j2h5b5

[j2h5b5]

New chapter is up.

[j2h5b5]

Chapter 3 tried to kill me.

How did a billionaire supergenius who only cares about himself and maybe three other people suddenly become such a … PARENT? Tony exposits.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64948111

[j2h5b5]

Oops, I fell into a new old fandom. Currently devouring all things Irondad. And wrote something.

[j2h5b5]

Date Night

(More Sterek & their twin terrors)

"You think they'll be okay?"

"Stiles, relax. They will be fine. We'll be gone for two hours, tops. Even Scott can handle two six-year-olds for two hours. Besides. We've earned this." He leaned in.

Stiles dodged the kiss. "We've never left them with a sitter before, though."

Derek frowned. "It’s Scott. Their combined emotional age is at least early teens. That’s the babysitter sweet spot. Now are you coming willingly or am I taking you by force? I’m good either way.”

***

When they opened the door to the apartment, they were ambushed by two tiny tornadoes, each topped with a mass of unruly blond curls. "Derek! Stiles! We missed you!" the boys chorused as they scrambled over each other like puppies, tugging and pushing in their efforts to reach their guardians first.

Derek bent down into the fray and scooped up a twin in either arm, planting a playfully loud kiss on each head and then passing them off to a waiting Stiles. "We missed you guys, too! Did you behave for Scott?"

"We played hide-and-seek at the park, it was SO FUN."

"And we won."

"That's awesome!" said Stiles, hugging them and setting them down on their feet as his gaze roved over the apartment. The empty apartment. “Uhh, boys?”

"Totally won."

"We won big-time."

Stiles held his hand up in a vain plea for attention. "Boys."

"And then we came home before dark like you said, Derek, and we just been playing MarioKart."

"I won the most races."

"Nuh-uh! I did!"

"By cheating."

"HEY, listen up!" Stiles waited until all three pairs of eyes were on him before he asked The Big Question. "Where is Scott?"

The silence that followed was not NOT terrifying. Stiles and Derek looked at each other over the kids’ heads, wide brown eyes meeting alert hazel, then back down at their charges. The boys were suddenly very interested in the carpet.

“Guys. Eyes up,” Derek commanded, infusing his tone with a slight Alpha edge that got instant obedience. “Stiles asked you a question. Where is Scott?”

There was a short, wordless battle of wills as the twins shoved testily at one another, both determined not to be the one to deliver whatever news there was to be delivered.

Turned out they didn’t need to.

Because just then, the apartment door swung wide open to reveal a breathless, panicky, wild-eyed Scott McCall. Everyone in the room froze and stared. Scott panted, his gaze falling to the twins and cycling through a truly remarkable, rapid-fire spectrum of emotions: from panic to relief to surprise, finally settling on a bold combination of embarrassment and righteous fury.

“What the fu-” began Derek, but a lightning quick side-eye from Stiles kept the last word in his mouth.

And then Scott raised his left arm to reveal a single handcuff fastened securely around his wrist, its broken chain dangling like a tail.

Still catching his breath, he pointed back and forth between the wide-eyed little boys with their halos of golden curls. “You two…” he began. “That was…I don’t even…I thought you were…I should…” Lost for a complete thought to direct at the little savages, he pulled his gaze up to burn into Derek and Stiles. “No more babysitting,” he gritted out. “EVER.”

Then he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Because while he wasn’t above humbling himself for the greater good, it seemed his limit was admitting that an innocent game of hide-and-seek at the neighborhood playground had left him handcuffed to the monkey bars while two six-year-old twin terrors ran home to play video games.

[j2h5b5]

When Derek walked in to find Stiles handcuffed to a kitchen chair, he stopped in his tracks and just stared for a few moments. Stiles stared back, his expression defeated, his eyes showing the kind of exhaustion that's unique to someone who has spent a whole day chasing after two hyperactive six-year-old werewolf boys the night before a full moon. Derek felt a growl rising in his throat and fought it down. "Where are they?" he asked instead, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Stiles sighed. "I would wager they're holed up in the playroom Mario-Karting their asses off since I grounded them from it for the day." He pointedly jingled the bracelet encircling his wrist, which was attached to one of the slats along the backrest of the chair. "Can you...?"

Derek scanned the kitchen and saw the key resting on the counter next to the microwave. He made quick work of unlocking his husband, who immediately began massaging his wrist as Derek leaned in to plant a somewhat distracted kiss on his lips. "Don't worry, I'll handle this," he said.

"Derek."

This had been a point of contention for them in recent weeks, as their adopted sons' behavior had escalated from minor mischief to potentially dangerous hijinks. It was a good sign, Stiles insisted, an indication that after almost seven months of being in their care, the boys were feeling comfortable enough to misbehave. Derek wholeheartedly disagreed, believing that laying down the law was not only important but necessary, lest they end up with uncontrollable twin monsters.

And that was easy enough for him, as the boys had a natural healthy respect for the Alpha, viewing him with undisguised awe and obeying his instructions at least seven times out of ten. (And the other three times, they regretted it but quick.) For Stiles, the average was one in ten, and usually the obedience was coincidental, not intentional. It was depressing him, and, more, it was putting undue stress on their relationship.

"I was handling it!" Stiles had protested one day two weeks ago, when Derek had walked in to see both boys jumping gleefully on their beautiful black leather sectional, blond curls bouncing chaotically as Stiles repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) grabbed for flailing appendages he could use to pull them back to solid ground.

"It didn't look good from where I was standing!" Derek protested. "You're way too easy on them, Stiles."

And true, all it took was one Alpha growl from Derek to snap them to attention, a command to "Get down NOW" and five minutes facing the wall in separate corners before they were sniffling and full of contrition and apologies. Stiles didn't want to be jealous of his husband's far superior child-wrangling abilities, but he was. And it was becoming quite a sore subject.

So now, at Stiles's one-word objection, Derek took a deep breath and a step back, gesturing for Stiles to lead the way to the playroom. He could just be backup, he figured, maybe flashing Alpha eyes at the adorable brats from behind Stiles’s shoulder. But Stiles stopped him from following by placing a hand on his chest. "They'll never take me seriously if you're always bad cop," he said.

It was important. To Stiles, to the boys. To their family. Derek raised his hands in surrender. "I'm here if you need me," he said, and Stiles leaned in for a real kiss before Derek headed back to the living room to perch on the couch and listen from afar.

And what he heard was truly impressive. Stiles was stern. He was authoritative. He confiscated the contraband video game. He doled out early bedtimes as a consequence. He explained in no uncertain terms why their behavior was unacceptable and what would happen if they didn't start following the rules. He didn't even raise his voice. The three of them emerged ten minutes later, one twin in Stiles's arms and the other clinging to his shirttail, both of them looking sufficiently chastised.

Derek raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles, who was clearly trying to suppress a smirk. "We're all good now," he reassured, knowing full well that Derek had listened to most of the exchange. "But Oliver has a question for you."

The twin at Stiles's side looked at Derek with wide blue eyes and said, "Why do you have handcuffs in the drawer next to your bed?"

[j2h5b5]

Oh hey. Another side quest into a world of married Sterek where Stiles’ little sister is Derek’s beta and how delightfully messy that could get. Because my last little snippet didn’t scratch the itch. Like? I got more a’brewin.

###

"Stiles, let me handle it."

"Don't pull rank on me, Derek."

Derek scoffed. "This isn't about hierarchy. This is about you being furious right now and me being calm. Well, relatively," he amended when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. "And I promise you that coming down hard is not the best way to get through to your hard-headed sister."

"I'm not not looking to get through to her. I'm planning to kill her."

"See, now that's my point. I can't let you kill one of my betas, baby."

"She was my sister before she was your beta."

"Stiles. Look at me." Derek placed both hands firmly on his husband's shoulders, angling his head down so Stiles couldn't avoid meeting his gaze. "When she walks in that door, she's going to expect a confrontation. And if you give her one, you'll be playing right into her manipulative little hands." His lips curled into a little smile when he saw that Stiles was actually considering his words. "I've got this, okay? This is not my first time dealing with a rogue teenager. I managed to wrangle you and Scott into line, and THAT was no small feat."

"You didn't wrangle us," Stiles objected. "The way I remember it, you were involved in most of the stupid stunts we pulled." He sighed. "But fine. You want to handle it, you handle it. But save the killing for me."

Derek answered that with a kiss, then gently urged Stiles backward until the backs of his knees met the couch and he flopped gracelessly into a sitting position.

That was the moment the door opened and the Stilinski of the hour walked in. Derek took several beats to pin Stiles to the couch with his eyes, reminding him silently of their agreement, before turning around to face his problem beta.

"Before you start yelling..." she began, both hands extended outward toward her two guardians. "I can explain."

Derek folded his arms across his broad chest and gave her a look. "No one's going to yell," he said, squeezing Stiles's shoulder slightly. "We would love to hear your explanation."

She looked between Derek and Stiles with open confusion that melted into suspicion. "Oh-kaaay."

Faced with this curveball, she didn't seem to know how to proceed. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she stood there lost for words. So Derek decided to help her along. "Let me get you started because I'm very curious. Was your mission successful? Did you manage to steal the book and get out of the Alpha Pack den without getting caught? I mean, you must have, seeing as how you're standing here and not, you know, dead. So I'm assuming you were at least partially successful."

"I ... Scott..."

"Oh, that's right!" Derek clapped his hands and nudged Stiles, who was just as weirded out by this uncharacteristic display as his sister seemed to be. "I'd almost forgotten. We heard about Scott and Isaac showing up in the nick of time, just when you were about to be skewered to bits. They did mention that they lost track of you while they were fighting off the Alphas. Don't worry, though, they didn't get hurt too badly. Luckily Scott was there to help Isaac or things could have gone sideways." He let his words linger in the air, watching the color drain from her face as she pictured her Pack brothers hurt and bleeding. "But what matters is that you got the book. Let's see." He took a step across the room toward her, and she matched it with a step backward, not meeting her Alpha's gaze.

"Um, no. I didn't, um."

"Didn't what?" Derek pressed, deceptively gentle.

"I didn't get the book, I... somehow they knew what I was doing there and..."

"Ah, I see," Derek's eyes glittered, the faux jovial tone he'd been using up until now transforming into something darker, sharper. "So somehow, an entire pack of powerful, pissed-off Alphas who know full well that you're one of ours didn't get outsmarted by a fifteen-year-old? And they turned the tables on you? Who could possibly have seen that coming?"

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting.

"Scott and Isaac are okay though," she said in a small, husky voice. "They called you after, so they must be okay...right?"

"No thanks to you." Stiles' voice, cold as ice, cut through the silence Derek had been letting build up.

Her eyes snapped up to meet her brother's, tears liquefying her vision almost instantly when she saw the anger, hurt, and disappointment there. "I didn't mean for them to get involved," she tried, and it was a weak argument and she knew it. "They weren't supposed to..."

"What? They weren't supposed to save your ass? They weren't supposed to put their own lives on the line to protect their Pack sister just because she made a series of FUCKING RECKLESS decisions that could have gotten everyone killed?"

"Stiles..."

"You're not the only one your actions affect, not ever, but especially not anymore. I mean, I get that you don't give a shit about me; that's been clear for years, you've been risking your damn life at every turn since Dad died and I've never been able to stop you. But now? Now there are so many more people WHO I LOVE who will lay down their lives for you without a moment's hesitation, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you exploit that because you're too selfish and stupid to think about anyone but yourself. Now get the fuck to your room. I can't even look at you right now."

Somehow she managed to make it to her bedroom before the sob broke from her, but Derek didn't need to have werewolf powers to hear it.

"Stiles..." he started, sitting next to his husband and reaching for him, but Stiles jerked back out of his grasp.

"If you're going to tell me I was too hard on her I don't want to hear it."

Derek nodded. "That's not for me to say. But I am going to go talk to her privately, and while I do that I'd like for you to go take a long hot shower. Okay? It always calms you down, and then you and I can talk when you're feeling better."

Stiles pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he tried to soothe the oncoming headache. "Are you going to punish her?" he asked. "I know I'm usually kind of opinionated about the whole Alpha-Beta discipline thing, but right now..."

Derek paused, considering. "I'm pretty sure she's doing a good job of that herself, at least for tonight." He leaned over and kissed Stiles softly, catching his lip between his teeth in a gentle, playful nip to show he wasn't upset with him. Although if anyone else spoke to one of his betas that way...

"Shower," he reminded, standing up and heading toward the stairs. "I'll be back soon."

[j2h5b5]

I can’t stop thinking about Sterek and a Stilinski sister who is Derek’s beta and how that might look. So here’s a short and ill-conceived brain worm I just vomited into space.

***

"What happened?" Stiles asked when he came home from work and found her, hours later, curled in a ball on her bed, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, even though he knew perfectly well what had happened because Derek had told him and Scott had told him and Isaac had asked if anyone had told him. He owed it to her to hear her side, even with all those witnesses telling it the same way.

She glared up from under her eyelashes. "You're going to take his side anyway," she said bitterly, and he shrugged.

"Possibly. Tell me anyway."

"He flipped out."

"Why?"

"See, you think it was my fault."

"I'm giving you the chance to tell me what happened. If I don't know your side, I can't make an informed decision."

"Decision about what?"

"About whether I'm pissed off at you or not."

"I'm tired of everyone bossing me around. Treating me like a kid."

"You're the youngest member of the pack."

"I KNOW that, Stiles. Doesn't mean I'm completely incompetent."

"No one thinks that."

"HE does. He won't even let me do totally safe Pack things. That's all I wanted, to go with Scott and Isaac on one little mission."

"He's protective. That's his job as an Alpha. As YOUR Alpha."

"He's not like that with the others."

"The others are older, more experienced, and not my little sister."

"That's not my fault. I didn't ask you guys to hook up!"

"True statement. But here we are. And being the youngest, AND the newest, AND my little sister comes with burdens like overprotective Pack members. Scott wouldn't have let you go either."

"SCOTT wouldn't have flipped out on me, though."

"Derek flipped out on you."

"Yes."

"Details, please."

"I just respectfully asked him if he would give me a chance to prove myself."

"And he said..."

"He said no."

"And you said..."

"I said it wasn't fair."

"Which isn't exactly the most mature argument, but what ELSE did you say?"

Deep sigh. "He pushed me to this point."

"What did you say?"

"You had to be there to get all the finer points."

"What. Did. You. Say?"

Long pause. Brown eyes beseeching. "I said he had no right to cut me out of Pack stuff just because he's fucking my brother."

"You said this to your Alpha."

"Yes."

Stiles slapped his palms down on both knees and stood from the bed. "Well, I've decided."

"Let me guess."

"You deserved every single smack."

"Stiles!"

"I love you, I'm sorry you're feeling bad, I understand why you're upset. But you totally deserved to have your ass handed to you, and if you don't apologize to him before this night is out, I will personally request a repeat performance. Clear?"

"But.."

"Are we clear?"

"Yes, fine, clear. You're as bad as he is."

"And don't you forget it, sister."

[j2h5b5]

Brain worm! 🪱 Just a lil silly somethin written in a daze.

Eddie had to wrench the wheel back so he didn't run the fucking van into a tree.

Did he seriously, seriously just see what he thought he just saw?

As soon as there was a gap in the road Eddie swung the van around and pulled into the gas station he had just passed, trying to keep as low a profile as possible.

Which was no mean feat considering the state of his catalytic converter but once he'd pulled up into a dark corner, a glance in the wing mirror told him he hadn't been spotted.

It also told him that, yes. He'd been correct on his initial passing glance. He was actually seeing this shit.

Eddie glanced down at his clothes. Ripped up jeans, his 'Hell Awaits' Slayer t-shirt depicting a giant inverted pentagram, demons and hellfire, chains, rings, leather jacket, battle vest, boots.

Yeah, he looked sufficiently scary.

Night was starting to fall around him so he still went unnoticed as he slid carefully out of the van and made his way over to the two lone figures just barely lit up by the harsh artificial exterior lights.

He planted himself just behind, what looked like, some middle class dad type who was standing just a little too close for comfort.

Eddie crossed his arms and spoke to the second figure barking out in the lowest tone of voice he could muster.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, young man?"

The middle class dad whipped around. The second his eyes landed on Eddie he had a look on his face like the devil himself had just manifested behind him.

Without a second of wasted time he scampered away, tail between his legs, leaving Mike Wheeler standing there, wide eyed, pale faced and terrified.

Good.

"Edd-" Mike swallowed, slowly backing away as Eddie advanced. "What are you doing here?"

Mike's back hit the wall and Eddie took one more step forward, looming over him. "You don't get to ask questions, Wheeler. You get to answer them. Now I'm only going to ask this one more time: Just what THE FUCK are you doing out here?"

"N-nothing! We were... I was just-"

There was a clatter and some hushed expletives before the rest of The Party appeared around the corner.

"He's not here alone!" Dustin shouted, apparently under the impression that that was going to calm Eddie down in any way at all.

"And you think that makes this better, does it?"

"Yes! Safety in numbers!"

"There is no safety in whatever the hell I just witnessed!" Eddie exploded. "There is no safety in being at a remote gas station on the outskirts of town at night and talking to strange men for whatever reason!"

The kids all looked to be in various stages of shock, clearly not expecting Eddie to lay into them so fiercely but he didn't care. He refused to feel bad for them.

"Tell me, oh braniacs, what would have happened if someone had come along and snatched Little Wheeler up, huh? Would you have chased after the car on your bikes?" He sneered. "How would you have contacted anyone? How long would it take someone to get here? What if one of you had been attacked? Or robbed? Or murdered? What would you have done then?! How could you all be so stupid?"

"It's not stupid! We weren't being stupid!" Dustin shouted back. "We have our walkies-!"

Eddie laughed, cold and mean and so, so angry but Dustin continued to dig his own grave.

"You all never let us try anything! You never give us a sip of beer or a smoke or any of your weed which we know you still have-"

"Watch it, Henderson." His voice was low and dangerous.

"So we were just trying to get someone to buy something for us, that's all!"

"Oh that's all? That's all, is it? And you have money to pay for this purchase?"

Dustin scoffed. "Of course."

"So tell me, what would have happened if someone went in there and bought you your beer but then decided that wasn't payment enough? What would you have done if he started asking or demanding something else?"

"Like what?"

"Oh I don't know, what could a grown man possibly want with a fifteen year old little boy?" Eddie shook his head. "You know what, I'm not having this conversation out here. Get in the van."

"But... our bikes-"

"GET IN THE FUCKING VAN, HENDERSON!"

Eddie observed in stony silence, his face thunderous as the kids all loaded their bikes into the back of the van before they scuttled in themselves, quiet and cowed.

He slammed the drivers side door closed before turning his key in the ignition and pulling out of the gas station, the silence in the car suffocating, bouncing off the walls.

"Um..." They were nearly halfway back to Hawkins by the time Will's small voice cut through the air. "You're not going to tell our parents, are you?"

Eddie looked back at him in the rear view mirror. The kids were all watching his reaction with worry and Eddie refused to drop his anger in the face of Baby Byers. Not this time. Not for this. He had to stay angry because if he stopped being angry he might just lose himself in what if's.

"No. I'm not going to tell your parents."

The kids all sighed in relief, somehow still believing they were being let off the hook.

"But I am going to tell Steve."

The explosion nearly shook the van. The kids were all screaming, begging, nearly crying not to tell him.

"No! No, Eddie, please!"

"You can't tell him, he'll kill us!"

"Yeah, then he'll bring us back from the dead just to kill us again!"

"You can't do this to us!"

"You know what he's like, Eddie! You can't sell us out to him like that!"

"I can and I will!"

"Can you... can you- shit. Can you please tell him, like, gently? So he doesn't freak the fuck out? He's your boyfriend, he'll listen to you!"

"You all are in no position to be asking for favours right now." Eddie brought the car to a stop in the Harrington driveway. "So here's how it's going to go. We are going to go inside. You are going to tell Steve exactly what just happened. Then the two of us are going to explain to you exactly why what you all just pulled was so monumentally dangerous. Whatever he decides to do with you all after that is up to him. He is your babysitter. You all bestowed that title on him. I am just the babysitter's boyfriend. It's out of my hands."

"Oh, but... you could be our babysitter too?" Dustin tried, a clear and pathetic attempt to make the incoming shitstorm go smoother.

"Not a chance, Henderson." Eddie hopped out and made his way around, throwing open the back doors of the van and gesturing to the now open front door where an extremely distinctive swoopy haired silhouette stood. "Go and face your fate."

[j2h5b5]

Testing the Limits

Summary: JJ Maybank’s little sister is doing some experimenting.

***

Oh. Oh shit.

That was Milly Maybank’s first thought upon waking.

And it wasn’t just because her head felt like a balloon filled with blood, stretched fit to burst and throbbing along with the beat of her heart.

Or because her mouth seemed to be filled with cotton, and tasted like something had rotted inside there.

Or because her stomach was roiling like the HMS Pogue in a high wind and she was pretty sure she was about to vomit all over these clean white sheets.

These clean white sheets on her hospital bed.

Yep, that’s why she woke up mentally cussing.

Because she didn’t have much memory of last night, but what flashed through her mind wasn’t good at all, and whatever had happened to land her here had to have been literally catastrophic. They couldn’t fucking afford a hospital.

There was a needle in her arm with a clear tube leading up to a bag on a pole like you see on TV, and a beeping monitor that was presumably alerting everyone in the room to the fact that she was alive?

Everyone. That would be … Without moving her head (both because to do so would risk popping the balloon that was keeping her liquefied brain in place and also because she was afraid to draw attention), Milly took mental stock. Pope, Kiara, Sarah, John B. And, of course, JJ.

Her brother was perched in a very uncomfortable-looking plastic chair at her bedside, his blond head resting on his arms, which were resting on the edge of the mattress. His eyes were closed and she bit her lip as a flashback of the night before fluttered vaguely at the back of her mind.

What did you take? Milly, answer me, what did you take?

JJ, she’s not hearing you, she needs a hospital.

I know, FUCK, I KNOW, let’s go. Move, just fucking move, I’ve got her. Come here, baby sister. Come on, Jay’s got you.

The world tilting on its axis as strong arms lifted her like she weighed nothing at all.

A bumpy ride, tires spinning gravel and mud, panicked fussing and bickering that made no sense, then bright lights, violent and harsh.

Then nothing.

Then this.

That was it for the details of the AFTER. From the BEFORE, she remembered more than she wanted to. The fight with her brother, hurling sharp words at all his soft spots. Blind anger making her cruel. Running off into the night. Running toward the very thing JJ was trying to keep her from in the first place. Triumphant at winning the battle.

She’d stayed gone for two days. Ignoring texts and calls from all of them and successfully staying off the radar until she got too brave and went to grab a late lunch at The Wreck. Sitting at a deck table off in the far corner with her back to the late-afternoon stragglers. She had almost finished wolfing down her burger when an open palm smacked the back of her head hard and a much-loved voice with an icy sharp edge commanded: “Hey brat. Call your damn brother.”

Looking up at Kie, Milly saw the older girl’s annoyance and responded with an admittedly childish “No.”

“He’s worried about you.”

“He’s a dick.”

“Yeah? He’s JJ. That’s not the point. You owe him better than this.”

And Milly knew she was right, which was why she doubled down. “I don’t want to talk to him yet. I’ll call him when I’m ready, and when he’s done treating me like a stupid kid.”

“Stop acting like one.”

Milly pushed her chair back and stood up from the table, making to leave. Kiara set down the tray she was carrying and reached for Milly. “Wait, wait. Where are you staying? At least tell me that. Are you being careful?”

Dodging Kie’s grasping hand, Milly shot her a look of honest apology—really, this whole thing had gotten out of hand but she didn’t know how to fix it now. “I’m fine. Tell him I’m fine.”

And she left fast, because Kiara was a good runner and Milly wasn’t positive she wouldn’t be chased all the way back to where her new friends were waiting.

And now.

When she finally tore her eyes away from the head of floppy blond hair next to her, she realized the others—all of them—were watching her.

Time to face the music.

***

TBC?

[j2h5b5]

It’s hard work, exhausting even, pretending to be something you’re not.

JJ should know. He’s been pretending to be okay almost his whole damn life.

When his mom left.

When his dad raged and swung. Or when he slurred sloppy affections and boozy regrets before slipping into unconsciousness—which was somehow worse.

When teachers looked through him, never at him, their minds made up about what he was and where he was going. (Nowhere. That was the answer.)

When Kooks at the yacht club started shit and he couldn’t DO anything about it because his dad would beat the shit out of him if he came home without some tip money.

JJ knows all about pretending. It’s just that he can’t, when it comes to his friends. Sure, he does that bluff and bravado thing, it’s as much a part of him as the dimple that flashes in one cheek when he smiles, as his hard-won muscles and his blond hair, his fierce loyalty and his tendency to make terrible, dangerous, impulsive decisions.

So when they find him there, drunkenly lolling in the hot tub he procured as some baffling token of his abject ADORATION of them all, it takes only three things for him to crumble like a structurally compromised sand castle.

Pope looks at him—at him—with an agonizing compassion.

John B grips him roughly by the shoulders and pulls him in for a bone-crushing hug.

And Kie. She pries his hand from John B’s back, pulls it to her lips, and presses a kiss into his palm.

And just like magic, in the safe circle of his friends and wrapped up in their boundless, pure, uncomplicated love, JJ lets himself stop pretending. He drops his guard. He lets the grief come.

[j2h5b5]

Max isn’t sulking. She isn’t.

That would be very unbecoming, and it would go against everything she stands for.

She isn’t sulking because Steve is angry with her. THAT would require some serious soul-searching of the “who the hell even am I now” variety, and that sounds exhausting and maddening.

So what she is doing instead is lying on her bed with her headphones on, Walkman cranked up loud and blasting ANYTHING BUT Kate Bush, the endless catalogue of which is her post-Vecna music of choice.

She is drowning in the music and staring at the ceiling and feeling pretty damn pissed off because he had yelled at her��like, who does he think he is?—right in the middle of the skate park and then he’d tossed her board into his trunk and snapped at her to “get in,” and there were kids staring at them and her face was probably redder than her hair because she was being publicly scolded by her … what? Big brother figure slash current temporary guardian? Ridiculous.

And the worst part? The WORST part. She had not bitten back. There was no snark in her at that moment, no sassy comeback that would help her save face, because Steve looked actually angry like she’d never seen him look—at least not when it came to her—and she had, instead of putting him in his place right there on the spot, sort of melted into his passenger seat and slunk down and proceeded to stew. Which isn’t the same as sulking, thank you very much.

“Seatbelt,” he’d barked, and God help her she’d actually sat up straight and put it on.

It has been quiet since they got home and she’d retreated to her room and into her head. She doesn’t know what Steve is doing, but she sure as hell isn’t coming out until he’s gone. She refuses to speak to him until he apologizes for overstepping, for embarrassing her, for acting like a…

Like a…

He…

He just needs to learn. To learn where he fits. What his place is in her life. He needs to learn what he is to her, and that is…

That is…

That is.

There’s a knock at the door.

(tbc)

[j2h5b5]

you're just like a river.

*Btw this is for stress relief. Drawing for me is addicting and i just can't function if i don't draw for a period of time. Now, if you excuse me, i'll get back to my exams:"(*

[j2h5b5]

something something the angst potential of a gay eddie munson who’s still subconsciously clinging to the remnants of his rigid ‘munson doctrine’ worldview and the way that might manifest as biphobia/ keeping steve at arm’s length because his anxiety is so certain that steve will get bored of him and scurry back to straight suburbia with his pretty blonde wife and his six little nuggets and his big picket fence

steve who just wants someone to let him in, who just wants to be enough for someone, who can’t make sense of why eddie’s being so mean to him right now because he ‘doesn’t even like blondes, eddie! what the hell is this? why are you pushing me away? i wanted- i thought…’

and it doesn’t matter what he wanted. what he thought. he wanted a nice night with his sweet boyfriend — wanted to cuddle and kiss and watch movies on the couch — but that guy doesn’t exist anymore and maybe he never did, so steve pinches the bridge of his nose and shoves past eddie, shoulders tensed to his ears, hand shaking on the handle of the trailer door.

‘yeah,’ eddie sneers at his back with a viciousness steve hasn’t heard from him since they were in school together. the words spew like bile, hot and sour and sharp. ‘yeah, run along, harrington, that’s what i thought.’

steve opens the door. his whole body is shaking.

‘fuck you,’ steve spits, but his voice is so small, so hurt that eddie can’t even enjoy the fight in it because there’s no fight to be found, and when steve leaves he doesn’t even give eddie the satisfaction of slamming the door, just closes it with a gentle click that cracks eddie’s heart in two.

[j2h5b5]

I’m having writing withdrawals. Specifically #momsteveharrington #strangerthings #dustinandsteve #steddie #steveandmax #foundfamily writing withdrawals. But I’m also having writer’s block. It’s a sad combination.

So. If anyone is reading this who liked my other stories, hit me with a prompt or request in the same(ish) vein as those. I’m ready.

[j2h5b5]

thinking about the first time Dustin actually sees Eddie without any of his high school persona on show. They’re locking up the drama room after Hellfire, and Eddie realises that he’s left his acoustic guitar in one of the music classrooms, so Dustin follows him.

It’s then that they find a very young looking freshman sat by Eddie’s guitar—Dustin had thought that maybe he looked a little daunted starting Hawkins High, but she looks absolutely miserable.

They manage to piece together the fact that she had a violin lesson, went to the bathroom, then got completely disoriented on her way back, the teacher nowhere in sight; she stayed put, kept doubting herself about what was the way out to the parking lot.

And Eddie… he doesn’t poke fun, not even a little bit. He just picks up his guitar, says, “Don’t worry, this place’s a labyrinth sometimes,” and guides her out.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until the girl finds her mom’s parked car, just keeps smiling even when the mom regards him with poorly concealed disdain.

That’s how Dustin knows Eddie’s kindness is the real deal: it’s not for show, not for the benefit of anyone else—not even himself. It just is.

So when the news is full of the death of Chrissy Cunningham, when others start whispering darkly about how they’re not surprised that Munson boy was no good, Dustin never once doubts Eddie.

He’s seen the very best of him, long before The Upside Down.

[j2h5b5]

after eddie introduces a demogorgon to one of his hellfire campaigns, the kids get a little squirmy. they're nervously looking at each other and aren't engaging as excitedly as they usually do. when he calls time, he watches dustin rummage through his backpack and produce a walkie talkie.

he watches, a bit dumbfounded, as the kid demands a 'check-in'. all at once, multiple different voices come over the channel. stating a name and then saying 'safe.' ("nancy, safe." "robin, safe." "max, safe.")

"steve?" dustin demands. there's only static. "steve!" a little more frantic this time.

"he left to pick you up." a female voice replies, "he's probably fine. you'll see him soon."

none of the kids look particularly pleased, and pack up hastily. eddie and the other hellfire members all share confused glances. he, more morbidly curious than anything else, follows the little sheep as they hurry out of the school.

dustin is fucking restless as they all stand in the empty parking lot. he won't stay still and none of them are answering any of eddie's questions. and he only gets more confused when a brown beemer pulls in, windows down and playing depeche mode through the speakers. dustin goes to sprint towards it, and he has to hold him by the collar to stop him getting run over.

the beemer pulls up and steve harrington, in all his glory, steps out, frowning. dustin wrenches out of eddie's grip and all but bodies the guy, wrapping arms tightly around his midsection. steve, still looking puzzled, hugs back. lucas and mike trail after dustin.

"we called a check-in." dustin says, a bit muffled from where his face is smushed into steve's shirt. steve goes sort of pale, and- and presses a goddamn kiss to the top of henderson's head before tightening the hug.

"shit, i'm sorry." and eddie believes him. he sounds so guilty. "i meant to replace the batteries before i left. sorry, i'm okay." dustin pulls back and scrubs at his eyes. lucas takes his place, though the hug he gives is more like one of those bro-hugs jocks seem to love. steve smiles regardless. he just ruffles mike's hair, who pouts in response but looks relieved nonetheless.

"asshole." he mutters. "rule four, walkies on at all times." steve nods as the kid half-heartedly waves goodbye to eddie and hops in the backseat of the beemer. lucas follows. dustin seems reluctant to walk around the car, to take his eyes off steve for even a second.

"you wanna stay over tonight?" steve asks, warm and gentle. he folds his arms and in that moment eddie thinks they look sort of like brothers. "robin and me were gonna watch some films. we can call your mom from mine."

the kid nods, looking a bit happier. steve slaps him on the back and motions him to get in the car. dustin swivels to hug and say goodbye to eddie (who sort of forgot he was physically present in this moment) before doing as he was told.

steve turns to eddie. which- whew! hi pretty eyes.

"sorry." he smiles and eddie can't for the life of him figure out what he's apologising for. "they, uh- yeah. them." he gestures vaguely at the car and eddie just chuckles.

"hey, man, no worries." he says, a little breathless that he's having a conversation with the steve harrington. "they okay? never seen henderson look so rattled." steve nods, then seems to think better of it and just shrugs. cocks his hip to the side (stop fucking staring at his hips, munson, lord!)

"they will be." he glances back at the beemer, which is now full of childish bickering. pauses to think and then asks, "you using demogorgons in your campaign right now?"

eddie blinks at him. "yes? yeah. what the fuck- how do you know what that is? what-" steve just laughs.

"long story." there's a haunted look in his eyes before he continues, "just, uh- that's probably what upset them. demogorgons and us- them, i mean-" he waves his hand. "bad memories. hard to explain, but... if you could..." he doesn't need to ask, seems like he doesn't know how or even if he's allowed.

"got it, ill tweak the campaign." harrington smiles at him, something small and genuine, and murmurs a thanks. offers him a fucking lift, which eddie declines, motioning to his van. harrington just nods, tells him to get home safe and then clambers back into the car, yells at the kids to put seatbelts on with all the exasperation of a single dad, and pulls away.

eddie watches them go, having seen a side of harrington he'd thought dustin had been lying about. steve harrington, the caring babysitter, everyone's older brother, a changed man.

he starts escorting the kids to the parking lot more often.