Jonathan is sprawled out on the couch reading Slapstick for probably the fourth time. He really needs to add more Vonnegut to his collection. He's been meaning to check Dead-Eye Dick out from the library for over a year now.

"You can come play with us if you want," Will had offered before his friends arrived.

Jonathan had appreciated that, but he was pretty sure Dungeons and Dragons wasn't his gig. "Nah, you guys can just do your thing."

"You're gonna read Vonnegut, aren't you?"

To which Jonathan had shoved Will playfully. "You sound like Nancy."

xxx

It's nearing 7:00 when Jonathan hears a hesitant knock on the front door. It takes him by surprise as a slow spot in the book, the pounding rain, and the general merriment of Will and his friends had started to lull him to sleep.

Jonathan sits up and tosses his book aside. "I'll get it," he announces, hoisting himself off the couch. The kids are so into their game that they barely acknowledge him. They probably hadn't even heard the knock.

Jonathan crosses the room to swing the door open and his heart skips a beat.

Steve Harrington is standing on the porch in front of him, soaked from head to toe. He's barefoot, clad only in sweatpants and a thin, white T-shirt. He's leaning heavily against the doorjamb, head hanging low, like it's taking a great deal of effort for him to keep upright. His breaths are short and thin; he must've run like hell to get here.

"Steve?"

"Hey, B-Byers," he says shakily and lifts his head. His eyes are glazed and his lower lip is trembling slightly. It's like he's doing everything in his power to not fall apart right there on the porch. In the dim light, Jonathan can see that Steve is sporting some deep cuts all up and down his arms.

What in the world…?

"What happened to you?" he blurts. "Are you okay? Jesus, do you… do you need a hospital?"

"No," Steve breathes. "I'm okay. I'll be fine. This is nothing. It's nothing." His voice is cracking all over the place. "C-Can I come inside?"

Jonathan snaps out of it then. Steve must be positively glacial and here he is, gaping at him while he continues to freeze his ass off on the porch. "Yeah, sorry, man. Of course." He puts a gentle hand against Steve's back and ushers him across the threshold and inside.

Nothing puts a stop to a riveting game of D&D quite like a sopping wet entrance from Steve Harrington.

Will and his friends go silent. Henderson's face drops instantly. "Steve?"

"Hi, guys," Steve manages to greet the kids over a shuddering, heaving chest. Then he looks to Jonathan as if to say, please don't let them see me like this.

"What's going on?" Will asks softly, eyes wide. "Steve, are you okay?"

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but Jonathan's getting sick of him claiming he's okay when he so clearly is not. He grabs the knitted afghan off the couch and drapes it over Steve's shoulders.

"I'll be the judge of that," Jonathan says. "Will, call Hopper and get him here, okay? And try to get ahold of Mom, too."

Will nods obediently and bounds off into the kitchen.

"Steve?" Dustin says again. He's close to tears.

Steve looks at Jonathan to answer.

Jonathan swallows hard. "He'll be okay," he assures the remaining three as calmly as he can manage.

Steve nods, as if to echo Jonathan's words. He's biting down hard on his left cheek.

"I'm gonna get Steve some dry clothes and we're gonna talk for a bit," Jonathan continues. "You lot just wait for Hopper to get here. Got it?"

Lucas and Mike say, "Got it," but Dustin protests, inches closer. "No. Steve…?"

Steve closes his eyes at Dustin's imploration. "Henderson," he croaks. "Don't."

Not now.

It's dead silent as Dustin retreats back a few steps, looking mildly offended but not any less concerned.

"Okay," Jonathan says, nudging Steve slightly in the direction of his bedroom. "Let's go."

xxx

"Thanks, Byers," Steve says, once they're behind closed doors. He's shivering harshly now, as if the cold has finally caught up to him. "Y-Your mom's not h-home, huh?"

Jonathan understands that Steve appeared on the doorstep looking for an adult. For whatever reason, Harrington is awfully beat up and scared, and Jonathan feels an incredible weight on his shoulders because he's the one who has to take care of the situation until a properly equipped adult can get here. Which is why he had Will call Hopper.

"She's working late," Jonathan answers as he ushers Steve over to his bed to have a seat. "But Hopper will be here soon, okay? You sure you don't need a hospital?" When Steve nods, Jonathan hurries over to his dresser to pull out some old gray sweats. "Okay. Here," he says, offering them to his guest. "Put these on. They're old, so don't worry about…"

…getting your blood on them.

Steve obeys and starts peeling off his T-shirt. Jonathan gives him some privacy by turning to face the window, where the rain is still coming down hard. Jonathan bites down on his index finger – something he always does when he's nervous.

"Steve?" he says around his knuckle, when he hears Steve's wet T-shirt flop to the floor.

"Y-Yeah?"

Jonathan clears his throat, braces himself for the answer to the question he's about to ask. "Can you tell me who?"

It's quiet for a few beats, and then…

Steve speaks two words. Two little words that make Jonathan's blood boil and his hair stand up on end:

"My dad."