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[steddilystranger]

blue butterfly (a life is strange au)

blue butterfly is a story-based fic that features reader choice. the consequences of your collective choices will affect the past, present, and future. the poll, with a duration of one week, is below the cut. choose wisely...

masterlist || part one || cw: character death, drugs

readers chose: help jonathan

Steve steps in. “Hey, leave him alone, jackass!” 

Jonathan exhales shakily behind him, but Callahan puffs up. “Harrington. Why do I always find you in the middle of everything?” 

Steve sneers. “I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t bullying Jonathan. You’re not even supposed to be in here anyway.” 

Callahan advances, forcing Steve to back up. “Listen here, I can go wherever I damn well please, Steven Harrington. And this isn’t your problem. Piss off.” 

Steve holds an arm in front of Jonathan, planting his feet. “I’m not leaving.” 

Callahan’s walkie buzzes on his hip, and Steve can hear the tinny voice of Principal Higgins saying something he can’t quite make out. He grumbles and backs off. “I’ll remember this, Steve.” He turns on his heel and leaves. 

Jonathan gives him a weak sort-of smile. “Thank you, Steve.” 

“No problem. I gotta run-” Steve’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and that’s definitely Robin getting impatient. “-but call me if that dick bothers you again. I mean it!” He takes off at a jog towards the exit.

Steve leaves the dorm building, and Robin’s sitting with Vickie on a bench outside, chatting. He was right, she is wearing his sweatshirt. 

“Ready to go, Robbie? Hi, Vickie.” 

Robin swings her legs off the bench and pops up. “Yep, let’s go. Bye, Vickie!” 

Vickie waves at them, then pulls out her camera. Right, the assignment from Brenner. 

“She definitely has a thing for you.” Steve tells Robin in a low whisper.

Robin hits him on the arm. “She thinks I’m dating you, dingus!” she says. 

“Ah, you’re right, you’re right.” Steve says. “It’s ‘cause you’re wearing my hoodie. If I just take it back-” 

“Noooo,” Robin whines, a hint of laughter in her voice as she tries to dodge Steve. “It’s the only thing that matches!” 

Steve laughs and lets go of the hood. “Fine, fine. You win.” They step out into the parking lot. “Any plans for us for the night?” 

Robin shrugs. “Anywhere that isn’t Blackwell is fine with me.”

“Amen. Two Whales Diner?” 

“Ooh, I could go for some pancakes right now.” She rubs her hands together greedily, and Steve grins, swinging his keys around in his hand. 

“Two Whales it is.” He catches a glimpse of something blue in the corner of his eye. 

The butterfly. 

“I have something crazy to tell you.” Steve tells Robin. “And you have to believe me.” 

Robin squints at him, walking backward. “Alright, shoot.” 

“Earlier today, I fell asleep in class-” 

“What a model student,” Robin teases, but at the look on Steve’s face, she rearranges her expression into something serious. “Go on, I’m listening, I’m listening.” 

“I can rewind time.” Steve says. Concise and to the point. “Billy was in the bathroom, threatening a guy with a gun, and then he shot him, and I rewound time to save him.” 

“That’s- Steve, holy sh-” 

There’s a horn, and a horrible sound. Steve’s world freezes just as the front of a car slams into Robin. The world goes black and white and near-silent, Robin’s dying scream echoing through his ears.

Steve’s got it, pulling time hand over hand backwards. He lands back at Robin saying, “Alright, shoot.” 

Instead of responding, Steve pushes her bodily out of the parking lot and onto the yellowing grass. A few seconds later, a car roars by. 

“Holy shit.” Robin says. “That was close.” 

Steve can’t breathe. Robin scoots closer and puts her hand on his back. “Steve? It’s alright, we’re both fine. The drivers here are so shit.” 

“I-” Steve coughs. His heart is pounding painfully in his chest. They’re both fine, but for a split second, they weren’t, and Steve feels like there’s a corner of his mind that will be replaying that split second for the rest of his life.

He manages to get to his feet, helping Robin up. They head towards Steve’s car, now sticking close to the line of cars so there aren’t any more nasty surprises. 

It doesn’t work. As they reach Steve’s car, he’s suddenly tackled against the driver door. Billy Hargrove, his breath smelling like alcohol, slams him facefirst into his car. 

“The fuck did you do?” he hisses at Steve. “Security said you told them I had a fuckin’ gun? Fuck’s wrong with you?” He flips Steve around so his back is to the car.

“Robin!” Steve chokes out. “Go get security!” 

Robin stares in horror at Steve’s bleeding nose, then nods and slips out of the parking lot, running like a bat outta hell towards the school. 

Steve tries to knee Billy, but he dodges it and slams Steve back into the car door. “You’re gonna fuckin’ pay for ratting me out!” he growls. 

All that comes out of Steve’s mouth is a weak cough. 

Then someone punches Billy in the face. 

Out of nowhere, someone, dressed in leather and black, their curls falling around their face, tackles Billy off him. 

The boy from the bathroom, is all Steve can think.

Then the boy looks up at him and all his thoughts are replaced by big brown eyes and childhood memories. “Eddie?” he whispers breathlessly.

“Steve?” Eddie says in wonder. 

Billy begins to move and groan on the ground. 

“We gotta move!” Eddie says, and he darts around the front of the car and slides into the passenger seat. “C’mon, let’s go!” 

Steve doesn’t argue. He slides into the front seat and starts the car. 

“Head to my place.” Eddie tells him. Then remarks icily, “Unless you’ve forgotten where it is?”

“No, no, I- I got it.” Steve replies. He looks in his side mirror. Billy’s on his feet, swaying slightly, glaring after them. “God, Billy’s dangerous.” 

“Oh, thanks for the save, Eddie!” Eddie says in a mocking tone. He kicks his feet up on the dash, grumbling. “After seven years you’re still Steve Harrington.” 

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve says genuinely.

The house looks practically the same as when Steve came here all those years ago, and he puts the car into park. Eddie opens the door. “Shithole sweet shithole,” he says. “Rosie and Phil are still at work.” 

He throws a wad of paper towels at Steve. “For your nose, dude.” he says at Steve’s confused look. 

Steve had forgotten about that. His shirt is definitely ruined, but he presses the paper towels to his nose anyway. Eddie makes a little head motion upstairs, and Steve follows him. 

“So Chicago sucked ass?” Eddie asks, reclining on his mattress. He flicks a lighter open and lights up a joint. 

“It was alright.” Steve takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Lonely, I guess.” 

“Really?” Eddie blows out a puff of smoke. “Thought you’d fit right in up there.” He waves a hand. “All the…sports fans or whatever.” 

“No, not really. Prefer to play more than watch.” Steve props himself up on his hands, gazing back at the ceiling. If he squints, he can still see the glow-in-the-dark stars he had helped Eddie and Wayne put up for Eddie’s tenth birthday. “Can’t even do that anymore, so I came back here.” 

“Bullshit.” Eddie says. “You came back for Blackwell.” 

Steve looks over at him. Eddie’s resolutely staring at the ceiling like it wronged him in some way. “Don’t you think I missed you?” 

“Nope. You were perfectly fine waiting seven years without even a call.” Eddie retorts. 

Steve swallows. “I wanted to. But leaving Hawkins-” 

“Can it, Harrington. Your laptop and cell phone didn’t get shot back to the 1980s. You didn’t call. End of story.” 

Steve’s phone buzzes. It’s Robin.

platonic soulmate: so you said you had something to tell me?

Steve stares at the text. His mind begins to play Robin’s scream on loop, like it’s rewinding in his brain.

He swallows. 

It’s nothing. Never mind.

Steve shoves his phone deep in his pocket and sits forward. His foot brushes a box. When he leans down to look at it, he realizes he recognizes it. When he was eleven, he gave Eddie this wooden box. Had hand painted it and everything. 

Steve flips open the lid. 

Right on top is a picture of a girl. Chrissy Cunningham, if Steve’s memory serves. He picks the photo out of the box and unfolds it. Eddie, dressed to the nines in his best leather and chains, stands next to Chrissy in her preppy cheer uniform. There couldn’t be a more mismatched duo. 

And yet, they look perfectly at ease next to each other, Eddie pulling a stupid face with devil horns and his tongue out, and Chrissy laughing prettily at his antics. 

“Give me that.” Eddie snatches the photo and the box from Steve’s hands. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Steve says. “I…didn’t know you two were close. Her missing posters are all over Blackwell.” 

“Yeah, I put them up. She was my angel.” Eddie says, staring down at the photo. “After Wayne died and you left, I felt…abandoned. She saved me.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I had no idea.” 

“Yeah, well, you never made much effort to find out.” Eddie snapped. “I was thirteen, Steve. We were best friends.”

“So Chrissy took my place.” Steve said. “I’m glad she found you.” 

“We were gonna kick the world’s ass, Stevie. You would’ve laughed at how different we were.” Steve takes the nickname, turns it over in his mind. It feels like the Eddie of the past is coming back in this conversation.

“She looks like a movie star.” Steve offers. 

“That was her plan.” Eddie replies, putting the photo back in the box like he can’t bear to look at it anymore. “Get the hell out of Hawkins together, sign some deal in L.A., and never look back. Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson, movie star and rock star.” 

“So what happened?” Steve asks. 

“Six months ago, Chrissy just…up and left. Without a word. Without…me. And I thought she would have talked to me, unlike you.” Eddie takes a long, angry drag on the joint. 

“And you haven’t heard anything from her since?” 

“No, Steve, Jesus. She left me. Like you, and Wayne, and everyone else I love in this shitty town.” He crosses his arms, looking away resolutely. 

Steve’s phone buzzes again. He pulls it out. 

[Unknown Number]: hey, it’s jonathan byers. i just wanted to say thanks again for what you did for me today. 

Steve types his response out quickly. No problem, man. Happy to help. Hope you have a good night!

“What’s this?” Eddie asks, and Steve clicks off his phone. Eddie’s looking at a small Polaroid, and Steve pats at his pockets. It must have fallen out when Steve took out his phone. “I’ve seen this before!” Eddie says, and Steve peers over at it. 

It’s the blue butterfly. 

“You were in the bathroom today?” Eddie asks, locking eyes with him, and all Steve can see is Eddie challenging Billy, Eddie with a gun to his head, Eddie slumped against the bathroom wall, blood pooling around him. “That’s why Billy was so mad at you! You ratted him out!” 

Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t let him run around Blackwell with a gun, even if I don’t think Higgins is gonna do anything about it.” 

Eddie laughs, and it feels like the air clears a little. “No way, that prick only cares about money.” 

Steve nods. “I pulled the fire alarm to get him out of there. I was afraid of what he’d do if I let it escalate.” I know what would have happened, he adds to himself. 

“You called the fire alarm…” Eddie sits back, and the Polaroid flutters from his fingers. “You saved my fuckin’ life.” He shakes himself a bit. “Did you recognize me?”

“Not at all.” Steve says. “I really only saw your back, and your hair was so different.” 

“And you definitely heard our conversation.” Eddie says. “No way you didn’t hear every single syllable. 

Steve shrugs. “I only heard something about money…drugs? I didn’t really understand it.” 

Eddie nods. “Yeah, it’s some big shit. I saw Billy-”

The door downstairs slams open with an almighty crash, and Eddie says, “Shit, hide!” 

Steve fumbles around the room, looking for a good hiding place. Eddie’s closet is crammed full of things Steve can’t ever picture him wearing, so that’s out. 

His bed is just a mattress on the ground, so under there is out too. 

Steve moves towards Eddie’s cluttered desk, intending to squeeze under there, but Eddie’s door opens before he can. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” a vaguely familiar voice growls, and Steve leans back as the security guard from Blackwell stalks towards him. 

Eddie steps in front of him. “Cool it, Phil, it’s just Steve.” 

“Oh, I know exactly who this is.” Callahan mutters angrily, and Steve tries and fails for a winning smile. Then Callahan’s face freezes, and he takes an inhale. 

“What the fuck? Is this weed?” Callahan storms over and grabs the badly-hidden joint. “Thought I fuckin’ told you not to smoke here!” He advances on Eddie.

[steddilystranger]

time loop where i keep dying to save you but clearly the loop just wants me to accept your death. im not going to but i can tell that's what it wants

[steddilystranger]

yeah i’m doomed by the narrative but i have a little time to be absolutely gay

[steddilystranger]

blue butterfly (a life is strange au)

blue butterfly is a story-based fic that features reader choice. the consequences of your collective choices will affect the past, present, and future. the poll, with a duration of one week, is below the cut. choose wisely...

masterlist || part one || cw: none

readers chose: cause a distraction

Steve needs a distraction. Before Billy can pull the gun again, Steve looks around, searching for something, anything that could cause a distraction. 

“So you can either fork over some cash and the remainder of the shit I sold you, or I take this to the cops.” the boy tells Billy, and Steve knows the gun comes next.

His fingers scrabble for purchase on the fire alarm, hooking into the lever and pulling. 

A shrill screech echoes through the halls, and Steve can hear the upset murmurs of students moving en masse to the exits. 

“You get off this time, bitch.” Billy spits, stowing his gun away, and the door slams shut behind him. 

Steve can hear the shaky breath the boy lets out, but before he can leave the stall to check on him, the boy leaves. 

Steve leaves the stall and rewinds a couple seconds, just enough to catch a glimpse of the boy’s back and curly hair as the door shuts again. 

What would Robin do? he thinks to himself. 

She’d make a list. 

Steve starts to make a list. 

What I know:1) I can rewind time. He notes that rewinding time doesn’t move his position in space, which is strange. 2) A boy would have died if I didn’t have these powers.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the cracked bathroom mirror. He looks…normal. Average. Not the kind of person who should have timeline-altering, life-saving powers.

And then, Steve is no longer in the filthy Blackwell bathroom. Rain whips at his face, and he’s back in the middle of the storm. 

“What is happening?” he shouts. His voice gets lost in the roar of the wind and the thunder. “Hello?” 

Just like before, the lighthouse cuts through the heavy gray of the storm. Steve starts to struggle towards the lighthouse, eyes closed tight against the wind. 

He opens them back in the bathroom, the alarm still piercing through the halls. 

Steve leaves the bathroom and runs right into the Blackwell security guard. Phil Callahan scowls at him. “What are you doing?” 

Steve crosses his arms. “I was going to the bathroom.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Callahan scoffs. “Cut the crap, kid. Were you smoking? Doing drugs?” 

Steve blanches. “No. Listen, I saw Billy Hargrove in the bathroom. He was waving a gun around, talking to a boy-”

“A boy?” Callahan’s eyes narrow. “Who?”

Steve makes a split second decision and rewinds. It’s almost scary how easily it comes to him now. “Listen, I saw Billy Hargrove in the bathroom. He was waving a gun around, talking to himself. He and I have had our… differences, so I didn’t want him to know I was there.” Differences is a fancy way of saying he and Billy got into a fistfight at the beginning of the year, around when Steve first moved in, when Billy wouldn’t quit harassing some freshmen girls. Callahan had to help pull Steve off him, which is probably why he’s not Steve’s biggest fan.

“Billy Hargrove, huh?” Callahan nods like he’s gonna take Steve seriously, but Steve knows he won’t. “We’ll look into it. Go outside now.” 

Steve wonders if it was the right decision to tell Callahan about Billy as he heads outside. He knows snitches get stitches and all that, but he doesn’t know who Billy was threatening and he doesn’t need Billy to corner the guy somewhere else where Steve can’t save him. If Callahan and the rest of Blackwell’s small security force can catch Billy, all the better. 

His phone buzzes with a text from Robin. 

platonic soulmate: can you get me my textbook? i think i left it in your room

Steve fires off a text back. And you can’t get it yourself becauseeee….

platonic soulmate: vickie invited me to hang out with her for a couple minutes. steve you gotta. for true love.

Steve rolls his eyes. Okay, moron, I’ll get it for you.

platonic soulmate: thanks dingus ily xoxo

Robin’s so weird. 

Steve’s room at Blackwell is fine. It’s nothing special, but it’s better than being at home with his parents all the way back in Chicago. The worst part is probably the neighbors, since Billy’s down the hall and Tommy Hagan’s right next door. But everyone thinks Steve and Robin are going steady, since she’s got a copy of his room key and is over literally every weekend, if not nightly, so Tommy’s nice enough to keep it down to not “throw off Steve’s game” even though they’re not really friends. 

Never mind the fact that Robin’s the biggest lesbian in the entirety of Blackwell, not to mention the sexuality crisis Steve’s had, figured out, and gotten over in the span of like, the last year (he’s bisexual, if you were curious). Hence, the platonic in her contact name. 

Anyway, Robin leaves her shit everywhere when she hangs out. She treats Steve’s closet as an extension of her own. Steve bets that when he sees her later, she’ll be wearing his sweatshirt. 

Okay, so they’re not really trying to dispel the dating rumors. 

Steve’s sure he saw her textbook next to his laptop earlier when he woke up, but when he goes to look, it’s not there. He rifles through his cluttered desk. 

A small photograph flutters to the ground. Steve picks it up and sighs. It’s what’s supposed to be his entry for the Everyday Hero Contest Brenner’s putting on. It’s a photo he took last week of himself with Robin, cuddled up in a little nest in his bedroom. Robin had strung fairy lights everywhere and brought all the throw blankets up from her room. They had watched movies together on his laptop until she’d fallen asleep, and Steve had snapped a picture of her loosely gripping his hand, the colors from the movie and the lights washing everything in a rainbow light. It’s his bit of subtle rebellion against the world that thinks he and Robin have to be together because they’re a boy and a girl. 

Steve tucks it in his pocket and resumes his searching. Maybe sometime this week he’ll gain the courage to turn it in. His eyes lock on a note on his desk written in green pen. 

Hey Steve, Robin said I could borrow the textbook that was here since I accidentally locked mine in my car. Come get it if you need it - Gareth (304)

Steve rolls his eyes. Robin could have mentioned someone else took it. He resigns himself to a scavenger hunt because his dumbass of a platonic soulmate can’t keep track of her stuff. 

On his way down the hall to room 304, Steve hears something strange. The walls of Blackwell dorms aren’t thick, and someone’s crying softly. It’s coming from Jonathan Byers' room. 

Steve knocks on the door. “Hey, man, you good?” he says, feeling awkward. He and Jonathan are sort of friends? Not by much, though.

Jonathan opens the door. His eyes are swollen. “Hey. Sorry, I’ll be quiet.” 

“No, no, don’t worry about it.” Steve says. “Do you need help with something?” 

“No, unless you can find my siblings,” Jonathan snorts bitterly. Steve swallows, remembering the missing posters he had seen for William and Eleanor earlier. “Well, the police want to call the search off,” he continues. “I think the only reason they haven’t is ‘cause my step-dad’s the police chief.” 

Steve leans against the doorframe. “And you’re sure they’re okay?”

Jonathan inhales, a shuddery sound. “No, of course I’m not,” he says. “It’s been a month. El and Will are strong, but…a month. And none of their friends have even come looking for them.” He folds his arms. “It’s like no one else cares but me and my mom and Hopper.” 

Steve shifts his weight from foot-to-foot. Jonathan notices it and hangs his head. “Sorry, that was a lot to dump on you.” 

“It’s alright, man. I’ll keep my eye out for anything.” Steve offers. “And I’m the only 312 number in the floor group chat, so you can grab my number from there, if you’d like. Call me whenever.” 

Jonathan nods. “Thanks for listening, Steve.” 

Steve smiles and goes to get Robin’s book. 

Gareth is in the room when Steve opens the door. “Oh, hey.” he says. “The book is over there.” He waves a hand at his bookshelf, and sure enough, Steve sees the red textbook sitting on the second shelf. Steve grabs it. “Sorry for just going into your room and taking it.” Gareth says. 

“No worries, it’s fine.” Steve replies. “Thanks for at least leaving a note, Robin didn’t even tell me she had lent it out.” 

“Saved my ass in class today.” Gareth says. “Anyway, where are you off to?” 

Steve shrugs. “Robin’s probably got plans for us. I kinda do what she tells me.” 

“Whipped.” Gareth mutters good-naturedly. 

If only you knew, Steve thinks as he leaves. He texts Robin. You could have told me you gave your book to Gareth.

platonic soulmate: lol sorry i forgot 

Also, don’t tell people to come into my room to get stuff, it’s weird. 

platonic soulmate: *our room

I don’t see your name on the door. 

Robin doesn’t deign to respond to that. 

On his way out, Steve notices Jonathan’s outside his room again. He’s talking to Callahan, but the conversation looks one-sided, and Callahan’s taking up most of it. 

“You gotta let it go!” Callahan’s growling at Jonathan. “It’s stupid to think that they’re gonna turn up!” 

Jonathan’s face is tear-streaked, but he glares defiantly at Callahan, who scoffs. “Jim’s wasting valuable resources trying to keep this search going. You have to come to terms with it. Tell your parents to call off the search.”

In a quick movement, Jonathan’s eyes dart to the side, and he sees Steve standing there. His eyes widen microscopically in an expression Steve can read well. 

Help me.

[steddilystranger]

blue butterfly (a life is strange au)

blue butterfly is a story-based fic that features reader choice. the consequences of your collective choices will affect the past, present, and future. the poll, with a duration of one week, is below the cut. choose wisely...

masterlist || part one (you are here) || cw: homophobic language, character death

Wind whips against Steve’s face. He struggles through the storm.

Where am I? he thinks to himself. What’s happening?

A light cuts through his rain-soaked world, and Steve wheels on his heel. “The lighthouse!” he says aloud, droplets of rain seeping through his hair and clothes. “I just have to make it there!” 

He ignores the feeling in his gut that is pulling him back to the town and stumbles forward, wiping the rain from his eyes periodically. He gets close to the base of the lighthouse, breaking out of all the trees, and finally sees the storm for the first time. 

Holy fucking shit. 

It can only be described as a cross between a hurricane and a tornado. It must be miles high, sweeping towards the small town of Hawkins below. 

As Steve watches, the strong winds whisk a boat from the bay below and slam it into the top of the lighthouse. Debris crumbles down, heading straight for Steve’s head.

Steve sits forward, gasping for breath quietly. 

A dream. 

That’s all it was. 

Realistic dream, horrifyingly so, but a dream nonetheless.

His professor, Dr. Brenner, is pacing around the classroom, talking animatedly with his hands. “Photography is subjective. I could frame any one of you in a dark room, watching you turn from the light to the dark.”

Vickie’s phone buzzes. Someone throws a ball of paper at that Byers kid, Jonathan.

Steve glances up at the clock, noticing it’s getting close to the end of class. He starts to subtly slip his Polaroid camera into the case, but accidentally hits the button, causing the flash to go off in his face. All eyes are drawn to him. 

“I believe Steve has taken what you young people call a ‘selfie’”. Brenner says. “I hate that word. Sounds so unrefined for what is a classical photography technique. Mr. Harrington, can you tell me the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” 

Steve doesn’t want to talk out of his ass, especially not in front of this room of pretentious art nerds. He’s only taking this class because Robin thought it’d be good for him, especially after he got kicked off the basketball team. One too many concussions is apparently where the coach drew the line. 

He shakes his head, and Brenner tuts disappointedly. “If you had done the assigned reading last night, you’d know.”  Vickie raises her hand. ”Vickie?”

 She answers it perfectly. “A French painter called Louis Daguerre created the process called the Daguerreotype that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” 

“Very good!” Dr. Brenner congratulates her. “Yes, precisely.” 

The bell rings and everyone stands up to leave, Dr. Brenner’s voice rising above the clamor. “I’m expecting your photographs for the Everyday Hero contest by this Friday! Jeff, that means you. Jonathan, thanks for your submission. And yes, Steve, I see you pretending not to see me.” 

Steve steps out into the hallway, sidling around groups of people. He passes by the notice board and takes a cursory glance at it, noting the new poster pinned up. There’s been a poster up for the missing Byers twins, William and Eleanor, for a couple months now, but now a new missing poster. Chrissy Cunningham. 

He knows Chrissy. 

Not well, of course, but she had gone to school around here back when Steve’s family lived here, before he’d moved away to Seattle. He hadn’t seen her since he transferred back to come to Blackwell, but he didn’t know she was missing. 

Someone bumps into his shoulder roughly, and Steve disappears into the blissfully empty bathroom and takes a breath. 

A movement catches his eye. A blue butterfly flutters in through the open window. 

Robin’s always saying I should “capture the moment”, Steve thinks to himself, drawing his camera out of his bag. Fine. Captured.

He snaps a picture of the blue butterfly as it lands on the small lock of the shitty stall doors, opening and closing its wings lazily, as if putting on a show just for him. 

The door slams open behind him and Steve reflexively dodges into the stall, muffling his breath with his hand. He peers through the crack in between the stall and the door. The butterfly flutters out the top of the stall and away. 

The back of someone dressed in leather and chains, with long, curly hair, is to him. They’re facing someone who Steve unfortunately recognizes. 

Billy Hargrove. 

“You bitch!” he spits. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you!” 

“What?” the mysterious boy taunts, gravelly and low, and Steve thinks he sounds familiar, even though he can’t put his finger on why. “Mad that I cut you off, Hargrove?”

Billy shoves the boy. “I’m paying you money, fag, why do you give a damn how I use the shit I bought?”

“Because I saw you giving it to kids, asshole!” he retorts right back. “And I got it on tape. So you can either fork over some cash and the remainder of the shit I sold you, or I take this to the cops.” 

There’s a sharp breath, and the glint of something metal suddenly hits Steve’s eye. 

Billy’s aiming a handgun at the boy. 

“You are pissing me off.” he grunts, and Steve knows enough about guns to see that the safety’s off. “I bet no one would even miss you, queer!” 

The boy backpedals, letting Billy eclipse Steve’s sliver of view. He’s clutching his hand to his mouth, feeling his nails dig sharp crescent moons into his cheek. 

He can’t just sit here. 

Steve slams the door open, hand outstretched, prepared to snarl at Billy to get the fuck away from him, but the sound startles him, and the gun goes off. 

Right into the boy’s stomach.

The world turns black and white, silent save for a ringing in his ears. 

Someone died. 

Someone died and Steve was too cowardly to stop it.

And then he’s back in class.

Brenner’s talking. “Photography is subjective. I could frame any one of you in a dark room, watching you turn from the light to the dark.” he says. 

I heard this lecture already. Steve thinks. Wait, no. Calm down, Harrington. This is just…serious deja vu. 

Vickie’s phone buzzes, and Steve watches someone throw a paper ball at Jonathan. His hand slips and knocks his camera off his desk. It shatters, pieces scattering all over the ground. 

Fuck. Robin bought him that. 

Hesitantly, Steve reaches out his hand, and it’s like the world moves in reverse around him. His camera pieces levitate off the ground, fitting themselves back together, and the whole camera, now intact, settles itself back on his desk.

Holy shit. 

Steve cannot process this. He watches the same things happen, Vickie’s phone and the paper ball, and stares at his hands. 

Purposefully this time, he picks up his camera and snaps a picture of himself. 

Brenner wheels on him. “I believe Steve has taken what you young people call a ‘selfie’. I hate that word. Sounds so unrefined for what is a classical photography technique. Mr. Harrington, can you tell me the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” 

Steve sits up straighter, trying to remember what Vickie said last time. “Uh, the… Daguerre process?” 

Brenner laughs. “Close! Vickie, would you like to help him out?” 

“A French painter called Louis Daguerre created the process called the Daguerreotype that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” she says. 

Steve reaches out his hand again. The world warps and inverts. “Mr. Harrington,” Brenner says again, “can you tell me the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?” 

“A French painter called Louis Daguerre created the process called the Daguerreotype that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Steve parrots Vickie, and feels a swell of victory in his chest when Brenner beams. 

He also feels a swell of nausea. He’s gone back in time, what, three times now? What’s happening?

The bell rings and Steve sweeps his stuff into his bag. He begins mouthing along to Brenner’s speech. “I’m expecting your photographs for the Everyday Hero contest by this Friday! Jeff, that means you. Jonathan, thanks for your submission.” 

Steve dodges into the hallway. “And yes, Steve, I see you pretending not to see me.” he mutters as Brenner finishes his spiel. 

Everything’s the same as Steve slips through the crowd. The missing posters, the conversation snippets, the bathroom being empty. 

The butterfly’s gone, though. Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. 

He folds himself into his hiding spot early, waiting. 

Right on cue, the door slams open and Billy comes in with that mysterious boy. 

They begin to argue again, and Steve leans forward. If this really isn’t a dream, and if Steve waits too long again, the boy will die. Again. 

Steve can’t let that happen.

[steddilystranger]

blue butterfly masterlist

main blog: @steddie-as-they-come

part one

part two (cause a distraction)

part three (help jonathan)