Chapter Text
“This is over,” Hopper barked, slamming a fist on the table.
“Sir,” the man with the stupid hair protested, standing.
“No, no– shut up! You– sit down. You–” He turned to Steve, who stared blearily up at him, his good eye wide. “Come on. We’re leaving. Right now.”
“We’re not finished here Jim,” the second man at the table (slightly better hair) said coldly, rising to meet Hopper’s fury. “Steven was in custody of a foreign government for nearly 12 hours and he’s not speaking to us. Until we can the bottom of all of this, he remains a threat to national security–”
“National security?”
“--And under United States law we are legally allowed to detain–”
“I’m going to punch your lights out,” Hopper said, sounding dazed and dangerous. Like he was a hair away from losing control. Like he couldn’t actually believe what he was hearing. To be fair, Steve hadn’t believed it either, for the first 10 minutes.
Immediately post-mall collapse, with smoke still billowing black into the air, ashes flickering against his skin, Steve had been remanded into custody of the U.S. military. He’d thought they were taking him to the hospital, at first, considering the speed and efficiency with which he’d been bundled into the ambulance. His eye had been dripping blood and his teeth ached and his fucking fingers felt like they were about to fall off and all he could remember thinking was how relieved he was to finally get medical attention, even if he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Robin.
Because that’s what was happening right? Right? Literally why else would he be in a god damn ambulance? Most of the others had left; Nancy and Mike with the Wheeler family, Lucas and Erica with the Sinclairs. The injured were being taken to the hospitals and what was Steve if not monumentally-fucking-injured?
And there had been medical professionals inside, concerned medical professionals, who had made him recite dates and follow their fingers, flashing lights in his eyes. Professionals who had made him lift up his shirt so they could look at his fucked up torso and palpate his ribs. And the consensus was that he, Steve Harrington, was super fucked up. That had been their professional opinion, with okay, some added doctor terminology, because again, they had seemed like professionals–
Until they rolled up to the police department, dragged him out (mostly because he could barely walk but okay thanks) and thrown him into an empty interrogation cell.
And that had been his rude awakening.
Because he wasn’t going to the hospital. And he wasn’t going home, was he? He’d only understood exactly what was going on when Stupid Hair and Slightly Better Hair had slipped into the room, folders tucked under their arms, tape recorders out.
He was being interrogated.
Again.
And Steve… well, Steve didn’t cry, as a rule. Mostly because his dad had smacked that shit out of him when he was a kid. But Jesus, he couldn’t help but tear up a little at the sight of the two suits because it was happening again and he couldn’t stop them again and he was at the mercy of grown adults who wouldn’t let him out or stop demanding answers and there was nothing he could do about it.
Again.
So yeah. There might have been a tear. Or maybe two. Sue him.
Four hours later, Steve was this close to passing the fuck out because again, monumentally fucked up body here, when Hopper burst in.
Which brings them to now.
“You have kidnapped a fucking child, an injured fucking child, and if you don’t let me take him out of this freezing cold hell room right now, I am going to kill you.” Hopper stared down the two suits, chest heaving, eyes sharpening into something vicious and dangerous and horrible. “I am going to kill you both.”
Bad Hair opened his mouth to argue.
“Don’t.”
And then they were out in the hall, Steve blinking around them, totally bewildered. Because how did they get here so fast? He realized abruptly that he was shivering, hard, and clutched his arms across his chest. Someone was next to him, who…?
Something draped across his shoulders and he grasped at it, confused.
“Oh Jesus, what happened in there?”
“I don’t know Joyce. But he’s completely out of it and I think he might–”
Steve’s knees buckled and there was a loud gasp.
“Shit!”
“Aw hell, he’s so fucked up–”
“You have him?”
“Yeah just– shit, get the door for me. We’re taking him to the hospital.”
“They should have taken him to the hospital right away! I cannot believe such cruelty, such fucking– callous bullshit–!”
“I know Joyce.”
“He’s just a child!”
“I know…”
And that was pretty much the last thing he remembered for a while, his eyes falling shut, his body aching, the bright overhead lights of the police department fading away to nothing but comforting blackness.
He woke up in the hospital sometime later.
Robin was sitting up in the bed next to him, wide-awake.
“Oh thank god.”