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slowandsteddie · 9 months

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Y’all voted on this.

“Hey there, big guy.” / “You aren’t Eddie.”

I was really really excited to write this, honestly.

It is VERY important that you read the CW on this one.

I might be working through some things I personally went through on this one, so it’s… darker than I’d normally go.

CW: Steve is drugged, very heavily implied sexual assault (maybe skip the pink font?), ptsd, mention of bad parents, drinking as a coping mechanism, underage drinking, bartender looks like Billy (isn’t btw), very brief mention of Billy’s death, mentions of drugs, mentions of weed

Lots of hurt and little comfort.

Parts of this feel kinda rushed to me, and there’s one part where that is on purpose. But, uh. Not a fan of the ending of this bc it’s late and I’m sleepy. But also I don’t wanna edit this or dwell on it or it won’t get posted at all. So. This is where we are.

Potential for a part two.

2536 words.

—

After the night that Nancy called their relationship bullshit, Steve had sworn off alcohol and any drug stronger than the weed he used to help himself sleep when he was home alone. And he had been able to stick to it, too.

Until Starcourt.

When he had nearly been killed by Russians, confessed his love to a lesbian (while he, himself was mostly gay), and saw Billy Hargrove murdered by some thing from the Upside Down.

Yeah, life was pretty fucked up. And if he found solace at the bottom of a bottle, that was his problem.

No one but Robin needed to know. That girl was his Platonic soulmate and she got to know practically everything. Hell, he had lost track of how many times they had slept in the same bed, just so they could know the other was still breathing. They clung so tight to each other that it was like they were trying to nestle into rib cages and grasp onto bones so that they couldn’t be ripped apart again.

It helped with the nightmares and the panic to have someone so close to him who understood. Someone who knew what he went through without him having to explain it. Someone who knew that the fire cover up was complete shit. Someone who wasn’t a kid that he had to protect and hide his pain from.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved those kids. He would die for them. He’d kill for them. He’d wreck the beautiful car of his dreams for them. He’d even pretend to be okay for them, no matter what. But he could never confide in them. Not about what he went through. Not the way he could with Robin.

The thing about trauma bonding with someone is that there doesn’t have to be secrets. They already knew the worst thing that you have been through, so everything else would be a cakewalk by comparison.

During the day, it was easy to be goofy and laugh and hide the fact that he had been through absolute hell. But at night, everything came back to him. Him screaming that he just worked for Scoops and not being believed. Him offering free ice cream for life, just to get out of there.

Offering his body when that didn’t work because he didn’t have anything else and he knew his parents wouldn’t pay a ransom, even if the Russians had decided to try that route. And if they took him up on that offer, no one had to know. He didn’t even have to know. He could just pretend that the drugs took those memories too and not think about it.

The night time was what had him drinking again. The sun would start setting and he’d find himself reaching for that bottle, as though he needed it as desperately as he needed air and open spaces.

Even when Robin was over, he couldn’t close the door before taking a shower. Though, that didn’t matter much, when she’d go sit on the toilet and talk to him, with nothing but a curtain between them as the water poured over him and he sobbed as silently as he could while he cleaned himself and she chatted away about some random thing that he couldn’t follow, no matter how hard he tried. On particularly bad nights, Robin would find him in the shower, and wearing his t-shirt and shorts, she would help him wash his hair, his body, while he could only lean against the wall, feeling as though he would shake himself apart.

But, he needed to get better. He couldn’t be a mess forever. He couldn’t rely on his best friend always being available to help him through the rough patches. Most people would see the therapist recommended to them after going through things like The Upside Down and days of torture at the hands of Russians in a base under the mall that they used to work in.

Not Steve.

Oh, no.

That made too much sense.

Instead of therapy, he decided that going to a gay club in Indy would be a great idea. It had been long enough that his injuries had turned to scars. Sure, his ears rang a lot and sometimes his vision went a little fuzzy if he turned his head too fast, but he was fine. Really.

He had called and told Robin where he’d be. He didn’t need her panicking because she went to his house and he wasn’t there. He also called Henderson, just to make sure one of the kids knew he wasn’t home. They all talked constantly so the message would get around.

Just because he was stupid, didn’t mean he was irresponsible.

Steve was dressed in his favorite jeans, the ones that made his ass look nice, and a yellow polo. He didn’t really have many options in terms of shirts because it was almost time to do laundry again. He hated the washer though, as he still had times when his ribs panged when he tried to lean over too far. With that stupid washer, he always had to lean too far. There was no other way to make sure he got everything out of it.

He took the time to style his hair properly, even when the effort made his arms shake and the muscles in his hands and wrists spasm. Being tortured had some lasting effects and it was annoying. He was so tired of it. Tired of being forced to remember what he went through, even while doing the most mundane things.

He flipped the collar on his shirt up to try and make sure that the scars on his neck weren’t too obvious at first glance. That was as good as it was going to get as he refused to wear makeup to cover it up.

Then, he walked out to his car after locking the front door. Here goes nothing. He slid into the car that he hadn’t actually driven in a few weeks and started her up. She purred as though it was only yesterday that she was last turned on.

Steve mouthed the directions to himself before buckling up, turning on the radio, and beginning the drive.

Time passed, though he wasn’t sure how much of it. But he did get to the club without incident. He parked his car and locked the door before putting the keys in his pocket.

His favorite thing about this place was that they didn’t ID, something that he remembered from when he had came here before Starcourt. He had just wanted to dance with fellow queers. The first few times that he was here, he had been given water when he went to the bar.

He was glad to find that this time the bartender asked him what he’d be drinking. He was glad that the blond with curly hair and a charming smile didn’t even bat an eye over his request for a shot of whiskey, and just poured the drink.

“First one’s on the house.” God, even his voice was charming.

“Thank you,” Steve replied gratefully.

He threw the drink back and didn’t even make a face over it. The familiar, warm burn of the alcohol was a welcome one.

“How much for the second?” He asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“For you? A dollar a shot.”

Steve placed a 10 dollar bill down. “One shot and one mixed drink that would leave you with what you consider an acceptable tip.”

“Yessir,” the bartender replied with a smile.

It wasn’t fair that the older male had ocean eyes he could get lost in.

Steve took the shot like nothing again, running a hand through his hair. He thanked the bartender, again, before taking his mixed drink and moving to the dance floor.

He was having fun. There were a lot of people and loud music and he had some liquid courage that was also helping to keep his chronic pain under control. After a few songs, he finished his drink before going to take his glass to the bar.

He was dizzy, but he just assumed that was from turning his head too fast a few minutes ago when someone started dancing behind him. He told himself that it had just been because he wanted to know if the guy pressing against his back was cute or not. (He was.)

Steve’s thoughts were incoherent, but he had moments when his brain didn’t seem to work right, especially when he was under the influence. It was his new normal ever since his brain had been starved of oxygen. But he couldn’t think about that again. Not now.

He asked the bartender for water, noticing the name tag this time. Billy. Oh, the painful irony.

He drank it down pretty fast, fully intending to thank him for it after. But then there was an arm around his shoulder and he was moving on to help someone on the other side of the bar.

“Hey there, big guy,” the other male said while squeezing his shoulder.

“You aren’t Eddie,” he said stupidly. It was in that moment that Steve realized who he had a crush on, but that wasn’t important right now.

“I can be whoever you want me to be, handsome.”

Steve pulled away. “I’m sorry, but no. You really can’t.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. That was a bad joke. Eddie sent me to take you home.”

“He wouldn’t have sent anyone to get me.” He said defiantly. “He’d come himself,” he added to cover up whatever he had said.

The world was spinning worse and he turned to walk to the bathroom. He was being followed and he knew it, but what other choice did he have?

By the time Steve got to the bathroom, he was mostly out of it. But, he got flashes.

—

The door being locked behind them.

His pants being unbuttoned.

Trying to struggle but it was just so hard to lift his arms.

Being shoved against the counter.

Heavy breathing in his ear.

Pain.

Sliding down.

Curling into a ball.

Clutching his own shirt.

Eddie.

—

When Steve woke up again, the first thing he noticed was that he was in the trailer. The second thing he noticed was that he felt like shit. Everything hurt more than it should for just a hangover, and he didn’t even want to think about why his hips and thighs felt the way they did.

He tried to sit up, groaning over the effort before letting himself lay back down on the couch. The toilet flushed, the water ran, and then there were footsteps coming back toward him. He didn’t know why he flinched and tried to hide in the blanket he had over him, but he did.

“Hey there, big boy,” Eddie said softly.

Steve whimpered. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like being called that anymore. It was something that the older male had called him ever since they started getting friendly. Ever since he had started buying weed from him.

“Wanna talk about it, Steve?” He added.

He shook his head.

“Why’d the bartender call me when he found you instead of Robin? Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered that you thought I was safe.”

“I don’t know. Was kinda falling apart. I guess I wanted drugs more than…”

“More than your girlfriend?”

Steve snorted. “She’s my Platonic soulmate. Capital P. Not my girlfriend.”

Eddie tilted his head. “Want me to call the soulmate?”

Steve shook his head quickly before groaning and holding his temples. “My car?” He croaked.

“I took Jeff with me to pick you up. He drove ‘er back. Your car is in my driveway, safe and sound.”

Steve made a sound and let his eyes close.

“Steve. I’m not going to make any choices for you. But you were assaulted. The only reason that bartender didn’t call the police was that he didn’t want to out you.”

His eyes fluttered. “That… that explains it.” His body chose that moment to let him pass out again.

When he was conscious again, he was still on Eddie’s couch. He could hear the other male talking on the phone. He did his best to pretend that he was still asleep. But he was crying and the sniffling gave him away.

“Hey man, do you want Robin to come here?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “I just… I need a bit to comprehend. Tell her an hour, yeah? Then I’ll go with her and get out of your hair.”

Eddie relayed the message and hung up.

“He drugged me. But I still knew what was up. He flirted with me, but I wasn’t interested. I said he wasn’t you as though I had some kind of right to want it to be you who was flirting, man. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Of course it was only the apology that Eddie picked up on.

“Because I have no right to have a crush on you after how I treated you. Because I have no right to tell you that I have a crush on you after what happened to me.”

“If that’s how you feel, then I have no right to tell you that the feeling is mutual and that I have every intention of finding the guy who did this to you and making him pay. I have no right to feel so possessive and protective. I have no right to tell you that I always run away, but right now I just want to fight for you.”

“Mm. You’re right. We have no right to be having this conversation when it’s too much for me.”

Eddie was about to get up.

“Hold me?” Steve asked so quietly.

And his request was honored so gently. He might have been whimpering and flinching, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the older male’s shirt and clinging to it.

When Robin barged into the trailer, exactly sixty-one minutes later, Steve flinched and his hands gripped on to Eddie’s knees tightly.

Eddie was sitting sideways on the couch, his legs spread so that Steve could be seated between them. His back was against the older male’s chest and his hands had been playing with the loose threads over Eddie’s knees before he was startled. Eddie had been trying to braid Steve’s too short hair as they listened to some music that neither male was paying enough attention to in order to place.

As soon as he saw his best friend, he was struggling to his feet before stumbling over to her with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.

“R-Robbie.”

“Stevie.”

“I shouldn’t have gone.”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself.”

They were clinging to each other, both of them shaking.

“Promised to never leave you again.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get through this. Also, Eddie is driving us home because I refuse to let go of you.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

“And then you’re staying, too.” Steve added.

“I am.” There was a smile to Eddie’s voice at that.