#murray bauman fic

[bruhlsbees]

KNOCK THREE TIMES ; murray bauman x fem!reader

summary: after losing his job at the chicago sun-times, murray bauman seeks comfort in his equally, if not more, eccentric next-door hippie neighbor

warnings: drinking, smoking the devil's lettuce, smut (18+ only: fem rec. oral, dick riding, creme pie, squirting, nipple play, overstimulation, foot massages - this is grade a vintage smut at it's finest) slight dubcon (reader and murray are under the influence but are both really into each other and it's not weird/dark), MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

pairing: murray bauman x fem!reader

word count: 4,282

a/n: kisses to all the fellow murray stans and your patience with this! i hope y'all enjoy, it's my first fic in a few months and it was really fun to creative write again! <3 def would be open to write more murray fics in the future.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS - 1983

* * *

He knew he would have to probably start looking elsewhere to live - no sense in living in the city when he was now unemployed. He also knew that his mother was due to call him any moment now, and that meant telling her the quite unfortunate news. 

It wasn’t like he was intentionally trying to get fired, but he also knew that this story could have been something big. Evidently, to the rest of the Chicago Sun-Times, they thought differently.

Murray could hear it now - his mother and her squawking-like voice ringing through the telephone.

“What thirty-six-year-old man gets fired for conspiracies? Murray Bauman!”

Rolling his eyes, Murray fell back into his couch, moving the phone down into his lap as he tried to ignore his mother’s lectures, debating in his head as to how he could get off the phone with her.

“...if your father were still alive he would be so disappointed in you, Murray. Why couldn’t you have been a respectable journalist? I never wanted you to get into this. You could have done something else. Anything else! A businessman, a lawyer, not some crazed reporter who makes up conspiracies and gets fired!”

By now Murray had had enough - he could only take his mother’s daily berating phone calls for so long before he finally just ended the conversation. 

“Well, Ma, this has been great, like always,” He began sarcastically, sitting back up and leaning his elbows into his knees, “But I gotta go. You know, gotta look for a job now that I’m the disgraced ex-reporter of the Chicago Sun-Times. I’m sure I’ll find a great job after this.” 

Before his mother could protest, try and belittle him longer, Murray extended his arm forward and slammed the telephone down, ending the tiresome call. 

With a sigh of relief, Murray stood up and made his way into his kitchen, grabbing a glass and the bottle of vodka he had sitting on the top of his refrigerator. Twisting the cap and flicking it off, Murray poured the clear liquid into his glass, fuller than his usual amount given the circumstances, before bringing the bottle up to his lips and leaning his head back. 

He knew getting drunk probably wasn’t the most logical idea - given how tense he was and how his emotions were through the roof, but when he felt the warm liquid run down his throat and into his belly, he knew it was too late to go back. 

Warm eyes flickered across the room to the front door, where the cardboard box with his desk belongings sat, Murray could only shake his head and bring the bottle to his lips again, downing another generous amount of vodka as his thoughts began to stir. Completely forgetting about the glass he had poured, with the bottle in his hand Murray made his way over towards the front door, looking down at the contents in the box before letting out a ‘tsk’.

“Disappointed…yeah, I’m sure he would be,” Murray muttered to himself. 

Before he could continue down his self-deprecating rabbit hole, the strong scent of pot flooded got stuck in his nose from the hallway, followed by the faint sound of footsteps and muffled music coming from next door. 

Plugging his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, Murray turned towards the door and looked out the peephole into the hallway, watching as a taller gentleman stood in front of his door, grinning and swaying a little as he tried to focus on what Murray assumed to be his next-door neighbor.

“So…can we do this again sometime?” He slurred, laughing a little to himself.

Murray could only roll his eyes at how obviously high this guy was - not that he had much room to talk given that he was tipping over into the realm of his own intoxication. As much as he wanted to ignore his annoying neighbor and their own life, he still couldn’t help but watch. 

“Oh…yeah, maybe!” You squeaked out, laughing awkwardly from your spot in your doorway. “You know I’m so busy nowadays with school and stuff, but I’ll give you a call! Yeah?” 

The sweet sound of your voice was like honey to Murray, sticking him to his door just so he could possibly get a glance at you. It was pathetic really, two individuals who had been living next door to each other for months now and yet still never got a glance at each other. 

And he knew it was wrong, and he blamed the vodka for it, but there was almost a possessiveness that came over him when the gentleman right outside his door - who lingered longer than he should have, waiting for the answer he so desperately wanted from you but so clearly wasn’t going to get. 

“So, yeah. Get home safe, okay?” Before he could get another word out, you shut the door and locked it, humming to yourself as you moved to your couch, plucking the half-smoked joint from the ashtray and relighting it. 

Meanwhile, back next door, after who he assumed was your friend left, he turned back towards his kitchen and went to make dinner, given that it was already getting late. 

It didn’t take long for Murray to whip up a dish of, well - something. He wasn’t really putting much thought into it besides trying to not set the meal or himself on fire. 

By this point, he was so soaked with vodka that standing anywhere near a match would probably be a bad idea. He pulled the dish off the stove and let the contents slip out and onto the plate he had sitting next to him. 

Pulling a fork out from the drawer, Murray made his way to the island and leaned over the plate, going to dig in and take the first bite before there was a knock at the door. At first, he ignored it, going to take a bite again from his fork when the knocking came again. The second time proved to annoy Murray more.

By the third knock, however, he was fuming. He didn’t expect himself to be this annoyed over the knocking at his door, but he was starving and all he wanted was some peace and quiet after the shit day he had and the even more shitty phone call with his mother. 

“Oh, what is it now?!” He cried, making his way to the front door and swinging it open, a little rougher than usual.

“What?!” He snapped. 

Jumping slightly, you blinked at him slowly, you weren’t expecting the hostile answer to your knocking. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, did I disturb you? I just wanted to know if you had a couple of slices of bread? See, I got all the stuff for the sandwich, but not the bread.” 

When the scent of pot finally hit him and your voice rang into his ears, he gawked at you - not realizing that his next-door neighbor all this time was actually an attractive woman his age. He could only feel like an idiot now for making his first impression with you so poorly.

“No! No, I was just eating. Sorry, it’s been a long day. Uh, bread? Bread, yeah, I got that,” He could tell that you were high from the smell coming off you and the bloodshot eyes, but it wasn’t like he was any better. You could tell he was drunk by the teetering and flushed cheeks. 

Following him into the kitchen, shutting the door behind you, you leaned against the counter awkwardly, watching as he rummaged through his cabinets and on the counters for his loaf of bread that he insisted on having. 

“I’m sure it’s here somewhere…just gotta,” He shoved a stack of papers off the counter by accident, the loose leafs flying across the floor, “Shit, sorry! Don’t mind the mess.” 

You jumped back a bit from the papers, but judging by how cluttered even his kitchen was, it was going to be a minute before he found it. Turning towards the island, you looked down at the plate of pasta mush and what you presumed to be just a glass of water and not vodka, mouth salivating.

Forgetting that you were in fact not in your own apartment, you leaned forward and picked up the fork, stealing the first bite of his meal that was already on the plate. It was good, way too fucking good for the state of mind you were in right now. Setting the fork down, you picked up the glass and brought it to your mouth. 

The next turn of events seemed to happen quicker than either of you could process. Murray turned with the butt ends of the loaf in his hands, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched you eat his meal and begin to take a sip of his vodka, only for you to sputter out the vodka and nearly drop the glass on the floor. 

“What…the fuck was that?!” You gagged, trying to spit out the taste from your mouth.

“It’s vodka! Why are you eating my dinner?” Murray cried, tossing the bread down on the island before quickly getting you a glass of water, helping you drink it quickly without you choking on it until the taste was for the most part washed out of your mouth. 

“Jesus, are you that high? You’re lucky I’m not a psychopath! Do you do this with everyone in the apartment?” 

The questions that came out of Murray one by one were only waved off by you, making yourself comfortable and sitting down at one of the stools he had around the island. 

“My bread guy is out of town,” You swayed a little as you sat, your high beginning to peak and your body going lax. “I smelled you cooking and thought maybe you’d have bread.” 

At this point, Murray couldn’t even tell if this was reality or not. Was he that drunk? Did his weird hippie neighbor seriously knock on his door high out of their mind and steal his dinner and almost choke on his vodka?

“You have a bread guy?” Was all that Murray could come up with.  

Not having any shame, you took another bite of the pasta before passing him the fork. Giving in, Murray sat at the other stool and began to share his dinner, realizing he was far too drunk to even care anymore. 

“It’s that old retired high school teacher,” You explained. You know the one who is always gumming and hanging around the lobby trying to shoo out the solicitors?” 

Watching you take your bite and then give the fork back to him, Murray took a bite and shook his head, processing now who it was before passing the fork to you, the dish beginning to shrink until there was no more left. 

“Well, he’s not doing a great job. I gotta threaten to call the cops on those people at least twice a week!” Murray complained. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, catching Murray pleasantly off guard. He smiled a little and shook his head, pushing the empty plate out of his way before picking up his glass of vodka, and finishing it off. 

“I’m serious, he’s a nut,” Murray laughed, “And that’s coming from a nut!” 

“How many nuts do we have running around the complex?” You joked, smirking as you leaned back a little, moving to stand up and now walk around his apartment, into the living room where you looked around at his belongings. “That makes five just on our floor!”

Standing up, Murray followed you, watching from the doorway as you went through his records before finally picking something and putting it on the player. When the sweet tunes of Simon & Garfunkle came through the speaker, Murray made his way further into the living room, sitting down on his couch. 

“A hippie, an ex-journalist, a retired school teacher, the crazy cat lady, and the guy who is obviously a spy or something.” Murray listed off. 

Stopping your swaying to the music, you turned and gawked at Murray, stomach dropping. 

“He’s a snitch? I knew it! He’s so shady,” You squeaked, voice going soft as if the neighbor was listening, “He’s such a stiff! Always in those stuffy suits and weird sunglasses. Like, we’re indoors buddy. Why do you need the shades?” 

Sitting down now beside Murray on the couch, you leaned into the back of the couch, sitting on your knees. 

“You said…ex-journalist,” You began, more seriously. “Did you get fired or something?” 

Sighing, Murray brought the glass up to his lips and tilted back, finishing the glass before setting it down on the coffee table. “Yeah, today actually,” He confessed. “There’s this story, one I think could be really big! Well, the Chicago Sun-Times seems to think differently. Saying it's a hoax and a bunch of rumors from a small town that wants attention in the city. ‘A bunch of crap’ they told me.”

Frowning, you listened carefully to him speak, giving him the opportunity to get things off his chest. 

“What’s a bunch of crap is that entire paper. All they want to do is write about the same boring issues we all know aren’t going to change anytime soon.”

Nodding in agreement, you adjusted yourself to now sit flat on his couch, leaning back to extend out across the couch and in his lap. 

“It’s too bad really, I would have liked to hear about this big story.” 

Shrugging his shoulders, Murray’s hands rested on your feet. As much as he wanted to agree, he knew nothing would have come from it. Nobody would take him seriously, even now if he went somewhere else and pitched it. They’d all think of him as some crazy conspiracist. And part of him wondered if they were right. Hell, the only one who seems to be interested in it is his stoner hippie neighbor who was currently in a food coma and coming down from their high on his couch.

“Maybe someday.” He stated, leaning back into his couch and closing his eyes, “But I don’t need to pour my pathetic sob story to my neighbor of almost a year that I just happened to meet tonight for the first time.” 

If it weren’t for the two of your states of mind, Murray knew he would have already kicked you out a while ago. But he was quickly starting to grow on the idea of having you around for company. Maybe he judged you a little too much on assumptions. 

You, on the other hand, were pleasantly surprised with how good dinner was, not having had such a rich and filling dish in days really. It had been whatever scraps you could find lying around your place since you hadn’t gotten paid yet to go to the grocery store. You weren’t even aware of how many boundaries you had crossed tonight and the obvious social cues that were given to you by Murray. Not only did you barge in asking for bread, but you stole his dinner, and now were on the verge of napping on his couch.

It was even harder to stay awake on Murray’s couch, lying down with your feet in his lap, his warm calloused hands rubbing out the knots in your feet. You couldn’t help the little moan escape your mouth when you stretched your feet out more, toes digging into the inner part of his thigh, unaware of how they were wrapped around his now growing dick. 

“I’ll have to bother you more if it means a free meal and a foot massage,” You teased, “You do this to all the girls in the complex?” 

Letting out a weak laugh, Murray tried his best to not roll his hips into your feet, doing his best to cover up his disgruntled groan with his rebuttal. 

“Only the dirty hippies who smoke way too much weed.” 

The usual diss would have pissed you off if it was anyone else, but it was Murray and Murray seemed to be just as weird as you were. And while you were both heavily intoxicated in both of your vices - his being vodka and yours being pot, you could still tell too easily what was going on with him. 

On one shoulder, the little angel told you to stop, to not get caught up in another boy who was only going to waste your time, but on the other shoulder - with the devil that seemed to talk much louder than the angel, told you to see just how far you could take this. 

Watching as Murray’s right hand gripped the side of the couch, his left rested on your legs, you rolled your feet into his now obvious boner before retracting off him, his fingers sinking into your flesh to try and keep you still. Bending your knees up, exposing the underside of your linen dress, you could only smirk when his eyes followed, Murray’s breath hitching when he saw that you weren’t wearing anything under. 

“You offered dinner, the least I could do is offer dessert,” You spread your legs out a little to give him a better view, slowly pulling your dress up until it sat bunched above your pelvis. “Besides, it seems like you need a little pick me up after the day you had.”

If Murray wasn’t already intoxicated, he would have been at the sight of your pussy - already wet and swollen for him. He couldn’t hold back any longer and brought his hand up to grab at his cock through his pants, squeezing down to relieve some pressure before moving down to the floor, on his knees as you adjusted to sit facing him, legs now over his shoulders as he tugged you towards him. 

Wrapping his left arm under your leg to keep you held down, Murray’s other hand came up to your other thigh, laying it flat on his couch before finally inching forward and pressing his mouth over your pussy. 

The warmth of his mouth mixed with the slickness of his tongue had you bucking your hips up into his face, hands gripping the cushions of the couch as your mouth fell open. 

“O-Oh! Murray, that feels so good.” You exhaled, bringing your hands up to pull your dress higher up, watching him concentrate on sucking down on your clit and running his tongue up and down through your folds. 

Falling back into the couch, you whined and wrapped your hands around his head, keeping him held at your pussy while his hands were busy pinning you down. He continued to abuse your clit and folds, moving his right hand up towards your hole and circling his index and middle around it. Feeling your pussy flutter against his fingers before he pushed them deep inside, curling them up towards your g-spot. 

By now your body was sat up again, body curling around Murray’s head as you held onto him, crying as your hips continued to grind on Murray’s tongue, and now fingers, with your first orgasm of the night approaching.

With his nose pressed deep in your bush, he began sucking more carefully at your sudden song of going to come. He abused your pussy quicker, louder, and harder until your thighs clamped around his head, hips jolting as you squirted on his mouth and fingers. 

Trying his best to swallow everything you could give him, your body fell limp into the couch, panting as your legs became jello. Murray could only smirk when he finally pulled away, leaning back on the heels of his feet. 

He finally pushed his pants down over his legs and kicked them out under his feet, pulling his shirt off as well. His dick, now pointed out towards the couch, tip red and leaking with precum. Whenever he lost his balance a little, teeter back towards you on the couch, his dick would brush against the soft velvet of his couch and he hissed out loud, bucking his hips forward. 

“God, you’re…really good at that,” You said exasperated, helping him pull your dress off, panting as you sat up to look down at him with a grin at the sight of his beard dripping in your juices. “Come here, I wanna taste.” 

Pulling him towards you by his shoulders, your mouths connected in the middle, tongue already licking at his lips until your tongues found each other. Wet open-mouthed kisses now filled the room as Murray held you by your waist, moving to trade positions with you, sitting you down on his lap. 

You first ground against his dick, hardening nipples brushing against his own and the soft fuzzy hair that grew on his chest and stomach. 

“Mmm, can I sit on your dick?” You asked quietly, lips still lightly against his. Without saying a word, Murray nodded and pushed you back towards him, mouth going back to yours.

Pushing yourself up, you settled back down onto Murray’s plush thighs, hard dick sinking up into you. A groan escaped from you when you finally settled down onto his lap. His arms came and wrapped up and around your back while your arms hung over the back of his couch. Nails and palms gripping onto the couch cushion tightly.

Moaning into each other’s mouths until you needed to pull back down to catch your breath - a string of saliva connecting you both as you pulled away. Leaning back to rest your hands on his knees, extending your exposed front torso to him, you couldn’t help the tightening coming from your core, his tanned cock pulsing inside causing you both to let out a disgruntled moan. 

“I-I’m not doing that on purpose,” You confessed, continuing to grind down into his lap. 

“I know,” He groaned, hand moving down to cup your ass before squeezing the plush flesh, smacking you once and pulling you closer to him, grinding your hips hard onto his lap, whining as his hands gripped harder on your hips.

“But…don’t stop doing it either.” 

Clenching down and around him harder now, you bent your elbows to hold onto him better, feeling his hands return to your hips as he began fucking himself up into you, your body practically a rag doll in his arms. 

“Murray, I-I’m going to-”

Before you could properly finish your sentence, your body tensed up in Murray’s arms. Your eyes going cross and your teeth coming down to dig into your bottom lip. 

Murray continued to fuck his way up into you through your orgasm: your toes curling and heels digging into his sides, body shaking violently as you creamed around his dick. 

Fighting to keep you sat still and not moving so much, Murray held you even tighter to him, his mouth coming down on your right nipple, sucking and nibbling at the swollen bud while his right thumb and pointer twisted and pulled the once free nipple. 

“Murray! It’s…it’s too much!” You whined, beginning to try and squirm his way off from how intense your next orgasm was hitting you so quickly. “I’m so sensitive.” 

Without removing his mouth and hand from your nipples, Murray began to fuck his way, hard, up into you, his own orgasm finally catching up to him. Before you both knew it, you were coming down together.

Overstimulated now, you could only hover over Murray’s dick, the mixture of both of your cum oozing out of you and down your thighs, dripping onto the tip of Murray’s dick and sliding down the sides. Panting hard, Murray grabbed your hips and steadied you before pushing you back down on his dick, the sticky mess spreading across your legs and inside you. 

“Murray!” You sobbed, pushing back as your hips jolted on him, “It’s too much.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, princess,” He teased, pulling you back towards him to kiss your cheek. “Are you all sore? Pussy too sensitive from my dick?” 

Rolling your eyes, you rested your head on his shoulder, facing against his neck.

“You’re so mean,” You joked, a small smile twitching at the corners of your mouth. “I take it back, I don’t ever want dinner or foot massages again!” 

He could only laugh, knowing by the dramatic tone you were speaking in that you were only joking. 

“I mean, you sort of invited yourself over. So if there’s anyone to blame it’s you,” He watched as you leaned back and went to playfully hit him, his hand catching your wrist before your hand connected to his face. “But, I don’t think it’s anything to get in a huff about, don’t you think, princess?” 

Blushing, you didn’t let your smile fall as you shook your head, agreeing with him despite not wanting him to know he was right. 

“So, what do you say?” Murray asked after a moment. 

“Say about what?” You questioned, eyebrow raised. 

“This, maybe…happen again? Next week sometime?” 

You were never one to jump into setting up another ‘date’ with a hookup after the first time, but with Murray it was different. Hell, if you knew what he was all about when you first moved in, you would have knocked on his door a lot sooner. 

Climbing off his lap, you gathered your dress off the floor and threw it back on, pulling your hair out from under before making your way towards the door.

“Yeah, you make the dinner and I’ll bring the dessert.”

Opening the door, you turned and smiled at a now dressed Murray, who made his way towards the door behind you and leaned against the opened door. 

“It’s a date then, princess.”

#murray bauman #murray bauman smut #brett gelman #brett gelman smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #murray bauman fic #brett gelman gif #minors dni #buckle up kiddos

[farahsamboolents]

Non Denominational Winter Party For Friends (Who Know) Of The Upside Down

ao3 link here

(fyi this is 8.5k words, issa big one)

Murray heard a knock on his door.

According to his camera, it was Jonathan Byers. He looked tired, thought Murray, but on the other hand, this was Jonathan Byers. He sort of just looked like that.

Murray glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to find that the case he’d been working on had occupied a good twelve hours, and it was now six in the evening. Usually he ran out of vodka by now, forcing him to take a break to get more.

Hm. The cutting back on the drink really was working.

He made his way to the door and pressed the button to the intercom.

“Stop!” He said, in a terrible attempt at a British accent.

Jonathan visibly startled.

“He who approacheth the Door of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see!” He proclaimed, still in his terrible accent. Sue him, he’d been through enough with the Byers family to mess with the kid a bit.

Jonathan grinned, confused. “Uh, okay.” He said. Hey, he was even looking straight at the camera!

“What!” He said, trying and failing to keep himself from giggling through the word, “is your name!”

“Jonathan Byers.”

“What! Is your quest!”

Jonathan held up a piece of paper. “Delivering a party invitation?”

A party invitation? Since when was Murray invited to Hawkins parties? And why was Jonathan sent all the way here to deliver it? He pursed his lips at the video feed, suspicious.

“What!” He said anyway, “is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow!”  

Jonathan chuckled into the camera. “African or European?”

Murray barked out a laugh, and opened the door.

“Hey, Murray.” Said Jonathan, handing him the paper he had held up. “Can’t stay long, but I offered to bring this to you because apparently you don’t check your mail.”

“I check my mail.” Muttered Murray, focussed on the party invite in his hands. It was a photocopy of a hand drawn invite, which had clearly been fussed over and crumpled before being fed into the machine, making the smooth paper look creased. “I just don’t bother responding to it unless it’s important.”

“Did you get the gift card we sent for your birthday?”

“Yes. I suppose you’re expecting a thank you, but I’d like to know how you know my birthday in the first place.” He peered up at Jonathan over the top of his glasses.

“My mom saw it on your passport.” Said Jonathan with a shrug.

“Et tu, Joyce?” He grumbled, and turned his attention back to the invite.

It was written mostly in large bubble letters, reading: you are invited to a NON-DENOMINATIONAL WINTER PARTY.

Below it, in messy handwriting, said for friends of the UPSIDE DOWN.

Between the words friends and of was a proofreader’s caret, and in much nicer handwriting, someone had added the words who know, with a set of aggressive underlines.

“Your brother clearly wasn’t consulted when making the invites.” He said. Either that, or Joyce had a serious case of mom brain when it came to her younger son’s skill. He could even see remnants of the word CHRISTMAS where it had clearly been erased in favour of NON-DENOMINATIONAL.

“Yeah, uh, Argyle made it.” Said Jonathan.

“Argyle.” He shook his head to indicate that he was out of the loop, as he flipped the paper to find the actual details of the party on its back. They had splashed for double sided printing. How nice.  

“Yeah, my friend with the long hair? You met him in California.”

“The one who smells like…” Murray raised his eyebrows innocently, “skunk?”

He did, in fact, know who Jonathan was talking about, but he knew of him as Arturo Gallardo, a name he had picked up when confirming their cover stories. He had aggressively researched him, the same way he researched everyone he could identify who knew of the Upside Down. He couldn’t risk any one of them being a Russian agent, or an affiliate of Brenner’s.

Now that he thought of it, he did remember seeing the name Argyle associated with the man; he had cast it aside as unimportant, choosing instead to focus on the paper trail, or lack thereof, of the people residing in his house. He had quickly found that they were refugee family members from a civil war in El Salvador and decided it was none of his business.

He turned his attention back to Jonathan, who was sheepishly agreeing that yes, his friend did smell like skunk.

“The party was his idea, too.” Jonathan continued. “He wants to get to know everyone who we can trust about the Upside Down.”

Murray hummed in acknowledgement. “Some people find archival newspapers down to the day you were born, some people throw parties.” He shrugged. Jonathan looked bewildered. “Regardless, I won’t be attending. I don’t do parties.” Not of the painfully heterosexual variety, anyhow.

“Oh.” Said Jonathan, clearly disappointed by this news.

“You were born on a Friday.” Said Murray, handing back the paper, “And funny enough, the biggest story in Hawkins that day was a middle school photography competition. The winner was a picture of a dog. It was a shitty picture, but the photographer was ten.”

“Good… to know.”

“Well, say hi to Nancy for me.” Said Murray, eager to have his home to himself again. It was nice seeing Jonathan, but man did the Byers know how to invade his house like a weed. Best to nip it in the bud before he got too cozy.

“Oh, uh, I… don’t know.” Jonathan shifted his weight on his feet, uncomfortable.

“You don’t know how to say hi?” Said Murray, eyebrow raised. “It’s one syllable, Jonathan, rehearse it.”

“No, it’s just.” Jonathan gave him a placating smile. “We, uh, ended things.”

Murray crossed his arms. “Ended things.”

He watched Jonathan’s face carefully as he thought over his response. He’d seen the boy in an array of emotions; determined, tired, protective, lovestruck, pleased-but-embarrassed-because-he’d-just-had-sex-in-Murray’s-guest-room, and so-high-he-could-barely-think. Which was to say, Murray had a good read on his expressions by now. So when Jonathan’s lip dipped as his cheek pulled up in a wince, Murray could tell that this ended things business was not one he was particularly happy about.

“I mean,” said Jonathan, “she’s at college, and I’m still, you know, here, because I mean I can’t leave my family, so like, I - I mean, it was a mutual thing, you know?”

Murray pursed his lips. “You did long distance for most of the year.”

Jonathan shrugged. “I, yeah, I mean, it wasn’t, easy.”

Murray narrowed his eyes.

“I mean, I’ve still got my family! And, and, Argyle. And I’m going to college part-time in Indy, which is why I came here, it’s not that long of a detour.” Jonathan was avoiding eye contact as he did his best to act as if he was fine.

Murray was drumming his fingers on his arm.

“And we still, you know, promised to be friends, it’s just. You know, we ended things when she came back for Thanksgiving, and that was only a week ago, so.” Jonathan cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your ha…ir.” Jonathan’s eyes flickered up to the top of Murray’s head. “I’m gonna. Go.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the door to indicate he was leaving, as if Murray might be confused as to which direction he was going.

He let Jonathan awkwardly turn to reach for the door before he let out a theatrical sigh. Jonathan turned back around robotically, confused.

“Fine!” Said Murray, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ll go! You’ve worn me down, Byers, don’t get used to this.” This was a blatantly empty threat, but it felt good to say it.

Jonathan’s eyebrows rose. “I did?”

Murray rolled his eyes. “You did.” Damn those Byers and their sad pitiable faces. Nobody had really had this much sway over him since…

Hmm.

The Byers were something special alright.

But Jonathan was grinning, delighted, and Murray was begrudgingly pleased about his decision.

“This invite says that there’s homemade pizza, though.” Said Murray.

“Is that… a problem?”

“I’m assuming Arturo is making them.” Arturo had picked up a job at McMillan’s McPizza. Murray was eagerly waiting to see if they’d win the McLawsuit, but McDonald’s had yet to take notice of the smalltown McRestaurant. “Does he know how to make kosher pizza?”

Jonathan frowned. “Uh, Argyle will be making the food, actually. I’ll make sure there’s a pizza for you though, don’t worry.”

~

The party was hosted at the Hopper-Byers house. Murray was impressed by the building; not long ago, this had been a two bedroom cabin that almost intentionally looked abandoned. Now, it had doubled in size, and the original cabin exterior had been cleaned up so nicely that it was difficult to tell the difference between the old and the new.

He arrived at the same time that Susan Hargrove — or Mayfield, but last he checked, she hadn’t sent in the paperwork, and thus the name change request had lapsed — was dropping of Maxine Mayfield. Jim Hopper was jogging down the driveway to help her unload the wheelchair from the back of her van.

“Murray.” Said Jim warmly as a greeting, as Murray climbed out of his car. “Care to give us a hand?”

Murray didn’t really care to, but he couldn’t say no without looking like a dick, so he approached and awaited instruction.

“I appreciate it.” Said Susan, with a tired smile. The poor woman had heavy bags under her eyes, and her hair was in a memory of a braid; at this point, it mostly fell limp around her face, and the hair tie was barely hanging on.

“I don’t.” Grumbled a voice from inside of the van as a pale hand reached out to grip the doors, and Max Mayfield climbed out of the vehicle. Her movements were slow and clumsy, but she stood on both feet and glared defiantly at Murray and Jim through thick coke bottle glasses. “I can unload it myself.”

Jim was already putting the chair on the ground. Murray wondered why he’d been asked to help at all if the big oaf was stubborn enough to do it himself.

“If you break it, you’re paying for a new one.” Said Max coolly.

“Not even a scratch on it.” Said Jim. “Right, Murray?”

Ah. He was the witness. He looked over the wheelchair. “Looks brand new.” He said, because it did.

Max ambled over to the chair, using the side of the van as a guide, and let herself collapse into it. She gave the wheels an experimental push, and gave them all a warning glare.

“Fine.” She conceded.

~

The house was warm and bright, and there was a lovely jazz song playing from a turntable somewhere. Once the fog had receded from his glasses, Murray took stock of the current party guests.

The Byers were there, of course. Joyce was pressing a glass of wine into Murray’s hand — a delicious smelling cabernet sauvignon that she had clearly already tested thoroughly, if the pinkness of her cheeks was anything to go by — and excitedly pointing at all the new features of the house that Murray was only half paying attention to. Jonathan’s voice could be heard from the kitchen, in a cheerful chattering conversation with Arturo, or Argyle. Will was sitting next to his friends Dustin Henderson and Mike Wheeler, and oh damn, his lovestruck expression was identical to his brother’s. Murray had caught a whiff of it in California, but it had been dampened by the bullshit that they had been dragged into that time. Now, his starry eyes were out in full force every time he glanced to his left.

Murray didn’t know how to read Michael Wheeler very well just yet; he looked a lot like his sister, but while she hid her thoughts under a carefully polite mask, Mike instead pretended not to have any emotions other than disgruntled teenage moodiness. Murray had been there. While he did seem to be enjoying Will’s company, he kept sneaking wistful glances across the room at Jane Eleven Hopper, who was talking to Edward Munson. Eddie happily interrupted their conversation with a cheer that made El giggle as Max made her way to join them, quickly enveloping her in their discussion; something about guitar, if their hand movements were a clue.

Jim slung his arm around Joyce after he closed the door and hung up Max’s jacket, joining their conversation and beginning to discuss the logistics of making the place wheelchair accessible, and grumbling about how terrible Jonathan was at carpentry. Joyce gave him a playful thwack on the arm with an oh, you expression on her face, shifting her chatter to explain that they had more than enough money for the builders with the, with the, well you know, the money they had received after their, well, ordeal.

Murray fondly wished she would just admit to it being hush money. He had personally refused the cash — not that he’d been offered much, since his own personal life had remained largely disrupted. He wouldn’t begrudge anyone for taking the government up on the offer, though; make the feds bleed, he thought, after everything they’d put them through.

Nancy Wheeler approached, handing Jim a beer stein filled to the brim.

Jim looked between the stein and Nancy, unimpressed. “Who’s the host here, Wheeler?” He said.

Nancy smiled politely, but there was a tightness in her smile and a tiny wrinkle between her brows, unnoticeable if you weren’t intently examining faces like Murray was. “Just thought I’d spread some Christmas cheer.” She said.

Jim pointed a wavering finger. “Non-denominational Christmas — winter cheer!” He said, playfully scolding Nancy. Nancy’s smile relaxed a little bit, but the discomfort was still there, and it occurred to Murray that her only other socializing options at the moment were her annoying kid brother, her ex, or… well, Murray hadn’t had the opportunity to examine the relationships between the last group yet, but maybe they had taken Jonathan’s side in the breakup. They were still in the same city, after all, whereas Nancy spent most of her time in Boston.

“Nancy, Nancy, Nancy!” Cried Murray dramatically, which brought mirth to her eyes as she contained a laugh. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Eddie Munson’s face turn to his dramatics, entertained. He’d have to explore that potential kindred spirit later, he thought. “Journalist to journalist, I need to hear how your studies go!” He offered her an elbow, which she gladly took, and led her to an unoccupied corner of the living room.

Once prying eyes had interested themselves in other things, he ducked his head closer, prompting her to lean in as well. “And we all know journalism is just gossip wearing a fancy hat, so forget the formalities, give me the news.”

~

“So why Argyle?” Asked Murray.

He had stolen a moment to sneak into the kitchen, driven by curiosity and delicious smells. He also felt a little guilty for coming to the party for Jonathan’s sake, only to chat with the girl who had broken up with him instead. Jonathan was, frankly, horrible at small talk, so Murray turned to his odd companion instead. Nancy didn’t know much about him, as he reportedly evaded personal questions, but she did find him charming enough, and admirably loyal.

Argyle paused and nodded pensively. “Why Argyle, indeed.” He said. He nodded for another moment before continuing to grate the parmesan in his hand.

Well, Nancy wasn’t lying.

“No, I meant, why do you go by Argyle?”

“I liked your first question better. Why, Argyle.” He repeated why, Argyle to himself whimsically as he continued grating the cheese.

Jonathan gave Murray an odd look. There were spinach stems in his hair. “That’s his name?” He said.

Murray raised an eyebrow.

Well, now this was becoming a moral dilemma, wasn’t it? It wasn’t very fair of him to reveal information about the guy that he didn’t want revealed, even if that information was easily found in something like a yearbook or a driver’s license.

Argyle grunted. “Well. Kinda.” He said.

Perhaps Murray had said too much already. He stayed quiet, waiting for the others to show their hands before he played his cards.

“Kinda?” Said Jonathan casually. He reached over and stole a pinch of the grated parmesan and popped it in his mouth. The action seemed to dissolve some of the tension that had raised in Argyle’s expression; it was a peace offering, of sorts, to say hey, it’s cool, I’m still comfortable with you.

Argyle still shot Murray a glare, but without much heat in it. “Eh, my name is technically Arturo. I like Argyle better, though.”

“Sorry.” Said Murray, smiling placatingly, though he didn’t really mean it. He found this whole thing rather ridiculous. “I ran background checks on everyone, didn’t realize this was a big,” He wiggled his fingers as if performing a magic trick, “secret.”

Argyle’s eyes examined him, and in so, he gave something away that Murray hadn’t expected; that was the same piercing gaze that Murray saw in both himself and in Nancy Wheeler. He gave Argyle a smirk, comfortable with what Argyle might find on him, and a quiet understanding passed between the pair of them.

Argyle finally gave him an easy grin. “Guess this party is my background check on everyone.”

“Guess it is.” Said Murray.

Jonathan was watching them with fond confusion. The way his lip curled made Murray wonder if, perhaps, there was more that Argyle and Nancy had in common than he had already considered.

In the meantime, though, the boy was heartbroken, so that particular thought was of no use to anybody at the moment.

~

The table was set, salad and garlic bread were served, and second servings of wine and beer were poured to those old enough to have any — surprisingly, Police Chief Jim declared eighteen of age, probably because of all they’d been through — but the table still had four empty seats.

Jim glared down at his watch. “Another five minutes, and I’m going out to find them. I don’t like the idea of them being out on the roads this late. Too much ice.”

“Hop, you’ve been drinking.” Said Joyce, but she was chewing on her lip and glancing at the door through furrowed brows.

The record played itself to conclusion, emphasizing how late their guests were.

“Five bucks says Harrington stopped to rescue some poor sap who got stuck in the snow, who’s in?” Said Eddie, wearing a lazy grin as he leant back into his seat. His pinkie and ring finger drummed against the beer glass in his hand as he raised it to his lips, and Murray had a hunch that the movement was worry bleeding through his relaxed exterior.

“Erica wouldn’t let him, you’re on.” Said Max, matching his grin. “I bet Lucas forgot to do the dishes, so they all had to wait for him to do that before their parents let them leave.”

Nancy hummed. “It could be Robin?” She offered. “I mean, when I came home for Thanksgiving, she was surprised to see me because she got her weeks mixed up. She might have forgotten the party was today.”

“Yeah, nobody’s had to pay late fees at Family Video since she graduated.” Said Will with a grin. “I think school was her only calendar.”

“I could find them?” Offered El.

“Oh, honey, don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” Said Joyce reassuringly. “Don’t stress yourself.”

“Wait, how come all our theories involve people sucking except for the one about Steve?” Said Mike, making a face and, in Murray’s opinion, a very good point. “Maybe he didn’t help someone else stuck in the snow, maybe he got stuck in the snow.”

Jim laughed, and Jonathan hid his snort behind his glass of wine. Eddie scowled at Mike.

“I just don’t see him getting stuck like that.” Said Eddie, with the air of someone who was trying not to care as much as they did.

Dustin crossed his arms. “Probably because you’re like, obsessed with him lately.”

“Jealous that your brother-figure finally has an age appropriate friend, are we?” Said Eddie. “Besides, Wayne and I put the chains on his tires ourselves, forgive me for having faith in our work.”

Murray sipped at his wine, watching Eddie curiously. He was awfully defensive for a guy who was just pleased with his ability to chain a tire. It could be pride in his own independence; medical records were notoriously difficult to get ahold of, but it was no secret that Edward Munson’s obituary had nearly been published before he pulled through, and Murray didn’t need to do any digging to see how stiff his movements were, and how heavily he leaned on the old wooden cane he dragged around.

But Murray had a feeling there was something more there.

Before more ideas could be tossed around, or more money thrown in the ring, headlights shone through the windows, followed quickly by heavily booted footsteps running up to the door.

Lucas Sinclair burst into the entryway, Erica Sinclair hot on his heels. They both looked a little haggard, and their hair was damp with melting snow.

“Sorry we’re late!” Said Lucas, hurriedly removing his gloves and boots.

“Steve fell in a hole!” Erica nearly screeched the sentence, grinning like the cheshire cat.

A chorus of confusion and alarm echoed across the table, and Eddie had his hands on the table like he was ready to stand and run to Steve. Murray added the action to the mental list he was curating.

Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington appeared in the doorway, looking equally as damp as their younger passengers. They, too, apologized for their lateness.

“The city!” Said Robin, out of breath. She took her beanie off and flung it in Steve’s direction. It smacked him in the face, but he just shook it off and hung it up for her, spitting out snow. “The city was doing maintenance? At the Sinclair house, and there was like, this big hole in the ground, and I was waiting for Steve to come back with these two, and I got through my whole magazine and Steve was still gone, and then I got out of the car! And Steve was yelling like, hellooo and it turned out he was in the ground! Because nobody put up a sign or anything, and because it was snowing, and I don’t know, he wasn’t looking?”

“I wasn’t —?!” Steve sputtered, gingerly trying to remove his boot. His other boot had come off fine, but he was being particularly careful with this one. “Okay, only my leg was in the manhole, because the manhole cover wasn’t secured properly, and it was covered by snow so I couldn’t see it! Sorry for not having x-ray vision, geez.”

“So I had to get Lucas and Erica to help!” Robin knelt down to help Steve with the boot, loosening the laces. “Lucas and Mr. Sinclair had to grab Steve and pull while Erica and I lifted the big plate-y thing!”

“Manhole cover.” Said Steve, exasperated, as his foot was finally pulled free from the boot.

“Yes, that.” Robin agreed as she held out a hand to help Steve up.

“Are you — Steve, do you want to use my cane?” Offered Eddie, concerned; Steve was limping. Not by much, but Murray had a feeling everyone was hyper-analyzing his movement after that story.

“What I want,” said Steve, letting himself fall into the chair next to Eddie and giving him a big warm grin, “is pizza.”

~

The pizza was absolutely delicious. Many compliments were thrown to the chef through mouths still full of food, and Argyle preened under the attention, but redirected many of the compliments to Jonathan, who had helped.

Jonathan, in turn, redirected the compliments to Jim and Joyce, who had let them completely take over their kitchen for two days straight.

And thus the compliments were redirected back to Argyle, who had kept them fed both days.

Murray was suddenly reminded why he hadn’t wanted to come. This was getting grating.

“Yes, we’re all thankful, Happy Thanksgiving!” Said Murray, interrupting another well, it was really all thanks to —

“I like him. Can we keep him?” Said Eddie.

Murray gave Eddie an unimpressed look across the table, but could feel it cracking under his own amusement. Eddie shot him a grin in response.

“I don’t believe we’ve been directly introduced.” Said Murray, and reached his hand across the table. “Murray Bauman. Private investigator.”

“Eddie Munson. You’ve probably heard of me.” Eddie grinned darkly. “I’m famous ‘round these parts.”

“Dude, he probably knew everything about you even before you knew about you.” Said Argyle. “He’s like, good at his job, man.”

Eddie’s eyes twinkled with… mischief? Murray narrowed his own eyes. This either meant that Eddie would be a delight to be around, or miserably annoying.

“So you’ve got dirt on everyone here, then?” Eddie leant forward conspiratorially.

Murray leaned forward as well, pushing his plate aside to cross his arms on the table.

Eddie jerked his head towards the opposite end of the table, where Jim was seated at its head. “Whatcha got on ol’ Chief over there?” He challenged.

On Eddie’s right, Steve hid his grin by stuffing an entire pizza crust in his mouth. Erica gasped, delighted. Mike and Dustin were trying to muffle their laughter behind their hands.

Jim took a long drink of his beer, narrowed eyes equally as challenging as Eddie’s.

Murray nodded thoughtfully. He did have quite a lot of dirt on Jim, not just from being a PI, but from being his friend. The man had lived an eventful life, with struggles and challenges, but also with silly embarrassing moments that came with having fun, goofing off, or being over-confident or arrogant.

Although, if anyone right now was over-confident, it wasn’t Jim.

“I know that he once had to arrest Eddie Munson for public indecency when he thought it was a good idea to moon his principal.” Said Murray lightly.

Their audience jeered and crowed. Jim outright guffawed, and Joyce had to grab his wrist to save him from spilling his beer everywhere. Steve hid his face in his hands, but his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

Eddie, to his credit, grinned and leaned back, wearing this information proudly. “And the fucker flunked me for it!” He shouted to be heard over the noise. “Boy was he surprised when I showed up to try again in September!”

“Was this your first or second senior year?” Asked Robin.

“Second!”

“Do you have anything on Steve?” Mike piped up eagerly.

“Christ, kid, what did he ever do to make you hate on him so much?” Said Jim.

Mike pointedly looked at his sister, who groaned.

“Mike!” She said, in universal sibling language for shut up.

“I wanna know!” Said Mike, hands in the air.

“I think what Nancy is trying to say, is that Murray seems to be taking the glass houses approach,” Said Robin, using her half eaten slice of pizza to point at Mike, “so you’re putting the whole Wheeler name at risk here.”

“Right you are, Robin Buckley.” Said Murray, before turning to Mike. “So you’d better think about your brief career as a stock photo family if you want to hear about Steve rear-ending a state senator.”

Nancy groaned out a noooo as Steve defensively stated that it was only his second time behind the wheel, dammit! Mike looked like he had been slapped, and everyone his own age demanded photographic evidence.

Robin, who was sitting between Steve and Nancy, kept twisting from side to side, unsure of which piece of information was more entertaining. Eddie was leaning into Steve’s shoulder as he cackled loudly, wondering aloud if this alone was worse than his entire rap sheet.

“Anyone else willing to throw themselves and their siblings under the bus?” Said Murray, delighting in the chaos. “Lucas? Robin? Jonathan?”

Erica slammed her hands on the table. “Bring it, Bum-man, what do y—“

“But I’m an only child?” Robin interrupted, much to Lucas’ relief.

Murray looked between Steve and Robin. “Aren’t you two…?”

It now occurred to Murray that he had researched Robin whilst grieving the (not) death of Jim Hopper. He had found the birth announcement of a Robin Clarice Buckley dated in March of 1968, the same month that Bernard Richard Harrington had accumulated two DUIs and an illegal drugs charge, and theorized that it could be a rich man’s way of coping with his mistress birthing his child.

It also occurred to Murray that he had never bothered to confirm this theory; he had instead drowned himself in vodka while he mourned his friend.

“Oh god, I hope they’re not siblings.” Snickered Dustin.

Murray furrowed his brows at Dustin, then turned back to the aforementioned pair. What would be the problem if they were related? They were certainly comfortable with one another — they casually stole toppings off of each other’s pizzas, and Steve ate the crusts that Robin left behind, but Dustin seemed to be implying that they might be…?

Robin gave him a sweet smile and threaded her arm under Steve’s, linking elbows as she rested her head upon his shoulder. He leaned his own head on hers, matching her smile. It would’ve been a lovely picture, if it weren’t for the twin looks of alarm behind their eyes.

Steve had to lean away from Eddie to perform this rehearsed looking routine.

“You two are dating.” He said flatly.

“What on earth,” said Robin, face twitching a little, “made you think otherwise?”

Murray considered his options. He was happy to throw around some lighthearted tidbits of information for people to swarm upon like sharks, but the information he had was by no means fun.

“Guess I missed the signs.” He said, raising his glass of wine for emphasis. “Upside Down likes targeting family units, I jumped to conclusions.”

Jim snorted. “That’s new.” He said.

“What can I say, Jim, nobody’s perfect.” And he had been drinking a rather… excessive amount when researching the, at the time, newest member of their group.

“Jonny says you’re a wiz knowing when people wanna schmack, though.” Said Argyle.

Eddie leaned around so he could get a good look at Steve and Robin simultaneously. “Trouble in paradise, my dears?” He said, teasingly, as Robin protested the use of the word schmack.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Murray, cutting through the noise. He continued to hold up his wine glass as a testament to his impaired state. “They arrived late, and clearly very hungry, so I didn’t get the chance to see their chemistry. I just watched Steve devour half of a pizza by himself, it was an unpleasant and unromantic sight.”

“I burn a lot of calories these days.” Said Steve, with an awkward shrug.

“He sure does.” Added Robin. Murray had a feeling it was meant to be an innuendo, but it came out painfully forced.

They were definitely fond of one another, that much was plain this whole time. But Murray couldn’t help but see them as, well, siblings.

He tried to remember any other evidence he had found that led him to the conclusion that had cemented itself in his brain. Perhaps a jewellery purchase, records of marriage counselling, flights or hotels that coincided with one another, anything that could indicate an affair — but his mind came up blank. The only research he had done on the Buckleys was find the birth announcement and call it a day, he realized. He couldn’t help but turn a judgemental eye to his past self for being so lazy.

“Well.” Said Murray, forcing an easy demeanour on top of his inner turmoil. “Let’s see, then. What drew you to one another?”

Steve and Robin exchanged a look that seemed to contain an entire conversation. Perhaps there was a spark there?

“Their friend talked them into it!” Announced Dustin, pleased.

This did not help their case.

A memory flashed through Murray’s mind. He had been kicked out of the library while doing his research! He probably shouldn’t have been so drunk in public, but it wasn’t laziness that kept him from his research, it was the temporary ban that had been imposed upon him after his breakfast had reintroduced itself to both him and the library carpet.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was probably still banned, he just kept going anyway after a while.

Robin finally turned to him with a secretive smile and spoke. “And I told Steve that he would look nice with a beard.” She reached over and patted Steve’s clean shaven face. Steve responded with an affectionately exasperated smile.

Ah.

A grin made its home on Murray’s face. “I see it now.” He said. “You would look nice with a beard.”

Steve clicked his tongue. His grin was now wry, and he clearly took delight now that Murray was in on things. “Beards can be really annoying, though.”

“They do take a lot of maintenance.” Said Murray, nodding.

“I resent that!” Said Robin. The hand that had been gently patting Steve’s face now grabbed at his jaw, squishing his cheeks into a fish-like expression. Steve kept his unimpressed eyes trained on Murray, as if to say do you see what I have to put up with, as Robin turned his head left to right, showing off his face to the whole table. “He would look very handsome with a beard!”

“I could recommend a good beard oil if you’re interested?” Said Jim, clearly confused by the direction the conversation had taken.

“I don’t think he wants to grow a beard, honey.” Said Joyce, equally as confused.

“Mm, I haven’t shaved in a while, and I’m starting to get itchy.” Steve’s words came out muffled through the grip on his face.

Mike was now rubbing at his cheeks with a concerned look on his face.

“Is like, the winter bothering you, man?” Said Argyle. “My skin is like, super dry since I moved here, but Nancy showed me this rockin’ cucumber lotion stuff, that shit works miracles, my dude. Thought I’d worry about being girly, but I just feel nice, man.”

“Yeah, Steve, maybe you need to take better care of yourself so that your beard can work for you.” Added Eddie.

Murray met Eddie’s eyes, and then flickered his gaze between Eddie and Steve. Eddie responded with an almost imperceptible eyebrow raise and a tiny lift of his chin, a smirk playing on his lips. Aha.

Murray smiled to himself, pleased. He truly was a wiz knowing when people wanted to schmack.

“Maybe I just need to shave.” Said Steve, finally removing his face from Robin’s grip and levelling her with a challenging glare. “Like, right now.”

“Don’t you dare.” She pointed a stern finger at him, nearly jabbing him in the eye.

“I’m so confused.” Said Nancy.

“Oh. I thought I was missing something again.” Said El.

“Wait, hang on, does Steve have a beard or not, I can’t tell.” Asked Max, squinting as best she could through her thick lenses.

“I— I mean, is your beard blond?” Said Will, “Is that why we can’t see it?”

Lucas and Dustin, both sitting directly opposite to Steve, stood up and leaned across the table to get a better look. Steve gave them a patient yet amused smile.

“I don’t… see a beard?” Said Lucas.

“I don’t see why it would be blond, Steve got kinda beard-y over spring break when we were dealing with Vecna, and it was brown then.” Said Erica.

Dustin quite literally took matters into his own hands by reaching over and roughly grabbing at Steve’s cheek. The contact make a loud smack noise, prompting Steve to respond with a fucking hell, man.

“Can we all at least agree to wipe off our greasy hands if we’re gonna grab at my face?” Said Steve, pulling away from Dustin. “Actually, scratch that, can we not grab at my face?”

“No beard.” Announced Dustin, plopping back down in his seat. “What is happening.”

“Nothing is happening,” said Robin casually, as if she hadn’t sparked a wildfire of chaos around the room, “I just think a beard would work in Steve’s favour.”

“It sure would help you with your big manly government funded firefighter job.” Said Eddie. “Bunch of big guys, lots of testosterone, you gotta prove that you’re the manliest manly man to man up and scare the fire away.”

Steve’s brows furrowed, and his eyes gazed into the distance as he appeared to search inward for clues. “Wha—?”

“Hey, there’s a woman firefighter on the job!” Said Robin. “I think she’s way cooler than the rest of the team, Steve included.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, I don’t — how did the beard thing convince you that they were dating?” Said Jonathan.

“There’s clearly a downright animalistic attraction there, it’s plain as day.” Said Murray. “You can’t see it?”

“Yeah, I swear they’re about to tear off each other’s clothes, like, right in front of us.” Eddie put a pained expression on his face. “It’s kind of disgusting, actually, like, get a room guys.”

Jim was squinting down into his beer stein, as if trying to figure out how many times it had been drank and refilled.

“I didn’t realize beards were such a big deal.” Said Mike, still absently rubbing at his own face.

“Maybe it’s just easier for some than others.” Said Jim. “Mine’s… fine.”

“And we’re… sure they’re not siblings?” Said Nancy. “Because I don’t think I care about the beard after that.”

“If you two are related, you owe me extra ice cream to cope with the trauma I just had to deal with.” Erica was looking at them as if they were a strange unidentified muck at the bottom of the sink.

“My evidence was flimsy and unresearched.” Said Murray.

“Murray? Unresearched?” Jim looked skeptical. “Bullshit.”

“I may have been inebriated at point in time that I was doing background checks on Miss Buckley.”

Joyce’s eyes widened as she connected the dots. “That’s okay, everybody makes mistakes.” She said, rushing to get the words out.

“You’re always inebriated.”

“Particularly when our friends die.” Said Murray, raising his glass to Jim, tired of dancing around the topic already.

The table fell silent.

Jim’s jaw was hanging open. The napkin in his hand was frozen halfway to his mouth.

Murray pulled his plate closer to himself. The sound of the ceramic sliding against the wood was loud against the silence of the room.

He turned to Argyle. “The food is delicious.”

“…thanks.”

Finally. He had finally learned to take a compliment.

Dustin uncomfortably announced that his mom had sent him with brownies if anyone wanted any, and the topic was eagerly changed.

~

“So what you’re saying is, you think Mrs. Buckley and Mr. Harrington went ‘round the bases with each other, and out popped Robin.” Said Eddie, looking absolutely delighted by this concept.

“I don’t think it, it was just an unconfirmed theory. I’m usually never this sloppy, please don’t use this as a benchmark for my work.”

Murray had stolen Steve and Robin away into the kitchen under the guise of cleaning up; after all, it was the least they could do for their gracious hosts. The rest of the party had begun a lively party game of some sort, and shrieks of laughter occasionally pierced through the air from the living room.

Eddie had followed Murray. Murray didn’t see the harm in him staying.

“For the record, I can’t see my mom cheating on my dad.” Said Robin. She was drying a wine glass with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, and Murray was waiting to see if it would break.

“I see it.” Said Steve pensively, pausing elbow deep in dishwater. At Robin’s harsh look — good thing Eleven’s powers weren’t contagious — he quickly added, “I mean, my dad. Not your mom.”

“So you’re okay with having a half-sibling out there?” Said Eddie.

Steve shrugged. “I’ve thought about it before. Might be kinda cool.”

“What I’m hearing,” said Murray, taking the miraculously still intact glass from Robin and putting it away, “is that you two should do a DNA test, just in case.”

“Is that a thing we could do?” Said Robin. “I mean, we’re not siblings, definitely not, but I don’t think I could afford it. Where would we even get it done?”

“Ask Owens.” Said Eddie. “Wait, why wasn’t he invited? Do we have his number or anything? Steve, go to the hospital and say your foot hurts, he’ll show up.”

Steve rolled his eyes affectionately. “He sent a declination letter on his own letterhead, Argyle made it into an origami t-shirt.”

“Oh!” Robin snapped her fingers. “I thought that was a napkin next to him.”

“I didn’t say it was a good origami shirt.”

“I feel like we’re getting off-topic.” Said Murray.

“Right, DNA, siblings, we’re definitely not siblings.” Said Robin. “Our parents have met each other, don’t you think there would have been some sort of reaction? But, if we were siblings, which we’re definitely not, what do we do? Which we won’t have to. But if we were? We’d have to admit,” she paused to peek around the corner, presumably for eavesdroppers, and when she spoke again it was in a whisper, “that this whole thing is a sham.”

“There… was a reaction, though.”

“Not an I’ve had an affair with this man reaction, it was more of wow this guy is a dick reaction, which is a normal reaction to your dad.”

“He was extra dickish that day.” Agreed Steve, nodding.

“Which would be a normal response to reuniting with your old mistress.” Said Murray.

There was a thoughtful pause in the conversation. Down the hallway, Erica yelled triumphantly, and laughter followed.  

“…you’ve seen Star Wars, right?” Said Eddie.

“We are not Luke and Leia.” Said Robin, rolling her eyes.

Steve turned around, looking like a question was on his lips, but appeared to think twice about asking it, and he turned back to the sink.

“They turned out to be twins.” Said Eddie.

“Oh.” Said Steve. Then, “Oh! Oh, what the fuck!”

“We are once again off topic.” Said Murray.

Robin blew a puff of air up at her own face, shifting her bangs out of place. “Okay, if we’re siblings, which we are not, then our… actual situation is like, way more normal in comparison.  So we just,” she gestured as if to say you know, making Murray and Eddie both lean back, because she seemed to have forgotten she was holding a large knife.

Steve shifted his weight on his feet uncomfortably. “I don’t,” he shrugged, ducking his head down as if he was particularly concerned about the plate he was washing, “know if I’m ready for that.”

Murray’s eyes landed on Eddie. His expression was more somber than Murray had expected from his impish behaviour, but it seemed to be more of concern for Steve than heartbreak for himself at least. He was quietly relieved that Eddie seemed to be in support of his partner’s decision, at least on the surface level. He had personally seen relationships reach a breaking point at this crossroads, and it was not pretty.

“Well, okay, which is worse?” Said Robin, taking the plate from Steve and rubbing the towel over it with quick jerky movements. “And this is just a thought experiment, for the record, we are not siblings. But if we were, which we’re not, either we let everyone believe that we’re siblings who have, you know, or the truth? Both suck, but I know which one I’d prefer, because I know our party knows how to keep a secret.”

Steve stilled, plate forgotten in his hand, before letting it slip back into the soapy water as he turned around, resting his elbows back on the sink. His gaze was planted firmly on the floor between where Robin was stood, and the stool where Eddie was sitting.

“It’s just,” he said, “if we were siblings—”

“Which we’re not.”

“—which we’re not, my dad would do everything in his power to keep that from getting out. He’d probably pay you off to get you to shut up or something, and we wouldn’t have to say anything to anyone, just, you know, pretend to break up.”

Steve cleared his throat. “But if we. But if he finds out I’m secretly dating a dude, he’d probably go on some sort of rampage to make sure everyone knows how much he disapproves, and kick me out of the house, and fuck, I’d probably lose my job…” He shook his head and trailed off his sentence.

“Yeah.” Said Robin softly.

“Shit.” Said Eddie.

“Oh.” Said Jonathan.

Four pairs of alarmed eyes turned to the doorway, where Jonathan was frozen, fist in the air like he’d been planning on knocking on the doorframe.

The air felt thick between them, like it was cement slowly pouring over them, rooting them to the spot, and all they could do was stare, eyes wide, at the intruder they had neglected to watch out for.

Jonathan took a step backward, thumb pointing towards the living room, and the spell was broken as Robin, Steve, and Murray all rushed forward.

Murray’s hand found the collar of his shirt, Robin’s grabbed a chunk of his hair, and Steve managed to sneak an arm around his waist. Jonathan yelped as the three of them dragged him into the kitchen, but it went unheard next to the loud argument that had broken out in the living room over whether or not Dustin had cheated in their game.

Jonathan was roughly placed against fridge, which was the furthest point away from the door. He held his hands up in surrender. Steve drew himself up to his full height, hands on his hips authoritatively, and Robin picked up a rolling pin, but didn’t seem to know what to do with it other than hold it up in front of her chest. Murray positioned himself in a basic karate stance.

Eddie propped his cane up against the cabinets behind them all, putting his weight into it to create a barrier that cut off the rest of the kitchen.

“Sorry!” Jonathan spoke in a loud whisper. “I won’t tell! I’m, um, happy for you, Steve!”

“You won’t tell?” Steve sounded skeptical. “Not even Argyle?”

“Not even Argyle!” Jonathan was still whispering. “It’s none of his business!”

“Why were you even eavesdropping?” Said Robin.

“I wasn’t, I swear!” Jonathan’s head shook rapidly.  “El wanted to play a song on the guitar but didn’t know how to tune it, I came to get Eddie to—“

He cut himself off, blinking, as he looked between Eddie and Steve, brows raising. Eddie and Steve exchanged a look of their own, and Steve nodded hesitantly to Jonathan, biting his lip. Eddie tried and failed to contain a grin. Murray couldn’t help but be happy for him.

“This, children,” said Murray, “is what happens when you fail to secure a scene before discussing sensitive information. I let myself get too relaxed around you people.” He shook his head to himself.

“I also, like, live here.” Said Jonathan. His hands were slowly coming down from beside his shoulders.

“You seriously won’t tell?” Said Robin, but she sounded more relaxed now. The rolling pin now hung by her side.

“Cross my heart.” He said, making the motion as he did. “I’m, I’m happy for you two, really.”

Steve and Eddie responded with matching shy smiles. Steve let his shoulders relax, and he leant against the sink again. Eddie pulled his cane back towards him and hooked the handle over his arm.

“And, you’re, a really good friend for, for doing this for them.” Said Jonathan to Robin.

Robin snorted, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows pointedly.

“Oh.” Said Jonathan. “Wow. I didn’t, wow. How’d you guys all, find each other? I figure it’s… difficult. Is there like,” he shook his head, “like, a code or something?”

“Got something to share with the class, Jonathan?” Said Eddie, smirking.

“No.” Said Jonathan quickly, jerking his head back, but he was still pressed against the fridge, and it made a thunk as his head connected with the metal. He winced, but otherwise didn’t react. “I was just curious, about, that, for a while. For, uh, not me?”

Murray thought about the shy smiles Will directed towards his friend, and how he’d check  to see if Mike laughed or smiled every time he made a joke, and decided he believed Jonathan. He also thought about the way Jonathan leaned into Argyle, and how their words became softer and warmer when speaking to or about one another.

Jonathan might not realize the full extent of why he was asking for this information, but he was asking, so Murray decided not to interfere.

For now.

“It’s not really like we went looking for each other as much as, Robin kind of made me realize it was even an option.” Said Steve.

“And I told Steve how much I wanted to—“

“We don’t have to share that, actually.” Said Steve, and Eddie giggled gleefully.

Jim’s voice drifted from the living room, wondering where the hell Jonathan had gotten to.

“Coming!” Jonathan called back. “The handle came off the pantry again, but we fixed it!”

Jim swore loudly, prompting laughter from the rest of the room.

“We should probably,” Jonathan nodded to the kitchen door. “I’ll finish the cleaning up later, don’t worry about it.”

“Make your brother do the cleaning. Get Mike to help.” Said Murray, as Steve helped Eddie off the stool.

They all left the kitchen, but Murray noticed that Robin pulled Jonathan aside towards the entryway, digging through the inside pocket of her jacket that was hanging on its hook. She pulled out a small square of pages that Murray recognized to be a zine, and handed it to Jonathan with a wink. Jonathan responded by giving her a warm hug.

Yeah.

The Byers were something special.

~

February was melting into March when Murray checked his mail and found an envelope with the Byers’ home listed as the return address. He sighed as he tore into the paper, knowing that they’d surely expect a thank you card or phone call, despite the fact that he was a busy man with other things to do.

A single polaroid fell out of the envelope. A quick check confirmed that there was nothing else in it.

The photo was beautifully shot against the sunset. Murray recognized the background as the woods behind the old Byers’ house, where Eddie Munson now resided with his uncle.  Steve and Robin were in frame, her head on his shoulder, his arm around hers. They both had giant smiles, as if they were laughing while the photo was being taken.

Murray laughed, too. Not because of their expressions, as contagious as their happiness was from the photo, but because of the signs in each of their free hands. They were drawn on regular printer paper, and a single word filled each page, drawn with colourful markers and glitter.

Steve’s sign said NOT.

Robin’s said SIBLINGS!

Flipping the polaroid around, Murray found writing that said THE RESULTS WERE NEGATIVE. TAKE THAT, BUM-MAN!

#murray bauman #murray bauman fic #steddie fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #amboolents originals #amboolents idea #Amboolents Fic

[metalhoops]

“I think I’m seeing things, man,” Eddie spoke from his spot on the Harrington’s couch. His white skin appeared paler still against the brown leather. 

Steve didn’t blame him. He was on all kinds of painkillers. It’d been two weeks since the world fell apart. Two weeks since Vecna disappeared. Two weeks since Eddie almost died. 

Steve liked to treat those memories as others treated head-on collisions. It was better not to look at them directly. It was better to treat it like it’d never happened. 

“What’re we looking at?” Steve asked from his spot on the floor, following Eddie’s line of sight to the gap in the curtains. 

“Don’t know. Thought I saw somebody outside,” Eddie confessed. 

The Harrington house had always been filled with spectres, whether that of partygoers, like front lawn flamingos in need of an exorcism or the body in the backyard pool. But those were Steve’s hang-ups, not Eddie’s. 

If all it took to be a ghost was to haunt, Eddie might be included in the ranks of his own private phantasmagoria. He kept checking each night to make sure the boy was really there, that he’d really gotten out. People shouldn’t have that much blood in them, and they definitely shouldn’t have that much blood out of them. 

Steve went to the window because that was something he could do for Eddie. He wasn’t sure why he kept feeling the need to apologise. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but hell if Steve knew if he’d done anything right either. He’d gotten Eddie out of the Upside Down. He’d put his hands inside the boy’s body, shoved his shirt beneath his skin and held it in the dark cavity that oozed and throbbed warm blood like the rise and fall of the tide.

Don’t think about it. Check the window. His hands at his side felt cold. He wondered if they’d ever be warm again. There was a figure across the street. 

A boy in a basketball jersey circled passed the house. 

Things never ended smoothly. Steve liked to think once Jason went down the rest of the vigilante crew would stop looking for Eddie, but there were some stragglers who hadn’t got the message. 

Hopper had his hands full trying to clear Eddie’s name. Eddie’s uncle was still looking for him. The whole town was holding their breath in the midst of destruction, waiting for someone to blame. Steve shut the curtains, turned the lights off and moved to Eddie’s side in the darkness. 

“Hounds of hell still circling then?” Eddie guessed after one glimpse at Steve’s face. 

“I’ll call Hopper,” Steve reasoned, reaching up to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe to make sure he was real. Maybe to tell him he was sorry. 

“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” Eddie spoke, reaching out and snagging the hem of Steve’s sweater.

“No one thinks I’m here. If the cops show up at the Harringtons’ it’s going to turn some heads,” Eddie reasoned, and he was right.

So where did that leave them? Sitting alone in the dark with Eddie fading in and out of sleep and Steve watching car headlights dance across the curtains, waiting for the moment everything went wrong. 

“Steve?” Eddie breathed beside Steve’s ear in the blackness. He hadn’t realised they were so close. 

“Yeah?” Steve moved his eyes from the window to look at Eddie. 

“I think I’m crashing,” he noted, a grimace dancing across his face. Steve had never felt smaller. 

“Doc said we’ve gotta wait six hours,” Steve replied, hoping he didn’t sound as worried as he felt. 

“How long’s it been?” 

“Three.” 

Steve always wanted to appear cool in times of crisis, but he had no idea what he was doing. Some of the government agents Steve had signed countless NDAs for over the past four years had patched Eddie up as best they could and had started scrambling for a cover-up. 

In the meantime, Eddie would stay at Steve’s place. It made the most sense. Eddie was nobody to Steve. No one would go looking for Eddie at the Harringtons’, and unlike the other older teens, he didn’t have parents to answer to. Big house. No parents. Perfect place to lie low. 

Steve was nobody to Eddie and yet for the past week, they’d been an island unto themselves, trapped indoors together, watching shadows on the walls and trying to keep each other alive and sane. He felt completely unprepared. 

“Alright. Come on. Let’s go to bed,” Steve muttered, kneeling in front of Eddie. He watched the boy rise to a sitting position over his shoulder. Eddie snorted.

“What exactly is the plan here, Steve?” 

Eddie had been stuck oscillating between the living room, kitchen, and downstairs bathroom for days. They could both use a change of scenery. 

“Piggyback,” Steve spoke, trying not to think about the connotations that the word had garnered. He wasn’t going to think about Vecna. Not today. 

He expected the boy to argue, but instead, he felt Eddie’s arms snake around his throat. He held tight, but not as tight as he should. Steve had to hold on to his forearms like backpack straps as he stood. Eddie’s legs were stronger. They held firm around Steve’s waist. 

Eddie’s head flopped against Steve’s shoulder blade, nuzzling into the space. He was warm as the sun. Too warm. He was running a temperature. Steve tried not to think of the last time he carried Eddie. The boy was uncharacteristically quiet. Steve needed to do something. 

“Saddle up, buckeroo,” Steve spoke, hoisting Eddie further up his back. He felt a puff of air against his neck, a barely there laugh. 

“Hi-yo, Silver,” Eddie grumbled against Steve’s skin. 

Steve moved deftly through the dark, taking the staircase slowly and methodically. The last thing either of them needed was another broken bone. 

“I think I owe you one once all this is over,” Eddie noted. Steve was already shaking his head.

“You stick around, and I’ll call it a favour. I think Henderson would kick my ass if you died.” 

“The kid’s got spunk. I’ll give him that,” Eddie noted as the two reached the top of the stairs. 

“He’s got an attitude and a problem with authority,” Steve corrected, taking Eddie to his bedroom.

He moved to the edge of his bed and let Eddie extract himself. When they broke apart, Steve felt cold again. 

“That’s our boy,” Eddie chuckled, shooting Steve a lopsided smirk. He was definitely still high on painkillers.

Steve rolled his eyes and helped lower Eddie down onto his favourite pillow, the one worn down with age but all the more comfortable for it. He pulled the covers up around the boy’s shoulders.

“Yeah, our boy,” Steve echoed in a too-fond tone. 

He’d never let Henderson hear the term of affection. The kid had a big enough head as it was, but in the too-quiet world of just himself and Eddie, he felt okay admitting it. Once it looked like Eddie was settled in, Steve sat on the edge of his bed, feeling as he always did, like a stranger in his own home. 

“When did you last get some shut-eye, boy wonder?” Eddie asked, his foot tucking beneath Steve’s thigh.  

Friday. What day was it? Sunday. Not good. 

“Well, come on then, don’t make a guy beg. Lay down, Steve. It’s your bed. I could sleep in the spare room if it’s a problem.” There was something cautious about the offer Steve didn’t understand. 

He flopped down beside Eddie, so close the two shared a pillow. It changed the shape of the thing. It made the familiar strange. 

“You know, I had this dream last night,” Eddie began, his dark eyes still open, glued to the ceiling. He cringed, knowing all the ways dreams could go bad, but Eddie shook his head.

“Not that kind of dream,” He insisted, his hands balling into fists on the bedsheets. 

“I had a dream I was a pinball machine,” the boy stated plainly. The absurdity of the statement shocked a laugh out of Steve. 

“These painkillers are legit, Harrington,” Eddie spoke, shooting Steve a sidelong glance. 

“What kind of pinball machine?” 

“You know the Centaur one? It’s black and white, mostly. The arts got this topless guy who’s half man, half motorbike,” Eddie explained. 

Steve had no idea what he was saying, but it was nice to hear him talk. 

“Wait, if you were the pinball machine, how did you know what you looked like?” 

“Great question Steven. I’ve got no clue. Dream logic,” Eddie reasoned.  

Steve screwed up his nose at the use of his full name. Only his dad called him Steven. Eddie raised a brow, seeming to take note. One of them had shifted closer. Steve wasn’t sure who. Eddie’s hand brushed against his side as he played with the sheets. 

“Remind me again why I needed to know about your pinball dream?” Steve asked. The sound of the wind in the trees outside his bedroom window set his teeth on edge. 

“Because you’re too damn serious and I thought it’d make you smile... Which it did.” Eddie added the last part in quietly and Steve rolled his eyes. 

Eddie craned his head to look around Steve’s room before screwing up his nose. 

“Anyone ever told you your wallpaper is gaudy as hell? Your curtains match your walls. Dude, I thought rich people were meant to have taste,” he observed, the boys’ shoulders pressed together. 

“This coming from the guy who eats cereal out of the box with his hands,” Steve countered, no heat in his voice. 

“Are you still mad I used to stand on your lunch table?” Eddie muttered, shoving Steve’s shoulder before tensing. When had Steve last checked his dressings? 

He flipped the bedside lamp on, leaning over Eddie to do so. He’d been helping the guy shower for days now. Privacy was a word reserved for other people. Intimacy was a necessity.  

“Once you stood in my mashed potatoes. It was disgusting,” Steve uttered, gently peeling up the hem of Eddie’s tee shirt. Really, it was Steve’s, but it seemed strange to make distinctions. 

Eddie’s eyes trailed down to Steve’s fingers, half-hooded and slowed with sleep or inebriation, Steve didn’t know which. He wondered how much of all this Eddie would remember when he got better. He would get better. 

“You never ate the potatoes. You’d bring your stupid bagels from home,” Eddie remarked, as Steve carefully unwound the bandage and gauze. It was stained brown with dried blood, but it looked better than it’d been a few days before, no longer as red or swollen.   

The bagel comment made Steve look up. Seemed like Robin wasn’t the only one that’d been watching him. Maybe Eddie had a crush on Tammy Thompson, too. Maybe it was something else. Steve’s friends had crappy taste in women. Eddie could do better. 

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Eddie questioned, noticing Steve’s sudden silence. 

He cleaned the wounds as best he could. Eddie’s fingers had found their way to Steve’s thigh, gripping so tight he thought it would bruise. It would be another to add to the collection. Steve hadn’t been thinking of how his battle wounds were healing. He was in triage mode. Eddie’s wounds were worse than his. 

“We're going to have to amputate,” Steve deadpanned as he found the first aid kit he’d hidden beneath his bed years before, starting to redress the wound. 

“How the hell can you amputate a side?” Eddie asked with a shaky laugh, his breathing more ragged again. 

“Well, you see, there’s this new experimental procedure that lets you transplant your brain into a pinball machine,” Steve began and felt Eddie’s elbow in his side. 

“Screw you.” 

Steve laid back beside Eddie, less space between them than before, if it was at all possible. They braced against each other, the contact grounding Steve. Eddie was alive. He was alive. Maybe one day they could look at each other and not think about death. That day wasn’t today, but Steve could hope for it. 

As Eddie drifted to sleep, his head fell on Steve’s shoulder. He wouldn’t sleep for long that night, but he was used to that. He knew the weeks and months after a run-in with the Upside Down were full of fitful sleep and nightmares, but they never lasted. 

On a long enough timeline, you could get used to anything. It was strange how short that timeline was when it came to getting used to Eddie. 

More days came and went with the same imperfect routines. The two boys woke at all hours of the night and spent the daylight hours behind closed curtains, trying to heal. 

By the third day, Steve got sick of the quiet. A sombre mood hung over them, shifting and changing like the phases of the moon. It never entirely disappeared, but there were moments it seemed almost absent.  

One of these such moments arose when Steve hijacked the boombox from the living room and dragged it upstairs to his bedroom, where a slowly healing Eddie sat bored out of his mind, aching and itchy. Steve knew the feeling. The wound on his neck had scabbed and begun to fade into a scar. 

“Hey, Munson?” Steve spoke, sitting beside Eddie, spreading his tape collection between them. 

“You wanna hear some real music?” He asked, watching Eddie’s nose scrunch and his teeth worry away at his bottom lip.

“These are all horrible, Harrington.” 

Eddie turned over several cassettes in his hand, treating them gently as though they were something special.  

“You have every WHAM! album, dude. The Outfield. Halls & Oats. Tears for Fears,” Eddie listed off, his tone one of disgust. 

“You’re going to have to pick something, or I’ll pick WHAM! out of spite.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes and shuffled through the tapes, tossing one Steve’s way. 

“Bowie isn’t horrible,” Eddie mumbled as Steve placed The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, into the player. 

The two sat shoulder to shoulder, as always, listening to the quiet swell of drums. Steve realised too late it was a song about the end of the world. He realised, later still, that it was a love song. Eddie’s fingers drummed against his knee. Steve tried to ignore the way the action made his heart swell. 

Steve couldn’t sit still any longer as Moonaged Daydream began. He remembered another life in Nancy Wheeler’s garage, asking her to pretend things were normal for a couple of hours. God, he wanted that. He needed a few normal hours.

He wasn’t the same person he’d been back then, but parts of him had stayed the same. He didn’t know how to change them. Nancy Wheeler faced problems head-on, but Steve? The passage of time had taught him how to stand his ground in the face of danger, but he hadn’t yet learned how to stop being chased. 

He caught Eddie’s eye and watched as a wicked grin spread across his face. Without words, he knew exactly what Steve was about to do. He grabbed the nail bat he kept by the bed, the same one from the Wheeler’s garage and sang, using the gnarly weapon as his makeshift microphone. He was a little too loud and a little off-tune.  He sang about alligators and space invaders, lyrics he knew off by heart, without understanding them.

He watched as a grin threatened to crack Eddie’s face in two. There was a reckless abandon to his smile. It was different from the glazed-eyed, half-high smiles of the past week. His eyes were keen and sharp as he watched Steve fling himself across the room in the way only someone who’d learned to dance drunk could.

By the time the album finished, he’d worked up a sweat. Eddie joined in, singing a couple of lines when he could before tugging Steve back to bed, his hand in Steve’s hair, smoothing it back in place. The action was intimate, yet familiar.

“Alright, Starman. Maybe Bowie doesn’t suck so hard, but when I’m not on the run from the law, I’m going to show you what real music sounds like.” 

“Promise?” Steve asked, his chest heaving. 

Then, Eddie did something so unlike anything the populous of Hawkins would expect. To them, he was a Satanist and a murderer. Steve had always known better, but he’d seen Eddie as a wildcard. He was loud and rough around the edges, but he also had the capability of being endearing when the moment called for it. Still, Steve had never expected Eddie to roll over, extend his pinkie and link their little fingers together. 

“I promise,” He assured, placing his lips to the knuckle of his thumb as though sealing the deal. 

The action was equal parts childlike and intense. Steve looked down at their interlaced fingers and knew he was in over his head. Warmth pooled in Steve’s fingertips. 

“Eds, I—,” A knock at the downstairs door made the words die on Steve’s lips. The boys pulled apart. Steve was cold. 

“I’ll get it,” Steve spoke, picking up the discarded nail bat and trudging down the stairs. 

He hoped it was one of the door-knocking jocks. Some primal part of him felt like hitting something. Years before, he would have questioned if he was the kind of person who could do it, but now he knew he could. 

Steve clutched at the bat hidden behind his back as he swung open the door, coming face-to-face with an older man dressed in too-short jean shorts, holding an armful of paper bags. He looked familiar. He’d seen the man with Hopper. A furrow etched its way onto his brow. 

“Aren’t you going to let your beloved uncle in, Steve?” The man spoke, loud enough for the people in the next neighbourhood to hear. 

“Right,” Steve mumbled, pushing the door open and stepping to the side. 

The man walked through the house as though he’d grown up within their walls, dropping the paper bags on the countertop, switching on the lights and examining the space. 

“Hopper sent me with supplies. It’d draw too much attention having the feds at your front door, but a visit from your favourite Uncle Murray? That’s incognito. I’ve got groceries and painkillers, slipped in some vodka too, on the house. Personally, I was thinking of making my homemade ravioli for dinner. Trust me, it’s to die for. Where’s the other one by the way?” The man, Murray, breathed, spinning on his heels to examine the interior of the house.  Steve let his nail bat fall to the floor.

“You really should invest in a gun, kid...Was I interrupting something?” The older man asked, gesturing absentmindedly to his balding head. Steve touched his hair and found it still out of place. He ran his fingers through it in an attempt to tame it. 

“No, we... I was sleeping. Eddie’s upstairs. I think he’s okay, but I could use another set of eyes. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing here. Are you staying?”

“I’m just staying for dinner. It’d look strange if your uncle only showed up for a few minutes, wouldn’t it?” Steve didn’t dignify that with an answer. 

“There’s the man of the hour,” Murray spoke, glancing up at the top of the staircase where Eddie stood, leaning heavily on the banister. 

“What happened to staying up there?” Steve spoke through gritted teeth, making his way back up the stairs. 

“You were taking too long,” Eddie muttered with an unbothered shrug. 

“And if it’d been one of Jason’s asshole friends, we’d have been screwed,” Steve rebutted, letting Eddie lean on him as they made their way to Murray in the kitchen. At least he could walk.

“But it wasn’t,” Eddie huffed, his breath warm on Steve’s neck. 

Steve kicked out one of the kitchen chairs and lowered Eddie into it. The older man watched them as a scientist observes a specimen. There was a morbid fascination to it.

“I see you two are getting along well,” He spoke. 

He’d found where Steve’s mother had stored their pots and had begun some strange kitchen alchemy. Steve had made risotto. This guy looked like he was completing a summoning ritual. The ingredients were splayed out on the countertop like objects of adoration. 

Steve sat down in the chair beside Eddie. It felt strange having someone else in the house. For what seemed like a lifetime, his world had consisted of one other person. He missed Robin, Dustin, and the rest of the kids, but he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. He’d known their isolation couldn’t last forever, but he’d never have guessed Murray would be the first person he’d see.  

“Tense mood. Why is it I always end up in the middle of couples in denial?” Murray breathed to himself. 

Eddie’s head snapped up with a speed Steve hadn’t seen him manage all week. Steve didn’t look at Murray, he was too busy trying to unpick the pained look on Eddie’s face. His eyes searched the boy’s body for some torn open wound he’d missed. 

“What? Don’t look so surprised. Contrary to what kids these days think, we did have homosexuality in the sixties,” Murray informed before pausing. He gave Steve a once-over that made his skin crawl. He felt as though he were a bug, pinned beneath a glass plate. 

“And bisexuality,” He clarified. 

Steve averted his eyes and reached over to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He was hopelessly lost in the conversation, but he knew something was wrong with Eddie. The boy jumped at the sudden contact and Steve pulled his hand away as though burnt. 

“So, what’s the problem? Still in denial?” Murray asked, levelling Steve with a knowing look. He scowled back at the man, ready for him to leave. 

“No. I think you know how you feel, maybe even how he feels.” Steve didn’t know how to respond. 

“You, however,” Murray continued, turning his attention to Eddie, the boiling pot on the stove, forgotten.

“I don’t think you have a clue. Self-esteem issues, maybe. You try to hide it, but you couldn’t imagine that someone in a house like this would look at you twice.” 

“What the hell, man?” Eddie breathed with a huff of indignation. Murray showed no signs of stopping. His eyes were back on Steve. 

“So, what’s holding you back? You got your heart broken after Nancy Wheeler. Let me guess, you keep saying how much you want commitment, but you keep dating the wrong people, people who don’t want to be tied down. That, my boy, is self-sabotage and him,” Murray spoke, indicating Eddie with a wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the rice. 

“He looks like a long-haul kind of guy.” 

“Dude,” Eddie interjected. 

“What? You’re both obviously attracted to one another. Don’t lie. I have eyes. You’re telling me that all this near-death stuff hasn’t made you re-evaluate your life a little? It’s just been you two, locked away together at the end of the world, helping each other heal. Seeking comfort in one another. You’ve got shared trauma. That kind of thing bonds you for life.” 

“Leave it alone,” Steve said, standing as he spoke. The chair scraped on the tile floor. A nails on a chalkboard kind of sound. 

Steve pushed past the older man, pulled the pot off the stove, and let a tense silence settle over the three of them. The subsequent dinner dragged on in uncomfortable silence. Steve and Eddie kept their eyes glued to their plates. Murray talked but neither paid attention. He gave Eddie’s wounds a once over, appearing as lost as Steve. He didn’t seem concerned, so Steve took it as a good thing. 

He thought he’d known what tense silence between himself, and Eddie felt like, but he’d known nothing compared to the moment Murray left. His whole body was on edge. Eddie wouldn’t meet his eyes. They needed to talk, but neither wanted to be the first to cave. 

“I was thinking of turning in early,” Steve spoke, not knowing what else to say. 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

The boys lay side by side, but sleep didn’t come. Eddie’s body was wound tight as a tourniquet. This time, Steve was the one bleeding out. 

He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. Maybe that he was sorry. Murray was right. Steve had known Eddie liked him and he hadn’t said anything because it wasn’t a problem he could throw himself in front of. It’d be easier if he thought telling Eddie would end up with him getting hit. There were worse things. 

Eddie’s feelings had become more apparent as their time together wore on, but on some level, Steve had known long before. When Eddie had leaned over into his space smelling of cigarette ash, dried earth and sweat and called Steve some god-awful pet name, he’d known. He also knew the feelings weren’t one-sided. 

That revelation came later. Eddie had been fading in and out of consciousness. Steve had shaken him awake to redress his wounds when it happened. The boy awoke, shooting him a lopsided grin, gazing at Steve with his drowsy, doe eyes.

He’d crooned, ‘Good morning sunshine’. And that had been enough. 

Steve’s heart had stuttered to a halt as it had all the times before when a pretty girl had called him a prettier name. 

As much as Steve hated to admit it, Murray had been right about a lot of things. There was one thing Steve desperately wanted him to be wrong about. 

He and Eddie were bonded because of what they’d been through. That’s what the man had said. Shared trauma. Was that all they were?

Steve was back in the bathroom with Nancy, her white shirt, red. The whites of his eyes the moment she left, red. 

He knew where shared trauma got him. He’d try to bury it. To move past it. He wanted to be more than what was done to him. People would say he was running. He was bullshit. 

How was he meant to sit with the kind of stuff he and Eddie had been through? How was he meant to fight it? Would Steve always look at Eddie and see his death? Would Eddie always look at Steve and feel like dying? 

“I wished I’d met you later,” Steve spoke to the dark room. Eddie’s locked body loosened, and as it did, he started to shake. In a moment, he’d start to bleed too. 

“You know, normally people say they wished they’d met you sooner.” 

“I mean... I wish we’d met after everything with The Upside Down. That you hadn’t gotten dragged into it. I wish that we’d gotten to know each other the normal way,” Steve explained. Eddie snorted. 

“Can you imagine me doing anything the normal way?” He had a point. 

Steve didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. The silence was back, looming large as a lunar eclipse. 

“You aren’t... weirded out by what he said? About me liking you?” Eddie’s voice was small. The only time Steve heard Eddie whisper was when he was dying. 

“I think he also said something about me liking you back,” Steve replied, glancing at Eddie’s profile only to find the man was already watching him. His face was contorted in confusion. 

“Then... what’s the problem here, Stevie?” 

Steve had never been good with his words. 

“What if we’ve ruined it?” He tried. At seeing a frown cross Eddie’s face, he knew he hadn’t done a good enough job at explaining. 

“With what’s happened between me and you. You never would’ve looked at me twice if I hadn’t saved you, and what if that’s all we’ve got? Shared trauma.” 

Bullshit. What if all they had was bullshit? Eddie finally understood.

“I don’t like you because you saved me, Steve. I like you because despite all the terrible shit you make me want to laugh.  I love that you’re shit at dancing, but you do it anyway. Also, screw that guy your risotto is better than his. You’re a good cook. Your stupid hair makes me want to slam my head in a car door and before you say anything, that’s a compliment. You care so damn much about everyone.” To Steve’s surprise, Eddie’s hand reached up to touch his cheek. 

“I don’t like you because we’ve been through bad shit together. I like you because you make me feel like one day, we’re going to get out on the other side of it, that things aren’t going to be like this forever,” Eddie finished.

Steve’s heart was a cardinal, beating itself bloody against a windowpane. 

“Can I kiss you?” Steve breathed. For the first time in a long time, he was nervous. 

Eddie’s smile was a lightning strike, bright, beautiful and something they’d shape gods after. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

Eddie’s lips were warm. 

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #bi steve harrington #murray bauman #match maker murray #stranger things #st4 #drabble #hurt/comfort #prompt fill #'murray knows what's up' #you know when I got this prompt #I thought I was going to write #something so silly fluffy and short #instead what I ended up with #was a hurt/comfort #character study #about dealing with trauma #because my mind kept thinking about how #other people in the fandom #have written about Murray strugglingly more #with the lgbt+ dynamics of the group #here I offer you #Murray gets that they are queer #but does not understand the queer experience #like hello everyone who's gay in the 80s #has the shared trauma of being gay in the 80s

[cluelessbees]

Yknow what ? I think Byler getting Murray’d would be more heartfelt than anything else.

Because like-

Murray doesn’t just call out Jopper and Jancy because it’s obvious. He points it out because he knows they’re being stupid. In their cases, it’s really just them not communicating their feelings to one another and trying to pretend they don’t exist.

But with Byler it’s like…it’s different.

Because it’s not just that is it? We’re not just watching two people pine over one another whilst being oblivious to the fact they other likes them back. We’re not just looking at two people who can’t communicate well. There’s more to it.

Because they’re two boys who have been best friends since childhood. They grew up at the peak of the AIDS epidemic. They live in a small town and they’re expected to act a certain way. It’s different for them.

I don’t think Murray is gonna waltz in acting all holier than thou and essentially out both Mike and Will to one another. He’s a smart man as we’ve seen. He’s attentive. He doesn’t just call jancy and jopper out to prove a point he knows what they both need to hear so they can get over their miscommunication hurdle.

I think he’s going to go up to them. Either both or just Mike or Will or whatever, and he’s going to talk to them about it. Because that’s what they need. They need someone to talk to them about it. And I don’t think he would start with just directly talking about it. I think he (and this is me headcanonning Murray as queer) would open up first. Like about his own experiences- to show them that he gets it, and he knows what it’s like. And then he would casually bring up the whole byler thing.

Hmmm something along the lines of...

Okay– picture a conflict Mike Wheeler sitting by himself – either on the couch or on the floor or whatever. And, he’s stuck in his head. A lot had happened. He broke up with El and he’s struggling to grasp what he’s feeling about his best friend. And there's this…weird tension between them that– he just– he can't put his finger on. But they’re off. They aren’t clicking like they used to and Mike can’t seem to fix things. 

So he sat alone, trying to understand or comprehend whatever he’s feeling whilst everyone else is god knows where in the house. Will was in the kitchen though. Mike knew that much. And then suddenly, he felt a weight on the couch seat next to him or the space on the floor beside him was no longer there and he heard the words of Murray Bauman pull him out of his thoughts with the weirdest fucking ice-breaker he has ever heard.

“Y’know…I was like you when I was younger.” 

“Really?” Mike asked – mostly out of disbelief as he scanned Murray. No way. Not a chance. 

“Oh yeah…” Murray smiled, nodding to himself as he continued. “I know it's hard to believe it, but I was this…brash, stubborn, reactive teen who loved going against authority. I was very...headstrong in my beliefs.” 

He paused and Mike turned to him. Murray had his head down, looking at his lap silently, and Mike didn’t know what to do but watch or…more– listen to the silence. 

“And…I was also in my head a lot.” Murray looked up, turning to Mike once before looking forward again. “I was angry at things – at people and at myself because…no matter how much I pretended like I loved being a freak…a part of me hated that I wasn’t normal…”

Mike felt cold. His heartbeat raced as he turned away from Murray – facing forward and staring at his lap as he continued to listen.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah…I was-- going through a lot of stuff internally that I tried pretending didn’t exist.” He paused again – taking a deep breath. “I was…in love with someone who I didn’t want to be in love with.”

“...You were?” 

“Yeah…” Murray laughed to himself. “Yeah…it was– well he was…my best friend.”

Mike held his breath.

“I fell for him. And I was mad at myself for falling for him. Because even though I knew it wasn’t wrong…I just kept thinking about how I wasn’t supposed to like him. Because that’s not normal– Well ‘normal.’” Murray airquoted, rolling his eyes. Mike’s eyes were glued onto him at this point. 

“So…I grew angrier. And I took it out on myself. On him. Even though he didn’t deserve it. Even though I loved him– I just..I let my fear get the better of me and I pushed him away until I lost him…And I hated myself for doing that.” He breathed, another pause, before finally turning to Mike. “It took me a long time to realise that there was nothing wrong about loving someone.”

Murray tilted his head towards the direction of the kitchen as he raised his eyebrows – and it clicked to Mike.

“I..” Mike’s throat felt dry. “You know?”

“I had a hunch.”

“Is it obvious? Does he–”

“No, he doesn’t know. Your secret's safe with me, kid.”

“Okay– good.” Mike paced his breathing. “I just…I– I can’t lose him because of this. If he knew– if– if he knew he would–”

“He’s your best friend right?” Murray cut him off.

“What? Yes but–”

“Then. he could never hate you, Mike. Not about this.”

“How do you know that?”

“Call it…another one of my hunches.” Mike knitted his brows together.

“Look – kid, I’m not going to force you to tell him or anything. It's your choice at the end of the day. And I can’t say much, but it doesn’t take a genius to know how much that boy cares about you. And you care about him, correct?”

Mike nodded. 

“And you trust him?”

Mike nodded again. “With my life.”

“So…all I can say is…if you trust him? Then...trust him with this.” Murray began to stand up. “Take it from me. Holding it in only hurts the both of you.”

And then Murray leaves

Anyways yeah thoughts––

#Byler #byler ficlet #byler fic #kinda? ig? #mike wheeler #murray bauman #lmao it's not the best but if I try and fix it I won't be able to focus on the actual fic im writing #this is just a concept if you will #this was longer than it was supposed to be MAJSMANAN #also Grammarly fucked my laptop so I'm sorry if I didn't catch any errors–

[xoxoladyaz]

Weird adopted Uncle Murray gives Steve a nutcracker as a joke when he comes out to the family as bisexual. Joke’s on him and everybody else though: the nutcracker is actually a now un-cursed prince who thoroughly sweeps Steve off his feet.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fic ideas #murray bauman

[estrellami-1]

Writer prompt: Steve finding out about Murray getting Joncy together & rips into him for helping their relationship to end the way it did. Nancy & Jonathan realizing that their behavior was not only not acceptable but also cruel (esp Jon for taking the photos)

Hello my friend! I actually had part of this already written and I was trying to see if I was ever actually going to post it… and then you sent this prompt which actually (mostly) works! This focuses more on Steve ripping Murray a new one so I hope this is close enough to what you want! ❤️

They’re having dinner. It’s a once-a-week thing Joyce had decided on, back when everyone was still healing, when they all needed the reminder that they made it out. Maybe not unscathed, but they’re out.

It’s during one such dinner she invited Murray to. She’d leaned over to everyone else, whispering, “I asked him to be on his best behavior.”

Steve doesn’t know how they end up here. How they end up with Murray essentially patting himself on the back for getting Nancy and Jonathan together, then just as suddenly turning to Steve and Eddie with a wicked glint in his eye.

He’s talking, and Steve’s getting mad. He doesn’t care what wild theories Murray comes up with for him. But he’s targeting someone who’s clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

Eddie’s withdrawing. His hands are in his lap, his head’s bowed, his shoulders are hunched.

Steve is livid.

“That’s enough,” Steve says suddenly.

Murray pretends he doesn’t hear. “Of course, it’s not like any of you’d care about that,” he says, gaze lingering first on Robin, then Will.

Steve stands and slams his hands on the table. “That’s enough,” he says again, louder. He’s shaking. Eddie won’t look at him. He can’t feel his face, doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but he’s so, so angry. “Did it ever occur to you that the couple you were oh-so-happy to finally get together meant she cheated on me? Did it ever occur to you that you only knew one side of the story? That I was fucking sixteen years old and a girl died in my pool. I was sixteen and trying to contend with the fact that I was living in a goddamn haunted house. And I’m sorry I wasn’t enough,” he tells Nancy. “I tried, though. If you don’t believe a single thing I say, believe that. I tried.” He sighs, shakes his head, looks down at the table for a second before settling his gaze back on Murray. “Did it ever occur to you that people should get to make their own goddamned decisions? Regardless of someone’s sexuality, pushing people together is never okay. Regarding their sexuality, you don’t get to take that choice away from them. Regardless of who’d be okay with it. That is their choice and you stripped a basic human right away from them.” He leans over, looks Murray right in his eye. “I used to be like you. I used to think I had to be perfect, had to know everything, everyone. Had to have all the answers. But what happens when you don’t? What happens when you don’t know, Murray? What does that make you?” He pauses for a second; just enough time for Murray to open his mouth. “Human,” he continues. Murray’s mouth closes again. “It makes you fucking human. So let us be human, too. Just shut your goddamned mouth for once in your life before I do it for you. Permanently.” He narrows his eyes at Murray. “I took on a Demogorgon with a bat. I took on a Russian soldier with nothing. I’ve been to the Upside Down and back. Don’t fucking test me.”

The silence is palpable.

“Well,” Murray says finally. “Lovely meal as always, Joyce-”

“Just leave,” she says, quietly, but no less severely. He pauses, then nods and leaves.

The silence is unbearable.

Steve’s chair is loud as he scoots it back. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, making his way around the table to get to the stairs. “I’m not hungry.”

He doesn’t look up at anyone. He doesn’t see Robin, teary-eyed and proud. He doesn’t see Eddie, shell-shocked. He doesn’t see Nancy, crying.

He doesn’t see Will, terrified and grateful.

He sees his shoes as he walks up the stairs, making his way into one of the first rooms he finds. Thinks it’s Will’s, based on the decorations.

He numbly makes his way to the bed and slides down to sit on the floor, back against the comforter. He buries his head in his hands and tries to remember how to breathe.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears careful footsteps. He knows he’s visible from the hallway. He can’t bring himself to care.

The footsteps enter the room he’s in. “Stevie?” Eddie asks cautiously. “Are you okay?”

Steve sniffs, even though his eyes are dry as ever. “Ask me again when I stop shaking,” he murmurs, giving an absent smile at Eddie’s huff of laughter.

“Mind if I sit?”

Steve lifts his head, looks at Eddie. He’s got his head cocked hopefully, glancing at the ground by Steve. Steve pats it, and Eddie’s smile grows. “Joyce is officially my favorite of the moms. And the scariest. She laid into Jonathan and Nancy. But, uh. I think everyone else is okay.”

There’s enough emphasis there to make Steve pause. He knows about Will, then.

He’s brought back to the present when Eddie sighs. “Y’know, that guy’s a real dick. Like, an absolute, grade-A douchebag. But, uh. He’s not wrong. About me.”

Steve glances at him. Watches him playing with his fingers. “Yeah?” Steve asks, almost not recognizing the hopeful tone in his voice. Eddie looks over, and Steve smiles. “Me too.”

Eddie moves a hand, tentatively intertwines it with one of Steve’s. Steve squeezes back. “I can’t- my brain, it’s too-” he waves a hand around his head- “to do anything else. But. This is good.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, squeezes back.

A few minutes later Will pokes his head in. “Steve? Eddie?”

Steve turns a tired smile on Will. “Hey.”

Will blinks. “Um. Hey. Can I come in?” Steve pointedly looks around. Will snorts and walks in, settles criss-cross on the floor in front of them. “I, uh. Wanted to thank you, Steve. For. Um.” His breath hitches. “Just. I know nobody would care? But it’s. I feel like it would be a big deal. But anyways I care, and I’m just. Really grateful.” His breath hitches again, and a teardrop hits his hands where they’re clasped in his lap.

“Oh, Will,” Steve murmurs, squeezing Eddie’s hand once before dropping it and holding both arms out to Will.

Will crawls forward and collapses into Steve. “That was really scary,” he murmurs. Steve hums in agreement.

Suddenly Will looks up. “Are you okay? He- he just told everyone, and we don’t even know if it’s true or not, and then you- you completely shut him down, which was awesome, and you’re kinda my hero, but- are you okay?”

“I’ll be alright,” Steve promises, looking over at Eddie, asking wordlessly. Eddie nods. “He was right. About both of us. And all of that. Honestly, my comfort was the last thing on my mind downstairs. I know the words people use. Hell, I know the words I used, before your brother knocked some sense into me.” He widens his eyes exaggeratedly at Will, who giggles. “And I just thought… it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. Words can hurt, and I’m done with people I love being hurt. Especially when I can stop it. So… I did.”

“You did,” Eddie agrees, beginning to giggle. “You threatened him, Stevie. That was fucking metal.”

Steve laughs then, squeezes Will tighter to him and leans over to rest against Eddie, content. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “You’re okay, though?”

“I’m alright,” Steve promises him.

Will turns to Eddie. “Are you okay?”

Eddie smiles, ruffles Will’s hair. “I’m alright, Baby Byers. How’re you holding up?”

Will thinks, then nods. “I’m okay,” he says. “Um. Jon and Nancy are at the Wheelers’. Everyone else is still downstairs. Are you-”

“In a minute,” Steve answers wryly. “I’m still shaking.”

Will snorts, tucking his head into Steve’s chest. “I think I’ve been shaking ever since he looked at me.”

“It’s the eyes, right?” Eddie asks. “Like they’re looking into your very soul.”

“Yeah,” Will laughs. “They’re unsettling.”

Steve sighs, lets go of Will with one hand, lets it fall onto Eddie’s. He squeezes briefly, smiling when Eddie twines their fingers together.

Will watches silently. “Were you together before he said anything?”

“No,” Eddie admits. “But I don’t think it would’ve taken much longer. We were already most of the way there.”

Will nods. “And I guess I don’t have to ask if you know about me.”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Eddie gently suggests. “He hasn’t taken that choice away from you yet.”

Will nods, takes a breath. Whispers. “I’m gay.”

“Same,” Eddie grins, offering a high-five. Will looks at him, surprised, before clapping their hands together.

They both turn to Steve, who chuckles. “I’m bisexual. I like both.”

Eddie’s grin widens. “Like Bowie.”

Steve snorts. “That’s exactly what Robin said.”

Eddie waggles his brows. “Great minds, and all that jazz.”

Will and Steve both chuckle at that. Will leans back, and Steve lets him go. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For what you said, earlier. And for just now. Um. I’m okay. And Mom bought ice cream and that sounds really good right now.”

Eddie snorts. “Go on,” he says. “We’ll be right down.”

Will smiles and walks out, and Eddie turns back to Steve. “Okay?”

“How many times are people gonna ask me that,” Steve faux-grumbles, leaning further into Eddie. He sighs. “I really think the best answer I can give is I’ll be okay. I really wasn’t thinking about myself at all.”

Eddie hums. “What were you thinking about?”

Steve huffs out a semblance of a laugh. “Honestly? You. You’d shut down, you were staring at the table, your shoulders were curled in, you wouldn’t look at me… and then he looked at Robin, and Will, and I just saw red. Like I said, I’m done with the ones I love being hurt. It’s- it was never about me. Not this.”

Eddie tilts his head. “It kinda is, though? It was about us, and you’re a part of us, Stevie.”

“Well,” Steve says, then sighs and gives up, tucking his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. “You said Joyce laid into Nance and Jon?”

“Mhm. Terrifying, I tell you. Like that mom look, y’know? But even worse because she’s been through all this shit and knows all your secrets.”

Steve snorts. “How’d they take it?”

“Nancy was crying before Joyce started. I don’t think Jonathan did at all, but who knows what happened once they left.”

“Crying?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes around the next few days, looking to apologize.”

Steve snorts. “That’ll be the day.”

“I might hang around the next few days. I’d like to see it.”

“I want you to hang around.”

Eddie smiles down at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Anything more than this, tonight, I think wouldn’t be a good idea. But you could come over? We could sleep? Talk in the morning?”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie says warmly. “But first, ice cream?”

Steve chuckles. “But first, ice cream,” he agrees, and together they walk downstairs.

So as I said I had (part of) this done before (the last hundred words or so I just added to help tie it all together), so it doesn’t end as nicely as I’d like. I think Nancy and Jonathan absolutely need to apologize, yes, but I also felt it was important for Steve to say that, to stick up for his friends, and to apologize to Nancy, even if he didn’t need to; it just felt very in-character, like he thinks everything’s his fault, so he’d apologize; but he’s also very loyal and protective, so Mama Bear Steve came out the second Murray looked at Eddie, Robin and Will. Eddie and Steve and Will for the win, I LOVE the dynamic we’ve cooked up for them (because the producers are too chickenshit to let them bond the way they absolutely would), and off-screen Robin and Steve have another bathroom moment with her ripping him a new one in the way of “you need to take care of yourself, dingus, we’re fine, thank you for protecting us but Jesus Christ protect yourself for once-” and then absolutely proceeding to smother him in a hug.

Anyway. I hope you liked it!! I may do a part 2 with Nancy and Jon’s apologies but it depends on if writers’ block keeps kicking my ass the way it has been.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #murray bauman #robin buckley #will byers #joyce byers #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #the other kids are there too but they’re supporting characters in this one #(they support Steve. El messes with Murray just enough to make him think he’s losing it) #y’all don’t understand I’ve written the entire fic IN MY HEAD so ik how it ends but getting it on paper??? #nahhhh that don’t happen #anyways I hope you enjoy! #asks #requests #prompts #starambles

[officerrrfriendly]

The Taken, First Strike.

stranger things conjuring!AU, priest!steve harrington x demonologist/clairvoyant!fem reader.

With an abundance of reluctance, your feet found themselves taking brave steps one after another as they eventually met a birch-wood doorway. But it wasn't any ordinary doorway, inside sat her. The frail and misfortunate Maxine Mayfield, who you still referred to as such- out of a habit of profession- much despite her insistence on "just calling her max, she doesn't go by Maxine anymore."

And in that moment, all of your previous doubts from earlier flooded back into your brain, before you could give into them and turn back, she spoke out. She called your name, a glint of hope present in her tone with some desperation, too.

You sigh heavily to try and alleviate all the weight you suddenly feel pressing against your chest before you eventually reply.

"Hi, Maxine," you mutter, smiling softly before slowly approaching the vacant armchair beside her, full of funky patterns and colours. She sat timidly, her hands held onto one another whilst fingers from each hand wandered over freckles on the backs of her hands she had forgotten she had. Her hair was shorter now, bobbed and fell just below her ears but she was still so beautiful. You tried your hardest to avoid looking into the milky white orb of her left eye and the thick bandage that covered the gaping wound on her right.

If you thought about that night for any longer, you thought you would just about lose your mind- so you shook your head of protruding thoughts and focussed on the topic of importance here, which was the girl beside you.

She laughs, and this time it wasn't humourless or dry but it was real, amusing. "How many times have I told you to just call me Max, hm?" she pokes, she sits further up in her seat as you laugh along with her.

"If I had to guess...I'd say only about 100 million times," you say, with a sigh. Your answer makes her smile for a moment but then she sighs, something is clearly bothering her.

Unexpectedly, without needing encouragement to open up, she speaks. "No one's visited in a while, Lucas...he finds it hard coming here, seeing me like this. He's never said it- but..." she huffs, lowering her head down to the floor. "I know that every time he's here with me he's just stuck in that night, what happened to Billy...me. Even though I can't see him, I can sense it, he's terrified to be around me and I hate it. I hate it because I love him so much...do you have somebody like that?" As the forbidden question leaves her tongue it triggers thoughts you had wished to never think about again, you think of him- and how neither of you haven't seen or spoken to each other since that very night.

Your head shakes, wishing to be done with the thought of Father Steve, and how you've treated him since after the night of July 4th 1983...at the exorcism of Billy Hargrove.

"I'd rather not answer that question... Honey, tell me more about what's been going on with Lucas!"

.•.•.•

You wipe desperately at your tears as they fall on your way to your ocean-blue Austin Maestro car. Your fingers struggle to keep up with the vast amount that began to flood out of your tear ducts.

You harboured a considerably brave face - despite Max not being able to notice it- throughout the entire hour after Max had asked you that god-forsaken question to which you had no answer.

She had talked about Billy, her nightmares, PTSD, her love life and even her mom running off to the other side of the world with her new young boyfriend and a bottle of Jack...she lived a sad life, one you had hoped to someday be able to save her from. You wanted her to come and live in your miniature, yet cosy townhouse you had inherited from your late father Richie, god bless his soul.

Seeing her so frail and lonely, woke a sadness inside you that hadn't long gone away, however that sadness also carried a fuckton of guilt. The guilt of knowing that if you had actually, fully prepared for what you were getting into, perhaps you could have saved Billy Hargrove, Max's eyesight (and her sanity), along with her family.

CLONK, you pull on the door handle to the driver's side door and hop inside before taking one last pitiful glance at the hospice. "I'll be back for you...Max," you mutter.

You turn the rusty key into the ignition. The engine fires to life.

.•.•.•

Days had passed and now you were sitting, pondering in your office inside your humble abode. Max hadn't left your mind since your previous visit and you were thinking through the idea that has floated into your noggin and is actively refusing to leave.

A THUD snaps you out of your daydreams and you quickly glance up from your oak-stained desk to see the culprit who dropped four thick textbooks in front of you, stacked on top of one another. You groan when you realise that it's just Robin, the nosy librarian-now-assistant with a child-like grin on her face. 'Oh, she's up to something' you thought, rolling your eyes before asking- "What is it now, Roberto?" you ask, intrigued as you sit up in your seat.

"I think I may have a case for you, Psychic Sally." she grins smugly, pulling a picture of a young boy out of her pocket.

Now that caught your attention.

"Tell me everything."

And she does, she tells you about how a 'Joyce Byers' had called several times today whilst you were out buying groceries begging to speak with you, for your help and assistance as she believes something is gravely wrong with her 11-year-old boy Will and has been ever since they moved into their house two weeks ago with her fiance, Bob.

She claimed a fever, a change in behaviour, sickness and bruising randomly appearing all over his body seemingly coming from nowhere. OH! And not to mention whatever 'entity' is wreaking havoc among them is causing a putrid, rotten smell to linger throughout the entire house...and her dog suddenly died the first night living there after it refused to enter the home.

You were going to visit the Byers' residence...but not alone.

You had somebody to visit.

"Call Father Steve and tell him I need to speak with him immediately, please Robin," you demand, sighing nervously. as your right foot begins to shake uncontrollably under the table.

"Are you sure that's a...I...uhhh-yes! yes, I will go and do that for you right now, if that's...are you sure that's what you want to do because you know I can totally-" she rambles, her voice high-pitched and unsure.

You can't find words so you nod repeatedly, sporting a polite smile and motion at the door. She nervously laughs, gulping "Ha ha ha ha, well! I am just gonna - yep! Haha! Going," she begins to back out of the room pointing to the door, "going..." she reaches the handle before forcibly chuckling, "and gone!" she shuts the door and you can hear her scold "What the hell is wrong with you?...freak!! god...how do I still have this job?"

.•.•.•

"God...how do I still have this job?" Robin questions, huffing embarrassedly. She treks down the terracotta-painted hallway, full of plants and pictures of who Robin had learned to have been your late father. She had found that out accidentally on the first day of moving in with you when she asked, "Is that your husband?" which sparked a very awkward, tense conversation that you both had very quickly laughed off.

She had reached the coffee-coloured door with the cream handle and twisted it, opening the door to her room- filled with posters of Molly Ringwald, Phoebe Cates, Lisa Bonet, Madonna you name it and she had it!!

Full of purpose she sits on her side of the bed, cross-legged and grabs the telephone from her bedside table and dials Father Steve's number carefully before knawing on her lip and impending an answer.

The phone rings a good three times before there's an answer.

"Hello?"

A/N - Hi babies!! how was that?! I know it wasn't the longest but its just to give the story a good push before we really dive into the plot and have some fun. Poor Max :(( SHE DESERVES BETTER!! and poor Chester, such a sweet dog.

LMK how you found this chapter!!

current taglist: @stveharringtn

comment to be added loves :))

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #stranger things #dustin henderson #eddie munson #joe keery #joe keery fic #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #karen wheeler #murray bauman #ronance #eddie munson x reader #the conjuring #joyce byers #jim hopper #bob newby #barbara holland #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #byler #lumax #billy hargrove #max mayfield #erica sinclair #priest!steve harrington x reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfic

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 ao3

Eddie stirs to someplace just outside of sleep at the sound of voices. They���re not loud enough to wake him up all the way; even the occasional bout of laughter sounds like it’s stifled, like they’re trying to keep quiet.

He gets one eye open, sees a blur of Robin’s beige jeans and suspenders. There’s a quick flash of grey in the corner, one of Steve’s crutches, and he realises that Steve must be just out of view, trying to trip her up.

More giggles.

“You’re such an asshole!”

“Shh!”

“You shush, you just tried to injure me.”

“I barely touched you.”

Eddie hears a little creak nearby, blearily glances somewhere above to find Steve leaning on the arm of the couch, looking down at him with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” Steve says, hushed. “It’s still early, you can go back to sleep if you want. Robin just can’t tell the time.” And he ducks suddenly, as if avoiding a blow. He glances over his shoulder, sticks out his tongue and says, “And she’s violent.”

Eddie blinks slowly at Steve. Feels himself smile. “…’Kay,” he manages, tired but amused.

He just catches something that sounds a bit like, “Oh, Steve, he’s so sweet,” and, “You wake him up again, you’re getting a crutch to the head, I swear to God,” but he fades back into sleep before he can really process it.

When he wakes up again, it’s to the smell of toast just on the cusp of burning, the T.V on. His head rests by Steve’s thigh; when he glances over, he sees that Steve is sitting on the couch, facing the T.V head on, his leg propped up by a stool again. There’s a plate of toast in his lap.

Eddie rubs his eyes, raises his head a little—spots the moment when Steve notices that he’s awake, the lovely way his eyes light up.

“Hi,” Steve says.

Eddie yawns out a, “G’mornin’.”

Steve nods down at the toast. “Want some?”

Before Eddie can reply, Steve is already halving the slice, passing one to him. He wakes up further after that, lifting his head up a little more to peer at the T.V—makes out a quaint cabin before Steve’s speaking again, voice lowered thoughtfully.

“You look better.”

And from Steve’s slight gesture, tapping at his own cheek, Eddie gets the meaning: that he must look less pale.

Eddie finishes his slice of toast, sits up on his elbow. Robin’s sat on the floor, back to him, seemingly captivated by the movie.

“I feel better,” he says, matching Steve’s quiet volume, adds a teasing, “Was I lookin’ real rough?”

“Hideous,” Steve says without missing a beat.

Eddie prods him in the side. Then he’s finally awake enough to appreciate what they’re watching: Doris Day singing about ‘A Woman’s Touch’ in a way that he suspects is not all that heterosexual.

Steve half-succeeds in hiding a yawn behind his cup of coffee.

Robin suddenly turns around accusingly. “Uh, Steve Harrington, the least you could do is pay attention to this when you’re the one who started the whole—”

“Rob, I’ve never seen the movie before! I just call you Calamity Jane ‘cause you knock shit over, all the time.” He makes a little series of explosion noises in demonstration that are so damn stupid, that Eddie can’t even reign in his grin. “You know, like, bam, bam, the tapes are everywhere! A calamity.”

“Oh my god, you knock over the cardboard cutouts every shift! Name one time that I—”

“Uh, hello? Last December? You ruined my whole Christmas display!” 

“Oh well, that’s different. That was on purpose.”

Steve gives a mock offended gasp, nudges Eddie as if to say, Can you believe this shit?

“Keith’s the biggest Grinch ever, dude, I was providing ambience.” He stresses the word like he’s making a point, as if him and Robin are trying to one up each other on vocabulary or something.

“Yeah, you provided so much ambience when you shushed that dude ‘cause you wanted to keep watching Miracle on 34th Street.”

When Eddie snorts, Robin shuffles over to the couch, tilts her head back to grin at him upside down.

“This guy stood at the counter for days, Eddie. He said ‘ahem.’ Like, he didn’t cough, he literally said the word. And Steve just…” She folds her arms, heaves a sigh and mimes checking her nails.

Eddie starts to laugh.

“He deserved it. And he was interrupting the court case, Robin. Fred Gailey’s big moment!”

“Are you a Christmas movie nerd, Harrington?” Eddie asks, “‘cause I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No-one has any sense of culture here.”

Robin makes a huff of protest, waving her arms pointedly at the T.V. “Um, hello? You’ve got art right in front of you, dingus. Ooh, and speaking of Christmas, uh, sorta. I have presents.”

She reaches for a backpack leaning against a pile of videos, then brings out two clearly ‘homemade’ mugs, the handles comically thick.

“Since when do you do pottery, Buckley?” Eddie asks.

“Since town hall decided that putting on a load of arts and crafts would help us forget everything. Like, did you all just get nearly destroyed? Bummer. Can we interest you in some clay?”

As she speaks, she nudges the mugs over to the side of the coffee table, where Eddie’s left the gift bag she already gave to him.

Eddie smiles. “You don’t need to keep giving—”

“Nope, it’s too late,” Robin says, somehow grinning and looking deadly serious at the same time. “This is your life now, Eddie—every birthday and Christmas, you better be ready.”

It’s a joke—Eddie knows it’s a joke, but he also knows that she means it, and that’s…

It’s the implied permanence that hits him, really: the thought that their friendship isn’t just one created through fear and survival instincts, through necessity. That it’s here to stay.

He clears his throat before he can do something stupid like actually get all choked up about it. Again.

Thankfully Robin provides the perfect distraction, reaching into the bag once more and saying, “So Steve, you were gonna get a mug, too, but I kinda messed it up…”

She brings out a lump of clay that perhaps in a very generous past life was once almost a mug. It wouldn’t have looked too out of place as an amorphous blob of Something crawling out of The Upside Down.

“Robin,” Steve says flatly. “What.”

“Ta-da! It’s a…”

“Thanks for giving me the weapon I’ll use to murder you.”

“…paperweight!”

“Oh, in your world, maybe.”

Steve plays up the offended look so well, all slack-jawed disbelief, that Eddie wonders if it’s possible to crack a rib from trying not to laugh.

“No, no, it’s got an old school charm,” Eddie says—immediately has to speak through a giggle when Robin points to him triumphantly, as if that had been her goal all along. “Like, murder mystery prop. It was Harrington in the living room with the paperweight.”

Steve rolls his eyes, knocks their shoulders together. “Don’t encourage her, man.”

But then Steve catches Robin’s eye, and it’s a fleeting moment, but Eddie watches as Steve’s eyebrow rises almost imperceptibly, as if asking for permission without words. And Robin’s expression softens in a way that Eddie doesn’t quite understand. She nods ever so slightly. Something passes between them.

Then the moment’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Hey, Robin,” Steve says, grinning like butter wouldn’t melt, “who were you doing pottery with?”

“Who says I was with anyone?”

“Oh, me. I say.”

“Well, she had to show me how to—”

“Ah-ah-ah! So, she had to—”

“Ugh, fine! Yes, it was Vickie.”

It’s Steve’s turn to look triumphant. Eddie looks on as he beams, wide enough to show that one of his incisors is a little crooked, and it’s so goddamn endearing all of a sudden.

“And? You were yourself, huh?” Steve asks Robin, sounding smug, like he’s saying I told you so. “You had to be—only you could make,” he waves a hand at the ‘mug’, “that.”

Robin scoffs, but Eddie can tell that she’s fighting a smile. “You’re so full of it.” “C’mon, gimme some material to work with, Rob! You met on a… something-something day.” Steve clicks his fingers at Eddie. “Adjective?”

Eddie glances between them both, their joy infectious. After a sufficiently dramatic pause, he says, “Serendipitous.”

“Seren—” Steve does a double take, gives Eddie a look like he’s just sunk a winning shot from wherever-the-fuck on the basketball court. “Yeah, what he said.”

“Okay, cool your jets—”

And oh, Eddie smiles to himself; that’s definitely a Steve-ism that Robin’s picked up.

“—it’s not like we—like, yeah, she told me she broke up with her boyfriend, but we didn’t really confirm anything, or—”

“Oh my god,” Steve groans, “I’m gonna suffer through this for years. You’ll just keep making mugs for each other, over and over without actually talking—”

“Don’t be silly,” Robin says, “I’m giving all the mugs to Eddie, catch up.”

Eddie reaches down, messes up her hair until she lunges for his in revenge.

“I s’pose there are worse things,” he says, laughing when she thumps him with a cushion.

He thinks of “I’m glad we’re weird.” How before, it was Casablanca references and shared secretive smiles, and now it’s something louder, jubilant.

And Steve knows.

-

He slips upstairs to use the phone in Steve’s bedroom, brings the piece of paper where he’d written down the number from Hopper.

“Ring if there’s any trouble,” Hopper had instructed—and Eddie knows that probably meant if he was in trouble, but…

He doesn’t have to wait long before his call is answered—and to be honest, when Hopper said a private number, Eddie had kind of assumed that it was a private number for the man himself.

So hearing the nasally, bordering on chipper voice of a stranger throws him a bit.

“Hello? …Hellooo? Listen, I’ve been assured that this line cannot be tapped, so you better not be the Feds. I mean, thank you kindly for the courtesy call if you are, nice to have some warning for once.”

“Um.” Bewildered, Eddie temporarily covers the receiver. Double-checks the number. No, he’d definitely dialled right… “Sorry, uh, I—who am I speaking to?”

“My goodness, a voice! Hallelujah! Oh, you’re the kid, aren’t ya?”

“What?”

“You know, one minute you’re just a kooky high school outsider, you play a board game or whatever that gets everyone a little spooked, yadda yadda yadda, now you’ve up and started a satanic cult?”

Eddie feels a flicker of anger through his trepidation. “I didn’t start a—”

“Phew, relax,” the increasingly annoying stranger says. “I’m just messing with you.”

Maybe the fucker can somehow sense the way Eddie is gripping the phone tightly, or maybe the silence just speaks volumes, because when he starts talking again, he actually sounds a little apologetic.

“So. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot here. Sorry. It’s been a wild few years, kid, my sense of humour’s shot. Name’s Murray. I’m a friend of Jim’s? Jim Hopper?”

And at that, Eddie feels some of his anger start to cool. He trusts Hopper, trusts the way him and Joyce looked out for Steve; knows that Hopper wouldn’t have given him this number lightly.

So maybe he can trust this Murray, too. Even if the guy’s pissing him off.

“It’s Eddie, right?” Murray prompts. “You called for a reason, huh?”

Ring if there’s any trouble.

Eddie pushes the lingering irritation aside and takes a deep breath—tells him about Nancy, about Jason holding her at gunpoint.

“Ah,” Murray says, and there’s more of an edge to his voice now, like he actually cares, and Eddie thinks good. “She, ah, neglected to mention that. Okay.”

The rapid scratching of a ballpoint pen against paper. “I’ll speed up some things. Sounds like his parents have got a troubled young man on their hands—they’ll wanna uproot sooner rather than later. For his own good.”

Eddie can’t help it; he shakes his head in disbelief. “What, just like that?”

“Look, I don’t have a magic wand, but… you’d be surprised at how easily certain folks take… uh, well, bribes would sound unseemly to them. Let’s say they’ll come to an agreement.”

“…Okay,” Eddie says, hesitant.

Murray hums in response; Eddie can hear the creak of a swivel chair, like he’s leaning back against it.

“There’s eyes on him, got it? Trust me when I say there’s lotsa people that just want all of this to go away, nice and quietly. And uh, I’ve been round the block a few times. Got enough leverage to take a story, water it down until it’s just ripples in the pond, softly softly, yeah? No big, crazy headlines this time. Target’s off your back.”

Eddie pauses. Presses the phone against his forehead. I understood, like, fucking none of that.

“And… Hopper trusts you with—everything?”

Murray laughs. “I know, it’s a miracle. I jest, I jest. Yeah, he does. Look, from what I’ve heard, you kids have been through the ringer. Let us handle some of it.”

Eddie breathes out. Jumps when he hears a knock at the door, relaxes at the sound of Dustin’s persistently upbeat shave and a haircut rhythm.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats, sounding a little more certain. “Uh. Thanks. Thank you. For… yeah. There’s—I’d better—”

Murray laughs again. “Oh, that’s right, you’re with Steve.” His voice goes singsong and reedy when he says Steve’s name.

Eddie frowns. “Yeah, what’s that supposed to—”

“Nothing, nothing. Well, Mr Not A Cult Leader, I won’t keep ya. Anything crops up, just call and I’ll be… well, I’ve got karate on Fridays, 1 to 3. That one’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid.”

Eddie huffs out a bemused laugh. “I mean, no offence or anything, but I hope I don’t have to call you.” He fiddles with the phone cord, mutters, “Just kinda want a quiet life, y’know?”

Murray chuckles. “Yeah, kid. I can respect that.”

-

When he reaches the top of the stairs, the front door’s already wide open, Dustin leading from the front as the whole troop of kids surge through the hallway. They’re chatting all over the top of each other, chaotic and joyful, and as they reach the kitchen, he hears Robin call out a gleeful, “Hey, it’s the von Trapps!”

And Eddie can’t help thinking that maybe all of this feels a bit like a Christmas movie, actually.

He shuts the front door, gets a glimpse of what looks like a pizza van driving away.

When he turns around, Max is standing there alone. She’s looking down at the floor, fidgeting with one of her hoodie sleeves.

“Is Steve charging you rent yet?” she asks.

Eddie smiles. “Don’t tell him, think he forgot to. I kinda like freeloading.”

There’s a pause, and then she darts forward. It’s quick, barely lasts a couple of seconds before she disappears off to the living room—but Eddie has just enough time to squeeze her shoulders and murmur, “You’re good, Red.” -

El has the casting vote in them deciding to watch Mary Poppins—“You only chose that cause she can move stuff like you,” Will teases, to which Mike laughs, no longer as quiet as before.

Eddie catches his eye through the rowdiness and Mike nods with a little smile.

“See him?” Robin says, nudging Dustin when a little dog in a checked jacket appears on screen. “That’s you.”

Lucas starts giggling, and that soon makes Max break, too—a little reserved, but it’s still a welcome, bright sound.

Eddie’s fetching the ice-cream Erica had brought, when he hears Steve come up behind him.

“Harrington, go away.”

“Wow, what a charmer.”

“I mean it! Go sit down.” Eddie indicates the tubs of ice-cream, says, “Think I can handle this.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve raises an eyebrow, smiling. “Where are the spoons then?”

Eddie very confidently throws open a drawer at random.

Steve’s smile broadens. “Cool, I’ve always wanted to eat ice-cream with a can opener.”

“You can go off some people, y’know.” Eddie heaves a defeated sigh. “Fine, show me where the spoons reside in your maze of a kitchen.”

It’s when he’s turning for the correct drawer that Steve indicated—“On your left… your other left, dude,”—that Eddie hears it.

Gentle humming.

It stops and starts, skips past a few notes. Repeats the chorus just because, at a relaxed pace, like someone taking a stroll through the song. But Eddie recognises it. Would know it anywhere.

“Steve,” he says, almost a whisper—and when he turns back round, he sees Steve’s eyes widen a little in surprise, and the humming stops.

Oh, you didn’t even know you were doing it.

“Yeah, funny story,” Steve says lightly. He reaches past Eddie, opening the cutlery drawer, rummaging for spoons. Humming again.

God, you make it sound so… happy, Eddie thinks.

“There was this guy,” Steve says, all nonchalant, but his lips are twitching. “I don’t know, man, he just kept singing. Couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Eddie manages to smile. He pretends that one of the ice-cream lids is stuck, buys himself enough time so his voice is steady when he speaks.

“That sounds really annoying.”

Steve laughs. “No, I don’t think so. It… He was the best.”

-

By the time everyone else leaves, one side of Steve’s cast is covered in signatures and doodles; there’s even a game of tic-tac-toe with ‘FUCK’ underneath in capital letters, presumably in response to whoever won.

Eddie’s secret favourite comes in the form of two little stick figures holding popcorn: Max and Lucas arranging to go to the movies.

“There’s space,” Steve says, gesturing to the markers Will left behind, “if you wanna…”

And Eddie knows an invitation when he hears one.

He gets the idea as he’s reaching for a pen, briefly closes his eyes to recall the class of ‘85.

Steve catches on after the second signature, laughs. “Woah, are those—? How do you even remember…?” He points. “You even got how she dotted her ‘i’s with a heart.”

Eddie shrugs at the praise, pauses in thought before adding another scribble. It’s shaping up okay, this imagined replica of Steve’s yearbook.

“I’ve gotten good at forging notes. Another little money earner.”

Steve raises an eyebrow in interest. “Notes?”

“You know, like, hall passes, doctor’s notes… Unlike certain weirdos in this room, some people wanted to get out of gym.”

“Ha ha. Okay, but this is more than doctor’s notes, Eddie.”

“Uh, yeah, I can—memorise handwriting, I guess?”

“More than guess, dude. Shit, you could steal someone’s credit card with this.”

Eddie smirks. “I pinky swear that I’ve only used my skills to facilitate truancy.” He doodles a few stars, adds more thoughtfully, “I’ve signed many a yearbook in my time.”

“You didn’t sign mine.”

Eddie looks up, grinning. “Oh? Do I detect a note of offence, there, Harrington? You never asked me to.”

He imagines for a moment, with faint amusement, what that would’ve been like—the looks they would’ve gotten if Steve handed his yearbook over to him. Then he wonders if that would’ve even mattered.

“Oh, hold on,” Eddie says, “gotta make it realistic.”

He leans forward and adds a bunch of hearts to a few of the girls’ signatures, cackles when he rounds everything off with some ‘xoxo’s.

When he looks over, Steve’s face is going red. “Oh my god, literally none of them did that.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“High school crushes don’t even mean anything, dude.”

Eddie snorts. He’s overheard enough cafeteria gossip to presume otherwise. “Interesting premise. Continue.”

Steve stutters. “I mean it! I guarantee half the time, more than, they—the whole thing happened just ‘cause I was there, I could’ve been anyone. You dick, stop laughing!” “Jesus Christ, Steve.” Eddie’s stomach hurts; he can’t stop giggling. “I guarantee you that no-one was crushing on King Steve just ‘cause of, like, general proximity.”

General proximity, Steve mouths mockingly, but there’s still a pink tint to his cheeks. “Uh, thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”

Eddie’s giggles finally start to abate. He puts a cap on the marker he’s holding, tosses it aside. “You know,” he starts, trails off with another little laugh, “I used to think you were playing the long game with that nickname. Like, you started it as an elaborate ploy to get Prom King.”

Steve chuckles. “Oh, jeez. I didn’t even want Prom King, man, not really.”

“Yeah, don’t blame you. Christ, that shit was boring. Almost considered pulling a Carrie, just to make it more lively. ‘Cept chocolate pudding or something instead of pig’s blood.”

Steve gives a joking nod of approval. “God, that movie. Y’know we put it on at work, and Robin said the worst bit is the waiting, like for the bucket to fall? The suspense?”

“Yeah.” Eddie tilts his head, considers Steve. “You don’t think so?”

Steve shrugs. His smile turns bittersweet. “Guess I’m used to waiting for things to, um… happen.”

Unbidden, Eddie thinks of Steve sitting cross-legged in his bedroom, managing to smile, to laugh right before—

“Robin hated the whole scene, the build-up, everything. Kept complaining ‘bout the bottom dropping out of her stomach.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“See, I told her she was wrong though! ‘Cause in that whole movie, the blood, the powers, whatever—”

“The deaths?” Eddie says wryly.

Steve waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Still, outta all of that, the scariest thing is the mom, right? You know.” His voice lowers in a hushed imitation: “They’re all gonna laugh at you. God, I ignored, like, three customers in a row while that scene played.”

Eddie tries not to stare. He picks at a thread on the couch, considers the thought that horror isn’t just blood and screams. That it can be quiet, too.

Steve gives a long sigh. Whispers, as if to himself, “Lighten up.” Then he says, louder, “What were we talking about, before?”

Eddie thinks. Makes a face. “Crushes.”

Steve laughs like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Oh yeah, that’s right. Okay, back to crushes, then.”

“Ugh. Must we?”

“I kinda thought I had a crush on Robin.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinks a few times in quick succession. “Shit, man, I’m sorry.”

But Steve scoffs with a smile. “Would you listen?” he says, and it sounds a bit like when their damn French teacher would stress, “Écouter et répéter!” He throws a stray pen at Eddie. “I said I thought I had a crush on Robin. Thought.”

Eddie catches the pen. Throws it back. “Okay, okay. Listening. Uh. Why…?”

Steve huffs in contemplation. “Well, I kinda thought that’s what people do, right? Y’know, summer vacation, nothing else to do but, like, go to the mall. Catch a movie. Look at someone and think oh yeah, it’s you. You know what I mean?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, and he intends for it to sound flippant, but he doesn’t think he achieves that at all. If anything, he sounds quietly amused—fond even. Can’t help but be a little charmed by the thought of Steve viewing summer like that, all rose-tinted and hopeful.

And you say I’m the romantic.

“You were the one living the ‘All-American boy’ life, Steve. You tell me.”

Steve laughs, wrinkles his nose. “Pretty sure I wasn’t, man. So then, I spilled to her. And, uh, obviously like, you know, it wasn’t gonna happen. But then I…” He laughs again, tender. “I felt relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause… I don’t know, I’m shit at explaining this kinda stuff. The whole summer, I thought well, I’m a guy, she’s a girl, she makes me laugh, guess that’s just how it goes. And then when… I realised oh, I can just. We can still, like, hang out? She can still make me laugh, and I—I don’t have to… we can just be friends. And I—I liked that we could just… be like that. Loved it. Still do. Is… is that weird?”

“Nah.” In all honesty, Eddie thinks that’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever heard. “No weirder than me, anyway.”

He takes a deep breath, then realises for once that this isn’t scary. With Steve, it isn’t scary.

“I guess I’ve always sorta… known who I liked.” He smiles, adds tongue in cheek, “I know you think high school crushes don’t mean anything, but—”

“Ignore me, man,” Steve says quickly. “I didn’t mean—I was just talking about, like, the stupid shit.”

“Relax, I’m just teasing you. Well, my first… it was earlier, actually, in middle school. This boy… he moved outta state that Christmas, but… Damn, it’s silly. He lent me a pencil. Said I could keep it. And then I—” Eddie exhales, laughs. “Couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes. And then… that’s how I knew.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly. And that’s all he says, his lips parted like Eddie has told him something precious.

Eddie smiles, happiness and sadness battling it out. “Then, uh… well, I caught on pretty quick. Worked out that I couldn’t exactly… I wasn’t ever gonna be dancing with who I wanted to at prom, y’know?”

Steve lets out a forceful sigh. “The fact that—” And then it’s like the words choke him for a moment, because he has to start again. “The fact that some people can’t—can’t—” He swallows, adds a disjointed, “That they can’t—just because other people are awful makes me—” Another sigh, a little shakier than the first. “Makes me really fucking angry, sometimes.”

“Well shit, Steve,” Eddie says faintly, because it looks like Steve might actually cry over him, which… he doesn’t know what to do with that. “Don’t get cut up about it. I’m fine.”

“I know you’re…” Steve tips his head against one of the cushions, like he’s trying to hide his face. “Just… just let me be sad about it, Eddie. And it’s not—” He frowns, clearly mulling something over, so Eddie doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t mean it like a poor you, if only you weren’t… kinda thing, okay? The world sucks. Not you.”

“Got it,” Eddie murmurs.

He slowly travels up the couch, until him and Steve are side by side. Steve turns his face away, but the hidden tears on his lower lash line are revealed in the light.

“Hey,” Eddie says gently. He reaches out and catches the tears with his thumb. “It’s not worth that, sweetheart.”

Steve closes his eyes. Opens them. “Yeah, it is,” he says. It sounds like Yeah, you are.

Eddie smiles. He brushes away any tears that have clung on, just a couple trickling down Steve’s face. “Sweet of you to say so.” You’re sweet.

Steve smiles. Winces a little. “Not really. Check my yearbook, man. I was a real asshole.”

“Now why would I do that,” Eddie says, “when I could just look right at you?”

And he can tell that Steve’s taken the wrong thing from that entirely—spots the way he looks down.

So, fuck it. Eddie says the next thought out loud, as clearly as he can. Keeps his hand cupping Steve’s cheek for a second longer, even though the tears are gone.

“You wanna know what I think? Too bad, I’m telling you anyway. I think… that you’re a kind soul, Steve Harrington.”

Steve blinks. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The silence says it all. You’d be one of the first to say so.

“And you know me,” Eddie says, knocks their foreheads together until he feels Steve let out a quiet laugh. “My word is God, so. You better believe it.”

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin buckley #steve and robin #eddie and robin #murray bauman #eddie and murray #eddie and max

[sapphic-bats]

INSPIRED BY THIS!!!

Murray’s been without a drink for far too many days.

Sure, it’s been two, but he’s been doing a lot of crazy shit in that vast amount of time. Decoding, logistics, hell, he’d even been on lookout.

So what if it was twelve-thirty in the morning? He was in desperate need of some vodka. Stat.

So he rounded the corner to the Wheelers' kitchen, still slightly groggy and glooming over his drink-less hand.

To see two very recognizable people making out against the wall.

At first, he stared, stopping in his tracks. He couldn't particularly make out who they were in the dark, and with his sleep-fogged brain. But then it hit him. All at once, like a truck careening full-speed at him in the dead of night.

As soon as he knew, his surprise and confusion melted away in a mere instant.

Will, nor Mike, seemed to know he was there. Leaning into the kiss with eyes shut gently yet tightly, the former had the latter pressed firmly against the wall, heads moving with their lips as their fervent kissing progressed, Mike's hands on Will's cheeks and Will's, in turn, on Mike's waist. They were deep into it, unaware of their (unfortunate) surroundings, and clearly didn't hear Murray's somehow-quiet shuffling into the night-cast kitchen.

Murray, completely unimpressed, quickly scanned the countertops for his familiar bottle of Slotichnaya. He remembered that he'd last left it in the living room, much to the complaints of Ted Wheeler, who somehow wasn't aware of the apocalypse that had dawned on their heads.

He raised his brows, unphased, and silently retrieved a glass from the cupboards. He slunk out of the kitchen, of course, mumbling to himself,

"I always fucking call it."

(LMAO should I write a prequel to this where Murray only insinuated to someone else that they were dating?? In full canon to the post that inspired this.)

#byler #will byers #mike wheeler #murray bauman #stranger things #st5 #stranger things 5 #byler fic #byler ficlet #byler gets murrayed #technically #but not really

[eddie-sweetheart]

Spare me! - Part 2

You and Eddie have a crush on each other, but it takes Murray Bauman to make it embarrassingly clear.

✨ Part 1 ✨

Tropes: Eddie Munson x Henderson female reader, fluff, Murray exposing your feelings, forced proximity, a very soft Eddie.

Warnings: Mention and/or depiction of fighting and wounds, kissing, teeny-tiny diversion from the show’s timeline (this one’s more about the concept than the overall S4 plot😉).

Word count: 3.8k

Author’s notes: Here's part 2, kindly (and unexpectedly!) requested by an anon 🤍 I hope it makes as much sense as part 1 did - there were many types of dynamics that I could go for, but I let the inspiration flow and did my best! Hope you like it!

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

When you open up your eyes again, it feels like you haven’t slept for more than ten minutes. 

As your eyelids flicker open and you try to make sense of the shapes and shadows in the still pitch-dark guest room at Murray’s place, you catch a glimpse of a digital clock on a shelf across from the bed, whose green blinking leds reveal to you that it’s 7 am. Which means that those ten minutes of sleep have actually been 3 hours - not that it makes any relevant difference, anyways: you still feel like a bundle of exhaustion.

You attempt to move and stir your tired limbs under the blanket, but you soon realize two things. First, that the thrill of being on the run won’t let you rest any longer, so you give up on closing your eyes again as your mind starts coming out of its drowsy daze; second, that you actually cannot move.

Something is keeping you stuck, and at first you’re still too sleepy to make sense of what it is - however, as the sudden fluttering in your heart and the butterflies in your stomach are quick to remind you, it doesn’t take much for you to find out that it’s Eddie. 

The memories of last night’s confession and kiss flood your mind, as you realize that your bodies are entangled in the same embrace that saw you fall asleep - his long legs twisted around yours, one of his arms slung over your chest with his hand placed on your waist, his warm skin against yours under the thick cotton of the sweatshirt you’re wearing. You can feel his other arm under your neck and his fingers buried deep in your hair. His face, instead, is nuzzled against your temple, his deep breaths regularly fanning over your forehead, paired with the soft sound of his light snoring.  

You lie like that for a while, staring at the ceiling and just basking in happiness at the thought that just a few hours ago one of your most secret wishes magically turned into reality. It feels surreal to be this ecstatic in such a tragic time - with the Upside Down seeping back into Hawkins, a new monster on the hunt for your friends and the whole town looking for Eddie with (not so) metaphorical pitchforks. But you allow yourself a few more minutes of motionless bliss, feeling Eddie’s presence as it ignites every inner part of you with his sleepy touch. 

When the clock flashes to 7:30 am, you decide that it’s best to get up and start getting ready to leave. You have time, sure, but you’ll need to walk for a while and even if Eddie has recovered a bit he won’t be as fast as he was before his close encounter with Jason’s crew.

With a reluctant sigh, you attempt to move a leg. You manage to untangle it from Eddie’s, so you try to wiggle out of his grasp with caution, unwilling to wake him up as he’ll need all the rest he can get. However, as soon as you start moving away from him, a low “mhm” escapes his lips as his arms softly tighten around your body, causing you to smile in the dark. 

You go for a second attempt, but it proves to be an impossible task: Eddie grunts a bit louder and moves his head to bury it against your neck, taking a deep breath in before muttering something with a raspy voice. 

“What was that?” You whisper, stroking his tangled hair away from his only exposed cheek, your fingers brushing against the polka dot bandaid you placed on him last night. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Eddie repeats, his lips tickling your skin as he speaks while his hand moves up your side in the gentlest caress ever. 

“I’m getting up, Eddie” you reply, wishing with all your heart that you could stay in that bed forever. “I’m going to make breakfast for us and Murray, get our stuff and get ready to leave. But you can rest a bit more”.

Eddie hums, bringing you even closer to him as his eyes finally flutter open - you can’t see them, but you know they are because you can feel his eyelashes grazing your cheek. 

“I’ve just managed to score the most perfect elvish princess in the whole of Middle Earth and she’s already leaving me” he mumbles, his lips smirking against your skin as he plants a soft kiss on your jaw. “It does really take a little to go from Eddie the Banished to Eddie the Forsaken”. 

You chuckle, softly bumping him with your arm  - he matches your laugh, but he cannot hide the hiss of pain that escapes him as your elbow meets his side. 

“Shit, I’m sorry Eddie” you blurt out, fully turning your body towards him to gently stroke the spot you’ve just hit. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart” he replies, nudging his nose against yours. “You could kiss me better, though”.

“God, you’re shameless” you breathe out as you go ahead and, indeed, kiss him. As your lips crash against Eddie’s, you feel every inch of your body light up like Christmas lights. The darkness of the room heightens your senses and you can feel him everywhere - his fingers sneaking under your shirt, his hair tickling your face, his chest breathing heavily under the palms of your hands, his teeth slightly pulling at your lower lip and your breaths mixing up and slowly turning into low moans. It’s a totalizing whirlwind of emotions, and you would die to tear every piece of clothing off of your bodies to feel him even closer - but more pressing matters come back to your mind and you find yourself eventually pulling away from him. 

Eddie sighs deeply as he unwillingly loosens his embrace to let you sit up. “I wish we could stay like this all day” he whispers, nervously running one hand up his face and through his hair. “The thought of going out there again makes me feel like shit”. 

You reach out to him in the dim light of the room, your fingers intertwining with his as the first faint sun rays start filtering through the thick blinds in the window. “Let’s make a deal” you propose. “As soon as we sort this Vecna thing out, you’re taking me out on a date. We can have dinner, if you want - there’s a nice Italian restaurant downtown that I’ve been wanting to try for a while. Or, we can have a milkshake at the diner. Your choice”. 

Eddie’s grin is so bright that it outshines the sunrise seeping into the room. 

“But,” you continue, matching his smile with a gentle curve of your lips, “in order to go to this date, we need you to be safe and alive. And with your name cleared, possibly”.

“Wouldn’t want the whole Hawkins police department to swarm Enzo’s while I’m pouring you some red wine and feeding you a breadstick, right?” Eddie jokes, the scenario he’s just described causing butterflies to make another appearance in your stomach.

“Yeah” you reply, leaning down to peck the tip of his nose before getting off the bed, “I might get offended if you leave me mid-date. Not very gentleman-like, to be honest”.

Eddie clutches his chest theatrically. “Y/n” he exclaims under his breath, “I would never”.

You manage to repress your laugh as you head towards the door. “I’ll take you up on that, then” you say, pointing a finger at him, “and don’t forget the flowers”. 

As you place your hand on the doorknob, however, a feeling of discomfort suddenly hits you, making the playful confidence that you so naturally developed overnight with Eddie waver at the thought of what the consequences of this change in your relationship could bring.

It’s not that you are ashamed of being with Eddie - on the contrary, it feels otherworldly that he actually returns your feelings, and you can’t be happier at the thought of eventually letting your friends know about… whatever this is, or whatever this can turn into. But for a split second, you wonder if these feelings between the two of you could turn into a double-edged sword, hanging over your necks as long as Eddie’s a wanted man.

And just like that, it clicks. You realize that you’ve lived these past few hours into what is nothing but a frail bubble of happiness and renewed hope, hidden under the guise of Murray’s guest room, and that right outside that door and into the real world everything is going to be exactly as it was before you went to sleep. Moreover, you now fear that if anyone else found out about your feelings, they could use them as a weapon, or use you as bait, to hurt Eddie. And you really can’t and don’t want to let it happen.

“Uhm, Eddie?” You whisper, suddenly coming out of your train of thoughts.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asks, making the mattress creak as he moves to get up as well, a hint of worry in his voice as he catches the change in your tone.

“Maybe you should wait a bit before coming in there” you slowly explain, “like, count to one hundred or something. I don’t know if Murray’s up already, but I think that it’s better if he doesn’t, uh… suspect anything, for now. And the others, as well. For our safety, of course” you’re quick to add with a reassuring smile as you notice his expression saddening a bit, “I think that we should be very careful about our next moves. Keep our cards close to ourselves, not giving anyone anything to hold over us until we’re sure you’re safe”.

Eddie nods slowly, scratching his temple. “Uh, yeah” he agrees, “It, uhm - it makes sense. So we should, like, pretend that everything is… the same, right?”

“I think so, yes” you reply, “until we figure out what’s next”.

Eddie sits back on the mattress with a sigh, making it creak under his weight. You wait for him to give you a sign that he’s ok and that he actually agrees, and the sign finally comes as one of his breathtaking smiles.

“I’ve never been that good at maths”, he finally states, his head tilted to the side as he speaks, “but I think I can count until one hundred”.

—♥︎—

“Good morning, y/n” Murray loudly exclaims as you make your way out of the guest room.

“Hello, Murray” you reply, a bit taken aback by his presence - and by the delicious smell invading your nostrils as you take a step into the living room. It’s coming from the kitchenette, where Murray is noisily fiddling around with a stained apron tied to his waist.

“Did you sleep well?” He very casually asks you, his eyes peering from behind his shoulders as he throws something (salt?) into a pan. 

“Uhm, yes, thank you” you reply, taking a few steps towards him. “Can I help you with anything?” 

“Yes. Will you grab the eggs in the fridge for me please?” He tells you, eyes back on the strips of bacon you’ve just found out he’s been cooking. “Thirty” he then adds, throwing a quick glance at his wristwatch. 

You furrow your eyebrows at him as you open the fridge and grab a pack of eggs. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Murray blatantly ignores your question and, as you place the eggs on the counter beside him, he proceeds to nod to his right. “Could you also get the bread from the toaster as soon as it’s ready? You can find the plates in the cupboard - sixty”

You don’t know what is going on with him and why he’s saying random numbers out loud, but you decide to ignore him and proceed to set up the table.

“Ninety” Murray says, again, and the toaster dings revealing four slices of slightly overburnt bread. As you reach for them to put them on a plate, it finally makes sense - but it’s too late. 

“One hundred!” Murray exclaims, turning around with a twist just as the guest room door opens to reveal an apparently still sleepy Eddie, back in his usual clothes. 

You blush violently as Murray lays his victorious gaze on you. “Knew it” he exclaims with a grin, pointing a fork in your direction before proceeding to steal the plate with the toast from you and placing the sizzling bacon next to the bread. 

“You could have chosen a less predictable number, though” he adds, turning back to the stove to crack the eggs in the pan. 

Eddie looks at you inquisitively, not uttering a single word as you sigh heavily and head back into the guest room to get changed into your own clothes. 

“Nothing better than a good serving of romantic denial in the morning” Murray chants as he scrambles the eggs. “Oh, you may want to take a look at that” he quickly adds, addressing Eddie and nodding towards an open copy of the Hawkins Post on the table. 

Eddie sits down and starts flicking back through the pages until he reaches the front: the huge title, spelling “GOVERNMENT JOINS MURDERER SEARCH”, is very hard to miss, anyway. 

“Fuck” Eddie hisses in desperation as he reads the article, “shit, shit, shit. I’m fucked” he exclaims, dropping the newspaper to bury his face into his hands. 

“Don’t worry, kid” Murray chips in, turning to serve the eggs on the three plates on the table before plopping down on a chair himself, “if we made it out of a Russian secret laboratory alive after causing an explosion that tore down a whole shopping mall and a giant monster, you can make it through this” he says with a consoling tone, “at least you got the girl of your dreams, right?”

“He didn’t get anyone, Murray” you almost yell, emerging from the guest room with yesterday’s outfit back on - but, as soon as you notice the defeat in Eddie’s eyes, you worriedly rush to his side. 

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” You ask him, placing a hand on the back of the chair where he’s sitting. He nods towards the newspaper and you grimace as soon as you read the title. 

“We’ll fix this” you state, inadvertently moving your hand from the chair to his shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “We’ll contact doctor Owens, he’ll make this go away”. 

“He was fired though, wasn’t he?” Murray interjects, his mouth full of eggs and bacon. You look at him with a death glare, eloquent enough to make him backtrack almost instantly. “But we’ll find a way, for sure” he quickly adds, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth. 

Eddie looks up at you, his brown puppy eyes half covered by his messy fringe. “You think you can do that?” He asks you, the lines in his face relaxing for a second. 

“Yes, we can. He’ll know what to do” you reply, willing to give him even the tiniest sliver of hope, if that’s enough to keep him going. “But right now, you have to eat something. You’ll need all the strength you can get” you tell him, earning a tentative nod in response. 

You sit at the table as well and start to nibble at the food - which is unexpectedly good. And it surprises you how it manages to bring you comfort, making you feel more energized and improving your mood already. 

“Can you, uhm, pass me the orange juice?” Eddie asks you, nodding at the bottle to your right. 

“Mh-mh” you mumble in response, avoiding his gaze as you hand the juice over to him across the table, Murray’s piercing gaze burning through you. 

“Thanks, swee- uh, y/n” Eddie replies, his hand almost missing the bottle once he moves to grab it, as he, too, is avoiding looking in your general direction not to raise any suspicion. Of course, it doesn’t help that Murray’s eyes are studying your every movement, making the atmosphere so tense and embarrassing at the same time that you fear you might burst out into a laugh any second now. 

Thankfully, the silence that follows makes it easier for you to stay serious. Now even Murray is back to focusing on his breakfast, so between one forkful and the other, you feel free to occasionally glimpse at Eddie - and you come to the conclusion that pretending that nothing between you two has happened is going to be way harder than you thought.

Just by glancing at him, you feel your neck and cheeks heating up. It doesn’t matter that he’s quite disheveled, with messy hair, dark circles around his eyes (one turning slightly yellow from the punch he received yesterday) and a crinkled Hellfire shirt. He looks unexpectedly and incredibly good, and not just because of the subtle beauty in his looks, which is always there - but also and especially because of how brave and resilient you know him to be.

You tell yourself that it’s not exactly the right time to think about this kind of things, but you can’t help your gaze from following the movements of his hands and fingers as they slightly drum the fork on the plate, and the way his nose scrunches up as a random thought travels through his mind. And just like that a thought (or better, a memory) travels through your mind, too - and suddenly you’re back in the guest room bed, with his hands all over you, and his mouth exploring yours-

“Dear god, y/n” Murray exclaims, tiny crumbles of bread flying as he slams a hand on the table, “Was it really that good?”

Realization dawns on you as you find out with horror that you’ve been staring into the void with a smile plastered on your lips, a piece of bacon hanging from your fork in mid-air.

You instantly look at Eddie, who is blushing slightly and has his eyes fixed on the last piece of toast on his plate. Hidden beneath the hair that’s falling around his face like a wavy curtain, his lips are curled in a small smirk. 

“I, uh… I’ll start putting the dishes away, yeah?” You blurt out as you jump to your feet, purposefully looking at the clock above the fridge before grabbing your plate. “Then I think we should start moving”.

“As you wish” Murray agrees, “Just make sure to take your jaw as well - I think it’s fallen on the floor” he adds, snickering to himself as he follows your lead and gets up, heading towards the bathroom and locking himself in. 

“Well, that’s a heeeell of a good start” Eddie observes, tilting his head to the side as he helps you pile the plates and collect the cutlery before placing everything in the sink. “Is he always like that?”

You sigh, already exhausted even if the day’s just started. “Yes, he is” you nod, leaning back on the counter, arms crossed on your chest. “But he’s just… Murray. So I guess that’s okay” you smile. He might be annoying sometimes, but Murray is someone you can always count on - so you’re definitely glad that he’s on your side, even with his unforgiving honesty. 

Eddie takes a step towards you. He’s towering over you now, and he places a hand flat on your head, slightly ruffling your hair. “Soooo” he says, the lilt in his voice and the smirk on his lips making your heart skip a beat, “what were you thinking that made you smile like that?”.

“Don’t even try that, Munson. I’m not going to flatter you that easily” You reply as you swat his hand away, scoffing jokingly - but your fingers find themselves intertwined with Eddie’s, the metal of his rings hard against your skin. 

Eddie lets out a small laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, if there’s one thing that you should know is that flattery wooorks with me” he says, pulling you closer. You get lost in his eyes for a second, then your gaze travels down to his lips…

The sound of the bathroom door unlocking makes you both jump away from each other. 

“Alright, lady and gentleman. Time to go” Murray exclaims as he walks back into the living room, clapping his hands while his narrowed eyes scan your way too casual expressions. “The plane is not going to wait for me and I’m not going to miss my flight because of you two lovebirds. So, door’s that way - chop chop”.

“Murray” you sigh, “for the umpteenth time, we’re not-“

“Ah-ha!” Murray shushes you, putting his hands up with annoyance. “Don’t you dare, y/n. My poor old eyes have seen enough in twenty minutes to know that you’ve lovingly spent the night in each other’s arms, whispering sweet nothings and puckering your lips all the goddamn time. And as much as I find that way too cheesy, you know there’s nothing wrong with admitting that you’re so into each other you can’t even eat breakfast, right?” He blurts out. “I swear to god I don’t know what’s wrong with young people today. In my time, we preached free love and we had no problem saying we were sexually act-“

“OKAY” you interrupt him, not really wanting to know how that speech ends, “Okay, Murray, I got it. We got it” you say with a big fake smile, looking at Eddie for support. He, on his part, proceeds to hide his embarrassment with a cough and grabs his leather jacket and denim vest from the sofa, where they’ve been lying since last night. 

“Aaaall ready to go” he then states, as calmly as if nothing weird has been said, before turning to Murray with his hand held out. “Thanks, man” he adds, “I owe you one”. 

Murray shakes it with a sigh. “Mi casa es tu casa” he replies, “but now, please, leave”.

—♥︎—

The metal door of Murray’s warehouse closes behind you with a bang. In front of you, across from the empty street, the woods are waiting. 

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what’s to come. 

“Ready?” You ask Eddie, turning your head to look up at him. 

“It’s not like I have any other options” he says with a small smile, the light morning breeze making his hair waver as they brush on his shoulders. “But yes” he adds, his hand intertwining with yours and squeezing it softly. “I’m ready”.

You take a few careful steps, cross the road with a quick jog and disappear into the woods, hand in hand. 

—♥︎—

Hope you liked it :) Feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @copycatkillerfics

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #murray bauman

[lightwoodbanethings]

Murrayed

AO3

Part two || part three || part four || part five

Oh hey, I wrote something based off of this post I made a while ago!

Keep reading for some Murray and Steddie shenanigans!

Things had calmed down since the final showdown with Vecna, at least calmed down in an ‘upside down’ sense. Hawkins had slowly been stitched back together and the community had rallied together in a way no one had expected, but had been pleasantly surprised by. The actual party was still as chaotic as ever, especially with the Hopper-Byers clan merging together and moving back to Hawkins. But things were normal, or as normal as they could be. 

Everyone had now been introduced to each other during the months that had followed saving the world and they were like one big, happy and dysfunctional family. Some were closer than others and some formed unexpected friendships. If anyone had told Robin half a year ago she’d consider Miss Nancy ‘the priss’ Wheeler a close friend, she would have laughed in their face. But here the girls were, having sleepovers and talking about unsolved crimes and their love for solving mysteries. Then of course there was Steve and Eddie, The King and The Freak respectively. Dustin had been over the moon about his two favourite older friends bonding, though a little annoyed at times that it meant they had less time for him.

Once the chaos after the ‘almost end of the world’ had settled, Murray had been invited to the Hopper-Byers housewarming BBQ and was very impressed with Hopper and Joyce’s new place. Due to everything that had happened in Hawkins the past few years, housing prices had plummeted and so the merged family had managed to get a really good deal on a beautiful home that had plenty of space for the family and guests. The backyard in particular was stunning, Joyce had planted bright rows of flowers and there was a decently sized pool and lounging area. 

As Murray arrived, almost everyone was already here and Hopper had already got the BBQ going and had made a start on the food. He was wearing a ridiculous apron that read ‘kiss the cook, but don’t touch the buns!’ and looked as though he was showing El how to cook using the grill. Murray couldn’t help but smile at the pair, Hopper seemed to be glowing with pride as El used a spatula to turn over one of the burger patties. 

“‘scuse me”

Murray stepped to the side to let a slightly disheveled Joyce pass, carrying a bowl of salad in her arms whilst grasping some spoons in one of her hands. He watched her place the salad bowl on a nearby table and put the spoons into what he assumed to be various dips. Murray could tell Joyce had been rushing around to set everything up and make it perfect, she didn’t even acknowledge him when she hurried back inside the house, presumably to grab more food. 

Jonathan and Argyle were sitting on the edge of the pool, Jonathan's trousers rolled up and Argyle in a pair of shorts as their feet dangled into the water. Will and Dustin were engaged in conversation whilst a confused looking Steve stood by them, arms folded across his chest and brows furrowed as though he was trying hard to follow the conversation. Max was laid on a sun lounger whilst Lucas sat at the bottom of it with her feet in his lap, resting on his hands that were stretched out behind him. Robin and Nancy were standing near a table of drinks chatting, though Robin mainly seemed to be the one doing the talking. Nancy didn’t seem to mind, smiling and nodding her head as she listened and watched Robin throw her arms around excitedly. Murray almost didn’t spot the youngest of the bunch floating on their back in the pool, Erica. The one who Murray, though he would never admit this to anyone, was low key terrified of but also made him rather proud at the same time. He was sure she was going to end up running the country at some point. 

He couldn’t spot the younger Wheeler sibling anywhere, which quite frankly he preferred. He could see how it was tearing Will up watching his best friend playing boyfriend (albeit it badly) to his sister. 

As Murray made his way over to the table of food, offering Hopper a curt nod on his way, his attention was suddenly brought back to the house as a boisterous figure entered the backyard through the patio doors.

“Don’t worry folks, your jester has arrived!” and with a dramatic bow, Eddie Munson had arrived at the BBQ. 

Even in the middle of the scolding summer, the young man was still wearing his battle vest over his t-shirt (though his t-shirt did at least have short sleeves) and ridiculously tight black jeans.

Murray rolled his eyes and went to put his attention back on the food but as he glanced over he noticed something. Dustin was gesturing and calling for Eddie to come over with a big grin on his face and little Byers was smiling towards him too, but their reactions weren’t what stood out to Murray. Oh no. It was Steve Harrington’s reaction that caught his eye. As the charismatic metal head made his way over, Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He had relaxed his arms and let them fall to his sides and had the most genuine smile on his face. Murray recognised the sparkle in his eyes as Eddie ruffled both the younger boys' hair before moving in to hug Steve. The hug lasted on the side of a little bit too long and Steve continued to smile brightly and keep his focus on Eddie as his little proteges brought him into their conversation. 

Murray let out a little sigh and shook his head as he smiled to himself, he reached into the pocket of his shorts and took out a small flask. 

“Here we go again…” he muttered to himself before throwing his head back and taking a big glug from the liquid in the flask. 

#stranger things #murray bauman #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve and eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #getting murrayed #sort of #the whole gang #post vecna #joyce x hopper #steddie hc #fanfic #steddie fic

[racheld93]

Inspired by my other Dad Murray post... This is what I got so far. But I’m sure some of y’all can do better... and I take forever to write shit anyway so here is a taste...

What if... Post S3 Fix-It wherein Billy survived and everyone visits him in the hospital a lot and it is a lot. A few because they want to, some of them out of guilt or obligation at first but then they look forward to it. And while others go because they wish they could have helped Billy more while he was flayed, some not having known he was even possessed and others told about it too late.

Anyway, Murray is a common visitor, mostly crossing paths with Steve and Max and Robin, and that pot dealer and cheerleader that are Billy's friends but not 'in the know'. Billy has no fucking idea who he is at first until Murray starts talking and then never stops, his first words are:

"Hey kid, I'm Murray Bauman, investigative journalist and in the know about this whole shitshow. Really admire how you fought that gross as shit monster with your bare fucking hands. Anyway, I hear you have the highest GPA in Hawkins High history, tell me what you think about Ronald Reagan."

Billy blinks and then his face purses meanly, "Wish that fucker had aimed higher and got him in the face in '81. But then the bitch would have been revered a martyr and the fucking Republicans would be even worse. And since I survived, I still got a chance to piss on his grave one day."

Murray beams at him and pulls out contraband chocolate bars from his coat.

"Kid, you and I are gonna get along just fine." He breaks the Hershey bar into pieces and sits close so he can pop one in Billy's mouth after he nods. "Just let these melt, gotta get that hospital mush taste out of your mouth. Now, you wanna hear about what stupid shit Reagan has said recently? Or do you like crosswords?"

Billy sucks on the chocolate, the taste a marvelous change from everything previously. "I'm a sudoku guy, but I make crosswords my bitch."

"Excellent."

*Murray finds out about the abuse, beats the shit out of Neil and 'runs him out of town'. Then he takes all of Billy's stuff to his new place that is closer to Hawkins and tells Billy he's his kid now, so sign this and he'll take over Billy's insurance and help him with his school work until he can get back to classes. Billy cries and Murray hugs him and Billy cries some more.

Aug 9 '22

#billy deserved better #and better was a dad called murray #billy hargrove #murray bauman #and you know he'd play matchmaker and get harringrove together #fix it #stranger things #harringrove #dad murray bauman #hargrove-bauman found family #and steve is there too #fuck you duffers #yes i headcanon billy as super smart cause the boy has been pushing himself to get as much college aid as possible to get away from neil #we hate reagan in this house so if you dont agree get the fuck out #my fic #ficlet #my thoughts #with love r

[rottenaero]

And also, the reasons behind each pairing

1.Steve, Max, and Will-

C’mon, have you SEEN the SASS? I guess one could argue Dustin should also be here, but his sass™️ is reserved for his brothers. Also, imagine the gossip sessions, like Will ranting about anything and Max and Steve absolutely cheering him on because he is 100% in the right.

2.Eddie, Robin, and Will-

Queer in a small town, Barb could also probably be in this group. They all bash each-other’s crushes until Robin wants to date Nancy, and Eddie starts liking Steve. Will would absolutely still be trashed for his crush on Mike. Robin would still bash on Eddie like have you seen that man? He’ll watch the same movie on repeat until he has to being it back.

Eddie just sighs and is like, I know, he’s great.

3.Nancy, Chrissy,Barb, and Robin-

Barb and Chrissy absolutely needed more screentime!! They were both so aghhh<33 They all kinda band together to do sleepovers and stuff, sometimes El and Max are invited when they aren’t doing their own thing. I just really like the characters.

4.Steve and Gareth-

Okay guys, have you seen that Steve and Gareth cousin au??(Someone please tell me the creator so I can credit them) Steve having another extravagant handshake for Gareth and Gareth always gushing about his cool older cousin to hellfire who is just like uh-huh sure Gareth.

I know theres the idea that Gareth would despise Steve, but also Gareth inviting Steve to hellfire after he got dethroned because Steve was there for his tough times so why can’t he be there for his?

5.Holly, Erica, and Steve-

Lets take babysitter!Steve to the MAX. All the parent call him when their younger kids need to be watched, he watches Holly for the Wheelers all the time to the point where he’s her brother, and she pretends to forget Mike’s name for like a week.

Erica insists only Steve can watch her, because he’s the only one who lets her watch My Little Pony without judging her or treating her like a baby, also because he starts getting into the show. Sometimes Tina and the rest of Erica’s friends come over and rope him into letting them paint his nails. Random days Steve will show up to Erica’s school with some McDonalds for her.

6.Murray and Alexei-

Self-explanatory because c’mon, really?

7.Steve, Will, and El-

Steve ADORES the Byers siblings, they say thank you when he does stuff for them, they are usually never the source of trouble when they go out.

Sometimes Will will just be so nice that it makes Steve feel bad for what he told Jonathan in s1 before their fight, because nobody in the Byers family is a screw-up except Lonnie, who was just a giant douche and a terrible father.

The only thing Steve dislikes about them is their respective crushes on Mike, because are you serious? He’s well on his way to becoming the next town Keith.

8.El and Max-

Also pretty self explanatory, El needs a better role model than Mike, and Max being overwhelmingly confident in every decision helps. Max also tries to make sure El doesn’t push herself to hard. Oh your head hurts? Lets get you some juice, we have this new flavor you’d like. You don’t feel good? Lets take a break. You scrapped your knee? I have a first aid kit somewhere…

Etc etc, Max just always making sure El feels comfortable.

#I NEED more will max and steve friendship ficlets/fics #try to guess who my favorite character is from this #or characters #just guess #stranger things #steve harrington #will byers #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steddie #ronance #byler #barbara holland #chrissy cunningham #max mayfield #murray bauman #el hopper #jane hopper #erica sinclair #alexei #eddie munson #st4 #st1 #st2 #st3 #stranger things polls #love these dorks #crisisinverted17

[runninguplenorahills]

I just played stranger things puzzle tales and my most recent team included Robin, Mike, Will, Lucas and Murray….

Just imagine those five going on a mission together!?!?!?

Byler would happen in a heartbeat lmao

#someone write a fic now hahah #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #robin buckley #lucas sinclair #murray bauman #byler tumblr #stranger things #stranger things puzzle tales

[rollerskate2theface]

Based on this text post by @lemanzanabizarra

Half of the party was sitting in Hopper’s busted up cabin hastily discussing their next move now that Vecna has torn apart the entire town. The adults sharing the couch as the Byers siblings, Mike, and Nancy sat around the living room table. The room was tense as everyone was sharing what they’d learned while fighting the upside down separated.

The door suddenly slammed open as Robin, Steve, Eddie and Dustin pushed their way through the door in an uncoordinated pile.

Nancy stood, “Robin- Guys! What are you doing here?” the girl spoke surprised at their entrance since they were meant to be at the shelter.

They stopped at the side of the couch looking at her then to the rest of the room’s occupants, as if taking a headcount. “What are we doing here, Nancy? Are you kidding? The earth just split in two we’re making sure no one got swallowed up,” Dustin sassed at the teenager, clearly still panicked even after seeing his friends safe.

Steve shoved the younger boy’s shoulder, causing him to topple a bit into Eddie due to his limp. “I think they get it, dude. Lay off a bit, they’re all safe.”

Robin has yet to say anything, unusual for her, still staring at Nancy as if the girl would disappear had her eyes not been trained on her. Murray looked between the two, eyes narrowed. “You two seem to have gotten close,” the older man spoke trailing off as the looked between them.

Hopper, Joyce and Jonathan all turned to look at the pair recalling that knowing tone in Murray’s voice. Robin finally having looked away from Nancy looked a bit shocked at the bearded man’s unprompted observation. Nancy on the other hand looked annoyed- no, pissed- at the man.

Everyone was silently waiting for one of their replies when Eddie stepped up eyeing Murray with a critical look, “You try not getting close to somebody after nearly dying together multiple times.” Murray seemed to contemplate this as he stood up to approach Eddie.

He smiled holding his hand out, “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Murray Bauman.” Eddie took his hand glad to have taken the focus of Nance and Rob, “Eddie, a pleasure, I’m sure.”

Their handshake broke, “Ah yes, Eddie, and what would you know about this shared trauma considering I believe this is your first encounter with the strange and unusual?” Murray spoke as if daring Eddie to respond.

Steve beat him to it though, apparently, “Hah, no, Eddie’s very familiar with the strange and unusual. Also the almost dying thing too,” the boy said stepping up to stand next to Eddie. “I didn’t almost die remember, the doctors said died but it didn’t stick, thanks again for that, Harrington.” Eddie said leaning towards the younger.

“Ah, so the ladies aren’t the only two to become close, it seems,” Murray interjected making Steve and Eddie send him a simultaneous glare. Murray almost looked regretful.

“You talk a lot of shit for a man with more hair on his arms than his head,” Steve spoke. Murray raised his eyebrows as he looked towards Eddie, “Wow, like em feisty, don’tcha.”

Eddie shrugged, “And if I do?” He said as he wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist hopping it wasn’t too bold of a move for this little bit. Steve seemed to take it in stride though as he looked at Murray arms crossed, only now leaning slightly more into the boy beside him.

“Don’t you think we have better things to do right now than discuss other people’s relationships considering, I don’t know, there’s are psychotic telepathic serial killer on the loose,” Steve said.

Eddie leaned towards Steve, whispering intentionally louder so Murray could hear, “telekinetic, babe, telepathic is reading thoughts. Which baldy over here thinks he can do.”

Murray, finally agitated into a silent stupor, huffs as he sits back down on the couch beside Joyce. The party continues making a plan on how to approach Vecna with Eddie’s arm still wrapped around Steve and Nancy and Robin’s feet touching beneath the table. Much to an unsatisfied private investigator’s approval.

#stranger things #steddie #ronance #murray bauman #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #dustin henderson #steddie ficlet #ronance ficlet #joyce byers #jim hopper #jonathan byers #mike wheeler #will byres #eleven hopper byers #stranger things ficlet #stranger things fic

[loveinhawkins]

I’m a little obsessed with the fact Nancy didn’t tell Murray she was held at gunpoint but told him enough about Eddie and Steve that he was able to correctly suss out the Thing they’ve got going on.

references the current latest chapter of nothing but the dead and dying

no but i died laughing reading this, i always love hearing your thoughts ❤️

the summary of their phone calls together is pretty much a very stressed Nancy repeatedly asking for updates on Murray’s leaking/cover stories. & Murray is like, “I’m handling it. Please relax. Like. Are you okay?” & Nancy is just “oh I’m fine :)” because if she pushes everything down into a little box & doesn’t address it, then it is fine, honest.

then for some relatively light relief she’s like, “anyway, do you want to hear about Eddie and Steve?”

Murray, who’s been following any little mention of “Steve Harrington” like he’s his favourite minor recurring character in a soap opera, & can absolutely tell some new Character Development is coming: “oh, do tell.” 🍿

#i love behind the scenes stuff like this lol #like there’s only so much Steve & Eddie get to be privy to #so there’s tons of both poignancy & humour happening “off-screen” #loveinhawkins fic commentary #nancy and murray #murray bauman