The very second she was off the clock, Robin bolted out of the video store and headed for the Byer's. She'd been worrying about Steve the entirety of her shift, and was eager to put her mind at ease.

Will answered the door.

"How's he doing?"

"Not great," Will admitted. "But he's not, like, dying or anything."

"Gotcha."

She followed him into the house, and found Steve bundled in a blanket next to Dustin. "Aww," she cooed, "look at you two."

"Hi, Robin," the two said simultaneously, though in very different tones. Dustin sounded chipper, Steve, dreary.

"I'm going to go back to the kitchen," Will said. "We're planning our strategy for next session. Dustin, you're missing a lot."

"That's okay. You can fill me in later."

Robin sat on the arm of the sofa closer to Dustin. "How are you doing?"

Dustin cut in, "he's really sick, Robin."

Steve waved his hand, brushing off the notion.

"You were spewing toast like a power washer," Dustin reminded him, as if he could have forgotten.

"Ew," Robin said at the imagery.

"Can we go back to when it was quiet, like, two seconds ago?" Steve pleaded. His head was still pounding.

"Okay, bye," Robin stood up and pretended like she was going to leave. "You're not going to stop me? Really? I'm your ride home, Steve."

"Oh, nice." He stood up, wobbling for a second as he did so, and discarded the blanket around his shoulders.

"I'm coming too!" Dustin declared.

Robin looked to Steve for approval, who shrugged. "If he wants to."

"Alright, I guess we're all going. I'll let Mrs. Byers know."

Dustin, all too happy, followed Steve out to Robin's new car while she did. "We should watch a movie when we get to your place. Maybe Clue. No! We should watch Star Wars because it's the fourth!" He spun around, pretending to brandish a lightsaber in his excitement.

"You do whatever you want. I'm going to sleep."

Dustin looked a little deflated, but tried to hide it. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Steve crawled into the passenger seat and closed the door, leaning his head against the window. He was cold again, and wished that Robin would hurry up so they could turn the heat on.

Dustin got into the seat behind him and poked his shoulder.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm sick of people asking me if I'm okay."

"It's 'cause you're not okay."

"Then stop asking."

Robin appeared from the house then, and joined them in the car. "Seatbelts on, boys."

Dustin, who was already buckled, looked at Steve. When he made no movement, Dustin poked him again.

"Stop poking me."

"Your seatbelt."

"Oh." He strapped in, and Robin started the car. Unlike Jonathan, she indulged his feverish ways, granting him full control of the temperature knob. Just when she and Dustin could hardly stand the heat anymore, he switched it to full-blast air conditioning. They managed to get a half asleep Steve onto his own sofa, not wanting to bother with the stairs between them and his bedroom. He face-planted on the sofa, and was asleep before the Star Wars opening credits ended. He'd told them on the drive over that they were welcome to the guest rooms (yes, plural), but unwilling to leave him, they made themselves makeshift beds on the large sectional couch.

"Ear infections aren't contagious, right?"

"I don't think so."

Steve awoke in a daze in the middle of the night. There were crickets chirping outside, and the television, which his friends had neglected to turn off, was playing some late-night home shopping network. The fabric beneath him was absolutely drenched in sweat. He'd have to clean it somehow before his parents returned home. Whenever that would be.

Being careful not to wake the other two, he made his way over to the kitchen and scavenged. Sick though he was, he was starving. All he'd had the entire day was toast, which probably didn't count. He found himself a can of ginger ale and some instant mashed potatoes, which he set about making in the microwave. He'd long since run out of the real food mom stocked up for him before they left.

He watched the bugs bouncing against the window as he ate, hoping he'd feel better in the morning. He doubted it, though. Although he didn't feel worse than this afternoon, he didn't exactly feel better either, and sleep didn't seem to be making a difference. He knew Dustin would tell Eleven and Max tomorrow, and he'd probably have the complete rugrat set showing up at his front door. He didn't feel up to playing babysitter at the moment.

He left the empty bowl on the table, and took his soda upstairs with him. He needed a real bed. Once there, he lay awake until the sun was nearly up, trying and failing not to let his mind wander to the horrors he'd witnessed. Visions of demodogs danced in his head. Still, just after pressing snooze on his alarm clock, he managed to finally fall back asleep.

Robin woke up around eight AM, when she would be getting ready for her shift on a work day. Luckily, she had off today, and had begged her coworker Jessica to switch with Steve before she left so he could have the day off, too. Steve's sectional sofa was surprisingly comfortable. It probably cost a small fortune. Comfy as she was, she was in no hurry to get up until she noticed that her best friend was nowhere to be seen.

"Dustin." She shook him awake.

The kid yawned and pushed himself up. "What?"

"Steve's gone."

"What?!"

They split up, Robin checking the bathroom and Dustin, the kitchen. "He was definitely in here," he announced. He peeked out the window. "His car is gone!"

"It's still at the video store because Jonathan drove him."

"Oh. Phew. Check his bedroom." Sure enough, they found him asleep in his own bed. They couldn't exactly begrudge him for it, but they were still getting over their adrenaline rush.

Dustin said, "there you are!"

"Steven Whatever Your Middle Name Is Harrington," Robin said, panting from running up the stairs.

Steve, awake from the commotion, mumbled something into his pillow.

"What?"

He turned his face. "I said 'Jacob.' My middle name. Steven Jacob Harrington."

"Noted," said Robin. She was sure this would come in handy next time she wanted to yell at him for something.

Now that the crisis was averted, Dustin turned his attention to his stomach. "You guys want breakfast?"

The other two agreed. Robin and Dustin stepped into the hallway, giving Steve privacy while he got dressed into a fresh set of clothes. He stretched and yawned. His ear still hurt like hell, but he thought maybe his fever was down. He felt more clear headed than he had at the Byer's. He slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then followed his friends downstairs, where they had bowls of the sugary cereal he'd bought for himself after he ran out of everything else. Robin took all the bowls and rinsed them when they were done, and Dustin got him a fresh can of ginger ale. "A precautionary measure," he said.

Steve nodded and accepted it. He stood up to follow them into the living room now that they were done in the kitchen, and stumbled a few steps backwards. Robin and Dustin were ahead of him, though, so they didn't see. He decided it probably wasn't worth mentioning.

"Can you take me to pick up my car today, Robin?"

"I don't know…"

"I feel fine to drive. Really."

"You also thought you were well enough to work yesterday."

She had him there. He gave up the issue for now, and settled in between Robin and Dustin for a movie marathon. He was actually enjoying himself when the nausea returned. "Fuck." He launched himself out of his seat and raced for the bathroom, barely managing to close the door behind him before throwing up into the toilet.

Dustin knocked softly. "Buddy? You okay?"

He tried to answer, but found himself vomiting again instead.

"I'll take that as a no," Dustin said from the other side of the door. "Do you want us to come in?"

"No." His voice was thready.

"It's not a big deal," Robin said, "I've seen you throw up before. You've seen me throw up."

"Stop say-" He was cut off by his own gagging.

"Okay," Robin said hesitantly. "Yell if you need anything." Then, she whispered to Dustin, "he better not have locked it, in case he passes out or something."

Dustin reached out and slowly turned the door knob, so as not to alert Steve. "Nope. Unlocked."

"Cool."

The two uneasily returned to their movie, watching the bathroom door more than the screen. Robin was just about to check on Steve when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Dustin chirped.

To his surprise, it was Hopper, with a bowl of soup. Hopper looked less surprised to see him there. "Joyce sent me over on my way to the station. Where's the patient?"

"Puking his guts out in the bathroom."

"Ah. I'll just set this down then." He followed Dustin into the kitchen and put the soup in the fridge, glad Dustin let him in so he could follow his ulterior motive of checking on the Harrington kid. Based on prior experience, he didn't trust these kids to decide when a doctor or hospital was necessary. Before Dustin could say something either way, Hopper was in the doorway of the bathroom, which was now open, as Robin knelt beside Steve on the floor. "How are you holding up?"

"Hopper?" Steve scrunched his eyebrows.

"He brought soup," Dustin explained.

"You look like death warmed over," the cop said.

Steve nodded. "Sounds about right." He turned to Robin. "I think I can get up now." She gave him a hand, pulling him to his feet. He started for the door, but stumbled backwards, managing to break his fall before he could hit his head.

"Whoa, you alright?" Hopper brushed past Robin and helped Steve sit all the way up.

"Yeah, I just got dizzy."

"I can see that. How long has that been going on?"

"On and off."

Dustin, who had seen Steve like this too many times before, asked "you don't have another concussion, do you?"

"No, I don't have a concussion, Dustin," he said like it was the stupidest question in the world and not something that happened to him on a semi-regular basis.

Hopper said "I'm going to help you up. Get you some place more comfortable than this floor." He did, slowly, and put an arm around Steve to support him on the way to the living room. He could feel the boy veering wildly beneath his grasp. Even sitting down, he was swaying from side to side. It was like an inexperienced sailor freshly off a boat. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," he answered correctly, although he looked green from the effort.

Hopper found a trash can and placed it by his feet, then looked at his watch. He really should be leaving for the station in the next few minutes if he didn't want to be late. But he didn't want to leave the kids like that. "Where are your parents, Harrington?"

"I don't know, where are they ever? Some business trip, dad told me but I don't remember where."

"You need to see a doctor."

Steve grumbled.

"I'm serious."

"Fine."

He didn't leave until he watched Steve call and make the appointment. "It's tomorrow, happy?"

"I'd be happier if it were today. Do you have my number?"

"911?"

"Very funny." Hopper searched for a scrap of paper and wrote down his personal number. "Call if there's an emergency."

"Thanks." Steve tucked the note into his pocket. "And thanks for the soup."

"You have Joyce and Will to thank for that."

Hopper left them to their own devices, against his better judgement. He really hated having to worry so much about these kids.