Chapter Text
“When’s the last time you slept, Harrington?”
Steve startled from the driver's seat, giving Jonathan a quick look through the rear view mirror. “What?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “I said, when was the last time you slept?” If Steve didn’t know better, he’d almost think Jonathan was concerned. “Don’t make me repeat it again.”
“Last night.” Steve twisted around in his seat. “Why?”
“How much?”
Steve bristled. “What the fuck does that even mean, Byers?”
Jonathan sighed. “Are you dense? How much sleep did you get?” He was looking at Steve intently, as if he was searching for something– what it was, Steve didn’t know. What he did know was that he didn’t like being scrutinized. Steve crossed his arms over his chest. Petulantly, he decided to take a page out of Dustin’s book and just be a little shit. Because he wasn’t talking about this. Not with Jonathan fucking Byers. If he kept playing dumb, he’d stop asking. They always did.
“Like, how many hours?” Steve asked. He tried to look confused.
“Yes, dipshit. How many hours of sleep did you get last night?”
“What are you, my mother?”
Jonathan gritted his teeth. “Jesus Christ, I’m just trying to be nice, but you make it really fucking hard, Steve. You look like shit. And you’re treating Dustin like–”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jonathan cut him off. “You wanna play that game? Go for it. Because I’ve known Dustin a hell of a lot longer than you have.”
Steve barked out a laugh. “That’s real rich, Jonathan. You were so busy smoking pot in California, you weren’t even here! You don’t know anything about what he’s lost!”
“And you do?” Jonathan snapped back. “The King of Hawkins High? What have you ever lost, huh? A little sleep? Your fucking prom king title? Give me a break. I’m sick of you acting like you know what we’ve been through, you weren’t even there when it started!”
Steve stood up. “Shut up, Byers.”
“I’m seriously asking, Steve. What have you gone through that makes it okay for you to order us around like that? What–”
“-Byers, I’m warning you–”
“Are you seriously that power hungry that you’re going to yell at Dustin, who’s still practically a kid, by the way, about him getting beat up?”
“I wasn’t trying to yell at him, I was trying to ask what happened!” Steve shouted.
“Yeah, right,” scoffed Jonathan. “You wanna know what I think?”
Steve didn't hesitate. “No.”
Jonathan smiled, but it lacked warmth. “I think you did it to piss him off.”
“What?” Steve asked incredulously. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re itching for a fight. You always are.”
And God, was Steve sick of this. Sick of people always assuming the worst of him. He was just worried about the kid, why was that so hard to believe? Was he not allowed to have feelings? He took a deep breath, trying to seal his anger down in his ribs. “I’m really just trying to help. Hate to disappoint you. He’s self-sabotaging, and I’m just trying to get him to talk about it, okay? Can we just, like, stop? This argument’s stupid.”
“What would you know about self-sabotage? I’m not convinced you’re not the same spoiled rich kid from Hawkins High anymore! You’re still the same asshole you’ve always been, you’re just disguising it because you still want Nancy to fall in love with you!”
Steve flinched. He was clearly hurt. “That’s not fair. I’ve changed. You know that.”
Jonathan laughed dryly. “Oh, come on. No one changes that fast. You were the most arrogant, piece-of-shit, spoiled kid back in high school, and to be honest–”
“EXACTLY!” Steve roared. “I WAS. You’re right! Congratulations, Byers, did you want a fucking medal? I was arrogant. I was an asshole, but I’m trying not to be. Because I know self-sabotage, I know it like an old friend. An old friend who pushes me in my own fucking pool and drags me down to the Upside Down without stopping for a breath,” spat Steve, arms still tensely crossed. “I used to start fights in the hopes that my parents would finally give me the time of the day. I started them for attention. It was cruel, and fucked up, I know. But now? Now I start fights because I know I can’t win them. I start fights so that the people I care about don’t fucking have to. I start them because if anyone needs to pay for all the shit they screwed up back in high school, it’s me. Not Robin, not Nancy, not even you. Certainly not Eddie Munson.” Steve let his arms fall to his sides, his face ashen.
For the second time that night, Jonathan noticed how tired Steve looked. He opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing came out.
Steve exhaled, clearly done waiting for a response. “Eddie didn’t deserve to die, man. And Dustin knows that. And he thinks it’s his fault, but actually, if you really fucking think about it? It’s mine. Cause if I had just, like, did my fucking job and protecting the kids in the first place, Eddie wouldn’t have sacrificed himself, and Dustin wouldn’t be blaming himself for something that was so clearly out of his control. He wouldn’t be blaming himself if I had just prevented the whole fucking thing!” Steve stormed over to the van door, purposefully avoiding looking at Jonathan. “So, yeah. Yeah, I know self-sabotage. And self-loathing, and whatever else you wanna call it, since you’re so keen on psychoanalysing me now. And I’m not letting Dustin go through that. Not alone. So, sorry if the way I’m handling this whole thing is not up to your code.” He reached for the doorknob, and then hesitated. “In the future, I’ll try to remember that since I’m such an arrogant fucking asshole, maybe I’m the one who should have sacrificed himself.”
Steve swung open the door and stormed off after Dustin into the night, leaving Jonathan gaping behind him.
Fuck.