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The sound of the doorbell incessantly ringing had her cries pausing. She waited with baited breath as silence took over. There was some stomping of footsteps then Steve's voice pierced the heavy silence and the breath fell from her lungs with relief.
"Get the fuck back."
"You are in my fucking house!"
"I swear to god I will call the cops right now if you don't get the fuck away from this door."
Y/n took slow steps up the stairs, her breath wet.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"I'm the guy about to call the cops because some asshole laid his hands on his daughter!"
There was a silence that settled over the hallway before there was a small knock on the basement door.
"Y/n, it's just me, open the door kid," he spoke softly. She sniffled was she slid the lock out of place and pulled the door open. She could see the way his jaw clenched when he saw her. He reached out slowly and pulled her into his chest. He held her close as he walked her outside, his eyes settling over her mother casually sipping coffee in the kitchen, glaring as hard as he possibly could.
Steve got her into the car and draped his jacket over her lap before getting into the drivers seat. He didn't try to make her talk as he drove, just set the radio on a low volume and tried to make himself invisible. He drove her around aimlessly for thirty minutes until her cries turned into soft sniffles. Then he parked in an empty k-mart lot and turned the engine off. He turned his body to face her and leveled her with a serious but soft expression.
"You said that he's never been the bad before," he stated. "How long has this been going on?" Her chest seized with a trembling breath, she was desperately resisting a sob.
"A few months," she whispered. "Since he got laid off, he's been drinking nonstop and picking fights over nothing. He," she paused, staring down at her shaking hands. "He gets like that sometimes, usually when something goes wrong like he gambles a little too much, or he gets laid off, or he thinks mom is cheating. He's never hit me like this before."
"But he has hit you?" Steve asked, voice almost cracking.
"Just a slap or a shove but," she shook her head.
"What happened this time?" Steve asked.
"I forgot to do the dishes last night," she began with wobbly words, "I've been stressed all week with the end of the semester and all of my assignments due that I just couldn't take the yelling. At first I tried to walk away, but he," she stopped for a second, then slowly slid the sleeve of her sweater up. On her left forearm was a hand sized print all around her arm, bright red and quickly bruising. "He grabbed me and pulled me back. He wouldn't let go so I started screaming, I didn't know what the fuck to do. My mom was just standing there! Fucking staring at the counter like nothing was fucking happening, then again that's what she always fucking does," she angrily wiped at her sniffling nose. "He put his hand over my mouth, but he was covering my nose too and I couldn't breathe, so I bit him. That's when he hit me in the face," she pointed up at the bruise slowly covering her left eye.
"I hit his chest and his arm to make him let me go but he kept hitting me back," a cry cut her off. Steve reached out and took one of her trembling hands into his own, squeezing it softly.
"Take a breath. You're safe now, y/n, I won't let anything happen to you. Not anymore, okay?" He assured confidently.
"I shoved him again and he tripped so I ran to my room and I locked the door, then I texted you," she finished, barely looking up at Steve. Her face was still red, her eye slightly squinted in pain, her lip an ounce of pressure away from being busted. He can't imagine what other bruises she has beneath the sweatshirt she's hiding in.
"Have you told anyone else?" He asked.
"No," she whispered, lowering her head. "I'd be put in a group home, Steve. Both of my parents were only child's and all of my grandparents are dead. There's no where for me to go."
"I can't keep this to myself, kid. I can't let you go back there!" He whispered insistently.
"There's no group homes within twenty miles of here, I'd have to leave!" She cried.
"We need to at least tell Hopper. You are not setting foot in that house again. Come on, you're coming home with me for now," he shook his head and started the car again.
"Please don't let me be taken away," she whispered once they had been driving for about five minutes. Steve looked over at her, signing softly as tears fell from her bruised eyes.
"You're not going anywhere," he promised.
-
"When do you turn 18?" Hopper asked, rubbing his hand against his face with a sigh.
"Six months," y/n said, fiddling nervously with her fingers.
"There's not much that can be done, if child services thought that you were unsafe, they'd want to relocate you," Hopper said.
"Could I take her?" Steve asked, his hand almost permanently glued to her lower back, keeping her constantly aware that he was right there beside her.
"I doubt it. She'd likely end up being placed in a group home even if you decide to petition for guardianship. I think the best thing you can do is lay low until you turn 18. Reach out to your mom and see if she is willing to put something in writing that you have permission to stay with Steve. It will look bad if they decide to report you as a runaway or missing and the cops find you hiding in a 20 year olds apartment," Hopper pointed out.
"That's my only option?" Y/n asked softly.
"If we want to completely avoid the possibility of child services getting involved, then yes," Hopper nodded, "Y/n, I want you to understand that I am turning a blind eye because I care about you and I know that it hurt you to leave, I just want you to be careful, and stay safe."
"I'm not going to let anything happen to her," Steve assured him.
"If you need anything at all, you call me, okay? And you're always welcome here," Hopper said, standing as Steve stood.
"Thanks, Hopper, I really appreciate it," Y/n said, leaning forward to give him a hug.
"Of course, just be safe, honey," he gently kissed her head then walked them to the door.
