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hargrove-mayfields · 10 months

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Happy Disability Pride month! Here’s a disabled Harringrove fic I’ve been slowly working on for quite a while now!

Also posted on ao3 and broken into chapters since it’s a bit longer.

warnings: canonical injury, graphic injury description, hospital setting, detailed child abuse, distress, medical anxiety.

-•-•-•-•-•-

At about one in the morning on the fourth of July, Hawkins Memorial Hospital is overrun with a group of banged up teenagers. A girl with an infected stab wound in her leg, a boy with bruises all over his face and drugs in his system, two kids with bruises and mild head injuries, the rest all with ringing ears and miscellaneous cuts and scrapes, but by far the worst was a boy who had been impaled straight through the center of his chest.

There was an explosion at the mall, and falling debris had done a real number on these kids, or at least that’s what they were told to say when they were given government clearance and all rushed into the emergency room.

They made for quite a sight, thirteen people rushing in all at once, but only two of them were in bad enough shape to be taken back immediately. El and Billy, the latter of which had already had to be resuscitated in the ambulance for the extent of the injury to his chest. They both went straight into surgery.

Everyone else had to sit and wait their turns, though some of them with the least severe damage opted out of their check ups, so the next to be admitted back were Steve and Robin.

The truth was a lot uglier than just an explosion, and, to say the very least, they were a little worse for wear.

Robin hadn’t actually been touched by the men who were torturing them, since the plan was to kill Steve first and then get to her. That, thank whatever being might possibly live in the clouds, had not happened. It was just that her head was still fuzzy and her knees unsteady from whatever they’d injected her with.

The thing is, they had probably been pretty damn close to killing Steve though. It hadn’t felt like it at first, the adrenaline from a million other things to worry about taking over the pain, but the longer he sat with his injuries, the more it felt like his brain was trying to come out through his nose, and the room had started spinning around him again, this time from the concussion, and he was pretty sure he was bleeding internally from somewhere.

A nurse whose name Steve forgot as soon as he learned it led them into a big room with two beds and an armchair in the corner. She had the both of them describe their symptoms, frowning at every detail Steve remembered about his condition until eventually she called in the doctor to do a better once over.

They were testing Robins blood or something while they did all kinds of poking and prodding at Steve. They made him do some consciousness checks, asking him who the president was and that sort of thing, and making him follow the end of a pen with his eyes.

Apparently he had something called hyphema in his eye, but to him it just felt like it was going to pop out. A lady smiled down at him and poked his eye with a fancy stick, another made him tilt his head back and put drops in it, then brought him a little patch, some sort of bandage to put over it.

Medicine was put in all the little cuts on his face and the doctor started scribbling something onto his clipboard. He sighed and said something, but to Steve’s ears, he just sounded like a teacher from the Peanuts holiday specials, not a single coherent syllable coming out of the man’s mouth.

To attempt to hear what that doctor was saying, Steve furrowed his eyebrows and tried his very best to focus on just his words, but it still just sounded like a bunch of jumbled up trumpet noises. Eventually he gave up and asked, “What?”

More incoherent mumbling.

For a brief moment, Steve felt his heart start to race with panic, the thought that he could be dying settling into his mind with dread, and that fear and confusion must’ve translated directly onto his face.

The doctor put a hand on his chin and tilted his head to the side again and turned on some little flashlight, then turned Steve’s back to face him, a grim look on his face. “We need to do a hearing test.”

One of the nurses from before left and came back with a big cart and wheeled it up beside him. He asked what it was, to his ears sounding clear and concise, but to Robin and the nurses it sounded more mushed together, like- “Whazat?”

She explained it to him, but he only caught about every other word when he looked up at her face. It was something to do with him having to wear these big chunky headphones and the little tray of buttons they put in front of him.

He gathered that he was supposed to press one when a sound came through the headphones, but he just kind of sat there for a few minutes. Everyone else in the room all had the same look on their face, an odd mixture of sympathy and seriousness, and Steve realized the silence was probably supposed to be full of sounds, he just couldn’t hear them.

It made his heart sink down to his stomach, and for a second he thought about just pressing the buttons whenever he wanted and pretending to hear something, but he knew they would see through it.

The good news was that eventually he could hear some of the beeps, but only when they were obviously too loud to be normal and in his right ear. Besides, the damage of the realization had already been done. Steve was basically deaf.

It made sense- a lot of sense really. Their torturers had done all kinds of shit to him that he could hardly even remember while they were trying to get him to talk, and he’d initially blamed the ringing in his ears on the drugs. After that, a hell of a lot of fireworks had gone off in the echoing space of the mall's lobby, so he thought his ears were just messed up from that.

He supposed it should’ve been a giveaway that everyone else who had also been exposed to the fireworks wasn’t having the same problem, but in their haste to get to the hospital, he hadn’t really been thinking about comparing their ailments.

The nurse signaled for him to take the headphones off and wheeled her little cart away, and the doctor put his hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to do another test to see how bad the damage is, okay?”

Without really knowing what he was agreeing to, Steve nodded, and for the first time looked over at Robin in the bed parallel to his. She gave him a little thumbs up, but her smile looked forced and just sad. Steve felt a tug of nervousness in his chest.

This time they put something inside of Steve’s ear, which hurt like hell when it apparently wasn’t supposed to, that would somehow, he missed the explanation part, check for damage to his eardrum. Not even five minutes after they put it in his ear they turned it off.

The doctor, all stern like, told him, “You need a CT scan. Immediately.”

Apparently his left eardrum had completely ruptured and the right was not far behind it. That meant to the doctors that he had some terrible head injury that could kill him if they didn’t catch it.

Steve was glad he was in the hospital, because it felt like he was having a heart attack now.

Growing up, his mother was something of a hypochondriac, every headache was a brain tumor and every flu season he had meningitis, an aching joint meant he had early onset arthritis, and mood swings, those obviously meant he was, in her words, “mentally unwell.”

Because of that, he’d always been sort of paranoid too, careful when he didn’t need to be and scared of nothing. The one time he worried for someone other than himself and suddenly he’s deaf and has traumatic brain injuries. Nice.

By the time he was done with all the tests they wanted to do on him he was shaking like a leaf. They said it was unlikely that there would turn out to be anything wrong, but he would have to wait an entire day to find out. Surviving all that he had just to die hours later was something that scared him immensely, and, even as they were being cleared for release, he was moments away from a panic attack.

Robin could read him like a book, and got him out of there as soon as possible once they signed him out. Everyone else was still lingering in the waiting room, and Steve wanted desperately to stay with them, but, even if he didn’t realize it just yet, Robin knew he needed to not be around people right now.

They said a quick goodbye to everyone else, and Robin had him in his bimmer and halfway back home before he knew what had happened. She’s not licensed, but since Steve’s place is only a few minutes away, and he really didn’t think he could handle being by himself right now, she just drove him.

Robin made herself right at home, trudging on up into his parents room and raiding his mother’s drawers for something to change into after spending the last two or so days in the same stiff, stained up work uniform.

Words couldn’t describe how relieved that made Steve feel, her just barging on in like she owned the place when he was so used to this house being empty. He was glad that, after everything they’d been through, the two of them came out of it as friends, something he was lacking before having met and been tortured alongside her.

Because really, he had Dustin, but it’s different when he’s younger. The only kids he knew who were his own age either hated his guts or only talked to him out of pity, so Robin was truly a breath of fresh air.

Still, the weight of learning that he had gotten truly and utterly fucked up was too much emotionally for him to bear. The whole time he was in the shower, scrubbing away the blood and the dirt caked into his nails and his hair and his ears apparently, he let tears drip off the end of his nose and ugly sobs out of his throat.

Robin was in another bathroom somewhere in that mansion of his probably doing the same thing, so he let himself go with the promise that there was no way she would hear him. He cried harder when he realized he couldn’t hear himself either.

Afterward, using the phone in the kitchen, Robin called her mom and told her the same practiced story about the ‘explosion’ at the mall, and got permission to stay at a friends while he waited for medical clearance, that part an unfortunate reality. If she left now, there was the chance, albeit a small one, that Steve wasn’t in the clear, and his brain could hemorrhage or something and he’d just die alone at home.

Reluctantly her mother agreed to let her stay, concerned for her daughter's safety and a random boy’s intentions with her, but she had eventually given up against Robin’s begging.

Once she was done, the conversation with Steve’s ima over the phone in the living room went completely different.

Overreacting was Ruth-Anne Harrington’s middle name, and the very moment she weaseled out of her bubbeleh that there’d been an accident and he’d been involved, she was practically packed and halfway back to Hawkins.

After that, he and Robin kind of just sat there until Ima Ruth got there. With what they’d seen and what had been done to them, there wasn’t really much else either of them would rather do but exactly that.

A few hours into reruns of some old sitcom Steve’s ima used to watch, Robin nudged him with her knee to let him know she was going to speak. “Should we try to get some sleep?”

Already knowing that his answer was a resounding no way, absolutely not, Steve shrugged his shoulders and acted casual instead, “Dunno.”

Robin sank further back into the couch and nodded, fiddling with the hem of the borrowed pajama shirt that she’a wearing, “You holding up okay, popeye?”

The little chuckle that Steve gave in response sounded kind of wet, and she could hear it in his voice that he was going to cry before either of them saw tears. “Not really.”

His lip trembled and Robin felt tears pricking in her own eyes, so she sat up straighter and pulled Steve close. It was kind of an awkward angle, with her folded legs pressing into his side, but it didn’t really matter to them right now. They needed to be there for eachother.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Only a few hours after sunrise, Ruth rang the doorbell like her life depended on it, immediately dropping her bags on the stoop to hug her son. If he had any more tears to shed he would’ve, but him and Robin had done pretty much nothing but cry all night.

Stephen Sr. had not been able to, or rather, willing to make the flight all the way back to Hawkins from where they had been staying for some meeting in Dayton, but Steve would rather have only seen his ima anyways.

Her manicured nails in his hair, her sweet perfume, and her slightly too tight hugs were much better than the scornful glances and backhanded comments he would’ve heard from his father from behind the newspaper anyways.

He helped her drag all of her luggage into the house, then he and Robin sat down at the kitchen island while Ruth made them some tea. Something she did always made it better than when Steve would try to, with the same tea bags and everything, but she would never tell him her secret.

Sliding them both identical mugs and wrapping her hands around one for herself, Ruth leaned forward with her elbows on the island so she was eye level with them. “So what happened?”

Knowing that Robin was probably super uncomfortable right now, Steve took the bullet for her, “There was an explosion at the mall after we closed up Scoops. A buncha’ kids got trapped in ‘ere. There was just like, debris everywhere a-and we just… yeah.”

Ruth could tell just from her son's voice something was off. His words were all running together, and his pronunciations sounded off. It reminded her of when he was a toddler and she had to send him to speech therapy to teach him how to talk in the ‘proper’ way that didn’t reflect his mothers accent. “And are you okay?”

“We, uh, don’t really know yet.” It’s the half truth. They don’t have all the results. But Steve is really just nervous to tell her something so big.

She gets closer, putting the pressure on, “Stefan. You can tell me anything.”

“I- um. I kinda sorta-“

“He’s deaf.” Robin cut him off and said the words for him, knowing he was too scared to tell Ruth, who she’d heard many not so lovely things about. Maybe it’s just because she knows what it’s like to have parents who don’t show up, but she doesn’t forgive Ruth for abandoning Steve, no matter the excuse. So she’s brutally honest, “His eardrums were blown out and there’s a chance he has a brain injury.”

“Oh, honey.” She picked up Steve’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. “When will we know?”

“Sometime later today.” Steve answers on his own.

It doesn’t erase the concern, or the irritated pursed lips, from Ruth’s face, “What do we have to do for you?”

“They just said they’d lemme know when they called me back.” For some reason, Steve feels guilty about not knowing. Like it’s his fault and not the systems. He feels dumb.

“Alright.” Is all Ruth says. It only cements in Robin's mind that this woman isn’t actually the best mom in the world. Steve needs comfort and support right now. Not a performance of concern. Not hollow questions asking if he needs anything while knowing he definitely does.

Still, Robin herself was in an okay enough place after spending all morning with Steve that she figured it was time to butt out. Her own mother is probably going to freak out on her for not going home last night, it’s best to go anyways.

Once Ruth turned her back to them again, she tapped the side of Steve’s mug to get him to look at her, “I think I’m gonna call my mom for a ride and skedaddle.”

Immediately Steve objects, “But you don’ have to go.”

“I can stay if you want me to.” Robin offers, instead of arguing, and Steve realizes she’d read him exactly right.

A guilty look on his face, Steve bit his lip and looked at his mum where she was bustling around in the kitchen around them. Robin knew that meant he wanted to be alone with his mom, and despite her reservations about Ruth from the stories she’d heard, she could understand that.

“I’m going to be fine Steve. Worry about yourself for a change.” Robin hugs him, gently so she doesn’t aggravate any of his injuries, “Call me if you need me though popeye.”

She called her mom and waited awkwardly by the front doors, and, despite how not-normal this situation was, it felt just like any other time leaving a friends house, with the awkward ‘I don’t really know what to say but I’m about to leave’ kind of vibe, and in a strange way it comforted her.

Steve would be okay. She would be fine. They both would be and so would everyone else.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

The call had come and Steve was dealing with a severe concussion, but it wasn’t anything he would die from, not from an unexpected aneurysm or a stroke like he had convinced himself.

Except for the complete loss of his hearing and the fact that there was nothing he could do about it, he was feeling a little better.

Technically there actually was a solution. At the same time that the hospital told him his brain was fine, they’d offered to get him fitted for hearing aids, but two days later Stephen Sr. finally returned from the birthplace of aviation and the appointment was canceled.

Where Ruth reacted to everything that could possibly be wrong with Steve with the instinct to coddle him, his dad did the opposite. He was cold and harsh Steve’s entire childhood, like the time he was eight years old and broke his elbow playing soccer, but was cut out of the cast early on his fathers orders. Or when he lost his tooth in the dry steak at a fancy restaurant and got slapped for crying.

When they had told him the news of Steve’s disability, both Steve and his mother staring down at the wooden table and twiddling their thumbs, he had the audacity to laugh. He thought they were just making a mountain out of a mole hole, that Steve probably just had some congestion and would be fine in a few days.

Steve tried really, really hard to follow the rules and listen to what his father said to avoid conflict, but after a week he knew it was hopeless.

In just that one week alone, he had been through three phone calls with various people checking up on him that he didn’t hear more than a few words of. He’d discovered when a police officer showed up at the door to get a statement out of him about the mall that looking into other peoples faces was much harder than before thanks to the torture he’d been through, and suddenly it was next to impossible to hear what anyone was saying to him without the extra help of being able to read their lips.

Possibly worst of all, he kept getting whacks to the back of the head with the newspaper or his fathers hand for not answering when he was spoken to or missing out on conversation.

This just wasn’t going to work.

His ears were not going to just magically get better at hearing, and as hard as it was to realize that at 19 he’d have to wear hearing aids like his zeydee did, after an entire week of this icky feeling of being isolated with his head under water, he had to do it.

That morning, he sat down next to his ima on the couch and told her, as casually as possible, “I would be okay if you guys had to leave again.”

Ruth, keeping her eyes low and her face in her cup of tea, mumbled out her response, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear it, “We wouldn’t just abandon you dear.”

Steve’s face scrunched up with the effort of trying to understand her. She gave a second, clearer answer to spare him the trouble, “Are you certain you’ll be fine Stefan?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” He nodded, probably making it even less believable, but as Ruth was between a rock and a hard fist, she accepted it as truth.

“Well, your father has a meeting in Pittsburgh tomorrow morning, and he’s been asking me to go with him..” It was clear in the look on her face that she wanted to turn away, but she remembered his current state and kept her face turned towards him. She’s implying things again, letting Steve do the heavy lifting so she doesn’t have to.

“You should go ima. I’m okay now.” An ingenuine smile to finish it off, and Ruth’s decision was made.

His parents were out of the house by that same afternoon in a slurry of excessive amounts of hugs and promises to call from Ruth, while he got another smack to the back of his head from Stephen Sr.

As soon as the Rolls Royce pulled out of the driveway he ran to get ready. There was an audiologist at the hospital, and he was determined to go there, even if his father had been awful to the staff about canceling the appointment.

See, Stephen Sr. had built up quite the reputation in Hawkins, but where most of the public, like his teachers and his neighbors, thought it was a case of tough love between the Harrington father and son, the doctors at the hospital knew it wasn’t really like that at all. It was all in his records, the suspicious amount of injuries and all the denied treatments for them.

Since he was about ten they’d been leaving him alone for all their business trips and whatnot, and ever since then he’d been taking himself to the doctor for things they deemed too trivial. Mostly it was for his allergies, like to get the epipen he was told he didn’t need or a breathing treatment that one time his mom used coconut perfume before date night, but there were quite a few of the occasional instances of injuries like concussions during off seasons and fingers slammed in car doors before he was old enough to drive.

The staff were pretty good about letting him in without an appointment, and this time was no different.

When he got there, a woman behind the desk signed him in with a sympathetic smile when she heard what happened, and said he’d only have to wait about a half hour.

He was called back and they did yet another hearing test on him, just to be extra sure it wasn’t a temporary effect from the ‘explosion’ and deemed that yeah, he was definitely still very deaf.

Piles of papers were thrown at him detailing all the different options and information for hearing aids, and they took some molds of his ears. The doctor told him it would take about a week, and then they’d call him back in and give him the hearing aids. Simple as that and he was being hurried back out of the room already.

It felt odd just walking out after that, maybe because he still couldn’t hear a damn thing and had to wait another week to get his hearing back, and he found himself lost in his thoughts and in the hallways of the hospital.

Eventually he ended up in the waiting room of an entrance he hadn’t even used, but all thoughts of how the hell to escape this labyrinth of a hospital were pushed out of his mind when he caught sight of a familiar redhead in one of the blue plastic chairs.

Max had been the only one of the kids he hadn’t talked to since that night, so he sat down next to her. It didn’t seem like she noticed him at first, just kept her head down to stare at the pages of a magazine she definitely wasn’t actually reading, until she sighed and slammed it shut, turning to face him.

“What're you doing here?” There was a bitterness in her tone that Steve definitely didn’t expect, and a hard set look on her face to go with it.

As if, with the fading bruises and cuts still all over his face and the blood still pooled around his iris, he didn’t look like he belonged in a hospital. Then again, he probably looks a lot better than Max’s brother.

“I needed to get my ears checked out again. Fireworks got me pretty messed up.”

Instantly her face softens, and she sits back in her chair. “Good. I thought you were here to tell me to go home.”

If Steve is guessing right, then she’s here to see Billy, since he had nearly died, but Steve couldn’t understand why anyone would tell her to leave her brother behind. “Why would I do that?”

“Because pretty much everyone else has.” She snaps then turns her face away, muttering, exasperated, under her breath. “They think I’m just wasting my time.”

Steve didn’t catch what she said at all. He feels bad about it, but has to clarify, “What?”

There’s tears in her eyes and a crack in her voice as she turns back and practically shouts in his face, misunderstanding his inability to hear as a lack of understanding, “They think Billy’s some kind of monster or something and they don’t want me to come see him!”

“Oh.” Blinking a few times, Steve tries to think of the right thing to say. “How.. is he?”

She shrugs her shoulders as a response, chewing her trembling lip to try to keep the angry tears from spilling over.

“Do you want me to go with you? To see him?” The feeling of going through something like this alone was all too familiar to him, so while he and Billy hadn’t exactly been friends, he couldn’t leave Max here alone, crying in the middle of the day, while all her friends isolated her for it. He figured it didn’t really matter who was in the hospital bed as long as he was doing it to support her.

All she manages is a nod, and a sob she’d been trying to contain rattled her shoulders. Of all the kids he was probably the least close with Max, but in that moment he decides it isn’t important, and he wraps his arm protectively over her trembling body.

Visiting hours had opened earlier that morning, but they were doing some sort of test on Billy now, so they would have to wait.

In the meantime, Steve decided to take Max down to the cafeteria for some cheap food. A cup of jello and a bagel sandwich for each of them later, she was leading Steve back upstairs and down the hall to see if Billy was done.

Max saw the nurse lingering in the lobby and rounded the corner like a bat out of hell, tennis shoes squeaking on the floor.

As if she had to say anything, the nurse announces, “Mr. Hargrove is ready for you.”

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Whatever Steve had been expecting to see in room 212, it was not Billy Hargrove awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Had Steve just been impaled through his chest, especially considering how crummy he feels from just his injuries, he doesn’t think he’d be half as alert or completely normal seeming as Billy was.

Other than the obscene amount of bandages around his torso and the oxygen tubes in his nose, he looked mostly just like he had before. Not even ‘before’ as in recently before being admitted to the hospital, he’d still looked pretty run down in the weeks leading up to the incident, but ‘before’ as in when he’d first moved to Hawkins.

Adorned with that playful glint in his eyes that Steve hadn’t seen since last November before they’d gotten into a fight, Billy’s gaze follows him into the room, “Didn’t expect to see you here, Harrington.”

And Steve can tell he’s on all kinds of pain meds, from how wide his smile goes, how light his voice is, and he wonders if Billy’s like him, doing better on the outside than underneath.

But he still thinks he should respond so, with hands shoved into his pockets, Steve leans against the wall by the window and shrugs his shoulders. “Wasn’t planning on being here, Hargrove.”

Max on the other hand, sat herself down on the foot of Billy’s bed, crossing her legs so the both of them would fit together, and launched into a story about her day. It was mostly just complaints about the other kids ditching her and Susan not staying like she said she would, but Steve wouldn’t know all that.

From where he's standing, he can’t see most of Max’s face, so he keeps his eyes downcast at the blue and white floor, counting flaws in the tiles and trying his best to focus hard on what she’s saying. Most of what he gathers is confusing nonsense and it’s sort of miserable.

While she talked, even though he was listening and offering his input, Billy finds his gaze drifting over to Steve in the corner instead. The way he’s concentrating so hard, the way he doesn’t startle or look up like both he and Max had when an announcement came on the overhead speakers, or how, even when his own name is brought up in the conversation he doesn’t respond. To him, it’s become obvious there is a problem.

Max got to the present in her story, where she told him why Steve was here too and, seeing an opportunity to test his theory, Billy asks, “That true, Harrington?”

A second or two too late the words, spoken loud enough that he could just barely hear them, try to register, and he gathers that he’d been addressed by name, but Steve doesn’t hear the rest.

Looking up at the two of them, he sees Max had turned around to stare at him with big eyes and Billy’s drowsy gaze fixed onto him, the pair of siblings waiting for an answer. Steve felt a little heat rise to his face instantly, “Huh?”

“You can’t hear a damn thing can you?” Billy looks curious, almost fascinated by Steve and his situation.

For some reason, despite the seemingly rude bluntness of a high Billy Hargrove, it makes him decide to tell the truth, “Not really, no.”

Taking it in, Billy nods slowly, and eventually asks him, “You know sign language?”

“I never learned it, no.” Steve had only taken French in highschool to help his once best friend Heather get back in touch with her roots since her parents wouldn’t teach her the language of the city she was born in.

His were the same way, but they didn’t offer Yiddish classes at Hawkins High, and definitely not any form of Sign Language either. If only.

What Steve isn’t expecting is for Billy to offer, with one hundred percent certainty, “I could teach you.”

That’s surprising for some reason. Not the fact that Billy would teach him, since he seems in such a cheerful mood anyways, but rather that he’d be able to. “Wait, you know it?”

Still bobbing his head in a rigid nod, so much it makes Steve almost dizzy to watch, Billy explains, “Yep. My momma was deaf. She taught me growing up.”

That explains how he caught on so quickly then. It’s actually not that unexpected with the way he’d noticed Billy staring at his lips instead of making eye contact, since even before their fight. Still, he’s shy about accepting the offer at first, “Oh. I mean, if you wanna teach me..”

Billy doesn’t need any more than that to confidently declare, “Your first lesson is tomorrow. Bring a notebook and some snacks. We have lots of work to do.”

Equal parts excitement and fear flutter in Steve’s chest. The idea of being taught by Billy isn’t the worst, he’s honestly pretty neutral about that. It’s more the idea of having to learn things in general that scares him. He’d done terribly back in school, skating past only with the help of a personal special ed tutor. Any subject where he has to write or read anything is going to be a disaster.

More vulnerable that he expected, Steve brings up those fears, “What if I can’t learn it?”

“We’ll keep trying. It’s not like it’s gonna kill you to mess up.” The question hadn’t even fazed Billy. He’s so confident, Steve feels like it’s contagious.

Being able to communicate better than his attempts at hearing sounds fun actually, and the way Billy has been so kind about everything, Steve’s maybe looking forward to it. “Yeah.. Yeah! I’ll come back tomorrow.”

With that arranged now, Steve decided it was time to go. Besides, he has to go to Robin and tell her absolutely everything. Maybe they’ll have a little sleepover since Steve’s parents are gone again, and then Robin can bring Steve to see Billy tomorrow. She’ll be happy for him. Anything to make life so soon after the disaster easier.

He stands up, and thanks Billy quickly, and with a few pats to Max’s head he’s on his way out the door.

“I’ll see you then, pretty boy.” Billy had said it more quietly, meaning it registered only as a low rumble, but from the pitch he could tell it was Billy saying something. Already he feels that familiar with his new friend, a good sign for their future.

Still, he’s curious about what he said, so he turns back around and asks, “Huh?”

“Just saying bye, Steve.” Billy smiles, in contrasts with a subtle flush on his face, and waves, the tubes in his IV coming up with his arm, a reminder that he’s still in recovery too. It’ll probably make a world of difference for him to have Steve visit, based on what Max was saying.

Steve returns a vibrant smile before he exits, “Oh. Bye!”

Once he’s gone, probably back in his car and driven off already, Max looks at her brother and scoffs, well aware of another reason he wants to get close to Steve; the crush he’s had on him since they met, for example. “God, you’re a dork.”

“I’m a man in love, Maxine. And I got a date with Steve.” The drugs are definitely making him a little loopy, but even he should realize that’s a bit of a stretch just for a couple of sign language lessons.

Max just rolls her eyes at him affectionately, “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming.”

#harringrove #billy x steve #steve centric #billy hargrove #steve & max #billy & max #steve & robin #disabled steve harrington #steve harringtons parents #my writing #tw child abuse #tw injury #tw hospital #happy ending #there’s fluff guys don’t worry #just some struggles first #the first drafts of this are from before I ever posted on st tumblr and now I’ve finally gotten it to a place where I can post it! I’m happy

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italiansteebie · 2 years

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Cotton In My Ears

***EDITED 9/5 for clarity and accuracy***

“Steve,” Robin sing -songs as she walks into Family Video. He’s got his back turned away from the door, and he doesn’t even flinch when the bell jingles, signaling someone's arrival. She arches her eyebrow at the notion that her best friend is ignoring her. “Steve!” She says a little louder, clearing her throat for good measure, and once again, Steve doesn’t respond. She grumbles to herself and punches Steve lightly on the shoulder, “Quit ignoring me, asshole!”

Steve jumps so hard when she does this, she almost feels bad, did he really not hear her? “Robin! You scared me, I didn’t hear you come in!” He said, clutching his chest, showcasing his dramatic self. “I said your name like a hundred times!” She says exasperatedly, and Steve just shakes his head, smiling fondly at her. “You did not, Rob.” He laughs, and walks away, moving to another display to resume his restocking duties.

Robin clocks in and tries not to think about the odd interaction for the rest of the day, but as she watches Steve during their shift, she can’t help but get a little curious. Is Steve really deaf? After all this time… Can he not hear? How did it go unnoticed all this time? Surely his parents would have noticed? Robin decides to keep an eye on the elusive boy, she’s determined to get to the bottom of his strange behavior.

Over the next few days, she doesn’t notice anything strange about Steve, he’s just… Steve. But he always prefers to face people when they’re talking, and he doesn’t respond all that much when she speaks to him on his left side. These aren’t new things though, is it possible she’s missed these things? Brushed them off like everyone else? The guilt weighs heavy in her chest, she needs to bring out the big guns.

Dustin Henderson.

She dials his number, having gotten from Steve after their “just incase” phone number trading session, for someone who can be a little bit of an airhead, Steve is pretty smart, considering everything. Just that though makes her heart break, maybe he just couldn’t hear all those things he was being taught in class. “Fuck,” she says to herself while listening to the phone ring. “Hello?” Claudia Henderson answers the phone, “Hi! This is Robin- I’m uh. I'm friends with Dustin!” She rambles out quickly, itching to start the conversation. “Oh, okay. Give me just a second, dear!” Robin hears some rustling, and she pulls the phone away from her ear as the cheery lady shouts on the other side of the line. “Dusty! Phones for you!” There's a pause and more rustling, she can hear Dustin, “Yeah, thanks mom. -Okay, okay! Yes, okay! I won’t take too long. Okay. Yeah, I’ll be at the table for dinner right after this- Okay! Mom, please.”

Robin giggles at the bickering on the other side of the call, but she’s reminded of the task at hand when Dustin’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Hello? If this is Steve just meet me at our talking place,-” Robin cuts him off, “Dustin! It’s Robin- Wait. you and Steve have a talking place?”

“Well- Yeah. He can’t hear over the phone y’know?”

“Yeah, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about! What is all this about Steve not being able to hear?”

She hears Dustin sigh and shift the phone from one hand to the other, “I'm really not supposed to tell anyone about this but,”

There's a pause and Robin listens intently. “Steve is hard of hearing, always has been, with the trauma and everything… It just got worse. Look, Robin. I'm only telling you this because you noticed, it’s not surprising how long it’s taken… He’s really good at hiding it. Too good.” There’s a beat of silence as Robin takes in the information, everything has clicked into place. “Hey, I gotta go, my mom wants me for dinner. You should really talk to Steve though. He’s more open about it now…” He trails, and without waiting for her to respond he hangs up, leaving Robin in the quiet of her room.

She thinks back to Ms. Click’s class, how he always talked really loud, even when he was “whispering” and he always looked at the person's lips while they were speaking. She attributed all these things to Steve being a douche, or a huge flirt but she was wrong. Her whole world view came crashing down at this moment, how many views had she made herself believe out of hate for another person? Sure, Steve did some dick things, but maybe… Maybe it wasn’t always just his horrible personality. She knows this doesn't excuse some of his actions, like the whole thing with Jonathan, but… But, maybe the traits she's come to hate the most are things he can’t help. And suddenly she felt guilty for how mean to him she was his first couple of weeks at scoops, she just thought he wasn’t paying attention, she thought he was being dense on purpose to make fun of her.

Tears pricked at her eyes, in her quest to avoid assholes and douchebags, she almost became one. “Fuck.” She whispered again, she was still holding the phone and the dial tone rang out from the speaker, she set it back in its rest and scrubbed a hand over her face. She really needed to talk to Steve.

The next day she walks into their shared shift, running her speech through her head over and over in preparation for the conversation, but the plan flies out the window when Steve turns to her with a look and says, “We need to talk…” Robin gulps, she doesn’t mean to, but her throat feels like it’s closing and her heart is speeding hum. Steve must notice her change in mood because the next thing out of his mouth is, “Oh god. That sounded scary, I’m sorry- It’s. I just need to tell you something.” He rambles, and she smiles at him, letting her shoulders drop in relief. “I thought you were mad at me.” She says, eyes casting down at the floor, and Steve makes a confused noise, “Mad at you? I thought you were mad at me!” He says, punching out a breathy laugh.

“What? Why would I be mad at you?” She says, returning the exasperation. Steve looks sheepish, “I know… Sometimes it seems like I’m ignoring you… But I- I promise I’m not!” Robin knows what's coming, next but she lets Steve take a shuddering breath and continue telling his story.

“When I was younger, my parents hated me… They thought I wasn’t paying attention but… I just couldn’t- I couldn’t hear them, and. I when I told them that they said I was lying… So I figured they were right. When I was in fourth grade the school did that… Hearing test thingy and I failed it.” He pauses, eyes shifting, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Well, they found out I wasn’t lying and that was almost worse. They didn’t do anything, they just lived life like it was normal, and then they started leaving me alone not long after that.” Robin’s eyebrows furrow as she listens to Steve recall his childhood. “I worked really hard by myself to learn how to read lips, and I tried to learn sign language but- It’s really hard without a teacher and,” Steve takes a deep breath, pausing for a second. “I couldn’t- It’s Hawkin’s, you know? I didn’t know anyone else who’s deaf or whatever and I just. I didn’t want to be the odd one out. So… I tried really hard to fake it, you know?” And yeah, Robin knows.

Robin frowns, opening her mouth to say something, but Steve continues before she gets the chance, “So… So, long story, trauma dump short… I’m deaf. Well hard of hearing technically, but. I just. I wanted you to know that I’m not ignoring you. If I was, you’d know it,” He jokes, trying to lighten the somber mood, but Robin isn’t letting him change the conversation just yet. “Steve, your parents suck, and I’m sorry, you deserve better. And as for your hearing, we can think of ways to let each other know were here so I don't accidentally sneak up on you.” She says, and Steve cracks a watery smile at this, “Thanks, Rob.” He says softly, pulling her into a tight hug, which she gratefully returns.

—--------------

From then on out, they have a system that works, it works great, so she passes it on to Dustin too. And it works so well that Steve lets them share it with everyone else. And now there's lights that flash when someone walks in the door at Family Video, and when people are approaching Steve, they know to walk a bit heavier, so he can feel the vibration. And when they’re somewhere they have to talk quietly, they take the small notebooks Joyce bought for everyone and write back and forth. Eventually, Steve and Robin learn sign language together, Steve being a little more advanced having known a few signs already. That too catches on, and soon Steve’s family knows it too. His parents… They can’t be bothered, but his family, his real family, they care. And they learn because they want to, not because they feel obligated.

NOTES: If there is anything I can do to make this more accurate to the deaf experience please let me know.

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cherriontop · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel) Additional Tags: Prewar Stucky, Skinny Steve, Artist Steve, 1930's Stucky, Living Together, post the winter soldier, Mostly Canon Compliant, steve missing bucky, bucky trying to get his shit together, bucky coming home, Canon Typical Violence, Steve centric Summary:

In 1937, during a fit of boredom, Steve paints the walls of his and Bucky's apartment living room.

In 2012, during a fit of insomnia, Steve paints the walls of his apartment living room again.

Bucky comes home both times.

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #prewar stucky #post tws #canon compliant #skinny steve #preserum steve #postserum steve #steve centric #fanfic #marvel

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rogueddie · 1 year

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Eddie loves seeing the way different people react to mistletoe. But no one ever hands it in places that will be effective. It's easily avoidable and, with his new little gaggle of friends, Eddie is curious.

He starts carrying mistletoe with him, sneaking up behind people and dangling it above their heads.

His old friends still have the same reaction that they always do. Gareth stage-kisses him, overdramatic and trying his best to make it look real and convincing. Jeff laughs, pecks him on the cheek. Grant gives him a "scottish kiss"- which is just an excuse to headbutt him.

With his new, very young friends, he makes a point of turning his head and patting his cheek.

El is the only one who actually does kiss his cheek, and she even thanks him afterwards- saying that she'd been wanting to kiss under the mistletoe and that it was great even if it isn't romantic and he is "really old like my dad".

Mike, Lucas and Max shove him away. They all act disgusted, Max even pretends to gag. Dustin laughs in his face. Will tries to laugh it off too, though he's tense and uncomfortable, so Eddie immediately backs off, plays it off as a joke.

Erica threatens him.

Nancy and Jonathan have similar reactions; they laugh, sounding both pleased and embarrassed. Both hold his chin whilst they give him a little peck on the cheek. He isn't sure if it's them being nervous about him causing mischief by moving, or what, but he thinks it's a lovely gesture all the same.

Argyle surprises him by just... kissing him. It's a quick little peck and he moves on like it's nothing. When Eddie tries to ask, later on, he shrugs it off again. He points out that they're friends, so what's a friendly little peck? Eddie doesn't have a response, just takes the joint back off him and tries not to be jealous of how sure he is of himself.

Robin doesn't hesitate when she sees the mistletoe, doesn't even wait for him to say anything. She grabs his face with both hands and smacks a big, wet kiss to his cheek. It's not until he gets home, finally seeing his reflection, that he realizes that her dark red lipstick left a massive mark on his face.

Steve hesitates, for an uncomfortably long moment. He stares at the mistletoe Eddie holds above them, thinking so hard that Eddie can see the gears turning.

When he tries to back off, tries to play it off as a joke, Steve hand shoots up. He grabs Eddies wrist, pushing his hand and the mistletoe back up so it's still hanging above them.

"This is just a joke, like you did with the others." Steve says. But, something about the way he says it, makes it sound more like a question than the statement that it is.

Now, it's Eddies turn to hesitate. His eyes roam Steves face, trying to get a read on him before, eventually, admitting; "no, it's not."

The smile that blooms on Steves face is so big, so bright, that- for a moment- Eddie thinks that this must be his reward. For turning back, for protecting Dustin, for doing the right thing in the end. This smile, right here.

But, he quickly realizes that he's wrong, because that's when Steve leans in. That's when Steve kisses him. And Eddie realizes that, maybe, this entire moment is his reward. Maybe Steve is his reward.

The universe does owe him a happy ending, after all.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #eddie centric #christma22k

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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Shovel Talk(s) Part One

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Steve and Eddie aren't even together when Steve gets the Shovel Talk from Eddie's uncle, but it is what tips Steve into talking to Eddie about his feelings, so he's not upset by it.

They aren't dating, not because he doesn't want Eddie, because he absolutely does. It's just that he wants to be sure Eddie wants him back. There are times when he's sure, when Eddie gets into his space a bit too close, or more often, than he does with anyone else. Eddie calls him a thousand and one nicknames, ranging from sweet to irritating but just when Steve thinks that's a perk left just for him, Eddie hands someone else a new nickname (just the one, a voice in Steve's head that sounds suspiciously like Robin says).

Not that any of that is the point. Wayne wouldn't bother to give Steve a shovel talk at all unless he knew how Eddie felt. Wayne is a man of action, and he's never done anything unless it mattered. Meant something. Steve and Wayne have sat in plenty of (what Steve considers to be) awkward silences because Wayne doesn't talk to fill the void of silence.

The point is, Steve drops Eddie off at the house the government so graciously bought for the Munsons, walks Eddie to the door and giving Eddie a hug goodbye. He stays on the porch until Eddie shuts the door and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Wayne call out his name.

"Harrington," Wayne says from the shadows of the wrap around porch.

So, Steve jumps and it's only then he notices that Wayne is sitting at the table and chairs set up on the porch. "Mr. Munson, sir, hi. Hello."

Wayne lets out a chuckle, but it doesn't really sound amused. "I have come to accept that you are nothing like your father, boy, but I do want to make it clear to you, that Eddie means more to me than anything else on this Earth."

"I know, sir."

"I know you do. And while I will forever be grateful that you helped return him to me alive, know that I will not hesitate to make you disappear if you hurt my boy in a way he can't bounce back from."

Steve's not afraid of Wayne, not really, but that doesn't stop him from feeling the need to flee. He doesn't, though, because he'd gotten enough shovel talks from concerned parents in high school, and he knows they can sense weakness. "I can't promise I'd never hurt him, sir, but I can promise it'll never be intentional."

He can't actually see Wayne's face in the darkness but he feels sized up all the same.

"I believe that, Steve," Wayne says, and it's the first time Steve's ever heard his name leave the man's mouth, "now go home."

Wayne's shovel talk was expected. Robin's is not.

"You took Eddie on a date date?" She whispers it as though they aren't alone in Steve's living room. They're laying on the floor in a line, heads next to each other so if they turn slightly to the side they can make eye contact. Steve's not sure why they always end up on the floor for Serious Talk Time.

"Yeah," Steve says, looking away from Robin's face to stare up to the ceiling, "I mean, sorta? We can't like... be open that it was a date, but we went to dinner and a movie and it was nice. Shared a popcorn and played footsie under the diner table."

"Whoa," Robin says. "I never thought you'd- didn't think you'd be brave enough to ask him."

"Me either."

"Steve," Robin sounds serious, so Steve turns to look at her. She studies his face for a moment before she's the one to look away, speaks to the ceiling, "be careful with Eddie, yeah?"

"What? Careful how?"

"I just think you could really fuck him up," Robin says. "You're his first boyfriend, right? That's going to set a precedent for relationships that might happen if you two don't work out. And I hate to say this, because I know you've changed, but like, I saw how a lot of those girls you dated in high school ended up when you broke up with them."

Steve's a little hurt, because Robin's his best friend. She should be giving this talk to Eddie, not him. But, also, he understands. He knows that Robin knew about Eddie's sexuality before he did, knows they bonded over being queer while Steve was still figuring himself out.

Steve also knows that Eddie's never been in a relationship before, Eddie'd told him at much when Steve asked him out. Steve doesn't like that Robin implied that he and Eddie will eventually break up, but no matter how much that thought makes Steve's heart ache, he won't know if it'll happen unless it does.

He just doesn't understand why she seems to think he'll be the one breaking Eddie's heart. It could go the other way.

"Did you OD over there?" Robin asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," Steve answers, "I'll be careful."

They've been on four more dates before Nancy knocks on his door. She doesn't accept his invitation to come inside. Just starts speaking on his doorstep.

"As Eddie's Capital P Soulmate," is how she starts that sentence, and it makes something hurt deep inside Steve as he tries not to think about Robin, "I am obligated to remind you that I do own several guns now. And I don't miss."

"Jesus Christ," Steve says, because even Wayne was more subtle, "I got it."

"Good. I do know you'd never hurt him on purpose," Nancy says but Steve doesn't feel reassured.

He thinks that, if she really didn't think he's going to end up hurting Eddie she wouldn't have said anything at all. "Right."

"Well, good talk Steve," and then she's walking down the driveway and climbing into her car.

He closes the door and goes to the kitchen to get himself a beer, mostly so he has something to do besides stew in his emotions. He wonders if Eddie has been given the shovel talk, too? Maybe Robin did the same thing Nancy just did. Showed up unprompted, threatened Eddie with some sort of bodily harm, and then just left.

Steve grabs the phone and dials Eddie's number.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice greets him, albeit questioningly.

"Eddie, it's Steve."

"Oh, hello sweetheart," Eddie says, "are you calling for business or pleasure?"

Steve laughs, "business."

"Boo!"

"Listen, uh, I had a question. I just wanted to know if anyone's said anything to you. About us. Or, y'know, specifically about us and our relationship?"

"Uh, not really? A few congratulations, I guess. Why? Did someone say something?" Eddie's voice is level, almost too level, so Steve knows he's trying to keep cool.

"Oh, no! No! I mean, aside from the scary shovel talk from- Wayne, everyone's been surprisingly cool about it. Very supportive," Steve says and even though it's true, everyone they've told has been cool about it, it feels a little bit like a lie.

Eddie laughs, "I can't believe my uncle gave you a shovel talk! You know, I keep expecting to get one from Robin but so far nothing. She must think you're safe in my capable hands."

Steve is safe in Eddie's hand, he thinks, but that doesn't stop the sting that goes through him. "Of course, she does. You've been a perfect boyfriend."

There's a pause before Eddie's voice comes through the phone, soft and quiet, "I'm glad you said so. I want to be. For you."

"You're not allowed to say those kinds of things when you aren't within kissing distance, babe," Steve says, because if he doesn't add humor to this conversation, he's going to tell Eddie he loves him instead, and even Steve knows that saying that a month into dating is too soon, especially over the phone where he can't see Eddie's reaction.

Eddie laughs and makes kissing sounds at him before the conversation shifts to chatting about the day and making plans for the weekend.

Steve is trying really hard to not be the person he was in high school but every time he gets to the point where he's being a better person, someone brings up how he used to be. Shoves it back into his face that no matter what Steve does he can't outrun his past.

One such time is shortly after Steve and Eddie accidentally come out as a couple to all of Hellfire. Steve was just dropping off the boys and had stepped inside to chat a bit. Once game time had arrived it had and Steve made to leave, they'd (he and Eddie) had been on autopilot. Eddie'd whined 'where's my goodbye kiss?' and Steve had stepped over, kissed him goodbye, and was out the door before it had actually computed.

Steve had burst back through the door, rushing back to Eddie, because no way in Hell was he going to leave his boyfriend to deal with whatever the consequences would be alone.

It had been absolute chaos at the table with people shouting over each other.

"Of all the people you could be with, you picked Steve!? You could do better!" Mike had whined, and Steve had thought for sure he was the only one who had heard Mike until he saw Will punch his arm and hiss his own 'don't be a dick' at Mike.

It took almost half an hour to calm everyone down. It was a relief to know that Eddie had come out to his bandmates/the older Hellfire members already. The kids took it in stride, in the end, and Eddie had shoo'd Steve away.

Jeff had excused himself, too, and Steve thought he was just going to use the bathroom but instead he followed Steve outside.

Ah. Steve knows what's coming.

"Harrington," Jeff says, "can't say I'm excited that you're the secret boyfriend Eddie's constantly sighing wistfully about. I'm sure Wayne's already threatened you," And Robin, and Nancy, and Mike doesn't think he's good enough, "but if you hurt Eddie-"

"I get it! There will be dire consequences if I hurt Eddie," Steve snaps, not down for hearing it anymore. He stomps to his car and peels away from the curb without bothering to look back.

If he's being honest, Steve didn't even know he had a breaking point with shovel talks until he gets his fifth one from Dustin.

It's not even a shovel talk. It's just a single sentence, said almost a month after Dustin learned about their relationship. He's dropping Dustin off after their DnD game. Normally Claudia picks him up, but she's busy tonight and asked Steve to do it.

"Alright, Henderson, safely delivered."

"Thanks, Steve," Dustin says, unbuckles his seatbelt, and opens the door, before turning back to Steve. He just looks at him for a moment.

"What?"

"I'm happy for you and Eddie. Just, don't hurt him, ok?"

He nods his head but can't say anything. Dustin grabs his backpack, shoots him a smile, and climbs out. Steve does wait until Dustin closes the front door behind him before putting the car back in gear.

He manages to get home, somehow, because Steve doesn't fully remember the drive. It's not that his mind was so focused on something else that made him fail to take in his surroundings, but rather that his mind wasn't even a part of his body anymore.

One moment he was pulling away from the Henderson residence, and the next, he was home, just standing in his kitchen in the dark. And now that his thoughts are back, or easier to process, he finds himself wondering why everyone thinks that he's going to be the one to hurt Eddie.

How many people has he hurt that this is his reputation? Is it inevitable that he will hurt Eddie? Is it truly just a matter of time until he breaks Eddies heart? Why is everyone so convinced that he will?

Briefly the thought occurs to him that maybe he should call up Eddie and break up with him right now, before Eddie has a chance to get in deep enough that Steve could break his heart, but just the thought of it breaks Steve's heart, so he's not going to do that. Doesn't want to do that. That would just be punishing Eddie for something he didn't do.

None of this is Eddie's fault, and Steve's an asshole for even thinking of breaking up with him because of it. Which feeds him back into the loop of thinking that maybe everyone is right about him. He is an asshole and will someday hurt Eddie, perhaps even on purpose.

He loves Eddie. He's in love with Eddie. But does loving him mean proving his friends wrong? Or does it mean leaving him before they're proven right?

He wants to ask everyone why they think he'll hurt Eddie.

He wants to ask everyone why they don't care if he's the one that gets hurt.

#steddie #my fic #we like making steve a sad emotional mess right guys?#steve-centric #we gotta make the boy Sad so that his boyfriend can fix him #is that healthy? not IRL but this is fanfic and if i want Love to solve all the problems then im allowed to do that #only itll be in part two #that might get written one day #is steve putting words into his friends' mouths #yeah duh the boy needs therapy but its the 80s so hes not getting any

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imfinereallyy · 1 year

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Father Figures

pt. 2 here, and full version on ao3 here

The first time James Edward Hopper meets Steve Harrington is when Steve is thirteen years old. It is back when he is still pushing everyone to call him Chief Hopper, or at the very least James to sound more professional. It is mostly a lost cause, as he has just returned to Hawkins after his daughter Sarah's death and most people can't help but call him Jim and Hop in familiarity, in sympathy.

It didn't mean they didn't take him any less seriously though. In fact, his cold, grieving demeanor gave him quite the reputation around town. Made assholes like Lenny Byers and troublemakers like the little twerp Munson turn in the other direction when they see him. So Jim doesn't try to push the professional name too much. He knows people around here respect him.

They respect him enough to follow his word, they respect him enough to turn a blind eye when he takes an extra pill or two.

Jim doesn't think too deeply about his reputation until he meets Steve Harrington for the first time.

He gets a call from Benny. It's directly to his line at the station, instead of a general 911 call. He doesn't think much of it when he answers, most likely it was a non emergency from an old friend from high school. That's the only reason people call him most days.

"Chief Hopper. Make it quick."

"Jimmy." A deep, worried breath comes from the phone.

Jim immediately straightens. "Benny, what's wrong?"

Benny usually only calls for a laugh, or to invite him out for a drink. The guy doesn't care about too much, or ask too many questions. Hearing concern in his voice was alarming, to say the least. "Listen, Hop, there is a kid here. And normally I don't care, cause business is business, but it's two in the morning, Jimmy. And despite the kid wearing the most expensive pair of sneakers I have ever seen, he only has two dollars on him for a meal. He got all skittish when the plate landed too loudly. And I don't know..." Benny takes a deep breath before he continues. "...I just don't want to be at fault if this kid's trouble and some fancy parents come looking for him."

Jim can tell Benny wants to say something else, he doesn't push though. Jim Hopper tries to never ask too many questions.

"Alright Ben, I'll be there in ten."

———

When Jim arrives at the diner, Benny notices him and nods in the direction of the corner booth. And there, sitting with his head low and scarfing down a plate of fries is Steve Harrington.

Jim has never met the kid personally, but he knows his parents. Cold, calculating, and pretty much owns half of Hawkins. Jim is starting to understand why Benny has called him.

Jim slides into the booth across from the young boy. He's prepared to take the kid by the back of his shirt and drag him out of there. He doesn't need these kids to be causing hard-working people any trouble. But when Jim makes a thump in the booth, the Harrington kid's face snaps up in fear, and Jim's plan for an angry monologue just drops.

Because there, on Steve Harrington's jaw, is a bruise the size of Indiana itself. Jim's face remains gruff, but his body language softens. "Hey, kid. What are you doing here so late?"

Steve's posture remains stiff and small. "Sorry sir, I was just hungry and it was the only place open. I wasn't—I wasn't trying to cause trouble."

It's then, for the first time, Jim thinks that his reputation isn't one of respect. Instead, his reputation might something worse. Fear.

"Didn't think you were. Just wondering what a rich kid like you, is doing on this side of town, at this time of night." Jim doesn't say it like a question, just fact. He tries not to take it too personally when Harrington turns his bruised side in on himself.

"Would have uh—gotten something from home but we—I didn't have any food left. And by the time I was able to eat, everything else was closed."

"Able to eat—kid what are you rambling about. Let me call your parents to pick you up." Jim makes his way to stand but Steve grabs his wrist to pull him back.

"No! I mean—" he clears his throat "—not necessary sir. My parents left for a work trip tonight. I uh—don't have a number for you to call them anyway. They call me instead, they never have a solid line to contact. Nothing bad happens in Hawkins anyway, so it isn't something to worry about." The last line sounds practiced, like it is something repeated to Steve religiously enough it's become his own mantra.

Jim is starting to put it together. The waiting all day to eat. The bruise on his jaw. The lack of money for food. God, the kid probably walked six miles to get here.

Jim isn't stupid, he can connect the dots. But Jim also knows when not to push things. When not to rock the boat. When sometimes, even if it pains him, helping someone would be a lost cause. He thinks of Sarah briefly.

It's even worse when that lost cause is just a kid.

Jim decides maybe the best thing he can do for Steve at that moment is to ignore the obvious problem and offer him a bit of kindness. "Well, I can't have ya here this late. Could look bad for Benny. And we don't want to get Benny in trouble do we?"

Steve shakes his head immediately. "No Sir."

"Didn't think so. Why don't I drive you to the station? Don't worry I'm not arresting you. But we got a nice cot there, and you can get some rest. Then I'll drive you back in the morning when I clock out. Cause I'm still on duty and all. Can't be driving you back Loch Nora quite yet." Jim doesn't mention how he can see bags under Steve's eyes. He doesn't mention how it would be quicker to his house than to the station either. Jim maybe, just a little bit, wants to keep an eye on him. Even if it's only for a short time.

"It's okay I can walk—" Jim levels Steve with a look "—actually that sounds great. Thank you, Sir."

Jim nods with finality and starts to stand. "Oh and kid? Enough with that sir crap. I ain't Mr. Harrington." He almost says I'm not your dad. But that felt wrong somehow, giving Harrington senior that title.

"Okay, sir—I mean Hopper. Okay, Hopper."

---

As the years go by, James Edward Hopper keeps an eye out for Steven James Harrington (Yes he looks at his file for his full name. Yes, it makes him feel some sort of way he has his name as his middle name and not his father's. Richard would make a horrible middle name anyway). At first, it's drive-bys to see if anyone's home. Giving the kid a ride if he sees him walking. Swinging by a basketball game or two, to see how he's playing.

Then it turns into busting his ragers. Hauling him in for the night not to arrest him but to sober the kid up. Pulling him over for driving while intoxicated with that dumb Hagan boy.

Jim wants to be mad, he does. He even yells at Steve sometimes. But he can't find in him to be mean to him, not really. Not when he's pretty sure the only thing Steve has consumed in days is alcohol. Not when even though he has gotten much bigger, and the bruises are less visible, Steve never ceases to flinch when Jim grabs him.

So mostly, Jim either just drives him home or brings him in, giving him a sandwich and bed for the night.

Around when Steve is sixteen though, things get worse for Jim. He becomes more frustrated, with Steve, with his job, and with this town. He takes more pills. He neglects his job. He forgets Steve.

Then the Upside Down happens for the first time. Jim tries to better himself for Joyce and the kids. He mainly though does it for El. His second chance, his new reason for trying, his daughter.

Jim knows it's okay to get a little lost in taking care of her. That it's a good thing, and she deserves his full attention.

He does feel a bit of guilt though, after round two of the Upside Down. When Steve Harrington sits in Joyce Byer's living room, looking like he went ten rounds with a semi.

The kids are all over him (including Mike which shocks the hell out of him). Dustin is trying to stop the bleeding on his face, Lucas is holding ice against his head and even El, who Steve met for all of five minutes, is sitting beside him on the couch, holding his shoulder up. There is a look in El's eyes as she stares up at Steve. Like she can see through him, like she knows him. Like she understands him.

Jim feels his heart break a little.

He approaches Steve in a crouched position. "Hey kid, I think we better take you to a hospital. You look like shit." He is sure there is a better way to say it, but Jim Hopper is a blunt man and that was never going to change.

The redhead, Max, snorts. "That's honestly the nicest way to put it."

Steve glares, Jim can't decide if it's at him or the kids. "No. I'm okay."

Dustin shouts, "Steve you are most definitely not okay. Hop's right you look like shit—"

"Language."

Dustin ignores Steve, "—and that's just externally. Who knows what's going on internally."

"C'mon kid, I can drive ya." Jim moves to help him stand.

Steve bursts with anger and pushes Jim away. "I said no. And you're not my dad."

Jim's jaw tightens and he resists the urge to scream back: and thank god for that.

El speaks before he can yell back. "You're hurt." It's soft, it's demanding and it's so very El. Jim watches Steve crumble back into the couch.

His voice is rougher than before, but much more gentle, "No hospitals."

"Okay. At least let Joyce look at ya. She used to be a nurse." Jim puts a hand on his shoulder, careful not to jostle him.

"Okay, Hopper. Okay, Hop."

———

After that, for a little while, Jim tries to look out for Steve again. It's harder this time though. He's more independent and harder to catch sight of. When he does see him, one of the gremlins is around him, and he can't check-in. And Hop has El, and he can't neglect her in favor of Steve. He tries to balance it out, but in the end, Steve isn't his kid.

Jim finds a small loophole though, which is El herself.

He worries about her every she since she ran away and he didn't even notice. And he knows Steve, like him, has a soft spot for the kids. So under the guise of babysitting, Jim gets Steve in his cabin once a week. So someone other than Joyce or Jonathan (or horribly, mike) is spending time with her. Sure, he's not there to keep an eye out for Steve himself, but it's the closest he's going to get.

Besides, biological daughter or not, El is just like Jim. She has a habit of collecting strays. If it's not going to be him looking out for Steve, he can't think of anyone better for the job than his little girl.

———

After Starcourt, somewhere in a Russian prison, Jim thinks of Steve.

Every day, Jim thinks of El. Misses her. Longs to hear her laugh even longs to hear her yell back at him. Every day, Jim thinks of his daughter and mourns what could have been. But Jim knows she's being taken care of. Knows Joyce and the boys will love her, and take care of her. Make sure she knows nothing else but kindness.

He worries though, between those moments, about how there is no one there for Steve.

———

Months later, in Hawkins Memorial, Jim Hopper finds Steve Harrington in a hospital chair next to Eddie Munson's comatose body.

Jim has a lot of questions but doesn't get any of them out because suddenly Steve Harrington is right in front of him, sucking in a harsh "Hop," and then collapsing in Jim’s arms.

Jim holds him close, says nothing, and cries silently with him.

———

During the summer that follows, James Edward Hopper notices a change within Steven James Harrington. Despite the obvious PTSD the boy suffers, and the scars that litter his body, Steve is visibly happier than Jim has ever seen him. He laughs more, he openly cries more, and he loves more.

Steve's now living with Robin in a tiny two-bedroom downtown. He comes to family dinner with the entire party every Sunday. He shares a cup of tea (no more beer for either of them) and a cigarette every Thursday evening on the Byers-Hoppers front porch.

Most noticeably, the biggest difference Jim sees in Steve is Eddie Munson.

Jim once again isn't stupid. And despite being an ex-cop isn't a bigot (he couldn't find himself back at the force, the corruption is too much for him. And he himself, was never very good at his job). So he can easily come to the conclusion that Steve has a massive crush on Eddie Munson.

Dear. God.

It's not that he has a problem with Eddie being a boy, but it's the fact that out of all people he can choose from, Steve had to go and fall for the twerp who used to trip over his laces when running away from Jim for the third time.

Jim feels, after all the years of neglect that Steve faced, he could do so much better.

Steve is happy though for once, and Jim doesn't say anything at first. But it becomes so painful to watch. The lingering touches. The longing gazes. The nicknames (sweetheart, honey, dear god did he just say big boy—).

Nothing ever comes of it though, it's August and neither of them has done anything but pine. And Jim seems to be the only one who notices.

At first, he thinks it's cause everyone is being kind, and giving them room to explore themselves. But with everyone making jokes about Robin and Steve (from the kids) or Steve and Nancy (from Eddie), it seems like no one notices the excruciating flirting between the two.

(Except for maybe Robin, but Jim isn't quite sure Steve and she aren't one organism. He doesn't count her)

Still, Jim ignores it though. He has learned his listen from Mike and El. Getting involved makes everything worse.

That is until, the second week in August right before family dinner, when he finds Steve and Eddie early, sitting on the couch, with Eddie dabbing the blood off of Steve's face.

"What happened?" Jim is over on Steve's other side in an instant.

"Nothing Hop, it's stupid." Steve tries to shrug off, and he looks towards Eddie briefly.

Jim's vision, for a brief brief moment, is filled with unclear rage. It's enough to consume him and makes him impulsive. Jim can't help but think he got it wrong. Maybe the two are together, and Steve had fallen into a bad relationship. He knew that Eddie was trouble, but he didn't think about it being that kind.

And though he is being irrational, and being for once a little stupid, no one can really blame him when he hauls Eddie up by the collar and into his line of vision.

"Munson, did you put your goddamn hands on my kid?"

Jim can hear Joyce, El, and Will (the only other people in the house) all run out into the living room at the sheer volume of Jim's voice.

Steve sits frozen, Joyce and El yell at him to "put him down, oh my god."

And Munson? He starts to ramble.

"No. No! I would never, ever hurt anyone. Haven't we learned this by now? I can barely kill a spider. I have to put them in a cup and put them outside." Eddie chuckles nervously, waving his hands around frantically.

Jim's grip tightens and pulls him closer. He's pretty sure his vibrating at this point.

Suddenly though, Eddie becomes deathly serious. As if he just realizes what Hopper has said.

"Hop, I would lay down my life before I ever hurt Steve. There is no one in this world that deserves kindness more than him. And if I ever do hurt him, whether it be emotionally or physically, I give you full permission to beat me up. Hell, I'll probably throw myself at your fist."

Jim doesn't let go but stays silent as he listens.

"You see, Steve here decided to pull a you when some jerks wouldn't leave me alone at Family Video today. They were throwing around a bunch of slurs. Nothing I haven't heard before. And even though I could handle myself—“ Eddie gives Steve a look “Steve here always has to be the hero and decided to defend my honor. And of course, it just had to turn physical. And Steve decided to take on three guys on his own. Got to say though, he held his own. It was kinda hot honestly—"

Jim hears Steve choke a little beside them, startling him out of his frozen state.

"—And he only got a cut on his forehead from one of the dickwads class rings. I'm a little worried he has another concussion though. Believe me, Hop when I say, I am just as pissed at those guys as you."

At the end of his speech, Eddie calms down and even holds eye contact with Jim. He still doesn't let go of the twerp, despite being considerably less angry. Well, at least at Eddie.

It's Steve though that finally gets him to let go. "Dad, please put Eddie down."

Steve says it like it's nothing. Steve says it likes its the easiest thing in the world. But to Jim, to Jim it's the best thing he's gotten since El.

Instantaneously, Jim drops Eddie back on the ground and scoops Steve into a bone-crushing hug. "You got to stop scaring me like this kid. Can't lose you again."

Steve's almost his height now, so he tucks Steve's head into his shoulder and lays his head on top of his hair. He hears a muffled, wet "I'm sorry" against him.

Jim chokes back tears as he says, "No, no you got nothing to apologize for. Just be more careful. Okay?"

Steve releases himself from his hold and looks at him. "Okay, Hop. Okay, Dad."

Jim ruffles his hair without jostling his head too much. He thinks he would do anything for his kids. Including pushing along this nightmare of a pining contest.

"And if you like him I like him too."

"Huh?" Steve says confused.

"Eddie here. If you like him, then he's okay by me."

Steve goes to stop Jim, but he's already one step ahead. "But if he hurts you even in the slightest, you're watching me dig the grave I'm going to bury him in. Understand?"

Steve blushes from head to toe and nods frantically, knowing if he protests it will only make the conversation longer. The room is silent until Eddie speaks.

"Don't worry Hop, I'll dig the grave for you." Eddie's voice, despite the threat, is filled with delight, wonder, and hope.

My work here is done Jim thinks as he gives the boys one last nod and leaves the room.

And if later, if Jim sees Steve and Eddie holding hands at the dinner table he doesn't comment on it. And if he sees Eddie give Steve's knuckles a light kiss, and whisper something that almost looks like "I love you", he only smiles at the two boys. Because if one more person loves his boy, it's a win for him.

Because James Edward Hopper, thinks his son Steve deserves that and so much more.

———

okay I spent waaaay too much time on this (as per usual) but I wanted to dive in a little more on Steve and Hoppers relationship (and how it impacts Steve and Eddie). I feel like a lot of fics makes them distant friends (which is canonically correct I guess) or surrogate family with no explanation. And I like the idea of them slowing building a father son relationship. Really leaning into you choose your family. I know people have mixed feelings about Steve calling him Dad (honestly sometimes I too think it’s cringey) but sometimes I love it and that boy deserves a good father figure. Even though steddie doesn’t come in until the end, I think it all really blends together nicely. Also in my head either the boys are both out to each other, is at least it’s heavily implied or is a known safe space they are in. We do not support outing people in the house. It’s probably a one-shot, but maybe I’ll add more snippets later on. For now it felt like a good place to stop.

As always I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I just zoned out for like two hours as I wrote it. It kinda made me emotional I’m not going to lie.

part 2 here and the full version on ao3 here

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sadboyhrs · 2 years

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Will solos ur favs

#im still thinking abt this #HOW DID HE DO IT #whats his seret #secret #byler #yh this isnt byler yh im tagging it so more ppl see this genius meme #will byers #my baby BOY #listen #how did eddie nancy robin and steve all cringe fail so hard ??#if will managed to survive....#HE HAS POWERS #will centric s5 im so excited #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve doesn't really like the holidays, but he likes you. So, he makes some concessions. Rainbow lit, tinsel-covered, pine tree-smelling concessions.

6k words, christmas centric, fem!reader who celebrates christmas, mutual pining, gingerbread houses, mistletoe, ugly sweaters, friends to lovers, idiots in love, allusions to s4.

❆

Steve hates Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it and he won't, not when you love it the way that you do — quietly, and yet every movement hints at your excitement.

Your hands are basically shaking when he lugs the new box onto the desk. It's adorable.

"Thank you for doing this," you say, meeting his eyes and sending him one of your too-nice smiles. Kind that makes him nervous and sick and excited all at once.

"I don't know why you're so eager. They're the same cheese-fests this year as last year," he says.

You lean over the counter enough for him to smell your perfume. "That's not true. You said you have The Christmas Star, right?"

"Ten whole copies."

He pulls open the cardboard box and digs for your desired tape. The case is cardstock and crisp with newness, and it squeaks as he pulls it up and displays it against his chest.

You beam. "Yes. How much? Expensive 'cos it's new?"

"Not with the employee discount," he says, placing the tape down neatly.

Your smile turns shy. Steve has always thought you were pretty, in the same way he thinks that grass is green and stars shine at night, but lately you've turned to a sweetness that has his teeth aching if he thinks about it, all manner of terrible emotions flooding his idiot brain. Jealousy, protectiveness, and — he shudders — affection. Even now he's tempted to round the desk and make up an excuse to touch your arms, or your hands. Your face.

"Thanks, Steve," you say softly.

"Of course. There has to be one pro to working in this dump, right?"

"Is it a dump? It looks super clean."

He hesitates. "We had to fix it up. Holiday decorations are coming in tomorrow."

"Make that today!"

You both turn to see Robin struggling out of the back room, two boxes held in her arms and hiding her face. She stumbles to the desk and Steve leaps to help her, unveiling her grinning face. There's a meanness to her eyes that Steve abores.

"Well, yesterday. Keith says they got here last night, which means today is officially the first day of Family Video Christmas."

"It's November," Steve says, narrowing his eyes.

"Thirty first!"

Robin pries open one of the huge boxes and thrusts both hands in unafraid, pulling out streams of green and silver tinsel like festive innards. Her eyebrows jump up. "Nice," she says appreciatively.

"I almost wish I worked here."

"You can stay and help," Steve says.

Your laughter makes his chest hurt. "I can't. I have decorating to do all by myself next door." You straighten your Palace Arcade polo and your black, plain skirt. "Do I look okay?"

Steve has a terrible lapse in judgement wherein he thinks about telling you exactly how you look, lips pressed together ready to make a 'b' sound, but he stops himself in the nick of time. Friends don't really do that.

"You look fucking adorable," Robin says, having wrapped the tinsel around her neck in a makeshift scarf. She sparkles as she turns to Steve. "Doesn't she?"

"Adorable," he says tightly.

You scratch under your ear. "Thank you.”

You promise to come back at the end of the day for The Christmas Star and escape before Robin can poke fun at your shyness.

The door closes behind you and Steve buries his face in his hands. His cheeks are hot.

"That was pretty bad. Better, though," Robin says, an air of genuineness about her that he knows she doesn't truly possess.

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, temper welled to the surface quick and uncomfortable as usual. He pushes it down and turns away from Robin and the glaringly bright Christmas decorations rather than say something snappy that she doesn't strictly deserve.

"Maybe by Christmas you'll be able to look her in the eye."

"Maybe by Christmas I'll have friends I actually like."

"Points for quickness," she cheers. Steve can feel her moving to stand beside him. "But ultimately weak."

"It could happen."

"Could it?"

He rolls his eyes and starts to log The Christmas Star under his name for you. Employees get pretty good privileges, like reduced rates and nulled late fees. You could keep it 'til the 25th, if that's what you want.

Robin drapes tinsel over his shoulders. "I really, genuinely think that, despite your bad posture, your hair, your clothes," — Steve scoffs — "and your dismal taste in movies, she likes you."

He's so distracted by her (mostly) joking insults that he doesn't quite hear the end. Then, when it sinks in, his incredulity lends itself to a new target.

"What?"

"Steve," Robin says flatly.

"She likes me?"

"I think so. She's not coming in here every day for me."

"How should I know? I'm not exactly a good judge of it."

Robin taps her foot against his. They're overly familiar if not overly affectionate friends, and he relents in his bad mood, pulling the tinsel from his shoulders with a dejected sigh.

"I doubt it. She was excited about the new movies." Not me. He doesn’t think you'll be back tomorrow.

"Why aren't you excited?" Robin asks.

"You know I don't like the holidays." His agitation is clear in his annoyed hand gestures, fingers furling and unfurling. "Weeks of torture. Cranky moms walking around like somebody shoved a candy cane up their-"

"Steve, that's like, ten percent of the holiday season! There's a bazillion other things to like about Christmas."

He snorts. "Like what?"

—

Steve doesn't know how she managed it, but Robin has someone orchestrated the older gaggle of their friends to sit down anywhere but next to him. When you arrive, late and full of abashed apologies, the only seat empty is the chair to his right.

You collapse beside him and the December chill outside follows you. Cold emanates off of your clothes. You peel out of your black denim jacket and press the back of your hand to his.

"Cold, huh?" you ask.

He swallows around nothing. "Cold."

Your touch lingers. If he were your boyfriend, he'd take your cold hands in both of his and blow on them generously. He'd rub your stiff knuckles until they were loose and your fingers limp.

Robin opens her arms and a half a dozen boxes clatter into the middle of the table, upside down and on their sides. Steve turns his head to read the font, and then promptly sits up.

"No," he says.

"Steve," Robin pleads, already turned away to retrieve a wicker basket full of candy. "Don't be a loser."

"Too late," Eddie says, painted nails digging into the cardboard flap of his box.

"You don't want to make one?" you ask Steve.

"Gingerbread houses are a little elementary school, aren't they?" Steve turns to Jonathan imploringly. "You agree, right?"

"No," Jonathan says with a laugh. "Me and Will still make them every year. El's getting good at them, too."

"Will made one with a door that opens last year," Nancy says, pride for her boyfriend's brother clear in her pert smirk.

Steve rolls his eyes. "That's good for him, and I mean it, but why are we doing this? Tell me there's beer, at least."

"Yes!" Eddie cheers, slapping his thigh. "Harrington, you're finally saying something I can get behind. I have a little something extra in the van, just say the word."

"There's beer," Nancy says emphatically.

Eddie pretends to die in his chair. You giggle like crazy at his dramatics and set about opening your box, fanning gingerbread walls and roof panelling out over the table.

Steve feels old resentment for Eddie bubble up like it never left. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, all sweet and secret like you're trying not to make a fuss but you just can't help it. The resentment fades when you reach across from him and open a second box, laying supplies out in front of him one by one.

"I think we should be a team," you tell him.

"That's not fair," Eddie says.

"Can it, Munson-"

"We can all be teams," Robin says, returning with a blessedly cold six pack, three piping bags, and a handful of metal tips. "You two, me and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan."

Steve doesn't miss her suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and neither does anybody else. You turn to Steve in confusion. He shakes his head vigorously in a rapid and untrue show of I don't know, arm weaving under yours to bring your attention to the bigger piece of gingerbread. "This is the floor, right?"

Steve’s surprised by how good of a team you turn out to be. Your gingerbread house takes shape slowly. Steve holds the pieces in place and you apply the icing seams like caulking, smoothing the lines out with your index finger and licking it clean. You’re a picture of happiness, happy jabbering interspersed between singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio and warding off insincere insults sent your way.

"My grandma can decorate better than that, and she's pushing ninety. She has glaucoma."

“Cut the shit talking, Eddie,” you warn, flicking him with a jellybean. It hits his neck, and his retribution comes in five more aimed at your gingerbread house.

The sides wobble unsurely.

Steve frosts the roof, assuming it’ll be easy. It isn’t easy at all, and soon any cuteness you’ve made is ruined by his ugly hatching. He winces, then frowns, then glares, eyebrows furrowed in agitation.

Jonathan and Nancy are the ones to beat. Both nerds, both neat. Jonathan’s an artist and it’s obvious he does this every year, their house made up of pretty white swirls and gem decorated doors and windows. They're bantering quietly, insincere declarations that make Steve jealous — not of Jonathan, exactly, but of their relationship as a whole. They fit together in a way Steve and Nance never had. They’re effortless.

Robin and Eddie make a good go of it, surprisingly. Steve had expected Eddie to throw the competition before he could lose, and hates to be proven wrong. Dorks combined with too much imagination, their gingerbread house has become a sort of macabre scene with a dead gingerbread man outlined in the snow surrounding, and icing stalagmites rise under the roof’s overhang.

You pull your chair in as close to Steve’s as you can, your knee pressed into his thigh and your elbow glancing off of his bicep every time you place a jellybean.

“There,” you say, pulling back. “That looks awesome, doesn’t it?”

It’s a hot mess. Unbalanced, too much icing on one side of the roof and not enough on the other, you lean back into Steve’s chest, your skin to his skin and your hair smelling of jasmine, appraising the work you’ve made just as it begins to fall apart. The weight of the roof becomes too much and the walls split either side of one another, in both slow motion and fast. Steve sees it happen incrementally, and it’s too quick to stop.

Your gingerbread house collapses.

“Fuck,” Steve says. “Fucking fuck.”

You get second place.

“It looked good when it was actually standing,” Nancy reasons, her lies obvious in her raised pitch, her queasy shifting.

“It did,” you agree.

Steve’s self-loathing abates ever so slightly.

“Pity win,” Eddie says with a cough.

You laugh like crazy, and Steve decides gingerbread houses are for kids.

—

After the gingerbread house disappointment, Steve thinks things cannot get worse. He is swiftly proven wrong.

It's his turn to host a party, Robin's idea, and Christmas crawls ever closer. When he closes his eyes at night he can see the faces of every annoyed mom asking for The Christmas Star. Carols play in his ears unbidden. He finds himself humming songs he hates out of nowhere and clamping his mouth shut hard enough to chip a tooth every time.

You love decorations, and so he and Robin have spent the last hour making his big empty house something fit for a rom-com, wreaths and tinsels and rainbow flashing lights. You love Christmas music, and so the stereos dialled to a cruel thirty in preparation for your arrival. You love cookies, and so, to Steve's amateurish expense, plates of sugar cookies line the kitchen countertops, along with all the finger foods one could ever desire.

Though in Steve's case, that's none. He hates Christmas parties, reminded of his parents' misaligned efforts to earn favour with equally pompous parents. He and Tommy would hide out in backyards with stolen booze, and when that got too cold they'd shuffle inside, warm in their chests and numb in their fingers.

He frowns at the memory and wizzes it all away. Tommy was an asshole. Steve was an asshole, he still is. This party isn't for his parents.

It's for you.

Not that anyone can ever, ever know.

"What do you think?" Robin asks, pulling at the edges of the sweater she's changed into.

It's a movie reference he should understand, but doesn't. "I love it."

She smiles. Rare for them to operate above dry sarcasm and quick wit. Christmas makes Robin squishy, like she's forgotten how shitty the world is, and Steve wants her to have a good time tonight. This includes being nice (which he should be more often, anyway).

"Go change. She'll be here soon."

"Who, Nance?"

Robin tips her head back. "Oh, yeah, Nancy. Definitely who I meant."

He flips her the finger, putting an end to their Christmas niceties. She's still laughing as he climbs the stairs and barrels into his room. He doesn't bother closing the door even as he hears the doorbell ring. The pizza should be getting here around now.

Steve doesn't rush. He’d left cash on the countertop. Robin can deal with it.

He ducks forward and pulls his polo up the length of his back, hair puffed out like a cloud. He'd set aside his ridiculous reindeer sweater on the top shelf of his closet. Or, at least, he'd thought he had. He searches once, twice, and then gives in to his short temper and drops his face into his hands.

Stupid Christmas. Stupid sweater. Stupid party.

He hears your inhale like a whisper. Breath caught in your throat.

"Steve," you say, sounding surprised.

It's his room. He's not sure what's so surprising.

You're standing in the doorway looking angelic, all things considered. Your features softened by powder, wearing a white Christmas sweater with dainty beaded snowflakes and a plaid skirt. You look pretty, and Steve's not one for dramatics but he wishes he was dead.

"You look nice," he says pathetically.

"You, too," you say. You clear your throat. "I mean. Uh-"

"You okay?" he asks, pushing hair out of his eyes.

Your smile falters. You look at his naked chest. Steve worries he's making you uncomfortable and turns as nonchalantly as he can to his closet again, says, "I can't find my sweater. It's…" He lifts a bundle of jeans up. "Horrifying."

"I can help."

You step into the room. Each footstep silent, you've already discarded your shoes. He looks down to your stockings and then up again, ignoring the blush that wants to emerge at the sight of your thighs.

"It's brown, and it has a weird red thing hanging off of it. Rudolph's nose."

You step close enough that he can feel the heat of your arm and run a hand down the shelves. It takes a couple of seconds at most and you've found it, pulling it from the pile carefully. He loves the way you move, each inch deliberate.

You press the sweater into his chest. His hands come up, his fingers cover your own.

When he's with you, Steve feels as though everything — every movement, every moment — is broken down into its finest details. He thinks he could draw your fingerprint if asked, each miniscule line embossed into his skin as you touch him.

"Steve?"

But that's ridiculous.

"Thanks. I think I got tinsel in my eyes or some shit," he mutters, averting his gaze.

"You're welcome. Robin sent me to see what was taking you so long. I'll tell her it was a Rudolph related crisis."

You stroke his arm.

He loses his shit internally, hand reaching for your retreating figure as you turn your back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he would’ve kissed you.

"Steve?" you ask, now standing in the doorway.

He recalibrates, muddled. "Yeah?"

"Get dressed,” you encourage. You give him a short smile, blinding, and laugh quietly as you leave.

He's hopped up on hope as he gets dressed, a smile plastered over what had felt to him like a seasonal scowl. He's no idiot; arm-touching, your tinkling laughter. Maybe his crush isn't as hopeless as he'd thought.

He smooths down his hair for much longer than necessary, listening as the door opens and closes and opens again, friends trickling in with happy hellos and complaints about the weather. It's cold but too wet for snow, and evidence of it trails in from the front door through the hallway where shoes lie discarded in clumsy pairs.

He picks over them and finds his friends, ones he made willing and otherwise, draped over his living room like old throws. Max and Lucas have stolen the couch where they sit laughing, clearly gossiping about something. The rest of the lunch club stick close by, bowls of snacks already claimed and in cross-legged laps.

"Steve," Jonathan says, "what the fuck is that?"

"Fucker," Steve says. He's the butt of too many jokes, then, and he glares at Robin even as she plates him some still-warm pizza.

"Sorry," she mouths.

You curl up on the couch next to Max. He appreciates the unlikely friendship you've formed, sort of a sistership. You only know her through Steve but he genuinely thinks you'd pick her over him, and that makes him like you more.

That's all he does, lately. Finds new ways to fall in love with you.

"That is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen," Max says.

Fucking Christmas.

—

Steve's been in a bad mood since he came downstairs, and you're not okay with it. Despite your shameless meltdown in his bedroom at seeing him shirtless, you don't quit. You spend some time with Max on the couch, and when she seems a little less agitated you track him down.

He's definitely hiding.

"I think Max's glasses are hurting her nose," you say.

Steve looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles, the slopes of his face kissed by the open refrigerator light. "They'd hurt anyone. The lenses are like, five inches thick."

“Poor girl,” you mumble, more to yourself than him.

He turns back to the fridge and pulls out a two litre of coke. “You want a drink?”

You shake your head. His hair looks incredibly sweet from this angle, and you don’t mean that in a condescending way. It curls toward the bottom of his neck, that tiny bit too long compared to his usual cut. His neck moves as his head swivels, and there’s ligaments, there’s muscle, the bump of his Adam’s apple, all of it commanding attention. You think about stepping forward to touch him, his neck, to curl your finger around the side of his throat and hold him in place. If there’s one thing about Steve lately, it’s that he’s always fucking moving. He can’t sit still. He looks between you and the empty glass in question, twice, a third time.

“I don’t read minds,” he says eventually, near pleading.

You decide some flirtation is in order.

“I’m glad you can’t,” you say lightly, crossing what’s left of the kitchen tile between you to stop at his side. You pretend that you’d wanted a drink, taking a glass down from one of his cabinets so he can fill it for you. Something he could’ve done himself. You hope that’ll be clear enough for him — the blatant want to be close.

It isn’t, unsurprisingly.

“What’s that mean?”

“Well, I think…” You lower your voice,a private confession. “That sometimes what I’m thinking, it might be- Uh, telling.”

Poor Steve. That hadn’t come out anywhere as smooth as you’d anticipated. It’s harder to tell him now you’re confronted with him, his every detail. And Steve, sweetheart, angel Steve, he misses the mark. Forget different pages, Steve’s reading a separate chapter, and your flirtation reads as a deeply unromantic confession.

“Is there something wrong?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “Of course not.”

His eyebrows jump and his forehead crinkles. “You sure?” His protective tone melts into something softer. “Let’s hear it, whatever it is.”

Steve isn’t patient. You know that about him. His temper is short and fierce. You like how hot he runs, love his agitated pouting and his dark-eyed scowls — he’s handsome in every expression.

He isn’t patient, but he tries. He’s kind, and if you wanted to sit and talk about the hypothetical that isn’t bothering you, he’d listen.

“I actually wanted to ask if everything was alright with you,” you say gently.

His hand wobbles, fastening the coke cap. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’ve noticed you don’t really like Christmas.”

He smiles, and soon the smile catches, a shy lip bite that has you fighting with your hands to keep them where they hang at your sides.

“You got me.”

Steve pushes the twin glasses of coke back and then turns around, resting the small of his back against the countertop. You step in front of him without thinking, head ducked to catch and keep his eyes. They’re such a lovely brown, light and earthy, potted with white dots from the fluorescent kitchen light like falling snow as his eyes slip down. You swear, Steve is looking at your lips.

“Is there something I can do?”

It’s a terrible time to ask because you genuinely mean it, you’re not just trying to cop a feel. He doesn’t smirk or laugh as you’d thought he would, he only smiles.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” He tips his head back, criminal, neck arched and ever-enticing. “Fucking sick of this itchy straight jacket,” he groans, pulling at the collar of his sweater like he’s hot.

He is hot. You’d both benefit from a sudden winter breeze.

His head drops, eyes lit with confusion. “What? Something on my face?”

“Something,” you agree.

You look behind you to check what you’d thought you’d seen was truly there. When it is, you turn back to Steve with a feigned concern. “Here, come step into better light.”

You hurry into the doorway, frowning.

Steve frowns in turn and follows you. You give the game away without meaning to, looking up at the sprig of mistletoe pinned sloppily above you.

He sees it. He lights up. The happiest he’s looked all month, Steve scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he comes to meet you. Your stomach flips with excitement, because oh shit, he looks like he wants to kiss me.

“Butler, I’m in need of one of your finest cokes, please.”

Oh, no.

Eddie bounces into view with a certified shit-eating grin, hair decorated with tiny metallic baubles. His sweater is surprisingly normal, a black and white knitted affair with reindeer and snowflakes.

He comes to a stop beside you. “What’s happening?”

Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look-

“Shit, hey! Mistletoe.”

Eddie opens his arms. You sigh, to his delight, and lean in so he can give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You try to look at Steve and find your view blocked by a mass of hair.

“Wow, sweetheart. And I thought we were friends,” Eddie says good-naturedly.

You scrunch your hand in his sweater to push him away, not unkindly. Guilt gets the better of you and you pat the place over his heart. “We are.”

He makes a kissy sound and dives in toward your neck. Startled, you squeal, stumbling away from his rabid affection and back into the kitchen. He follows, though he doesn’t try anymore kisses.

“Harrington! I wasn’t joking about the coke. Can I-“

“Help yourself,” Steve says.

He sounds miserable.

—

There isn’t time or opportunity to smooth things over with Steve that night. Actually, a week becomes two, and neither do you kiss nor talk about kissing. You want to explain to him what he probably already knows — you really had been standing there for him, hoping for a kiss, a proper kiss.

He’d looked crushed. You don’t use the word lightly. Steve looked as though somebody had stepped on his chest and pressed all of their weight against his ribs. Frazzled, unhappy. You can’t get the look out of your head, and Christmas doesn’t feel so cheerful with the gap that yawns between you, an icy crevice.

You try to explain and things get in the way. At the video store, you show up with a plate of apology cookies hoping for a second chance and suddenly the radio breaks and gets stuck blaring ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ like a storm siren. You meet up for games night with a twig of mistletoe in your purse hoping to be a tad more brazen about it and he sits on the opposite sofa, doesn’t take any pee breaks, effectively foiling your plan with inactivity. You ask him out for hot chocolate over the phone and he can’t come.

“My parents are flying home. I gotta pick ‘em up from the airport.”

You don’t know whether he’s lying or not. His parents actually being home feels outlandish. If he is lying, he doesn’t want to see you, and if he doesn’t want to see you…

He doesn’t like you. Not the way you like him.

You worry you imagined the whole thing, his enthusiasm, his starry eyed smile.

So you’re giving it one last shot. If it doesn’t work you’ll spend your Christmas heartbroken and sulking, but if it does you might actually get to kiss him. It’s a huge thing, and your hands are shaking with more than the cold as you bump up the small step to Steve’s front door.

The green wreath hanging below the peep hole jitters as you knock, a fragrant twining of pine and cinnamon sticks.

The door opens all at once.

“Hi,” you say, biting the tip of your tongue. “Hi, I’m, uh-“

The man who’s answered, who you summarise to be Steve’s father despite never having seen him, looks disinterested. “Steve,” he calls. “One of your friends.”

He walks away with nothing else to say, a dark brown liquid lapping at the sides of his small glass. You pull the wrapped box in hand closer to your chest, shifting from one numbing foot to the other as a small tumbling sound comes from upstairs. A pair of hinges squeal, and Steve is halfway down the stairs before he’s even looked up.

He slows as he approaches the bottom.

He’s in pajamas. Sweatpants, nondescript, but his too-tight shirt clearly of the Christmas variety. A snowman smiles over his chest.

“It’s laundry day,” he says.

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go out with you-“

“Steve,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is that… for me?”

The box in your hands is wrapped modestly. You hadn’t wanted to shove Christmas down his throat, trading reds and greens for a shiny silver paper pressed with fine glitter snowflakes.

“Yeah. It’s for you.”

Steve stares at you. You stare back.

“I’d invite you in, but…” He shakes his head. “Let me get my coat.”

Steve doesn’t close the door, to his father’s annoyance, deep grumbling echoing from the kitchen area. You watch him shove his socked feet into a pair of sneakers and scramble to grab his coat and a scarf.

“Okay?” he asks, stepping out onto the path and closing the door behind him.

You don’t answer, distracted by his hands suddenly held up, the scarf thrown neatly around your neck. He does a single knot and tucks it under your jaw. “Awesome,” he says.

You walk down his street. Hawkins is half woods, and soon you’re weaving between naked trees, no destination in mind, not one unspoken feeling acknowledged between you.

“Why do you hate Christmas?”

It’s just dark enough for Steve’s clouded breath to show against the sky. “I don’t,” he says.

Your footsteps break over leaves so frosted they crackle.

“I mean, I guess I do,” he says. “I don’t know. I think I want it to be better than it is.” He stops under a tree that’s clinging to its last handful of leaves and gives a low-hanging branch a playful shake. “I never enjoyed it, as a kid. Or, I don’t remember. I’m sure I liked it when I was still snot-nosed.”

“So, last year?”

He chuckles warmly. “Exactly.”

You walk a little further, too awkward to hand him his gift.

“I don’t hate it. But it’s cold, and everyone’s rushing, and the bad outweighs the good.” He sounds tired.

He breaks your heart like that.

You stop walking and Steve takes your cue, the two of you toe-to-toe, your sneakers dirty, his socks odd. One white and one grey.

“I got you this because… um, I have something to tell you. I don’t think I can say it out loud, but- but I hope it adds something to the scale.” You extend the box slowly, your fingers stiff with the cold. “You deserve some good. You deserve a lot of good.”

You laugh, flustered, and Steve joins in, chest lifting with it as he accepts his gift.

He rips off the wrapping paper, at first carefully and then less so, shoving little pieces into his pocket as he goes. You take the bigger scraps from him so he can look at the box itself.

Your gift is actually multiple gifts contained inside, and the first isn't technically a gift at all. The Family Video copy of The Christmas Star.

"Is this-"

"I've been meaning to give it back to you. I'm sorry, I know it's not a real gift, I just figured- I mean, you've never seen it. I thought we should watch it, and that you'd like it if you did. Or maybe you'll hate it, and that would be fine too."

He nods and moves to the next gift, lips twitching with an emotion he won't share.

"That's your size, hopefully. I asked Robin but she didn't know. I kept the receipt."

Steve smiles at you. "Would you hold this?" he asks.

You put your hands out and take the box back, worried, but he's only unzipping his coat. Quick as a flash he's shrugging into the sweater head first. It's a simple thing, red wool, soft to touch. A Christmas sweater, though there's no decoration beside a tiny holly leaf embroidered at the collar in dark green.

"This is fucking sweet," he says.

You agree. He looks good.

A shiver racks his spine.

"Put your coat back on, you're gonna freeze," you say gently.

He beams at you. "My dead body will be the best dressed in the morgue."

"Don't joke about that!"

He laughs and gets back into his coat, zip right up to his neck. He still looks cold.

The third present is a gingerbread house kit. The fourth, a sprig of mistletoe. They're obvious now the sweaters in action, and Steve seems mildly confused by them. You leap to explain.

"I thought, I mean- I want a do-over." You tilt your cheek toward your shoulder, scared and fond at the same time. "I wanted you to kiss me. I think you wanted to kiss me, and then Eddie," — you laugh loudly, cheeks burning with the cold — "was being himself. And Steve, I brought that stupid plant with me to Robin's house last week hoping we'd be alone, and to work the week before. But you're hard to pin down."

You take a deep breath before continuing, eyes determined at his collar, "If you don't want to kiss me, that's okay. That's why I brought the gingerbread house, because ours was awesome before it fell apart, and I'm pretty sure Robin gave us a dud on purpose. We made something really cool together, and I think we can do it again."

"I did want to kiss you. I do."

You bite the inside of your lip, nose scrunched up in happiness. "You do?" you ask, and there's this feeling in your chest like you could burst, and all the cold shrinks into nothing. You're warm in your arms, your fingers, your fingertips.

His hand comes up to his face briefly, shielding his eyes. "Am I obvious?"

"Am I?"

His exhale tickles your cheeks. "No," he says breathlessly. "No, you're not."

He says it like it's a good thing. A great thing.

"Everybody else knows," you say similarly.

"I know."

He brings a hand to your cheek. It's cold, cold as your face, but he still winces and rubs at the apple with his thumb. "You're freezing," he says as he inches forward.

His lips are warm. More gentle than you'd imagined, hesitant, and the box you're holding stops him from getting as close as you want him to get. He kisses you once, then he pulls away and kisses you again, his lips slightly parted.

It's better than you'd thought it would be. His palm stroking your cheek, the pressure, the heat. Knowing he wants to kiss you now as he wanted to then.

"No fucking way," he says, tilting his head back.

You tip your head back too. Something wet falls in your eyelashes, a drop of rain.

Not rain. "It's fucking snowing," Steve says.

It's snowing. Because it's Christmas, and the powers that be are on your side.

"Happy Christmas, Harrington," you say jovially.

You're given another kiss in reward. Reward, or to shut you up. You're not sure.

—

Steve is impartial to Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it but he will, because you love it.

The snow — the snow, which had fallen thick and fine as powdered sugar, which you adore, and which makes coming to see you in the days leading up to Christmas near impossible. It's something out of a movie, Steve, seriously, and you need to appreciate what's happening.

The music you play when he comes to see you, records on your record player and cassettes in your tape deck lying on your chest, knee to knee and thigh to thigh with him. Your quiet humming; you won't sing, but the small sounds alone are enough to make him want to kiss you (though everything does now). He can't hate Here Comes Santa Claus when you hum along under your breath, lips skipping over the skin of his bicep, your hand scratching a rhythm into his hair.

Everybody knows Santa's coming, I don't see why they have to have a whole song about it.

Are you jealous? I'll write a song about you. Or maybe I can steal one. You ever hear Santa baby? We can make it Stevie baby.

Christmas music? Not his thing. You calling him baby? Fine, he can get behind it. At least until January.

Christmas sweaters! He fucking hates them. They're ugly, they're scary, he doesn't wanna walk around with a pom pom on his chest thank you so much, but he has to allow them. Has to. If only so he can watch you get dressed with one eye hidden in your pillow and the other wide open. Thank little baby Jesus in the manger for Christmas sweaters so you have something to tuck into your skirt, so you have a reason to wear a skirt at all, and a reason to take one off.

Christmas snacks he can get behind. Or, he can get behind this. You on the couch, a needle threaded in your hand. A bowl of popcorn in his lap, and your face as you lean back.

He throws a kernel and it lands in your open mouth.

You both holler, twin expressions of unadulterated joy, popcorn spilling over the sides of the bowl. You just look so happy, he climbs on knees to steal a kiss. A smiling kiss, the very best kind.

"Aren't you supposed to do this stuff before Christmas eve?" he asks.

"I've been a little busy."

Steve digs his face into your neck so you won't see him blushing, hands curling around your waist in an impromptu hug. Yes, he supposes you have been.

You kiss his temple sweetly.

"Merry Christmas," he murmurs. He really, really means it.

❆

thanks for reading! im so out of practice but hopefully this is okay!! i meant to post it yesterday but anyhow, i hope you enjoyed <3

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stevesbipanic · 2 months

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@steddielovemonth Day 18: Love is terrifying @starryeyedjanai

Steve Harrington grew up the traditional small town American way. A mother and father that married straight out of high school, his dad ran the family business while his mother stayed at home. The first 8 years of his life he can remember fondly his mother baking him cookies and play dates with Tommy.

His room was always decorated in blues then plaid, toys were action heroes and trucks. Climbing trees and mud and puddles were always encouraged as long as he cleaned up before coming inside. His hair kept short, pants and shirts always blue or red or brown.

He could only play with girly things if it was also with Carol. Dolls were princesses needing rescuing, not tea parties. Carol's lipstick and blush could be smeared on as warpaint for battle in their treehouse.

Sports and trophies won his father's affection. His dad never missed a game, cheering the loudest at every goal. Ruffled hair and good jobs a plenty.

When he was 8 though, Tommy kissed his cheek before riding his bike home. Steve didn't even think about it, his father kissed his mother's cheek goodbye, Carol always kissed their cheeks when they rescued her from the dragon, usually that weird boy, Steve thinks he's in the year above.

His mother grabbed his hand when he came inside, pulling him up to his room. She'd never grabbed him like that.

"Never let Tommy do that again, Steven, and never let your father hear about it."

It was as simple as that, no room for questions, no room to understand why his best friend couldn't kiss his cheek. No explanation as to why his dad couldn't know, no way to understand why he liked it.

His parents went away more often after that, his mother encouraged more trips, and usually followed him. He was told to be a man and look after himself. Tommy never kissed his cheek again.

Now Steve was older, and he knew why his mother gripped his arm so hard, why his dad could never know. Knew that weird boy had been kicked out of home for the same reason, Steve should count himself lucky.

Those butterflies weren't worth losing a roof over his head, or a disease, or the loss of everything he has.

Steve feels older than he is but right now he feels eight years old. Eddie Munson just kissed his cheek before driving home.

The butterflies he thought he'd killed long ago felt in the thousands. But he turned to see his parents car in the driveway, light on downstairs. He was terrified to move, when had they got home. What did they already know?

He'd faced monsters terrified, he could face this.

Steve was grown now and he wanted to tell 8, 15 and 19 year old him that it was worth being terrified if it meant he got to love the weird boy whose heart is as big as a dragon's.

#tw homophobia #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington has bad parents #steve centric #i think this is one of my favs this month #ficlet

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talesfromthesnogbox · 11 months

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Wayne Knows Best

Summary: Wayne wants to make sure Eddie and his new boyfriend are being careful, but Eddie's confused... he doesn't have a boyfriend, does he?

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,881

AO3 Link

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Wayne Munson had always been more observant than he looked. When he first took in his nephew Eddie, the kid constantly thought he could outsmart him, and pull the wool over his eyes as he had his father. But Wayne knew better than that.

Eddie grew up to be less sneaky and more upfront about things with Wayne, but he knew his nephew still held things back from him. He wasn’t the kid’s dad, but he’d earned Eddie’s trust enough that he would come to him when he was ready to share.

So when after March break of 1986, one Steve Harrington started coming around the trailer, Wayne kept his mouth shut and let the boys be.

The thing is, Wayne always knew Eddie marched to the beat of his own drum, with everything, including who he liked. He’d never formally come out to him, or talked to him about anything regarding romance or sex, but Wayne figured that maybe he was a late bloomer or something. Easier for him, he’d never even thought about the fated “birds and the bees” conversation with Eddie until he found a glossy worn skin mag wedged between his mattress and box spring when he was seventeen. It didn’t bother Wayne, what other people did with their partners was none of his business; but he knew if Eddie did like fellas instead of ladies, he’d have an even harder time being out in the world then he already did.

Regardless, Wayne never told Eddie what he’d found, he just kept a close eye on his boy, and knew that when he was ready, he’d talk to his dear old uncle.

Of course, that was before the Harrington boy started coming over at all hours of the night.

Steve was a nice kid, nothing like his asshole of a father. The first time he’d met Wayne all those months ago in the hospital, he looked exhausted, a little beat up, and sitting by his boy’s bedside.

“You must be Wayne.” He said, getting up and offering the seat beside Eddie’s bed to him. “I would say Eddie has told me so much about you but…”

“It’s okay, kid.” Wayne told him, hearing the subtle bits of anxiety colour his tone. “You’re the Harrington boy, aren’t you?”

He stuck out his hand for Wayne to shake. “Steve, sir. I haven’t known Eddie long, but I know the kids worship him, and he’s like an older brother to them. I—I’m grateful they have him at school looking after them even though…” Steve went quiet, an apologetic look on his face.

“Super senior, yeah I know. He’s 20 and still in high school.” Wayne let out a gruff chuckle.

“We’re gonna help him graduate, I promise. He saved us, nearly died for Dustin.”

The older man nodded. “He’s a good kid, nothing like… nothing like what they’ve been sayin’ about him on the news—” The words got caught in his throat, and he felt Steve lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I know.”

From that point on, Wayne knew he was gonna like Steve, and he knew he’d become a permanent fixture in Eddie’s life. He was happy to have the boy around, someone to talk sports with, someone who had fresh baked muffins ready for when Wayne got home after his overnight shifts, someone who made Eddie smile.

He’d never seen his boy this happy around anyone. When Eddie was with Steve, he seemed freer than he’d ever been, and Wayne felt in his heart that this was Eddie’s first real crush. It broke his heart to think that his kid was falling for someone like Steve Harrington, someone who would grow up to marry a nice girl and have the standard 2 kids and a dog, but he knew that Eddie was resilient, and he’d eventually get over Steve and move on. Wayne had trusted Steve would be nice about the whole thing, let Eddie down gently, give him his space to grieve what could have been, but all those thoughts came crashing down one morning when he saw none other than Steve Harrington stumbling out of Eddie’s room to the bathroom clad only in his boxers, rubbing sleep from his eye.

Wayne glanced up at the boy curiously. He didn’t seem to see the older man in the kitchen as he closed the door, and Wayne didn’t know if he was intentionally avoiding him, or if he genuinely didn’t see him.

Huh. That was new.

Steve had slept over before, usually when his house felt too big for one person and he needed something other than the radio silence of Loch Nora to clear his mind, but he usually took the couch.

Maybe they’d gotten a little too high and he stayed with Eddie he thought, trying to find any excuse he could as to why Steve Harrington was undressed and sleepy in his nephew’s bedroom. He brushed off the occurrence, thinking nothing of it, until it happened again.

“Morning Wayne.” Steve had called this time, passing him one morning as he was just getting in from work. This time he’d been wearing his boxers and an old Iron Maiden t-shirt of Eddie’s.

“Mornin’ Steve.” He grumbled, making his way into his bedroom.

The man racked his brain, trying to think of every possible scenario of why the kid was in bed with Eddie. Had something happened between them? Wayne thought it was unlikely. They acted the same way they normally did everywhere else; sure, Eddie could be a bit too much like an octopus at times all gangly giving hugs freely, but that’s just how he was, that didn’t mean he and Steve were dating or anything. Could it?

It wasn’t until the third time it happened that Wayne accepted his nephew, Eddie Munson, was dating Steve Harrington.

In a way, Wayne felt a little giddy at the thought. Steve was a great kid, everything he could ever dream of in a son-in-law. He was polite, held shared interests with Wayne, and he made Eddie happy. The boy was a real catch! But that giddiness dissipated as he thought of the disease going around among those young boys… A cold chill ran through him as he remembered Eddie barely conscious for days on end in a hospital bed. He never wanted to see his boy like that; he didn’t want to pry, but maybe at 21 it was time to give him the talk.

Wayne had had enough uncomfortable conversations in his lifetime, but he knew this one was bound to be one for the books. Eddie could be squeamish, he ran away from the things he didn’t feel prepared to face, and Wayne felt that this was something he was not at all prepared for. Needless to say, this ambush needed something to soften the blow.

On his way home from work, he’d stopped off at Melvald’s, and then by the local coffee shop to pick up two steaming cups of coffee and half a dozen freshly glazed donuts. Eddie’s favourite. When he got home, Eddie was already awake, and Steve was once again in Wayne’s kitchen.

Today, the scene was a lot different than it normally was. Eddie sat on the kitchen counter, something Wayne had asked him countless times not to do, and Steve, clad in his Family Video vest, was at the stove frying up bacon and eggs. The two were so wrapped up in their conversation they didn’t even notice Wayne was home until he greeted them with a gruff “Mornin’ boys.”

Eddie’s head snapped forward, meeting his uncle’s eyes as he hopped off the counter. “Morning old man,” he whistled lowly seeing the box of donuts, condensation forming on the clear plastic box from the fresh heat that had risen off them, “you stopped by Lucy’s on the way? Must be a special day!”

Eddie reached for the box, but his uncle slapped his hand away. “Ah ah, Steve’s puttin’ in the work over there, not until you’ve had a proper breakfast and said a proper thank you to yer boy.” A flash of terror crossed Eddie’s expression and he nervously wrung his rings around his fingers as he went to gather three plates. Steve plated up a fried egg, some bacon, and slices of toast on each plate and helped Eddie carry them to the table. “Sorry Steve, didn’t think you’d be here or I woulda grabbed you a coffee as well.”

Steve shook his head. “No sweat, I’m not much of a coffee drinker anyways, but thank you. I’ll be out of your hair after breakfast.”

“Don’t rush kid, I’m not kicking you out.”

Steve chuckled, dunking his toast in the runny egg yolk. “Thanks Wayne, I’ve gotta run to work in a bit anyways, this one wanted to sleep in this morning.” He gestured towards Eddie.

Eddie snorted. “Oh so now it’s my fault!”

Wayne shook his head as the two boys bickered, then picked up the plates and set them in the sink when the three were done. He excused himself for a quick shower and let Eddie have his privacy to send Steve off while he collected his thoughts.

After he was clean and dry and in a pair of cozy flannel pyjama pants and sweatshirt, he pulled Eddie into the living room and finally offered him a donut. Eddie groaned, his mouth full of the sweet pastry, nodding along to an inaudible beat.

“Eddie… you know I love you, right?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and his head tilted towards his uncle. “Of course. Wayne, you’re like a father to me.” His eyes suddenly widened, and he nearly dropped the donut. “You’re not… you’re not dying are you? Or sick?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No son, no I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure you knew. You can tell me anythin’ Eddie, you know that, right?”

The boy scoffed. “Yeah, I know, you told me that years ago.”

Wayne nodded along. “Okay, then I hope I’m not overstepping. You’re being careful, right? You and Steve I mean?”

Eddie blinked once. Twice. Three times. “Uhhhh, yeah?” He took a sip of his now cold coffee. “I um, I know you don’t like it when I smoke in the trailer but sometimes with the bugs, and we open the window, but we’re using your ashtray. We won’t accidentally set the trailer on fire if that’s what you mean. And we don’t drive when we’ve been drinking or smoking, we mostly just hang out and listen to music or watch a movie.”

The older man let out a breathy laugh. “Not what I meant kid. Eddie I—uh you’re twenty-one, and I’m sure you know how this works by now. I’m not naive and I know you aren’t either. And Steve’s a boy, but there’s still risks. I’m sure you’ve seen those boys on the news with what’s been going around, and after last March I don’t want… look, just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

Wayne finally looked up to meet Eddie’s eyes, filled with total utter confusion.

He cleared his throat. “You uh, you probably already have… supplies, but just in case I um… here… I stopped in this morning to grab you some uh—protection.” Wayne tossed the paper bag at Eddie, hearing the dull thud of the foil packets inside as he caught them. “I know you can be pretty reckless, but I hope you boys have been using them already. Hawkins High isn’t a world class education but I trust they taught you how to use those things, eh? Or do I need to grab a couple’a bananas?”

Eddie’s face went white as a sheet as he looked into the bag and saw a newly purchased box of condoms.

“Um, Wayne?” His voice crack was masked by the sound of the paper bag crinkling as he folded the top and set it aside. “What exactly do you think I need these for?”

Wayne scoffed. “Come on Eds, I may be old but I’m not stupid. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I’m not blind.” He moved to sit beside Eddie. “I see the way you two look at each other, and I know you kids, uh, share a bed. It’s okay son. Uh, this probably isn’t how uh, how you planned on telling me, but just know that I love you, and uh, and Steve too.”

Eddie swallowed audibly. He’d gone from white to green, suddenly regretting that donut. His hands shook as he pushed his hair back from his face, exhaling heavily.

“You knew?” His voice shook, sounding watery.

Wayne nodded and took his hand. “Yeah kid, I had a feeling, but I didn’t know for sure until the boyfriend started staying over.”

Eddie nodded along, sniffing once, and wiping the stray tears from his eyes. “Okay. Okay. Cool. Okay. Wait, boyfriend?”

Wayne narrowed his eyes. “Boyfriend, partner, lover, whatever it is you kids are calling it these days.”

The younger boy laughed high and sharp. “Wayne… Wayne, please never say ‘lover’ like that again, for both our sake. So you think—you thought Steve was my boyfriend?”

This time it was Wayne’s turn to be confused. “Is… um… is he not?”

“No! Harrington is totally straight. We’re not—”

“Does he know that?”

“What the— you really are losing your mind in your old age.” He shook his head, hiding his face, his eyes totally unreadable. “Good talk, old man. Thanks for the, um…” He gestured to the bag on the couch. “I don’t have a need for them right now, nor have I ever needed them for the record, I haven’t… um… yeah, that’s enough information for you I think.”

Wayne chuckled. “Hey kid, no shame in holding out for the right one. And just my two cents, but I think maybe Steve could be the right one.”

“GAH! Okay! Ending this conversation now, go to bed, I’ll see you later, goodbye!” Eddie turned towards his room, but Wayne could see the heavy blush that covered his cheeks and ran down his neck. He was right about one thing at least, his boy was smitten for one Steve Harrington. And Wayne was sure he was right in thinking that Steve may be smitten for Eddie as well.

-------

When Wayne left for work at the end of the day, Eddie knew in his heart he’d be expecting to see Steve there in the morning as he had that day. It had become routine at this point, Wayne would leave, Eddie would call his favourite person, and ten minutes later, Steve would be at his door.

Steve had started coming over to help Eddie with his bandages, and usually ended up crashing on the Munson’s couch. But lately the nightmares had gotten bad for both of them, and they started taking comfort in each other’s touch. In the month they’d been sharing a bed, neither of them had a single nightmare, but they had to be careful.

Eddie hated sneaking around Wayne. Sure, they weren’t doing anything wrong, they were just sleeping, but it was exhilarating having something that was just for the two of them. Steve had been pretty good about leaving before Wayne was home, but there had been a few times where they’d been caught, this morning in particular being one of them.

The conversation had been uncomfortable for Wayne, sure, but more so for Eddie knowing that someone else saw what he thought he’d been imagining. He’d tried to push down his crush on Steve Harrington for years, but it only got worse once he got to know him personally. He’d acknowledged his own feelings shortly after Vecna, but lately, he was getting the feeling that maybe Steve could possibly, actually feel the same way too. It was validating, almost vindicating knowing that Wayne thought they were a couple; he’d been going crazy trying to figure out what was going on between himself and Steve, and knowing that someone else saw it felt good. But he could have done without the box of condoms.

The box of condoms Wayne threw haphazardly into his room. The box of condoms currently sitting in the middle of his bed.

Steve flopped himself down onto his side of the bed after changing into pyjamas and poked the bag. “What’s that?”

Eddie sprung to action as he picked up the bag. “Nothing!” He swiped it from Steve’s hands and deposited it on his nightstand. “Nothing, just Wayne being nosy for no reason.”

Steve grinned and tackled Eddie suddenly, throwing his leg over him straddling his hips, and pinning his wrists in one hand as the older boy squirmed below him.

“Steve! Steve god DAMNIT let me go!”

“No secrets remember? What weird thing did Wayne go and do now?”

Eddie’s heart dropped as he plead with his friend. “Dude, dude let me go, seriously, it’s embarrassing.”

Steve looked down at Eddie, his smile fading. He climbed off his lap and back into his usual spot. “Sorry man, I didn’t—”

“No, no it’s fine, it’s stupid.” He sighed. “It’s really stupid. God I don’t even know why I’m—it’s just a box of condoms.”

Steve tensed. “O-oh. Got a hot date or something coming up Munson?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The pull out method doesn’t always work, trust me, the pregnancy scare is not worth—”

“Steve I’m gay.”

“O-okay.”

Eddie sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He bought me the condoms because he thought you and I… well he… look I’m sorry, okay? I told him we weren’t, I set the record straight, heh, about you anyways, he knows about me now.”

The other boy cocked his head to the side. “He thought… what he thought we were together?”

Eddie moved a strand of hair in front of his mouth, unable to meet Steve’s eyes, and nodded. “Sorry man, I don’t know where he got that idea. You don’t have to stay if you’re—I’ll be alright on my own for a bit if it’s too weird or whatever.”

“Eddie… Eds…” Steve shifted closer. “Do you want that?”

He scoffed. “I’ve slept better in the last month than I have in the last year, of course I don’t want you to leave.”

Steve shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. No, do you want what Wayne thought to be true?”

Eddie couldn’t answer Steve, and somehow that felt more damning to him than if he’d just said yes.

“Eddie?”

“I’m sorry Steve, if you don’t want to see me anymore, just tell me okay? I’m not… just don’t tell anyone, please.”

Steve took his hand. “Wayne really thought we were together?”

“Dude—”

“Shit, guess Robin was right, I am really obvious.”

“What—?”

Steve chuckled. “Eds, dude,” he chuckled, “sweetheart, I want that too.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped as he slowly turned to meet Steve’s eyes. Steve met his glance with a sheepish shrug, his thumb now rubbing circles on the back of Eddie’s hand.

“Did… did you just call me dude? In the middle of your big romantic confession?” Eddie’s face cracked into a smile.

“I—” He scoffed, his chin meeting his chest as he hung his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing here man, you’re the first guy I’ve been into, and the Harrington charm hasn’t exactly been working on you.”

“Oh, OH it’s working for me, let me tell you that. You’ve got no problems there.”

Steve chuckled and fell forward, his forehead resting on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie untangled their hands and draped his arm around Steve, tugging him closer until he felt his short breaths on his neck.

“So… so you really like me?”

“I thought I made that abundantly clear when I practically begged to share your bed.”

Eddie frowned. “I thought that was just for the nightmares?”

“It was, a bit, but I also wanted you close. I figured maybe I’d sort my shit out and stop thinking of you like… like I normally think of girls if we had an old fashioned sleep over.”

“And did it help?”

Steve looked up at Eddie deadpan. “Clearly it didn’t.”

Eddie threw his head back in a chuckle, hitting the wall with a loud thump. “Fuck.”

The other boy jumped to action, bringing Eddie’s head off the wall, carding his fingers through his hair to check for a bump as he winced.

“Heh, that feels kinda nice Stevie.”

Steve smiled, settling his hand on Eddie’s neck satisfied with his findings. “Oh yeah? You like having your hair played with?”

“S’all new to me, I don’t know what I like. Never even kissed a boy.” He looked down at Steve's lips.

“You know, funny you say that, because neither have I.” Steve smirked, looking up at Eddie through his lashes the way he knew drove Nancy crazy. He leaned in, eyes flicking between Eddie’s lips and eyes, until their noses almost brushed.

Eddie blinked, worrying his lip between his teeth, feeling Steve’s hot breath hit his face. “Stevie, are you sure?”

His thumb brushed a soft path along Eddie’s cheekbone, and he swallowed. “I’ve never been more sure about anything, Eds.”

Eddie’s nose clumsily brushed Steve’s, his eyes slid closed, and moments later, their lips brushed in a chaste kiss. He shuddered out a breath and smiled, going in for another as he felt his heart pound in his chest.

He knew Steve had a lot more experience than he did, but Steve was happy to let Eddie take the lead until he got his bearings. His chaste brushes of lips turned into slotting their lips together, panting hard, and eventually, when Steve couldn’t take it and just needed more, he slid his tongue against Eddie’s top lip.

Eddie felt like he was soaring. No amount of drugs could top the high he felt kissing Steve, and it only got better once Steve met his enthusiasm. Their tongues met, and Eddie’s breath got caught in his throat, a shiver rolled down his spine, and he sighed happily.

Steve pulled away first, pecking Eddie on the lips once, twice, then slotted their lips together again, guiding him backwards until his head hit the pillows.

-------

The trailer was quiet when Wayne got home that morning. He spotted Steve’s shoes by the front door and smiled knowingly.

He padded through the trailer noting gratefully that Steve had made fresh banana bread the night before, and took a slice on a paper towel, breaking off pieces and groaning quietly in pleasure as he ate it.

Something was different about that morning, it was in the air of the trailer, too still, to calm, but still electric, and Wayne noted that Eddie’s bedroom door was cracked open. He poked his head in, not wanting to disturb the boys’ sleep, but the sight before him had the man giggling like a school girl.

Eddie and Steve laid tangled together in the sheets, chests bare as they snored lightly. Lying on the bottom corner of the bed was a crumpled up foil packet, the corner torn open and empty. The box of condoms Wayne had given Eddie the night before lay open on his beside table.

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #wayne munson centric #stranger things fic #my writing #steddie fic

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italiansteebie · 1 year

Text

For the Past, the Present Glory

TW// Autsitic Meltdown, Child Neglect

------

Steve doesn’t know how to feel about the holidays. They’re always so overstimulating with the songs, and the lights, and everyone constantly moving and ringing out cheers of “Merry Christmas!” He gets the appeal, truly, but it’s hard to enjoy it when there’s no one to celebrate with, not to mention the fact that he doesn’t even celebrate Christmas, and fire is much too frightening to handle by himself so lighting the menorah is out of the question too. Unless it’s one of the rare Hanukkah's where his parents are actually home. But get real, that hasn’t happened since he was 6, and at that he’d had a meltdown over the open flames and his parents claimed he ruined the whole thing. It was only the second night, they’d left on the morning of the third, telling the babysitter not to bother with the ceremony, and fucked off to who knows where. He knows they can’t be bothered to tell him where they’re going, but he tracks the days and weeks and finds the pattern and makes up an informal schedule for himself. That way he knows when to prepare himself and the house for their arrival.

There are pictures of him as a young child donning his yarmulke and following after those, there are photos of him with tears streaming down his face as the garment is pinned uncomfortably to his head, with his fathers stern hands holding his smaller, shaking ones, as to shield the calming motion.

He tries to not let it bother him, the loneliness, but he’s only human, and even for an introvert of his magnitude, the solitary feeling of his house gets to be too much sometimes. That is until he meets Dustin Henderson, and gets dragged into the Bullshit that is the Upside Down, and all of a sudden he’s never alone. So here he is, sitting in the Wheeler’s basement, with a scratchy Christmas sweater on, watching as the kids pass around gifts, smiling fondly over their bickering. He lets his eyes drift over the movement of the room, briefly landing on Robin and Nancy who are not so subtly flirting with each other in the corner before moving on to catch a glimpse of Jonathan and Eddie sneaking out the back door with a bag of a suspicious green substance. He hears the faint flick of Eddie’s lighter and it’s not long after that, that the distinct smell starts wafting through the room. He grimaces to himself. The only time weed isn’t overstimulating is when he himself is smoking it, and even then he has to take breaks fairly often. Tommy used to make fun of him for it, so he started making up different excuses that were more acceptable than “It smells bad,” because that always got him dirty looks and shoves that were a bit too rough to be considered playful.

The noise picks up, and he tries to not let it get to him, but he can feel his wrists twitching, and a hum buzzing softly in the back of the throat. He tries to rock subtly, but quickly ceases his motions when Robin and Nancy make their way over to him. “You okay, Stevie? You look a little pale…” Robin trails and Steve waves a hand, trying to speak but the words die in his throat and something like a grunt comes out instead. He smiles nervously, before shrugging and all but scampers away, definitely NOT in shame. His hands are twitching, and the blinking lights are giving him a headache, and not to mention the stupid cough he’s had for like, two weeks, is making his chest rattle uncomfortably, and he knows he has to get out. He shakes his head a little maniacally, gaining the attention of the room, before he chokes out a laugh and shoves a thumb towards the door, grabbing his keys and making a beeline for his car.

He’s alone for about two seconds before the knocking starts, and he knows they mean well, but it’s getting excruciating.

“Steve, c’mon, open up!”

“Don’t leave!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Steve, talk to us!”

And their fists are still beating on the window, and tears are starting to stream down his face. He curses himself, this meltdown coming out of nowhere, but really he knows, it had been building up for months, he’s surprised he’s lasted this long.

“Don’t cry, Steve! It’s christmas!”

And that's what breaks him. He feels his hands roughly grab his hair, and body rocking on autopilot, “Steve, please.” He hears a meek voice say. “Fuck!” He shuts, voice coming out hoarse, chest heaving as his hands move from his hair to beat on his chest. He opens his eyes briefly to see Mike making his way towards his car, the last thing he needs is Wheeler’s snide comments so he tries to steel himself but to no avail. He brings a heavy fist down onto his thigh. “What's going on?” He hears Eddie ask, a bit sluggish, no doubt high out of his mind, Steve wished he was too, then maybe he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself like this. “Steve is freaking out and ruining christmas.” Is what comes out of Mike’s mouth, and he knows the kid doesn’t really mean any harm, but he can’t stop himself from yelling, “I’m fucking Jewish, you little brat.” And the sobs are coming out in full force now, and he hears Robin jimmying the door open, and crawling into the passenger seat. She leans over, pulling him into a tight hug, letting the pressure wash over him, his sobs calm down, and his hands that were frantically beating at his chest and grasping his hair are calmer now, gentle and soothing, rather than desperate. From his position of having his head buried in Robin’s chest he can hear Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie ushering the kids away from the car, before hearing Eddie approach again.

He takes a shuddering breath before moving away from Robin and wiping his eyes harshly. “Sorry,” He sniffles, and Robin looks at him incredulously, “Steve, don’t apologize, just… Are you okay? That looked like… Well. It looked like a meltdown.” She soothed softly. He nodded, eyeing Eddie who was standing outside the car door apprehensively, before admitting softly “I’m not as normal as I seem, Robin. I’m. I’m pretty far from it actually,” He says, laughing bitterly. He opens the door for Eddie, motioning for him to slide in. “You too high for this Eddie?” Robin asks, to which the metalhead shakes his head no, hair swishing back and forth, “Nah. Sobered up pretty quickly, thanks to Stevie boy here.” He says playfully, softly, almost endearing. Robin thinks it’s disgusting.

“You okay, Steve?” Eddie asks, sliding his larger hand into the others shaking one, Steve nods. “I just… Got a bit overstimulated there. I tried to leave like we talked about but… Then everyone followed me out here.” Robin cringed at that a little bit, “I'm sorry, Steve. You looked like you were about to get sick, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Steve smiles softly, “It’s okay, Robs. I haven’t been super open about any of this stuff, you didn't know. In fact the only reason Eddie knows is because he found me in the bathroom in sophomore year having a meltdown.” He flashes a small smile at the metalhead beside him, who returns it, a bit sadder than the original. Robin doesn’t miss the way Eddie rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles in that soft, telling way, but she also doesn’t say anything about it. “I'm going to give you two a minute, whenever you’re ready Steve.” She says softly, moving out of the car, hearing Steve’s heavy sigh as she shuts the door.

The two boys sit together for a moment longer, while Steve prepares himself to answer the questions that are about to be thrown at him. “I can answer some of them, If you’d like me to?” Eddie offers gently, to which Steve shakes his head. He heaves another sigh before scooting out of the car and back towards the house, Eddie in tow.

As soon as he step foot into the basement, there's a cacophony of questions and his hands shake slightly in Eddies, “Everybody, shut up!” The long haired boy yells, angling his face away from Steve’s so he doesn’t get the brunt of the shout. Everyone goes silent at this, and Steve takes this as his chance to start talking.

“Okay so, first things first. I am. Well-” He huffs out a sigh, Eddie rubs his shoulder encouragingly, “I’ve got autism, which means… Like sounds and stuff can get too much and really freak me out. Like you just saw. It was. A lot of therapy, when I was a kid,” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work. He continues, “I’m also Jewish, I don’t… Really celebrate. My parents aren’t ever home during Hanukkah, and fire is… Hard for me. Like, y’know. I can’t light the menorah by myself…” He trails off, murmuring under his breath, “God this is so stupid, I’m stupid.” Eddie put an end to those comments real quickly, squeezing his hand. “Anyway… Yeah. Sorry for yelling at you, Mike. And uh. I’ll probably be pretty quiet after this.” He cleared his throat as he finished his speech. Everyone seemed to understand, and at the end of the night, he overheard the one and only, snarky, Mike Wheeler, planning a Hanukkah celebration for next year.

“Mike can be a brat, but. He’s also pretty cool. Sometimes.” Nancy says as he and Eddie leave, in lieu of a goodbye, and somewhat of a pseudo apology for her brother's antics. Steve smiles, nodding along in agreement. And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he’s looking forward to the next Hanukkah.

#stevie boy #steve needs a hug #sad steve harrington #steve harrington #jewish steve harrington #autistic steve : )#autistic steve harrington #autistic robin buckley #steve has a meltdown #meltdown #steve harrington angst #steve centric #steve harrington centric #established steddie #best friend robin buckley

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metalhoops · 1 year

Text

Nancy Wheeler always wanted something. That was her secret. It was the one thing that no one knew about her because she hardly knew how to explain it to herself. It was like being hungry for something other than food. It was illogical, incomprehensible and all the things Nancy had never let herself be.

She prided herself in being capable and competent. This manifested in different ways across the years. In the days before her best friend’s death, she had prided herself in her grades, her appearance, and her capability to somehow charm the once acclaimed ‘ladies' man’ Steve Harrington.

After that, things got messy, and her world changed. Her friend died, and she hadn’t been able to stop it. She’d learnt how to use a gun to keep herself and those she loved safe. She redefined capability, using it to encompass roles like ‘fighter’ and ‘protector’.

She realised she’d never loved Steve, not really, not in the way she should. Steve was funny. He knew how to make her laugh, sweep her off her feet, and make her feel special. No one had done that for her before. She’d lived in a crowded house that always felt empty. Steve understood that. Her mother and father had been dancing around each other since she was born. Even as the eldest child, she’d never felt special, not until Steve.

Then there was something about Jonathan. He’d been kind and compassionate. He’d been something Steve wasn’t. She didn’t want to be with Jonathan because of any external forces. Dating Jonathan wouldn’t turn heads or make the other girls in school look her way with something akin to envy. But it might fill that gaping hole of want. Jonathan understood her. He saw her for who she was and he’d loved her for it. No one had ever done that before. Steve had come close, but he hadn’t seen her. He’d seen the possibility of a white picket fence and a family.

Nancy knew if she went for that life, she’d be just like her mother. A woman filled with ambitions and dead dreams. A woman who got glassy-eyed when gazing out of her bedroom window, as though envisioning herself opening the glass and soaring free or falling to her death, impaled on the same white picket fence that’d sprung up like a field of daisies the day Nancy Wheeler was born.

For a while, Jonathan had been enough. Until he wasn’t. She didn’t know who owned the blame for the demise of their relationship. It happened slowly, maybe when he moved to California, possibly before that. They were two continents drifting apart. He left in his wake the same old familiar aching hole of want.

She applied for colleges, worked on her journalism, and freelanced for a couple of local papers outside of Hawkins, ones where women were allowed a seat at the table. It helped. She was done trying to impress others. She wanted to impress herself.

She felt more at home in her body while she was moving, but when she came home, either to her estranged family house in Hawkins or to her silent student dorm room, she felt the hole once again. That was when Steve asked her to move in with him.

She wanted to say no. She wasn’t going to do it to herself or Steve again. She didn’t want to give him hope. He was always in love with her. It waxed, waned and morphed like the moon, but the love was always there. Yet, to her surprise, he shook his head, showing her he’d also changed in their time apart.

“Not just with me, Nance. Robin and Eddie are coming too. There’s enough room. It’s gotta be lonely sometimes hauling up all by yourself.”

Nancy couldn’t think of a good enough reason to say no. So she didn’t.

What she hadn’t expected was how much she would enjoy having someone to come home to. The house was never quiet. Eddie would play his guitar at all hours of the night and morning. Ever since the group had made the mistake of getting Steve a record player for his birthday, he’d blast his music while cooking or cleaning. She couldn’t go a week without waking up to Toto’s Africa. A prospect that’d once petrified her, had somehow managed to bring her such comfort. Then there was Robin. Robin was never quiet. She was always talking to Nancy.

Nancy had gotten used to her childhood home, where they ate together at mealtimes but remained silent. The place where, when she asked about someone’s day, she’d get a one-word response and a thousand-yard stare. When she asked Robin about her day, the girl told a novel-length, detailed account, filled with wild hand gestures and, more than once, illustrations.

Nancy had come home late after spending the day at the library trying to complete a paper for her Intro to Communication and Journalism course. She was surprised to find Robin home alone, sprawled out in front of the T.V. watching what appeared to be a French Film.

“Where’s everyone?” Nancy asked, letting her bag thud to the floor as she positioned herself on the armrest of the couch.

“Watching a movie at the drive-in. I said I couldn’t go since I’m sick, real bummer.” Robin faked a cough, then winked at her, sitting up and making room for Nancy. When she didn’t move quickly enough, Robin pulled her closer.

The girl was clearly faking it. For what end, Nancy could guess. She knew Steve and how he acted when he was in love. He and Eddie had been mooning over one another for months. At first, it’d surprised her. She’d tried to deny her intuition, unsure why the concept of Steve liking Eddie made her feel naked. Nancy had always been progressive. It didn’t bother her that Steve or Eddie liked men, but it made the old, odd ache within her burn.

“Do you think they’ll finally work it out?” Nancy questioned, watching as a flicker of surprise, followed by an air of mischief fell over Robin.

“Oh, Steve knows he’s got it bad for Eddie,” Robin confided, a cheeky grin spreading over her lips. Their faces were very close. Her eyes were blue, flecked with greys and greens, perfect in their imperfection.

“He’s been waxing poetic to me for the past month. You thought listening to him talk about girls was bad? At least I can relate to that. Listening to him gush about Eddie kinda makes me want to puke. I mean Steve’s all ‘his hair looks so soft and curly, Robby.’ what am I meant to do with that? To me, Eddie’s just... I don’t know, our gremlin roommate that lives in our walls. I like the guy, but I don’t know what Steve sees in him,” Robin admitted with a laugh.

She slung a hand around the back of the couch and absentmindedly tangled one of Nancy’s curls around her finger. Oh. Nancy liked that more than she should. Robin smelled like green apple shampoo, pen ink and poor decisions.

Nancy was good at noticing things. She wanted to be an investigative journalist, and it came with the territory. She’d heard Steve mention how Robin had the habit of talking too much when she liked a girl.

Nancy also noticed how Robin looked at her, the way her eyes lingered when she came out of her bedroom in her nightdress. Her eyes had scraped over Nancy’s shins, calves and the hollow space beneath her clavicle. All the new exposed flesh she usually kept hidden. It shouldn’t feel intimate, but it did. She’d seen drawings of her likeness amongst the clutter on the kitchen table and knew who they’d belonged to. Robin was good at drawing. She wondered if the girl would ever consider doing comics for the papers. It’d be nice to work with her around.

Nancy knew Robin was talking, but she didn’t hear a word of it, distracted by the stray strand of sandy hair, caught in Robin’s lip gloss. Nancy was smart, smart enough to know nothing good could come of acting on what she was feeling. She leaned forward anyway, brushing the hair back behind Robin’s ear, watching her go still.

“How’d you get that?” Robin asked, capturing Nancy’s hand, trailing her finger over the scar cut across her palm. It was too close to another night, another possibility of love, another stupid decision by Nancy Wheeler.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nancy breathed, pulling back from Robin’s hand.

“Robin, can you do me a favour?” Nancy asked, but before she had time to reply, Nancy pushed forward.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” she warned, her voice small but deathly serious.

Robin pulled back as though slapped, looking at the woman before her with wide eyes, seeming like a creature ensnared in a trap. It’d come out all wrong. Nancy was never good with this kind of thing.

“I hurt everyone that loves me,” she amended.

“So please don’t fall in love with me, because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Robin blinked owlishly at the girl before leaping to her feet and pacing before Nancy and the TV.

“Holy shit,” she breathed as she paced. Robin’s body never felt at home staying still either. Nancy opened her mouth to say something, but it was drowned out by another bout of ‘holy shit’.

“You like me, Nance,” Robin exclaimed, gesturing an upturned palm between the two of them.

“You have to like me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t say that. And I mean, why the hell would you say that?” Robin ran a hand through her hair before huffing and sitting back down across from Nancy, taking her hands into her lap. They were both shaking. To her credit, Robin didn’t touch the scar again.

“It’s not your fault. What happened between you and Steve. You know that right?” Nancy hadn’t expected that. Robin was always on Steve’s side for everything, they were best friends.

“I broke his heart, too. He’s told you that, right?” He had.

“That’s different,” Nancy reasoned.

“Just because a relationship doesn’t work out doesn’t mean it was pointless. It’s like... I don’t know, having a crush on Tom Cruise,” Robin reasoned, instantly losing Nancy.

“Alright, bad example. What I mean is back in high school, I had a major crush on Tammy Thompson. Don’t give me that face. Steve has said everything you could say. The point is, looking back at it now we never would’ve worked. She was a total flake. She was pretty but I’d drive her up the damn wall, like, could you imagine Tammy Thompson letting me talk about Italian Neorealism for two hours? No. But you did.” Robin nudged Nancy’s shoulder as though to prove a point.

“Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. The point is, I realised I liked girls because of Tammy Thompson, so liking her wasn’t a waste of time. You changed Steve and Steve changed you, same with Jonathan. It’s made you who you are, Nance and who you are is a total badass, that I really, really like. So please don’t tell me not to fall in love with you. It’s not fair. You won’t hurt me, but even if you do, I think it’d be worth it for us to try.”

Nancy never had learned to shut Robin up, but she suddenly had an idea.

She leaned forward, placing a shaking hand on Robin’s cheek and crashing their lips together, sleek, sticky, glossed lips smacking together, tasting of strawberry, feeling like home.

Maybe the third time was the charm.

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bigskyandthecoldgun · 8 months

Text

perfectly un-ordinary

words: 4,979

ao3

Nancy’s soulmark is perfectly ordinary.

Just a simple bird on a branch. Birdie is written underneath it in loopy, neat handwriting. It fits neatly over two of her ribs, which is a perfectly normal place for it. Nothing extraordinary about it. Just a simple design that represents the nickname given to her soulmate by the most important person in her soulmate’s life. Typically, it’s the nickname that soulmates end up giving to each other, but the handwriting…isn’t Nancy’s.

The handwriting is Steve Harrington’s.

Whoever her soulmate is, Steve Harrington, at some point, will end up calling them Birdie.

Whoever her soulmate is, Steve Harrington will be the most important person in their life.

She stares down at the note in her locker, the all-too-familiar handwriting that makes the spot on her ribs burn, the sweet and surprisingly kind words from the most popular boy in school, who’s asking her out. Nancy can’t imagine her soulmate being someone like Tommy Hagan or Carol Perkins, because they’re awful, and she doesn’t even understand why Steve hangs out with them. But those are Steve’s closest friends.

Nancy goes out with him anyway, because he’s the most popular boy in school, and he’s gorgeous, and she figures she’s got time before he ends up calling someone else Birdie, which means she’ll eventually have to break up with him. But he’s good to her, and while she knows it’s doomed, it’s fun and new. It’s something easy, and they both know they might not last forever, because Steve makes a remark about how her handwriting is so tiny, says some cheesy line about how it must be hard to read her own soulmark, and she lets herself giggle along.

She doesn’t see Steve’s soulmark, not even when they’re both naked and tangled in his sheets; she figures it must be somewhere unique, somewhere out of the ordinary. But she’s careful, keeps hers covered. It’s not hard to, in the dark, if she keeps her upper arm by her side. She buys soulmark patches the next morning, because there’s that weird guilt in her gut, and she can’t make eye contact with herself in the mirror as she adheres the patch to her two ribs.

After the demogorgon, after Barb, after the lights and the gun and the nailbat, Nancy briefly entertains the idea that maybe Steve considers himself the most important person in his life, venomously thinks that, sitting with him at the Hollands’ dinner table, it wouldn’t be out of character for him to be that self-absorbed. She feels guilty almost immediately for thinking that, of course, but…it’s hard.

And when she learns on November first that she’d thrown the fact that they could never work in his face, that she knew they’d been doomed from the start and told him as much, told him he was bullshit, she gets defensive. Brushes him off.

He’s not really her soulmate anyway, so what does it matter?

She can’t imagine her soulmate is Jonathan, either, even with his lips on hers, her body under his, because he and Steve hate each other, but he’s sweet, he’s soft, he wants justice, justice the same way she does. He holds her like she’s something special, even though she can see the surfboard on his collarbone, the word Dude underneath it in Jonathan’s own handwriting. He’s like her, then, open to whatever gender his soulmate might be, boy or girl, and he isn’t afraid to show her things like that. He isn’t closed-off. Not like Steve was.

Steve.

God, Nancy still can’t believe he’d just given her a sad smile and told her to go with Jonathan. It bodes well for staying in his social circle, for perhaps eventually meeting the ever-elusive Birdie, though Nancy’s hope dwindles with every passing day Steve remains at a steady zero friends outside of their ragtag, world-saving group.

She hates that her soulmate is contingent on Steve staying in her life. She hates that he’ll probably have a hand in introducing them to her. She hates the way she still hasn’t apologized. Hates the way Mike says Steve’s name with a sneer every time he’s brought up in conversation, because her little brother is nothing if not loyal, and it hadn’t even been Steve’s fault, not really. Though Steve hadn’t exactly been the best boyfriend, he hadn’t deserved that.

If he’s the most important person in Nancy’s soulmate’s life, Nancy’s eventually going to have to swallow her pride and make amends.

But for now, she has Jonathan. She only has to worry about Jonathan. And she loves him, she thinks, in a way she hadn’t loved Steve. Maybe she hadn’t let herself, because she knew that it couldn’t be him, but she might not be letting herself love Jonathan the way he deserves, either. Maybe she’s not trying hard enough to understand his side of things when they get into an argument the summer before senior year, but she thinks of Dude and their surfboard, and she thinks he might not be letting himself love her the way she deserves, either.

She stops bothering with the soulmark patches that night. Nancy figures that it’s not worth the hassle anymore, if Jonathan’s just gonna keep being his same bullheaded self. So she sets her jaw and keeps investigating, because that’s what she’s good at, and it gets her into a whole heaping helping of trouble. By the end of it, though, after the flesh monster and Russians under the mall, she and Jonathan have more than made up.

And he’s good to her. He’s good to her like no one else has been, he’s safe. He’s familiar enough that it gives her the comfort to get through the rest of the summer. They even make plans to apply to the same colleges—hopefully Emerson, Nancy’s got her fingers crossed that they’ll both be early acceptance—but Jonathan’s moving away. It’ll be harder, the long distance, but Nancy thinks it’ll be worth it to try.

They’ve been through too much together not to try, right? Screw Steve and his Birdie, Nancy will find a way to bend those letters until they read Jon in Will’s handwriting, until the bird on the branch becomes a camera, she’ll do it out of spite, she’ll find a way. Who cares if their relationship isn’t universe-approved? They’re good. They’re familiar. They’re comfortable.

Jonathan calls her in December, after the Byers’ move. Tells her that he found someone whose soulmark is a camera. J-Man to match his Dude. Nancy grits her teeth and tells him she’s happy for him. He whispers that he still loves her, but. But. She wishes him luck with his soulmate and hangs up, spending the rest of the break holed up in her room.

It’s not until the day after New Years that Mike finally snaps.

“You’re a hermit,” he snaps at her when she slips out of her room to get a glass of water, which means he’s worried about her. She scowls at him, though, because she doesn’t want his worry, his pity. Mike rolls his jaw. “You’re—I get that you’re sad about Jonathan dumping you, but you can’t just—”

“He found his soulmate,” Nancy cuts in hollowly.

Mike blinks, shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t know,” he mutters, all embarrassed, and Nancy just nods. She’s tired. She’s long since gone back to using the soulmark patches. She doesn’t need to see Steve Harrington’s handwriting mocking her in the mirror. Mike nudges at her ankle with his socked foot. “That sucks.”

She knows Mike doesn’t know how it feels, because he doesn’t have his soulmark yet. He’ll get it next year, sure—and he’s really cocky about guessing that it’s El—but he doesn’t get it yet. He’s been a real asshole, lately, more so than usual, and he smells gross most of the time, doesn’t bother with deodorant if he’s staying at home for the day, and he’s been hanging out with that guy that stands on the cafeteria tables too much, because he’s been dramatic as hell.

But he’s being kind to her now, even if his kindness is a little awkwardly stilted.

“My soulmark handwriting isn’t mine,” she confesses. She doesn’t know why she’s telling him. Their mom doesn’t even know. She’s never shown her own mother her soulmark. “It’s…the most important person in their life isn’t me. I thought I might eventually be Jonathan’s, that we could’ve—it’s stupid. Fucking…forget it.”

“No,” Mike says, all furrowed brows and determination. “It’s important.”

Nancy’s eyes start to well with tears, embarrassingly enough. “I wished it would change,” she whispers. “After Starcourt, I wished it would change. I wanted it to be a camera. I wanted to have different handwriting on my skin. I wanted to change it through…sheer will or some shit? I don’t know.”

Mike nods, like he gets it, even if he doesn’t. “What is it?” he asks, because he has no manners, in spite of their parents’ best efforts. At the hesitation that must show on Nancy’s face, Mike winces, backtracks. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But…does anybody else know what it is?”

Shaking her head, Nancy sniffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “No. I used soulmark patches ’til Starcourt, but…Jonathan didn’t see it after, either,” she says.

Mike makes a face. “Oh, is it on, like, a gross part of your body? ’Cuz if that’s the case, I do not wanna see it—”

“Shut up, Mike,” Nancy laughs, “it’s on my ribs.”

Humming, Mike nods. “Suits you,” he says, and he doesn’t elaborate, and she doesn’t know what he means by that. But it’s nice nonetheless. She’s never heard it before. Mike tilts his head. “You wanna show me?”

Nancy bites her bottom lip. “Yeah, okay,” she murmurs, yanking the side of her shirt up just enough to show her bottom two ribs, and she picks at the soulmark patch that covers Birdie and the branch. “Just don’t, like, be an asshole about it, okay?”

Uncharacteristically serious, Mike nods again and keeps his eyes on her ribs as she peels the patch off. “Do you know whose handwriting it is?” he asks, and Nancy swallows.

“No,” she lies, and he lets her.

“It’s cool,” Mike decides, and Nancy lets her shirt fall. There’s a long moment where neither of them say anything, and Nancy takes the time the silence occupies to fill that glass of water she’d wanted. As she sips on it, Mike rocks on his heels and avoids her eye. “For what it’s worth, El’s probably gonna have your handwriting calling me a dick or something.”

Nancy’s heart seizes. “Oh,” she chokes. “Then, I—I think Birdie probably has yours.”

“Gross. I don’t like it when you’re sappy,” Mike groans, but there’s the hint of a smile on his face.

“You started it,” she scoffs.

Mike wrinkles his nose up at her. “Did not.”

She grins. “Did too.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Whatever. Loser.”

Nancy goes into the New Year with a little less weight on her shoulders.

Then, because apparently she’s not allowed to relax for extended periods of time anymore, her spring break goes to hell. There’s a dead cheerleader, then a dead friend subordinate, and then she’s taking Robin to go investigate a shot-in-the-dark lead. Robin, Steve’s not-girlfriend, ends up finding something really worthwhile, and something new and exciting turns in Nancy’s gut when Robin goes on a tirade in the director’s office. She’s interested, intrigued, even, and she chocks it up to journalistic instinct for now, because she has more important things to worry about.

And Steve does his stupid heroics, diving into Lover’s Lake, and Robin and Eddie are too busy panicking, so Nancy jumps in first.

It’s only because no one else is going to.

It isn’t because of Birdie.

It isn’t because of Birdie, who she’s never met. It isn’t because if Steve dies, Birdie loses the most important person in their life. It isn’t because she cares whether Steve’s handwriting under the bird and the branch changes to someone else’s. It isn’t because of Robin’s voice cracking as she screams Steve’s name in panic. Nancy isn’t that selfless.

So it’s only because she’s got to be the leader.

That same reasoning is also why she wraps Steve’s wounds. If he bleeds out in the Upside Down because he decided to play the hero, she’s going to kill him. His death would be a major inconvenience, that’s all. That’s all it is.

Nancy stays with Robin, because Steve seems to be having a crisis that Eddie is not helping, and maybe it’s a little vindictive to leave a stressed-out Steve with the guy that refuses to respect his personal space, but Nancy is stressed out, too, and can’t bring herself to feel guilty about it. And Robin is funny, makes a joke about Nancy needing to hire a maid in the Upside Down version of her house. Nancy’s glad she’d decided to keep Robin company rather than either of the two boys.

Not that she has anything against Eddie, save for his theatrics. And her grudge against Steve is almost entirely baseless at this point. Whatever. Emotions take too much effort to parse through, and Nancy has to save that effort for sawing the end off a shotgun.

Which is not-so-technically a felony.

Steve tells her that his dream, with the six kids that Nancy doesn’t want and the white picket fence that makes Nancy nauseous, was about her.

“You’re not my soulmate,” she tells him, grim and annoyed. They have more important things to handle than his desperate, end-of-the-world delirium driven by blood loss and his crippling fear of dying alone.

“Right, yeah, I know that,” he says, ears tinged red with embarrassment. “Sorry to—”

“I don’t want an apology,” she snaps. “I want to kill Vecna.”

Steve nods, gestures for her to move ahead. “Let’s—so let’s go, then,” he says, and he sounds so horribly distraught. “Robin’s, um—she’s probably waiting on us to catch up.”

Nancy moves ahead wordlessly. She doesn’t want Steve’s advances, isn’t interested in rekindling things. She has no idea why he’s trying to fan flames that are nonexistent on her end, why he seems so confused at his own actions, and she doesn’t really care to find out. Not when they have to kill Henry Creel, not when there’s so much on the line.

And they do.

Kill Henry Creel, that is.

Not without consequence. Not without Steve carrying a barely-alive Eddie out of the Upside Down, and not without Max breaking three of her four limbs. But they’re both still alive, albeit in the hospital, Hawkins is still intact, and Nancy will count it as a win. Hopefully, it’s the final win. She can’t imagine having to go through something like this again.

The Byers family comes back into town, Mike, El, Murray, and Hopper in tow, the last of which is incredibly surprising, though through a long explanation about a Russian prison and an escape helicopter, Nancy supposes it makes sense. Things are tense and awkward between her and Jonathan, and between Jonathan and Mike, for whatever reason, and Nancy’s too focused on putting together a cover story with Owens that’ll clear Eddie’s name to bother with all that.

Birdie remains uninvestigated on her ribs, at least for a while.

She gets closer with Robin and Eddie, and getting closer with Robin means patching things up with Steve, because the two are virtually inseparable. It’s a painful and drawn-out conversation, full of begrudging apologies, painful stitches over a wound that’s gone untended for too long. It sucks, but it’s necessary. Nancy knows it’s necessary, and not just for the sake of her friendship with Robin, not just for Birdie’s sake, but for her own, as well.

And for Steve’s. She’d hurt him, after all, and he’d been owed an apology for a long time.

They’re smoking in Eddie’s new government-gifted trailer—something Nancy had never thought she’d ever be doing—the first time the topic of soulmates-slash-soulmarks is brought up in their new little friend group.

“Have any of you guys met your soulmate?” Eddie asks, taking a long drag from the joint, and Robin shifts uncomfortably.

“I think I have,” she murmurs, “but I don’t know. I feel like…like my soulmate would’ve said, you know? But it’s a pretty common nickname for a pretty common name, so…”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Plus, it sucks when your soulmark’s handwriting isn’t your own, because then you have to rely on other people’s nicknames for your soulmate,” he groans, and Nancy sits up straighter. Eddie passes the joint to Steve. “And, like, then you have to ask people what their handwriting looks like, which makes them give you the saddest looks you’ve ever seen.”

“No one’s seen my soulmark but Mike,” Nancy says quietly. “So…at least I get what the first part’s like.”

“Your soulmark has someone else’s handwriting?” Steve asks her around a mouthful of smoke, and he sounds curious with just a hint of hurt, like he can’t believe she hasn’t told them. “D’you know whose it is?”

Nancy just shrugs.

“My soulmark has someone else’s handwriting, too,” Robin says. “I don’t know whose handwriting it is, either.”

There’s a little bit of guilt Nancy feels at that, because Robin and Eddie clearly think she’s able to commiserate with them about not being the most important person in their soulmates’ lives and not knowing who that other person is, but she can’t, because she knows exactly who that person is, and he’s in the room with them. Nancy takes the joint when Steve passes it to her and takes a quick pull, coughing slightly.

Eddie grins wolfishly at the sound. She flips him off. “Look, all I know is that when I meet my soulmate, we’re gonna have some words,” Eddie jokes, and Nancy laughs along with Steve and Robin. Eddie nods at the rest of them. “What do your marks look like? You don’t have to show it if you don’t want to, I’m just curious.”

Neither Robin nor Steve make any move to show theirs.

“It’s a bird,” Nancy says. “I, um—it’s a weird nickname. I don’t even know if—”

She cuts herself off. She can’t come out and say that she doesn’t know whether Steve’s even met Birdie yet. Mercifully, no one presses further.

“Mine’s a chart,” Eddie offers. “There’s, like, two categories, and whoever wrote them has the same handwriting as the, uh…the nickname.”

“A chart?” Robin asks, brows furrowed. “What kinda chart?”

“It’s just on, like, a piece of paper or something, I don’t know,” Eddie huffs with a frustrated shrug, and Steve lays back until his head’s on Robin’s lap.

“I know who mine is,” he says quietly.

That’s news to all of them, it would seem.

Immediately, Eddie and Robin jump into hounding him about who it is, and Nancy is content to sit back and let it happen until Steve’s face screws up into an expression she only remembers from hazy, drunken memories. “Both of you, shut up!” she says, and they do, because even outside of the Upside Down, her voice carries some authority.

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs.

Nancy nods.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you figured it out,” Robin tuts, and Steve reaches up to tap her nose with his pointer finger.

“You’ve seen his soulmark?” Eddie asks her, and Robin nods, a glint in her eye Nancy recognizes as the same glint she’d had there during her speech in the director’s office.

It makes Nancy’s face go hot.

It’s clear that Steve doesn’t want to keep talking about it, so Nancy pushes the conversation towards a debate on what movie they’ll be watching that night. As Robin and Eddie bicker, she locks eyes with Steve, who gives her a small, grateful smile. It feels good, feels like the real beginning of a genuine friendship.

And Nancy isn’t used to having this many friends. Sure, she’s surrounded by people at the school newspaper, but now she’s got people to walk through the halls with at school, people to sit next to in the cafeteria, and she hasn’t had that since…well, since Barb. It’s been years since she’s had a sleepover with friends, and she’s been having them almost every other day. It’s warm, and it’s good, and Nancy feels like she has a community to fall back on, people her age who really get her. It’s wonderful and nerve-wracking all at once.

“Whose handwriting is on your soulmark?” Steve asks her on a warm spring evening in April, while Robin and Eddie are bustling away in the kitchen in Steve’s big house.

For some reason, Nancy finds herself feeling comfortable enough to tell the truth. “Yours,” she says, a quiet confession, and he blinks in surprise.

“I’m the most important person in someone’s life? Someone other than my soulmate?” he asks, barely above a whisper, and she can’t help herself—she hugs him.

It’s not long after that before Eddie approaches her in a frenzied hurricane of hair, gangly limbs, and just a touch of panic.

“I think I need to show you my soulmark,” he tells her, and before she can get a word in edgewise, because he has just burst rather unceremoniously into her bedroom, Eddie starts to pace. “Because, I—well, it’s complicated, because I think I figured out who it is, and if I’m right, then it means things might be awkward between you and me, but I also don’t think they will…? I mean, he says he’s over—and you say you’re over—”

“Eddie,” Nancy says, “slow down.”

Eddie unbuckles his pants. Nancy whirls her head away.

“No, it’s not—! Look!” Eddie tells her, and Nancy puts her hands over her eyes, peeking through her fingers at him.

There’s a big square on his hip with two columns—the chart, she realizes as she puts her hands down—and the titles on each column read You Rule and You Suck with some tallies under the second column, but none under the first. In the same handwriting, Dingus is scrawled underneath it. Nancy’s seen that handwriting before. It’s the same handwriting from the notes she’d borrowed from Robin the other day because she’d skipped out on first period to chase a scoop.

“Your soulmate is Steve,” she realizes.

Eddie lets out a pained sort of noise. “And it’s—and you—! But you guys aren’t, so I figured it’d be fine, but—!” he cuts himself off with another pained half-scream, redoing his pants.

“Steve and Robin are the most important people in each other’s lives,” Nancy breathes.

Birdie.

“I know! And I’m not—I don’t want to disrespect that, I’m just—Nancy, I’m freaking out!” Eddie says through clenched teeth.

“Steve is the most important person in Robin’s life,” Nancy whimpers.

Birdie. Bird on a branch. Steve’s handwriting.

Robin. A robin on a branch.

Birdie.

“Okay, I feel like our crises are branching a little here,” Eddie says, hands steepled over his mouth, and Nancy whips her shirt off. Eddie mimics her earlier actions, turning on his heel in the other direction immediately. “Woah, Wheeler, I do not need to see—”

“My soulmark—my soulmate—Eddie, look,” she tells him.

Eddie winces as he turns around, and Nancy jabs a finger pointedly at her ribs. “Birdie,” Eddie reads aloud. His eyes go wide. “Oh, holy shit.”

“Steve’s soulmark is the only one of ours that isn’t different handwriting,” she reminds him. “Are you…okay with not being the most important—”

“Wheeler, I’m not stupid enough to hope to come close to Robin,” Eddie tells her. “Are…you okay with it? I mean, it’s different for you, someone’s apparently more important to you, too.”

Nancy’s mind flashes back to that conversation in the kitchen after New Years. “I’m okay with it,” she says, because she is. “Is—do either of them—”

“Steve knows,” Eddie says. “He knows and he didn’t tell me—”

“That’s not because you’re you, it’s because he’s self-sabotaging,” Nancy says. “But Robin said she thought she might know—”

“None of that from you, either,” Eddie snaps. “This isn’t a goddamn pity party.”

Nancy balks. “Then what the hell is it?”

Eddie waves his hands out manically. “I don’t know!”

Nancy throws her shirt back on, flops back against her bed. “Shit,” she grits out, “we should tell them. We have to.”

The mattress dips beside her. “Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “We do.”

“Does soulmark handwriting ever change?” Nancy wonders. “Not that I’m—like you said, I’d never hope for it, I’m just curious.”

“It’s ridiculously rare, but my uncle’s soulmate’s did,” Eddie whispers. “It changed from his soulmate’s to mine the day I was sent to live with him.”

Nancy can’t help but smile at that. It’s sweet. “If that’s the case, I think Mike’s future soulmate might have to cycle through, like, five different handwritings depending on who’s pissed him off the least that day,” she jokes, and Eddie laughs.

Silence washes over them. It’s comfortable, even if it’s unlike Eddie to be so silent.

He threads his fingers through hers. “Fuck it. Maybe we’ll eventually be each other’s most important people,” Eddie muses. “Y’know, since our soulmates are attached at the hip, we’ll probably end up like that, too.”

Nancy thinks she wouldn’t mind that all too much.

She ends up taking a page out of Steve’s book, surprisingly enough, and making her way to Robin’s second-story bedroom window that very same night. When she taps on the glass, Robin falls out of her chair and ends up scrambling over on all fours to open the window up. It’s so unbelievably charming. Robin helps her in, and the feel of her skin against Nancy’s makes her shudder, so thrilling that Nancy’s grin probably makes her seem like a crazy person.

“Jesus Christ, Nance, what are you doing here?” Robin hisses. “You probably could have come in the front door, I don’t think my parents really care—”

“I needed to talk to you. Didn’t have time for pleasantries,” Nancy says, breathless. “You’re—I need to tell you something. Something important.”

Robin goes a little pale. “Oh, shit, is this, like, a Code Red situation? Are we—did it come back?” she whispers, and Nancy shakes her head.

“No, it’s good, I—at least, I hope you think it’s good,” Nancy says, and Robin quirks a confused smile at her. Nancy pulls the side of her shirt up carefully. “I…have reason to think this nickname belongs to you.”

Robin’s hand is trembling as she reaches out to brush her fingers against the lettering, tracing the shape of the bird on the branch. The robin on the branch. Warmth spreads from the spot on the mark Robin had touched. “I—it’s you? I get to have you as my soulmate?” Robin asks, and she makes it sound like a profound honor, like it’s too good to be true, like Nancy is worth that much love.

“If you’ll have me,” Nancy whispers. “I’m stubborn and judgemental and I’ve hurt people, I’m too single-minded sometimes and it makes me withdraw into myself. I’m not good at loving other people and I make bad decisions and—”

“You’re everything,” Robin tells her.

It’s too much.

“I’ve been self-destructing about my soulmate since I got my mark,” Nancy tells her. “I thought—I dated Steve, knowing it was his handwriting, a-and then I dated Jonathan, knowing it couldn’t be him, and I’m so glad it wasn’t either of them, because you’re—Robin, you’re smart and you’re driven and you’re so, so kind to me. You’re beautiful.”

Robin’s breath hitches. “Nancy—”

“I don’t want to self-destruct with you,” Nancy says. “And I won’t. I don’t think you’d let me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Robin agrees. “I like you too much for that.”

“Let me see yours?” Nancy asks, and Robin nods, face flushed as she rolls up her pyjama pant leg to reveal her upper thigh.

There’s a spiral of memo pad pages surrounding a gorgeous fountain pen, and Nance is scrawled down the side of Robin’s thigh in Mike’s handwriting. Nancy traces the lines of the pages with her fingers, slides her palm over the pen. It’s beautiful. Intricate. As detailed as her own, and that makes something warm blossom in Nancy’s chest.

To her surprise, Robin’s mark fills with color, and the two of them watch in awe as ink splotches start to appear on the pages. Robin gasps. “Nancy, the bird—”

Nancy looks down, at where she’s still keeping her shirt raised, and sure enough, it’s the colors of an actual robin. “Holy shit,” Nancy breathes, more excited than she thinks she’s ever been in her entire life. Her eyes lock with Robin’s. “Can I…can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Robin says, voice hoarse, and Nancy surges forward, letting go of her shirt so she can keep one hand on Robin’s thigh, on Robin’s soulmark, while cupping her face with the other.

Their lips meet, and it’s wonderful. Nancy hums contentedly as Robin’s mouth moves against hers, slow and gentle. Her hands flit up to link around the back of Nancy’s neck, and her cheek grows warmer under Nancy’s touch. Robin’s clearly not a very experienced kisser, but Nancy doesn’t mind at all, perfectly content to nip at Robin’s bottom lip and draw pretty little noises from her throat. Robin pulls back after a moment to catch her breath, and Nancy smiles at her.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she murmurs.

Robin beams at her. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

And just like that, Nancy doesn’t think her soulmark is very ordinary at all anymore.

#ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #stranger things #nancy wheeler centric #ronance soulmates au #very minor steddie and jargyle #like they are Very Much Background #also featuring mike and nancy being good siblings #and eddie and nancy being friends #platonic stobin #steve and robin are the most important people in each others' lives and you cannot change my mind #my fic #cross posted on ao3

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devondespresso · 3 months

Text

I Can Only Hope Now (STWG Daily Prompt: Claudia)

G | 1269 words | ao3 link | cw: absent father, brief references to Steve’s absent parents

Thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers! 💛

Claudia Edine Henderson never wanted to get married. Not really.

But she wanted kids, so that meant either getting married or seeing if the daycare was hiring.

Anthony Laurence Goldman wanted a family. She thought that meant the same thing, so they married.

And it was good. They had a beautiful baby boy, Dustin Clarence Goldman, healthy save for a defect with his bones. No collarbones, and the high chance he’d need a little extra medical attention down the line, but he’d still be living long and happy, and she couldn’t ask for more.

Eventually, their baby's cries stopped waking both of them up in the middle of the night. It was just her, because mothers had a sixth sense for it.

No sleep, no time, no awareness of what she let it do to her until her mother called, apologizing for the odd hour, and she realized she couldn’t tell the difference between four in the morning or six at night. After that, her mother stayed a while, helped with the baby when Anthony was at work.

Anthony helped when he could, but his real specialty was money. He knew how mortgages and insurance worked, knew how banks and credit card companies stayed in business, knew how to get the lowest bill from the hospital, so having to pay out of pocket for Dusty's somehow only ‘cosmetic surgeries’ wouldn't leave their wallets dry.

He knew how to juggle all that convoluted adult shit that scared the living daylights out of her. It was like it came so easy to him.

Maybe it didn't. She'd never really know.

It was his domain, and he preferred it that way, for years and years until it started looking like family was more like the backdrop for his dreams, instead of the subject of them.

She talked to him, lord knows she talked to him about it, but each new month of trying faded back into three of forgetting.

Dustin grew old enough to ask. Just enough words to get the question across. Where did Daddy go?

They separated a few months, hoping he’d miss his son enough to work with her on this.

She gave him the ultimatum that turned into a divorce.

He agreed happily, saying that it would prove how much weight he was really pulling. That he didn’t need custody.

Claudia Edine Henderson and Dustin Clarence Henderson moved back in with her mother, and for three more years she figured the rest of it out. She found a job at a bank, learned the ins and outs of the business while balancing her own funds separate from both her ex-husband and her mother.

When Dusty was old enough to bike to and from school on his own, they finally moved out to a quiet small town, far away from Anthony. Dustin found friends so fast, faster than she ever could have hoped, and she was able to tell him everything.

She had no idea if she made the right choice for him. It was the right choice for her, and in a way that probably made her a better mother for him, but she could never be sure if that distance made any of it easier on him. Sometimes she wishes she did more to bring him into their family, offered to help with any of those things that scared her too much to do herself.

Sometimes she wondered if Dustin would ever resent her for it. If he didn’t already.

But then one night, Dustin was out way past curfew, without calling. Karen and Sue couldn’t find their boys either, so the three of them ran up to the station. Ms. Flo, the angel, called the chief himself immediately and gave them a spot in the waiting room.

An hour or so later, the chief showed up with all three boys in tow.

They were all grounded, no question, but before she and Dusty started heading home, he begged her for five minutes to talk with his friend in the chief's car. She relented, and Dustin ran to the passenger seat of the car, where a teen boy was leaning on the door and resting his eyes.

Dusty opened the door and the boy nearly fell out of the car, followed by a very loud “Henderson!” that made her chuckle.

Hopper said it was the Harrington’s son, and his next stop would be taking the kid to Hawkins General Hospital for ‘a concussion and a half’.

They both had to get going, and despite his anger earlier, Harrington Jr. said goodbye with a smile and a ruffle of Dustin’s cap. And when Dusty hopped into the front seat with stars in his eyes and the energy of a successful campaign, he talked about Steve Harrington.

Steve was awesome. Steve was like the tank their party needed. Steve was a badass until he got his ass kicked, which apparently wasn’t even fair anyway, because Steve would have totally won if Bobby? Billy? Was playing fair. Steve was strong, Steve was cool, Steve told him how to do his hair, of all things, which was also apparently a secret. Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.

She had to be wary, just a little, because that was her job. But even more than that, she wanted to be hopeful.

So the next day, when Dustin asked if he could bike to the hospital to check on Steve, even though he was grounded, she decided to make an exception, and they both took the car.

Hopper’s car was still camped out in the parking lot, but before she could look for the right cars around, Dustin dashed again to Steve’s room, almost slamming the door open.

Dustin jumped on the bed before Steve could get a word in, let alone sit up to greet them, but the wide, if a bit confused, smile said it all.

Hopper offered the chair next to him for her to take a seat, and he filled her in properly on everything that happened. Most of the story was a better rehash of Dustin’s accounts with those in-betweens better filled, but the one thing that stayed perfectly consistent was Steve.

A new girl’s step brother got too rough with Sue's boy, Steve stepped in and started a regular fight, then step-brother grabbed a dinner plate and ended it. Step brother apparently fled after Steve wouldn’t get up, and the kids looked after him until Hop could get there. All four of them were worried, but Dustin by far the most.

She looked back to her boy, trying to get his hat back from Steve who held it high above their heads. Dustin stood to grab it, and Steve clearly planned on throwing it before Dustin managed to snatch it and punch him in the arm with a victorious yell.

She couldn’t help but smile. Couldn’t help but let them stay until Steve was discharged with a stack of paper and a call home to make sure he wouldn’t be alone. Couldn’t help but leave an open invite to their home, though ideally after Dustin’s grounding was over.

After a few weeks, he joined them for dinner, and never asked why they had to hunt for a third chair to the table.

And another few weeks after that, Steve stopped by to drive Dusty to the Snowball, coming inside because Dustin can’t get his hair just right.

And a month later, when he joined them for Christmas, Claudia could be comfortable in her hope. She could think that, at least going forward, Dusty would have everything he needed.

#stranger things #claudia henderson #dustin and his mom #dustin and steve #drabble #dustin henderson #steve harrington #claudia henderson pov #claudia henderson centric #stwgdailyprompt #devon's writings

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

change of fate

also on ao3 cw: death, wounds, blood, grief, depression spoiling this for you already eddies not actually dead bc i cant do that

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

The bat falls from Steve’s hand when he sees them on the ground. He told them to get out. His breath leaves his lungs, and he barely hears Robin’s voice quietly say, “Oh, fuck.”

Nancy says something too, but Steve doesn’t hear it, his legs carrying him to where Dustin is holding Eddie.

Dustin’s face is stained with dirt and blood and streaked with tears, his eyes glistening and shining in the dim light of the red sky. He’s sobbing, his whole body trembling as he holds Eddie in his arms.

Steve touches his face, panic making his chest so tight he can barely breathe, wiping a tear away from his cheek, quickly looking over him before his eyes fall.

And Eddie.

He’s covered in blood, his hair tangled and matted with dirt, lips parted for each ragged breath that scrapes at Steve’s skin like sandpaper. He looks at Steve and smiles. There’s blood in his teeth and on his lips.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” Steve snaps, ripping the bandana off Eddie’s head and pressing it to his face, where blood is seeping from a wound on his cheek.

“I know,” Eddie says weakly, his voice rough. “They were— They were gonna follow us through, I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“Dustin,” Nancy says. Her voice is thick, wavering. “Come… Come help up,” she says, pulling at Robin’s hand. Eddie’s eyes wander up to her, and he says so softly he’s almost just exhaling the words, “Thank you.”

“But…” Dustin looks down at Eddie, whose eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Come on,” Nancy insists.

Dustin’s lip quivers, and he looks down at Eddie, who nods and whispers.

“‘S alright, man.”

Dustin stifles a sob and carefully shifts so Steve can take Eddie in his arms. Steve watches them go, trembling as Eddie takes a breath.

“‘S okay,” he says quietly when they’re gone from view, looking down at Eddie. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Steve.”

“It— It’s just the same as mine, right?” he says frantically, looking at Eddie’s blood-stained shirt and jacket, at the mangled flesh he can see through the rips and tears in the fabric.

“Steve.”

“We’ll have, like, matching scars, they can— they can be like fucked up friendship bracelets—“

“Steve, please,” Eddie breathes.

Steve shuts up. Eddie is shivering, his limbs trembling, and one of his hands finds Steve’s sleeve, holding the fabric weakly.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Eddie whispers. “‘S okay.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve says sharply. “You’re gonna be fine, they— they’re going to get help, it’s gonna be okay—“

“Steve,” Eddie murmurs. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed over like he’s high. “They just wanted Dustin away from me. He doesn’t… He doesn’t deserve to see this.”

Steve’s throat tightens, and his eyes burn, and he realises what Eddie’s quiet thank you was for, and his whole body hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans over Eddie’s body, suppressing a sob. Eddie’s hand slides up Steve’s arm.

“‘S okay, Steve.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve insists, his voice breaking. His throat feels dry with the dust of the Upside Down. “It’s not okay, and it— it’s not fucking fair, Eddie, you don’t…”

“I know,” Eddie exhales.

He blinks at the sky, and a tear falls across his temple. Steve wipes it away as gently as he can. He’s never been very soft, always a little too rough around the edges, but he doesn’t want to hurt Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asks weakly.

“Yeah, Eds?”

“Can you…” He exhales, breathless as he shivers. “Can you tell my uncle Wayne… that it was quick? Just to… ease his mind.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his chest aching.

“I can do that,” he says as firmly as possible.

“And… Tell Dustin that I’m— I’m sorry.” Eddie’s voice squeaks and breaks as he lets out a weak sob that tears through Steve’s skin. “And Nancy and Rob— Robin that I… thank them.”

“Okay,” Steve says gently, running a hand up and down Eddie’s arm.

Eddie exhales shakily, nodding, relaxing. His eyes trace the dark clouds above them, and Steve shifts so Eddie is laying in his lap, watching as Eddie winces.

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks stupidly. Eddie nods.

“You make it better,” he says quietly.

Steve swallows thickly, the words stirring something inside him even though he can’t tell what exactly it is. His stomach flutters, and he feels like he might be sick.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “I’m… I’m really tired.”

Steve nods, touching Eddie’s face, brushing over an unwounded spot on his cheek.

“You can rest,” he whispers. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

Eddie’s eyes skim over to Steve's face. His eyelashes are clumped with tears, and there are tracks in the dirt and blood on his skin, and Steve briefly thinks that he’s beautiful.

“You… You think God’ll let me in?” Eddie asks softly, a smile teasing his lips.

“If he doesn’t, you better come right the fuck back, you understand me?”

Eddie laughs softly, coughing as he nods.

“Okay.”

He’s quiet again for a moment, his breathing ragged.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly. “If you… promise not to get mad at me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “Of course, tell me.”

Eddie stares up at him for a moment before he slides his hand to Steve’s, holding it to himself weakly. His hand is freezing, trembling and covered in dark, tacky blood. Steve doesn’t mind. As long as he’s touching him.

“I gotta crush on you,” Eddie says after a moment, his voice slurred. Steve blinks, his stomach fluttering again.

“…Really?” he chokes.

Eddie nods weakly.

“Since… high school,” he murmurs. “Always thought you were this… pretty mystery boy. Wanted to… to know all your secrets.”

Steve smiled weakly, his eyes flicking across Eddie’a face, over his glistening eyes and blood stained lips, and his stomach twists, and his heart fucking hurts and

Oh.

“You…” He swallows, blinking tears back. “You wanna know a secret now?”

Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s hand falls from Eddie’s face, and their fingers lace. Steve wants to keep him warm.

“I like you too,” he whispers after a moment of hesitation. Eddie blinks at him.

“Don’t do that,” he breathes.

“I’m serious,” Steve says, his voice thin as he tries to hold his tears back. “I… I really like you, I just…” A sob rips itself from his chest, and he gasps, squeezing Eddie’s hand tightly. “If we just— If we just had more time, I—“

“I know,” Eddie whispers. His eyes close as he exhales, and Steve’s stomach lurches, but his eyes open a moment later, cloudy and unfocussed as he tries to find Steve above him.

“I’d take you on a date,” Steve says, forcing a soft smile, ignoring the distant rumble of thunder.

“Really?”

Steve loves the lines in Eddie’s skin that deepen when he smiles. He’s beautiful. Even like this.

“Yeah,” he says. “To the movies. I’d pull all the moves on you, I’d— I’d yawn and stretch and put my arm around you, and I’d pay for everything, and I’d—“ He takes a breath. “I’d tell you how beautiful you are every fucking chance I get.”

Eddie’s smile widens. He exhales roughly.

“Next time,” he whispers.

“Next time?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods weakly. “In our next… next life.”

Steve laughs tearfully, nodding.

“I’ll find you,” he says, his voice too high. “Will you wait for me?”

Eddie sighs.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Steve closes his eyes, biting his quivering lip.

Eddie turns his head and pulls at Steve’s hand, pressing a bloody kiss to his knuckles. He’s quiet for a moment, his breathing shaky as he shivers. Steve pulls him closer, wraps his arms around him, desperate to keep him warm, to keep him safe.

“My uncle…” Eddie starts quietly. “My uncle says people… aren’t really gone until they’re forgotten.”

Steve smiles fondly, running his thumb over Eddie’s fingers.

“I’m not gonna forget you,” he murmurs.

“No?” Eddie teases. “You gonna keep me in that golden heart of yours, Harrington?”

“Yeah,” Steve chokes, smiling. Eddie’s eyes drift away, and he looks at the sky again. The red glow of it reflects in his eyes, gleaming blankly. “Eddie?”

“Wayne never knew my Ma,” Eddie says weakly. Steve blinks, catching up, his heart pounding from the fear of seeing Eddie’s eyes like that.

“Your Ma?”

“She…” Eddie’s eyes flutter, and he’s crying again, a tear falling down his temple. “She died when I was little. And Wayne… Wayne never met her. He took me in when Dad took to drinkin’ and…” He chokes, his chest seizing as he coughs. More blood appears on his lips, and Steve wipes it away, his hands trembling. “She’s gonna be gone when I’m gone,” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut.

“No, tell me— tell me about her,” Steve says quickly, holding his hand tightly. “Tell me, baby, I’ll— I’ll keep her alive for you.”

Eddie blinks tears out of his eyes, looking at him.

“She…” He takes a shaky breath. “She had hair like… like mine. But she was always braiding it and she always had it… tied up. Out of the way. She was always… working. Painting and cooking and fixing shit. She had calluses…” He pulls at Steve’s hand, tracing a light line across his palm, just under his fingers. “All along here.”

Steve smiles, listening intently.

“She loved sweet tea,” Eddie murmurs. “And strawberries.”

He’s quiet again, his eyes closing, his breath slowing, but his fingers keep moving on Steve’s, fidgeting weakly.

“She used to sing to me,” he breathes.

“What’d she sing to you, baby?” Steve asks quietly whispering.

Eddie sighs, melting into Steve’s lap, letting his head rest again his torso. And then he starts to sing. His voice is weak, and uneven, and off-key, but Steve never wants it to end.

“I was dancing, with my darling… to the Tennessee waltz…” His eyes find Steve’s face, shining and wide and unfocussed as he sings, as Steve touches his cheek again, brushing a tear away. “When an old friend I happened to see… I Introduced her to my loved one and while they were dancing…”

His voice cracks when it gets higher, weak and fading.

“My friend stole my sweetheart from me. I remember the night…” He pauses, taking a breath that catches in his throat, that strains on its way out. “And… the Tennessee Waltz. Now I know just how much I have lost.”

He whispers the words, eyes blinking slowly at Steve, and Steve listens, touching his face. The world around them disappears as he listens, the quiet thunder distant screeches of dying creatures fading into nothing, because nothing matters except this.

“Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing, the beautiful…”

And then it’s silent. Except a soft exhale, a final puff of breath from Eddie’s mouth, and Steve watches as his eyes drift and glaze over, his expression fading.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his teeth and gasping for breath as his body seizes, leaning over Eddie’s body.

“Eddie?” he chokes.

Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie,” he tries again, his voice weak, barely there. His vision blurs as he looks at Eddie’s face, and he can barely see him even as he leans close enough that their noses touch. “Eddie, please.”

He falls forward, and Eddie’s head rolls lifelessly, turning away from Steve.

Steve’s arms tighten, and his eyes squeeze shut as he sobs.

He’s never cried like this before. Not when he was a child, not when he’s been injured or scared after nightmares that have made him wake up in cold sweat and tears and sore muscles. It’s never been this violent, sobs and screams ripping their way out of his chest, out of his throat, rough and raw.

He cries until he runs out of tears. Until his voice is almost gone.

He begs him. Pleads with him.

He wants Eddie to finish the song. He wants Eddie to sing forever, until the sun gives out, and he wants Eddie to kiss him.

His throat hurts when he leans down to Eddie’s face, and he gets his own tears on Eddie’s skin as he presses kisses across his cheeks, his forehead and nose and chin and lips. He’s whimpering as he does, each gasp for breath hiccuping and choking as he whispers to Eddie.

My boy, my baby. I’m sorry, Eddie. I shoulda come back sooner, I shoulda… Wait for me, Eddie baby, please. I’ll come find you, I promise.

He makes sure Eddie is comfortable. Folds his hands over his stomach, cleans the blood off his face as best he can. He closes his eyes before pressing soft kisses to his eyelids. He’s so cold. Steve takes off his jacket and drapes it over him, caressing his face, murmuring that he’s okay.

You can rest now, baby, it’s okay. I’ll see you again.

He fluffs his hair out, lays it around his head like a halo, thinking about Eddie’s mother, wondering if she’s holding him in her arms. He sets aside the bandana, the skulls now blood-stained, and carefully takes the guitar pick from Eddie’s neck, holding it in his palm close to his chest as he leans over to kiss his forehead.

“I’m gonna take good care of the little shits,” Steve promises quietly, his voice rough. He sits next to Eddie, holds his hands. He’s so cold. But he’s not shivering anymore. “And I’ll tell Wayne you love him. ‘S gonna be okay, baby.”

He runs his fingers over Eddie’s, over his bloody rings.

He takes one. The one from Eddie’s right ring finger. He rubs the stone on his own jeans, cleaning it before he slides it onto his own finger. It fits.

“Next time,” he whispers, brushing his nose against Eddie’s. “Okay? I’ll take you out, and I’ll treat you real good. We won’t have to worry about… about monsters. Or anything like that. We can just be boys like we’re supposed to.” He’s quiet for a few moments, tracing Eddie’s fingers, gazing at the wound on his face. It doesn’t hurt anymore. “I love you, baby.”

He presses kisses to Eddie’s hands. His fingertips and knuckles and palms. And then he leaves.

He feels heavy. Like every limb is filled with dread, with dirt and broken glass, and every step that carries him away from Eddie’s body makes his throat tighten and muscles ache.

Robin, Nancy, and Dustin are in Eddie’s trailer when he find them. Nancy has Dustin in her arms, his face hidden in her neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs. Nancy’s face is streaked with tears as she runs her hand over his head. They don’t notice him come in until Robin speaks.

“Steve?”

Her voice cracks, weak and unused, and his eyes find her sitting on the floor across from Nancy and Dustin, who both look up at him.

He can’t speak.

Robin’s eyes are filled with tears as they look at each other, but his are dry now. He shakes his head.

Dustin wails, muffled by Nancy’s shoulder, and she gasps, sobbing weakly.

Steve sits heavily on the floor, clutching Eddie’s bandana and guitar pick to his chest. His eyes unfocus as he stares at the floor. There’s a stain in front of him, dark and oddly shaped. He can’t tell what it is. How long it’s been there. If it’s from a childhood accident or a recent spill.

Dustin’s sobbing fades into white noise, blending with the rush of the blood in Steve’s ears. He’s shaking. Even though he can’t feel it.

Steve?

Robin’s voice is muffled, like Steve is underwater. Her hand touches his shoulder lightly, and he shrinks away from it, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to be touched.

She sits next to him. She doesn’t touch him. This has happened before. Some nights after particularly bad nightmares he can’t stand the feeling of anything on him. She waits for him. Always.

“Dustin,” he says after a while, when the room has fallen silent except some weak sniffles and coughs. His voice is rough like he’s sick. His throat is raw. “Come here.”

Dustin comes here. Nancy helps him.

He sits in front of Steve, one of his legs outstretched because his ankle is broken. Steve forces himself to look at him, at his cracked lips and bloody skin, at his glistening eyes and tear-clumped lashes. He looks so… young. He’s just a kid.

He’s just a fucking kid.

Steve swallows his anger down, taking a breath.

“He said…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “He said he’s sorry.”

Dustin’s lip quivers.

Steve’s fingers tighten on the bandana, and then he separates it from the guitar pick before holding it out to Dustin.

Dustin looks at it, reaching for it with a tentative, trembling hand. The fabric shakes. He starts to cry again, bringing the bandana for his face as his shoulders shake, and he falls forward, into Steve’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Steve lies, hugging him tightly, kissing his head.

He closes his eyes, listening to Dustin cry into his chest, running his hands over his head and his back, only stopping when Nancy’s hand rests on his his. It takes her a moment before she notices the ring around his finger.

Their eyes meet over Dustin head, and he knows she can tell. That she knows everything.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs.

He closes his eyes.

Nancy kisses Dustin’s head, whispering something to him that Steve can’t hear, rubbing his back, and after a moment Steve holds his arm out in Robin’s direction, his fingers still tight around the guitar pick. There’s a brief moment before she’s hugging his arm tightly, and he pulls her closer, feeling her press her face into his neck. She’s crying.

The chain of the guitar pick digs into his skin, and Dustin is leaning on his side, over his haphazardly bandaged wounds. (Eddie’s wounds should be bandaged. This isn’t fair.) But he barely feels any of it.

He feels so fucking empty.

—————————

They go to the hospital.

Dustin gets a cast on his leg, and Steve gets fresh, pristine white bandages and antibiotics and painkillers.

Max gets casts on both arms and legs, and her eyes are covered, and she’s silent but breathing. Lucas won’t leave her side. When he tries to, just to get some water, he has a panic attack. Robin holds his hands and talks to him until he can breathe again.

Steve goes home the next day after staying overnight for observation. He doesn’t sleep at all.

He leaves in the morning, after stopping say bye to Lucas and Erica and Max.

His house is empty. There’s plenty of furniture in every room, but it still feels like it echoes, like it’s bare and desolate. He leaves the guitar pick on the counter in the kitchen. Dry blood turns to dust around it when it clatters.

There’s a grandfather clock in the living room. It’s been there his whole life, ticking and ticking and ticking, standing tall in a corner. He never cared about it. Never bothered to notice it.

He stares at it now. There’s still blood in his nails, and his clothes are filthy, stained with dirt and grime and blood and ash, and his throat still hurts.

This clock.

It’s staring at him.

Taunting him.

Ticking in the aching silence of the house.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, glaring at the clock, listening to it tick, the living room dim because the windows aren’t facing the sun. And then, before his brain can catch up with his body, he’s moving to pry it away from where it stands against the wall, shoving it until it tips over and falls onto its face. The glass shatters, and it dings loudly, and Steve’s heart is pounding as he goes back to the kitchen and snatches his baseball bat from where it’s resting by the door. (Nancy had grabbed it when he dropped it in the Upside Down. He’d wanted to be angry that she had, wanted to forget about it completely, but he likes having it here now.)

The first smash of the bat into the clock is loud, but Steve barely hears it. His vision is blurring suddenly, his eyes hot and stinging as he hits the clock again, and again, and again. The wood splinters and cracks, sending chips flying into the air, just missing his face.

Tears land on the wood. He doesn’t notice. He’s screaming. He doesn’t notice that either.

—————————

“Steven?”

Steve’s eyes flutter open. His room is dark, the curtain drawn to keep the sun out, and his blanket is tight in his hands, drawn to his chin.

“Steven?”

His mother’s voice makes him ache. He stares at the wall as his bed shifts under her weight as she sits beside his body. Her hand is gentle on his side.

“Was there a break-in?”

He shakes his head minutely, just enough for her to notice.

“Are you alright?”

He shakes his head again.

“What happened, dear, talk to me,” she says softly, rubbing his arm, and he sighs heavily.

It’s been too long for him to be feeling like this. The Byers and Mike are back. Max is awake. She can’t see, and she can’t use her legs, but when Steve spoke she smiled, and he could swear it was the like the sun rose again.

Robin’s clothes are still on the floor from the last time she slept over a few days ago. She left wearing Steve’s sweatpants and t-shirt, and Steve hasn’t bothered to clean up.

Steve sits up slowly, tiredly. He hasn’t gotten out of bed in at least a day, but he’s barely slept. Eddie’s vest is by his pillow. It still smells like him, like weed and cigarettes and something masculine and warm.

His father is standing at the end of his bed, watching him with the same shining concern his mother is eyeing him with. He hasn’t seen them in months, but it’s not the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other.

His mom takes his hand. Her hands are always a little cold, soft and smelling like floral lotion. They’re covered in wrinkles. They’ve always looked older than they should, but he’s never minded. He’s always found them lovely. Her ring sparkles even though the sunlight is dim in his room.

“My friend died,” he whispers.

They both exhale.

“The earthquakes?” his mom asks, and he nods, looking down at their hands. She squeezes when his lip quivers.

“Not Robin,” his father says carefully, tentatively, and he shakes his head, taking a hiccuping breath.

“Robin’s fine, it was…”

“You took it out on the clock?”

Steve nods.

“Sorry.”

He isn’t sorry. He can’t bring himself to care.

His mom just rubs his hand gently, squeezing, but he pulls his hand away after a moment, wrapping his arms around himself and curling into a ball.

“I just wanna be alone,” he says weakly.

“Do you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as they sting, and he’s so fucking sick of crying. The skin of his cheeks is dry from the salt, and he just wants to feel fine again, but it feels like he’ll never feel fine again.

“I don’t know,” he chokes, his arms tightening. “I just want him.”

“Come here, Stevie.”

He falls into her arms, a sob wracking his body, and she holds him, pulling him closer like he’s a baby again. She doesn’t say anything about the vest, or about the ring on his finger, or about the way he cries I just got him, Mommy, it’s not fucking fair.

They never talk about the clock again. His father cleans it up and throws it all away. Steve finds his bat in the corner a few days later, but they don’t say anything about it either.

—————————

Steve goes back to the hospital for a required checkup. Mandatory. He hates it, that he doesn’t have a choice. He supposes he does have a choice, as a twenty-year-old man (that doesn’t really feel like a man at all) that drives himself. But Owens said if he doesn’t go, he’ll go to Steve’s house, and Steve doesn’t want that.

They test his vision and his hearing. Shockingly, miraculously, his vision is more or less okay. They still give him glasses to wear home. He leaves them on his bedside table.

But his hearing isn’t good. In his right ear, it’s okay. But his left ear is almost deaf, which he had noticed before, but he hasn’t really cared. He gets by with it. Steps around people so they’re to his right, watches their mouths form words that he can’t really hear.

They give him a hearing aid. Beige and white, already fitting fine when they give it to him that day. Owens shows him how to use it, how to adjust it, and kindly ignores the way Steve winces and cringes at the feeling of it. It’s uncomfortable. He knows he just has to get used to it.

He goes back to work. Keith let him take some time off after Robin talked to him.

He hates the vest he has to wear, and he hates how bright the store is with the glass doors, and he hates the customers even though he knows they just want distractions from all the bullshit that’s going on. He hates everything. He’s always angry now.

He’s shorter with customers than he wants to be, shorter with Robin than he wants to be. But she gets it. She lets him be angry.

He closes doors harder than he needs to, and on some day he takes his new hearing aid off with a huff because everything is just too much. Too loud, too bright, too close.

It’s slow today, luckily. He’s still angry. And tired.

Robin has some movie on the television above the counter. The volume is low. She’s doodling on a scrap of paper. Steve is staring at the ground. He does that a lot now.

The bell above the door dings happily when the door opens, and Steve blinks, his eyes refocusing before he looks up, finding a man at the front door, taking a flier go the glass carefully. A lot of people do that now, looking for missing pets or trying to sell cars and furniture before they leave town.

It takes Steve a moment to recognize him, and Robin seems to recognize him at the same time, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” as Steve straightens up, watching. He can see Eddie’s face as the sunlight shines through the paper.

“Mr Munson?” he says weakly as he comes out from behind the counter, approaching him slowly, tentatively, eyes trained on the flier.

“I’m not botherin’ anyone,” Mr Munson says gruffly, the sentence familiar and practiced, like he’s said it a million times. “Just a flier.”

“I was with him.”

Mr Munson turns slowly, tape still sticking to his callused fingertips. His eyes are shining, his brows furrowed, and he looks some awful place between scared and angry.

“What?” he asks, his voice low, breathy.

Robin says Steve’s name behind him.

“During the— the earthquake,” he adds carefully, telling Robin that he’s not violating the NDAs.

Mr Munson stares at him. His breathing is shaky.

“What happened to my boy?” he asks gruffly.

Steve’s throat tightens, and he twists the ring around his fingers, blinking his burning eyes hard.

“Can we talk?”

He takes him to the break room.

They sit at the circular table, across from each other, and Steve never realized how small the room was until now. Their knees are almost touching.

“Tell me.”

Steve takes a breath, his fingers twisting.

“He… He saved our friend.”

Mr Munson stares, but he seems to understand it. He seems to know.

“Who?” he asks quietly.

“Dustin… Dustin Henderson. From— From Hellfire.”

He nods, looking at the ground. His hands are shaking. Steve watches.

“He was…” He takes a breath, swallowing, trying to stop his eyes from burning and his heart from pounding. “He was brave. He was a— a hero.” His voice cracks.

“Did he suffer?” Mr Munson asks the floor.

“No,” Steve lies, the blood flashing in his mind, the sound of Eddie’s strained breathing, his furrowed brows and squeezed shut eyes. “It was quick.”

Mr Munson nods.

Steve hesitates, listening to the painful silence before he reaches to the chain around his neck, pulling the guitar pick out from under the collar of his shirt. Mr Munson watches, his expression shifting as he watches it appear. There’s blood on the chain.

Steve holds it out to him, his hand trembling, and he takes it. His eyes catch on the ring.

Mr Munson holds it, looks at the blood, at the way the red of the pick shines even in the mundane, fluorescent light of the break room.

“What about…” He swallows, blinking. “What about the girl? Chrissy? And— And the other boys, they—“

“It wasn’t Eddie,” Steve says sharply before he can stop himself. “Eddie was just… He was just an easy target, he didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to help Chrissy.”

Wayne stares, eyes flooded with tears.

“They think it was him,” he says weakly. “They all think he hurt them.”

“They don’t know Eddie like we do,” Steve says softly. “Eddie wouldn’t do that.”

Wayne looks away, his lip quivering, nodding.

“He was scared,” Steve says weakly, his throat tight, voice thin. He wants to hide when Wayne looks at him, but he doesn’t. “He ran. It was…”

Wayne nods, wiping his face, smiling a little. He’s quiet for a few moments, gazing at the guitar pick. His hands are shaking, and he’s a little breathless when he speaks again.

“Were you…” He pauses, clearing his voice because his voice is too rough, too wobbly as a tear falls from his eyes. It feels wrong to see him cry, this man with his calluses and sunlight stained skin, with his work clothes and the cigarettes sticking out of his chest pocket. This man that’s gruff and intimidating, reduced to tears. “Were you in love?”

The question makes Steve’s blood run cold, and he doesn’t really know why. He doesn’t ask it rudely, or like he’s upset that Eddie’s ring is on Steve’s finger.

“I think—“ Steve’s voice cuts off. He exhales. “I think we could have been. If we had more time.”

He nods.

“Mr Munson—“

“Wayne. Please.”

“…Wayne,” Steve whispers. Wayne looks at him, eyes oddly soft. “Eddie… Eddie was good.”

Wayne nods, his lips twitching into a smile even though his eyes are glistening with tears.

“He was, wasn’t he?” he says fondly, looking at the guitar pick. “Didn’t deserve any of the shit he got.”

And then he’s crying. Squeezing his eyes shut and leaning over, bringing the pick to his forehead as he shakes silently. Steve wipes his own face, taking a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” Wayne chokes after a while, eyes trained on the pick.

“I wish I could have…”

Helped him. Saved him. Found him sooner.

Wayne shakes his head.

“You did it all right, kid.”

Steve crumbles.

Wayne is there to pick him up.

He smells like Eddie did, Steve learns when Wayne holds him in his arms. Like cigarettes and leather and whatever lingers in their house. Wayne’s hands are rough but gentle on him, running over his head and back as he cries. Wayne is kind.

“He loved you more than anything, Wayne.”

Wayne just closes his eyes.

Robin looks like she’s been crying when they finally emerge from the break room, and Wayne gives her nod before he leaves, hand still clutching Eddie’s guitar pick.

The flier isn’t on the door when he leaves, and Steve finds it a moment later on the counter, next to Robin’s doodles.

“I thought… I thought maybe you’d like a picture of him.”

Steve stops at the counter, looking down at it. Robin is quiet as he touches the paper, brushes his thumb over the photo of Eddie the way he did when he wiped away his tears as he was dying. He skims the text under it, reads Eddie’s description.

Edward.

He was only 20.

He didn’t even get to graduate this year.

Heat rushes through Steve’s body and he briefly wants to grab the paper in his hand, to crumple it up into a ball or rip it to pieces, but he doesn’t. He knows he’d regret it if he did.

The description mentions the vest that’s in Steve’s room, resting on his pillow. His chest hurts.

Steve swallows, his throat tight, and he turns to Robin, arms open. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he hugs her waist so tightly he almost lifts her into the air.

“I love you, Robbie,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he says it. But she seems to get it. She always does.

“I love you, too.”

—————————

It’s nice to get away from it all sometimes.

Steve sometimes takes his car out to the quarry, or to the lake, just to watch the water. Or the sky. Just to sit in the silence by himself, twisting Eddie’s ring around his finger. He stays there for hours, until the air is cold and the sky is dim.

He goes to the woods behind Forest Hills, sits on a dead tree and watches the dry leaves blow across the ground. He stares at the green grass and moss, at the mushrooms and flowers and twigs. He doesn’t look up when he hears branches break and leaves rustle. He can’t really be bothered to care.

He knows it’s all over. That Vecna is gone, as are the demodogs and the bats and the vines. It still lingers in his mind when he hears something in the woods around him, that there might be a demodog watching him, quiet, ready to pounce. But he still can’t bring himself to fight back.

Nothing ever attacks him. It’s always a squirrel, or a deer, and once a teenager looking for a place to get high. The world leaves him alone. It lets him rest.

He leaves Hawkins for a day. Just to get out. To see what it’s like.

He goes to Indianapolis. It’s a quiet drive up, the volume of the radio down low. It’s raining out, and the sound of it is nice on the windows and the roof of the car, tapping like it’s asking to come inside, to join him. The swiping of the windshield wipers is calm, consistent and steady, and as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other lifting a cigarette to his lips, he feels calmer than he’s felt in a while.

He gets a coffee from a cafe and sits at the window, watching people pass in the rain, their umbrellas blurry in the misty window. He takes his hearing aid off. The mug is warm on his hands.

He didn’t bring an umbrella, but he doesn’t mind his hair getting wet.

He walks. And walks. And walks.

He only stops when his eyes find a record store. The sign is big, wood painted with black text and a spiderweb that extends over the building, matching a spiderweb that’s painted on the front door. There’s glowing open sign on the door.

He goes inside. It’s warm, and the music is quiet because he hasn’t put his hearing aid back on. (It’s in the inside pocket of his jacket.) There are more people here than he expected, all looking through stacks of records and tapes and posters.

He explores quietly, avoiding people’s eyes, eyes skimming the records. He sees some that he recognizes, Tears for Fears, Wham!, Duran Duran, and a lot that he doesn’t.

He stops when he finds the metal section. It was unintentional, coming across it, but a part of him wonders if he was looking for it.

He comes closer, stepping past a man with long, straight hair, looking at the row of band names. They’re alphabetical, and he doesn’t know any of them. Some of them sound kind of scary.

DIO

Steve stops, his eyes catching on the name, and he swallows, reaching for it with a shaking hand. He pulls the other records up, moving them out of the way so he can slide a record up, looking at the cover.

THE LAST IN LINE

He lets the other records fall, holding the record to his chest, suddenly protective of it.

He holds it as he looks through the rest of the records, looking for names he recognizes. He stops at Megadeth, recognizing it from a patch on Eddie’s vest, and then Ozzy Osbourne. He can practically hear Eddie’s voice in his head.

Ozzy Osbourne? Black Sabbath? He bit a bat’s head off on stage— No? Doesn’t matter.

Steve blinks at the ceiling, pulling a record out of the crate and adding it to the other two against his chest.

“Hi,” a voice says next to him, on his good side, and he startles, almost fumbling with the records as he turns to look. It’s an employee, smiling at him, friendly. His hair is tied back with a black bandana.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“Do you need help finding anything?” the man asks, speaking slowly like he notices right away that Steve is watching his lips move. Steve hesitates, looking down at the records in his arms.

“Uhm.” He almost says no. But a thought crosses his mind. “I don’t… know what it’s called,” he says, looking back at the man. He’s older than Steve, maybe around Hopper’s age, his eyes hooded and kind. “Something about, uhm— Tennessee waltz?” Steve finishes awkwardly.

“Oh, classic,” the man says, his face lighting up with a smile. “Patti Page, right?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Steve shrugs weakly, but the man tosses a hand.

“I’ll find the tape and you can give it a listen,” he says. “See if it’s the right one.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly, nervously. He follows the man across the store, hands shaking, and he sets the records down while he looks for the tape and brings back a Walkman and headphones. He sets the tape up while Steve puts his hearing aid back on.

He seems to notice how Steve is feeling. How anxious he is. How his eyes are burning a little bit. And he tells Steve he’s going to help some others while Steve listens.

Steve leans against the counter, taking a breath and sliding his thumb over Eddie’a ring before he presses play.

It doesn’t sound like anything Eddie would listen to. It’s almost funny.

It’s slow, and soft. The singer’s voice is lilting, shaking in a way that it’s supposed to, not because she’s breathless and bleeding. Steve presses his hands to the counter, steadying himself.

Now I know just how much I have lost…

He squeezes his eyes shut, the store falling silent as he listens, as he holds his breath.

Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing

The beautiful Tennessee Waltz

It was only two more words.

Eddie missed two goddamn words.

Part of Steve wonders if it would have made a difference. If he’d have been less angry if Eddie had managed to get them out, but he knows that it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s still angry. He’s still heartbroken.

The song repeats it all over again, and Steve finally breathes, inhaling slowly, carefully, trying to release the tension in his shoulders.

When it ends, Steve opens his eyes and blearily stops the tape, pulling off the headphones. His vision is blurry with unshed tears, and he blinks them back, looking up at the ceiling. It’s covered with posters.

A hand touches his back gently, and he startles again, turning to find the man again, smiling at him.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quickly, looking away and blinking hard, pinching his nose as he clears his throat. “Uh, can I— can I get this tape?”

“‘Course,” the man says, his hand lingering for a moment before it falls. “Those records too?”

“Yeah, please.”

The man is quiet while Steve pays, while he puts the records and the tape in a paper bag that’s stamped with the spiderweb from the sign outside.

“Thank you,” Steve says softly when he takes the bag. The man smiles.

“Take care.”

Steve goes back to his car. He sets the bag in the passenger seat. And he cries.

It pours as he drives home, the rain loud and shattering as he breathes. The road is slick, shining in the grey evening light, and his vision blurs as he cries again.

He pulls over.

His whole body hurts. It feels like he’s being burned, like every cell in his body is sizzling, drops of water on a hot pan. His tears sting on his cheeks, and his hands are shaking too much for him to wipe them away.

The rain drowns his screams out.

He brings the bag to his room when he gets home, setting them carefully on his bed after kicking aside the clothes on the floor, dropping his jacket to join them. And then he goes downstairs to where his mom is sitting on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine with a magazine in her lap. He wordlessly pushes the magazine aside and she lets him, lifting her arm as he lays on his side, curling up into a ball, making himself as small as possible, his head on her lap.

Her hand is gentle as she combs through his hair. It’s longer now, practically at his shoulders, always falling in his face. He barely ever has the energy to do anything with it.

“It’ll pass,” his mom murmurs softly, combing his hair gently, lovingly. He closes his eyes, shrinking into himself and exhaling. He falls asleep there, listening to her breathe.

—————————

I was dancing

With my darling

To the Tennessee Waltz…

Steve tightens his arms around himself, his eyes squeezing shut tighter. His hands are gripping his blanket, and his fingers are tired, but he doesn’t move. It’s dark in his room, but it can’t be past three in the afternoon. His curtains are drawn. Robin’s clothes are still on the floor.

His ears are sore from his headphones. He’s been replaying the song for hours, over and over and over, and it’s echoing in his head, but he doesn’t stop. He just wants to fall asleep.

He doesn’t move when he hears his door creak open except to open his eyes, watching as Robin navigates the room in the dim light, stepping over clothes and garbage. He’s embarrassed about it, if he’s honest, even though he knows he doesn’t really need to be. She doesn’t mind. She understands.

She climbs into bed in front of him, rolling onto her side and facing him. They stare at each other for a few moments.

Steve wants to cry. He can’t.

Robin reaches up and touches his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek, over his dry skin, soft and gentle. He closes his eyes, exhaling, and she keeps touching him, running her fingertips back and forth over his cheek and down his neck, avoiding the chord of the headphones. It tickles over the scar on his neck. He doesn’t mind.

He opens his eyes after a while. Her eyes are glistening. She nods at the headphones.

He reaches up to take them off, sighing, and she takes them, putting them on and listening. He can hear his own blood rush when they’re off. It’s too quiet without it. He can still hear it playing faintly as Robin listens.

I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz

Now I know just how much I have lost

Robin takes them off after a moment, a silent question in her eyes, and Steve takes them as she hits pause on the Walkman.

“He was singing it,” he whispers, his voice broken from disuse. “When he died.”

She nods, her lips twisting as she touches his face again, and she leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before their foreheads touch. He closes his eyes again, reaching to pull her closer by her waist. Their legs tangle under the blanket, and she pushes her fingers into his hair, untangling it.

“Will you come downstairs?” she whispers after a while.

“I don’t want to,” he says weakly, almost whining. Childish.

“Your parents are worried about you, babe,” she says softly. “You gotta eat.”

“Robin…” he breathes, closing his eyes, his brows furrowing.

“Come on,” she says gently, sitting up, taking his hand even as he whines in protest. “Your mom made soup.”

He lets her drag him from the bed, sighing heavily as they make their way downstairs slowly, fingers linked. His mom is at the sink, washing some dishes, and his father is at the stove, stirring the pot slowly. They both turn to look when Robin and Steve come in, and Steve stops in the doorway, watching as his dad sets the spoon across the pot.

“You okay?” he asks gently, his hand touching Steve’s shoulder. Steve shakes his head tiredly. His dad pulls him into his arms, swaying gently as Steve melts against him.

They haven’t always seen eye to eye in things. On most things. But Steve lets him pull him close, closing his eyes and burying his face in his shoulder.

“You’ll feel better after you eat,” he says, gently pulling Steve to the island, where he sits in a seat heavily, sighing when a bowl of soup in placed in front of him.

He stares at it. At the pale broth, speckled with flakes of seasonings and herbs, at the noodles and pieces of chicken and carrots and celery, at the spoon shining at him. It’s hot, the steam wafting into his face. There’s lemon in it.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbles.

His father’s hand pauses as it runs over his back.

“Now?” he says. “Or if you eat?”

“If… If I eat.”

“Why don’t you try just some broth first?” him mom suggests gently. “And then try some more if it’s okay?”

“…Okay.”

She takes the bowl back. He waits as she pours it back in the pot, as she ladles broth into his bowl carefully. He’s vaguely aware that Robin leaves, that she goes upstairs, but he doesn’t really notice, too focussed on the bowl in front of him. On the way his hands shake as he brings the spoon to his lips slowly.

It tastes good. But it also feels muffled, like all of his senses are under water. Like everything has to go through something before it gets to him.

It takes a long time for him to finish the bowl. It’s almost cold by the time he gets to the bottom of it.

He sets his spoon down when he finishes, sliding his bowl away, and his dad pats his back gently.

“You wanna try some more?”

Steve just leans against him, exhaling, and he closes his eyes. He hears the bowl scrape across the counter as his mom takes it, and his dad wraps an arm around him, gently hugging him.

He manages to have a half a bowl of soup, including some of the chickens and some of the vegetables, before he feels sick. He pushes the bowl away wordlessly, grimacing, and his dad pats his back again, murmuring, “That’s alright.”

He sits there for a few more minutes, sipping a glass of water slowly, until Robin comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck gently. He lifts his hands to her forearms, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her arm. Her skin is cool.

“I miss him,” he breathes.

“I know. It’s gonna be okay.”

He distantly hears his mom’s voice say, “Thank you, Robin,” as Robin takes him back upstairs, their fingers linked again.

He stops short in his doorway, his tired eyes scanning across the room. The floor is clean, the drawers of his dresser shut neatly. His bed is made, Eddie’s vest folded and placed on his pillow, the Walkman and headphones on top of it. His hamper is gone.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” Robin says quietly, squeezing his hand.

He exhales, pulling at her hand, tugging her into a tight hug before he lifts her up, carries her over to the bed, and sets her down, laying on top of her. She hugs him back, shifting to move the Walkman out of the way, and then she gets the vest, carefully setting it over his back as he nuzzles into her chest, closing his eyes, sighing.

He finally falls asleep.

—————————

Nancy comes over after a while. She brings a casserole her mom made, and when Steve’s parents go out for the day, off to support some displaced families, Nancy drags Steve downstairs. For a change of scenery.

She looks nice. Her hair is curly, tied up in a ponytail in the summer heat. (She comments that the air conditioning is nice at Steve’s.) She crosses her legs when they sit on the sofa, looking over at Steve.

He feels like shit.

He hadn’t realized how long it’s been. Time passes differently when he doesn’t open his windows, and when he hasn’t even bothered to call Keith to let him know that he won’t be coming in.

“Steve.”

He blinks, realizing their eyes are locked.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You’re not eating.”

“Sorry.”

He pokes at the food with his fork. There’s chicken in it. He doesn’t want to eat it.

He takes a small bite anyway, feeling Nancy’s eyes on him.

“You okay?” she asks after a quiet moment.

“…Not really.”

He can see the pain shine in her eyes, but he doesn’t want her to ask, so he interrupts with, “How’s, uhm. How’s Jonathan?”

She nods, taking a bite.

“He’s good. He and Argyle are going to California in a few weeks.”

“Are you still going to Boston?”

“Yeah, just… Term starts in October, so. I have some time.”

He nods. He can feel her pity. He’s pathetic, he knows. She and Jonathan and Argyle are going to college, moving on with their lives, and Steve is here, wearing the same sweater he’s worn for the past week, his hair greasy and flat. He barely cares anymore. But he still feels…

He doesn’t know what. Guilty, maybe.

“How are the kids?” he asks quietly.

“Everyone’s fine, Steve,” she says softly.

“Just… Tell me. Please.”

She’s quiet as he stares at his food. Mostly uneaten.

“Max started physical therapy,” she starts. Her voice is gentle. He thinks it would be a nice voice for story-telling. “She still can’t feel her legs, but she’s getting really good with her arms, she’s getting the hang of pushing the wheels of her wheelchair. El got her some sunglasses, per her request. They’re purple.”

Steve takes a small bite of his food, nodding.

“She misses skating,” Nancy continues. “Erica found some rollerblades and took down a long sidewalk. Jonathan monitored. Max said it was nice to feel the wind in her hair again.”

Steve’s chest hurts, imagining it. Max’s red hair flying in the wind behind her. Her smile. Erica cackling happily. Jonathan watching raptly, just in case.

“Will is good,” Nancy says. “It’s like he can finally rest now. He’s just being a kid again, and it’s… It’s really nice. He and the boys played D&D with Argyle. It was… Well. It was a lot.” He can hear her smile as he speaks, and he half-smiles, softening. Argyle seems like he would enjoy it. “Dustin has a cane. Will painted it for him. Red. Mike said he should get another and paint it like a giant candy cane for Christmas.”

“How’s Mike?”

“Mike is good. …He and El broke up.”

Steve looks up, wide-eyed, and she grins, nodding.

“It’s all fine,” she says. “They’re friends. It seems easier for them now, to be around each other as friends. El keeps making fun of his hair.”

Steve’s lips twitch into another smile.

“Oh.” He pokes at his food again. “Lucas?”

“Good. He convinced Mike to help him practice basketball. It’s funny.”

Steve scoffs in spite of himself, imagining Mike and his gangly arms bouncing around the Sinclairs’ driveway. Complaining, most likely.

“How’s, uhm, Max’s mom? The earthquakes…”

“She wasn’t home,” Nancy says, quickly easing his worry. “She was out, at the, uh, the liquor store. Owens got her a new apartment like he did with— with Wayne. It’s in town,” she says, quickly moving past the mention of Wayne. The mention that makes Steve’s stomach ache. He doesn’t want to eat. “It’s not really… very wheelchair accessible,” she continues. “Argyle helps Max in and out. He usually drives her around anyway, since her wheelchair fits in his van.”

Steve nods. He should be helping Max. He should be driving her around town, taking her and the kids to the arcade, to the roller rink, to the movies, to lunch, to school. Has school even started yet? Probably not, if Argyle and Jonathan are still here. What day is it?

Tears are falling from his eyes before he even notices them flooding, and he drops his head, looking down, covering his face with a hand. He hears Nancy exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “I feel like— like I fucking abandoned all of you, I—”

“You didn’t abandon us, Steve,” Nancy says gently, and Steve feels the sofa shift as she moves closer, her hand touching his arm. “We understand.”

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s not fair. Dustin was close with Eddie, too. Closer than Steve was. And Wayne— He was practically Wayne’s son. But Steve is the only one like this: shut away from the rest of the world, wrapped in fabric despite it being July (August? He doesn’t even know anymore), ears hot from headphones, fingertips cold because he hasn’t been eating enough. It’s not fair.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes, and Nancy sighs as she takes his plate. He lets her, hands falling to his lap.

“Steve,” she says firmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re depressed.”

His body aches. He falls against the back of the sofa, arms wrapping around himself, shivering.

Depressed.

The word feels so grey. Too pale. It’s not dark enough for this, for what Steve is feeling. But he can’t think of a better word for it, for the way he can’t stand the idea of stepping outside, for the way he can barely even remember what it’s like to have enough energy to step into the shower, to cook a meal like he used to. He can barely believe it, the fact that he used to cook and clean and work, like a grown-up. That he used to make meals for himself, pack leftovers for Robin, that he used to drive himself and the others around town, that he used to laugh and banter and tease. That he used to make phone calls when something wasn’t working in the house, that he used to fix his car up, change the oil. He’s so helpless now. He barely eats the food his parents bring him, barely moves enough to keep his muscles from aching every time he shifts. He doubts he’d even be able to carry Max or her wheelchair. The thought makes him cry harder.

“Can I hug you?” Nancy asks.

He nods.

She immediately climbs across the sofa, lifting her arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him close and exhaling when he relaxes against her. Her hands are gentle, combing through his hair even though it’s unwashed, over his back and shoulders. He closes his eyes, taking stuttering breaths, and even though it’s nice, even though she’s soft and gentle and comforting, this feels wrong. Because he feels so small, so helpless and young, but they’re the same age. He might even be older. He doesn’t know.

And he remembers Barb. How everything changed when she disappeared, how the world turned upside down, and how he didn’t even notice that everything changed for Nancy in a different way. Steve feels guilty for being here, for being at home while Eddie is lying lifeless in hell, and Nancy must have felt the same way. Going home to her family, to her house, to her bed, while wondering where the hell Barb was, wondering if she was scared when she died.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve chokes, his voice broken and weak and whining, muffled by Nancy’s arm. “Nancy, I’m so— I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Steve,” she says quietly.

“No, Barb, you— you were missing her, and I— I didn’t get it, but—”

She pulls him back sharply, holding his shoulders, and he thinks she’s angry, flinching, but she just looks into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes are gleaming now, shining with tears.

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

His chest clenches, and he blinks tears out of his eyes, focussing on the firm grip of her hands on his shoulders.

“Nance…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she says firmly. “You understand me?”

He closes his eyes, and she holds his face, pressing their foreheads together. He aches. He aches. He aches.

“You’re struggling,” Nancy says softly, and her voice is tense, tight and thin. The very though of her crying makes him sob weakly. “And I’m sorry I left you down there, Steve, that wasn’t— that wasn’t fair.”

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet no, reaching to hold her arms. She’s wearing a t-shirt, the sleeves cuffed cutely, and her skin is warm, soft. Like summertime. He misses the sun.

“You don’t— Don’t apologize, it’s— it’s okay, Nancy, I…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers anyway. He pulls away, holding her arms, looking at her as best he can even though she’s blurry, swimming in tears.

“Don’t,” he says, chokes. “You— You got Dustin away, that’s what Eddie wanted.”

He hasn’t said his name in a while. It feels foreign in his mouth, but also… oddly familiar. The way it felt to wander the Wheelers’ house in the Upside Down, like he knows it, like he’s at home with it, but like he isn’t supposed to be there. It’s too dark. Lonely. Infested.

Nancy seems to feel it too, and Steve suddenly wonders if the others have talked about it.

About Eddie.

“It’s okay,” he says. Whimpers. She nods, her hands shifting to hold his jaw, cradling his face.

“It’s okay,” she repeats quietly.

They end up tangled together on the sofa, arms and legs wrapped around each other, and it feels somehow easy. Easy as she pets his hair, as he listens to her heartbeat.

“I was thinking,” she says softly after a while, after the tears have dried on their cheeks. “If you aren’t ready to go out yet, we can… we can invite them over here. Robin and Jon and Argyle. For a movie or something.”

He closes his eyes.

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“I miss them.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her hand pausing in his hair, her cheek pressing to the top of his head.

“We miss you too.”

Like she can tell that he’s not really there.

They come over the next week, while Steve’s parents are gone for dinner with some of their friends. Steve told them they’d be coming, and he felt a little better upon seeing the way their faces lit up, the way they smiled at each other. Like everything was finally getting better.

It might be. Just a little.

Steve finally showers. Puts some product in his hair to help it get back to normal. He changes into clean clothes, shorts that used to be sweatpants and a light sweater that hangs down past his hips, and when he drops his other clothes in his hamper, his dad stops outside his room, knocking lightly and asking if Steve wants him to take it downstairs, to put it in the washer. Like he knows how drained Steve already is.

Jonathan’s the first to show up, oddly enough. Even before Robin.

Steve squints in the sun when he opens the door, glancing past him to look for Argyle, but he isn’t there. It’s just Jonathan.

“Hey,” Jonathan says lightly, looking at Steve, who says the same back, holding the door open for him to come in. Jonathan pauses when he’s inside, after kicking his shoes off, and he doesn’t ask how Steve is like Steve expects. Instead he just turns to him and opens his arms, tilting his head, wordlessly asking permission. Steve just steps into them, hugging him tightly. Jonathan’s arms are firm around him, hands rubbing his back. Steve doesn’t know how long they stand there, just holding each other, swaying slightly, but he doesn’t even want to cry.

When they part, they don’t say anything. Steve just leads him to the living room to look at the selection of movies he has laid out on the coffee table.

Nancy and Robin show up together, and they hug Steve at the same time, his head between theirs, their scents mixing. (Nancy uses strawberry shampoo. Robin uses something vaguely masculine.) And then Robin hooks an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer as Nancy moves past them to kiss Jonathan lightly.

Argyle shows up a little later, carrying some pizzas, commenting that they may not be Surfer Boy pizza, but any pizza is good pizza in his book. It’s about the spirit, man. The pizza spirit. He’d been taking Max and Lucas around, following from a respectable distance as Lucas took Max on a date before he took them to Max’s apartment.

“Third wheeling’s not so bad,” he says when he tells them all, arms wrapped around Steve, covering his face almost absentmindedly like he doesn’t even notice that he’s hugging him. Jonathan is watching, an amused grin on his face. “They’re so happy, man. I love love.” And he sighs heavily, laying his head on top of Steve’s.

Steve laughs.

He hasn’t laughed in a long time. Even the thought of laughing felt foreign to him. But he giggles, feeling the weight of Argyle’s head, the secure hold of his arms around his neck, the lingering scent of weed on his arms, mixing with some kind of cologne.

Steve ends up between Argyle and Robin during the movie, his legs tangled with Robin’s, head resting on the back of the sofa. He’s barely watching the movie, nibbling his pizza slowly, quietly. He gets through one and a half slices before it’s too much, and he gives the rest of his second slice to Robin.

When Argyle finishes eating, he wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close, wordlessly asking if he’s okay. Steve sighs, nuzzling into his shoulder, closing his eyes. It occurs to him that he and Jonathan haven’t even mentioned weed all night, that they haven’t offered any up like they usually do, and he wonders if they all talked about this beforehand. If they discussed the fact that mind-altering substances aren’t a good idea for Steve right now.

Steve’s chest flushes with warmth at the thought. He presses closer to Argyle, reaching over to find Robin’s hand, pulling her closer and lacing their fingers. She squeezes three times. He squeezes back.

He tries to watch the movie. He doesn’t know what’s going on it, hasn’t been following the plot for a while. His chest tightens when he realizes that it feels like something is missing, and that something is Eddie. He pushes down the urge to go get Eddie’s vest, to curl back up against Argyle with the vest hugged to his chest, his face buried in it for the remaining traces of Eddie’s scent. He knows how weird that would be. Robin might be the only one that even knows he still has it.

He touches the ring around his finger, brushing over it with his thumb, pushing it to twist slowly. He hasn’t taken it off. He can’t even feel it anymore, like it’s just part of his finger, like the stone is just a small extension of him. But he knows that if he took it off, it would feel like the world is ending. He’s thought about it, about leaving the ring on his bedside during the day, to get used to Eddie’s absence, but the very thought made his chest tighten and breath shorten, and he wondered if this was how Lucas felt when he had to leave Max at the hospital. And then he was just mad at himself, because that wasn’t fair. To anyone.

Robin squeezes his hand again when she notices him touching the ring. He blinks his eyes, taking a deep breath, nodding.

—————————

It feels weird to drive again.

Weird, but now wrong. He supposes it’s like riding a bike. Everything comes naturally, and he barely thinks twice about anything as he pulls out of his driveway, as he scolds Robin for putting her feet on the dashboard. (He lets her put them on her seat, sitting all curled up as she looks out the window. She can never sit normally, both feet on the ground. So he allows it.)

She’s rocking back and forth as he drives, humming along to the radio.

The sun is shining brightly. It’s hot out, and the car is a little cool from sitting in the garage, but the seats are still warm, sticking to Robin’s thighs as her shorts ride up. There are people outside, loading boxes into cars, barbecuing on grills. Children jumping through sprinklers, laughing and smiling. It all feels surreal, seeing them all living their lives in spite of it all.

“You didn’t tell them I’m coming, did you?” he asks after a while. He glances at Robin to see her grinning.

“Nope.”

“Because why would you.”

“Mhmm.”

His heart is beating fast as he pulls into the Wheelers’ driveway, and he puts the car in park, he takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily, his hands falling to his lap as he leans back. Robin leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder fondly.

“They’re gonna be so excited to see you, Stevie,” she says softly. He nods, sighing, blinking his eyes. “You ready?”

“…Yeah.”

Karen opens the door for them. She’s beaming when it swings open, holding a doll that must be Holly’s, and before Steve can even say hello, she’s pulling him into a hug, rocking back and forth.

It’s a good hug. Warm, tight, comforting. She tells him softly how nice it is to see him again. He thanks her for the casserole. She says she’ll cook for him anytime, that if he and his parents ever need anything she’s available. He can feel the doll she’s holding pressing into his shoulder, but he doesn’t mind it.

“The kids are all downstairs,” she says when she finally releases him, reaching to touch Robin’s face lightly, motherly. “They’ll be glad to see you. I’ll keep an ear out for Dustin screaming.”

Steve laughs lightly, nodding. She touches his face, nodding as she looks into his eyes, like she knows. She doesn’t know much, but maybe that thing Steve’s mom’s always said about a mother’s intuition really has something to it. He feels better when he feels her hands on his face, soft and loving, when she looks into his eyes and smiles in a way that says it’s okay even though she doesn’t know the half of it.

Steve heads toward the basement stairs with a heavy sigh, feeling Robin’s hand rub his shoulder.

It’s a little dim downstairs, as usual, and the stairs creak as he descents, but the kids’ voices don’t quiet. Dustin and Will are bickering, Erica is laughing, Lucas is scolding her, Mike is groaning dramatically, El is giggling, Max is commenting dryly. It’s all the same. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs before they notice him, and he manages to take a moment to look at them all. Watching them. Kind of wishing he could just be a fly on the wall, watching them be kids and fuck around, fighting about something stupid and mundane and normal.

Mike notices him first.

“Steve!”

He practically tackles Steve in a hug, gangly arms tight around Steve’s middle, and Steve startles, a grin overtaking his face because Micheal Wheeler is hugging him, hugging him back with a light laugh before the others are joining, all yelling variations of his name. Max pushes herself to sit up straight on the sofa, beaming and turning in his direction, waiting patiently.

“Hi, hi, hi,” Steve says, hugging them all, touching the tops of their heads. Erica has purple beads in her hair now. Eleven’s hair is getting curly again. (Steve likes it like this.) Mike’s hair is even longer, wavy and too dry, hanging over his shoulders. “Hi.”

“God, I missed you,” Dustin says. He pushes Lucas out of the way, bear hugging Steve and tucking his face into his neck. Steve hugs him back, closing his eyes for a moment. It feels surreal, holding him again.

“I missed you, too, man,” he says weakly, tears sparking his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He snorts, squeezing his eyes shut before he opens them again, patting Dustin’s back. Dustin lets go, stepping back.

He has Eddie’s bandana tied around his arm. Steve’s gaze lingers on it for a moment before he tears his eyes away, reaching for El and tugging her close, putting his hand in her hair and ruffling her curls as she giggles.

“Look at you,” he says fondly. She swats his hand away, reaching for his hair and tugging the ends of it.

“You need a haircut.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She giggles again.

Lucas is next, his arms tight as he hugs Steve, swaying a little bit.

“You okay?” he asks quietly before they part, holding Steve’s arms. He’s too fucking tall. Man-sized. But still a kid. His eyes are shining vulnerably, childishly, and Steve wants to scream. He wants to take him back into his arms and hold him until they’re both elderly.

“I will be,” Steve says lightly.

He lifts Erica up when she hugs him, and he’s reminded that she’s even younger, just a little girl. She’s going to be a freshman this year. He thinks. She’s just a baby. He holds her tightly, laughing softly and she complains, “You asshole. I missed you.”

Will holds him for a while. He’s shaking. Steve holds him so tightly it kind of hurts, but neither of them says anything. (His hair is different now too, a little longer, messier. It looks nice on him. More careless.)

“Excuse me,” Max says after a while, her voice loud, sarcastic. “I missed you too, dick.”

“Language,” he scolds lightly, smiling as he sits on the sofa next to her. She faces him when his weight makes the sofa shift, face lit up, eyes wide even though she can’t see him.

“Gimme your face,” she says, holding her hands up. “Gotta make sure you’re still pretty.”

He snorts, taking her hands carefully and lifting them to his face. She grins, touching his face, feeling his cheeks and his jaw, his nose and chin and forehead. He has to close his eyes for a moment so she doesn’t poke them, but he gazes at her while she touches him. Her eyes are cloudy, pale, and unfocussed, but her eyebrows are set, focussed on navigating his face like she’s remembering it. Her freckles are bright, her nose and the tops of her ears red. She’s been out in the sun. Just knowing it makes Steve happy.

He snorts when she tries to stick her finger up his nose, and she gives an evil laugh, reaching to pull him into a hug. The others are all quiet as they embrace, as Steve leans over and pulls her close, closes his eyes and sighs heavily. Her hair smells like El’s.

“I missed you,” she says softly, her arms tightening around him. “Like, a lot.”

“I missed you like a lot, too,” he murmurs.

He sighs when they part, his exhale shaky because he’s containing himself, because he can’t let himself cry in front of them all. They’re all watching him, around the room like he’s about to pull out a picture book and read to them. He ruffles Max’s hair one last time before he looks back at them all.

“So, what’d I miss?”

“Mike and El broke up,” Dustin says loudly, and a laugh bursts from Steve’s chest as El giggles and Mike shoots Dustin a look.

“You are so fucking annoying, you know that?”

“You said he could know.”

“Yeah, but you said it like–”

“Mike and I broke up!” El interrupts excitedly, beaming when Mike rolls his eyes and falls onto his back where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. Will laughs, glancing at him.

“I did weed for the first time,” Will says brightly. Steve’s stomach plummets.

“No, you fucking didn’t—”

“No, I’m messing with you. Erica went on a date, though.”

“Wh—” Steve startles, relaxing for a split second before he tenses again. “You just gave me fucking whiplash, what?” He fixes a look on Erica, who’s reaching across a cackling Dustin to smack at Will’s arm. Will giggles, recoiling.

“It wasn’t a date,” she insists.

“You went to the movies and he paid,” Will says sassily.

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes it…” Will gestures with his hands like he’s conducting a band. “A date.”

“Shut up. Max and Lucas made out.”

“Erica,” Lucas scolds, reaching over to swat at her, his eyes wide.

“Just the facts.”

“Did you walk in on it?” Mike asks, laughing, and Erica nods solemnly.

“Lucas threw a pillow at me.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a dictionary. Stay out of my room.”

She just sticks her tongue out at him.

“El got her ears pierced,” Max says brightly, and El sits up on her knees, lighting up, pushing her short curls out of the way so Steve can see. He leans closer, squinting a little bit. The studs are sparkling flowers, tiny blossoms on her earlobes, and she’s grinning widely, happy.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Very uncomfortable.”

“Fair enough.”

They all keep talking. Bickering and bantering and teasing each other, talking over each other’s voices, laughing and telling Steve everything. Catching him up. Reminding him that they’re all growing up. As they talk, Max reaches over and takes his hand, finding it by grabbing his arm and sliding her hand down to his before she squeezes.

They make him stay over for a movie. Robin curls up next to him on the sofa, and Erica lays between them, her head on Steve’s arm that’s around Robin’s shoulders. Max lays on his other side, her legs lifted to rest across Lucas’s lap. He rubs them gently, absentmindedly, as El sits next to him, leaning against his side and sighing.

Mike and Will sit on the floor, side by side. After a while they relax, and their shoulders press, and a part of Steve wonders. Dustin sits on the floor in front of El, who reaches down to play with his hair.

“Where were you?” Max asks quietly as the movie is playing. Steve looks down at her. Her eyes are open, facing the television, and he wonders if she can see the light from it. She’s close enough that no one else hears, and it’s like she just knows that Steve isn’t really watching the movie.

“Home,” he says softly. “In bed, mostly. Not doing much.”

“Did you miss us?” she asks after a moment. His chest tightens. He turns to kiss the top of her head.

“A lot. Yeah.”

She nods, laying on his shoulder.

“Do you feel better?”

“...I’m trying.”

She nods again.

—————————

Steve’s parents leave in August.

They had been meaning to leave in May, down to Floria so they could find a place for their retirement, but they stuck around longer than they planned to because of Steve. They don’t let him feel guilty about it. His dad very firmly reminds him, you’re our son, Steve. No matter what. Through thick and thin. Love and grief. And Steve cries.

They offer to take him with them. They can find him a job there, he can stay with them for as long as he needs to.

But he refuses. Tells them he needs to stay for the kids, for Robin. He can’t leave yet, not until they’re all gone too, until they’re all at college or wherever they decide to go next.

So they leave him the house. And money. They tell him they’ll be home for Christmas, that they’ll call when they arrive at their new house, and if he needs anything, they’ll provide. They both hug him tightly when they leave. They don’t usually have these long, drawn-out goodbyes when they travel, and it’s really no different now (they’ll only be gone a few months), but it feels somehow different now. Like something shifted over the summer, in every dish that he pushed away, every time he crawled onto the sofa and put his head on his mother’s lap, every time he fell against his father and let him catch him. Every time they came in just to sit on the edge of his bed and put a hand on his arm, just to whisper and ask if he feels any better, to pet his hair and kiss his forehead when he doesn’t respond.

The house feels empty when they’re gone. So he calls Robin to come over, and they fall asleep on the sofa after eating leftovers.

She moves in for a while. She’s supposed to stay in the guest room, but she spends most nights in Steve’s, cuddled up against him. She never says anything about the vest.

The kids come over. Max likes being at Steve’s. The hallways are big and empty (especially after he moves the decorative table out of the way), and she can roll her wheelchair down them as fast as she can, laughing and smiling as her hair flies behind her like flames.

Steve spends more time with them, even when he just wants to lay in bed and close his eyes. He leaves his curtains open, forces himself to let sunlight into the room even though it makes his head hurt early in the morning. He discovers that he can still lift Max and her wheelchair, and when Argyle leaves for college with Jonathan, Steve takes over helping Max get home. When the kids start school, he gets up early to take her. Max is in charge of the music.

Robin decides to take a gap year. Steve feels like it might be because of him, because sometimes she worries, on days that he can’t get out of bed, on days that he just sits on the floor with Eddie’s vest and cries, headphones on, on nights that he wakes her up by sobbing in his sleep. She helps him through it all, holding his hand or just being there until he can stand feeling anything again. She makes brownies and brings home cheesy movies to cheer him up, even though it doesn’t always work.

His parents call once a week. Every Thursday evening, before they go to bed, just to check in, see how he’s doing. He knows they worry about him now. He tries not to feel guilty about it.

—————————

They had sandwiches for lunch. Steve made them. Robin praised them, complete with the obnoxious chef’s kiss. She told Steve he makes a lovely housewife. It made him laugh a little.

She knocks her hips into his as she navigates the kitchen, putting away dishes as he washes them. She pauses to push his glasses up his nose when she notices them sliding down. It’s quiet. Sunny. Warm.

Wednesday. It’s hard for Steve to keep track of the days of the week. He’s always asking Robin what day it is, just in case, and she always tells him before commenting that there’s a calendar in the kitchen. (It’s a nice calendar, every day noted with what Steve has to do, drive Max to school, pick Lucas up after basketball practice, drive El over to the Sinclairs’, get groceries. Et cetera. Every day gets marked off with a black marker, and medical appointments are marked in red. They both hate medical appointments. They go together.)

He’s tired today. He’s tired a lot of the time. Even though all he’s done today is take Max to school and make lunch, he feels drained, fatigued. He wants to go lay in bed in the dark, but he won’t. Maybe he’ll fall asleep on the sofa for a while before he goes to pick Max up.

Robin is humming. He doesn’t recognize the song. It might be some new hit from the radio. He doesn’t really listen to the radio anymore.

He listens to the metal records he got in Indy, and to Tennessee Waltz, and that’s about it. He doesn’t listen to Tears for Fears anymore, or Toto. Instead it’s Metallica, and Judas Priest, and Ozzy Osbourne, all of which are truly weird to cry to, but he manages. It’s noisy, loud and heavy and comforting when the inside of his head feels louder than anything. The music shuts him up, and it’s nice. He plays it while he lays in the living room, staring at the ceiling and thinking, while he cleans and cooks and works out, and Robin lets him. She knows when to leave him alone.

He shuts off the water when he finishes with the dishes, sighing and reaching for the towel in Robin’s hands. He snatches it as she reaches for a cup to dry, and she stares at him, impatiently watching him dry his hands, and when he finishes, he tosses it to land on her head, covering her face. He sees her shoulders rise and fall as she sighs heavily.

Before she can say anything, they’re distracted by the sound of tires rolling over the gravel in the driveway. Steve stops short, and Robin pulls the towel off her head, turning a little toward the hallway. It’s unmistakable, the sound of cars pulling into the driveway. Several cars. Not just one, not Ms Henderson or Joyce, but something else.

Anxiety pits in Steve’s stomach, twisting and knotting, and they wordlessly move toward the hallway, slowly, tentatively, like they’re waiting for the door to burst open. The baseball bat is in the hall, and Steve leaves it, aware of where it is. Just in case.

Robin follows close behind, her footsteps quiet on the floor like they’re hiding.

The cars stop when they reach the door, and they both listen to the silence as Steve’s hand hovers over the doorknob before he pulls it open, shivering in the breeze that blows over him.

Black cars. Shiny black cars. Government cars. Bad cars.

Steve’s chest tightens as he steps out so Robin can see, and the door shuts behind them as they watch. He hates that all the windows are tinted.

It’s silent for a moment before a door opens, and Owens steps out. He gives Steve a tight smile, and Steve exhales sharply, already going through every possible thing that could be happening. A gate reopened. Hawkins lab spilled some kind of chemical or something. Steve’s bites are actually going to cause long-term side effects. He hasn’t gotten a code red today. Fuck, are the kids okay? Steve would know if something happened, right? He would notice something? It’s only been a few hours since he saw them outside the high school, since he waved at them all as they waited for Max. Nothing could have happened since then, right?

As he spirals, more cars open, and men in suits step out. They all have guns. Steve hates guns.

His eyes scan the men, watching them all stand up straight, and his eyes catch on Wayne.

Wayne.

Steve blinks, staring at him, looking at Owens, who takes an awkward breath, still smiling that way he’s always smiling, like he doesn’t quite know what to say.

Wayne’s been crying. His eyes are shining, which Steve can see even from this distance (maybe it’s the glasses), and Steve says his name weakly. Did they tell him? Does Steve not have to hide any of it anymore?

Wayne gives Steve an odd smile, like he knows something Steve doesn’t, and he glances away, still standing behind the car’s open door, an arm propped up on it. Steve stares at him, his eyes burning. He hasn’t seen him in months. He’s been too scared to see him, scared that seeing him will send him into a spiral, scared that Wayne would say or do something that would just break Steve. He feels very breakable.

Steve only looks away from Wayne when he hears Robin’s voice say what weakly, brokenly, and he hears the sound of footsteps on gravel.

He freezes.

Eddie.

EddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddie—

He looks different. His hair is still long, overgrown and curly, and he’s wearing a dark sweater, grey, with black sweatpants, and white sneakers, but there’s something… off. His skin is pale, almost a little grey, but his cheeks and lips are red, like he’s wearing makeup. His hair blows in his face in the wind, and he pushes it back, reaching up. His fingers are… clawed. The ends are dark, like he’s dipped them in ink, like he’s been tattooed. But he’s still Eddie.

Steve can’t hear the car doors shut as Eddie comes closer. He can’t hear the way Robin is stifling gasps, her hand over her face, and he can’t hear the wind rustling the leaves around them. He can’t hear anything. His eyes don’t even hurt in the sunlight anymore. Nothing exists.

Except for Eddie, coming closer. His eyes are wide, still the same, still brown and sparkling and beautiful, looking up at Steve, who’s standing on the top step of the door. Steve looks down at him, hands shaking, breath stilled in his chest, caught in his throat, blood cold and hot at the same time. His vision blurs and unblurs and blurs again, and a tear falls down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.

He’s dreaming. Or hallucinating, or something. He’s been drugged.

There’s no other possibility that doesn’t include everything happening in Steve’s head. He can only hear the rush of his own blood, loud and pulsing, the steady flow of a violent river, and his lungs ache from holding his breath, and it’s not real. It’s taken this long for it to happen, for him to just imagine Eddie, during the waking day, in the sunlight and not in the dark of Steve’s bedroom late at night when he’s drowning in his own tears, but it’s happening. He’s imagining Eddie. And when he disappears, when it sets in that it’s not real, Steve will break.

But Eddie reaches up and wipes Steve’s tear away, because he’s close enough to, and Steve feels it. His thumb is cold, gentle and tender and soft in spite of the claw, and Steve feels the tear slide across his skin, cold in the wind, but it can’t be real, it can’t be real, this can’t really be happening, Eddie is gone, Steve knows it, Eddie died, he heard him stop breathing, and

Eddie’s voice is the same as it was when he died. Soft and quiet and almost nervous as he speaks.

“He didn’t let me in.”

#so anyway #dont know why i did this to myself but i cried several times writing this #i am incapable of writing actual permanant character deaths i assure you #eddies chillin #hes rly not bc hes traumatized beyond repair but he's alive #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington centric #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #robin buckley #robin buckley fanfic #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

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