#before eddie it was billy

[rabbit-hearted-girl]

Does anyone have fic recs that center around El? Everytime I try to read ST fanfic I only find Steve centered ones (or eddie) but I wanna read about my girl growing and healing, not Steve's love life

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[grandwretch]

i do think peak comedy is a steve who is absolutely aware of the effect he has on people, but has never felt that way towards anyone else-- the closest he got was with nancy and robin, because he loved them both in different ways, and sometimes he felt like he was going to go insane if he didn't talk to them or touch them right now, but it was never like he had seen other people act about him. robin and nancy made him a better person. they didn't drive him to ridiculous levels of violence and obsession. maybe people in hawkins were just fucking weird.

and then he meets eddie, falls in love with eddie, and he's like... yeah, okay. alright. no, i get it. if anything happened to this guy i would steal the nuclear launch codes.

[boffeeceans]

Thank you @luckylocus for bringing this back to my attention (a while ago but I haven't stopped thinking about it)

I don't have to say it, right? "It's literally just a jacket-" sshhh, it's Billy's jacket, the duffers told me

[kazhan-draws]

Eddie Munson beating the shit out of Billy Hargrove, 1985.

[shinebrightlikeanarwhal]

Imagine Eddie meeting Steve high off his ass and just escaping a Russian facility.

Gay ass Eddie Munson getting booped by a giggly Steve ‘The King’ Harrington.

Disaster queer Eddie hauling ass with Steve nestled into his arms and snoring after passing out in the middle of their escape.

High off her ass Robin staring at Eddie and hissing that he hasn’t passed the test to earn Steve’s love.

Distressed Dustin and Erica desperately trying to survive with a disaster gay, a disaster lesbian and a milf.

[hawkyon-days]

Sometimes self-care looks like this:

[kstarlitchaotics]

Those who has the network the old shows are coming back!!

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Eddie has a serious problem when it comes to interrupting other people during conversations. It would vary between rude, with little quips like you seemed like you were done talking anyway, to doing it completely on accident without realizing.

It’s always been an impulse thing. He’s an asshole, but he’s not that much of an asshole — he just can’t keep his mouth shut sometimes.

But, hey, that’s just Eddie being Eddie.

His outbursts start to become less frequent, astonishingly. Sometimes he’ll count on his fingers when there’s a pause in conversation before he takes his turn to talk. Sometimes he’ll even stop talking when he realizes that he’s stolen someone else’s spotlight.

He’s trying really hard suddenly and while it’s appreciated, it’s confusing — Dustin still has a hard time picking up where he left off on his story when Eddie tells him sorry, go ahead. Like he’s being baited or something just so Eddie can swoop in and interrupt again.

Again, he’s an asshole, but he’s not malicious.

It starts making more sense when Billy is around during a campaign one night. Eddie interrupts Will in the middle of his sentence without realizing, and Billy lightly brushes his knuckles against his arm. Gives him a gentle look, eyebrows slightly raised, but not overall disapproving. Eddie snaps his mouth shut.

Apologizes while a flustered red blossoms on his skin and lets Will pick up where he left off.

And, oh, the kids don’t stop talking about it for weeks. Don’t stop teasing Eddie because he literally has a handler.

In all reality, Billy struggles with social cues himself, and he’s been supplying Eddie with his own little tips and tricks to not seem like an asshole in everyone else’s eyes.

[decimalpointed]

Eddie's dad drags him along to steal his first car at age 13. Eddie's excited, nervous, but eager to please his father. He knows his mother wouldn't approve but she's passed out drunk again, so her opinion hadn't been relevant when his father had barged in and swooped him up.

His father takes him to a nice end of town, filled with mansions that are strung up with extravagant Christmas lights to display their wealth and holiday cheer. Eddie doesn't go to these neighborhoods, never has occasion to. They breeze by the residential area and wind up near shopping centers, boutiques with fancy polos and knick knacks.

When they pull into a packed parking lot, filled with last minute holiday shoppers, Eddie can feel nervous sweat dripping down his skin.

"We're gonna have a damn good Christmas this year." His father mumbles, greed in his eyes and breath sour with the stench of alcohol as he scans across the lot for fancy cars. He spots his mark. "There. That one Ed. Do you see it? No cameras pointed towards it. Snow still melting on the hood so engines still warm. Good solid Beemer, real nice car. Will sell for a pretty penny."

Eddie just nods, his fingers shaking as his eyes flit around the lot. There are people going to a from their cars. Its dark, with a gentle flurry of snow but anyone could see them in the well lit lot.

They get out of their own car, the doors sqeaky and rust blooming across the old metal. Eddie cringes at the sound. Its so loud. It feels like eyes are watching all around him. The air feels cold and thin, like its not reaching his lungs right even though he's practically panting.

His dad sidles up to the car, his tools in his pocket and it takes him less than 30 seconds to jimmy the driver side door open and he hits the unlock button so Eddie can scramble into the passenger side.

"Now look here son." His dad takes his tools out, lays them across his lap and gestures to the console. "You see these new fancy cars, there's a little latch right here. You gotta tug it till that snaps and it'll pop right out." He pops the plastic off, revealing the mess of wires beneath. "See easy as that." And then he hands the pliers to Eddie, who fumbles and almost drops them to the fancy floor mats.

"Now you cut this one here and we are gonna cut this other one here. Then we just need to spark em" Eddie follows the instructions, slow and unsteady because all he can register right now is his heartbeat slamming against his ribs.

He strips the wires back and his father takes over, grabs them and clicks the exposed metal together until the car roars to life. He gives a woop and Eddie can't help but give a shakey smile.

"That's it?" Eddie asks, because it feels too easy.

"That's it son." His fathers crooked teeth shine yellow in the streetlight as he grins.

His father puts the car in reverse, backing out and driving nice and easy. He gets them onto the main road and Eddie can finally feel his nerves start to calm.

"Now we are just gonna get this beauty over to Johnny's. Then-" his dad is interrupted by a sound, a small sleepy groan from the backseat and they both freeze.

"Dad? Are you done shopping alread-" The voice cuts off and Eddie swings around and his gaze finds a boy roughly his age, sitting up and looking like a deer in the headlights as he realizes it's not his father driving the car, but Eddie's. Fuck. Shit.

Eddie can feel the tension, flits his eyes to his father who is looking in the rear view mirror, his face shuddering into panic and then swiftly schooling his face into blankness.

"Who are you?" The boy asks wearily.

His father plasters on a fake smile. "Hey kiddo. Ran into your dad in the store with my boy here. He was saying how he was buying you Christmas gifts and didn't want you to see em before the big day. So he asked if I would run you home real quick."

The boys eyes narrow suspiciously and Eddie knows before he opens his mouth that he isn't buying the bullshit his dad is trying to sell him one bit. This has gone sideways and Eddie knows that his dad can't get caught again or he will go away for a long time and then it's just going to be Eddie and his mom who barely was a person these days, drowning herself in booze and pills and powder.

The boy lunges quickly to the door and Eddie hears the click of the locks as his dad beats the kid to it. The car swerves precariously as his dad is distracted.

"Let me out!" The boy yells, a tremor in his voice and the sound makes Eddie want to curl up and hide. This is so fucked. They are kidnapping him. This is a kidnapping.

"Dad-" Eddie begins to plead, to try to reason that this is too far, that he wants no part in this. Fuck the money. Fuck Christmas. He wants to go home and let this kid go home too.

His dad doesn't let him finish, just whirls around with like a cornered viper and lashes out. His fist hits the other kid right in the face and the sound is stark and violent. The boy cries out, immediately gushing blood from his nose. He's letting out terrified whimpers. Eddie is terrified too.

"Shut the fuck up!" His father screams at the boy, the car swerving dangerously and someone honks at them. Hot tears track down Eddie's face and he hiccups out a sob. His father rounds on him next, "Shut the fuck up!" He repeats, this time lashing out towards his own son.

The boy is cowering against the backseat, blood and tears on his face as Eddie shrinks into his own seat. What thw fuck is happening?

"Jesus fucking Christ. Shut up shut up shut up." His father is losing control, panicking. Eddie knows to keep himself scarce when his dad gets like this, violent and unpredictable, but he can't run while trapped in a moving car.

Eddie can't run away. His throat feels like its closing, like there's no oxygen in this stolen little car. Maybe the other kid sucked it up for himself. He can't run away. The doors are locked and they are kidnapping someone and he can't get away.

His father is shouting, rage in his tone but the words become jumbled and lost in the ringing thats taken over Eddie's ears. The other boy is crying, the sound of alarm like battery acid along his nerves, tingling and burning and awful.

Eddie doesn't register what he's doing until he has his hands on the wheel, trying to wrench it from his father's hold. There's screaming, and the blair of car horns, but Eddie just wants to make this night stop, wants to make the boy stop crying because it's making something primal in Eddie terrified, wants his father to just pull the car over because this is too fucking much.

The world goes sideways, crunching metal and glass and then Eddie feels the cold gentle snowfall against his face. There's warmth dripping from his hairline, and lights blur in and out of focus. Sound is muffled, and his brain sluggish when he turns to look around.

His father is there, head pushed against the shattered windshield at an awkward angle, red stark against his pale skin. His eyes are closed, his body still. Pain laces through Eddie and he cries out as he shifts away from the sight. The world is sluggish and slow. He smells pine and salty tangy blood.

He hears another whimper and turns and behind him the boy is still there, still huddled down and trembling with wide brown eyes in the backseat. Glass glitters in his hair. It looks kind of magical Eddie thinks in a daze.

A siren cuts through the fog he's in, snapping the world back into focus and it's like a dip into fridge waters. There's so much at once. Eddie can see the flash of red and blue, drawing closer.

Cops. Oh God cops. He can't be here. He looks to his dad, still unmoving and slumped against the steering wheel. He will never be able to drag him out in time. He won't be able to stop the cops from finding them like this.

He hears the boy shifting in the back and then the crunch of metal as he shoves the door open. Eddie scrambles out of the car right after, adrenaline punching through his veins.

The boy stands, legs trembling and puts his arms around himself to stave off the cold. The lights draw close, bathing him in the colors and once again Eddie's brain fizzles just a bit, caught off guard at the sight.

He doesn't have time to think, can't come up with a plan or a story to get his dad out of this. But he can run now. He can get away. The forest looms dark ahead of them where they've wrecked the car up against a row of pines.

Eddie stumbles up, worn out shoes sliding in the snow and he heads for the tree line. He stops just at the edge when he hears the boy again, a soft scared sound warbling out of his throat.

Fuck his father for getting them into this mess. Fuck his father for hitting the poor kid. Fuck his father for making another little boy cry. Eddie's used to it. Eddie can handle it. His heart bleeds to hear it come from someone else.

Even still, there's something inside him that knows he can't let his dad get caught kidnapping some kid.

Eddie whirls around and sprints to the boy, grabbing his hand tightly in his own. "Come on." He hisses to him. "We have to run now." And then he tugs him along into the dark safety of the forest as the lights pulls up, the cop car skidding to a stop.

"Wait, but-" the boy protests, but doesn't stop keeping pace behind Eddie.

"Please." Eddie pleads, because he doesn't know what they are doing, but he knows cops are bad news and he knows his dad will go to jail again but maybe it won't be so long if he doesn't have a fucking kidnapping charge to add to the car theft. "Please just trust me."

They lock eyes, brown mirrors of terror, and there's no reason to trust him at all, but he feels it, the chance that maybe he will.

And he does. The boy nods and goes quiet and picks up the pace, his chilled fingers squeezing onto Eddie's like a lifeline as they stumble through the woods.

They can't see the lights or hear the sirens anymore when they finally slow down. Their breath visible in the cold night air, both panting and shivering from the temperature and the nerves. Eddie can't find it in him to drop the warm point of contact between them.

Eddie doesn't know what he's going to do. He could go home to his mother, probly still numb to the world around her, but the cops would be there soon enough. He can probly stay at a friend's but then there's the problem of the kid he's dragging around that has a bloodied face and a quickly darkening bruise on his eye.

"Where are we going?" The boy asks him, loud in the quiet of the night.

"I-" Eddie stumbles over his words, grasping for an answer. "I dont know." He hears the resignation in his own voice, the lost quality.

The boy squeezes his fingers and its grounding. His tears have all dried. "It's okay. I dont know where to go either." He runs his other hand through his hair and some glass tumbles out and he giggles. Eddie smiles at him. Its an adorable sound. He knows its probly just the high from the adrenaline making they giddy but. Its nice. "Your dad is kinda scary. Is your mom nicer?"

"No." Eddie says automatically. "Well yeah, but not really. She doesnt say much"

"My parents don't say much either. To me. I mean they say alot, just not like. To me. " The boy trails off. "I'm Steve by the way."

"I'm Eddie." This is weird. Small talk with a boy he and his dad had unknowingly kidnapped. Really weird.

"My dad will be pissed about his car. He just bought it." Steve says and Eddie cringes.

"I'm sorry." That doesn't feel like enough. "I'm so fucking sorry. He, my dad, we just wanted to have a good Christmas. We didn't know you were there."

"Its okay." Steve says easily, like he wasn't just a sobbing mess. "I mean it sucks and my face hurts but. Well my dad probly didn't even remember I was in the car either. So. " He shrugs. "Is your head okay?"

Eddie had forgotten about his head, but he reaches up and feels the blood, sticky and congealed and clumping itchy. It hurts when he presses in tentatively, but not the worst he's ever had.

"I think its okay. It doesn't hurt much. Is your face okay?"

"Does it not look okay?" Steve looks a little panicked again, reaches up and touches his nose gingerly.

"No! No it looks good" Eddie tries to reassure. "Pretty as a peach Stevie. Just a little bruised. " and then he cringes because did he just say that?

"Oh." Eddie can't tell what kind of tone that is. Waits for the other boy to get angry, but he doesn't. Just keeps pace as they walk along.

"So should I just take you home?" Eddie asks, because they kinda need to make a plan. They can't keep wandering the woods all night.

But Steve's face kind of scrunches, then winces when there's pain at the movement. "Where are you gonna go?"

Eddie isn't sure. His mind scrambles to think of a place to go. Uncle Wayne lives in the next state over. He could probly stay there until things cool off a bit. His mother will come out of her daze to come get him eventually.

"I think im gonna go to my Uncles? He lives in Indiana."

"How are you gonna get all the way to Indiana?" Steve asks, eyes wide and brown and curious.

"Hitchhike? Or there might be a train that goes that way i could hop on." Its winter and cold, so maybe the train isn't the best idea. But well, he doesn't have much of a choice.

"That's so far away though." Steve's got concern glittering in his eyes. "Is that safe?"

"Safer than going home. The cops will see our footprints in the snow. They'll probly go to my house soon as they lock up my dad."

"Can I come?"

Eddie stops walking, sways in place. What? Steve stops beside him and turns to him.

"Why would you wanna come with me to Indiana? We just kidnapped you!"

"Well your dad kidnapped me technically, which apparently was an accident. You tried to stop him. You tried to protect me." Steve looks so earnest. He looks pretty in the moonlight, soft snowflakes falling around them. "And I can return the favor if I go with you. Protect you till you get to your uncles. Then I can call my parents to come get me."

And thats such a crazy leap of logic. Steve isn't any bigger than Eddie is, all gangly teenage limbs and hadn't really put up any fight while they were in the car. Its such a stupid idea.

But there's warmth blooming in Eddie's chest because yeah, it might be kinda nice to have some company. Safer for sure, and if they did take the train they could huddle together to keep warm instead of risking getting the wrong kind of trucker pulling over to give them a ride. Maybe they could even be friends.

Thats stupid. A rich boy being friends with trailer trash who tried to steal his car and then wrecked it with him in it. But no matter how stupid, it's a nice thought. Maybe they could just play pretend for a few days. They weren't too old for that yet.

"Okay. Yeah okay." A laugh bubbles out of him because its rediculous, but Steve laughs too. "You can be my knight in shining armor, escorting the runaway rogue after a heist gone sideways."

"You're weird." Steve says, but there's no malice in it. Just mirth tinged with confusion.

Eddie tightens his fingers around Steve's and turns them south, towards the rail yards where they can hop on a train.

(I just started typing and then this happened. Feel free to use this, expand on it, whatever. I just loved the idea of the boys being young runaways together, hopping trains and getting into rough situations and becoming codependent and ending up with Wayne taking them both in and them growing up together and pining since they were kids. I might continue this. I might not. We will see.)

[memes-saved-me]

[findafight]

Eddie ruffles through Steve's glove box and finds a cassette labeled BANNED SONGS and thinks "don't mind if I do~" before shoving it in the player without looking at the tracklist.

Olivia Newton John's Physical blares through the speakers, already halfway done. Steve laughs but doesn't say anything.

It fades out and the next song starts with a weird sort of clicking noise, and sounds sort of snyth popfunk? Eddie isn't really sure. He lets it play out, anti-reagan sentiment and condemnation of fascism behind the synth. Its. Unique. He kinda digs it though. He listens for the next song and- Loretta fuckin Lynn?

"Steve. what the fuck."

Steve's mouthing along, tapping the beat on the steering wheel. He grins. "It's my banned songs tape. All of em have been censored in some way or another. Listen!" He turns it up, and, Loretta Lynn is singing, in her charming Appalachian drawl, about how she's not having any more kids, how she's getting her life back and not going to be pregnant constantly because she's got birth control. How she's going to have fun.

The song ends with a beat of silence, and trumpet bleeds with piano with the white noise of an old recording transfer from a record, and Billie Holiday sings mournfully, filling the car with the pain in her voice.

It trails out, the soft sound of a record not quite finished after the song, and then there's a drumbeat, strong, on the next one. Eddie finally checks the carefully written tracklist on the inside of Steve's little homemade cover.

"Redbone? The--the 'come and get your love' guys?"

Steve nods. "The lyrics, Eddie." And oh. Oh it's about Native Americans getting killed by the army. Shit.

"yeah. Some of em are heavy, some of em just talk about sex. Or god." He smirks.

It fades out, and the goddamn Beach Boys come on.

"are you serious?"

Steve laughs again.

"what made you make this?"

He shrugs, "after it all came back, in '84, I was. Messed up. Nance and I had broken up and she'd gotten with Jonathan, I was suuuper concussed, and these government goons were giving me the third fucking degree even though it was all their fault it happened in the first place and they hadn't done shit to stop it. I already had the Redbone album" he ignores Eddie's muttered of course you did "so I thought, fuck it. I can't do much but I can listen to things they don't want me to. So, yeah."

Freddie Mercury croons, and they both laugh.

[boffeeceans]

My model Camaro Model car in Eddie's room

You're gonna look at me and you're gonna tell me that I'm wrong!? Am I wrong!? I'm not, they're the same, mungrove confirmed, argue with the wall.

[kazhan-draws]

DAY 1: Upside Down

For @mungroveweek

CW: Blood, injury.

1/6, more under the cut.

[lostlimerence]

“It’s happened. I’m batshit.”

“No listen…”

“I’m crazy,”

“Stop..”

“Finally lost it..”

“Sunshine, please just wai…”

“Eds please stop pacing for a second.”

“Stop pacing?! I don’t know if you’ve noticed but California’s stopped working Stevie?!”

“I know, I know! I’m trying to think, your manic energy isn’t helping!”

“My manic energy?!” his voice hitches up an octave as he gasps, feigning hurt, he stops pacing and crouches down to gently wave a hand in-front of Billy’s face. The blonde clocks him, gives him a little dopey smile and whispers “ hey Eds, it’s finally happened I’ve gone insane,” Eddie smiles back at him, gives him a little pat on the head before standing back up and turning to Steve “yep, broken.”

Steve frowns, “he’s in shock Eddie, remember how you were when you first came across…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie flaps a hand, as if trying to waft away the memory. Steve walks over, giving Eddie’s arm a little squeeze as he goes to crouch in-front of Billy “hey baby,” he whispers gently “we really need you to get up,” Billy chuckles and reaches out to stroke Steve’s cheek “hey Stevie! Guess what, I’m finally in the madhouse, don’t worry though Munson’s in here with me!”

Eddie gawks “what did he say?!”

Steve laughs a little “you heard him Eds, looks like you’re an inmate too, I’m just a visitor,” he pushes back up and takes in the scene.

Billy cross-legged on the forrest floor, Eddie wide-eyed and restless glancing between their seemingly catatonic boyfriend and the lifeless demodog that lies a few feet away from them.

Eddie chews at the corner of his thumb nail, stares at Billy and says “we probably should’ve told him about this sooner…”

“I mean yeah no shit Eds, it’s not like we haven’t tried, it’s just, you know a little hard to bring up…”Steve trails off on a sigh as he strolls over to the body, looks down at its grotesque meaty flesh and grimaces “we need to get rid of this.”

Eddie hmmms his agreement as he goes to stand next to Billy, placing a protective hand atop of his golden curls. “Ugh we have no spade, no bat, no nothing, arghh we should’ve brought the beamer, it comes equipped with all the monster battling shit we need!” Steve nods, fists his hand in his hair as he thinks.

“Ok, maybe if you wait here, while I….”

“Nope, nuh-uh, not happening baby! What am I supposed to do if another one comes?! How am I supposed to protect our beautiful, but quite frankly currently useless, boy down there if another one comes?! What if they’re like wasps and this dead fucker is like emanating a stink that says avenge me avenge me! Oh gods Stevie what if this thing is….”

“Stop! Yeah, yes I get it, I get it bad idea, bad idea, we can’t just leave it here though…” Steve looks at Eddie, glances down at Billy “we’re gonna have to put it in the Camaro.”

Billy’s head snaps up “No way.”

Eddie gasps hand flying to his mouth like some offended Victorian lady “really sunshine?!! You finally come back to us and it’s for that stupid car?!?”

Billy cocks a brow, rises to his feet dusting off his jeans “it’s my baby,” he says completely serious, Eddie, if it’s possible, looks even more offended “I though WE were your babies,” he shouts frantically waving his arm between himself and Steve.

Steve presses his thumb and fore-finger to the bridge of his nose, inhales, exhales, ignores Eddie’s theatrics and turns to Billy “we’re putting it in the Camaro.”

Billy looks him dead in the eye and squares his stance “not happening pretty boy.”

….

Billy stares at the demowhatevers body in the trunk of his Camaro.

His eye twitches slightly. Eddie pats his shoulder “close her up California, it’s time to hit the road,” he flashes him a steady grin. Billy slams the trunk, climbs into the passenger seat and thinks about how calm Eddie and Steve are.

“So errr, what the fuck?” he says raising his brow glancing between Steve, who is driving and Eddie who’s leaning forwards in the middle of the backseat.

Steve catches Eddie’s eye in the rear view mirror and that’s all the musician needs before he’s off describing demogorgons, spider monsters, mindflayers, and some place called the upside down to a frankly astounded Billy.

He takes it in, tries to place it in his reality, fails to do so repeatedly, but then he remembers the stinking corpse in his trunk and he knows this isn’t Eddie’s wonderful, yet overactive, imagination. It’s real, concrete, they have the body of a demodog in the trunk of the car and they’re going to put it in a fucking freezer until they can bury it, not only that but Steve has done this once before.

He has too many questions, so he asks none of them and instead opts to zone out for the rest of the journey. Tries to let his mind process the immense amount of information he’s been given in peace, mumbles a promise to Eddie that he’s not going to ‘go catatonic’ again when the man starts voicing his concern.

….

Later he lies in bed staring at the ceiling, Eddie mumbles one last sleepy gripe in his ear, something about him loving the Camaro more than them, he just chuckles and presses a kiss to the side of the man’s head as he drifts off to sleep.

On his other side Steve, whose head is settled on his chest, whispers “you ok baby? I know, I know this is a lot to take in…” Billy takes a deep breath and mumbles softly “yeah it is, but don’t worry about it sweetheart, it’s fucked sure, but I’m an expert at fucked up situations, this is just another one, gotta roll with the punches right?” Steve snorts quietly “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“It’s the only way of looking at it pretty boy,” Billy smiles up at the ceiling, feels his eyes drooping with sleep, whispers “goodnight,” hears Steve say it back.

It’s been a long-ass day and they need their sleep, besides they have a demodog to bury in the morning.

[fanatics4l]

you're all so quick to call billy abusive for yelling at max and grabbing her wrist, but then turn around and praise her for stabbing him in the neck with a needle filled with an unknown dosage, screaming at him, and humiliating him.

"max is a child. she was just defending herself" yeah but billy was also a child. you guys do know that they were only like 4 years apart and were both minors right? both were still in school.

the reason you call billy abusive is because he yelled at max and grabbed her wrist. max did a lot worse. and get this. neither of them were being abusive. shocker right? "max was just defending herself" and yet you fail to realize that billy was too, from neil and from steve.

why do i feel like if billy was a girl, nobody would be calling him abusive. and at the same time everyone would be losing their minds over the karen/billy situation. stop picking and choosing.

and stop labelling children as abusive. you're just promoting the idea of letting aggressive and abused children get worse until they're treated like criminals by society and the system. you're all for helping abuse victims but will penalize aggressive/violent children who clearly need help.