As the shock fades, Billy's pain increases. Steve can tell by his clenched jaw, his labored breathing, the beads of sweat dripping from his brow. He sits, cradling his injured wrist, leaned back, eyes closed.

Steve sits beside him in the ER waiting room; Hopper should be there any minute with Susan and Max. And the ER doesn't seem packed, so Billy should be getting checked out soon. "It can't be long now," Steve tells him, eyeing the water cooler by the front desk. "You want me to get you some water?"

"No," Billy breathes, swallows thickly. He's gone kind of gray.

"Are you feeling sick again?" Steve asks softly, remembering back to after the game when Billy had lost the contents of his stomach outside the gym. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"Mmm," Billy hums an affirmative and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn't open his eyes.

"Shit. Okay." Steve's eyes land on some emesis basins, conveniently placed on one of the end tables between the waiting room chairs. He squeezes the shoulder of Billy's good arm and stands to grab one. "Billy, here," he says when he returns. As gently as he can, he lifts Billy's injured arm from his lap and positions it on the arm rest of the chair, trying to ignore how Billy visibly shudders with pain at the movement. He places the bin in his lap.

Billy barely even reacts - keeps his eyes closed - but he continues to swallow convulsively.

Steve feels his palms go sweaty. "Hey, you need to lean forward, okay? I'll help you."

Billy nods, ever-so-slightly, so Steve braces his chest with one hand and his back with his other and helps Billy fold at the waist to hover over the bin.

Steve is grateful that they're seated in the back corner of the ER waiting room, away from potential prying eyes, as Billy starts throwing up. His entire body shakes as gags roll through him, bringing up bouts of unsubstantial bile.

"Easy, easy," Steve says, after too many minutes of this, because each retch is sounding more painful than the previous one. "You're empty, man. You're done. Breathe, Billy."

Billy gulps in some air. He lifts his good hand up to his chest and presses hard, hunches into himself with his head lowered, blond curls falling around his face so Steve can't see it.

Steve pulls the bin away, sets it on the empty chair beside him, never taking his eyes off of Billy.

He looks so… young, Steve realizes, folded into himself like that.

Tremors course through Billy's entire body, paired with a hitching sound in his breathing that tells Steve he's trying hard not to cry. Steve shifts closer, places a hand on the back on Billy's clammy neck. It's not even a conscious decision.

It's doing something to his gut, the way Billy is so obviously holding back tears. "Hargrove, hey, c'mon," he hears himself saying, and then he's hooking his hand behind Billy's head and coaxing him into his chest.

Billy resists at first, his body rigid, and then something seems to release. He lets it happen, buries his face in the crevice of Steve's neck.

Steve can feel Billy shaking even harder, so hard that Steve feels like he could fall apart. And now Steve can hear muffled sobs, can feel hot breath through his jacket where Billy's face is pressed into it.

Steve doesn't say anything more. He just holds Billy Hargrove; he holds him together until Hopper, Susan, and Max arrive.

xxx

"Thanks for the ride, Chief, but you know I could've driven the Audi here," Steve says to the silent car when Hopper pulls them into the Byers' driveway in his K5 Blazer.

"You're exhausted, kid," Jim asserts. "You shouldn't be behind a wheel right now."

As if on cue, Steve yawns as he considers that. He does feel exhausted. To the bone. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Jim kills the engine and glances in the rearview mirror at Max who is sound asleep in the backseat; she hasn't stirred. "You did good, Harrington," he says softly, reaching to put a hand on Steve's knee. "You knew how to be there for Hargrove tonight, and that… after what he put you through… I have to tell you kid, that was very honorable."

Steve feels heat on his cheeks. He's not sure anyone of authority - a coach, his parents, a teacher - has ever praised him that way. He looks down at his hands. "Thanks, Chief."

"Sure," Jim says, and squeezes Steve's knee gently. He clears his throat. "How are you doing with… uh… with everything else?"

And Steve almost has to laugh at that. "Everything else meaning…?" he hedges, just to be a smart ass.

"The death of your father, your mother's attack… her absence, inter-dimensional monsters…" Hopper trails off. "To name a few…"

"But who's counting?" Steve says coyly. He's trying to make light out of it - all of it - because if he truly allowed himself to consider how he's doing, he might never come back from it all. He hasn't let himself to go there. He can't.

"Steve…" Jim calls him out on it, gently.

"I'm just trying to keep my head above water," Steve answers without out missing a beat, willing himself to keep the waver out of his voice because if he breaks even a little, then it's game over. "I'm managing, Chief. Really. I am."

Jim eases up. "Okay, kid. I get it. Okay," he says, and shifts his hand up to Steve's shoulder. "But I want you to know that I'm here. If that ever changes. I'm here."

All Steve can do is nod. "Thanks."

Jim pats him on the back. "Let's get you kids inside, yeah?"

"Yeah."

xxx

Instead of waking her, Jim carries Max into the Byers' house. Even though it's well into the middle of the night, Joyce and Jonathan are waiting up for them, sitting on the couch and sipping tea.

Joyce tells Hopper to put Max in Will's room; she shows him the way.

"How'd it go?" Jonathan asks Steve from his spot on the couch. "How's Billy?"

Steve runs his hands through his hair, shrugs a little. "Scared. Hurt." He doesn't know what else he should say. "His wrist is badly broken, some of his fingers are fractured… he's having surgery on his wrist first thing in the morning."

Jonathan visibly swallows and crosses his arms over his stomach. "Are you going to go back over there? In the morning?"

Steve shakes his head. "Susan asked me not to; she wants me to stay here with Max."

Jonathan nods. "Will will be glad she's here."

"Yeah." Steve shuffles his feet. He's so tired.

"Hey, Steve?" Jonathan says.

Steve looks up to meet his eyes. Can practically feel another are you okay? coming, and quite frankly, Steve wants nothing to do with that question.

He's pleasantly surprised when Jonathan says, "You look exhausted. You should go to bed."

"I second that," Hopper says as he and Joyce rejoin the room.

"Steve, honey, if it's alright, Jonathan will be bunking with you tonight," Joyce says, "since Max took Will's room."

"Mom, I can take the couch," Jonathan offers.

"Oh, yes, I guess that would be alright for tonight," Joyce says. "I just thought we'd let have Billy the couch once he's released from the hospital, and Susan can join Maxine."

"I don't need to have a bed either," Steve feels it's important to say. "I can take the floor, couch, whatever… really. I also don't mind sharing."

"You are such a sweetheart," Joyce tells him. "But you are our guest. Tonight, you will have a bed."

"Yeah, and I'm gonna drag you there myself, if you don't get moving," Hopper says, nodding in the direction of the hallway. "C'mon, before you fall over, huh? The sleeping arrangements will work themselves out." He puts his hands on Steve shoulders, turns him toward the hallway, and gives him a little nudge.

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going," Steve says, and he feels so loved he can barely stand it. "Good night, everybody."

"Good night, Steve."