Chapter 2: Joyce
The first time Joyce thought about Steve after the shopping mall disaster was two days later. The kids were all at her house, drawn together by their shared experiences, trauma and the need to make sure the others were all right. Joyce didn't mind. Her home, as long as it still was hers, would always be open for them; a safe haven despite everything that had happened in and around it in the last few years.
It was Dustin who mentioned Steve at the end of a long conversation which brought everyone up to date. "Robin called me this morning. Her parents won't let her out of their sight at the moment but she's fine." He paused, looking worried. "Has anyone heard from Steve?"
The others all shook their heads.
"They probably sent him to the hospital," Max said in a quiet voice. "His face looked awful."
Joyce, standing in the kitchen preparing dinner, frowned. She thought back to the mall, to Steve's bloody, swollen eye and the cut on his lip. Had that been the extent of his injuries or had his uniform hidden more beneath all that white and blue cloth? Had he even allowed the paramedics to check him over and send him to the hospital? Had he been safe?
With a jolt she realized she didn't know. She had been so preoccupied with Will, with Hopper's death (a lump formed in her throat every time her thoughts strayed to those last precious moments underground) and later with El's fragile state of mind and Jonathan's bruise-mottled back that she hadn't checked if the other kids had been all right. And high school graduate or not – for Joyce, that meant Steve as well.
Guilt pooled in her stomach. She had simply taken her own children (and El, poor El who had already lost so much in her young life and didn't seem to be able to catch a break) and gone home that night, spending the next day between sleeping and crying and muttering reassurances that were meaningless because Hopper was dead and no force on Heaven or Earth or in the Upside Down could bring him back to them. There just hadn't been any room for worrying about anything else, or anyone else, during those first few hours of grief and pain. Joyce knew she was only human and could only do so much but it still made her feel ashamed that she hadn't made sure the other kids were as well as they could possibly be after what they went through (again, she reminded herself).
She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and stepped into the living room. The kids were sitting in a circle on the floor, huddled closer together than they normally would, and her gaze moved over the young faces. There were a few minor scrapes and bruises on them but nothing major. Joyce sighed in relief. Everyone looked tired and drawn but mostly unharmed. At least physically.
Six heads swiveled around to face her. "Is dinner ready, Mom?"
Joyce smiled. "In a moment. I just wanted to make sure you were all right in here."
Will smiled back at her. It made her heart swell with love. "We are. Promise."
The timer went off before Joyce could ask about Steve. With a barely concealed swear she hurried back into the kitchen, and between the potatoes in her oven beginning to look more black than golden, the vegetables in the pan following their example and a bunch of hungry kids talking all over each other in their excitement, all thoughts of Steve fled her mind for the rest of the evening.
It was Dustin, again, who reminded her that Steve was still unaccounted for a day later. In the late afternoon he knocked on her front door, looking worried and out of breath. His bike was thrown carelessly onto her lawn.
"Will and El are over at Mike's," Joyce told him, wondering why he was here and not with them.
"I know," Dustin said. "They don't believe something's wrong but I do and … and I didn't know where else to go. It's about Steve."
The words something's wrong sent all the alarm bells in Joyce's head ringing and she felt dread settle like a heavy stone in her stomach when she realized she'd never asked the kids about Steve the night before and what had happened to him at the mall. She could kick herself for becoming distracted but there was nothing she could do about it now, so she ushered Dustin inside and got him a glass of orange juice while he caught his breath. "What's wrong with Steve?"
"That's just it! I don't know!" Dustin exclaimed, clearly upset. "I haven't seen him since the mall and I thought he was at the hospital but when I went there earlier to visit him, they told me he wasn't there."
Joyce frowned. "Maybe he already left?"
Dustin shook his head. "He was never admitted. So I thought he went home but his dad told me he's not there either. He … he said some … things about Steve. Called him names." Dustin's frightened eyes met hers. "I think something's wrong, Mrs. Byers. I think something happened to Steve and no one knows where he is."
"Breathe, Dustin. I'm sure he's fine," Joyce tried to reassure him even though her gut feeling told her something else.
Dustin wasn't having it. "Then why isn't he home? He was hurt, Mrs. Byers! Like, really badly hurt. He should be at home, resting."
Joyce bit her lip. Last year when Steve had collapsed in her kitchen and told her about the fight with his parents she had promised him she wouldn't tell the kids.
"They have enough on their plates already," he had mumbled. "They don't need to worry about my shit on top of everything else."
So Joyce hadn't said a word. When the kids asked why Steve was staying with her she told them that the pipes in his house had broken and he couldn't stay there until the repairs were finished. They accepted the lie easily. She had felt bad for using their trust in her against them but Steve had been adamant that they don't find out.
And they never did. Things went back to normal and when Steve found an apartment Joyce was the only one there to help him move. Not that he had a lot of things. All his belongings fit into one pitiful suitcase that made Joyce's heart ache. Steve had smiled at her reassuringly, though, after she had helped him settle in and was about to leave.
"Don't worry, I'll be all right," he'd told her. And then, "Thank you, Mrs. Byers. For everything. I … I don't know what I would've done without you, to be honest."
He'd looked so embarrassed in that moment that Joyce had reached out and pulled him close. When he buried his head in her shoulder she'd felt like crying. He wasn't her son but he might as well have been. She would miss him terribly and wanted nothing more than to take him back home with her. But he wanted to leave, no matter how often she had told him he could stay, and Joyce knew he was old enough to make his own decisions. It still hurt to let him go, though.
"Remember," she'd said when she pulled back, "my door is always open, all right?"
Steve had nodded but now Joyce wondered if he had truly heard and understood her that day. From the time they spent living together she knew that Steve was always trying to help others but had a hard time accepting help and comfort for himself. She didn't know if his father taught him that (Lonnie would always tell the boys to toughen up and that crying was for girls, and Steve's father didn't seem much better than Lonnie) or if he was so used to being alone that he didn't know how to deal with problems other than on his own, but in the short few weeks he had stayed with her Joyce had tried her best to tell him that it was okay not to be strong all the time.
She should have never let him go.
Taking a deep breath, Joyce turned to Dustin, and broke her promise to Steve. "Remember last year, when Steve was staying here?"
Dustin furrowed his brow. "When the piping in his house was broken?"
Joyce grimaced. "Yeah. Look, the piping wasn't really broken," she admitted. "Steve's parents had kicked him out. That's why he was living here for a while."
Dustin's eyes widened. "His parents … why? Why would they do that?"
"Because Steve didn't get into any colleges, and apparently that's enough for the Harringtons to disown their son. He wasn't living up to their standards," she almost spat in disgust. "They threw him out with nothing but the clothes on his back and what little money he had in his pockets. He slept in his car for days, living on power bars of all things."
"Is … is that why he fainted in the kitchen that one time?" Dustin asked in a quiet, subdued voice.
Joyce nodded. "Yeah. He wasn't doing too good back then." She sighed. "I'm sorry we lied to you but Steve … he didn't want you to worry."
"Well, Steve's an idiot so you shouldn't listen to him," Dustin declared in such a matter-of-fact voice that Joyce couldn't help but smile.
"I'm beginning to see that," she said.
Dustin smiled faintly in return before his face turned serious once more. "I do, though, you know? Worry about him, I mean. Doesn't matter whether he wants me to or not. I'll worry anyway."
"Because you're a good friend," Joyce said.
The look on Dustin's face was heartbreaking. "Am I? It's been three days since the mall and … and I think he's been all alone all this time and he shouldn't be, Mrs. Byers. Not after what they did to him."
A thousand scenarios went though Joyce's head at Dustin's words and not one of them was good. She felt her chest constrict with apprehension, as if someone's hand was squeezing her ribs so tightly it hurt. She almost didn't want to know what Dustin meant. Almost. "Who exactly did what to him?"
"The Russians!" Dustin said at once. "They captured him and Robin – and Robin, she said they didn't do much to her but she told me they took Steve away and he was gone a long time and all beaten up and unconscious when they brought him back. She thinks they tortured him and … and I don't know what that means exactly but it's obviously not good and they were both drugged afterwards and he's … he's not okay, Mrs. Byers. No matter what he says, he can't be okay and he shouldn't be alone."
Tortured.
Drugged.
The words echoed in Joyce's mind and made her skin crawl. Steve Harrington was just a teenager. He shouldn't have to go through something like that. Hell, she thought, none of them should. And she had been too busy with everything else to even spare him a thought, telling herself he would come to her if he needed help. But would he? He hadn't gone to anyone after the fight with his parents, after all, and he would probably still be sleeping in his car if he hadn't fainted in her kitchen that day. That thought made her want to cry. Did he even have anyone he could confide in? She knew he hadn't talked to her or Hopper. She also knew he didn't want to worry the kids, so they were out of the question, too. That only left Jonathan and Nancy and considering their complicated history Joyce was pretty sure Steve would rather die than talk to them.
Shit, Joyce thought. She'd really screwed up this time.
Making a decision, she stood up and reached for her car keys. "Come on, let's go."
"You know where he lives?" Dustin asked, his eyes lighting up in hope as he scrambled off the couch.
Joyce nodded. "Who do you think helped him find an apartment?"
The drive wasn't actually that long but it felt like hours until they pulled up in front of Steve's apartment building. Dustin wrinkled his nose when he saw the rundown structure. "That's a far cry from where he used to live," he observed quietly.
"It's the best he could afford with his salary," Joyce said, heart heavy as they walked up the stairs. "He could have stayed with us but …"
"He didn't want to be a bother," Dustin finished for her. "Yeah, I know. It's what he always tells my mom when she invites him to stay for dinner."
They reached Steve's door and Joyce knocked once, twice. "Steve? Are you there?" When there was no answer, Joyce tried again. "Steve? It's Joyce and Dustin. We just want to make sure you're all right."
A faint, "No," was the answer they got.
Joyce shared a worried look with Dustin before Dustin turned back to the door and rapped his knuckles against it in quick succession. "Steve!" he shouted. "If you don't open this door right now we're coming in. We'll break it down if we must. You know me, Steve. I'll do it." A little quieter he said to Joyce. "Please tell me you have a key."
Despite the situation Joyce chuckled. She fished Steve's spare key out of her pocket and held it up triumphantly. "I do."
From within the apartment they heard a broken and hoarse, "Stay away! Please!"
Joyce took that as their cue to go in.
The apartment was dark and the air seemed to stand still. Cautiously, Joyce moved towards Steve's living space. What she saw when she turned on the light broke her heart.
Steve was sitting on the ground beneath the window with his hands buried in his hair. He was barefoot and his head was bowed, almost completely hidden by his arms. But that wasn't what made Joyce stop in her tracks. It was the wild array of bruises littering Steve's chest and curling around his ribs towards his back in vicious lines of blue and purple, standing out harshly against his pale skin.
"Steve?" Dustin asked, his voice cracking with shock.
Steve lifted his head and an expression of pure terror crossed his face. "No, you can't be here! You need to leave! Please!"
The dark bruise around his eye stood in stark contrast to the pallor of the rest of his face. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink since the mall. Nightmares, Joyce thought. Her eyes fell on the empty bottle of pills. And pain.
She took a tentative step closer. "It's all right, Steve. We're here to help."
"No!" Steve shook his head vehemently. "No, you need to leave! They'll come, I know they will, and they'll find you and hurt you and – "
"No one will hurt us, Steve," Dustin said, voice gentle and quiet and more grown up than any child should sound. "It's over. I promise you, it's over."
Steve laughed harshly, a terrible sound. "It's never over. Don't you see? I told them my name, where I live – where you live! They know where I work. Scoops Ahoy. I told them. Again and again. Scoops Ahoy. Scoops Ahoy. They know. They will come. The doctor will come."
He shuddered violently and Joyce realized why he hadn't gone to the hospital. Something had happened to him down there, something to do with a doctor and possibly the drugs he'd been forcibly injected with, and now he was scared. He was scared and terrified and he'd been alone for three days.
Oh god, she thought.
Slowly so as not to startle him Joyce crouched down in front of Steve. "Steve," she said gently, "We're here to take you somewhere safe. All right?"
He hid his head in his arms again. "Nowhere is safe."
"My home is safe," Joyce insisted. "You know it is. The … the Russians don't know about it. I promise."
Steve hugged his knees more tightly and shook his head again. "Can't put you in danger. Can't let them hurt you. Not you. Not the kids. Won't talk again. I promise. Please, I promise. I work at Scoops Ahoy. I know nothing. I only make ice cream. I promise, it's Scoops Ahoy. Won't say anything else. Won't give up my friends. Never again. Have to keep them safe."
Joyce glanced at Dustin, not understanding why Steve kept talking about his former workplace. She frowned. Dustin looked stricken and his eyes steadily filled with tears even as he put on a brave smile. "Steve, buddy?" he asked. "It's okay. It's okay that you talked. I'm not mad anymore, I promise. This is Hawkins. Everyone knows everyone anyway. You didn't do anything wrong. Please, just … let us help you. Mrs. Byers' house is safe. Eleven's there and … remember how she took out those Russians at the mall? She'll kick their asses again if they dare come back."
"El?" Steve asked, looking up in confusion. There was a feverish gleam in his eyes. "Is she all right? Her leg …"
"She's getting better," Joyce reassured him. "And so will you once we get you home. You can see her then."
Steve's breathing hitched. "I don't have a home."
Joyce's heart broke. Every instinct told her to pull him into her arms, so that's what she did. She surged forward and gathered him close. Instead of struggling like she expected him to Steve gripped her shirt with all the strength he had. His face felt feverishly hot against her neck.
"Of course you have a home," Joyce whispered fiercely. "You could have stayed with us for as long as you wanted. Forever, if you'd like. I'm so sorry I didn't make that clearer."
She felt Steve take a deep, shaky breath. "I … I miss …" he began and faltered. Joyce waited patiently, all the while gently rubbing his back. "… this," he finally said in a broken, helpless voice.
"Then come home," Joyce urged him, fighting against tears of her own. "Please, Steve. I promise it's safe." But that wasn't enough. It hadn't been the last time, after all. Steve needed more than a safe place. He needed to believe he was welcome there – a part of them. "You're family, Steve," Joyce added in a whisper. "I mean it. You belong with us. You always have."
For a moment time seemed to freeze. Steve became rigid in her arms and she heard Dustin holding his breath. Fearing she'd said too much, or maybe not enough, Joyce prepared for the worst. But then Steve shuddered and let out a choked sob that went straight to her heart, clutching at her back with a desperation that only made her hold him tighter. She could only imagine how much her words must mean to him after days of being alone with only the ghosts and monsters in his head, fearing for his life and those of everyone he loved.
"Shh," she hushed him gently. "It's all going to be all right, Steve. You're safe and you're not alone. I promise." Looking at Dustin, she asked quietly "Could you pack his clothes?"
Dustin nodded. Eager to help, he sprang up. It didn't take him long to find a bag and pack up what little Steve owned. When he was done Joyce finally pulled back and looked at Steve's injured face. She took in the damp trails the tear left, the clamminess the fever was causing and the painful-looking wounds.
"Come on," she said, keeping her voice gentle as she carefully brushed his hair back and felt his temperature. "Time to go home."
It took both her and Dustin to get Steve up from the floor. His legs were shaky and he swayed dangerously in the harsh glow of the light bulb. His ribs cast horrible shadows all over his chest, darkening the bruises even more. Joyce didn't have to ask if Steve had been eating these last few days. It was obvious he hadn't. Good thing she was great at making soup.
She grabbed a comfortable looking sweatshirt and slowly helped Steve into it while Dustin got Steve's shoes. By some miracle they managed to get Steve down the stairs and into the car without accident. The short walk seemed to have taken what little strength Steve had left out of him because he fell asleep almost as soon as Joyce started the engine, bundled up in the backseat with Dustin close by. Joyce's eyes met Dustin's in the rearview mirror. "You okay?"
Despite being obviously shaken Dustin nodded. "Will he be all right?"
"I hope so," Joyce said truthfully, briefly glancing at Steve before turning her attention back to the road. "We'll do everything we can to make sure he gets better. Both physically and mentally," she added. "It's gonna take some time, though."
A lot, she mentally added. But that was a concern for another day. All that mattered now was that Steve was with them, safe and sound and surrounded by people he loved. The rest would come with time, patience and care. And love – something that had been lacking in Steve's life for far too long. Joyce was determined to change that. She knew she could never replace his parents or undo the damage they had done, but she could be there for Steve when he needed reassurance, advice or someone to listen. She could make sure he ate properly, and wake him when the nightmares got too bad. And she could do her best to make him feel loved and cherished – a part of her family instead of an intruder.
In the rearview mirror, she watched Dustin bunch up his jacket and place it under Steve's head so he didn't bump against the window all the time. The gesture was so kind and gentle Joyce felt herself smile. Steve was lucky to have Dustin as a friend.
She turned the corner before hitting the gas pedal, not caring about the speed limit. They had no time to lose. Steve needed a bed, a warm blanket and something to help bring his fever down. The last thing she wanted was to have to take him to the hospital. She could only imagine his reaction to seeing a doctor.
No, she thought. She would get her boy home and she would keep him safe just like she should have in the first place. Steve would get better and she'd be damned if she ever let him go again.