#steve s3

[diavalkitty]

Elevator scene:

[dailyputnam]

ONLY MURDERS IN THE BUILDING + obligatory elevator scene 1.01 'True Crime' 2.01 'Persons of Interest' 3.01 'The Show Must . . .' 4.01 'Once Upon a Time in the West'

[discocandles]

one thing about steve harrington is that he sucks at doing nothing. like he has to be doing something with himself lest the guy waste away. this has led to him being very good at fucking around with things especially when its something relatively quiet. the loudest steve will let himself keep his hands busy while stuck idle is tossing whatever's in his hand to himself and catching it, which usually bodes well for sports practice after coach learned that just because he was moving didnt mean he wasnt paying attention(usually the opposite).

he learned how to flip a pencil around his thumb in middle school and seeing someone in one of the meetings he sat in on doing it. he'll twirl anything he can around in his hand, especially while he was working in the mall. the scoopers were perfect for it. and any way youve seen a drummer/percussionist fiddle with a drumstick, steve knew he had to replicate it.

but even with all this movement and the fact the guy was barely ever not moving, it seemed like no one noticed it ever. a fact that nearly drove eddie insane when they were in high school together. because he did have the reputation of being restless, and in a constant state of movement. and he probably fucked around with random shit less, so how did steve "the hair" harrington not end up with the same reputation? the answer was just that he was way more quiet("and sneaky" -eddie) about it. and if the teacher hated when their students fiddled and futzed he'd be sure to try and keep the movement below his desk.

but it not that he only has to keep his hands busy. no no no, if bored or stuck waiting, and that won't suffice, steve harrington will pick up anything with words just to read it. anything. outdated newspapers, ingredients lists, magazines of any topic. he just mindlessly grabs for whatever and starts fucking reading. Robin could swear under oath to a court that her best friend has read the back of every vhs in family video. hell, she's seen him reading drugstore novels, like the fucking grandma smut and books with cover art of nicely dressed ladies running from a castle. and its her jock best friend reading it, instead of some repressed suburban woman who hates her husband. yes, this information is the bane of robin buckley's exsistance because its not like anyone would believe her.

idk just give me steve being restless but doing it quietly enough that no one really picks up on it.

[grandmameredith]

ok I'm on my stranger things shit again and i saw a hc somewhere that Steve got his 'King' nickname from streetracing/ racing and omg its just so on point in all ways.

like first of all hawkins is such a small town that before the mall if you didn't want to go to the arcade or just get drunk in a field then driving really fast was probably ur only other option for entertainment.

in terms of plot/character though:

just imagine Steve at 15 or younger learning to drive by himself bc his parents weren't there to take him places and there was no one to teach him. Imagine him being so good at it bc he has no kind of warning in his head from his parents teaching him, or anyone who would know if he scratched the car or hurt himself.

imagine getting his nickname from being undefeated at his racing - that's why when Billy arrived he was 'usurped'. Even though Billy is arguably attractive you can't get that popular in like a week and Billy is known to be reckless especially at driving, so it makes so much more sense.

imagine when Billy says he's finally seeing King Steve is because of how reckless and uncaring about his own safety Steve used to be bc of how noone would care if he showed up home injured.

imagine Steve relying on his instincts from driving around all the streets again and again to be able to drive his car with all the kids back to the Byers' safely with his concussion and vision screwed because no matter how shit he might feel he would still be better at driving than a 13 year old.

imagine him driving the toddfather into Billy's car in s3 despite how cars like that are not built for it and knowing exactly how to do it. imagine him knowing the exact make and model he was destroying and how unsafe it was and doing it anyway, unthinkingly, because his friends were in danger.

imagine eddie ceding the rv to him in s4 bc of course the drug dealer knew exactly where teens who could sell to hung out and had seen him in action. imagine Steve knowing exactly how fast he could go in a trailer without breaking down without thinking.

imagine throughout all of this giving the kids rides at the most legal speed ever bc he just cares way too much, taking only the safest shortcuts, and then one day they see him driving when he's alone and realise that he is NOT a safe driver at all he's just protective of them specifically. imagine him being able to drive as fast as he wants with eddie or robin in the car bc neither of them care.

imagine hopper knowing the entire time and giving the most violent shovel talk ever the first time he had el in his car before he realised that Steve would rather die than endanger any of the kids and realising that Steve being safe around himself is the problem.

finally, imagine Steve driving slower the more he spends time with ppl who care bc he finally has ppl who would notice if he fucked up and crashed, imagine him driving safely bc of the kids until he starts doing it for himself too. imagine him finally starting to care about his own safety bc of his found family and just- ughgggggghhhhhh he makes me ill

🥲🥲

[strangersteddierthings]

Eddie blinks. Once. Twice. And a third time for good measure. The scene before him doesn't change. Steve Harrington stands off to the side of the lunch table, behind Jeff and Frankie who have both gone still as statues like they think if they don't move, King Steve won't see them.

"Uh, what?" Eddie finds himself saying, against his own will. He heard Harrington the first time, doesn't need or want him to repeat himself, but his disbelief seems to have won out against his grudge for all jocks and his indifference to Steve Harrington in particular.

Harrington's face pinches, like he's three seconds away from rolling his eyes. He doesn't do that, though, which Eddie will give him one brownie point for. "I asked if you had a minute to talk." Eddie's taking away his brownie point because Steve 'asks' in a way that sounds more like a demand.

Hearing the question and or demand a second time doesn't lower Eddie's hackles, but it does pique his curiosity. He drums his fingers atop his lunchbox, thinking it over. He wishes he could say he's pretending to think about it before he tells Harrington to fuck off, but the truth is he actually is thinking about it.

What could Harrington possibly have to say to him? They very much do not run in the same circles. Eddie only talks business at the picnic table past the edge of the woods out back and everyone who buys from him knows that. They share several classes, since they're both seniors, but everyone knows Eddie's on a track to not graduate (again) so he can't possibly be coming to discuss Mrs. Click's homework assignment.

"Sure. Should we go elsewhere or...?" Eddie trails off, lifting a hand to wave in a circle in Steve's direction, questioning.

Steve looks over his shoulder, back towards the side of the cafeteria taken up by the 'popular' crowd. When Steve turns his face back, he looks- well, kind of sad for a moment before it's smoothed over with indifference.

Interesting.

"No. It's probably good that the rest of your friends hear it anyway," Steve answers.

Jeff's eyebrows rise to his hairline, and Frankie frowns as his eyebrows raise at the same time, showing an expression of interest. Eddie's got no idea what Gareth's face is doing because Eddie can't see him unless he wants to turn his face away, but he's certain it's probably a glare of some sort.

Eddie leans back in his chair, wiggling like he's getting extra comfortable before he says, "Well, alright Harrington. Shoot."

"I'm graduating this year, so I just wanted to give you a heads up for next year. I tried to curb the bullying, but I know it still happened. So, since I'm not going to be here to watch out for that, you're gonna wanna up your," Steve gestures to all of Eddie, "everything."

He knew Steve curbed the bullying a bit, heard the confirmation of that last year from Jason Carver and Tommy Hagan, when he'd stepped in to save Gareth. Or rather, Gareth had come flying in to save him and then Eddie had to save Gareth- well, the details don't matter really.

"My everything?" Eddie asks, more confused than angry. He thinks he should be angry. Harrington has all but outright said he doesn't think Eddie's going to graduate with him, after all. But no. The main emotion now is confusion.

"Yeah. Your, y'know, freakinesss or whatever. Be more of it."

"Be more of a freak?" It's fascinating, that Harrington just keeps talking like he thinks anyone at this table care for his opinion.

"Yeah!" Harrington says, cheery like he thinks that Eddie's agreed with him somehow, complete with a stupid snap of his fingers that turns into a finger gun pointed at Eddie. "You've already got this like unapproachable mad dog kind of look about you, most of the JV team is already scared of you. Just like, up that a bit more and they'll probably steer clear of you and your friends." Then Harrington frowns deep, looking around the table of nerds and dorks before looking down at the top of Gareth's head to add, "well. Except probably curly here. No offense, but you seem an easy target."

"Fuck off," Gareth growls, because of everyone at the table, Gareth does have the most bite. (Most bark goes to Eddie himself). Eddie's more prone to run from a problem than engage in it, unlike Gareth, who he's had to pull off of a few people this year.

"Or not," Harrington retracts his previous statement and Eddie will grant the man another brownie point, which brings the total up to one.

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," Eddie grins, wild and a bit manic.

Harrington is unphased. "Yeah! Do that more. I think it really freaks Jason out and he's most likely to take the captain slot next year, so if you get him afraid of you, the rest of the team'll fall in line and leave you alone too. I think he's super religious, so like, lean into the satanic panic thing people are up in arms about and next year will be a breeze. And-"

Eddie lifts a hand, a motion for Harrington to stop talking. It surprised him a little that Harrington does. Even more interesting. "Stop me if I'm wrong here, Harrington, but are you suggesting that I become the bully?"

Harrington's mouth opens and closes a few times before his face pinches again. Instead of looking like he's going to roll his eyes and be bitchy, Harrington looks confused and then like he's deep in thought. An uncomfortable amount of awkward silence falls over there table, but it's just when Eddie's about to break that silence that Harrington finally speaks. "No. I'm saying just like, be you but bigger. Like, you don't even gotta look in the team's direction. If you're just more of a freak than you usually are, they'll steer clear without the bullying."

"You sure know how to compliment a guy," Eddie deadpans. He's not even upset that Steve's called him a freak. He's spent the majority of his high school career cultivating that outlook. He wasn't just a freak, he was The Freak.

Now a look crosses Harrington's face. One Eddie's not sure he's interpreting correctly. If he had to take a guess, he'd say the look was calculating, knowing, in a way that Eddie doesn't think Harrington could actually achieve. Then it's gone, replaced with the bitchy, eye-rolling look Eddie's used to seeing, and Harrington says, "I haven't said anything untrue."

Hmm. The most interesting thing yet. Eddie might not be graduating (again) but he's not dumb. He didn't survive this far in his life, with a father like his, without learning to read people. He wasn't as good as he wanted to be at reading people last year, but he's definitely good enough know to think that, maybe, just maybe, Harrington also knows a thing or two about cultivating a public perception. Making sure people only see a certain side of you.

"Alright," is what Eddie answers, "I'll take what you've said under advisement."

"Uh. Okay," Harrington says before he just walks away. Conversation over.

"Well," Jeff says, "that was strange."

"Very," Eddie agrees as he watches Harrington walk away, tracking him until the cafeteria door slams shut behind him when he exits.

Eddie has always wanted to up the ante, so to speak. Jump on a cafeteria table and rant about capitalism and organized sports. He never has before but next year seems like a great time to try.

[runraerun]

[eveomo]

eiffel tower. next question.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

a charity case

Prompt: Hate at First Sight | Word Count: 3450 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Underage Drinking, Canon Injuries | POV: Steve | Relationship(s): Steve & Everyone, Pre-Steddie | Tags: Set at the End of S3, Post Mall Fire, But Before the 3 Month Time Jump, Everybody's Coddling Steve, Except for Known Menace Eddie Munson

It starts out normal enough. As most things involving the little shitheads do, but it predictably only spirals from there. Dustin lures him home with the promise of Claudia's lasagna, and Steve's not one to ever turn down Claudia's home cooking. He's no fool. Even if his face hurts. Even if his head is pounding. Even if it hurts to turn his neck. Maybe he has whiplash from that car wreck.

It doesn't matter. He still goes, and they sit and eat in the living room, watching TV. Claudia worrying over the state of his face. Steve reassures her over and over that he's okay. That it looks worse than it feels. Honest.

Steve's not sure that's true, but it's just a little white lie. There's no reason for her to know what kind of danger Dustin had been so close to in the depths of hell in that cursed mall. That he did something stupid, reckless and really brave to save Steve and Robin. He's fine. They're all fine.

He shakes some aspirin out of the bottle in his glove box when he gets in the car, the same bottle from after that fight with Jonathan. The one that threw him into this whole mess in the first place. If he hadn't provoked Jonathan, if he hadn't been such an asshole, he'd probably never know anything about the Upside Down. He thinks about that a lot. 

But he'd also probably not know Henderson. He probably wouldn't have a new friend in Robin.

That's not a trade off he'd make. He wouldn't change anything. He wouldn't. But he does think about the what-ifs more than he'd ever admit to anyone else.

Steve tosses the pills in his mouth, and swallows them. He never paid Tommy back for them. He thinks that makes them work better, the spite somehow adding some extra strength to them. He'll be good for a few more hours, the ache in his skull hopefully waning long enough for him to fall asleep.

The next night Nancy calls and tells him to be ready, that Jonathan's gonna pick him up in twenty minutes. That they're going out for burgers. No kids allowed. They swing by and get Robin, and it's kind of fun. Just the four of them. Sure, his face still hurts from the Russian torture, but it's nice to get back to a bit of normal. They don't even talk about the Upside Down or the Russians or that godforsaken mall.

Under the bright lights of the diner, he can see the scrape on Robin's knee, the bruise surrounding it that's worse than it was that night. He touches the skin near it gently.

She bats his hand away, but smiles at him, "I'm fine, dingus."

If she's fine, he's fine, too.

On Sunday, Robin says he has to come to family dinner and meet her parents. They're demanding it, apparently, and won't take no for an answer. They want to know who saved their daughter from the fire. He didn't save her from anything, she saved herself. But he does great with meeting the folks, they usually love him, so he doesn't mind going. He puts on his best polo and makes sure his hair is combed a little neater than usual.

Turns out, her mom is a pretty damn good cook, and they're really kind. Warm. If a little overprotective. But it's nice. Robin's really lucky.

He thinks they assume he's her first boyfriend, and he doesn't make any corrections. Just stretches his arm across the back of her chair, and plays the part. This is familiar, well-trodden ground. Steve Harrington: Boyfriend. That's normal. He can do normal. So, for this moment, he's the old Steve Harrington again. The one before monsters fucked up his whole world. 

Charming, delightful and beloved. 

It's not until Monday that they all tip their hands. Steve figured it out when Erica was on the phone, inviting him to dinner at their house. He's never set foot in the Sinclair house. And he quickly realized he was being passed around like a hot potato. A charity case.

Poor Steve Harrington, with no parents at home to make sure he's okay.

He's fine on his own. He's been fine on his own for a long time.

But he still can't tell the kid no, not after everything they went through together. Scoops Troop Forever, and all that. And she's just doing her part. He's not sure who put her up to this, probably Henderson. So, he shows up and sits through the most awkward meal ever, with Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair not quite understanding why this older teen, especially one with a gnarly black eye, is friends with their children. 

He's Dustin's babysitter, Erica explains, and Steve pretends he doesn't hear Mrs. Sinclair calling Claudia on the phone to verify this story she's being fed. Claudia must vouch for him, and of course she would, because Claudia loves him.

After the dishes are washed, Steve walks down the driveway, and gets in his car, rolling the windows down. It's too warm, even after dark. But the summer breeze feels good against his still sore face, and he cruises through neighborhood after neighborhood. Smelling the lingering charcoal cookouts, and hearing a smattering of fireworks still being set off. He's not sure he'll ever be able to look at the Fourth of July the same again. Not with the kind of fireworks he experienced in that mall.

When he pulls up to a stop sign, he hears a band playing live music. It's a little rough, but he pauses in front of the house when catches sight of the open garage door, and sees four or five guys rocking out. A blur of motion and jumping around.

They're definitely entertaining themselves.

He doesn't recognize the song they're playing, but he's not sure if that's because they're bad or if he just doesn't know the song. He thinks it's the latter. 

Easing along the curb, he brakes so he can listen a little longer. In no hurry to get home. He squints, but he's not sure who they are. His vision has been kinda fucked since the other day, and he's getting concerned that it might not ever go back to normal.

Oh well. He'll deal with it, as is. His hearing is a bit iffy in his left ear, and he's figured out how to compensate for that. He can do the same with his eyes, if need be.

When they shift into AC/DC he's positive he just didn't know the last song. They really aren't half bad. 

It's not until there's a streak of black running across the lawn, that he realizes it's Eddie Munson's band he's been listening to play. Shit. 

Steve doesn't flee, he just waits for his tongue lashing for daring to do whatever Eddie's gonna excuse him of, just for being on the same street. Eddie has hated him from first sight, ranting about jocks and popularity and for some reason, his hair. Steve's never made any move to change his mind. It's useless. Eddie Munson has no give, no bend, it's his way or no way at all.

Best to avoid him whenever possible.

Eddie leans down into the passenger window, "Well, well, well, if it isn't Steve Harrington rapping on my chamber door."

Steve doesn't think he was rapping on anything, but okay. It's a free country. He's on a public street.

"I didn't realize this was your place," Steve says, because he didn't. He actually had no idea where Eddie lives. You don't seek out Eddie Munson. You cross the street to not deal with his big mouth bullshit whenever possible. Everybody knows that.

Eddie laughs, "This is Gareth's house. I live out at Forest Hills. You know. The trailer park. For the trailer trash."

Steve didn't say that. Steve didn't even think that. But there'll be no convincing Eddie Munson of anything. He thinks what he thinks, and says what he says. The rest of them just have to let it happen. So, Steve doesn't take the bait.

"You guys are pretty good," Steve says instead. A peace offering that'll never be accepted. But it's the truth, and you should tell the truth. Russian truth serum coursing through your veins or not. 

"So you decided to spy on us. Like a little pervert," Eddie accuses, then tugs on the door handle, plopping right into the passenger seat. He immediately starts going through the glove box. Steve doesn't have the energy to stop him, and really? What's he hiding in there? Aspirin? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Let him look.

Eddie seems a little disappointed that he's not riling Steve up more, but Steve can't help that. He's too tired to argue about petty shit with Eddie Munson.

"Take me out to Fair Mart, will ya," he says, but it's not a question. More like a demand. "We need a six-pack."

Steve doesn't argue, just pulls away from the curb, and heads out towards the highway, Eddie Munson in tow.

And there he just thought eating an uncomfortable dinner with the Sinclairs was going to be the weirdest part of his night.

When he wheels up in front of the store, Eddie holds out his hand, "Got any money I can borrow?"

Steve sighs. He knows he won't get a damn dime back from Eddie Munson if he hands anything over, but he still fishes out the bills.

"How 'bout a fake ID? They won't sell to me. You go in."

"Fine," Steve says.

Eddie leans his head out the window, "Get two!"

Steve sighs. Leaving Eddie Munson alone in his car is a recipe for disaster, but he does it anyway. He comes back with two six-packs under his arms, and hands them to Eddie. Eddie immediately cracks one open in the car, putting his feet on Steve's dash. 

The old Steve would have protested. The new Steve's not sure he's got the energy for it. His head already hurts, and listening to Eddie Munson rant and rave about the injustice of being asked to not be rude and destructive isn't worth it. So he just backs out, pulling out onto the highway.

Back in front of their practice garage, Eddie bails out, without so much as a thank you. Leaving his empty beer bottle on the floorboard, slamming the car door as he goes. 

"You're welcome," Steve mutters under his breath, and pulls away from the curb.

Turns out, Eddie Munson is like a tick. Once he's attached, good luck getting him off cleanly without leaving the head behind. A constant, irritating itch, just beneath the skin.

Everywhere Steve goes, there he is, popping out from behind a bush. Wanting something. Needing something. 

He gets it. Find an easy mark, and bleed him dry. Steve's not sure he can actually be a mark if he knows what's happening. Just a sucker for letting Eddie repeatedly try to push his buttons.

"Harrington. We need a favor," Eddie says, standing on Steve's front step, and Steve crosses his arms, but is listening. 

"What?" he asks as he sees the three other members of Eddie's band stomping down the driveway. Swim trunks on, towels slung over their shoulders.

"We are under the impression that you have a pool," Eddie says, smiling like a goddamn wolf.

"The city has a pool. It's like a dollar to get in," Steve says.

"And you have a pool we could use for zero dollars," Eddie argues, and Steve sighs, but opens the door, letting them all inside. He doesn't even know their names. Well, one of them is Gareth. Which one is anybody's guess.

It doesn't matter. He's not using the pool, hasn't for a long time, not really. Not since Barb. 

But if they want to, more power to them, he supposes.

"Might need to skim it," Steve says, "the pool house is over there."

"Oh, sure, make the poor kid be your free labor, Harrington," Eddie bellyaches, but does fetch the pool skimmer. Only, he decides to thrash it against the water, beating it against the surface, splashing, being a general nuisance until one of the other guys grabs it from him and actually starts removing leaves.  

Steve sits in one of the lounge chairs, and is basically ignored as if he's not even there. That's fine. He didn't really expect anything else. It's not like they're his friends.

He watches as they shotgun beers, pilfered from the garage icebox, and smoke cigarettes poolside. Steve feels like he's been thrown back in time. He isn't this guy. Not anymore.

There are monsters in the world. 

He's been tortured. It's hard to take a deep breath, because his chest feels bruised, down deep. His head hurts all the time. His neck is stiff. His eyesight is a little blurry. There's still an annoying ringing in his ear.

Splashing around in the pool that Barb disappeared from isn't at all appealing.

But he learns their names by listening to them talk. Jeff. Goodie. And he figures out which one is Gareth. 

He stands, intending to head back towards the house, when Eddie comes out of nowhere, grabbing him around the waist, yanking him down into the pool with him. 

The old Steve would have loved this, would have enjoyed the roughhousing. Would have been the one to think of it first.

The new Steve shakes out his wet hair and thinks about his now soaked wallet.

He climbs out, and after changing his clothes, Mike shows up on his bike. Steve is ninety-four percent positive Mike's there to drag him off to whatever house has surely been forced into hosting him for dinner tonight.

No more. He's good. He appreciates it. But the babysitter doesn't need babysitting.

"Is that Eddie Munson in your pool?!" Mike screeches.

And Steve nods, at least Eddie Munson is good for something, "Yep. I have company. I can't come to dinner tonight. Sorry."

He's not sorry at all.

Eddie Munson is a nuisance, most definitely, but he just came in handy for an excuse to get out of having to suffer through a dinner with Ted staring at him all night long, looking at him like he knows the ways Steve's touched his daughter. He's not wrong.

Parents love him. Ted Wheeler does not.

"He runs Hellfire Club," Mike says, and Steve doesn't know what that is, "Introduce me. Introduce me. Do it, Steve. Do it. Maybe he'll let us join next year."

So, Steve does. What does he care? Mike can do whatever the fuck he wants as long as it's not a danger to himself or others.

Over the next few days, Steve evades, and the dinner invites eventually peter out. Steve's grateful. He gets what they were doing. He does. But it's not needed. He can take care of himself. Even if he has a headache today. The worst one he's ever had, maybe. Maybe even worse than the one after Billy tried to crack open his skull with that plate. 

He feels nauseous. And that's not being helped by someone ringing the doorbell incessantly. 

Billy's funeral is today. He should go, for Max. The guy tried to kill him, even before he was possessed or whatever. He was an asshole. But he also died fighting on the same side as them. He stood up, and helped them fight back.

That's not nothing. Helping when you can, Steve gets that. He's just lucky he didn't end up getting himself killed in the Byers' house when he took that first stand, picking up that bat, not at all knowing what the fuck he was getting himself into.

Steve can't get out of bed, though. 

The doorbell stops. Then starts up again. 

Henderson, probably.

Steve can't navigate the stairs. He can't. Not right now.

Instead, he yanks open the upstairs window, and the sunlight is too bright. He squeezes his eyes shut, squinting them open a crack.

"Hey! Cut it out."

It sounds weak, but that's the best he can manage right now.

Eddie steps back far enough from the house that Steve can see him, screaming, "What's up, Harrington? I need a favor!"

Of course he does.

"Not so loud. And not today, man," Steve calls back down, squeezing his eyes shut. He can't look at him while they talk. "My head's killing me."

Eddie's quiet. Too quiet, and Steve cracks open an eye. He expects a fight, but Eddie just holds up his hands, saying, "Okay. My bad."

That was far easier than he expected, but Steve closes the window, and yanks the curtains closed again, crawling back into bed.

Steve must have dozed off, because he jerks awake when he hears tapping on his window. He looks over. Through the small sliver the curtains aren't covering, Eddie Munson is holding a sack, waving him over.

Jesus Christ. He must have climbed up the side of the house.

As loath as he is to get up, he does it anyway, pushing up the window and shuffling back to the bed. Eddie will have to take care of the rest.

Eddie does, climbing over the now open window sill. He immediately starts removing stuff from his sack, and the smell of food hits Steve.

"You brought me food?" Steve asks, arm slung over his eyes.

"Don't read too much into it, Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve chuckles. 

"I'm not really hungry," Steve admits.

"I know. Eat it anyway," Eddie says, "Sit up."

Steve does.

Eddie hands him a bowl, and a spoon. Steve hurts too much to argue. He eats.

"Are you poisoning me?" Steve asks as he takes another bite. It's really good, but he's a little suspicious. This is too nice for Eddie Munson.

"Uncle Wayne would never," Eddie says.

"But you might?"

"I'm a loose cannon. Promises can't be made," Eddie says, lounging in Steve's chair, feet up on the desk. "Just eat it." 

Steve does. But he can't help but be curious.

"Why'd you bring me food?" Steve asks. It's very out of character for Eddie. Steve gives, Eddie takes. That's the standard.

This is an anomaly.

Eddie just shrugs, but finally says, "My mom had migraines."

Steve doesn't have a migraine. He has a headache. 

"I don't have a migraine," Steve says.

Eddie laughs, "Okay. Sure."

As soon as he's finished eating, Eddie takes the bowl, and then presses a knee into the mattress, leaning close to Steve's face. Steve swallows, eyes trained on him, waiting to see what he's gonna do next.

He has orange ear plugs pinched between his fingers, and he presses one into Steve's left ear, then one into his right. Steve has to adjust them, has to press them deeper, but Eddie gives him a thumbs up.

Then Eddie slides a black satin sleep mask over Steve's head, resting it over Steve's forehead. It feels like something his mother would wear, and Steve kind of laughs.

"Shut up, it's all they had at Melvald's," Eddie says, and then retreats right back out the window. 

Steve rolls over, pulls the mask down over his eyes and sleeps better than he has in weeks. 

Maybe Eddie Munson isn't all bad.

A few days later, Steve is the one that seeks Eddie out. He finds them in Gareth's garage, where they spend most days. He puts in his earplugs, taking a bit of the edge off, as he sits down to listen to Eddie and his band play. Eddie kicks open a cooler, an offer, and they don't really pay much attention to him after that.

They play. Steve listens, the sound slightly dampened by the earplugs. 

Corroded Coffin, the banner in the garage declares. 

When they wind down, sweaty and tired, Eddie comes over and plops down on the closed cooler lid.

"We play at The Hideout on Tuesday. Wanna come?"

Yeah, Steve thinks he does, actually. He nods, and the smile Eddie shoots him gives Steve unexpected butterflies in his stomach. 

"I'll be there," Steve agrees.

"Good, we need a roadie. It doesn't pay," Eddie says, and Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie cackles, slapping him on the knee. He's kidding. 

Steve knows he's kidding, now. He kind of wonders how much of Eddie Munson has always been misunderstood. Yes, he's abrasive. And kind of rude. But maybe some of it has just been for his own entertainment.

And if an Eddie that hates you is hard to shake, Steve's pretty sure an Eddie that likes you might be even worse.

To his shock, he's kind of interested in finding out.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: I know we all (myself included!) often tend to run with the idea that nobody worries about Steve, because Steve's not the squeaky wheel, begging for grease. But I thought, what happens if they ALL worry about him after the mall. 🥺

Fun fact: I originally wrote in after the fourth fireworks being illegal (not true in Indiana) and the illegal open container (also not true at the time in Indiana) before thinking to google those details. It was the wild west over in Hawkins. 🤣

[smellsliketeenangst]

No thoughts. Just these two.

[sp0o0kylights]

Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset. 

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it. 

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud. 

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.  

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds. 

Still.

 Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink. 

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations. 

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say. 

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’ 

Nope. 

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’ 

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure. 

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake. 

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them. 

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through. 

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing. 

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.  

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse. 

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something. 

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here. 

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may. 

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?” 

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house. 

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.  

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him. 

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.” 

Likely a lot of things. 

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it. 

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

 ‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give. 

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.” 

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice. 

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked. 

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle. 

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat. 

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth. 

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.) 

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?” 

Wayne nodded once, slow-like. 

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again. 

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?” 

“I did.” 

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say. 

Wayne took advantage. 

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.” 

“‘Bout trust.” 

Eddie blinked at that. 

“Trust.” He echoed flatly. 

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--” 

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.” 

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him. 

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.” 

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway. 

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with. 

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.” 

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like. 

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns. 

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.” 

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.” 

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had. 

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.” 

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.” 

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.” 

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through. 

Wayne sat with him as he processed. 

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did. 

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked; 

“What if he finds out?”  

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home. 

It took Wayne  a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret. 

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over. 

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly.  It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself. 

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved. 

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’ 

“He won’t.” Wayne said. 

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.” 

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side. 

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other. 

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest. 

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose. 

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine. 

Hurt, absolutely, but alive. 

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body. 

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol. 

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door. 

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch. 

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.  

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible. 

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup. 

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him. 

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely. 

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior. 

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.) 

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!” 

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it. 

Wayne rolled his eyes. 

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door. 

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries. 

“I think I promised you a game, son.”  Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall. 

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

[babymangosworld]

"not available in your country"

[thatswife]

Billy: I could be!

Steve: No.

[claraoswalds]

STOBIN APPRECIATION WEEK ↳ Day 7: Free Theme

[steveharringtondaily]

JOE KEERY as STEVE HARRINGTON | STRANGER THINGS 3 (2019) // 3.08

[liseytopia]

thinking about summer of '85 with steve, fresh out of high school without a clue about what to do with the rest of your lives, but not in worry, rather in a comfortable uncertainty. it's easy mornings waking up to your lover without the aching thought in your mind that you'll be back at school in august, or the dread of having to drive to work and deal with shitty people all day long. it's that sweet in-between, and while most would find it scary, you feel alright. alright because you have steve, and he has you, and nothing could go too wrong while you parade boisterous teenagers around hawkins and starcourt and sunbathe by the pool while steve floats in the water next to you, while you laugh with him in his bmw on late night drives with the windows rolled down and just enjoy the early morning and evening sun that seems to be much warmer and inviting when it's summer with your boyfriend.

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

(after the kids come by the first time)

Robin: I must say I was not expecting Steve Harrington, ex-keg king, to babysit a bunch of middle schoolers

Steve: Ha. Shut the fuck up <3

Robin: I mean, no judgement dude. I would also get another gig if I wasn't so busy with school and stuff.

Steve: they're just a bunch of shitheads

Robin: Yeah. Capitalism owns our soul, amiright?

Steve: I mean, it's not like I get paid-

Robin: You don't get paid to hang out with the "shitheads"?!

Steve: ....

Steve: uhm .....I mean.......no?

Robin: So you saying that after your jock friends dropped you and your girlfriend left you for another you befriended a bunch of thirteen years olds?!

Steve: I'm taking my break

Robin: you already took your break dingus

Steve: Shut- HEY PUT THAT FUCKING WHITEBOARD BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM