Chapter Text
Jonathan Byers’ face was in everyone’s thoughts. Steve was sick of his face, his name, his everything already when they hadn’t even met. Throughout the day, as he walked from class to class, hardly processing anything, he sought out his siblings’ thoughts instead of his usual prying into those of his classmates’. He wasn’t interested in the new boy, or his new younger brother. He didn’t care that they were the sons of the police chief. What would they count anyway, to his infinite existence?
As Steve shut his eyes and tried to pinpoint Max’s — or Mike’s, Robin’s, Eleven’s, even Nancy’s, though Max’s thoughts were the most interesting because of her psychic abilities — mind, he realised that she was also thinking about Jonathan. Or more specifically, she was thinking, showing him how he and Jonathan would soon cross paths. Steve internally groaned at the image that flitted around her mind, one of him walking down the school halls next to Jonathan. He wasn’t sure how it was going to play out, and as much as he simply didn’t care about the new guy, he rarely went against what Max’s visions showed him. He willed himself to not change any plans, and made his way to the cafeteria.
His whole family was already sitting at their usual table, trays of food laying in front of them, untouched. Even from his spot at the cafeteria doors, he could hear their quiet conversation. As he walked over, Max’s golden eyes quickly met his. The urgency in them made Steve quicken his pace.
I saw something else, she thought, her delicate features slightly contorted in confusion. Steve arched an eyebrow and tilted his head in question. I saw him, the new boy. Jonathan. He was changed. As one of us, she continued.
Steve halted in his steps over to the table. Robin noticed and turned around to watch Steve and Max’s silent exchange. “What’s going on?” Robin said, as Max recalled more images from her vision to show Steve. She showed him vague, hazy scenarios of Steve, with Jonathan. Jonathan with piercing bloodred eyes. Jonathan standing with him, beside the rest of his family. “What the hell,” Steve muttered, quickly sliding into his seat beside Mike. Mike, who had his gaze fixated on a certain point of the cafeteria. Steve didn’t even bother looking into his thoughts, completely aware that Mike was thinking of the new guy’s younger brother, as he had been the whole day. Steve didn’t get the intrigue surrounding the Byers’ siblings, bewildered at the visions Max had.
Steve turned the images in Max’s mind over, his panic coming in smooth waves. Max had never seen anyone being turned before. Even with Robin and Vickie, Robin had no intention of turning Vickie at all. Steve never had any intention of finding a partner, much less changing someone completely. He thought about it from time to time, but he knew he would hardly have the restraint to actually do it without killing the person. He couldn’t change someone, it would draw too much attention. Clearly, this was one of the rare times Max’s visions were inaccurate.
“I’m sure it’ll change. Maybe I should leave, for a while. Just in case.” Steve said, pulling a tray of food in front of him. “What is it?” Nancy asked impatiently, uncrossing her legs gracefully to lean towards Max.
Max detailed her recent visions to everyone else, so quickly that to human ears, they would barely be able to decipher the words coming out of her mouth. Her lips moved infinitesimally, brows furrowed as she herself tried to dig deeper through the future and unravel the meaning of this. If Steve had a heartbeat, it would be racing in triple time as he listened to Max talk about the uncanny visions once more.
Eleven seemed to pay no mind to what Max was saying, her wide eyes instead signalling she had caught on to his anxiety and Steve instantly felt a wave of calm wash over him. Her pathokinesis ability really came in handy during times like these. He flashed her a grateful smile and tried his best to keep his face smooth and cool.
The facade didn’t last long. As Steve tried to keep himself distracted by listening to a random girl’s thoughts about him — it was a foolproof method to calm himself down, a way for him to solidify the fact that yes, he still looked perfect and no, nobody would ever find out about his family’s true nature — he caught whiff of somebody’s scent. Somebody’s intoxicating, suffocating, delicious scent.
Steve lost his sense of self, standing up abruptly without even thinking of it, eyes raking over the cafeteria crowd as he located the source of that addicting sweet smell. It set his throat on fire, nevermind the fact that he had just gone hunting a few days ago — usually he was able to keep his throat and the burning at bay. The scent of that person carved a burning path through Steve’s nose and down, like someone shoved a white-hot rod into his throat. It burned like hell, but the smell was one he was unable to resist.
In a mere second Max’s hand shot out and grabbed him, holding him down. Her eyes were lost, traversing through the future before they snapped back and flashed a warning at Steve while her grip tightened. Do not breathe, she thought, making sure he understood before letting go and pushing him back into his seat. “What?” Mike asked urgently, eyes flickering back and forth between Max and Steve. Everyone at the table was watching Steve hold his breath, scanning their surroundings for any danger. Max waved Mike off and turned the conversation away, talking about their weekend plans for hunting. However, her eyebrows were still furrowed.
Steve let the conversation go in one ear and out the other, instead shifting his gaze slightly to search for the person who had caused his reaction. He steeled himself before taking a tiny breath in, scorching his throat as he finally determined the person who’s scent was making him go insane.
It was Jonathan. Sitting beside his brother, poring over some photographs on the table while eating. The pure instinctual desire for Jonathan’s blood ran deep throughout Steve’s body, causing a shudder to pass through him. Of course Max had seen him with Jonathan. How was he going to stay away? The only question was: How was Jonathan alive long enough to walk down the hall alone with Steve? Max’s hand latched back on his arm as he drew in another miniscule breath.
Flames licked at his throat. No matter how golden his eyes were, how satieted his thirst was, everything in him screamed at him to take out everyone in the room and savour Jonathan’s blood. Steve reached out and grabbed a metal can of soda, upending it on a tray before crushing it to dust. When he realised the metal couldn't withstand his grip, he curled his fingers around his own leg, before taking another breath. More fire at the back of his throat.
The whole time, Steve’s gaze never left Jonathan. It was a miracle Jonathan was still looking at his brother, unaware of Steve’s piercing eyes. Steve was so distraught and distracted he didn’t even realise this: he couldn’t hear Jonathan’s thoughts. Steve dug his fingers deeper into his thigh as he closed his eyes and tried to sift Jonathan’s thoughts out from the noise of the cafeteria.
Nothing. He could hear the brother’s thoughts, seeing his own face in his mind. He was wondering why Steve was staring so intently at Jonathan. Steve willed himself to focus, but there was nothing but silence from Jonathan’s mind. In his confusion, he took a deep breath and almost growled at the stabbing heat that immediately attacked his throat. Shutting his eyes tight, he held his breath once more.
When he opened his eyes, Jonathan was watching him. His deep brown eyes were wary, half covered by shaggy hair. Jonathan’s gaze didn’t falter as Steve made direct eye contact. Steve felt something stir in his chest. He didn’t let himself decipher it, brushing it off as an effect of Jonathan’s scent.
His scent. That tantalising, irresistible smell. It was better than anything Steve had experienced in the past century. Nothing had ever tempted Steve’s self-control like this before. Every rational thought disappeared from his mind the moment the wind set Jonathan’s smell adrift. Even from the distance of half the cafeteria, Steve could still see Jonathan’s pulse under his skin, and could practically hear his blood rushing through his veins. He feels a need in him that had last appeared almost three decades ago. It took everything in him to sit there, sit still with his breath held. He needed to get out of here.
Steve stood up quickly, eyes still on Jonathan as he speedily stalked out of the cafeteria. He made the conscious effort to decide that he was skipping school, though as he surveyed Max’s mind, she still showed him images of him next to Jonathan. How was this possible?
Steve decided not to dwell on it. The fact that he couldn’t hear Jonathan’s thoughts worried him even more. Why? How? He had never met a person whose thoughts he couldn’t hear. Why was Jonathan special? How was it possible that his ‘singer’, the person whose blood he couldn’t resist, could also be unaffected by his mind reading?
As these questions and thoughts ravaged Steve’s mind, he made his way to the car. The rest of his family could walk home. He quickly drove off from school, and against his better judgement, his mind supplied him with ways to kill Jonathan, to get him alone, to be able to savour his surely delicious blood. He drove with a single hand, his left hand continuously running through his hair, messing it up after he had spent a considerable amount of time on it in the morning. As he imagined the warmth Jonathan’s blood would exude on his tongue, he slammed the brakes in the middle of the road and cursed at the sharp, fiery pain that carved at his throat. He continued driving, not home, but mindlessly, on the way to a still unknown location. Steve was too distracted by his savage thoughts to focus on where he was leading himself.
Steve drove faster, moving on autopilot as he tried to remember where the chief of police lived. Jim Hopper. He was surely driving in circles now. Every time he remembered the smell of Jonathan, he had to hold his breath, as if that would help. The fire didn’t extinguish, gradually getting hotter and more intense in his throat. He drove for what must’ve been hours, the day slowly darkening until it was about mid-evening. When Steve finally rolled to a stop, the scent was no longer a manifestation of his memories, and he could smell it faintly.
When he looked up, he realised he was right outside the Byers’ house. He could hear the faint sounds of people puttering around the house, then he saw Jonathan in a window on the second floor, before hearing his voice.
“Will! Will you get started on dinner?” Jonathan called. Steve continued driving down the street, parking his car at the end, in a hopefully discreet spot before ducking into the forest behind the row of houses.
He ran quickly, straining his ears for the sounds of Will and Jonathan’s conversation. When he caught the end of Will shouting an agreement, he stopped. Hidden in the green of the forest, Steve propelled himself up and onto a tree just out of sight of the window of Jonathan’s bedroom. He could smell Jonathan all the way from here. The flames in his throat ignited, but he ignored it as a few pictures on Jonathan’s table caught his eye.
They were pictures of him. From today. He recognised the paleness of his own face, the golden eyes, and the broody face. Not an expression one normally saw on Steve’s face, but the incessant repetition of Jonathan’s name put a damper on his spirit. Steve enjoyed listening to people’s thoughts, though not when they were unoriginal and uninteresting.
Maybe Jonathan was not as uninteresting as he thought, Steve wondered, eyes taking in the expert photography. When had Jonathan even taken these? There were no pictures of anyone else either. Steve allowed a small grin to form on his face. Jonathan was fascinated by him. Not an unusual thing, all the members of his family were objects of desire and speculation, but Jonathan had singled him out. This realisation sent another strange sensation shooting through his chest.
Steve watched as Jonathan returned to his room, watching the boy shuffle the pictures of Steve into a pile. He watched as Jonathan took his time staring at the photos, a small smile on his face. What was he doing? Enamoured by Steve already? How was this possible? He had only been at school for a day.
Despite this, watching Jonathan look at photos of him with such interest, made him want to laugh. What Steve wouldn’t do to hear his thoughts. Distracted by the sight before him, Steve took a breath in. Once again, the flames licked at his throat painfully and he shifted into a hunting stance instinctively. The leaves in the tree he was in rustled gently.
Jonathan’s head jerked up. Steve knew he couldn’t see him, but he still tensed. He peered into Jonathan’s warm brown eyes, discovering a sudden urge to press his fingers against the crease between Jonathan’s eyebrows and to smooth it out. Steve shook his head as if the motion could disperse the thought. He had never felt any affection for a human before, and he certainly was not going to start now.
However, what was stopping him from leaping into Jonathan’s room and draining him at that very moment? It would be so easy to slip into his room, and Steve would have Jonathan against the wall, teeth to his throat in mere seconds. The sheer thought of it caused Steve’s throat to burst into flames yet again. How delicious it would be, to press his hand against Jonathan’s mouth, muffling his cries, to feel the warm throb of his blood rushing through his body before carving a path at his pulse with his teeth and savouring his blood. Venomous saliva filled Steve’s mouth and he very nearly lost himself. But again, something deep in his core stopped him. It was confusing enough for Steve to recoil — he hadn’t even realised he was leaning forward.
I have to leave before I hurt him, Steve thought dimly.
Bracing himself on a tree branch, Steve delicately dismounted from the tree and landed on the ground with no sound. He needed to get back home. He needed some way to combat this overwhelming thirst for Jonathan’s blood, and to figure out why he seemed to be stopping himself from honouring this craving. Steve quickly made his way to his car, where it was parked at the end of the street. He could somehow still hear the faint beating of Jonathan’s heart as he started the car, which only made him press down on the gas faster.
The closer he drew to home, the louder his family’s thoughts were. He could hear Nancy’s annoyance at having to walk home (no matter how fast she could run — she was the fastest of them all), Robin thinking about Vickie, Eleven and Mike playing chess together, and Max thinking about her visions from a few hours prior.
Steve parked his car in the house’s extensive garage before making his way up into the house. Max heard him, or saw him returning in her mind, as she was already waiting for him by the garage door. “Steve. What were you thinking?” Max said indignantly, crossing her arms as she watched him walk into the house. “What?” Steve chose to feign ignorance.
“Watching him at his house? Really? How did you not kill him?” Max said, trailing behind him when he began walking into the living room. Steve didn’t reply, as he himself was mulling the same question over his head throughout the short drive home. He caught Eleven’s eye from behind Mike, mouthing the move that Mike had planned in his head to her. She gave him a sly grin and quickly moved a piece to deflect it. Mike groaned.
“Steve?” Max prompted, looking at him with wide eyes.
“I don’t know.” Steve answered in a low tone, crossing his arms as well to match her stance. “I don’t know why I didn’t kill him. I wanted to, but I couldn’t,” He continued.
Max’s eyes got lost for a second, an all-too-familiar expression meaning she was sifting through the future. She took a sharp breath in, and without warning, gracefully glided out of the room and up the stairs. In seconds, he could hear a pen scribbling on paper from upstairs — Max was recording her visions down, though she possessed near perfect recall like the rest of them. Steve knew she did this as she liked to have things down physically, but he still saw it as pointless.
“I hate when she does that.” Steve said. Mike looked up from the chess board and turned around, his chin in his hand. “When she just leaves the room without elaborating,” Steve continued, answering the question in Mike’s mind. Mike gave a shrug as if to say, “I get it,” before returning his attention to the game in front of him. Steve mouthed Mike’s moves to El again before returning to his own thoughts.
The twist he felt in his chest, in his stomach when he thought of Jonathan, he didn’t know if it was his thirst speaking, or his curiosity, or even something more. The fact that he wasn’t able to read Jonathan’s mind frustrated him greatly, it was almost infuriating now for him to not know what somebody was thinking. Why had Jonathan taken those photos of him? How had Jonathan even done so without catching Steve’s attention? It was his first day here, how did Steve already manage to catch his eye? Usually, a thought like this would inflate Steve’s already massive ego, but this time, he was too preoccupied by his own unclear feelings.
Undoubtedly, there was a part of him that resisted hurting Jonathan. His self-control had always been superb, but nobody could resist their ‘singer’s’ blood. The fact that Jonathan was still alive when Steve had been in such proximity with him was astonishing. When he thought of hurting Jonathan, dipping his tongue into his warm blood, he craved it so deeply it sent a physical sensation through his whole body. At the same time, he couldn’t bear to think of Jonathan lying on the ground, pale and bloodless. When had he become so soft? What was it about Jonathan?
The only explanation was that Steve hated not knowing what Jonathan thought, especially what Jonathan thought of him. He wanted to know Jonathan. He wanted to read his unreadable mind. He wanted to unravel his thoughts. Maybe by keeping him alive, by enduring the spikes in his throat, he could learn about Jonathan. Steve’s interest in him kept Jonathan alive, though Steve didn’t know for how long. How long could he endure the enticing, mouth-watering intense aroma of Jonathan’s blood?
Steve realised Eleven’s eyes were on him. Her amber eyes were vaguely concerned, so he quickly excused himself. He didn’t want to make this anyone else’s problem. As he made his way up the stairs, Robin stopped in front of him with a grin. “What were you up to when you decided to leave us to walk home? Nancy’s still fuming slightly up there.”
“Does Vickie know Jonathan?” Steve couldn’t help himself from asking.
It was certainly not the response Robin expected. She raised her eyebrows at him. “No? You mean the new kid? The one Max saw as one of us?”
Steve nodded. “You’re still thinking about him?” Robin asked, leaning against the wall as she surveyed him. Her expression tensed, then relaxed and she began smiling again. “Did he taste good, then?”
Steve blanched before scoffing. “I did not kill him, Robin. And I don’t know how.” He said, as her eyes widened in surprise. “You didn’t? What were you doing at his house then?” Robin questioned incredulously. Her eyes widened once more as she was struck by a realisation Steve could not figure out. “You didn’t kill him…” Robin said slowly, as if trying to spell something out for him. “I can’t read his mind, either.” Steve added.
“And you can’t read his mind. Huh,” Robin said, tilting her head expectantly. “Why are you making that face?” Steve asked, frowning at Robin’s expression. “Steve. Seriously. You like him.” Robin said, finally dropping the act and laying it flat for him.
Like him? Steve almost laughed at the absurdity. Steve didn’t like anyone. Never in his hundred years of living — or perhaps, not living — has he ever felt anything more than physical attraction to anyone. He didn’t understand Max’s love for Lucas, or Robin’s for Vickie’s, and he didn’t understand the strange, sudden obsession Mike had on Jonathan’s brother. Only, he did, as he was experiencing it with Jonathan. But he definitely did not understand the idea of liking anyone.
He supposed when Robin put it that way, it did sound like he liked him. But Steve wouldn’t call it ‘like’. Perhaps interest, or curiosity. The only things he wanted to do with Jonathan were solve the mystery of his thoughts (or the lack thereof that Steve could hear) and to drain him dry. But again, at the trifling thought of tasting Jonathan’s blood, having to hurt him to do so — yet another dull ache formed in his chest. It was again, a fleeting, strange thing that Steve didn’t want to understand.
Steve chose to ignore Robin’s words, and resisted from arguing back. “I think he likes me.” Steve said, thinking back to the photographs on Jonathan’s desk. He detailed this back to Robin, who laughed into the crook of her elbow. “Of course the only person you’ve ever liked is obsessed with you.” She teased. Steve’s resolve to not counter dissipated as she brought up the fact of him liking Jonathan once more.
“I do not like him.” Steve said through gritted teeth, continuing to make his way up the stairs. “Whatever you say!” Robin called up, the laugh still in her voice. Steve only huffed bitterly and set himself on not thinking about Jonathan ever again. But obviously, he was all that was on Steve’s mind, Steve’s bored, unoccupied mind, all the way through to the next morning.