It's been a while but I had exams and I didn't want to post a small chapter so... Thank you to the guest who reviewed, it made my day!

*warnings for subtle panic attacks and overall tension as before*

~Bombdiggity Brunets 3~

Steve wakes with a scream.

It's not a vocal scream that alerts anyone else he's currently terrified out of his mind, no, because that would disturb them and he doesn't want to be a bother, but it's a silent, internal scream that causes his thoughts to spiral into pessimism, and he's rolling out of bed before he can really think about what's happening, quietly landing on his hands and ankles to avoid making a sound.

And he's out of the room within a few seconds, downstairs within one minute, and leaving the house in another.

With no time in his plan for shoes or a jacket, he simply takes as deep a breath as he can and places one foot on the road, wincing as the cigarette burn flares up again, and starts to run.

He keeps slamming his eyes shut intermittently, wanting to rid himself of any pain or weakness by the time he gets back to his house. He tries to pretend that everything is fine and this is just another basketball escapade and he isn't now scared out of his mind most of the time. He doesn't entirely convince himself to be free of panic but he forces himself to pretend, knowing his parents won't allow for a ruined reputation.

Strangely, the front door is open.

"Father?" Steve calls as he walks in, draping he coat he'd hung up at some point around his shoulders to make himself look presentable.

"Kitchen!" his mother calls, so he wipes his feet out of habit and walks to their kitchen.

"You look terrible, where have you been?" his mother asks, her eyes wide.

"Probably playing basketball again," his father scoffs.

Steve nods, attempting to suppress the flashes of those men. His mother smiles and shakes her head at him, obviously assuming it was just another rough practice after which he'd gone to a mate's house and lost track of the time; it's not like they could know the only real friends he has wouldn't touch a basketball to save their life.

"Go get cleaned up, I have a meeting we need to attend."

Steve stops for a second. "You want me to come?"

His father sends him a strained smile. "As my only son, you are likely to inherit my role in the company as long as the board deems you fit to do so."

His mother beams. "So go freshen up and then you boys can have some pie before leaving!"

Steve barely even comprehends that he's been promised pie because he's too busy wondering how he's supposed to pretend he's not constantly losing his mind in front of so many people - people that have the power to shape his future in any way they please.

Nevertheless, he takes a painful shower, washing the dried blood off his skin, regretting trying to claw his skin off when he sees the faint scratches, and trying his best not to agitate the bruises or burns. Sighing, he realised he'll have to keep a jacket on at all times until the marks of his nails fade.

As for his face... Well, people are quick to assume he's gotten into a fight anyway; that shouldn't be a problem.

It's a challenge and a half to make himself look as cocky as the world expects himself to be but he does it, his jeans, shirt, and jacket complementing one another and his hair styled into magazine-worthy perfection.

His fingers itch to grab the nail bat hidden under his bed but he resists the temptation and, instead, slips on the small necklace Dustin had given him - one half of the silhouette of a man with a quiff. It's hidden under his shirt so nobody can see the chain but it comforts him to know it's there, a comfort he greatly needs if he's to play the part of the Steve Harrington that died as soon as he walked into that alley.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbles when his mother offers him the pie. To avoid making her suspicious, he adds, "we had heaps to eat after the practice, I'm still full."

He's lying, of course he is. He just can't bear the idea of eating after the taste of intoxicants and arrogance in his mouth because there's no way he'd stomach it and there's no way he's risking throwing up in front of his parents.

Luckily, his father is too busy eating and his mother doesn't question him, only smiles and says, "Oh, okay. I'll leave it in the fridge then."

There's no more to be said by anyone - and he almost misses the constant buzz of life at the Byers' house - until they get in the car and his father suddenly announces he doesn't feel so good.

Naturally, Steve and his mother both panic.

His mother panics because she loves his father and she's worried for his health, probably also wondering if it was her pie that caused it, but Steve panics because he doesn't want to face his father's colleagues alone and he wishes he'd eaten that pie now.

As soon as his mother shepherds his father back inside, he feels the guilt creeping at his heart. He's so stupid, he tells himself, not thinking of his father's health first, and follows his parents inside, hoping neither of them picks up on his internal struggle to stay calm.

His father sits on the couch, looking greener than their dying bamboo plant, and shakes his head. "Son, you're going to have to go for me."

"What?"

His father nods seriously. "It doesn't look good if neither of us goes."

His mother sighs. "Be careful driving."

And that's that. Because apparently, neither of them can sense the utter terror running in his blood as he swallows and nods before taking the car keys and trying not to grimace. So he swallows his anxiety and shakes his head, climbing into the car as if it's an active volcano and starting the engine as if he's waking up a Demogorgon. His hands are clammy as he grips the wheel but he has no choice, knowing his parents will be watching from the window in case he backs down.

And so he breathes.

And breathes.

And breathes.

He just breathes because there's nothing else to do when he's trying so hard not to simply jump out of the car and run as far as his legs will go before collapsing.

After a small eternity of breathing, he twists the key and puts his foot down, starting to drive. It takes him double the usual time to successfully pull out and join the traffic and he can feel the tension rushing through his blood as fluidly as the car tyres on the road.

Somehow, nothing goes wrong until he gets to the office where his father usually holds his meetings, but then everything goes wrong.

He sees the stiff men in business suits that are probably more expensive than anything he owns - at least, in terms of money - and he sees the way they're carrying themselves like predators. That's not, however, what throws him off. The only that manages to hinder his confidence is one small detail he notices about one of the men: there's an awfully familiar ring on his finger.

And Steve abruptly feels his stomach twist and his heart skip a beat because he cannot accept the possibility of having to spend hours with a man whose ring had pierced his skin in an attempt to subdue him, he just cannot. Even breathing is a chore as his hands grip the steering wheel with all their strength and he attempts to calm his panic down but it doesn't work and suddenly his mind is whirling and his brain is spinning and the world outside seems to be blurring and there's nowhere for him to go inside the metal of the car so he needs to get out but he can't find the door handle and his fingers are uselessly fumbling around so he's stuck and vulnerable and they're going to get him again, they're going to get him again, they're going to get him again, they're going to g-

"-eve, kid, come on, please!"

He groans, blinking his eyes open and realising he'd passed out some point.

"Oh, thank- Steve, can you hear me?"

"Why does everyone assume I'm going deaf just because I keep blacking out?" He wonders out loud, his contemplation doubling as an affirmation.

He hears a strained laugh, then blinks again, surprised to see Chief Hopper standing above him. Well, kneeling above him... Kneeling beside him, technically, since he's lying on the grass.

"The meeting-"

"Isn't as important as you," Hopper interrupts, and Steve is once again filled with confusion.

"I'm s-"

"Don't even think about apologising to me, kid."

"Yes, sir," Steve mumbles on autopilot.

Hopper's eyes widen and he opens his mouth only to change his mind and change his head, then change his mind again and cough. "You don't, uh, you can call me 'Hopper' I guess?"

Steve, confused beyond measure, mumbles another slurred 'yessir' before waking up to a mouthful of hairspray. Or rather, hairsprayed curls.

He figures he must have blacked out again at some point but he can't remember and he has bigger things to worry about so he attempts to fool his mind into thinking he doesn't really care about gaps in his mental timeline.

He coughs and Dustin jumps up before grinning in excitement. "I knew my magic touch could wake you up!"

Steve smiles as best as he can, thanking whatever lucky stars - or government mistakes - had brought Dustin into his life and ruffles the younger boy's hair, knowing it'll annoy him. "Thanks, Dusty."

"Steve?" He hears someone ask and turns to see Hopper at the door.

He's only just opened his mouth to... to try and say something, anything... when Hopper shakes his head. "Why did you go barefoot?"

Steve baulks at the question, having expected many things, this not being one of them. Thankfully, he's saved from answering when Dustin stands in front of him with his hands on his hips. "Can we get him some water first?"

An entire glass of water that may as well have been a vase because it takes him half an eternity to drink under the intense gaze of a worried Dustin later, he's 'allowed' to answer questions.

"I didn't have shoes," Steve mumbles.

"I know what barefoot means, kid." Hopper sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "But why didn't you take any shoes?"

"I..." Steve shrugs, fighting away the image of his discarded shoe lying in a puddle because the last thing he wants to do is worry the Dustin who's staring at him with wide eyes. "I didn't want to go with only one shoe, that'd be stupid."

Just like he'd thought, Dustin laughs. He immediately coughs to try and hide it but the amusement is there nonetheless.

"Dustin, come on, everyone is looking for you, there's some creature with three heads attacking your team," Jonathan tells the younger of the 'hair brothers', hoping that's enough to convince him.

"See you, Steve-o!" Dustin smiles and wraps the teen in a quick embrace before darting off to save his team from a plastic monster.

"Steve?" Hopper asks, and his question is a given, considering Steve's newly bandaged feet.

"I had to get back."

Jonathan and Hopper both notice how he pointedly avoids meeting their gazes so Jonathan perches on the couch beside him and Hopper kneels in front of them with a smile.

"What was the rush? The meeting?"

Steve nods, swallowing. "Father... H- he said to always... Said to always be back before the str-streetlights turn o- off."

He doesn't notice his shivering until Jonathan wraps a blanket around his shaking shoulders.

Hopper shuts his eyes for a moment. "Why wasn't your d- father with you?"

But Steve is too far deep in his memories of racing with streetlights and climbing through windows to pay any attention. As usual, his subconscious is a mess and he finds himself seeing the man's casual expression through the window of his father's car once again, the ring glinting in his eyes and the smell of metal and blood and petrichor swirling like ghosts in his brain.

"Breathe Steve, breathe!" he hears someone yell as if through layers of oil and he shakes his head because that's so stupid, why wouldn't he be breathing and what kind of idiot forgets to breathe when everyone does it every day?

And then someone is pushing his head forwards and he opens his mouths and figures that he might, in fact, be the one who forgotten to breathe. He gasps, taking in as much air as possible and slamming his eyes shut as he exhales, trying to expel the tension in his muscles and the panic in his head.

But he can't dismiss the thought that he must be so weak, so awfully weak, to have fallen prey to such a petty detail - a ring - and missed a potentially life-changing meeting, not to mention he can't stop wondering why he'd forgotten to breathe because it's not like someone had taken away his ability to think but, really, it is a bit like that.

So it dawns on him with a jolt that he hasn't been thinking - not really - because he has but he's been thinking all the wrong things and not thinking about everything that requires his attention and that's not too different from not thinking at all. He groans, letting his head fall into his hands and screwing his eyes so hard he can see patterns that don't exist outside but he can't avoid the crushing realisation that he doesn't have control of his thoughts anymore, that he's grappling to be in charge of something much bigger than he can handle, that, no matter what he does, he simply isn't strong enough to overcome the relentless replays of the alleyway.

"You're going to get better."

Even with the accusatory voice in his head telling him he may as well give up, Steve can find a small solace in those softly whispered five words.

"Promise?" he can't help the quiet question escaping his lips and he half expects a scornful laugh or silence.

"I swear by everything I love," Jonathan promises and Steve smiles because he can now identify who's talking, which means he's more alert than before and that means progress of some sort.

"I promise you, kid, we're not letting you go through this alone."

This time, it's Hopper. He doesn't add a conditional and he doesn't make it seem like a chore and Steve's heart smiles at the thought of someone caring so much about him.

"Tha..." his throat betrays him by being too dry, too choked, too tight to let him answer properly.

Neither Jonathan nor Hopper care.

"I think you need some fresh clothes," Jonathan tells him, "and I have some stuff that's too big for me so it'll probably fit you."

Steve nods with a small smile on his face and tries to stand, his left ankle immediately screaming at him and sending pulses of pain up his entire leg.

He gasps and has to force himself not to panic as Hopper and Jonathan surge forwards to catch him, stopping him from getting far too intimate with the floor once again.

"It's okay, we've got you," Jonathan assures him kindly.

And he's not lying.

Jonathan is no more than a metre away at any given time for the next however long it takes Steve to shower and change clothes - he might not be panicking anymore but he still can't focus enough to catalogue the passing of time.

Steve would love to say he can remember Jonathan being there with him but he can't, he just knows the other boy was there. He doesn't even remember what the soap looked like or what colour the towel was because it's like he's peering through a foggy glass into his own life and he can't make anything out even though he's doing it all and he's never been so alienated from his own self.

"What do you want to eat?" Jonathan asks eventually.

Steve frowns. "I'm not..."

"Steve, you haven't eaten for more than twenty four hours." Jonathan interrupts. "Eating something isn't really an option."

He can't decide between smiling at the thought of Jonathan paying enough attention to care and scowling at the thought of having to actually try and eat something because that just seems impossible.

"I have an idea."

"First time for everything," Steve mutters without thinking, immediately blinking in shock and turning to the other brunet with an apologetic look only to find Jonathan grinning widely, almost proudly.

"You any good at baking?"

"Who?"

"Didn't take you for a cannibal, Harrington." Jonathan winks.

Steve gapes; he's never seen Jonathan wink before.

"Too far?" Jonathan asks sheepishly, rubbing his neck, and Steve is shaking his head before he can second guess himself because, unless he's majorly wrong, Jonathan had just done something totally out of the norm just to make him feel a little better and that's something he appreciates more than he can articulate.

"N- No..." Steve manages after a miniature eternity.

Jonathan smiles. "I think we have some baking ingredients left over from Will's school project."

"Okay?"

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. "Catch up, airhead." he gently nudges Steve's arm, clarifying: "We're going to try our hands at baking."

"Why?" the one word is all Steve can get out, too confused to even worry. Which, when he thinks about it a second later, was probably Jonathan's aim, or, at least, something similar to his aim.

The eldest Byers brother smiles softly, sadly, slowly. "Mom says it's a good way to take your mind off things."

Steve clenches his fists. "Don't you... Don't you have study- uh, isn't there a test?"

"You're crazy if you think I care more about grades than I care about you."

Nothing, not even the wholly uncharacteristic winking, could have prepared him for something as genuine as that answer.

The other teenager seems to figure out his muddled thoughts before Steve himself can because Jonathan says, "And, no, I haven't told anyone."

Nodding, Steve tries to understand what motives Jonathan could possibly have for helping him to such an extent but he comes up blank, blank other than the conclusion that he does in fact also care for the other boy in one way or another. Said care is probably the main reason why he agrees to be all but pulled back down the stairs and through the house, towards the kitchen.

By the time they've made it to the kitchen, Steve's decided he's clearly not dreaming but he might as well be since this whole thing seems surreal and much better than the nightmare of his thoughts.

-END-

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