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Steve grunted as he lifted his head from his pillow. A cut on his head had split open in his sleep at some point and his hair was matted down with it. His pillow was wet and he groaned as a cramp swept through his body, squeezing every muscle below his chest. For a moment, he thought he might have picked up a stomach bug from one of the pups he'd been around the night before, but then a wave of hormones crashed over him and had him dropping his head back down.
God. Of course he'd be going into a pseudo heat right now, on top of the ringing in his ears and the ache down to his bones and the definite concussion he was nursing.
His stomach gave another pained lurch and a burning rose in the back of his throat, but all he could do was swallow it back. He felt like his brain might melt out of his ears and run out onto his pillow, his poor, comfortable, bloody pillow. He stared at the wallpaper, and the normally comforting blue plaid swam across his vision and made him want to barf. He let his eyes close again, cutting off the harsh light of the sun coming in through the curtains.
Steve rubbed his feet together under the blankets and grimaced when he remembered he hadn't changed his clothes, he was still wearing the dusty, dirty clothes he'd crawled home in. He curled into as small of a ball as he could, the fresh wave of pain in his ribs where Billy had kicked him going almost unnoticed. Surely if he made himself go back to sleep, it would be better later, right?
God, his mouth was dry, his tongue felt like sandpaper when he tried to lick his lips, but he didn't have the energy to get to the bathroom. He would after he woke up, he'd have to. Hopefully the heat would run its course quietly and quickly and he'd be back to normal in no time. It was better than a rut, he felt like he could rest through it. Though the adrenaline from a rut might've been enough to get him out of bed.
Steve took a few slow breaths through his mouth, and then in his first stroke of luck in weeks, slipped back into sleep.
When he woke up again, his mouth tasted even worse and he had a painful boner. Any other time, it would've been something he'd take care of before getting up, but with the ache in his body, he couldn't even think about that without nausea rising in the back of his throat. He tried to breathe in through his nose, but it was horribly clogged and painful. He reached out and curled his hands into fists in his blankets. He summoned all of his strength and lifted himself into a sitting position one agonizing inch at a time. He felt ready to heave, but he didn't. And he was proud of himself for that.
All he had to do was swing his legs over and stand up. Just plant his feet on the floor and rise to stand, it was something he'd done a billion times before, it was easy. He stared down at the shape of his legs under the blankets. His mouth filled with spit, but he swallowed it back and tried not to think about the pressure in his stomach that threatened to worsen if he moved his head. He took slow, even breaths through grit teeth until the worst of the nausea ebbed away.
He was too warm under the blankets, so he tossed off the blankets in one swift movement that made him want to collapse into a little pathetic pile of bones and flesh and gross fluids. His whole body was made of gross fluids, his head swimming with blood and probably liquefied brain.
He wondered if liquid could hurt, because his head sure hurt and felt like a giant spiked punch bowl. A punch bowl that someone had thrown up in.
He moved shaking hands to unbutton his pants and hissed through his teeth when his knuckles brushed against his straining erection. He didn't even feel nice, it wasn't a comfortable horniness, it was one that made his skin feel too tight, like he was trying to jerk off while being burned. It felt a little better once he got them undone and there was less pressure against him, not like there was a vice squeezing his whole body. He was tempted to sink into the temporary relief, to lay back down and curl up in a little ball again, but if he did, he wasn't sure when he'd find the strength to get up again.
So, with reluctance, Steve planted his palms against his mattress and pushed himself up to his feet. He swayed and the walls seemed to close in on him as he felt himself start to veer towards the floor, where he'd probably hit his head and pass out and bleed out in his bedroom, but-
But he didn't fall down. He threw his arms out and pinwheeled them until he was fully stable and could open his eyes without wanting to puke.
Okay, okay, that was good. He'd already gotten out of bed, that had to be the hardest part. He shoved his open jeans down his legs and tried to climb out of them without falling on his face. It meant leaving them in a heap on the floor, but that was fine for now. He'd clean up later when he was feeling just a little better. He shoved off his underwear too, glad he'd at least taken off his shoes and socks the night before. He took two slow steps and then grabbed the doorframe to steady himself, ignoring the way his hard cock stuck out from his body and bumped against his stomach.
A nice cold shower was calling his name, something to wash away the grime that was clinging to his skin like a second layer. It was itchy and he wanted it off, wanted the blood that had stuck to his face and the itchy stubble from a couple days of not shaving his face. The idea of holding a razor against his face wasn't appealing, he'd shave... well, eventually.
He trudged to the bathroom by shuffling his feet, not quite trusting himself to balance with regular walking. He stripped off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. The amount of blood meant it was a definite lost cause, he'd have to throw it out, probably his jeans too. And he'd liked those jeans too, damn it.
The water was so loud when he turned it on. It thundered against the tub and he choked on a groan, almost falling to his knees. His head throbbed like the beating of his heart, too fast and too loud, like a drum inside his skull. "Fuck," he wheezed out. He caught himself against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. He pressed his cheek against the cold tile and sighed, letting it come out in another low wheeze. He wanted to go back to bed so badly, but he was already in the bathroom.
He slumped, but didn't let himself fall, and shoved a hand under the water. He switched on the shower spray and glared down at the ledge he'd need to step over to get in the shower. Just stepping over it seemed like such a hurdle. A literal hurdle, even.
But he managed to make his body follow the simple command and warm water began to strip away the grime on his skin. It was an immediate relief he hadn't expected. He leaned against the wall and let his eyes slide shut again, taking slow breaths of the steamy air through half parted lips. He tried not to think about how swollen his nose was, how broken he knew it was.
He wasn't sure if it was a dream or a memory, but he was pretty sure he'd had the chief snap it back into alignment. He didn't want to look in a mirror and see the state of his face, maybe he'd just avoid mirrors for a couple of weeks. He lifted aching arms above his head to start working out the worst of the blood from his hair, grimacing at the way it stuck to his skin. He probably had bits of plate stuck in his scalp, that was a whole nightmare he definitely didn't want to remember.
Billy Hargrove hadn't been scary to him until the first kick to the ribs. And that hadn't even been fear for himself, it had been fear for the pups. They were so little, still had the puppy smell lingering on them, and Billy had charged at them like it was still the 1500s and his territory was being threatened.
It was only after he'd started taking punches to the face that Steve had realized what a bad idea it was to challenge an alpha. It might have been a better idea if he was an omega, the adrenaline rush he'd get from protecting pups probably would've been be strong enough to defend against a plate to the skull. Probably. He wasn't a very avid reader, especially not when it came to matters of biology. Maybe he'd ask Nancy if that was true, surely she'd know. If she wanted anything to do with him.
A faint whine slipped from his throat at the thought of Nancy. She was done with him, he just knew it. She wanted Jonathan instead of him, and how could he blame her? Jonathan was such a kind omega, he really was. He was hardworking and firm when he needed to be, he was a good caretaker, he was everything that he needed to be, and he was confident in who he was.
Steve rubbed at his jaw, thinking back to last year. Jonathan could really pack a punch when he needed to. Though his punches didn't hold a candle to Billy's. He'd rather fight Jonathan again, definitely.
Jonathan was also soft in a way Steve felt he wasn't allowed to be. He complimented Nancy in ways Steve didn't. He couldn't blame her, couldn't find any anger lurking in his chest. He was just so tired, so resigned to it. Sad.
Steve blew out a breath and tugged at a lock of bloody hair, wishing he could sit down on the floor of the shower. He didn't trust that he'd be able to get back up, and then he'd just be on the floor and... well. He already ached everywhere. He didn't think several hours minimum on the floor would help with anything.
He groaned, probably the loudest sound he'd made since rolling out of bed. He didn't want to be miserable, didn't want to feel this way. He looked down at his body, down at the bruises and the blood and his still-stiff erection. He reached down to cup himself, giving his cock a squeeze. There was pleasure in it, but it didn't silence the pain singing through him. He groaned and leaned against the wall again. He was already exhausted from just getting out of bed. He couldn't imagine changing the sheets to lay down again.
Maybe he'd just crash in a guest room.
His hair was a wreck, he needed to give it a good scrub, but his fingers had bumped something sharp, tiny and stuck in his scalp. Maybe he'd just let the water run over it for awhile. He sighed and slumped down just a little bit more, back aching. He put his hands on his knees and folded in half to try and relieve some of his dizziness. He wasn't quite sure what he'd done to his back, but he thought it might have happened when climbing out of the tunnels. Maybe the pain would go away if he laid on the floor long enough.
He tilted his head back slowly and opened his mouth, split lip breaking back open. His mouth filled with warm water and he let it overflow, let it run down his body with the rest and wash away the taste of blood. His lip stung when the water hit it, but the blood was washed away and his mouth didn’t feel dry. His neck ached and he let his head fall forward again, the water from his mouth splashing at his feet.
Steve sighed and cringed when there was a wheezing noise to it. His bandana hadn't quite covered his face the whole time he was down there, there had been times where he'd breathed in the foul tasting air and he couldn't imagine the shit floating in it was good for him. He groaned again, just because there was no better way to articulate his pain, there wasn't any real way for him to make it go away.
Maybe he'd find Munson in the phone book, give him a call and see if he made home deliveries. A couple pills to make his face stop throbbing would be nice, maybe it would knock him out long enough to heal up without feeling it. Maybe he carried something that could suppress the heat. He didn't have the parts of an omega, but the heat was basically the same hormones flushing through him, a heat aid would soothe the worst of it.
The water seemed to be running clear, and he figured that had to be good enough, at least for now. He just hoped he wouldn't stain the towel with blood, but that wouldn't be that bad. He already had so much to clean up. He'd shower again after some rest, he'd wash his hair for real and scrub himself down until nothing was lingering on his skin. But he'd done all he could, if he blacked out in the shower, it wouldn't matter how clean he was.
Shuffling out of the shower wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. The warm water had made him feel just a little better, not quite refreshed, but less like he was dead on his feet. More like he was still a person.
He trudged back up the hall to his bedroom and grimaced at his gross clothes on the floor. He tried to kick them aside, but quickly realized having both feet on the floor was safer than precarious balance on one. He grabbed an old tee shirt and boxers and did his best to avoid looking at his bed. The pillow was coated in blood and it was drying, he knew it would be awful to the touch. The sheets were almost certainly worse. He stared for a long moment before turning around and dragging his feet back into the hall, down to the next bedroom over. It was made up like he was expecting a guest, but he wasn't. There were never any guests, hadn't been since the last time Tommy and Carol had been over. A lifetime ago.
He climbed into bed and curled up in a ball, squeezing his eyes shut. Just a couple more hours of sleep, then he would call someone for help. He wanted to cry at his own admission that he couldn’t handle this alone, but instincts that didn’t feel like his own were crying out for a nest, for a mate, for comfort.
He didn’t have a pack. He’d never had a pack. He had his parents, of course, but they weren’t big on the whole pack thing. They thought it was beneath them, that they weren’t animals, didn’t need to succumb to baser instincts. So there was no nesting or scenting or anything like that in the Harrington home.
He whimpered as he stared down at his arm, at tiny pinprick scars just below his wrist. Scars from when Carol had bitten him when they were still pups, before they presented, with her little pup fangs, and declared them her pack. A mating bite was the most grown up thing they could imagine at the time, and with no mating glands developed yet, scent glands in the wrist were the closest thing they’d had. He’d wanted to bite them too, but Carol was Tommy’s girl, always had been, even though she’d been Steve’s friend first. And biting Tommy would’ve been too queer, since Tommy had been sure they’d both be alphas.
Steve didn’t like the person he became around them. And he thought that was a much more grown up decision than a couple of bites to the arm. But it left him feeling lonely, especially when Nancy hadn't wanted to spend her ruts with him. Which he had been fine with. It had hurt a little when she still took his shirts and blankets he offered, but he pushed that hurt down. She wanted to finish her rut as soon as possible, of course she did. His hormones would cut it short for her.
He’d never told her that when she gave them back, unwashed of course, he’d usually fall into a pseudo heat or rut. He’d spend the next couple days with his face shoved against the fabric, seeking out her scent and imagining her with him. But he didn’t want to pressure her into anything. They didn’t really have sex anyway.
Steve rolled over in the guest room bed to try and get more comfortable. His erection, achingly hard, brushed against the mattress and he whimpered into the pillow. He gave his hips a weak roll, pressing himself against the mattress to try and chase pleasure, but it didn’t feel good enough to cancel out the hurt. He didn’t want to jerk off, he wanted to go back to sleep.
He was hard and his mouth was dry and his head throbbed and his chest hurt and he wanted to cry so badly, wanted to break down into a miserable little puddle of tears, but he wasn’t some omega. He was in heat, but he wasn’t an omega. They were allowed to cry, he wasn’t. He was supposed to act like an alpha.
So he stayed in bed and curled in a little ball even though it strained aching muscles. His eyes prickled and burned and there was a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow. He clutched the extra pillow to his chest and shoved his broken nose against it, forcing in painful breaths like he was taking in a scent. But all of the linens were washed with scent nullifying detergent so there was nothing to smell except his own blood.
He woke up hours later and his tongue was practically sticking to the inside of his mouth from how dry it was. His throat hurt and he knew he must’ve had his mouth open while he slept. He was so hungry he felt sick and knew eating would just lead to throwing up. At least now he was only half hard, though the part of his mind that was overcome by heat was whining for a knot, cooing that he’d feel so much better if he just got knotted.
It wouldn’t make things better, he knew it wouldn’t. The idea of having sex sounded awful to him, which was probably a good indicator that he was entirely fucked up. He whined into the pillow, which was still clutched in his arms. His whine didn’t sound right, it was crackly and broken. Probably from his dry throat. He squeezed his eyes shut even though the room was dim, the orange tint telling him it was sunset. He’d slept through most of the day, which he figured was for the best.
He wasn’t sure what had woken him, but was about to chalk it up to bodily needs when he heard it. A loud knock at the door.
Steve grimaced at the thought of braving the stairs, of peeling himself out of bed and dragging his body down to the door. Even opening the door sounded like too much work to his overworked body. He was ready to close his eyes and ignore it, to roll back over and force himself back to sleep because it was the only time he wasn't entirely focused on his misery. But then the knocking came again, louder this time, and his thighs ached something fierce but his bones weren't broken.
So he dragged himself out of bed, the exact thing he didn't want to do. He wasn't bulging as obscenely in his boxers anymore, so whoever was at the door would have to deal with it or just avert their gaze. It was like, a fact of life or whatever. He just about tripped on the way out of the bedroom and had to brace his arms up, running into the wall. He grunted as he hit it and felt the impact radiate through his arms and torso. "Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.
He pressed his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes. It felt nice, actually, the wall was cool against his warm skin. That was the heat. Or he was getting an infection. Maybe from having open cuts in those gross tunnels, who knew? He sucked in a breath through his teeth, holding it in his chest as he fought the urge to cough. The knocking came again and he whined.
It felt like it took every muscle in his body to push himself away from the wall. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he grunted.
Getting to the stairs was one thing. Getting down them... Steve was honestly not sure about it. He stared at them for a long moment before bending his knees and grasping the railing as tight as his aching knuckles would allow. "Here goes nothing," he croaked to himself. His legs gave out, but he was close enough to the floor that it didn't hurt him. He scooted forward, one stair at a time, and made his way down to the front door. Getting to his feet...
Out of the question.
He grunted and reached up, slapping his hand at the deadbolt, then the knob. He flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, taking long, slow breaths. "'s open," he groaned towards the door, sprawled like a starfish. He closed his eyes as the hinges creaked and threw up his arm to shield his face from a gust of cold air. "Ow."
"Harrington?"
"Hopper?" Steve lifted his arm away from his face and, Jesus, his shoulders hurt. Sure enough, Hopper was looking down at him from the doorway, and he looked a little worse for wear too. That made Steve feel a little bit better. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to check on you. Dustin Henderson called the police station when he couldn't get in touch. So Flo asked me to do a welfare check." His nose flared. "You reek, kid."
"It's a stress heat. I'm stressed. It's been a shit week." He figured laying on the floor wasn't helping his image, but he didn't think he had much of an image anymore, not one he cared about all that much, at least. "I'm not dead, you can leave now." He rolled onto his side and curled up in a ball, ignoring the way it made him hurt worse. After all, everything made him hurt worse, what was the difference?
Hopper sighed. "No. No, I can't."
Steve let out a little growl. He didn't need anyone's help. He was downstairs now, so he basically had access to anything he could possibly need. He wasn't supposed to touch the good blankets in the hall closet, but at this point, he didn't care. He could curl up on the couch, have a meal of saltines and water, and collapse for another few days. He'd already missed a day of school, but he didn't care. He'd make up for it when he felt like he could move again. "You can leave, I'm fine."
"No you aren't."
Steve growled again, wishing he was an alpha. If he was an alpha, he wouldn't be in heat and he'd probably be able to get off the stupid floor. Maybe he'd even be less pathetic. "I have it under control, okay?"
"Stand up."
"I don't have to take orders from you!" Steve rolled onto his belly, which fucking hurt, and braced his arms against the floor. He tried to push himself up, pushups were fucking easy for him, the first few at least, but now, he could only grit his teeth against a scream as the pain in his body flared. "Fuck off!"
"You stand up or I'm coming in."
"Come back with a warrant." He huffed and managed to get his forearms braced against the floor, straining his body until he could get his knees under himself. He stayed there and resolutely ignored the tiny part of his brain that thought about how it would feel to be fucked in that position. "I don't want you here, I don't want anyone to pity me, I don't need to be taken care of."
"You're an omega in stress heat, you're still a minor, and I don't see your parents here-"
"I'm not an omega!" Steve snapped. He thought about saying something about how he didn't think that being an omega was a bad thing, but he didn't care enough about semantics at the moment. "I'm a fucking beta, it'll be over in two days. I don't need you." He shuffled on his knees until he was sitting on the bottom stair and glared up at Hopper. Warm blood trickled from his re-split lip and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Hopper considered him for a moment before waving his hand at something outside. Steve wanted to be snarky about it, but his head was throbbing again and he thought his vision might be blurring again. “I’m coming in, kid. Don’t bite me.”
Steve just growled again, wrapping his arms around himself. “Whatever.” He huffed and stayed in place, but he could practically feel it as Hopper passed through the doorway. He choked off a whine, nerves going haywire. There was an alpha in his house. He was too close to an alpha, he wanted to run. Retreat with his metaphorical tail between his legs. But he held himself tighter and his hand pressed against his ribs, right where they were bruised. He braced himself and dug his fingers into his own skin, wished he could claw at it until he bled, until he could feel it dripping down his body.
He closed his eyes, only opening them when he heard a second set of footsteps. It was the pup he’d seen yesterday, though he hadn't seen her for long. He couldn’t really smell anything with his nose being broken, but he remembered her scent being a little stronger than the other pups’. Probably on the verge of presentation. “Oh. Hi.”
She looked at him for a long moment before nodding at him. She closed the door and latched it in an easy, practiced motion. “You were hurt last night.” She leaned in close to his face and he bit back the urge to growl at her. She didn’t look so great either.
She was pale and had bags under her eyes, which were bloodshot. It looked like her nose had been bleeding at some point, the skin above her lips faintly stained. “Yeah.” He leaned back and planted his elbows against the next stair up and tried to swallow, his dry throat clicking. “A little bit.”
El leaned in closer still and took a careful sniff of him, right near his glands. “You smell weird.”
“Okay, back it up a little.” If he were feeling any better, he would’ve gone backwards up the stairs to get some space. But he was feeling miserable and she was just a pup. Clearly one who didn't have a firm grasp on social cues. "I'm Steve."
She nodded. "I know."
"...and you are...?" She'd never gotten the opportunity to introduce herself to him. He thought she might like to, based on the things he'd heard about her.
"I am Eleven, but you can call me El. Friends can call me El and Hopper says you protected my friends. Which means you are my friend."
Steve raised an eyebrow and pretended it didn't feel like an ice pick to the skull. "I'm not sure it works like that."
"...we are not friends?" She frowned and cocked her head at him. God, she was just a little pup.
"No, no, that's not what I'm saying." Steve grunted and slowly got himself to his feet. "I'm saying that we aren't friends yet. Gotta get to know you a little better."
"Oh." She scrunched her face up a little and trailed him towards the kitchen. "I am thirteen years old, I like Eggos but not broccoli, um... I like bugs."
"Bugs?" Steve reached out to brace himself against the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and looked over his shoulder. Moving his eyes too far to one side made him feel like his skull might explode into a billion pieces.
El nodded. "I like butterflies and spiders. Moths are okay. Beetles are nice. They can be colorful."
"That's right." Hopper set a glass of water on the counter in front of Steve. "Drink this. No complaining."
Steve grimaced. He didn't want to be treated like he was some kind of helpless pup. He didn't need some alpha watching over him, didn't need anyone watching over him. He was doing just fine.
Even so, he reached out and picked the glass up, ignoring the way it felt far heavier than it should, and took a deep drink from it. Just a few swallows and he already felt better. Some of his dizziness abated and he felt like he could see a little better. He took a sharp breath when he set the glass down after emptying it, trying to gain his bearings. "That's better," he mumbled, looking between Hopper and El. "Well. It was great of you to stop by, but-"
"Not so fast. We aren't just leaving you like that."
Steve scoffed and leaned against the counter again. He wanted to lay back down, wanted to curl up on something soft and go back to sleep. "Wasn't that the original plan? Come here, check on me for Henderson, and then bounce? It's not a different story just because I'm in heat. It's not even a real heat!"
"Just because you're not an omega doesn't mean it's not real." Hopper had an expression like he'd rather be anywhere else, and Steve would definitely rather he be anywhere else.
"Oh my god, you can not be trying to lecture me about this right now. And in front of your pup? Does she even know about this stuff? Because between you and me, I can't really see you giving her The Talk." Steve knew he was being way more of an ass than he needed to be, but frankly, he didn't care. He wanted them out of his house. Mostly Hopper, he didn't mind El so much. She seemed like a sweet pup, but his head was starting to throb again and he felt like he might barf up the water.
Oh god, it wasn’t sitting well. He’d drank it too fast and it was already starting back up his throat. “Move,” he hissed at Hopper, shuffling around the counter. When he didn’t, Steve pushed at Hopper’s arm until he got the message. He didn’t get with the program fast enough and Steve didn’t make it to the sink.
He heaved and his back arched and he clapped his hands over his mouth, but he couldn’t stop it. The water came back up, tinted red. It spilled from his hands and soaked through his shirt and splattered on the floor in a puddle in front of him. It burned coming back up and he was fairly certain some had come out his nose. He sniffled, but that made his sinuses burn. He groaned and his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore, but something kept him from collapsing, leaving him staring at the floor.
At first, he thought Hopper had caught him, but there was nothing touching him. He blinked blearily and looked around to see El holding her hand out towards him. Her fingers twitched and he groaned as he fell to the ground. He didn’t have far to fall though, the impact hardly registering as much as the wet fabric on his skin and stench of vomit.
“Easy, pup,” Hopper murmured.
“I’m not a pup,” Steve grit out through clenched teeth. His mouth tasted awful and he still felt thirsty despite the throb of his stomach and the pounding in his head. “Fuck!”
“Alright, easy.” Hopper’s hand was hot through the thin fabric of his shirt and Steve let out a whine. He was tense, expecting the alpha to scruff him like an unruly pup, but the hand stayed between his shoulder blades. “Easy. In and out.”
Steve wanted to scream, but he didn’t. His eyelids felt sticky with unshed tears and he took slow breaths through his mouth. As much as the hand on his back was almost a comfort, it didn’t take him long to realize Hopper was just monitoring his breathing. The hand went away as soon as he got it under control, and then hands were helping him stand. “Come on, hospital.”
“No!” Steve tilted his chin up defiantly, even though he wanted to bow his head and submit. It would feel right, he knew it would feel good to submit, but this was his home. He wasn’t going to let Hopper drag him out of his own home. "I'm not going and you can't make me."
Hopper sighed and looked up at the ceiling, but Steve held his ground. He wasn't going anywhere, not when he felt this miserable and was in heat. "If you won't let me take you to the hospital, then El and I are staying to monitor you overnight."
Steve let out a frustrated snarl and all but stomped his feet. "Fine. Fine!" He yanked at his wet shirt and tried to wiggle himself out of it. He got his head stuck in the neck hole and tried not to whine when it snagged on a tangled, still bloody lock of hair. "Ow, ow, ow-"
Hopper helped him get the shirt off and Steve tried not to feel humiliated, but his already hot face burned hotter. "Where's your room? I'll get you a clean shirt, alright?"
Steve whined in the back of his throat but gestured towards the stairs. "Up the stairs, first room. Don't- It's kind of... bloody up there."
"Bloody?"
"The bed. I collapsed into bed last night and I guess my nose started bleeding again. And my head." He swallowed, a shiver running down his spine. He wanted to lay down so bad. "There's a bathroom down the hall, I'll rinse my mouth and..." He trailed off and shook his head, but the movement reignited his nausea and he felt unsteady all over again.
"El, help him to the bathroom, okay? I'll be back in a few minutes. Just make sure he doesn't fall down, and more importantly that he doesn't hit his head again."
El nodded, expression serious as she moved to Steve's side. "I do not know where the bathroom is."
Steve huffed out a breath and let El hold his arm as he led the way to the bathroom. "Thank you for helping me," he murmured. She was just a pup, he didn't like feeling like he had to rely on her. But he felt far more stable with her next to him.
El hummed, a quiet little noise. She was quieter than the other pups, Steve didn't think he could handle Dustin's exuberance or Mike's... being Mike. Steve groaned and almost stumbled into the bathroom door, patting at the wall to flick on the lights. "Be careful."
"I'm being careful," Steve mumbled. He grabbed a hand towel and shoved it under the tap, letting it soak with cold water. He glanced into the mirror as he slumped forward against the counter and grimaced at the state of his face. He was starting to think he'd never look like himself again, that he might just not heal.
He started to wipe the puke off of his chest with the towel. God, he felt gross. Maybe he'd take another shower after laying down for a while, just get some rest and then clean himself up a little better. "So, what's it like?" he asked.
El stared at him. "What is what like?"
"Living with the chief. Hopper never struck me as the paternal type."
"He is..." El frowned, looking at him in the mirror. "I like him. He keeps me safe. But we had a fight and I think he is still angry."
"Are you still angry with him?" Steve squinted at his reflection, the lights too bright for his throbbing head. "Why'd you fight?"
"He would not let me leave the cabin because it was not safe for me to leave. I felt trapped. My whole life I have been trapped." She looked away and Steve turned to look at her. "I do not want to be angry, but I am. I want to see my friends, I want to see Mike. I can keep myself safe. I went to a whole different state by myself!"
"Him wanting to keep you safe doesn't mean he doesn't think you're capable," Steve said slowly. He couldn't exactly read Hopper's mind, but it was obvious that he cared for the pup. "I think he just doesn't think you need to keep yourself safe anymore. He wants to keep you safe himself. Does that make sense?" He rubbed his cheek tiredly. "I think you should talk to him about it."
"Maybe she should." Hopper sighed softly, knocking on the door frame. "I got you some fresh clothes, kid." He held out a pair of pajama pants and a shirt.
Steve set them on the counter and finished wiping himself down. "Being this lucid has been fun, but I think my whole body is about to give up. If you really insist on staying, grab me some blankets from the closet. Please." His words were starting to slur together, no matter how hard he fought against it. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he grit his teeth. "Please," he said again, struggling to get the shirt on over his head. His arms felt heavy, but he jerked the shirt over his head and hissed as it tugged at a gash that had scabbed over on his scalp.
El touched his arm and he gave her a weak smile. "Thanks, pup." He struggled to get the pants on, but felt a little better when he wrangled them onto his legs. The ache was down to his bones, hell, he was pretty sure it was leaching into his bones. He rinsed his mouth and drank a few cupped handfuls before trudging towards the living room.
Hopper had left out several soft blankets that Steve usually wasn't even allowed to touch. Not that anyone would know whether or not he did. Besides, he'd just wash them as soon as the stupid heat was over in a couple of days. El brightened when she saw them and looked up at him. "Can I help you make a nest? Hopper made one for me after he found me in the woods."
"In the woods?" Steve blinked at her, trying to wrap his head around that. Okay. She'd been found in the woods. "Yeah, okay. I think some help would be nice." His whole body felt heavy as he made his way to the couch. He picked up one of the silky soft blankets and rubbed his cheek against it. They were all washed in completely neutral detergent. Everything he had was, it was some specialty brand that his parents insisted on using.
Even so, even through his swollen and clogged nose, he swore that there was a hint of scent on them. Something rich and smoky, just a hint of Hopper's scent from him handling it. El looked up at Steve and mimicked the movement before starting to unfold the blanket in her hands. Steve couldn't help his smile at that. She was the same age as Henderson and his friends, but she seemed so much younger in some ways. So much older in other ways. He wanted to wrap her up in his nest and keep her safe, make sure she was bundled up and comfortable.
El looked up from arranging the blankets and smiled at him. "Are you feeling any better?"
"A little." He didn't, he could feel his energy bleeding from him, but at the same time, he did feel just a touch better, knowing he wasn't alone in the house anymore.
He'd never admit it to Hopper, god no, but El was sweet, he might be able to admit it to her. He draped the blanket in his hands over the back and arm of the couch. It wasn't a particularly comfortable couch, but the blankets made it look cozier. He sighed and moved to lay down, relaxing into the soft blankets. He nuzzled his forehead against one of the blankets, he couldn't press his face into it properly without agitating his nose, but it already felt like some of the tension from his body was leaking from him. He laid on his belly, head pressing to one of the throw pillows underneath the blankets. He could feel his heat kicking in, something in his gut flaring hot, but he was just too tired. He didn't want a mate, didn't want to be bred. He wanted pack, but he didn't have one.
Part of him yearned for a proper nest, something with scent tokens from a pack, something built up more, maybe a comforter or quilt...
He wondered if there was a way to make a quilt out of scent tokens and preserve individual scents in it, but before he could think too long on that, it was getting hard to keep his eyes open. He squinted at El, who was watching him closely. "Pup," he mumbled as he looked at her, his head swimming. "There's guest rooms," he mumbled. "If you're tired."
She sat down by his feet and patted his leg before pulling a blanket over him. "You should sleep. Hopper says that sleep makes you feel better."
"He's right." Steve kept his eyes open just long enough to see Hopper coming in from the kitchen before he sank back to sleep. He didn't have a pack to surround him, but a pup and a strong alpha were keeping an eye on him. He didn't need a pack. But they insisted on staying, so he'd take some comfort in it for now.