Holy feedback Batman! You all are wonderful. Thank you so much! I promise to respond to your reviews individually but I thought you'd prefer the new chapter first.

A/N: A good chunk of this chapter is choppy by design, to mirror Steve's mental state. It's not just poor proofreading. :)

Waking a kid who had been in a fight with the high school bully then battled a supernatural creature from a dead sleep by tapping his shoulder probably wasn't Hopper's best idea. Now his jaw was smarting where Steve had whacked him and, almost worse than that, the kid was still asleep, albeit not as peacefully as before.

After taking a second to evaluate his options, Hopper poked Steve's shoulder with much more force then quickly leapt back out of range. The kid immediately began to thrash again, struggling against beings unknown.

"It's just me, kid," Hopper said, trying to keep from shouting. "Chief Hopper. You're at my cabin."

Thankfully, Steve stilled. After a minute, he looked over at the chief through swollen eyes but didn't say anything.

"You were in a fight," Hopper continued. "With Billy Hargrove. You remember that?"

Steve winced then nodded.

"You're staying with me while your folks are out of town." Hopper waited for some sort of acknowledgement from Steve but, when he didn't get one, barreled ahead with the first question on the list from Dr. Wilkin. "You know your name?"

Steve nodded.

"I need you to tell it to me, kid."

"Steve 'aring'n."

"What city do you live in?"

There was a brief pause before, "Haw'ins."

"That's right. You in pain at all?"

Steve just closed his eyes and tilted his head to the right, which Hopper took to mean 'no'. "Ca'I'go 'ack to slee' 'ow?"

"Sure kid." But Steve had already passed out again.

Hopper exchanged the peas for ice wrapped in a towel and rested it against the stitches in Steve's forehead. Then he reset his alarm and finagled himself back into the small arm chair. "See ya in a couple hours."

It felt like Hopper had just closed his eyes before his alarm sounded again. He smacked at it hurriedly, before it woke Eleven, then stretched his arms over the back of the chair, grimacing when something popped.

This time, he firmly grabbed Steve's wrists, at the same time he tapped the kid on the shoulder. Steve tried to shoot upright, his expression panicked, but Hopper held him steady, repeating his name, where Steve was, that the gate had been closed, as loudly as he dared with Eleven sleeping in the next room. Eventually the teen relaxed and his gaze focused on Hopper.

"Lemme sleep," he slurred, trying to free himself from Hopper's grip.

"Can't, sorry. Doctor's orders." With that, the chief released him. "Gotta run through the questions again. Name?"

"Steve 'aringt'n."

"Who's the president?"

Steve's brow furrowed and he was silent for so long Hopper wasn't sure he was going to get an answer. But then the kid mumbled, "Reagan."

"What school do you go to?"

This answer came much more quickly: "'aw'ins 'igh."

Hopper nodded and, after deciding that was enough questions to check Steve's mental state, put the list from Wilkin back on the coffee table. "You passed kid," he declared.

Steve just smiled lopsidedly before his eyes closed and his breathing began to slow.

Hopper spared another minute to readjust the blanket over Steve's legs before going to check on Eleven, who hadn't so much as shifted positions since falling asleep. Since he couldn't see her chest moving under the comforter, he stuck a finger under her nose to make sure she was still breathing before returning to the main room, resetting his alarm, and praying he'd fall right to sleep to maximize his allotted two hours.

He needn't have worried; he was out before his head hit the back of the armchair.

Eleven's eyes shot open, knowing without having to check that it was six-three-zero. Hopper was going to wake up Steve, ask him questions, then let him go back to sleep.

He was tired, after looking after her and Steve. She would let him sleep.

Eleven climbed out of bed, blanket wrapped around her like a cape, and turned off the button for the alarm with her mind.

Then she held out her hand toward Steve to keep him still while she woke him up.

"Steve," she said, her voice tight with concentration.

He tried to sit upright then began to fight her when he couldn't.

"Steve," she said again, this time a little louder.

His bruised eyes opened a crack and he stopped moving as soon as he recognized her.

"'re's Hopper?" he mumbled.

"Tired. Needs sleep."

Steve stared at her. "You too."

She nodded, then reached for the paper. In the moonlight, she could only see some of the words and could understand even less. But she'd heard Hopper ask them at two-three-seven and four-three-six so she would be okay. "Questions."

Before she could actually ask them, Steve spoke up. "Steve H'rringt'n, 'awkins, 1984."

Seemed good enough to her.

She nodded then patted his shoulder. "Good night Steve."

"Thanks, 'l'ven," Steve mumbled as his eyes slid closed.

She wiped the blood from under her nose then went over to the alarm and manually turned it back on. After setting it for two more hours, she climbed back into bed, tucked her bear under her arm and tugged her blankets tightly around her.

She was asleep ten seconds later.

A bright light pulled Steve into consciousness. He tried batting it away…with no success. So he opened his eyes...and nearly blinded himself.

The light was coming from up high so Steve held up his hand, blocking it.

Window, his brain belatedly supplied.

Then Steve saw the deer head mounted on the wall.

What the…

He looked around frantically, memories clicking into place when he spotted Eleven curled up in a ball in an arm chair, her head on the armrest, munching on a waffle.

Then she looked up, making eye contact with Steve.

The next second, something appeared about two inches from his face and he jerked back, sliding a few inches up the armrest of the couch. It took his eyes a moment to focus on a plate stacked high with overlapping waffles.

"Eggos," Eleven said, taking another bite of one of her own.

Steve blinked, then the plate was gone, replaced by Hopper.

"How you feeling?" the chief asked as he put the plate on the coffee table. Yet, a second later, it slid back into Steve's line of vision.

Hopper looked left then shook his head. "Thanks for sharing Jane but I don't think he's up for Eggos right now."

Jane? Steve wondered flittingly before a sharp pain lanced through his brain. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand, only barely able to hear Eleven replying in the distance: "Friends eat Eggos. Friends feel better."

Was she talking to him? Steve put down his hand and saw Eleven pointing at him. "Friend," she declared. "Protected friends."

Hopper smiled but his eyes were sad. Steve didn't know why.

"I'll try one," he heard himself say, again not knowing why.

Eleven's face lit up—ah, that was why—and Hopper handed one over, looking a little…concerned.

With good reason. Steve had hardly taken a bite before his stomach revolted. It took everything he had to keep from seeing the waffle again.

"Sorry El," he muttered once the nausea began to subside.

Then time got a little blurry and next thing he knew he was handing back an empty glass to Hopper.

"Let's start with something a little softer," Hopper then said, holding out a banana that had seen better days.

Steve shook his head but Hopper persisted. "You need food in your stomach to take painkillers."

Well, in that case.

Steve took a few bites of the banana, swallowed hard and begged any entity out there to keep it down. When it did, Hopper gave him three pills and another glass of water.

"Rest kid," Hopper said before standing. "Eggs too, Jane."

She smiled mischievously, which was the last thing Steve remembered before sleep pulled him under.

Steve was painfully aware of how much everything hurt. But this time it was different. His eyes were no longer heavy with sleep and his face, though still extremely tender, no longer felt like it was on fire. In fact, the most pressing pain was his back, probably from lying on the couch for so long. Which meant he should probably get up…Which meant he needed to open his eyes.

He immediately did a double-take. A curly-haired girl was sitting in the armchair, mouth moving while she stared at a book. Was she speaking? He wasn't hearing anything.

Then his vision sharpened and he recognized the kid as Eleven, and the book as… Ramona something. It hurt Steve's brain to stare at the title too long. Perks of that concussion. Frickin' Billy Hargrove.

…And now she was looking at him.

"Hi," he grunted out.

"Hi," she repeated, still staring at him.

Before Steve could speak again, his back complained with much more urgency and he spent the next minute or so arranging himself in a sitting position.

A litany of curse words went through his head as every part of his body chimed in with their respective aches and pains. He thought he'd done a good job of not vocalizing it, until he refocused on Eleven, whose eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline.

He almost swore again. "Don' r'peat that," he mumbled.

She nodded then returned to her book. Her lips started moving again but this time, Steve was sure she wasn't actually saying anything.

Once he'd caught his breath, he took a look around the part of the cabin he could see without turning his head.

"Where's Hopper?"

Eleven pointed over her shoulder at the back of the cabin. "Laundry."

Steve nodded, then grimaced as another concern made itself known. "Bathroom?"

Eleven pointed to somewhere behind Steve. Not trusting his head to move of its own accord, Steve turned his upper body to see the tub and sink, and a small door next to that that most likely held the toilet.

Doing his best to keep back the curses, he hauled himself upright and shuffled over, bracing himself on the couch for as long as possible.

By the time his business was done and he'd stepped out of the closet, Eleven and Hopper were sitting at the table, eating.

"Good to see you up and about," Hopper said.

Steve grunted out a noncommital reply and went to wash his hands, making sure to avoid looking at himself in the mirror.

"You hungry?" Hopper asked as soon as Steve turned back around.

The teen nodded as he slowly hobbled over to the table, where he sank into the first available seat.

There was scratching sound then a full plate of waffles slid into his field of vision.

"Wha's'with the Eggos?" he asked, all the while glad he no longer sounded like he was drunk off his ass.

Hopper shrugged as he stood up and walked over to the pantry. "She loves 'em. Plus, it's been a trying few days. I'm okay losing this one." He pulled out a box of cereal, a loaf of bread and a few other breakfast items. "What sounds good?"

The teen's stomach lurched at the eggs, the sausage and the sugary cereal. "Toast?" he asked, hopefully.

"And for a protein?" Geez, Hopper had this dad routine down pat.

"Peanut butter?"

Hopper rustled through the cabinets, then pulled out a jar and and looked inside. "You're in luck."

As the chief slid bread into the toaster, Steve turned to look at Eleven. "You know there's real waffles right? Not jus' this frozen stuff."

Her eyes widened and the Eggo just about fell out of her hand. "These aren't real?" she said slowly, with great pauses between words.

Steve winced at her expression, then grimaced when that motion sent a lance of pain through his brain. "They are," he backtracked, "but they're frozen. Should have 'em fresh a'least once."

"It's on the list," Hopper said, sliding a slice of toast coated with peanut butter in front of Steve.

As Eleven whirled to face Hopper, demanding an explanation, Steve stared at the slice of toast for a moment, preparing his system. Thankfully, his stomach only growled so Steve took that as a signal to dig in. He must have been hungrier than he thought since the peanut butter toast was gone about ten seconds later. Without being asked, Hopper poured him a glass of milk, which Steve sipped at gratefully.

"Was Dustin here?" Steve asked when he was done. There was a niggling memory of the thirteen year old being around him. 'Course that could have been last night right after the fight. He didn't remember a whole lot of that whole situation.

"This morning. Said Jonathan gave him the directions," Hopper replied, not looking particularly happy. "They're all coming by after school to check on you."

Try as he might, Steve couldn't find it within himself to be concerned about missing school, not after everything that had happened in the last few days.

"I called the principal, told him you'd be out," Hopper continued, before he paused to knock back a half glass of milk himself. "Also called your folks. Your mom's on the last flight out tonight."

Steve's heart lifted ever so slightly at those words. "Dad too?" he asked, tempering his reaction in case the answer was 'yes'.

Thankfully, Hopper just shook his head.

Steve smiled widely then scrambled for a napkin when his split lip opened again. While Steve was fairly sure his dad loved him in some capacity (mostly that he was pretty sure his dad would donate a kidney, if Steve ever needed one), they disagreed on everything and anything in Steve's life—his grades, his girlfriends, his hairstyles, his future—which made building a real relationship almost impossible. In fact, the only thing they did agree on was basketball. His mom was a little more understanding—had always been—warm and inviting to his dad's curt and distant. It'd been a long time since the two of them had spent any time together without his father.

That thought combined with the painkillers Hopper kept throwing at him every few hours created a warm haze that floated Steve well into the afternoon. He and Eleven read a little (well, Eleven mostly read to him because the words on the page were swirling around too much to be legible), finished the puzzle (Steve fared much better on that, though his head began to throb if he concentrated too hard), and listened to music (Hopper's taste was worse than his dad's, not that Steve was in a position to comment on it).

He must have fallen asleep at some point because, when he drifted back into semi-consciousness, he saw a blanket draping itself over him, no human in sight.

Steve tried to thank Eleven, but couldn't make his mouth form the words. He was able to make himself smile, which he hoped she understood, before he slid back into his peaceful, definitely not-a-nightmare, dream.

Next up: the kids' visit!

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