The Babysitters: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter 32

July 5, 1985

You think it would get easier, the third time around. But without Hopper here to step up and settle things with the government, it all lands on Mrs. Byers's shoulders. I try to help. So does Steve. The shitty coverups, hush-money, and contract after contract.

Poor Robin was overwhelmed by it all, but it feels better now that she's in on this secret part of my life. Another person in my corner.

Mom doesn't know. Can't know. Or so the Agent in charge of Dustin and I said. As far as the news coverage went, the mall caught fire. The Russians were never there. As the building came down, Steve got caught in a fight with another person trying to escape- hence the horrific black eye and mild concussion- and helped get the rest of us out of there.

Mom sees him as some glorified hero now. I can see it in the way she looks at him over breakfast in the morning, piling more eggs on his plate without him asking. Ironing his clothes from the little duffel bag he took with him. It's her way of saying thank you. It's silent, but it's there.

Sometimes I worry we put her through too much. The State Officials showing up on our doorstep with stacks of paperwork and official-looking glares, the injuries without a proper explanation, the unannounced sleepovers when the nightmares get too real.

The worst of the nightmares was the first night. After we got back from the mall. I changed out of the Russian Uniform (I was instructed to burn it. I'll do that later) and pulled Steve into my room. He was pretty quiet, save the moments where he muttered endless thanks to my mom for letting him stay there.

"Please, call me Claudia," she would smile.

He still refused.

"I'm not forcing you to sleep on the couch," I teased, tossing him some clothes he could sleep in. He didn't catch them, defiantly letting them slide down his torso and on to the floor.

"What if I want to sleep on the couch?" He challenged. I looked him up and down and he sighed, picking up the clothes from the floor and shuffling to the door. "Can I shower?"

"First door on the right," I nodded. I watched him grab a towel from the cabinet, making my space his. Which it is. It always was. But now he knows. And it feels so right, so much better to be out in the open with my undying adoration for the freckles on his cheek, and the curls on the base of his neck, and the callouses on his fingers.

Steve comes back into my room in my shirt and my sweatpants, his hair soggy from my shampoo. He smells faintly of lavender as he closes my bedroom door, me having showered at the same time in my mom's bathroom. The way he looks right now, shuffling around on the shag carpet with his head down... he almost looks nervous. I'd think it was endearing if I wasn't so damn tired.

"Let me see your face," I said resting a knee on my bed and gently pushing him so that he was sitting on it. I sucked in through my teeth, "Jeez, Stevie, this looks bad," I said as I held his sharp jaw in my hand. "Are you in any pain?"

"I'm fine, Y/N," He said, attempting to push me off.

I gave him a stern look. "I know you're fine, but are you in any pain?" I asked again.

"I swear it," He nodded. "The Adrenaline is just now starting to fade," He trailed at the end of his sentence. And this is just like him, to throw himself through the ringer and then act like he's completely okay. That's not going to fly under this roof. I got him some painkillers and a water just in case he wanted to change his mind about refusing my help.

When I re-enter my room, he's sitting in the edge of my bed, where I left him. I laughed softly, "Oh come on Steve, don't get all scared on me now." He smiled weakly as I reached the light switch. "On or off?"