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luveline · 1 year

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taking roan to see santa and she is so excited to tell him about her new mommy and the things she wants for christmas and when she gets there she is TERRIFIED of the man 🎅

a family trip to the mall to see santa!! fem!reader 5k words

"I'm gonna tell Santa about my new mom, and my new house, and my new bed, and my new-"

"Babe, you're supposed to ask him for things you want, not tell him about stuff you already have."

Roan reaches out to stroke Eddie's face absent-mindedly. He loves how loving she is, and by extension, loves that he's made her this way.

"But I didn't have a mom or a house or a bed last year."

He snorts, fingers wrapped up in the ribbon laces on her shiny black shoes. "You actually did have a bed, and a house."

"A real house, dad."

"It was a real house," he argues with little heat, straightening up her socks where they've started slipping down, fingertips pressed into her soft skin. "It was a home, anyway. You know, me and Uncle Wayne lived together in his trailer for more than ten years and it was amazing."

It had been cramped, crowded, and it had been a stuffy hell in the summer, but it was just fine. It was more than that.

He leans back and takes in Roan again. He's dressed her in a navy blue dress with the lining of a white skirt peeking out underneath. She has a cardigan over the top to fight the cold, and he'll wrap her up in her big puffy coat for good measure as soon as he's done her hair. She looks adorable, adorable and well-kept

He feels the familiar rush of parent pride. Fuck, I'm a good dad.

"And we had fun, didn't we? In our trailer?" he asks her, chucking under her chin.

She grins at him, a mouthful of tiny white pearls. "Duh, dad. We had the best times ever, with Rufus and Georgia and Steve."

He smiles himself, reminded of the stray cats that had flocked to their home and their names. Steve had been an especially dishevelled calico, and his name had been a great point of contention between the Munson's and human Steve.

"You know, we could always go visit them," he offers, pleased at the twinkle that grows in Roan's eyes.

"We could?" she asks, gasping.

"Sure, babe. I bet they miss us, and it's cold. We'll make them some fried chicken when we have time, yeah? You and me'll be the talk of the cat town."

"And Y/N," Roan says insistently.

He strokes her cheek with his thumb. "And Y/N," he says as he stands up. "Now, little lady. Bunches or braids?"

By the time he's weaved her hair back into one impressive braid you're finally getting home from the doctor. A completely routine check up and still he's terrified for a split second that you're gonna come in and declare a problem. You simply pose in the doorway and smile.

"Nothing wrong with me that wasn't wrong before," you say breezily. "Hello, my loves. Did anything happen while I was gone?"

Roan scrambles to stand on the kitchen chair and pose as you're posing. Your expression drops, as does your jaw, and you take a while to pick it back up.

"Aw, princess, would you look at you? You look beautiful."

She giggles as you swoop in to kiss her. You take her face into two delicate palms and stroke curly baby hairs behind her ears. A year ago, even a couple of months ago, you would've asked before you kissed her. Now, you pucker up wordlessly, and Roan bears her cheek like she can't wait. If her excited shifting from one foot to the other is anything to go by, she can't.

"You look so, so pretty," you praise, pulling away to wipe at the splodge of lip balm you've left shining on her baby cheek.

"You look more pretty," Roan says.

Eddie adores you both in ways he can't articulate.

His unspoken affection summons your attention. You let your hands fall to her shoulders and meet his eyes over her head. For a moment you smile abashedly, the awkward amazing smile you'd been wearing when you first met. It eases into something easier, something Eddie isn't ashamed to admit he loves more. This one practically oozes love.

"Do you want to get changed?" you ask.

He pretends like you've slapped him. "What do you mean? This isn't mall-worthy?"

"Your work overalls and my apron?" you ask wryly. "Sure, wear that."

He tries not to smile but he's practically sticky with it, kissing your cheek and patting Roan's back in tandem before he escapes upstairs to change. He puts on a pair of tight black slacks and a dark navy button down to match Roan, rolling the sleeves up in the way he knows you love.

There's Christmas music and giggling downstairs when he returns. Roan's now standing on the table of all places, her hands in your hands, the two of you dancing quite aggressively considering it's Jingle Bell Rock. You start to swing her around, pulling her into your chest so you can waltz in time with the music.

You swing to face the doorway and cheer when you see him. "Dad!" you direct Roan's attention. "That's your nicest button down. Is that the one you wore when you proposed?"

He smiles at the memory but quickly hides it, peering down at his shirt as if it's the most boring item of clothing Walmart's ever made. "This old thing?" He lets the dramatics fall. "No, not this one. I might be wearing the same socks, though, if you wanna check?"

You dip your face down to Roan's and rub the bridges of your noses together. "No thanks," you say, slipping into some bubbly mom talk. "He thinks I wanna look at his socks, did you hear? What a weirdo."

"Weirdo," she echoes.

"Wretched women," he mumbles, heading for the shoe rack. He shoves on a pair of boots and raises his volume. "Come on, sweet girls, time to go see Santa!"

"Santa!"

Roan squirms out of your arms and onto the floor. She sprints for the front door and grabs clumsily at the handle, slightly too short to reach and pull down with any force. Eddie takes her coat down from the hanger and bunches up the sleeves to get her hands through. One arm then two, she makes it difficult work but it's something he's become an expert in. Wayne once said he reckoned Eddie could get an octopus into a straight jacket.

"Babe, move out the way," he says.

Roan steps back enough for him to crack the door and then bursts into the cold. She seems less enthusiastic when the ice bites at her naked knees, looking to Eddie for reassurance.

He hands you the keys and you take them automatically. "I'm gonna get her into the car before she turns into a popsicle."

Realisation dawns on your face. "I dont have my purse. Be right there," you say, spinning back into the house.

He catches up to Roan where she's waiting by your car. She has a car seat in your car and his, but yours is the one at the front of the driveway. She looks tiny next to it, smaller when she starts shivering. It's a sub level Christmas in Hawkins.

"Alright, Ro, in you go," he says, opening door. He covers the top of the doorway with his hand so she can't knock herself out and straps her in once she's situated.

"It's cold," she says through chattering teeth.

"I'm sorry, your wool stockings were in the wash, babe." He covers her frost-bitten cheeks, blood pinking her skin. "We might need to get you some pants at the mall, so you don't fr-fr-freeze to death," he says, imitating her shivering.

She giggles infectiously. "You're funny."

He presses a kiss to her head. "All legs in the ride!" he warns.

"Don't cut her legs off," you call from the front door.

"Never. Am I driving?" he asks, closing Roan's door. He succeeds in not mauling her.

"Do you want to?"

"Get in the car."

"Yes, ma'am," he purrs, escaping around to the passenger side and away from your clutches.

The drive consists of Eddie messing with your deteriorating stereo system and Roan's ecstatic babbling. She's back onto what she wants to tell Santa. New mom, new house, new bed, new princess dresses, new kitchen, new pet fish. The list goes on. Though they aren't as new as she thinks; you, Eddie and Roan have been living together now for a couple of months, and you and Eddie have been engaged for almost as long. The novelty has yet to wear off for Roan. Eddie hopes his daughter will be this amazingly happy for the rest of her life.

"You think it's gonna break?" you ask, watching the stereo with all the caution of a lion tamer.

"God, I hope so. I'll know what to get you for Christmas, then."

It's a bluff — Eddie's already got you a bunch of gifts, some of which you're pretending you don't know about, and some he's actually managed to hide well.

"You won't believe what I got for-" You cough. "Uh, Lucky."

He laughs, checking over his shoulder to see if Roan's listening. She absolutely isn't, feet wiggling along to the static riddled kiddie songs and Teddy the one eared bear in her lap. "I'm gonna tell him you need a new ear, Teddy, don't worry," she says, tone conspiring.

He winces like she's listening. "Yeah, what was it? A new plant?"

"Yeah," you mumble. You're a bad liar. "New plant. It's pink and gold and it's made out of velvet silk," — you lower your voice to a whisper — "with handmade skirts and hand sewn sequins."

His eyes go wide. "I thought we said no more presents for Lucky."

"Did we say that?"

"Well, I said that. Starting to think you weren't listening." He pinches your thigh, quick and nipping to get you squealing.

"I listened," you insist through laughter, facing him with a bright, bright smile. You keep your eyes on the road. "I just didn't comply."

"I'm not above force."

You gasp, delighted. "You dog! My little girl's in the car."

"My little girl isn't listening."

"Yes I am."

You snort so loud it probably hurts your throat.

Eddie whips his head to Roan and her cheeky smile. "I know what we should- what we should get Lucky for Christmas," she says knowingly.

"What's that, princess?" you ask, watching her through the rearview. Each word drips with love.

"A girlfriend," she says.

"Yeah? We'd need to get him a bigger tank, too-"

"So that's not happening," Eddie says.

He hates being the voice of reason, on record despises it, but you love Roan so much, you're fucking whipped, you'd pull Mount Fuji from the Earth and put it behind Bradley's if she asked you to, so while he loves nonsense and participating in it, he has to say no. You can't afford a new fish tank now you've paid for the honeymoon vacation and the wedding venue deposit and Christmas.

Or rather, Eddie can't afford it. He works on principle. Your money is your money. His money is your money. You argue that your money is a hundred percent his money too and he fights you on it all the time, even though you're technically the breadwinner. He's not too proud to let you pay more rent, more toward groceries, more everything. Now. It had been a little bit of a sore spot at first.

He'd reasoned that he should be paying more in reality because of Roan and you'd glared at him half-seriously and said, Don't insult me, handsome. You know I love her.

You more than love her, and if you want to spend every last penny of your paycheck on Christmas this month he won't fight you on it.

Besides that, he can't take any extra hours because he has to pick up Roan. You love that argument because it supports your conclusion, among others — Eddie does the majority of the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning. But, those arguments should be moot. You definitely carry your weight, plus, he loves to do stuff for you. Should be, but you do that stupid fucking thing that you do wherein your hands are all over his face and your voice is soft as silk in his ear, and you kiss under his jaw and win any and every argument in a pathetically small amount of time. He'd die for you. You're a cheater.

"Spoilsport," you mumble, pulling into the parking lot outside the mall with a bumpy turn.

"Lucky needs a girlfriend fish, dad, or he'll get so lonely he'll die."

Eddie blows hair out of his face and zips up his jacket, opening your door with a mostly respectful kick. He rushes to get Roan out before you can, knowing you'll carry her all the way inside and give yourself achey shoulders.

"Why do you say that?" Eddie asks as he opens her door. Roan looks up all smiles, Teddy clutched to her neck. "Why do you think he'll die? Lonely people don't die, babe."

"Are you sure?"

He unclips her straps and pulls her out deftly. He'd let her walk herself but the cold is biting and he can carry her much quicker. "I'm positive."

Her face crinkles up. He likely shouldn't have mentioned death, she's too small, but Roan has a strange understanding of all things macabre. Santa's more real to her than death, for sure.

"Maybe I can ast Santa for a big tank for Lucky and then he can have a girlfriend and a baby."

The dropped 'k' on ask makes Eddie stupidly emotional. A habit she's falling out of from when she was younger.

You start pushing him behind the shoulders. "Let's go," you whine, "before we all get hypothermia."

He makes sure there's room in the crook of his arm for your hand while making his way toward the mall sliding doors. You fall into step beside him.

Eddie begins stranger prep.

"You gotta be polite to Santa, remember? Because he sees all these little girls and boys and he's tired from the Christmas rush, and he's taking the time to come see you."

Roan nods seriously. "My pleases and thank you, dad, I always remember," she says.

"Yes, you do," you praise, though she does not.

"Do you think he can get Lucky a girlfriend?" Roan asks you.

More terrible smiles. "Yes, he definitely can. What kind of girlfriend? A goldfish, too? They have black goldfish in the Petsmart with big heads like raspberries- oh, we should go see them after we talk to Santa!"

Roan's nodding grows more and more voracious. "Can we, dad?" she asks.

"Why're you askin' me? Y/N already said you could."

You almost trip over yourself trying to kiss his cheek. He knows you love him. He suspects you love being a parent more. He's rubbed your back through enough 'I'm so lucky' breakdowns to know you're genuinely in love with his little girl.

Inside the warmth of the mall entryway, Eddie sets Roan on her feet. She holds both hands up. He takes one, you take the other, and she rambles about Lucky's potential lover as you both lead her to the entrance of the food court where the mall Santa's grotto has been set up this year.

The walls and railings are decorated in spiraling lights and tinsel, store windows teeming with festive merchandise. Kids are everywhere, none as pretty or well-dressed as Roan (in Eddie's totally unbiased opinion), but all looking startled by the intensity of everything. Roan herself baulks.

"It's bright, huh?" Eddie asks her knowingly.

"All the lights," she says.

"Yeah, babe, a lot of lights. There's a really big Christmas tree further in, too, we came here last year to see it."

She shrugs. Eddie's unsure, but he thinks maybe she's drifted a little closer to his legs.

The grotto comes into view and she perks up. "Oh," she says sweetly, breathless with her eyes wide, dark eyes shining in the fairy lights.

"There he is," Eddie encourages, "and some elves, too. We line up, uh-"

"Over there," you say, tugging him and Roan with you like the three of you are a slinky.

Roan bounces on her tiptoes from the end of the line to the very beginning. You and Eddie can't stop sharing secret smiles. He loves doing this every year, and last year he'd done most of it alone. Wayne hates shopping malls and you hadn't been dating quite long enough for him to feel comfortable asking you to do parent stuff at the time. The difference a year can make — it aches in the best way.

"After Santa and the pet store, what's our plan? D'you wanna get pizza? Or something else, we could go to Enzo's?" he asks.

"Enzo's?"

"I'll pay."

"Last time you had a weird stomach for three whole days after. I thought we'd never see you again."

"You love it, though. I'll buy some tums. Take a cushion into the bathroom."

"Ew, no," you say, sounding less disgusted than you could be.

You're both keeping an eye on the line. There's only one kid in front of you now, and Roan is pulling on your arms ready to pounce.

"Chinese?"

"What does macaroanie want?"

"She gets everything she wants all the time. Would it kill you to choose?"

You think it over. "Definitely. Why don't you choose?"

"'Cause I want you to, that's the whole point. You know, it's okay to do things that you want to do."

"I want to make you pick. You can pay, too, if we're going to the pet store. Santa needs a donation, and I'm gonna be strapped for cash."

He mirrors your sweet smile. "Deal."

"Next, please," says a very average sized elf.

You and Eddie steal another look and you drop Roan's little hand to let Eddie walk her up to Santa. She'd loved him last year, asking for a bunch of things Eddie hadn't been able to deliver on. He'd tried his best, had done a bunch of freelance guitar repairs that he wasn't educated for (but isn't half bad at), had scraped and scrimped, he'd even borrowed money from Wayne that Wayne refused to take back the following February when Eddie finally made it up, and he still hadn't been able to get 'princess sheets' or the new Dotty Dolly.

They approach Santa. Roan takes one step, then the other. Santa says hello.

Roan pauses.

"C'mere, hon," Santa says, an older gentleman with a natural white beard. He's a very convincing Santa, all things considered. "Tell old Chris Kringle what you want for Christmas."

Eddie pushes her forward very gently with his fingertips. "Go on, babe, it's okay. You wanted to tell him about your mom and the house and Lucky the fish, right?"

Roan takes the last step. Then, frozen in the face, she backs up, nearly trips, and bolts down into Eddie's legs. She practically flies down the stairs with a freaked out moan.

His eyes blow. He looks at Roan, looks at Santa. "I'm sorry," Eddie says, smiling at the old man awkwardly.

The elves do not look happy.

Eddie bends down. "Roanie," he says urgently, "what's the matter? You don't wanna talk to Santa?"

She says nothing, only clings. Eddie tries to steer her shoulder back to Santa on his big velvet chair and she's having none of it, whining and shoving her head into his thigh.

"Excuse me-" starts the elf.

"Roan, are you sure you don't wanna talk to him? He's Santa, he wants to hear all about your list this year," Eddie tries.

"No."

He sighs, perturbed but not too worried. They can always try again. He says sorry to the elves and to Santa who waves his hand, as if to say it doesn't matter. He gets his hands under Roan's arms and carries her to where you're standing on the other side. You look heartbroken.

"What happened?" you ask softly, stroking a sweet curl behind her ear.

Eddie has no answers and Roan doesn't want to give them, so you make your way to the food court in a shocked silence. Roan has a tendency to deal with negatives in two ways — tantrums for the superficial, withdrawal for the serious. Eddie still isn't good at dealing with the latter. Together, you can usually save the day.

"Roan, bug," Eddie says, so only she can hear, "tell me what happened. You didn't like Santa, huh?"

"Dad," she says, almost inaudible.

He slides a hand behind her neck and tips her away from his chest. "What?"

"He didn't look how I remembered."

"'Cause you're older," he says.

He's employed his nicest, smoothest dad voice. The gentle one for all her scariest moments, like shots at the doctor's office and the time she wet herself in the playground in front of the other kids. Anything to assuage her embarrassment, a safety blanket.

He slides into a booth and you hover.

"Would something yummy make it feel better?" you ask hopefully.

Roan shakes her head into Eddie's neck.

"I-" You look super crushed. Everything had been going well. He knows how badly you want Christmas to be perfect.

"How about," Eddie cuts you off, not unkindly, "you and me and mom get warm donut holes and ice cream to dip them in? We've never had then with her, have we?"

It's a good Christmas tradition.

Roan can't resist. "Okay," she says.

"I'll get them," you volunteer. "I got it."

Something hooks you as you're trying to leave and you double back to kiss the top of her head and Eddie's temple in quick succession. He smiles at you genuinely, happy when your frown livens up. Roan will be okay in a little while, no doubt. No need for you to tear yourself up over it.

Alone, Eddie eases Roan off of his lap and onto the bench beside him. He takes her little hands into his. She looks nearly angry, dark eyebrows pinched up and her eyes welled with tears.

"It's okay that you didn't like Santa," he murmurs.

"I wanted to tell him about Y/N," she says, lower lip trembling.

"We can always go and see him again."

She stiffens.

"Or we can try a different day, yeah? C'mon, where's my brave girl gone?"

"He smiled funny…" she mumbles.

He feels awful instantly. He doesn't need Roan to be brave if she can't be.

"Well, if you want," he says, inclining his head, "you could tell me what you want for Christmas, I could tell Santa."

She looks up. "You'll tell Santa?"

"Oh, yeah," he says quickly. "I tell Santa all the stuff you forget. How'd you think you got your space hopper last year? And your princess slippers? I tell him all the things you want."

"He still didn't get me Dotty Dolly."

"He's old, babe. He's all senile, like Wayne." Sorry Wayne.

Her face flops into his upper arm, chubby cheek squished to the mild curve of his bicep. She lets out a morose sigh. "Sorry, dad."��

He nudges her gently. "For what?"

"Being not brave."

He presses his forehead to her hair. "I didn't mean that. You don't have to be brave meeting new people. It's scary, even if you met them before. Like Y/N," he says, nuzzling Roan's silky hair affectionately, "I don't know if you remember, you were always excited to see her, and I used to think I was excited too. Then we'd get to Morgan's cake shop and I'd make us late because I was hiding in the car. She used to make me nervous, and now she's your mommy."

He wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Sometimes we need time to get to know people before we're ready to talk to them. It's okay that you got scared, babybug, promise."

She goes limp. Her cheek slides down the length of his stomach and lands on his thigh. "I really wanted Lucky to have a girlfriend."

He pets her hair, accomplished in his dad duties. (He hopes. Tonight he'll go over this conversation with you and wonder if he should've said something else.)

"Lucky can definitely still have a girlfriend. What did I just say? I'll make sure Santa knows exactly what you want, no sweat."

She huffs another huge sigh that must take up her entire lung capacity. He tickles the back of her neck with the end of her braid slowly, drawing circles around her ear and her earlobe until her shoulders are heaving.

"You're laughing," he accuses.

"No I'm not," she says into his leg.

"No?" He lets her hair go in favour of scratching her neck. "We can change that."

You return with way too much ice cream and twice as many donuts to find her squealing and cornered in the booth, curled up into a ball like a pill bug to evade Eddie's cruel hands.

"What are you doing to her?" you demand.

"I'm cuddling her. What's it look like to you, mister?"

"Mister? You sick freak."

"You're the sick freak, freak. Sit down and give my girl one of those donut holes before she keels over."

"She's already keeled! Get offa her, the ice cream's melting on my hands."

He stops tickling Roan and she finds the strength to sit. You're ecstatic to see her happy again and you show it with a grand proferring of sweet treats and three plastic spoons. You've bought a whole lotta donuts and an ice cream boat with chocolate fudge and cherries, and you let her maul it without complaint. It's a good time, a great one, to watch Roan teach you how to dip the still-warm donuts in your ice cream, and to watch the two of you try to eat them without getting powdered sugar and chocolate all over your fancy clothes.

He ties the cherry stem with his tongue and mystifies Roan, who spends the next ten minutes trying to do the same. He feels so sorry for her that when she sticks her little tongue out with an untied stem for the tenth time, he meets your eyes and nods and the two of you cheer like crazy.

He hadn't brought his bag, a rookie mistake, so he nabs some napkins from the condiments table and gives Roan the good old spit and polish.

Clean-ish, he takes her hand and she stands on the bench, hopping off and landing with Munson grace (her knees give out). You take the long way around the grotto so she won't have to see Santa again and come across the mall's huge Christmas tree.

"Woah," she gasps, enthralled.

Eddie really should've brought the camera, even if he only has two pieces of film left. He wants to remember this forever, her face still soft with baby fat reflected back from a giant golden bauble, tinsel bouncing light all over her skin like a mirrorball. You bend down beside her and grin.

"Eddie, look at it from down here."

He suspends his disbelief and kneels down.

From the floor, the tree looks bigger than any skyscraper, and it shines like a star. If you follow the tree all the way to its angel at the top, you can look past it into the skylight, where the dark night shines with pinprick stars.

"Our Christmas tree doesn't look this good," you say.

"Yes it does!" Roan says, turning to you with a stern scowl. "Our Christmas tree is the best one they ever made."

"Yeah?"

"Mm. And I got to put the star on."

"Yeah, you did." You rest your hands on her shoulders and the two of you look up together.

I need a fucking camera, Eddie thinks hotly.

—

Petsmart is like an aquarium at 6PM. The lights have been lowered, the fish tanks glowing bright blue and bubbling in the dim light. A hundred white and red babies swim erratically, their fins a blur in the top tank. Underneath, there are tanks filled with algae-eating snails that move surprisingly quickly. To the left, the big black goldfish with puffy cheeks lavish in their more spacious tank.

"Where's the ones with the raspberry head?" Roan whispers.

Your eyes follow a beautiful red goldfish the size of three fingers. "I don't know, little lady," you mumble, entranced by the goldfish's graceful arc.

"Do you think Lucky would have a crush on him?"

You look to where she's pointing at, little finger chasing a telescope fish.

"I think he'd love him. He's a big one."

"I thought Lucky wanted a girlfriend?" Eddie asks.

"But all these ones are boys, dad."

He frowns, endearingly confused. "How can you tell?"

"I just know."

You love the way she says it, love every little word she says. She sounds confident in her declaration but the way she pronounces her words harbours the clumsiness that comes with being a young kid, 'know' carrying a lot of weight, of humour, like she can't believe Eddie would say something that silly.

"What about that one? She looks kinda girly, no?"

The three of you watch the fish in question complete a small loopty-loop.

"Nah," you say, "that's definitely a boy. He has abs."

"They're called gills."

"Do they have any pink fish?" Roan asks.

"Maybe not. They have pink plants. Hey, I saw the ornaments on the way in, they have a castle. Think Lucky would like that?"

If Petsmart didn't close at 6.30 you could stay and watch the fish tanks with them forever. You hop along to the ornaments and try to catalogue all the ones Roan expresses an interest in. Buying them won't count as spoiling her, it'll be spoiling Lucky. Eddie can't possibly be irked over that.

"Don't even think about it," he mouths.

You remember Roan's unhappy face when she was confronted with the horror of the mall Santa up close and decide she can't leave empty handed.

"Why don't we get him something now? You can put it in his tank tonight before bed."

"Really?" Roan asks.

"Go crazy."

Roan hesitates, spoiled for choice, hands feeling over the ornaments one at a time. Eddie tells her she can't pick anything from the tip shelf and you're glad for it, because it is Christmas coming and they're extortionate hand crafted things you cannot afford.

"This one," she says.

She picks up a heavy looking Christmas tree glued to a white plate, multi-coloured presents nestled at the trunk. It's a glorious twelve dollars.

You let Roan carry the bag out of the Petsmart. She turns to Eddie and says, "Please make sure Santa gets Lucky a girlfriend like the one with the big eyes. And please tell him that I have the best new mommy and the bed and the new house, please."

He beams at her. "We can strike those off the list, for sure. What do you want now you got all the stuff you asked for last year?"

"Pink hair."

Eddie whistles through his teeth appreciatively. "Gnarly."

"And a bounce house," she adds.

He shakes his head at you before you can ask.

#eddie and roan #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #christmas centric

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talesfromthesnogbox · 11 months

Text

Wayne Knows Best

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

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,881

AO3 Link

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

Huh. That was new.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie… you know I love you, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does he know that?”

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

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

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

-------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve! Steve god DAMNIT let me go!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve I’m gay.”

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie?”

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

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

“Dude—”

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

“What—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… so you really like me?”

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

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

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

“And did it help?”

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

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

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

“Heh, that feels kinda nice Stevie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-------

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

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

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italiansteebie · 1 year

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Gareth has been watching Steve Harrington.

It was almost surreal the way he fell from the hierarchy everyone put so much importance on. It was like he ruled the school, and as soon as someone stepped up to challenge it, he gave it up like he didn’t want it in the first place. Gareth begins to wonder if he chose it, or if it was thrust upon him.

He finds out how right he was when Eddie gets accused of murder.

He’d been at home watching the news with his mom when Eddie’s face popped up on the screen. “Oh shit,” “Gareth!” His mother scolded. “Oh- Sorry mom, that’s Eddie!” He said, exasperated and a little nervous. He knew Eddie was strange, but what the hell did he do to get accused of murdering a cheerleader? “Your friend Eddie? He’s a sweet boy, he couldn't do that.” His mother soothed. And she was right, but for the next five days Eddie was radio silent while the earth split apart and ash rained from the sky.

He paced every day by the phone waiting for Eddie to call and tell him something. Anything. Waiting for Wayne to call him and tell him the funeral date, or the court date to testify against the charges but it never came. Instead, he got a call from a guy sounding right around his age, and when he listened closer the voice identified itself as one Steve Harrington, who’d gotten his number off Dustin Henderson, one of Eddie’s “Sheep.”

Eddie was in the hospital, he wasn’t okay, but he was alive, and as much as Gareth wanted to see Eddie, ask him what the hell happened, and slap him silly, he couldn’t help the morbid curiosity that came with Steve Harrington being mixed up in all of this. Was he the one who killed Chrissy? No. No way. Steve can’t even throw a punch, he’s seen him try.

He got to the hospital, seeing Steve sitting in the lobby, head in his hands and a bright red ring around his neck. There was a girl next to him, rubbing his back, and when Gareth looked closer, he discovered that it was Robin from band. He snorted, he didn’t think Steve was anywhere near Robin’s type but… Well, he’s been wrong before.

Dustin was sitting across from them, looking a bit more put together, and he wondered how long they’d been sitting in the lobby, and if Steve had gone home. Dustin’s eyes meet his, and he waves him over. “Hey, Gareth. Uh. I had Steve call you. I figured you’d want to see Eddie?” He posed it as if he was unsure, the more kid looked exhausted and wondered what possibly could have happened between the murder acquisition and the earthquake that got this odd group of people strung together. The three here seemed comfortable with each other, and the morbid curiosity returned. What was King Steve doing with these people? Not that there was anything wrong with them, it was just so… Different. Gareth realizes he’d been just kind of idling, so he shook himself from his thoughts, “Uhm, yeah. Is he okay? What happened?” He stuttered out nervously. The two boys made eye contact from their adjacent plastic chairs, seemingly having a silent conversation.

Steve gave him a sharp nod before standing, “Dust, stay here with Robs. Wayne should be here soon and you can bring him back to Eddie’s room, kay? Rob, feel free to go to Max or Eddie’s room.” He looked at Gareth, studying him, before waving a hand as to say “follow me.”

Gareth followed hesitantly, looking over his shoulder at Robin and Dustin who were watching them right back. Steve led them silently to a room before stopping at the door. “Look, Gareth. We don't… We don’t know each other and what I’m about to tell you is going to be hard to swallow, but per the request of Eddie, I will explain, please.” Steve’s voice wavered and broke before he continued. “Please, don’t ask any questions until I’m done and I am begging you, don’t share this with anyone who doesn't enter this room, okay?” Gareth swallowed thickly, no matter what, Steve was intimidating, so he nodded, and listened as the other boy launched into the story. Starting with little Will Byers, who came back from the dead.

By the end of it, Gareth was a little more than shell shocked, and the exhausted look on Steve’s face told him that he didn’t really have a choice except to believe him, somehow it made sense. He uttered a simple, “Okay.” And that was that.

“Eddie’s in rough shape but he is okay, just so you know. I’ll… Wait out here til you guys are done…” Steve said before pushing the door open for him. “Gareth, my main man. Thanks for briefing him, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice came out croaking and dry, and out of the corner of his eye he could see a faint blush spreading across Steve’s face at the nickname. Huh. The door shut, “Stevie?”

“Oh, shut up Gareth. That’s what you’re focused on? I'm in a hospital bed.”

Gareth rolled his eyes, “You’re sitting up and calling King Steve ‘Stevie.” He scoffed, to which Eddie rolled his eyes. “He’s… Not that bad anymore, in fact he might be… Really, really good.” The soft voice and the fond look on Eddie’s face made Gareth squeal. But y’know, a manly squeal. “EDDIE OH MY GOD.” Eddie ducked his head, they both flinched at the door swinging open. “What’s wrong? I heard screaming. Is everything okay?” Steve rambled out, softening when he realized everything was still in order. “S-sorry, I’ll” He stuttered out, shoving his thumb back towards the door. “Stevie, c’mere sweetheart.” Eddie said, patting the side of his bed, scooching over to make room for him.

Steve sat, grabbing Eddie’s hand, eyes flicking over to Gareths occasionally. “It’s okay, Stevie. He’s my best friend, he knows. Well, not about… He knows I like boys, kay?” Eddie raises their clasped hands, planting a soft kiss on Steve’s knuckles. He turns to Gareth, “It’s new. But… It’s good. Really good.” Gareth smiled at this, before fake gagging at the cuteness, they were going to be insufferable weren’t they?

It wasn’t until a few months later that Gareth really found out the backstory behind King Steve. It was a more depressing story than he’d thought it would be.

They’d been playing DnD in Steve’s basement, after he’d allowed them to set up shop there every week for their campaigns claiming “No one ever uses it anyways,” with a shrug. There was a twinkle of something sad in Steve’s eye but he didn’t pay much attention to it. It wasn’t until later in the game that it all came to a front.

Eddie introduced a new NPC, quite obviously based on Steve, and most of them took it well. They were happy for the two and their new found love, but Eric, apparently, had a grudge stronger than a demogorgon.

“Knight Steviengton? Seriously? That lumps not a Knight. What’s he ever done?” Eric scoffed, Eddie began to reply before Eric cut him off, voice coming out sharp. “More like ‘Useless King Steve who’s only worth his parents money.’” Eddie’s head whipped around at the sound of the basement door closing, Steve disappearing from his spot on the couch where he watches the story unfold and takes notes so they remember where they left off.

Eddie might as well have cast Eric out with the look in his eyes, everyone watched as the guy sunk back into his seat as Eddie sauntered over to him, a dark look in his eyes. “Tell me, Eric. Do you like having me as a DM?” Eric spluttered, a weak “yeah,” coming out eventually. “Okay. Good, good. Now tell me. If you like me so much, why would you curse the most important person in my life? The person who saved my life?”

“He’s- He’s just… King Steve…” Was the meak answer that left Eric's lips. “Did he ever do anything to you?” It was silent. Eddie slammed his hands on the table, “No. He didn’t. Because he would NEVER stoop so low as to put his hands on another person. In fact, I explicitly remember him telling Tommy H. to back off, don’t you?” His voice was loud and aggressive.

“You know, he tries so hard, to make up for the asshole he was in high school, and you fucking… TURDS, won’t accept anything! It’s not his fault he was basically bred specifically to be a reincarnation of his god awful father. And now that he’s finally out of their control, because they basically disowned him after the earthquake, leaving nothing but this god forsaken house!” Eddie paused, breathing heavily, “You can’t forgive him? He saved my life.” His voice was soft at that moment, before his eyes returned to their fiery state. “And I am in love with him, and if that’s not good enough for you? You can get the fuck out of HIS house, and find yourself a new goddamn DM.”

There was no response from Eric, “Whatever, session over. Goodbye.” Eddie waved a hand before going upstairs, likely to check on Steve.

Gareth looked at Eric, “Not cool, man. Steve’s a pretty good guy when you get to know him.” He shook his head before standing up, moving to grab his stuff and leave. Jeff nodded in agreement, “I mean, he lets us use his basement, and eat his food, and he keeps it clean for us… Dick move, Eric.”

“Well. Fine. I’ll just leave then! Since you guys are all up King Steve’s ass for NO REASON.” Gareth watched the outburst with his arms crossed, unimpressed, “Well. Go on then.” He said, motioning to the door.

“This is ridiculous!” Eric threw his arms up and stormed out of the house.

The rest of the group trickled out after that, leaving Gareth alone in the house. He crept up the stairs, finding Steve’s room before knocking gently. “Come in,” He heard Eddie say from the other side. Seeing Steve Harrington cry was something he’d never expected to see, and honestly it was kind of heart breaking. “Hey, Gare.” Eddie said, combing a hand through Steve’s hair.

“I just… Wanted to say that what Eric said wasn’t cool… And the rest of us don’t agree with him at all, we all think you’re like super cool, and good for Eddie. I mean, you’re the only one who can get him to eat vegetables!” Gareth said, voice lifting at the end. This rendered a tearful laugh from Steve. “Thanks Gareth. I really try to be… better than I was.”

“You are,” The assure came from both Eddie and Gareth with such finality that it didn’t give him any room to argue. This rendered another soft laugh from Steve. Wiping his eyes “Feel free to crash here, we’ve got enough rooms, and food, o-or whatever.” It came out awkward, and hopeful. Gareth nodded, letting a smile spread across his face, “Thanks, Steve. I’ll take you up on that. Good night, guys.”

He shut the door softly behind him, venturing to one of the guest rooms that lined the halls.

Steve Harrington could use some more friends, Gareth decided at that moment, he was going to be one of them.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #autistic steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harringtons parents #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #soft steddie #steve harrington centric #soft eddie munson #protective eddie munson #best friend gareth #hellfire club #stranger things #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fix it fic #steve gets taken care of

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imfinereallyy · 1 year

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Father Figures

pt. 2 here, and full version on ao3 here

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

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

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

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

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

"Chief Hopper. Make it quick."

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve shakes his head immediately. "No Sir."

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jim feels his heart break a little.

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

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

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

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

"Language."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, Hopper. Okay, Hop."

———

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

Dear. God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Munson? He starts to ramble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?" Steve says confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

part 2 here and the full version on ao3 here

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metalhoops · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s different,” Nancy reasoned.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe the third time was the charm.

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

change of fate

also on ao3 cw: death, wounds, blood, grief, depression spoiling this for you already eddies not actually dead bc i cant do that

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

The bat falls from Steve’s hand when he sees them on the ground. He told them to get out. His breath leaves his lungs, and he barely hears Robin’s voice quietly say, “Oh, fuck.”

Nancy says something too, but Steve doesn’t hear it, his legs carrying him to where Dustin is holding Eddie.

Dustin’s face is stained with dirt and blood and streaked with tears, his eyes glistening and shining in the dim light of the red sky. He’s sobbing, his whole body trembling as he holds Eddie in his arms.

Steve touches his face, panic making his chest so tight he can barely breathe, wiping a tear away from his cheek, quickly looking over him before his eyes fall.

And Eddie.

He’s covered in blood, his hair tangled and matted with dirt, lips parted for each ragged breath that scrapes at Steve’s skin like sandpaper. He looks at Steve and smiles. There’s blood in his teeth and on his lips.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” Steve snaps, ripping the bandana off Eddie’s head and pressing it to his face, where blood is seeping from a wound on his cheek.

“I know,” Eddie says weakly, his voice rough. “They were— They were gonna follow us through, I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“Dustin,” Nancy says. Her voice is thick, wavering. “Come… Come help up,” she says, pulling at Robin’s hand. Eddie’s eyes wander up to her, and he says so softly he’s almost just exhaling the words, “Thank you.”

“But…” Dustin looks down at Eddie, whose eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Come on,” Nancy insists.

Dustin’s lip quivers, and he looks down at Eddie, who nods and whispers.

“‘S alright, man.”

Dustin stifles a sob and carefully shifts so Steve can take Eddie in his arms. Steve watches them go, trembling as Eddie takes a breath.

“‘S okay,” he says quietly when they’re gone from view, looking down at Eddie. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Steve.”

“It— It’s just the same as mine, right?” he says frantically, looking at Eddie’s blood-stained shirt and jacket, at the mangled flesh he can see through the rips and tears in the fabric.

“Steve.”

“We’ll have, like, matching scars, they can— they can be like fucked up friendship bracelets—“

“Steve, please,” Eddie breathes.

Steve shuts up. Eddie is shivering, his limbs trembling, and one of his hands finds Steve’s sleeve, holding the fabric weakly.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Eddie whispers. “‘S okay.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve says sharply. “You’re gonna be fine, they— they’re going to get help, it’s gonna be okay—“

“Steve,” Eddie murmurs. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed over like he’s high. “They just wanted Dustin away from me. He doesn’t… He doesn’t deserve to see this.”

Steve’s throat tightens, and his eyes burn, and he realises what Eddie’s quiet thank you was for, and his whole body hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans over Eddie’s body, suppressing a sob. Eddie’s hand slides up Steve’s arm.

“‘S okay, Steve.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve insists, his voice breaking. His throat feels dry with the dust of the Upside Down. “It’s not okay, and it— it’s not fucking fair, Eddie, you don’t…”

“I know,” Eddie exhales.

He blinks at the sky, and a tear falls across his temple. Steve wipes it away as gently as he can. He’s never been very soft, always a little too rough around the edges, but he doesn’t want to hurt Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asks weakly.

“Yeah, Eds?”

“Can you…” He exhales, breathless as he shivers. “Can you tell my uncle Wayne… that it was quick? Just to… ease his mind.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his chest aching.

“I can do that,” he says as firmly as possible.

“And… Tell Dustin that I’m— I’m sorry.” Eddie’s voice squeaks and breaks as he lets out a weak sob that tears through Steve’s skin. “And Nancy and Rob— Robin that I… thank them.”

“Okay,” Steve says gently, running a hand up and down Eddie’s arm.

Eddie exhales shakily, nodding, relaxing. His eyes trace the dark clouds above them, and Steve shifts so Eddie is laying in his lap, watching as Eddie winces.

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks stupidly. Eddie nods.

“You make it better,” he says quietly.

Steve swallows thickly, the words stirring something inside him even though he can’t tell what exactly it is. His stomach flutters, and he feels like he might be sick.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “I’m… I’m really tired.”

Steve nods, touching Eddie’s face, brushing over an unwounded spot on his cheek.

“You can rest,” he whispers. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

Eddie’s eyes skim over to Steve's face. His eyelashes are clumped with tears, and there are tracks in the dirt and blood on his skin, and Steve briefly thinks that he’s beautiful.

“You… You think God’ll let me in?” Eddie asks softly, a smile teasing his lips.

“If he doesn’t, you better come right the fuck back, you understand me?”

Eddie laughs softly, coughing as he nods.

“Okay.”

He’s quiet again for a moment, his breathing ragged.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly. “If you… promise not to get mad at me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “Of course, tell me.”

Eddie stares up at him for a moment before he slides his hand to Steve’s, holding it to himself weakly. His hand is freezing, trembling and covered in dark, tacky blood. Steve doesn’t mind. As long as he’s touching him.

“I gotta crush on you,” Eddie says after a moment, his voice slurred. Steve blinks, his stomach fluttering again.

“…Really?” he chokes.

Eddie nods weakly.

“Since… high school,” he murmurs. “Always thought you were this… pretty mystery boy. Wanted to… to know all your secrets.”

Steve smiled weakly, his eyes flicking across Eddie’a face, over his glistening eyes and blood stained lips, and his stomach twists, and his heart fucking hurts and

Oh.

“You…” He swallows, blinking tears back. “You wanna know a secret now?”

Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s hand falls from Eddie’s face, and their fingers lace. Steve wants to keep him warm.

“I like you too,” he whispers after a moment of hesitation. Eddie blinks at him.

“Don’t do that,” he breathes.

“I’m serious,” Steve says, his voice thin as he tries to hold his tears back. “I… I really like you, I just…” A sob rips itself from his chest, and he gasps, squeezing Eddie’s hand tightly. “If we just— If we just had more time, I—“

“I know,” Eddie whispers. His eyes close as he exhales, and Steve’s stomach lurches, but his eyes open a moment later, cloudy and unfocussed as he tries to find Steve above him.

“I’d take you on a date,” Steve says, forcing a soft smile, ignoring the distant rumble of thunder.

“Really?”

Steve loves the lines in Eddie’s skin that deepen when he smiles. He’s beautiful. Even like this.

“Yeah,” he says. “To the movies. I’d pull all the moves on you, I’d— I’d yawn and stretch and put my arm around you, and I’d pay for everything, and I’d—“ He takes a breath. “I’d tell you how beautiful you are every fucking chance I get.”

Eddie’s smile widens. He exhales roughly.

“Next time,” he whispers.

“Next time?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods weakly. “In our next… next life.”

Steve laughs tearfully, nodding.

“I’ll find you,” he says, his voice too high. “Will you wait for me?”

Eddie sighs.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Steve closes his eyes, biting his quivering lip.

Eddie turns his head and pulls at Steve’s hand, pressing a bloody kiss to his knuckles. He’s quiet for a moment, his breathing shaky as he shivers. Steve pulls him closer, wraps his arms around him, desperate to keep him warm, to keep him safe.

“My uncle…” Eddie starts quietly. “My uncle says people… aren’t really gone until they’re forgotten.”

Steve smiles fondly, running his thumb over Eddie’s fingers.

“I’m not gonna forget you,” he murmurs.

“No?” Eddie teases. “You gonna keep me in that golden heart of yours, Harrington?”

“Yeah,” Steve chokes, smiling. Eddie’s eyes drift away, and he looks at the sky again. The red glow of it reflects in his eyes, gleaming blankly. “Eddie?”

“Wayne never knew my Ma,” Eddie says weakly. Steve blinks, catching up, his heart pounding from the fear of seeing Eddie’s eyes like that.

“Your Ma?”

“She…” Eddie’s eyes flutter, and he’s crying again, a tear falling down his temple. “She died when I was little. And Wayne… Wayne never met her. He took me in when Dad took to drinkin’ and…” He chokes, his chest seizing as he coughs. More blood appears on his lips, and Steve wipes it away, his hands trembling. “She’s gonna be gone when I’m gone,” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut.

“No, tell me— tell me about her,” Steve says quickly, holding his hand tightly. “Tell me, baby, I’ll— I’ll keep her alive for you.”

Eddie blinks tears out of his eyes, looking at him.

“She…” He takes a shaky breath. “She had hair like… like mine. But she was always braiding it and she always had it… tied up. Out of the way. She was always… working. Painting and cooking and fixing shit. She had calluses…” He pulls at Steve’s hand, tracing a light line across his palm, just under his fingers. “All along here.”

Steve smiles, listening intently.

“She loved sweet tea,” Eddie murmurs. “And strawberries.”

He’s quiet again, his eyes closing, his breath slowing, but his fingers keep moving on Steve’s, fidgeting weakly.

“She used to sing to me,” he breathes.

“What’d she sing to you, baby?” Steve asks quietly whispering.

Eddie sighs, melting into Steve’s lap, letting his head rest again his torso. And then he starts to sing. His voice is weak, and uneven, and off-key, but Steve never wants it to end.

“I was dancing, with my darling… to the Tennessee waltz…” His eyes find Steve’s face, shining and wide and unfocussed as he sings, as Steve touches his cheek again, brushing a tear away. “When an old friend I happened to see… I Introduced her to my loved one and while they were dancing…”

His voice cracks when it gets higher, weak and fading.

“My friend stole my sweetheart from me. I remember the night…” He pauses, taking a breath that catches in his throat, that strains on its way out. “And… the Tennessee Waltz. Now I know just how much I have lost.”

He whispers the words, eyes blinking slowly at Steve, and Steve listens, touching his face. The world around them disappears as he listens, the quiet thunder distant screeches of dying creatures fading into nothing, because nothing matters except this.

“Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing, the beautiful…”

And then it’s silent. Except a soft exhale, a final puff of breath from Eddie’s mouth, and Steve watches as his eyes drift and glaze over, his expression fading.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his teeth and gasping for breath as his body seizes, leaning over Eddie’s body.

“Eddie?” he chokes.

Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie,” he tries again, his voice weak, barely there. His vision blurs as he looks at Eddie’s face, and he can barely see him even as he leans close enough that their noses touch. “Eddie, please.”

He falls forward, and Eddie’s head rolls lifelessly, turning away from Steve.

Steve’s arms tighten, and his eyes squeeze shut as he sobs.

He’s never cried like this before. Not when he was a child, not when he’s been injured or scared after nightmares that have made him wake up in cold sweat and tears and sore muscles. It’s never been this violent, sobs and screams ripping their way out of his chest, out of his throat, rough and raw.

He cries until he runs out of tears. Until his voice is almost gone.

He begs him. Pleads with him.

He wants Eddie to finish the song. He wants Eddie to sing forever, until the sun gives out, and he wants Eddie to kiss him.

His throat hurts when he leans down to Eddie’s face, and he gets his own tears on Eddie’s skin as he presses kisses across his cheeks, his forehead and nose and chin and lips. He’s whimpering as he does, each gasp for breath hiccuping and choking as he whispers to Eddie.

My boy, my baby. I’m sorry, Eddie. I shoulda come back sooner, I shoulda… Wait for me, Eddie baby, please. I’ll come find you, I promise.

He makes sure Eddie is comfortable. Folds his hands over his stomach, cleans the blood off his face as best he can. He closes his eyes before pressing soft kisses to his eyelids. He’s so cold. Steve takes off his jacket and drapes it over him, caressing his face, murmuring that he’s okay.

You can rest now, baby, it’s okay. I’ll see you again.

He fluffs his hair out, lays it around his head like a halo, thinking about Eddie’s mother, wondering if she’s holding him in her arms. He sets aside the bandana, the skulls now blood-stained, and carefully takes the guitar pick from Eddie’s neck, holding it in his palm close to his chest as he leans over to kiss his forehead.

“I’m gonna take good care of the little shits,” Steve promises quietly, his voice rough. He sits next to Eddie, holds his hands. He’s so cold. But he’s not shivering anymore. “And I’ll tell Wayne you love him. ‘S gonna be okay, baby.”

He runs his fingers over Eddie’s, over his bloody rings.

He takes one. The one from Eddie’s right ring finger. He rubs the stone on his own jeans, cleaning it before he slides it onto his own finger. It fits.

“Next time,” he whispers, brushing his nose against Eddie’s. “Okay? I’ll take you out, and I’ll treat you real good. We won’t have to worry about… about monsters. Or anything like that. We can just be boys like we’re supposed to.” He’s quiet for a few moments, tracing Eddie’s fingers, gazing at the wound on his face. It doesn’t hurt anymore. “I love you, baby.”

He presses kisses to Eddie’s hands. His fingertips and knuckles and palms. And then he leaves.

He feels heavy. Like every limb is filled with dread, with dirt and broken glass, and every step that carries him away from Eddie’s body makes his throat tighten and muscles ache.

Robin, Nancy, and Dustin are in Eddie’s trailer when he find them. Nancy has Dustin in her arms, his face hidden in her neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs. Nancy’s face is streaked with tears as she runs her hand over his head. They don’t notice him come in until Robin speaks.

“Steve?”

Her voice cracks, weak and unused, and his eyes find her sitting on the floor across from Nancy and Dustin, who both look up at him.

He can’t speak.

Robin’s eyes are filled with tears as they look at each other, but his are dry now. He shakes his head.

Dustin wails, muffled by Nancy’s shoulder, and she gasps, sobbing weakly.

Steve sits heavily on the floor, clutching Eddie’s bandana and guitar pick to his chest. His eyes unfocus as he stares at the floor. There’s a stain in front of him, dark and oddly shaped. He can’t tell what it is. How long it’s been there. If it’s from a childhood accident or a recent spill.

Dustin’s sobbing fades into white noise, blending with the rush of the blood in Steve’s ears. He’s shaking. Even though he can’t feel it.

Steve?

Robin’s voice is muffled, like Steve is underwater. Her hand touches his shoulder lightly, and he shrinks away from it, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to be touched.

She sits next to him. She doesn’t touch him. This has happened before. Some nights after particularly bad nightmares he can’t stand the feeling of anything on him. She waits for him. Always.

“Dustin,” he says after a while, when the room has fallen silent except some weak sniffles and coughs. His voice is rough like he’s sick. His throat is raw. “Come here.”

Dustin comes here. Nancy helps him.

He sits in front of Steve, one of his legs outstretched because his ankle is broken. Steve forces himself to look at him, at his cracked lips and bloody skin, at his glistening eyes and tear-clumped lashes. He looks so… young. He’s just a kid.

He’s just a fucking kid.

Steve swallows his anger down, taking a breath.

“He said…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “He said he’s sorry.”

Dustin’s lip quivers.

Steve’s fingers tighten on the bandana, and then he separates it from the guitar pick before holding it out to Dustin.

Dustin looks at it, reaching for it with a tentative, trembling hand. The fabric shakes. He starts to cry again, bringing the bandana for his face as his shoulders shake, and he falls forward, into Steve’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Steve lies, hugging him tightly, kissing his head.

He closes his eyes, listening to Dustin cry into his chest, running his hands over his head and his back, only stopping when Nancy’s hand rests on his his. It takes her a moment before she notices the ring around his finger.

Their eyes meet over Dustin head, and he knows she can tell. That she knows everything.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs.

He closes his eyes.

Nancy kisses Dustin’s head, whispering something to him that Steve can’t hear, rubbing his back, and after a moment Steve holds his arm out in Robin’s direction, his fingers still tight around the guitar pick. There’s a brief moment before she’s hugging his arm tightly, and he pulls her closer, feeling her press her face into his neck. She’s crying.

The chain of the guitar pick digs into his skin, and Dustin is leaning on his side, over his haphazardly bandaged wounds. (Eddie’s wounds should be bandaged. This isn’t fair.) But he barely feels any of it.

He feels so fucking empty.

—————————

They go to the hospital.

Dustin gets a cast on his leg, and Steve gets fresh, pristine white bandages and antibiotics and painkillers.

Max gets casts on both arms and legs, and her eyes are covered, and she’s silent but breathing. Lucas won’t leave her side. When he tries to, just to get some water, he has a panic attack. Robin holds his hands and talks to him until he can breathe again.

Steve goes home the next day after staying overnight for observation. He doesn’t sleep at all.

He leaves in the morning, after stopping say bye to Lucas and Erica and Max.

His house is empty. There’s plenty of furniture in every room, but it still feels like it echoes, like it’s bare and desolate. He leaves the guitar pick on the counter in the kitchen. Dry blood turns to dust around it when it clatters.

There’s a grandfather clock in the living room. It’s been there his whole life, ticking and ticking and ticking, standing tall in a corner. He never cared about it. Never bothered to notice it.

He stares at it now. There’s still blood in his nails, and his clothes are filthy, stained with dirt and grime and blood and ash, and his throat still hurts.

This clock.

It’s staring at him.

Taunting him.

Ticking in the aching silence of the house.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, glaring at the clock, listening to it tick, the living room dim because the windows aren’t facing the sun. And then, before his brain can catch up with his body, he’s moving to pry it away from where it stands against the wall, shoving it until it tips over and falls onto its face. The glass shatters, and it dings loudly, and Steve’s heart is pounding as he goes back to the kitchen and snatches his baseball bat from where it’s resting by the door. (Nancy had grabbed it when he dropped it in the Upside Down. He’d wanted to be angry that she had, wanted to forget about it completely, but he likes having it here now.)

The first smash of the bat into the clock is loud, but Steve barely hears it. His vision is blurring suddenly, his eyes hot and stinging as he hits the clock again, and again, and again. The wood splinters and cracks, sending chips flying into the air, just missing his face.

Tears land on the wood. He doesn’t notice. He’s screaming. He doesn’t notice that either.

—————————

“Steven?”

Steve’s eyes flutter open. His room is dark, the curtain drawn to keep the sun out, and his blanket is tight in his hands, drawn to his chin.

“Steven?”

His mother’s voice makes him ache. He stares at the wall as his bed shifts under her weight as she sits beside his body. Her hand is gentle on his side.

“Was there a break-in?”

He shakes his head minutely, just enough for her to notice.

“Are you alright?”

He shakes his head again.

“What happened, dear, talk to me,” she says softly, rubbing his arm, and he sighs heavily.

It’s been too long for him to be feeling like this. The Byers and Mike are back. Max is awake. She can’t see, and she can’t use her legs, but when Steve spoke she smiled, and he could swear it was the like the sun rose again.

Robin’s clothes are still on the floor from the last time she slept over a few days ago. She left wearing Steve’s sweatpants and t-shirt, and Steve hasn’t bothered to clean up.

Steve sits up slowly, tiredly. He hasn’t gotten out of bed in at least a day, but he’s barely slept. Eddie’s vest is by his pillow. It still smells like him, like weed and cigarettes and something masculine and warm.

His father is standing at the end of his bed, watching him with the same shining concern his mother is eyeing him with. He hasn’t seen them in months, but it’s not the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other.

His mom takes his hand. Her hands are always a little cold, soft and smelling like floral lotion. They’re covered in wrinkles. They’ve always looked older than they should, but he’s never minded. He’s always found them lovely. Her ring sparkles even though the sunlight is dim in his room.

“My friend died,” he whispers.

They both exhale.

“The earthquakes?” his mom asks, and he nods, looking down at their hands. She squeezes when his lip quivers.

“Not Robin,” his father says carefully, tentatively, and he shakes his head, taking a hiccuping breath.

“Robin’s fine, it was…”

“You took it out on the clock?”

Steve nods.

“Sorry.”

He isn’t sorry. He can’t bring himself to care.

His mom just rubs his hand gently, squeezing, but he pulls his hand away after a moment, wrapping his arms around himself and curling into a ball.

“I just wanna be alone,” he says weakly.

“Do you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as they sting, and he’s so fucking sick of crying. The skin of his cheeks is dry from the salt, and he just wants to feel fine again, but it feels like he’ll never feel fine again.

“I don’t know,” he chokes, his arms tightening. “I just want him.”

“Come here, Stevie.”

He falls into her arms, a sob wracking his body, and she holds him, pulling him closer like he’s a baby again. She doesn’t say anything about the vest, or about the ring on his finger, or about the way he cries I just got him, Mommy, it’s not fucking fair.

They never talk about the clock again. His father cleans it up and throws it all away. Steve finds his bat in the corner a few days later, but they don’t say anything about it either.

—————————

Steve goes back to the hospital for a required checkup. Mandatory. He hates it, that he doesn’t have a choice. He supposes he does have a choice, as a twenty-year-old man (that doesn’t really feel like a man at all) that drives himself. But Owens said if he doesn’t go, he’ll go to Steve’s house, and Steve doesn’t want that.

They test his vision and his hearing. Shockingly, miraculously, his vision is more or less okay. They still give him glasses to wear home. He leaves them on his bedside table.

But his hearing isn’t good. In his right ear, it’s okay. But his left ear is almost deaf, which he had noticed before, but he hasn’t really cared. He gets by with it. Steps around people so they’re to his right, watches their mouths form words that he can’t really hear.

They give him a hearing aid. Beige and white, already fitting fine when they give it to him that day. Owens shows him how to use it, how to adjust it, and kindly ignores the way Steve winces and cringes at the feeling of it. It’s uncomfortable. He knows he just has to get used to it.

He goes back to work. Keith let him take some time off after Robin talked to him.

He hates the vest he has to wear, and he hates how bright the store is with the glass doors, and he hates the customers even though he knows they just want distractions from all the bullshit that’s going on. He hates everything. He’s always angry now.

He’s shorter with customers than he wants to be, shorter with Robin than he wants to be. But she gets it. She lets him be angry.

He closes doors harder than he needs to, and on some day he takes his new hearing aid off with a huff because everything is just too much. Too loud, too bright, too close.

It’s slow today, luckily. He’s still angry. And tired.

Robin has some movie on the television above the counter. The volume is low. She’s doodling on a scrap of paper. Steve is staring at the ground. He does that a lot now.

The bell above the door dings happily when the door opens, and Steve blinks, his eyes refocusing before he looks up, finding a man at the front door, taking a flier go the glass carefully. A lot of people do that now, looking for missing pets or trying to sell cars and furniture before they leave town.

It takes Steve a moment to recognize him, and Robin seems to recognize him at the same time, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” as Steve straightens up, watching. He can see Eddie’s face as the sunlight shines through the paper.

“Mr Munson?” he says weakly as he comes out from behind the counter, approaching him slowly, tentatively, eyes trained on the flier.

“I’m not botherin’ anyone,” Mr Munson says gruffly, the sentence familiar and practiced, like he’s said it a million times. “Just a flier.”

“I was with him.”

Mr Munson turns slowly, tape still sticking to his callused fingertips. His eyes are shining, his brows furrowed, and he looks some awful place between scared and angry.

“What?” he asks, his voice low, breathy.

Robin says Steve’s name behind him.

“During the— the earthquake,” he adds carefully, telling Robin that he’s not violating the NDAs.

Mr Munson stares at him. His breathing is shaky.

“What happened to my boy?” he asks gruffly.

Steve’s throat tightens, and he twists the ring around his fingers, blinking his burning eyes hard.

“Can we talk?”

He takes him to the break room.

They sit at the circular table, across from each other, and Steve never realized how small the room was until now. Their knees are almost touching.

“Tell me.”

Steve takes a breath, his fingers twisting.

“He… He saved our friend.”

Mr Munson stares, but he seems to understand it. He seems to know.

“Who?” he asks quietly.

“Dustin… Dustin Henderson. From— From Hellfire.”

He nods, looking at the ground. His hands are shaking. Steve watches.

“He was…” He takes a breath, swallowing, trying to stop his eyes from burning and his heart from pounding. “He was brave. He was a— a hero.” His voice cracks.

“Did he suffer?” Mr Munson asks the floor.

“No,” Steve lies, the blood flashing in his mind, the sound of Eddie’s strained breathing, his furrowed brows and squeezed shut eyes. “It was quick.”

Mr Munson nods.

Steve hesitates, listening to the painful silence before he reaches to the chain around his neck, pulling the guitar pick out from under the collar of his shirt. Mr Munson watches, his expression shifting as he watches it appear. There’s blood on the chain.

Steve holds it out to him, his hand trembling, and he takes it. His eyes catch on the ring.

Mr Munson holds it, looks at the blood, at the way the red of the pick shines even in the mundane, fluorescent light of the break room.

“What about…” He swallows, blinking. “What about the girl? Chrissy? And— And the other boys, they—“

“It wasn’t Eddie,” Steve says sharply before he can stop himself. “Eddie was just… He was just an easy target, he didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to help Chrissy.”

Wayne stares, eyes flooded with tears.

“They think it was him,” he says weakly. “They all think he hurt them.”

“They don’t know Eddie like we do,” Steve says softly. “Eddie wouldn’t do that.”

Wayne looks away, his lip quivering, nodding.

“He was scared,” Steve says weakly, his throat tight, voice thin. He wants to hide when Wayne looks at him, but he doesn’t. “He ran. It was…”

Wayne nods, wiping his face, smiling a little. He’s quiet for a few moments, gazing at the guitar pick. His hands are shaking, and he’s a little breathless when he speaks again.

“Were you…” He pauses, clearing his voice because his voice is too rough, too wobbly as a tear falls from his eyes. It feels wrong to see him cry, this man with his calluses and sunlight stained skin, with his work clothes and the cigarettes sticking out of his chest pocket. This man that’s gruff and intimidating, reduced to tears. “Were you in love?”

The question makes Steve’s blood run cold, and he doesn’t really know why. He doesn’t ask it rudely, or like he’s upset that Eddie’s ring is on Steve’s finger.

“I think—“ Steve’s voice cuts off. He exhales. “I think we could have been. If we had more time.”

He nods.

“Mr Munson—“

“Wayne. Please.”

“…Wayne,” Steve whispers. Wayne looks at him, eyes oddly soft. “Eddie… Eddie was good.”

Wayne nods, his lips twitching into a smile even though his eyes are glistening with tears.

“He was, wasn’t he?” he says fondly, looking at the guitar pick. “Didn’t deserve any of the shit he got.”

And then he’s crying. Squeezing his eyes shut and leaning over, bringing the pick to his forehead as he shakes silently. Steve wipes his own face, taking a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” Wayne chokes after a while, eyes trained on the pick.

“I wish I could have…”

Helped him. Saved him. Found him sooner.

Wayne shakes his head.

“You did it all right, kid.”

Steve crumbles.

Wayne is there to pick him up.

He smells like Eddie did, Steve learns when Wayne holds him in his arms. Like cigarettes and leather and whatever lingers in their house. Wayne’s hands are rough but gentle on him, running over his head and back as he cries. Wayne is kind.

“He loved you more than anything, Wayne.”

Wayne just closes his eyes.

Robin looks like she’s been crying when they finally emerge from the break room, and Wayne gives her nod before he leaves, hand still clutching Eddie’s guitar pick.

The flier isn’t on the door when he leaves, and Steve finds it a moment later on the counter, next to Robin’s doodles.

“I thought… I thought maybe you’d like a picture of him.”

Steve stops at the counter, looking down at it. Robin is quiet as he touches the paper, brushes his thumb over the photo of Eddie the way he did when he wiped away his tears as he was dying. He skims the text under it, reads Eddie’s description.

Edward.

He was only 20.

He didn’t even get to graduate this year.

Heat rushes through Steve’s body and he briefly wants to grab the paper in his hand, to crumple it up into a ball or rip it to pieces, but he doesn’t. He knows he’d regret it if he did.

The description mentions the vest that’s in Steve’s room, resting on his pillow. His chest hurts.

Steve swallows, his throat tight, and he turns to Robin, arms open. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he hugs her waist so tightly he almost lifts her into the air.

“I love you, Robbie,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he says it. But she seems to get it. She always does.

“I love you, too.”

—————————

It’s nice to get away from it all sometimes.

Steve sometimes takes his car out to the quarry, or to the lake, just to watch the water. Or the sky. Just to sit in the silence by himself, twisting Eddie’s ring around his finger. He stays there for hours, until the air is cold and the sky is dim.

He goes to the woods behind Forest Hills, sits on a dead tree and watches the dry leaves blow across the ground. He stares at the green grass and moss, at the mushrooms and flowers and twigs. He doesn’t look up when he hears branches break and leaves rustle. He can’t really be bothered to care.

He knows it’s all over. That Vecna is gone, as are the demodogs and the bats and the vines. It still lingers in his mind when he hears something in the woods around him, that there might be a demodog watching him, quiet, ready to pounce. But he still can’t bring himself to fight back.

Nothing ever attacks him. It’s always a squirrel, or a deer, and once a teenager looking for a place to get high. The world leaves him alone. It lets him rest.

He leaves Hawkins for a day. Just to get out. To see what it’s like.

He goes to Indianapolis. It’s a quiet drive up, the volume of the radio down low. It’s raining out, and the sound of it is nice on the windows and the roof of the car, tapping like it’s asking to come inside, to join him. The swiping of the windshield wipers is calm, consistent and steady, and as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other lifting a cigarette to his lips, he feels calmer than he’s felt in a while.

He gets a coffee from a cafe and sits at the window, watching people pass in the rain, their umbrellas blurry in the misty window. He takes his hearing aid off. The mug is warm on his hands.

He didn’t bring an umbrella, but he doesn’t mind his hair getting wet.

He walks. And walks. And walks.

He only stops when his eyes find a record store. The sign is big, wood painted with black text and a spiderweb that extends over the building, matching a spiderweb that’s painted on the front door. There’s glowing open sign on the door.

He goes inside. It’s warm, and the music is quiet because he hasn’t put his hearing aid back on. (It’s in the inside pocket of his jacket.) There are more people here than he expected, all looking through stacks of records and tapes and posters.

He explores quietly, avoiding people’s eyes, eyes skimming the records. He sees some that he recognizes, Tears for Fears, Wham!, Duran Duran, and a lot that he doesn’t.

He stops when he finds the metal section. It was unintentional, coming across it, but a part of him wonders if he was looking for it.

He comes closer, stepping past a man with long, straight hair, looking at the row of band names. They’re alphabetical, and he doesn’t know any of them. Some of them sound kind of scary.

DIO

Steve stops, his eyes catching on the name, and he swallows, reaching for it with a shaking hand. He pulls the other records up, moving them out of the way so he can slide a record up, looking at the cover.

THE LAST IN LINE

He lets the other records fall, holding the record to his chest, suddenly protective of it.

He holds it as he looks through the rest of the records, looking for names he recognizes. He stops at Megadeth, recognizing it from a patch on Eddie’s vest, and then Ozzy Osbourne. He can practically hear Eddie’s voice in his head.

Ozzy Osbourne? Black Sabbath? He bit a bat’s head off on stage— No? Doesn’t matter.

Steve blinks at the ceiling, pulling a record out of the crate and adding it to the other two against his chest.

“Hi,” a voice says next to him, on his good side, and he startles, almost fumbling with the records as he turns to look. It’s an employee, smiling at him, friendly. His hair is tied back with a black bandana.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“Do you need help finding anything?” the man asks, speaking slowly like he notices right away that Steve is watching his lips move. Steve hesitates, looking down at the records in his arms.

“Uhm.” He almost says no. But a thought crosses his mind. “I don’t… know what it’s called,” he says, looking back at the man. He’s older than Steve, maybe around Hopper’s age, his eyes hooded and kind. “Something about, uhm— Tennessee waltz?” Steve finishes awkwardly.

“Oh, classic,” the man says, his face lighting up with a smile. “Patti Page, right?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Steve shrugs weakly, but the man tosses a hand.

“I’ll find the tape and you can give it a listen,” he says. “See if it’s the right one.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly, nervously. He follows the man across the store, hands shaking, and he sets the records down while he looks for the tape and brings back a Walkman and headphones. He sets the tape up while Steve puts his hearing aid back on.

He seems to notice how Steve is feeling. How anxious he is. How his eyes are burning a little bit. And he tells Steve he’s going to help some others while Steve listens.

Steve leans against the counter, taking a breath and sliding his thumb over Eddie’a ring before he presses play.

It doesn’t sound like anything Eddie would listen to. It’s almost funny.

It’s slow, and soft. The singer’s voice is lilting, shaking in a way that it’s supposed to, not because she’s breathless and bleeding. Steve presses his hands to the counter, steadying himself.

Now I know just how much I have lost…

He squeezes his eyes shut, the store falling silent as he listens, as he holds his breath.

Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing

The beautiful Tennessee Waltz

It was only two more words.

Eddie missed two goddamn words.

Part of Steve wonders if it would have made a difference. If he’d have been less angry if Eddie had managed to get them out, but he knows that it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s still angry. He’s still heartbroken.

The song repeats it all over again, and Steve finally breathes, inhaling slowly, carefully, trying to release the tension in his shoulders.

When it ends, Steve opens his eyes and blearily stops the tape, pulling off the headphones. His vision is blurry with unshed tears, and he blinks them back, looking up at the ceiling. It’s covered with posters.

A hand touches his back gently, and he startles again, turning to find the man again, smiling at him.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quickly, looking away and blinking hard, pinching his nose as he clears his throat. “Uh, can I— can I get this tape?”

“‘Course,” the man says, his hand lingering for a moment before it falls. “Those records too?”

“Yeah, please.”

The man is quiet while Steve pays, while he puts the records and the tape in a paper bag that’s stamped with the spiderweb from the sign outside.

“Thank you,” Steve says softly when he takes the bag. The man smiles.

“Take care.”

Steve goes back to his car. He sets the bag in the passenger seat. And he cries.

It pours as he drives home, the rain loud and shattering as he breathes. The road is slick, shining in the grey evening light, and his vision blurs as he cries again.

He pulls over.

His whole body hurts. It feels like he’s being burned, like every cell in his body is sizzling, drops of water on a hot pan. His tears sting on his cheeks, and his hands are shaking too much for him to wipe them away.

The rain drowns his screams out.

He brings the bag to his room when he gets home, setting them carefully on his bed after kicking aside the clothes on the floor, dropping his jacket to join them. And then he goes downstairs to where his mom is sitting on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine with a magazine in her lap. He wordlessly pushes the magazine aside and she lets him, lifting her arm as he lays on his side, curling up into a ball, making himself as small as possible, his head on her lap.

Her hand is gentle as she combs through his hair. It’s longer now, practically at his shoulders, always falling in his face. He barely ever has the energy to do anything with it.

“It’ll pass,” his mom murmurs softly, combing his hair gently, lovingly. He closes his eyes, shrinking into himself and exhaling. He falls asleep there, listening to her breathe.

—————————

I was dancing

With my darling

To the Tennessee Waltz…

Steve tightens his arms around himself, his eyes squeezing shut tighter. His hands are gripping his blanket, and his fingers are tired, but he doesn’t move. It’s dark in his room, but it can’t be past three in the afternoon. His curtains are drawn. Robin’s clothes are still on the floor.

His ears are sore from his headphones. He’s been replaying the song for hours, over and over and over, and it’s echoing in his head, but he doesn’t stop. He just wants to fall asleep.

He doesn’t move when he hears his door creak open except to open his eyes, watching as Robin navigates the room in the dim light, stepping over clothes and garbage. He’s embarrassed about it, if he’s honest, even though he knows he doesn’t really need to be. She doesn’t mind. She understands.

She climbs into bed in front of him, rolling onto her side and facing him. They stare at each other for a few moments.

Steve wants to cry. He can’t.

Robin reaches up and touches his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek, over his dry skin, soft and gentle. He closes his eyes, exhaling, and she keeps touching him, running her fingertips back and forth over his cheek and down his neck, avoiding the chord of the headphones. It tickles over the scar on his neck. He doesn’t mind.

He opens his eyes after a while. Her eyes are glistening. She nods at the headphones.

He reaches up to take them off, sighing, and she takes them, putting them on and listening. He can hear his own blood rush when they’re off. It’s too quiet without it. He can still hear it playing faintly as Robin listens.

I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz

Now I know just how much I have lost

Robin takes them off after a moment, a silent question in her eyes, and Steve takes them as she hits pause on the Walkman.

“He was singing it,” he whispers, his voice broken from disuse. “When he died.”

She nods, her lips twisting as she touches his face again, and she leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before their foreheads touch. He closes his eyes again, reaching to pull her closer by her waist. Their legs tangle under the blanket, and she pushes her fingers into his hair, untangling it.

“Will you come downstairs?” she whispers after a while.

“I don’t want to,” he says weakly, almost whining. Childish.

“Your parents are worried about you, babe,” she says softly. “You gotta eat.”

“Robin…” he breathes, closing his eyes, his brows furrowing.

“Come on,” she says gently, sitting up, taking his hand even as he whines in protest. “Your mom made soup.”

He lets her drag him from the bed, sighing heavily as they make their way downstairs slowly, fingers linked. His mom is at the sink, washing some dishes, and his father is at the stove, stirring the pot slowly. They both turn to look when Robin and Steve come in, and Steve stops in the doorway, watching as his dad sets the spoon across the pot.

“You okay?” he asks gently, his hand touching Steve’s shoulder. Steve shakes his head tiredly. His dad pulls him into his arms, swaying gently as Steve melts against him.

They haven’t always seen eye to eye in things. On most things. But Steve lets him pull him close, closing his eyes and burying his face in his shoulder.

“You’ll feel better after you eat,” he says, gently pulling Steve to the island, where he sits in a seat heavily, sighing when a bowl of soup in placed in front of him.

He stares at it. At the pale broth, speckled with flakes of seasonings and herbs, at the noodles and pieces of chicken and carrots and celery, at the spoon shining at him. It’s hot, the steam wafting into his face. There’s lemon in it.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbles.

His father’s hand pauses as it runs over his back.

“Now?” he says. “Or if you eat?”

“If… If I eat.”

“Why don’t you try just some broth first?” him mom suggests gently. “And then try some more if it’s okay?”

“…Okay.”

She takes the bowl back. He waits as she pours it back in the pot, as she ladles broth into his bowl carefully. He’s vaguely aware that Robin leaves, that she goes upstairs, but he doesn’t really notice, too focussed on the bowl in front of him. On the way his hands shake as he brings the spoon to his lips slowly.

It tastes good. But it also feels muffled, like all of his senses are under water. Like everything has to go through something before it gets to him.

It takes a long time for him to finish the bowl. It’s almost cold by the time he gets to the bottom of it.

He sets his spoon down when he finishes, sliding his bowl away, and his dad pats his back gently.

“You wanna try some more?”

Steve just leans against him, exhaling, and he closes his eyes. He hears the bowl scrape across the counter as his mom takes it, and his dad wraps an arm around him, gently hugging him.

He manages to have a half a bowl of soup, including some of the chickens and some of the vegetables, before he feels sick. He pushes the bowl away wordlessly, grimacing, and his dad pats his back again, murmuring, “That’s alright.”

He sits there for a few more minutes, sipping a glass of water slowly, until Robin comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck gently. He lifts his hands to her forearms, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her arm. Her skin is cool.

“I miss him,” he breathes.

“I know. It’s gonna be okay.”

He distantly hears his mom’s voice say, “Thank you, Robin,” as Robin takes him back upstairs, their fingers linked again.

He stops short in his doorway, his tired eyes scanning across the room. The floor is clean, the drawers of his dresser shut neatly. His bed is made, Eddie’s vest folded and placed on his pillow, the Walkman and headphones on top of it. His hamper is gone.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” Robin says quietly, squeezing his hand.

He exhales, pulling at her hand, tugging her into a tight hug before he lifts her up, carries her over to the bed, and sets her down, laying on top of her. She hugs him back, shifting to move the Walkman out of the way, and then she gets the vest, carefully setting it over his back as he nuzzles into her chest, closing his eyes, sighing.

He finally falls asleep.

—————————

Nancy comes over after a while. She brings a casserole her mom made, and when Steve’s parents go out for the day, off to support some displaced families, Nancy drags Steve downstairs. For a change of scenery.

She looks nice. Her hair is curly, tied up in a ponytail in the summer heat. (She comments that the air conditioning is nice at Steve’s.) She crosses her legs when they sit on the sofa, looking over at Steve.

He feels like shit.

He hadn’t realized how long it’s been. Time passes differently when he doesn’t open his windows, and when he hasn’t even bothered to call Keith to let him know that he won’t be coming in.

“Steve.”

He blinks, realizing their eyes are locked.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You’re not eating.”

“Sorry.”

He pokes at the food with his fork. There’s chicken in it. He doesn’t want to eat it.

He takes a small bite anyway, feeling Nancy’s eyes on him.

“You okay?” she asks after a quiet moment.

“…Not really.”

He can see the pain shine in her eyes, but he doesn’t want her to ask, so he interrupts with, “How’s, uhm. How’s Jonathan?”

She nods, taking a bite.

“He’s good. He and Argyle are going to California in a few weeks.”

“Are you still going to Boston?”

“Yeah, just… Term starts in October, so. I have some time.”

He nods. He can feel her pity. He’s pathetic, he knows. She and Jonathan and Argyle are going to college, moving on with their lives, and Steve is here, wearing the same sweater he’s worn for the past week, his hair greasy and flat. He barely cares anymore. But he still feels…

He doesn’t know what. Guilty, maybe.

“How are the kids?” he asks quietly.

“Everyone’s fine, Steve,” she says softly.

“Just… Tell me. Please.”

She’s quiet as he stares at his food. Mostly uneaten.

“Max started physical therapy,” she starts. Her voice is gentle. He thinks it would be a nice voice for story-telling. “She still can’t feel her legs, but she’s getting really good with her arms, she’s getting the hang of pushing the wheels of her wheelchair. El got her some sunglasses, per her request. They’re purple.”

Steve takes a small bite of his food, nodding.

“She misses skating,” Nancy continues. “Erica found some rollerblades and took down a long sidewalk. Jonathan monitored. Max said it was nice to feel the wind in her hair again.”

Steve’s chest hurts, imagining it. Max’s red hair flying in the wind behind her. Her smile. Erica cackling happily. Jonathan watching raptly, just in case.

“Will is good,” Nancy says. “It’s like he can finally rest now. He’s just being a kid again, and it’s… It’s really nice. He and the boys played D&D with Argyle. It was… Well. It was a lot.” He can hear her smile as he speaks, and he half-smiles, softening. Argyle seems like he would enjoy it. “Dustin has a cane. Will painted it for him. Red. Mike said he should get another and paint it like a giant candy cane for Christmas.”

“How’s Mike?”

“Mike is good. …He and El broke up.”

Steve looks up, wide-eyed, and she grins, nodding.

“It’s all fine,” she says. “They’re friends. It seems easier for them now, to be around each other as friends. El keeps making fun of his hair.”

Steve’s lips twitch into another smile.

“Oh.” He pokes at his food again. “Lucas?”

“Good. He convinced Mike to help him practice basketball. It’s funny.”

Steve scoffs in spite of himself, imagining Mike and his gangly arms bouncing around the Sinclairs’ driveway. Complaining, most likely.

“How’s, uhm, Max’s mom? The earthquakes…”

“She wasn’t home,” Nancy says, quickly easing his worry. “She was out, at the, uh, the liquor store. Owens got her a new apartment like he did with— with Wayne. It’s in town,” she says, quickly moving past the mention of Wayne. The mention that makes Steve’s stomach ache. He doesn’t want to eat. “It’s not really… very wheelchair accessible,” she continues. “Argyle helps Max in and out. He usually drives her around anyway, since her wheelchair fits in his van.”

Steve nods. He should be helping Max. He should be driving her around town, taking her and the kids to the arcade, to the roller rink, to the movies, to lunch, to school. Has school even started yet? Probably not, if Argyle and Jonathan are still here. What day is it?

Tears are falling from his eyes before he even notices them flooding, and he drops his head, looking down, covering his face with a hand. He hears Nancy exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “I feel like— like I fucking abandoned all of you, I—”

“You didn’t abandon us, Steve,” Nancy says gently, and Steve feels the sofa shift as she moves closer, her hand touching his arm. “We understand.”

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s not fair. Dustin was close with Eddie, too. Closer than Steve was. And Wayne— He was practically Wayne’s son. But Steve is the only one like this: shut away from the rest of the world, wrapped in fabric despite it being July (August? He doesn’t even know anymore), ears hot from headphones, fingertips cold because he hasn’t been eating enough. It’s not fair.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes, and Nancy sighs as she takes his plate. He lets her, hands falling to his lap.

“Steve,” she says firmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re depressed.”

His body aches. He falls against the back of the sofa, arms wrapping around himself, shivering.

Depressed.

The word feels so grey. Too pale. It’s not dark enough for this, for what Steve is feeling. But he can’t think of a better word for it, for the way he can’t stand the idea of stepping outside, for the way he can barely even remember what it’s like to have enough energy to step into the shower, to cook a meal like he used to. He can barely believe it, the fact that he used to cook and clean and work, like a grown-up. That he used to make meals for himself, pack leftovers for Robin, that he used to drive himself and the others around town, that he used to laugh and banter and tease. That he used to make phone calls when something wasn’t working in the house, that he used to fix his car up, change the oil. He’s so helpless now. He barely eats the food his parents bring him, barely moves enough to keep his muscles from aching every time he shifts. He doubts he’d even be able to carry Max or her wheelchair. The thought makes him cry harder.

“Can I hug you?” Nancy asks.

He nods.

She immediately climbs across the sofa, lifting her arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him close and exhaling when he relaxes against her. Her hands are gentle, combing through his hair even though it’s unwashed, over his back and shoulders. He closes his eyes, taking stuttering breaths, and even though it’s nice, even though she’s soft and gentle and comforting, this feels wrong. Because he feels so small, so helpless and young, but they’re the same age. He might even be older. He doesn’t know.

And he remembers Barb. How everything changed when she disappeared, how the world turned upside down, and how he didn’t even notice that everything changed for Nancy in a different way. Steve feels guilty for being here, for being at home while Eddie is lying lifeless in hell, and Nancy must have felt the same way. Going home to her family, to her house, to her bed, while wondering where the hell Barb was, wondering if she was scared when she died.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve chokes, his voice broken and weak and whining, muffled by Nancy’s arm. “Nancy, I’m so— I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Steve,” she says quietly.

“No, Barb, you— you were missing her, and I— I didn’t get it, but—”

She pulls him back sharply, holding his shoulders, and he thinks she’s angry, flinching, but she just looks into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes are gleaming now, shining with tears.

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

His chest clenches, and he blinks tears out of his eyes, focussing on the firm grip of her hands on his shoulders.

“Nance…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she says firmly. “You understand me?”

He closes his eyes, and she holds his face, pressing their foreheads together. He aches. He aches. He aches.

“You’re struggling,” Nancy says softly, and her voice is tense, tight and thin. The very though of her crying makes him sob weakly. “And I’m sorry I left you down there, Steve, that wasn’t— that wasn’t fair.”

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet no, reaching to hold her arms. She’s wearing a t-shirt, the sleeves cuffed cutely, and her skin is warm, soft. Like summertime. He misses the sun.

“You don’t— Don’t apologize, it’s— it’s okay, Nancy, I…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers anyway. He pulls away, holding her arms, looking at her as best he can even though she’s blurry, swimming in tears.

“Don’t,” he says, chokes. “You— You got Dustin away, that’s what Eddie wanted.”

He hasn’t said his name in a while. It feels foreign in his mouth, but also… oddly familiar. The way it felt to wander the Wheelers’ house in the Upside Down, like he knows it, like he’s at home with it, but like he isn’t supposed to be there. It’s too dark. Lonely. Infested.

Nancy seems to feel it too, and Steve suddenly wonders if the others have talked about it.

About Eddie.

“It’s okay,” he says. Whimpers. She nods, her hands shifting to hold his jaw, cradling his face.

“It’s okay,” she repeats quietly.

They end up tangled together on the sofa, arms and legs wrapped around each other, and it feels somehow easy. Easy as she pets his hair, as he listens to her heartbeat.

“I was thinking,” she says softly after a while, after the tears have dried on their cheeks. “If you aren’t ready to go out yet, we can… we can invite them over here. Robin and Jon and Argyle. For a movie or something.”

He closes his eyes.

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“I miss them.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her hand pausing in his hair, her cheek pressing to the top of his head.

“We miss you too.”

Like she can tell that he’s not really there.

They come over the next week, while Steve’s parents are gone for dinner with some of their friends. Steve told them they’d be coming, and he felt a little better upon seeing the way their faces lit up, the way they smiled at each other. Like everything was finally getting better.

It might be. Just a little.

Steve finally showers. Puts some product in his hair to help it get back to normal. He changes into clean clothes, shorts that used to be sweatpants and a light sweater that hangs down past his hips, and when he drops his other clothes in his hamper, his dad stops outside his room, knocking lightly and asking if Steve wants him to take it downstairs, to put it in the washer. Like he knows how drained Steve already is.

Jonathan’s the first to show up, oddly enough. Even before Robin.

Steve squints in the sun when he opens the door, glancing past him to look for Argyle, but he isn’t there. It’s just Jonathan.

“Hey,” Jonathan says lightly, looking at Steve, who says the same back, holding the door open for him to come in. Jonathan pauses when he’s inside, after kicking his shoes off, and he doesn’t ask how Steve is like Steve expects. Instead he just turns to him and opens his arms, tilting his head, wordlessly asking permission. Steve just steps into them, hugging him tightly. Jonathan’s arms are firm around him, hands rubbing his back. Steve doesn’t know how long they stand there, just holding each other, swaying slightly, but he doesn’t even want to cry.

When they part, they don’t say anything. Steve just leads him to the living room to look at the selection of movies he has laid out on the coffee table.

Nancy and Robin show up together, and they hug Steve at the same time, his head between theirs, their scents mixing. (Nancy uses strawberry shampoo. Robin uses something vaguely masculine.) And then Robin hooks an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer as Nancy moves past them to kiss Jonathan lightly.

Argyle shows up a little later, carrying some pizzas, commenting that they may not be Surfer Boy pizza, but any pizza is good pizza in his book. It’s about the spirit, man. The pizza spirit. He’d been taking Max and Lucas around, following from a respectable distance as Lucas took Max on a date before he took them to Max’s apartment.

“Third wheeling’s not so bad,” he says when he tells them all, arms wrapped around Steve, covering his face almost absentmindedly like he doesn’t even notice that he’s hugging him. Jonathan is watching, an amused grin on his face. “They’re so happy, man. I love love.” And he sighs heavily, laying his head on top of Steve’s.

Steve laughs.

He hasn’t laughed in a long time. Even the thought of laughing felt foreign to him. But he giggles, feeling the weight of Argyle’s head, the secure hold of his arms around his neck, the lingering scent of weed on his arms, mixing with some kind of cologne.

Steve ends up between Argyle and Robin during the movie, his legs tangled with Robin’s, head resting on the back of the sofa. He’s barely watching the movie, nibbling his pizza slowly, quietly. He gets through one and a half slices before it’s too much, and he gives the rest of his second slice to Robin.

When Argyle finishes eating, he wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close, wordlessly asking if he’s okay. Steve sighs, nuzzling into his shoulder, closing his eyes. It occurs to him that he and Jonathan haven’t even mentioned weed all night, that they haven’t offered any up like they usually do, and he wonders if they all talked about this beforehand. If they discussed the fact that mind-altering substances aren’t a good idea for Steve right now.

Steve’s chest flushes with warmth at the thought. He presses closer to Argyle, reaching over to find Robin’s hand, pulling her closer and lacing their fingers. She squeezes three times. He squeezes back.

He tries to watch the movie. He doesn’t know what’s going on it, hasn’t been following the plot for a while. His chest tightens when he realizes that it feels like something is missing, and that something is Eddie. He pushes down the urge to go get Eddie’s vest, to curl back up against Argyle with the vest hugged to his chest, his face buried in it for the remaining traces of Eddie’s scent. He knows how weird that would be. Robin might be the only one that even knows he still has it.

He touches the ring around his finger, brushing over it with his thumb, pushing it to twist slowly. He hasn’t taken it off. He can’t even feel it anymore, like it’s just part of his finger, like the stone is just a small extension of him. But he knows that if he took it off, it would feel like the world is ending. He’s thought about it, about leaving the ring on his bedside during the day, to get used to Eddie’s absence, but the very thought made his chest tighten and breath shorten, and he wondered if this was how Lucas felt when he had to leave Max at the hospital. And then he was just mad at himself, because that wasn’t fair. To anyone.

Robin squeezes his hand again when she notices him touching the ring. He blinks his eyes, taking a deep breath, nodding.

—————————

It feels weird to drive again.

Weird, but now wrong. He supposes it’s like riding a bike. Everything comes naturally, and he barely thinks twice about anything as he pulls out of his driveway, as he scolds Robin for putting her feet on the dashboard. (He lets her put them on her seat, sitting all curled up as she looks out the window. She can never sit normally, both feet on the ground. So he allows it.)

She’s rocking back and forth as he drives, humming along to the radio.

The sun is shining brightly. It’s hot out, and the car is a little cool from sitting in the garage, but the seats are still warm, sticking to Robin’s thighs as her shorts ride up. There are people outside, loading boxes into cars, barbecuing on grills. Children jumping through sprinklers, laughing and smiling. It all feels surreal, seeing them all living their lives in spite of it all.

“You didn’t tell them I’m coming, did you?” he asks after a while. He glances at Robin to see her grinning.

“Nope.”

“Because why would you.”

“Mhmm.”

His heart is beating fast as he pulls into the Wheelers’ driveway, and he puts the car in park, he takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily, his hands falling to his lap as he leans back. Robin leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder fondly.

“They’re gonna be so excited to see you, Stevie,” she says softly. He nods, sighing, blinking his eyes. “You ready?”

“…Yeah.”

Karen opens the door for them. She’s beaming when it swings open, holding a doll that must be Holly’s, and before Steve can even say hello, she’s pulling him into a hug, rocking back and forth.

It’s a good hug. Warm, tight, comforting. She tells him softly how nice it is to see him again. He thanks her for the casserole. She says she’ll cook for him anytime, that if he and his parents ever need anything she’s available. He can feel the doll she’s holding pressing into his shoulder, but he doesn’t mind it.

“The kids are all downstairs,” she says when she finally releases him, reaching to touch Robin’s face lightly, motherly. “They’ll be glad to see you. I’ll keep an ear out for Dustin screaming.”

Steve laughs lightly, nodding. She touches his face, nodding as she looks into his eyes, like she knows. She doesn’t know much, but maybe that thing Steve’s mom’s always said about a mother’s intuition really has something to it. He feels better when he feels her hands on his face, soft and loving, when she looks into his eyes and smiles in a way that says it’s okay even though she doesn’t know the half of it.

Steve heads toward the basement stairs with a heavy sigh, feeling Robin’s hand rub his shoulder.

It’s a little dim downstairs, as usual, and the stairs creak as he descents, but the kids’ voices don’t quiet. Dustin and Will are bickering, Erica is laughing, Lucas is scolding her, Mike is groaning dramatically, El is giggling, Max is commenting dryly. It’s all the same. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs before they notice him, and he manages to take a moment to look at them all. Watching them. Kind of wishing he could just be a fly on the wall, watching them be kids and fuck around, fighting about something stupid and mundane and normal.

Mike notices him first.

“Steve!”

He practically tackles Steve in a hug, gangly arms tight around Steve’s middle, and Steve startles, a grin overtaking his face because Micheal Wheeler is hugging him, hugging him back with a light laugh before the others are joining, all yelling variations of his name. Max pushes herself to sit up straight on the sofa, beaming and turning in his direction, waiting patiently.

“Hi, hi, hi,” Steve says, hugging them all, touching the tops of their heads. Erica has purple beads in her hair now. Eleven’s hair is getting curly again. (Steve likes it like this.) Mike’s hair is even longer, wavy and too dry, hanging over his shoulders. “Hi.”

“God, I missed you,” Dustin says. He pushes Lucas out of the way, bear hugging Steve and tucking his face into his neck. Steve hugs him back, closing his eyes for a moment. It feels surreal, holding him again.

“I missed you, too, man,” he says weakly, tears sparking his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He snorts, squeezing his eyes shut before he opens them again, patting Dustin’s back. Dustin lets go, stepping back.

He has Eddie’s bandana tied around his arm. Steve’s gaze lingers on it for a moment before he tears his eyes away, reaching for El and tugging her close, putting his hand in her hair and ruffling her curls as she giggles.

“Look at you,” he says fondly. She swats his hand away, reaching for his hair and tugging the ends of it.

“You need a haircut.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She giggles again.

Lucas is next, his arms tight as he hugs Steve, swaying a little bit.

“You okay?” he asks quietly before they part, holding Steve’s arms. He’s too fucking tall. Man-sized. But still a kid. His eyes are shining vulnerably, childishly, and Steve wants to scream. He wants to take him back into his arms and hold him until they’re both elderly.

“I will be,” Steve says lightly.

He lifts Erica up when she hugs him, and he’s reminded that she’s even younger, just a little girl. She’s going to be a freshman this year. He thinks. She’s just a baby. He holds her tightly, laughing softly and she complains, “You asshole. I missed you.”

Will holds him for a while. He’s shaking. Steve holds him so tightly it kind of hurts, but neither of them says anything. (His hair is different now too, a little longer, messier. It looks nice on him. More careless.)

“Excuse me,” Max says after a while, her voice loud, sarcastic. “I missed you too, dick.”

“Language,” he scolds lightly, smiling as he sits on the sofa next to her. She faces him when his weight makes the sofa shift, face lit up, eyes wide even though she can’t see him.

“Gimme your face,” she says, holding her hands up. “Gotta make sure you’re still pretty.”

He snorts, taking her hands carefully and lifting them to his face. She grins, touching his face, feeling his cheeks and his jaw, his nose and chin and forehead. He has to close his eyes for a moment so she doesn’t poke them, but he gazes at her while she touches him. Her eyes are cloudy, pale, and unfocussed, but her eyebrows are set, focussed on navigating his face like she’s remembering it. Her freckles are bright, her nose and the tops of her ears red. She’s been out in the sun. Just knowing it makes Steve happy.

He snorts when she tries to stick her finger up his nose, and she gives an evil laugh, reaching to pull him into a hug. The others are all quiet as they embrace, as Steve leans over and pulls her close, closes his eyes and sighs heavily. Her hair smells like El’s.

“I missed you,” she says softly, her arms tightening around him. “Like, a lot.”

“I missed you like a lot, too,” he murmurs.

He sighs when they part, his exhale shaky because he’s containing himself, because he can’t let himself cry in front of them all. They’re all watching him, around the room like he’s about to pull out a picture book and read to them. He ruffles Max’s hair one last time before he looks back at them all.

“So, what’d I miss?”

“Mike and El broke up,” Dustin says loudly, and a laugh bursts from Steve’s chest as El giggles and Mike shoots Dustin a look.

“You are so fucking annoying, you know that?”

“You said he could know.”

“Yeah, but you said it like–”

“Mike and I broke up!” El interrupts excitedly, beaming when Mike rolls his eyes and falls onto his back where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. Will laughs, glancing at him.

“I did weed for the first time,” Will says brightly. Steve’s stomach plummets.

“No, you fucking didn’t—”

“No, I’m messing with you. Erica went on a date, though.”

“Wh—” Steve startles, relaxing for a split second before he tenses again. “You just gave me fucking whiplash, what?” He fixes a look on Erica, who’s reaching across a cackling Dustin to smack at Will’s arm. Will giggles, recoiling.

“It wasn’t a date,” she insists.

“You went to the movies and he paid,” Will says sassily.

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes it…” Will gestures with his hands like he’s conducting a band. “A date.”

“Shut up. Max and Lucas made out.”

“Erica,” Lucas scolds, reaching over to swat at her, his eyes wide.

“Just the facts.”

“Did you walk in on it?” Mike asks, laughing, and Erica nods solemnly.

“Lucas threw a pillow at me.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a dictionary. Stay out of my room.”

She just sticks her tongue out at him.

“El got her ears pierced,” Max says brightly, and El sits up on her knees, lighting up, pushing her short curls out of the way so Steve can see. He leans closer, squinting a little bit. The studs are sparkling flowers, tiny blossoms on her earlobes, and she’s grinning widely, happy.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Very uncomfortable.”

“Fair enough.”

They all keep talking. Bickering and bantering and teasing each other, talking over each other’s voices, laughing and telling Steve everything. Catching him up. Reminding him that they’re all growing up. As they talk, Max reaches over and takes his hand, finding it by grabbing his arm and sliding her hand down to his before she squeezes.

They make him stay over for a movie. Robin curls up next to him on the sofa, and Erica lays between them, her head on Steve’s arm that’s around Robin’s shoulders. Max lays on his other side, her legs lifted to rest across Lucas’s lap. He rubs them gently, absentmindedly, as El sits next to him, leaning against his side and sighing.

Mike and Will sit on the floor, side by side. After a while they relax, and their shoulders press, and a part of Steve wonders. Dustin sits on the floor in front of El, who reaches down to play with his hair.

“Where were you?” Max asks quietly as the movie is playing. Steve looks down at her. Her eyes are open, facing the television, and he wonders if she can see the light from it. She’s close enough that no one else hears, and it’s like she just knows that Steve isn’t really watching the movie.

“Home,” he says softly. “In bed, mostly. Not doing much.”

“Did you miss us?” she asks after a moment. His chest tightens. He turns to kiss the top of her head.

“A lot. Yeah.”

She nods, laying on his shoulder.

“Do you feel better?”

“...I’m trying.”

She nods again.

—————————

Steve’s parents leave in August.

They had been meaning to leave in May, down to Floria so they could find a place for their retirement, but they stuck around longer than they planned to because of Steve. They don’t let him feel guilty about it. His dad very firmly reminds him, you’re our son, Steve. No matter what. Through thick and thin. Love and grief. And Steve cries.

They offer to take him with them. They can find him a job there, he can stay with them for as long as he needs to.

But he refuses. Tells them he needs to stay for the kids, for Robin. He can’t leave yet, not until they’re all gone too, until they’re all at college or wherever they decide to go next.

So they leave him the house. And money. They tell him they’ll be home for Christmas, that they’ll call when they arrive at their new house, and if he needs anything, they’ll provide. They both hug him tightly when they leave. They don’t usually have these long, drawn-out goodbyes when they travel, and it’s really no different now (they’ll only be gone a few months), but it feels somehow different now. Like something shifted over the summer, in every dish that he pushed away, every time he crawled onto the sofa and put his head on his mother’s lap, every time he fell against his father and let him catch him. Every time they came in just to sit on the edge of his bed and put a hand on his arm, just to whisper and ask if he feels any better, to pet his hair and kiss his forehead when he doesn’t respond.

The house feels empty when they’re gone. So he calls Robin to come over, and they fall asleep on the sofa after eating leftovers.

She moves in for a while. She’s supposed to stay in the guest room, but she spends most nights in Steve’s, cuddled up against him. She never says anything about the vest.

The kids come over. Max likes being at Steve’s. The hallways are big and empty (especially after he moves the decorative table out of the way), and she can roll her wheelchair down them as fast as she can, laughing and smiling as her hair flies behind her like flames.

Steve spends more time with them, even when he just wants to lay in bed and close his eyes. He leaves his curtains open, forces himself to let sunlight into the room even though it makes his head hurt early in the morning. He discovers that he can still lift Max and her wheelchair, and when Argyle leaves for college with Jonathan, Steve takes over helping Max get home. When the kids start school, he gets up early to take her. Max is in charge of the music.

Robin decides to take a gap year. Steve feels like it might be because of him, because sometimes she worries, on days that he can’t get out of bed, on days that he just sits on the floor with Eddie’s vest and cries, headphones on, on nights that he wakes her up by sobbing in his sleep. She helps him through it all, holding his hand or just being there until he can stand feeling anything again. She makes brownies and brings home cheesy movies to cheer him up, even though it doesn’t always work.

His parents call once a week. Every Thursday evening, before they go to bed, just to check in, see how he’s doing. He knows they worry about him now. He tries not to feel guilty about it.

—————————

They had sandwiches for lunch. Steve made them. Robin praised them, complete with the obnoxious chef’s kiss. She told Steve he makes a lovely housewife. It made him laugh a little.

She knocks her hips into his as she navigates the kitchen, putting away dishes as he washes them. She pauses to push his glasses up his nose when she notices them sliding down. It’s quiet. Sunny. Warm.

Wednesday. It’s hard for Steve to keep track of the days of the week. He’s always asking Robin what day it is, just in case, and she always tells him before commenting that there’s a calendar in the kitchen. (It’s a nice calendar, every day noted with what Steve has to do, drive Max to school, pick Lucas up after basketball practice, drive El over to the Sinclairs’, get groceries. Et cetera. Every day gets marked off with a black marker, and medical appointments are marked in red. They both hate medical appointments. They go together.)

He’s tired today. He’s tired a lot of the time. Even though all he’s done today is take Max to school and make lunch, he feels drained, fatigued. He wants to go lay in bed in the dark, but he won’t. Maybe he’ll fall asleep on the sofa for a while before he goes to pick Max up.

Robin is humming. He doesn’t recognize the song. It might be some new hit from the radio. He doesn’t really listen to the radio anymore.

He listens to the metal records he got in Indy, and to Tennessee Waltz, and that’s about it. He doesn’t listen to Tears for Fears anymore, or Toto. Instead it’s Metallica, and Judas Priest, and Ozzy Osbourne, all of which are truly weird to cry to, but he manages. It’s noisy, loud and heavy and comforting when the inside of his head feels louder than anything. The music shuts him up, and it’s nice. He plays it while he lays in the living room, staring at the ceiling and thinking, while he cleans and cooks and works out, and Robin lets him. She knows when to leave him alone.

He shuts off the water when he finishes with the dishes, sighing and reaching for the towel in Robin’s hands. He snatches it as she reaches for a cup to dry, and she stares at him, impatiently watching him dry his hands, and when he finishes, he tosses it to land on her head, covering her face. He sees her shoulders rise and fall as she sighs heavily.

Before she can say anything, they’re distracted by the sound of tires rolling over the gravel in the driveway. Steve stops short, and Robin pulls the towel off her head, turning a little toward the hallway. It’s unmistakable, the sound of cars pulling into the driveway. Several cars. Not just one, not Ms Henderson or Joyce, but something else.

Anxiety pits in Steve’s stomach, twisting and knotting, and they wordlessly move toward the hallway, slowly, tentatively, like they’re waiting for the door to burst open. The baseball bat is in the hall, and Steve leaves it, aware of where it is. Just in case.

Robin follows close behind, her footsteps quiet on the floor like they’re hiding.

The cars stop when they reach the door, and they both listen to the silence as Steve’s hand hovers over the doorknob before he pulls it open, shivering in the breeze that blows over him.

Black cars. Shiny black cars. Government cars. Bad cars.

Steve’s chest tightens as he steps out so Robin can see, and the door shuts behind them as they watch. He hates that all the windows are tinted.

It’s silent for a moment before a door opens, and Owens steps out. He gives Steve a tight smile, and Steve exhales sharply, already going through every possible thing that could be happening. A gate reopened. Hawkins lab spilled some kind of chemical or something. Steve’s bites are actually going to cause long-term side effects. He hasn’t gotten a code red today. Fuck, are the kids okay? Steve would know if something happened, right? He would notice something? It’s only been a few hours since he saw them outside the high school, since he waved at them all as they waited for Max. Nothing could have happened since then, right?

As he spirals, more cars open, and men in suits step out. They all have guns. Steve hates guns.

His eyes scan the men, watching them all stand up straight, and his eyes catch on Wayne.

Wayne.

Steve blinks, staring at him, looking at Owens, who takes an awkward breath, still smiling that way he’s always smiling, like he doesn’t quite know what to say.

Wayne’s been crying. His eyes are shining, which Steve can see even from this distance (maybe it’s the glasses), and Steve says his name weakly. Did they tell him? Does Steve not have to hide any of it anymore?

Wayne gives Steve an odd smile, like he knows something Steve doesn’t, and he glances away, still standing behind the car’s open door, an arm propped up on it. Steve stares at him, his eyes burning. He hasn’t seen him in months. He’s been too scared to see him, scared that seeing him will send him into a spiral, scared that Wayne would say or do something that would just break Steve. He feels very breakable.

Steve only looks away from Wayne when he hears Robin’s voice say what weakly, brokenly, and he hears the sound of footsteps on gravel.

He freezes.

Eddie.

EddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddie—

He looks different. His hair is still long, overgrown and curly, and he’s wearing a dark sweater, grey, with black sweatpants, and white sneakers, but there’s something… off. His skin is pale, almost a little grey, but his cheeks and lips are red, like he’s wearing makeup. His hair blows in his face in the wind, and he pushes it back, reaching up. His fingers are… clawed. The ends are dark, like he’s dipped them in ink, like he’s been tattooed. But he’s still Eddie.

Steve can’t hear the car doors shut as Eddie comes closer. He can’t hear the way Robin is stifling gasps, her hand over her face, and he can’t hear the wind rustling the leaves around them. He can’t hear anything. His eyes don’t even hurt in the sunlight anymore. Nothing exists.

Except for Eddie, coming closer. His eyes are wide, still the same, still brown and sparkling and beautiful, looking up at Steve, who’s standing on the top step of the door. Steve looks down at him, hands shaking, breath stilled in his chest, caught in his throat, blood cold and hot at the same time. His vision blurs and unblurs and blurs again, and a tear falls down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.

He’s dreaming. Or hallucinating, or something. He’s been drugged.

There’s no other possibility that doesn’t include everything happening in Steve’s head. He can only hear the rush of his own blood, loud and pulsing, the steady flow of a violent river, and his lungs ache from holding his breath, and it’s not real. It’s taken this long for it to happen, for him to just imagine Eddie, during the waking day, in the sunlight and not in the dark of Steve’s bedroom late at night when he’s drowning in his own tears, but it’s happening. He’s imagining Eddie. And when he disappears, when it sets in that it’s not real, Steve will break.

But Eddie reaches up and wipes Steve’s tear away, because he’s close enough to, and Steve feels it. His thumb is cold, gentle and tender and soft in spite of the claw, and Steve feels the tear slide across his skin, cold in the wind, but it can’t be real, it can’t be real, this can’t really be happening, Eddie is gone, Steve knows it, Eddie died, he heard him stop breathing, and

Eddie’s voice is the same as it was when he died. Soft and quiet and almost nervous as he speaks.

“He didn’t let me in.”

#so anyway #dont know why i did this to myself but i cried several times writing this #i am incapable of writing actual permanant character deaths i assure you #eddies chillin #hes rly not bc hes traumatized beyond repair but he's alive #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington centric #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #robin buckley #robin buckley fanfic #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

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