Steve's heart is pounding in his chest. How in the world is he going to tell his mother that his father is dead? That he killed himself?

As the phone rings, Steve holds his breath.

Jim and Joyce hold theirs along with him.

It seems to ring forever, and then, "Allô?"

Steve doesn't recognize the female voice that answers. He was expecting his mother or no answer at all. "Uh, hi," he says. "Is Paula Harrington there?"

"Quoi?" The woman sounds angry. "Je ne parle pas anglais."

Steve bites down on his lip as emotion swells in his chest. Steve doesn't know how to respond. He holds the receiver into his chest and says to Jim and Joyce, "It's some lady. I don't think she knows where my mom is."

Jim holds his hand out expectantly. "Let me have the phone."

Steve hands it over.

"Allô," he greets the woman on the other line. "Je voudrais parler à Madame Harrington."

Joyce raises her eyebrows as Jim effortlessly carries out a fluent French conversation with the mystery person on the other line. She and Steve listen closely as Jim concentrates fiercely on what the woman is saying.

"Ah," Jim says. "D'accord. Merci."

When he hangs up the phone, he's wearing a forlorn expression on his face. "You mother checked out of the hotel this morning, kid. That was the maid."

"That's a good thing, right?" Joyce asks, giving Steve's hand a gentle squeeze. "She probably checked out because she's planning on flying home."

Jim nods. "Probably." He breathes out deeply. "Sorry, kid. I know you wanted to get that over with."

Steve swallows hard. "Yeah." He knows it sounds cowardly, but breaking the news over the phone seems easier than breaking the news in person – though neither of them sound like a walk in the park. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and collapses back into the pillows. Nothing he can do about it now. So, instead, he asks Hopper, "Where did you learn French?"

Jim chuckles humorlessly. "Diane's parents were French," he answers and reaches up to rub his eyes.

Steve looks at Joyce. "Who's Diane?" he mouths.

"Ex-wife," she mouths back.

Steve feels his mouth form an "O" shape.

When Jim drops his hands, he asks, "Have they brought you breakfast yet?"

Steve shakes his head.

"Are you hungry? When's the last time you ate?"

Steve doesn't feel hungry at all, but he knows he should. The closest he's come to eating a proper meal in the past two weeks has been cheap pizza from Mario's and then that stale grilled cheese he choked down yesterday afternoon – before his dad got home.

Was that really only yesterday?

Steve figures there's too much dread and guilt occupying his stomach for him to feel much of anything else.

"I'm not hungry," he tells Hopper softly.

When breakfast is served 20 minutes later, he ends up swallowing down some eggs anyway to appease his apparently adopted (overbearing) parents.

xxx

To his pleasant surprise, Steve is released from the hospital later that morning. Jim had to get to work, so he had gone shortly after the riveting breakfast consumption, which means that Joyce had to call Jonathan to come pick them up.

"I guess I should go h-home then, right?" Steve says to Joyce, when they're waiting in the lobby for Jonathan to pull up. His voice breaks on the word home because that is the absolute last place he wants to go. But… "I need to wait for my m-mom."

"Absolutely not," Joyce huffs. "You'll stay at our place, sweetheart. Someone needs to keep an eye on you. I'll have Hopper stop by your house today and leave your mom a note about where she can reach you when she gets home."

Steve relaxes a little, but he still feels like he needs to protest because he is not – shouldn't be – the Byers' burden. "I-I'd be okay," he tells her, but it doesn't sound convincing even to him. "You don't have to—"

"Not another word about it, Steve," she says gently, and tucks a stray hair behind his ear. "It's no trouble."

xxx

Jonathan hugs Steve when he arrives.

It wasn't something Steve was expecting. He helps Steve out of the wheelchair, and once he's upright, Jonathan pulls him into a tight embrace and it feels so warm and welcome that Steve can almost ignore the aching pain in his back. "I'm really glad you're okay, Steve," Jonathan says before letting go, and then he and Joyce are helping him into the backseat of their car, where Will is sound asleep against the window.

Steve thinks he might start crying from their generosity and kindness alone.

Forget everything else.

xxx

"Did he sleep okay last night?" Joyce asks Jonathan about Will, as she looks back at her son from the passenger seat.

Jonathan shakes his head. "I think he was afraid of having a nightmare in front of the others. There wasn't a whole lot of sleeping going on anyway. The kids were worried about you, Steve." Jonathan meets Steve's eyes in the rearview mirror. "You're going to have to call Dustin when we get back."

Steve had figured as much. "Yeah, I will," he says.

xxx

"I've been bunking with Will anyway," Jonathan tells him as he leads him into his bedroom, insisting that Steve stay there. "He sleeps better if I'm close."

Steve wants to say, don't worry about me, I can just take the couch. But he also wants the door, the privacy. He wants the bed. And he hates how selfish that is.

He cards a hand through his hair, suddenly overcome again with an immense amount of gratitude for Jonathan. His eyes begin to overflow with unwelcome tears.

Jonathan notices. "What, Steve?" he asks, placing a gentle hand on Steve's shoulder.

Steve shakes his head because he isn't sure how to put it into words. "I don't know," he manages to say. "Just… thank you. I don't know w-what I would've done if…" he trails off, feeling exposed as his hands hang limply against his sides. "I'm just sorry about all this. You guys have so much going on already, with B-Bob and Will. I-I shouldn't have come here l-last night."

"Hey," Jonathan says and then he's hugging him again and Steve wonders vaguely if this is something he should start getting used to. "I'm glad you did."

There's nothing but honesty in those words.

Jonathan releases Steve and nudges him toward the bed. "You should probably get some rest before you call Henderson," he tells him, a nicer way of saying you should probably pull yourself together.

Steve sinks into Jonathan's mattress and nods. He can still feel wetness on his cheeks but doesn't have the energy to reach up to wipe it off.

"And after you call Henderson, maybe you can call Nancy?" Jonathan suggests quietly, still hovering by his bedroom door.

Steve's head snaps up, because up until this point, he'd forgotten that there was supposed to be an element of tension (resentment?) between them.

"I - uh - I might have told her what was going on, and she's really worried about you," Jonathan stutters over his words.

He looks so apologetic, guilty even, and Steve would probably laugh if he had it in him.

"Byers, don't worry about it, man" he says, and he means it. "She would've heard it from Mike anyway. I'll call her."

Jonathan gives him a grateful smile. "Okay," he says, slowly backing out the door. "I'll… I'll give you a minute."

"Thanks," Steve says.

When the door clicks closed, Steve leans forward, holds his head in his hands, and tries to get a grip on his new reality.