I didn't expect it but this got quite the response (mostly on ao3) so here's another chapter...

*Warning for nightmares and implied past attempted non con activities*

~Bombdiggity Brunets 2~

"I wish we were dreaming," Jonathan replies five minutes later, but it doesn't matter that his reply wasn't immediate because none of them are going to think about anything else anytime soon.

They'd lifted the limp Steve onto the couch and tried to make him as comfortable as possible, Joyce biting her nails and Will humming 'Should I Stay Or Should I Go?' under his breath like a looped cassette.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Dustin repeats over and over as he walks in.

Jonathan watches as Steve stirs even in his drugged sleep - the teenager and Dustin had built up a bond closer than brothers - but whatever they'd given him had obviously been way too strong to be legal.

"What happened to our Steve?" Dustin asks and not even Joyce makes a surprised sound at the possessive pronoun because he is attached to all of them and they were all fond of him.

"Some idiots attacked him," Jonathan replies, not wanting to go into details and scare the kid.

"Then why aren't we out going after them, kicking their as-"

"Language..." Joyce mutters weakly, biting her lip as soon as she's said it.

Dustin has the decency to look slightly sheepish. "Sorry, Mrs Byers."

Jonathan stifles a laugh, taking a moment to wonder how on earth the curly-haired kid had gotten here so quickly, only to give up on the thought as the rest of the party walks in.

Joyce makes a small noise that seems to say 'why are there suddenly so many children who should be asleep in their own houses suddenly wide awake in my house instead?' but she quickly recovers, ushering them all inside and shutting the door; there's not much that can surprise her anymore.

"Hurt?" Eleven questions as she kneels in front of Steve then reels back. "Drug."

Mike steadies her before frowning at the unconscious teenager. "What happened?"

"Hurt..." Eleven repeats, reaching a hand out to touch Steve's bruised face.

A small part of Jonathan knows he should be explaining, should be saying something, should be doing anything but standing still, but he can't bring himself to interrupt the kids' theorising.

"It wasn't Billy, was it?" Max asks quietly, but it sounds more like a statement than an inquiry.

Jonathan shakes his head, finally feeling like he can contribute once again. "I don't know- we don't know who the men were."

Lucas squeezes Max's hand in what's probably supposed to be a subtle way but honestly couldn't be any more obvious.

Joyce walks back into the room, at which point the seven of them realise she'd walked out in the first place. She looks at them with an endearingly sad expression and chews on her lip for a minute before saying, "We need to wake him up."

"Wait, El, didn't Hopper come with you?" Dustin asks, speaking up for the first time since his apology for the angry explosion.

Eleven nods. "Outside."

Dustin looks torn between going to find the Chief and staying where he is knelt beside Steve so Jonathan coughs. "I'll go get him, yeah?"

He's exhaling shakily before anyone can thank him, breathing in the cold air as if it's gaseous courage. The sharp late evening breeze pricks his skin but he's hardly concerned, Steve's oddly terrified expression haunting his vision continuously.

"You okay, kid?" Hopper asks as if he was the one searching for Jonathan and not the other way around.

"I- um, yeah... Dustin wants you." Jonathan doesn't even look at the Chief, knowing his face will show a pity he doesn't want.

He follows Hopper inside and ruffles Will's hair when the younger Byers brother hugs him tightly. The two of them have seen a lot of disturbing things in their life but Steve being injured so badly is way too strange, way too unexpected, way too surreal.

Hopper seems to be having a rapid conversation with Dustin and Eleven by the time Jonathan can focus again, the three of them repeatedly glancing at Steve and occasionally looking to Jonathan for some reason.

Dustin throws his hands up after a while, retreating to Steve's side for a few minutes of awkward hushed conversations before apparently giving up and clambering onto the couch, practically draping himself over his self-proclaimed brother. Nobody laughs or protests, knowing that Dustin is strangely over-protective of Steve in particular and he's not fooling anyone by claiming it's only for the hairstyling tips.

"Move." Eleven's voice is hard and strong as she walks towards the group, her decision clearly made.

Everyone but Dustin and Jonathan does exactly that, grabbing someone's hand and standing against one of the walls. Dustin refuses to move, latching onto Steve, and Jonathan figures that, if something goes wrong, a middle schooler probably doesn't know as much about helping the injured as he does. Eleven nods at them as if praising something their choice and raises her hands, shutting her eyes and breathing so slowly it looks like she's stopped needing oxygen.

There's an alarmingly still silence in the room until Eleven's eyes fly open and she slowly clenches her fist.

Steve shudders before starting to tremble, more and more violent until his eyes fly open and he falls off the couch, retching. Dustin shrieks as he also overbalances so Jonathan darts forwards and rolls Steve out of Dustin's way to prevent further injuries to his already battered body.

Then Steve is gagging, spitting out something that looks like it has a mind of his own and gasping for breath between his heaving. Eleven winces but curls her other fist, the rest of the group watching as Steve's body rids itself of whatever he'd been given to subdue him. Nobody relaxes until Steve groans, his body going limp as he slumps against Jonathan, Eleven nodding in satisfaction.

"Hey, Steve, you look like sh-"

"Shut it, Dusty," Steve interrupts, his voice barely a whisper, quiet and jagged.

Dustin just beams, holding his nose and wrapping his arms around Steve, almost elbowing Jonathan in the process.

Steve tenses and, even though he weakly wraps his arms around Dustin in return, everyone teen and above in the room can tell his mind is elsewhere. Not that that stops him, he's Steve Harrington, initially mother of four but now definitely more, and he won't ever put himself above anyone else, especially the kids.

Dustin only clambers off Steve when Joyce demands they all gather in Will's room for a sleepover-esque meeting, at which point he gently pats Steve's head in an almost comical way and waves as he's pulled out of the room, allowing Steve to finally wince and shut his eyes, his face paler than should be possible for anyone who spends so much time in the sun as he watches over his kids.

And finally, Steve can think again, his mind racing back to the darkness of the alley and the slobbery gestures of unwanted affection that had been inescapable and much worse than the demogorgons because he can understand monsters that come from a parallel dimension and are born of what looks like possessive slime but he can't understand monsters that look human, talk human, smell human, but act so inhuman that his mind is sent into a frenzy of disbelief, horror, and confusion.

"Steve?" Jonathan asks and Steve jumps, realising that he's leaning against the other brunette and also that he doesn't really mind it.

"I need to... I need- go back." Steve shakes his head. "Parents- looking... will be looking? For me..."

Hopper and Joyce frown, their expressions clearly skeptical and unwilling to let Steve go anywhere out of their sight.

"I can drive him back?" Jonathan offers, wanting to cry at Steve's lack of spirit.

Hopper and Joyce once again frown but this time, it's kinder, more knowing, with a hint of amusement. Eventually, Joyce nods. "But if anything happens, you come right back, yeah?"

Jonathan nods and notices that Steve seems to have taken on a green hue. "Actually, I think he's going to throw up."

Sure enough, Steve's stomach tries to empty itself out despite having nothing inside and he coughs, groaning, his head pounding like it's being slammed onto the floor once again.

Joyce makes a sound that only a mother can manage, sounding both terrified, pitying, and protective.

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, his eyes dropping as he tries to fight his urge to sleep the world away.

"No, hey, don't say that... it isn't your fault," Jonathan says before either of the parents can, leaning forwards and practically wrapping himself around Steve.

"He's not going anywhere," Hopper declares as he assesses the barely-awake and shivering Steve; Steve probably would have protested but he's far too busy falling asleep on Jonathan, who's a mixture of elated, angry, disbelieving, and concerned.

"Well, he's not sleeping on the couch," Jonathan declares firmly, his voice the firmest it's ever been. "He can have my bed for tonight."

"Jonathan..." Joyce starts but sees the look on his face and sighs, her hands on her hips. "Alright."

Hopper grins. "I guess I get to upgrade to the couch then, huh?"

The three of them share a look that renders their previous decision absolutely rejected but before any of them can confirm it aloud, Eleven walks in with a blanket and a waffle. "For Steve," she says, a rough smile on her face.

Hopper's face softens as he takes the two things from her and passes them to Joyce, then following Eleven back to the other room so he can make sure the kids are all okay and on their way to sleep. Joyce places the waffle on the table but wraps the blanket around the two boys, kissing the top of Jonathan's head.

"Mom-"

"I already know and your sleeping bag is in the cupboard as usual in case you were wondering."

Jonathan grins for a second before awkwardly pushing Steve's weight onto Joyce and standing up, shaking his numb legs a little. Once he can feel his feet again, he wraps one of Steve's arms around his shoulders and all but drags Steve to his room, stumbling no less than eight times on the way.

Steve half wakes up long enough to frown in confusion, mutter an apology, poke Jonathan's nose by accident, and trip over his own feet, landing on the bed.

Jonathan throws his hands up in frustration just as Joyce laughs from the doorway. "Did he just poke you?"

"I don't know?"

Joyce shakes her head and throws a blanket over Steve, kissing the top of Jonathan's head once again. "Night."

"Night, mom."

Jonathan lets his eyes shut but he can't bring himself to sleep, restlessly changing position or sitting up and glancing over at Steve every few minutes.

It's a good thing too, because it means he's wide awake and ready to jump up when he hears someone softly whimper.

At first, he thinks it's Will back with another of his Upside Down nightmares, but the door is still firmly closed. His heart hammering in his chest from being awoken so abruptly, he sits up and looks around, gasping when he catches sight of Steve twisting and trembling in his clearly disturbing sleep.

He's up in an instant, his previous nightmares about the demogorgon seeming to be nothing in comparison to Steve's pale and scrunched up face. Despite his eyes being squeezed shut, they're clearly moving, his dream obviously a flashback of some kind. Steve's hands are uselessly clenching into fists but it's only when his breathing quickens alarmingly that Jonathan reaches out to steady the boy.

Steve stills at the touch and Jonathan sighs in relief but it turns out Steve isn't calming down, he's freezing in fear, and he's thrashing on the bed within seconds, sobbing, mostly asleep but awake enough to accidentally punch Jonathan's shoulder.

Jonathan stumbles back as the other boy cries out, Steve's watery eyes flying open and his breathing at a rate faster than should be biologically safe.

And Steve can sort of see past the men again, he can feel the blanket his hands are clenched around, but he can't get the taste of their poisonous affection out of his mind and he's spitting, gagging, trying to cry them away form him, clawing at his skin to rip their presence far from here, where they can never touch him again.

"Steve, Steve, hey, Steve, it's Jonathan, come on, it's only me, Steve, hey, can you hear me?"

Steve slams his eyes shut and weakly nods, flinching when someone settles on the bed beside him but trying to relax a little when he smells the familiar Byers' cologne.

It's strange, he manages to think even amongst so much panic, how a usually irrelevant scent can be so grounding, so reassuring, so safe.

He doesn't realise he'd been crying until he feels the gentle presence of tears on his face, tears that have been sliding down his bruised skin and rolling under his wobbling chin. He lifts a shaking hand to wipe the salty water away and discovers that he's still releasing tears, still unable to forget the stench of alcohol above him.

"Steve?"

He can't move, can't acknowledge Jonathan, can't open his eyes because he's scared- no, he's downright terrified of the men being millimeters away again, the one with a golden tooth and the one with a crooked smile that promises nothing but trouble, and so he can't bring himself to breathe until his lungs scream in stress and he has to cough, cursing himself and desperately drawing in breath.

"No-" he croaks.

"Hey, hey, can you hear me?" Jonathan asks, and then the weight next to him disappears and there's someone kneeling beside the bed and he can't tell who they are until he breathes in deeply and catches the scent of whatever that liquid is you need to develop photos.

But then he's worried, scared, terrified he's still in the alley and someone is taking a photo of him so they can show his parents and make them so mad because he's meant to be strong and he's supposed to be able to handle himself and he's going to be in so much trouble when they find out and they might send him away, far away from the party, who he's grown so fond of and he'll have to invent a long-distance walkie talkie because there's no way he can find another gang of middle schoolers but he isn't nearly smart enough for that and so he'll be alone again which means he'll have no purpose in the world and it'll be because of how weak he is, how stupid, how utterly useless and-

"Steve!"

He jumps.

"Steve! Come on, come back to me, you're gonna be fine, hey, you're okay, I'm still here, only me, you're okay..."

"Th- They- They wanted..." he trails off, shutting his eyes and groaning, doubling over so his head rests on top of the blanket.

"I'm sorry, man, you didn't deserve that," Jonathan says sincerely, definitely not expecting the tiny bark of laughter that escapes Steve.

"But- but I did... I did, didn't I? I'm ju- jus- just so... so-"

"Whatever you're thinking, it's not true," Jonathan says softly, wanting to cry but also wanting Steve to stop crying. It doesn't seem like Steve even knows he's still crying, and he probably doesn't care.

Steve finally lifts his head up and looks, really looks at Jonathan, his intense gaze both intimidating and pitiful.

"Are- are you, um, are you sure?" Steve asks, and Jonathan gets the feeling that nobody's really told him just how important, how appreciated, how incredible he really is - something that makes his heart clench in regret.

"I'm so sure," Jonathan replies, "that I could defeat one of those stupid demogorgons with my sure-ness."

Despite the tragically beautiful tears glistening on his face, Steve's lips curve themselves into a smile and he releases a small chuckle, some of the remaining panic visibly draining from his expression.

"Sorry."

"Why?" Jonathan asks in confusion, his heart a little lighter at the thought of Steve being a little more relaxed.

"I, uh, I woke you..."

Jonathan shakes his head and sends Steve the warmest smile he can muster. "I'm glad you did."

The shock on Steve's face would be conical were it not so heartbreaking; nobody deserves to live life thinking that waking someone who cares about you up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare caused by something absolutely horrifying and beyond anyone's control makes you a burden, nobody deserves that.

Not knowing what to do when Steve starts blinking so furiously he has to be trying to hold back tears, Jonathan swallows and stands himself up, waiting a few seconds before perching on the bed and wrapping an arm around Steve. He couldn't be more relieved when a head softly rests on his shoulder and he feels the other boy shaking, not because he wants Steve to he upset but because he's glad he can act as safety, a trustworthy ballast, a potential source of comfort.

After a minute or so of quiet sobbing and gentle humming, Jonathan shifts so he's also sitting against the headboard, Steve then diagonally leaning on his chest with his head on Jonathan's shoulder. Shooting down any attempts at apologies, Jonathan wraps himself around the other teenager, letting his head rest on the perfect fluffy waves that are someone better than his own hair despite everything.

"You're going to get better," Jonathan soothes, knowing that Steve probably won't be perfectly alright for a while but also knowing there's a never a point in your life where you can't heal, even if it is a painfully slow journey.

In that moment, there could be nothing as soothing as hearing Steve's small hum of disbelieving yet trusting agreement.

Steve's breathing finally, finally slows down to a rate that can be considered normal and the two of them curl around each other in a way that's sure to bring in stiff limbs in the morning but they don't think that far ahead, not caring about the rest of the world and only dimly realising that their hands had somehow folded over one another and their fingers had intertwined somewhere along the way before accompanying each other in the most peaceful sleep possible for them.

Jonathan does, however, have just enough time to wonder if this is indeed a figment of his imagination after all.

-END-

Et voila. Maybe leave a review? Let me know of any mistakes! Have a tubular time...