A/N: I am so, so sorry for the delay. I haven't forgotten about you readers. This story was always in the back of my mind. I did write this chapter in a hurry because I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer so I'm sorry if it isn't the best piece of writing. Thank you for all the likes, reviews and favourites! I really appreciate it! Reviews are love! Thank you for your patience and your love!
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Joyce woke up early the next morning after having quite a fitful sleep. Hopper had insisted that she went to bed while he looked after Steve. She peeked into the room now and saw both Steve and Hopper fast asleep, Steve sprawled out in the bed with more colour in his cheeks than the previous sickly white and Hopper slumped uncomfortably in a chair next to the bed. She winced, knowing that he would be sore when he woke up. But he looked so tired so instead, she draped a blanket over him and gently closed the door behind her. She had checked on both her sons and the other children and they were all fast asleep as well, exhausted from the late, stressful night before.
She quietly made her way into the kitchen, deciding that she had better get started on breakfast, what with eleven people in the house, most with ravenous appetites. As she worked, her thoughts went back to what had happened the previous night. She had almost lost her son and that thought had haunted her sleep to the point that she just lay there, awake, fighting the urge to go check on her son and every other child in the house. Not to mention, Bob. She felt tears unbidden, remembering his horrific death. Tears blurring her vision, she moved away from the stove, gripping the table at the side, trying to swallow back the tears.
She startled when a hand landed hesitatingly on her shoulder and a young, quiet voice said uncertainly, "Ms. Byers?" Looking up quickly, she gasped, immediately wiping her eyes and smiling at the person in front of her. It was Steve, a blanket draped over his shoulders and still looking tired and sick, looking at her worriedly, his eyes filled with a strange combination of understanding, sympathy and some fear. "Are you alright?", he asked, looking uncertain as his hand dropped away from her shoulder.
"I'm alright sweetheart. Don't worry about me. You shouldn't even be out of bed yet.", she said, her voice surprisingly steady as she ushered him to sit in one of the chairs, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders again as it started to slip. His hair was sticking up, untidy in a way he never let himself be seen in public and Joyce felt a smile creep onto her face. He looked so much younger than usual, she thought as her hands seemed to automatically move to smooth down the mess. He blinked, surprised at the gesture before frowning and repeating his earlier question, "Are you alright Ms. Byers? You were… you seemed upset."
She smiled at him, running her hand over his hair one last time before moving away slightly to turn off the stove where the coffee was brewing. Then she turned back to him, saying just loud enough for him to hear, "I was just thinking about Bob." Steve immediately looked both sympathetic and sad, dropping eye contact, "I'm sorry about Bob, Ms. Byers, he was a really nice guy."
"You knew him?", she asked, surprised. "Not really. But everyone knew Bob. He was…famous I guess. His reputation was one of a really good guy."
Shaking her thoughts of Bob, she looked closely at Steve again and remarked, "You still look tired. Why did you get up?"
"I couldn't sleep anymore.", he replied.
There was silence for a while as both Steve and Joyce didn't know what to say and she turned her attention back to making breakfast. She only turned around to speak after nearly 15 minutes. Turning around, she saw that Steve resting his head on his folded arms slumped over in his chair. His eyes were closed as he dozed but as if sensing her eyes on him, his eyes slid open and he flushed, sitting up straight.
"It's alright.", she said mildly, "I don't mind. You need to rest anyway."
"N-no. I guess… I should get going.", he said hurriedly, picking himself up from the chair, dropping the blanket onto the back of the chair. "Thank you, Ms. By-", he began before Joyce interrupted him. "Sit down before you fall Steve." She had already walked up to him, gripping his arm lightly and gently guiding him back into the chair.
The boy started to protest but Joyce hushed him, "You're hurt honey. Please just let us take care of you."
The words seemed to have more of an effect on the teen than she expected as his eyes widened almost comically before confusion took its place.
"What is it?", Joyce prompted gently.
"It's nothing. I just… don't understand."
Joyce had a good idea of what he meant but didn't push, instead asking what they all had asked when Steve had left the previous night. "Why did you leave Steve?"
His voice was quiet when he replied, so unlike his brash, loud image. "I didn't want to cause any trouble. I just didn't think anyone would miss me."
"Oh Steve.", she whispered, reaching down to take his hand in hers. He tensed but didn't pull away.
"Why?". He asked finally, looking at her, frustration clear in his voice.
"Why what sweetie?", she asked, confused.
He suddenly pulled away from her, standing up almost violently and moving several steps away from her. "Stop! Stop it! Why are you doing this to me?!", he asked, obviously trying to stop himself from screaming out the words, anguish shining in his eyes.
Stunned at the sudden change in his demeanour, Joyce stared, but only for a moment. She moved slowly towards him but stopped when he stumbled back another step. "Sweet-", she began before he hissed, "Stop it! Stop calling me that! I'm not your kid! I'm not- dammit! Why do you even care? What are you trying to do?"
He was shaking, looking pained as he stared at her. "Steve. Its alright. Its okay. Can you tell me what's wrong?", she kept her voice soft and soothing, trying to calm him down.
He stared at her for a moment, before sinking down to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and whispering, "Why are you doing this to me?"
Alarmed, Joyce started forward before stopping and saying, "Steve? I'm going to come over. Is that alright?" When she got no reply, she moved closer cautiously before dropping to her knees in front of him. Carefully, she reached for his shoulders and the boy flinched before tensing again.
"Steve?", she tried again and this time he looked up at her, his eyes dry but anguished. "I don't understand.", he whispered again, his voice cracking but eyes still miraculously dry. He began to shake violently again, slumping down to a sitting position.
"Why are you still here?", the boy asked after a few moments, his stance weary.
"I can't leave you now.", she said simply.
His lip trembled violently and a whine escaped him, his head lowering, eyes looking away from her face. Joyce couldn't help it then, she reached towards him slowly, trying not to startle him, taking his face gently in her hands and kissing his forehead. Another whimper escaped him and she wrapped her arms around him, tucking his head into her neck. He didn't hug back for a long time, before arms first returned the embrace with a weak hold, eventually tightening to the point of almost ripping the fabric of her sweater. He clung to her like a terrified, frightened child and then Joyce understood. He wanted the love, the hugs, the attention every child needed, but he was so, so afraid that it would disappear and hurt him again. Joyce tightened her hold on the teen as the boy shook apart in her arms. She could practically feel him breaking, right there on her kitchen floor, wrapped securely in her arms. But through it all, he still didn't cry and again she had a dawning comprehension. The pain of 17 years was finally becoming clear just now to its victim. His heart was shattering and he couldn't stop it. She understood, this pain, this anguish, this absolute and total agony was beyond tears. Tears were simply not enough to provide a release for 17 years of locked up pain. And her heart broke for him, for the teen cracking and splintering in her arms, for the lost, sad little boy he had been, for his inability to shed tears. She held him closer, trying her best to hold him together as he broke. "Sweetheart, I'll never leave you." To her dismay, through it all, was the still uncontrollable trembling and the heart-breaking litany of words, "I don't understand. I don't understand."
