It took Steve a minute to realize he was lying in an alleyway. It was dark, but he could see a streetlight on the sidewalk up ahead. He pushed himself up, feeling something tacky as his head separated from the ground. He reached back and pressed his fingers to his scalp. Definitely wet. It was too dark to tell if it was blood, but it was definitely dark, so not water. He somehow managed to get to his feet, veering from side to side as he traveled towards the light. "Hey," he called as a silhouette passed up ahead. They did not stop.

When he reached the junction of the alley and the sidewalk, he grimaced at the light. Everything looked choppy, like watching a slideshow instead of a fluid video. He wasn't aware of the movement of his own feet as he turned in circles, looking for someone who could help. He was pretty sure he heard the sound of his own voice, although he couldn't remember consciously deciding to speak out loud, either. Next thing he knew, he was leaning against the wall of a break building. A mother with her little girl crossed the street to put distance between themselves and Steve. Several men passed him by, too. "You guys are assholes," he slurred.

He walked down the sidewalk, and spotted his car. He was pretty sure it was his car, anyway. He couldn't remember where he'd parked it. He patted his pockets and found that his wallet and keys were missing. Great. His parents would not be happy that he'd lost those. Hadn't he had something else with him too? He couldn't think clearly enough to remember.

He approached the car that he thought was his and tried the handle. It was unlocked, so he fell ungraciously into the driver's seat. Sleep was beckoning him, and he figured this was as good a place as any for a nap.

He was woken up several hours later, not by the sun streaming directly into his face through the windshield, but by the cop knocking on the window next to his head.

"Harrington?"

Once Hopper saw Steve's eyes open, he pulled open the door to the car. He had to catch the boy before he fell out. "Jesus, Steve. Have you been drinking? I got a call that you were sleeping in your car. What happened? Did you have another fight with your parents?"

"I don't know," he said, still slurring his words. Hopper took notice of that.

"What do you mean you-are you bleeding?" It was then that he saw the stains on the car's headrest.

"I don't know," Steve repeated.

"What happened to you?" At this point, Hopper was talking to himself, because he knew how Steve would answer. "Hey, Steve. Look at me."

Steve met his eyes for the first time during their interaction, and just as Hopper feared, his pupils were dilated. He swore under his breath. "Follow my finger, okay?" He moved his pointer finger slowly from right to left, up and down, diagonally. Steve failed to track it. "Do you have another concussion?"

"Oh, no," Steve whined, just barely comprehending Hopper's words.

"I really wish you could tell me what happened."

"What happened?"

"Right. We're going to the hospital."

He put an arm under Steve's and carefully hoisted him up, and situated him in his squad car, which was parked just behind Steve's. As soon as Hopper put his foot on the gas, Steve vomited. Fantastic. At this point, though, Hopper was growing too worried to care.

"Hopper?" Steve said a minute or so into their drive.

"Yeah?"

"Hi."

He tried not to roll his eyes. "Hi. Steve, what day is it?"

"I don't know."

"Try to figure it out. Guess, if you have to."

The following pause was so long, Hopper wondered if he was still conscious. "Tuesday," Steve said at last.

It was Wednesday. "Close. What's your full name?"

"Steven Jacob Harrington."

"Good."

"What's your full name?" Hopper could tell from the tone that this was meant to be sass. "Hey, Hop, where are the kids?"

"At their own homes, like you should be."

"Good," Steve said. "No monsters?"

"Not that I'm aware of, no. Did you get yourself in trouble with someone?"

"Um…" Steve tried to remember, he really did. "Hey," he said, "my keys are gone. And my wallet."

"So you got mugged," Hopper concluded.

"I got mugged?"

"I think you did."

"Aw, man." Steve slid down in his seat as much as he could with the seatbelt restricting him. The whole thing reminded Hopper of dealing with someone who was drunk.

At the hospital, they had to sit in the waiting room for nearly an hour, with Hopper growing increasingly impatient. Even when he pulled his badge out, they insisted they couldn't avoid triage. "His head is bleeding. What could come before that?"

The nurse said, "emergency appendicitis, a baby with a fever of one hundred and five, someone unconscious, just to name a few."

Hopper looked around the waiting room, where the worst thing they seemed to be up against was someone with the sniffles. Arguing with the nurse was going nowhere though, so instead he asked how much longer it would be.

"However long it takes until a doctor and a room are free."

"He could be unconscious by then."

"Then, he'd move up in triage."

"Aren't medical professionals supposed to have a little something called bedside manner? Hospitality?"

Steve called from the other side of the room, where he sat slumped with a bloody washcloth pressed to his head, "Hop."

Hopper rushed to his side. "What is it? Something wrong?"

"Yeah, you yelling at that nurse. You're giving me a headache."

"Don't blame me for that. Whoever did that to you gave you a headache, not me."

"Yeah, well, you're making it worse."

So they sat quietly until called back. At one point Steve fell asleep against Hopper's shoulder and nearly gave him a heart attack, until Hopper was able to wake him and prove that he was merely napping and not unconscious. "You're not supposed to sleep with a concussion, kid."

"Not until the concussion buys me a drink first."

Hopper groaned. At least the kid was trying to be funny.

Finally, they were taken back. There they had to wait another twenty minutes until a doctor showed up. In the meantime, Hopper alerted his team to be on the lookout for the mugger, and to examine the area near where Steve's car was parked.

The doctor, a pretty young woman who couldn't have been out of medical school for very long, was much nicer than the nurse. She administered tests basically identical to the ones Hopper used with drunk drivers ("walk in a straight line," "say the ABCs backwards,) and Steve failed them all. Then, she sent Steve for a CT scan, leaving Hopper alone. While the boy was gone, Hopper received word that one of his officers found a sizable pool of blood in an alley near Steve's car. Since Steve couldn't provide a description of his attacker, they would be tough to track down. Hopefully they would be dumb enough to try to use the stolen credit card.

After the CT scan, the doctor ruled out other types of head injuries and diagnosed Steve with a concussion. She started giving him and Hopper instructions on what to do regarding the injury, interrupted by Steve, who said "I know the drill."

"Your records show you've had multiple concussions in the last few years. That worries me," the doctor said.

Hopper said, "me too."

Steve just shrugged. "What are you gonna do? It happens."

After getting Steve to admit that two of those concussions were from fist fights with different peers (there was no way he was going to try to explain the Russians), she suggested Hopper have a conversation with him about self defense and personal safety.

"Poor guy, you must be pretty unlucky," the young doctor said, "I thought this was supposed to be a safe town."

She didn't understand why that made the teen laugh so hard.

After she stitched the wound on his scalp, she released Steve with orders to come back in a few days, or immediately at the first sign of his condition worsening.

"I'll make sure he's alright," Hopper promised.

He brought Steve back to his cabin, finding El curled up with a book waiting for him to return. "How was work?" she asked Hopper.

"Didn't have work today," Steve answered instead.

El furrowed her brows.

"Steve here," Hopper said, "has another concussion."

"Not good," she said.

"No, not good at all." Hopper settled Steve on the couch next to his adoptive daughter. "Steve, should we call your parents?"

"I don't want to," he said, his voice whinier than Hopper thought it had any right to be past the age of five. Still, he clearly wasn't quite himself at the moment, so Hopper let it slide.

"I really think we should. They might know more than you do."

"I know plenty," he said defensively.

Hopper sighed. "Do I have your permission to call them?"

"Fine. Knock yourself out."

It wasn't like Hopper was looking forward to talking to the Harringtons any more than Steve was. Mr. Harrington in particular got on his nerves. During the call, he admitted that he'd told Steve to leave the house after finding him smoking a joint in his room, but he'd assumed he'd gone to Robin's house after that. He sounded remorseful after hearing what had actually happened. His mom took the phone then, demanding to speak to Steve. Hopper couldn't make out what she was saying, but could hear the high pitched squeaks of her voice through the line as Steve tried to placate her. "I'm fine, Mom. Mom. Mom. Don't-" He sighed. "Don't cry. I'm okay." He covered the receiver with his hand and said to Hopper, "she wants me to come home."

Hopper took the phone from him. "Hi, Mrs. Harrington. I think it's best if Steve stays put for now." He thought back to Steve puking in his car. "I think the less movement the better at the moment."

"Hop, it's okay," Steve said from the couch. "I'll go home, I guess. I'll need a ride, though."

Hopper chewed his bottom lip. He selfishly wanted to keep the kid here to keep an eye on him, but if he wanted to go home, that was that. "You sure? That's what you want?"

"Yeah," Steve said unenthusiastically.

"Okay." He said to Mrs. Harrington, "I'll give him a ride home. You're welcome. Goodbye, Mrs. Harrington."

Steve fell asleep a minute into the ride back. El, who insisted on coming with them, gently woke him up. He roused, confused. "Are we going home?" He asked, reorienting himself to his surroundings.

"Yep."

"I hope you find my wallet," Steve said. "It was a Batman one that Robin got me."

"Yeah, and hopefully your money is still in it."

"That too."

They pulled up in front of his house.

"Are you going to be okay, kid?"

Steve offered a half-smile. "I always am."

El reached forward to place a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Not always."

"Call me anytime," Hopper insisted.

"Will do, Hop." Steve saluted him. The older man noted the bruises already starting to shade his face.

Hopper studied him for a moment. "Alright. Let me walk you to the door."

Steve shook his head. "I got it."

Hopper and El watched as he made his way to the door, where his mom appeared to envelop him in a hug.

"Someone ought to wrap that kid in bubble wrap," Hopper said.

A few days later, Hopper's team managed to catch the mugger when they, as he had hoped, tried to use Steve's credit card. The young man was arrested, and Hopper decided to personally return Steve's stolen items. It may have just been an excuse to check in on the kid, whose face was now firmly in black-and-blue territory.

"It's a Saturday, my name is Steven Jacob Harrington, and Reagan is the president," Steve said in lieu of a greeting when he answered the door.

"Hello to you, too, Steve."

"Oh, were you not going to ask those questions? Everyone keeps asking me those questions. Including in the middle of the night. Dustin called me at three AM last night to ask."

Hopper held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Heard that one, too. Come in."

Steve stepped aside and Hopper followed him in. They sat at the kitchen table, where Hopper handed over his wallet and keys.

"Thanks." He opened his wallet and looked to make sure everything was still there. "Cash is gone."

"I'm not surprised. How much did you have on you?"

"I don't know. Maybe ten."

Hopper took out his own wallet and handed him a ten dollar bill.

"Hop, you don't have to-"

"I know. Buy yourself some concealer for those bruises, maybe."

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, whatever." He tucked the bill away into his Batman wallet. "Can I use it to buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

"No thanks necessary." He stood up and patted Steve on the back. "We take care of each other in Hawkins."