile on his face. How fucking awkward can he be?
“Well,” Joyce sighed, almost giddy, “I’ll let you settle in. I’m really glad you called, Steve.”
She watched him for a moment longer before backing out of the room. He waved awkwardly before dropping his suitcase to the ground and flopping backwards onto the bed. He hadn’t been here a full day yet and he’s already felt more welcome than he ever did at home. Hell, Jonathan and Will were going to be forced to meet him when they got home. Even though its kind of funny, it’s weird when no one really paid attention to Steve before. He could be out for days and no one would notice, but here…here was different. Joyce was different. He was already so thankful for everything she had done for him and he only just got here. He owed her his life, really. Steve planned on getting a job as soon as possible just to help with expenses, possibly even pay Joyce a little rent as a thank you. He knew she would never accept, but he’d find a way to get it to her somehow. Maybe let Jonathan off the hook sometimes and cart Will around? When he gets a car, of course.
He sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his face tiredly. Starting over was going to be hell, but it was worth it. He was safe here. Joyce didn’t seem the type to judge, maybe he could even– nope, too soon to even think about that. That wound was still far too raw to touch. He was safe here. He had to get that through his anxious spiralling. Even if he wasn't too sure, even if he was far too hurt.
But life will always find a way to heal you, even if it has to break you first.