#future steddie

[libraryofgage]

Harlequin Prince 5

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two | Three | Four | Five (you're here!) 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two Scooby Gang One Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three | Four Leverage Crew One

Today? I bring you a cliffhanger for Harley Quinn AU Steve. Tomorrow? Who knows, probably not much given my current rate of writing lmao

Anyway, have fun reading and if you see any typos, no you didn't <3

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“I want to be a Robin.”

The batcave goes near silent save the sound of Bruce choking on his coffee. He swallows it down, clears his throat, and carefully sets the coffee on the console in front of him. Then, he looks at Steve. “I think I misheard you,” he says, voice rough and cheeks still flushed from coughing.

“Make me a Robin.”

“Ah,” Bruce says, a frown tugging at his lips. “No.”

Steve blinks. He didn't think it would take much convincing, but maybe this is a test. He stands from the computer he'd been using to watch Tim and Damien patrol and walks over to Bruce. His computer is showing complicated schematics of a new Batmobile feature promising extra airbags and multiple first aid kits.

“Can I be a Robin?” Steve asks, thinking his approach might have been the issue. Bruce is constantly harping on him about etiquette, even though his mother says none of that really matters as long as he isn’t an asshole.

Bruce frowns deeper. “It takes more than asking, Steve.”

“Isn't that what Tim did?”

“Tim also managed to figure out my secret identity with almost no clues.”

“So, he can solve a puzzle. So can I.”

“You're missing the point, Steve.”

“I can do gymnastics, I know Gotham like the back of my hand, I'm not scared of getting hurt, and I want to stop bad guys. Hell, I've even got daddy issues, if that's a requirement!”

Even though Bruce is looking up at him, literally shorter because he's still sitting, his gaze makes Steve feel small. It’s not fair, the way he makes Steve fight the urge to find a blanket to hide under. He doesn't feel seen, exactly, but he feels studied. Bruce is practically wearing a lab coat and taking notes with the way his head tilts.

“What's this about?” Bruce finally asks, his voice soft and patient and that's somehow worse. He has experience with this. Bruce has a whole gaggle of traumatized kids that he's managed to keep alive (sort of, mostly, kind of) to pull from.

Steve holds strong for three seconds before deflating. He leans against the console, carefully avoiding any buttons that could set off missiles laced with kryptonite. He's seen Duke do that before; he'd rather not repeat the incident. “I just….I need to be good.”

“You're already good.”

“I'm not good enough!” Steve shouts, grimacing as his voice echoes through the cave. He takes a deep breath, slowly letting it out. “I think…I think I know who my dad is. And I just…I never want to be like him. I need to be good and make Mom proud and keep her safe. Isn't that what being a Robin is about? Keeping people safe? Please, Uncle Bruce, just let me try.”

A few beats of tense silence pass. Steve almost starts to think Bruce is going to reject him again when he says, “I understand.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Bruce says, nodding as he stands. He gestures for Steve to follow him as he walks deeper into the cave. Steve hurries after, practically stepping on the man's heels. “I can't promise you'll be a Robin, but you can at least start training like one.”

“What kind of training?”

“Combat, first aid, crisis management, parkour, and a weapon of choice.”

Steve mulls this over for a second, considering what lies ahead. “And I'll be good if I do this?” he asks.

A warm hand on his shoulder stops Steve in his tracks. He looks up to find Bruce staring down at him. “You're already good, Steve. Being good is about showing people you care. Saving them is one way, sure, but you could also just take care of them. Make breakfast, wash the dishes without being asked, always have their favorite snack on hand. Learn what makes people happy and do that. It's the small stuff that really counts.”

“Not the big stuff?”

“Sure, a big gesture once in a while is nice, but it doesn't add up the same. Small things show you listen and remember. That's all people really want, and that's all that being good is about.”

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking about how relieved and happy his mother looked the one time he did the dishes without being asked. “This doesn't sound like the kinda advice you would give,” he finally says.

“It shouldn’t,” Bruce says, “I learned it from my father, and he learned it from Alfred.”

Yeah, that makes much more sense.

-------

“Hey, I know we're already, like, here and all, but don't you think going inside the abandoned lab for supposed evil is a pretty dangerous idea?”

Steve glances at Robin, taking in her frown as she stares at the building in front of them. “I've been in, like, eight of these before,” he says, flashing a grin when she looks at him. “Don't worry, we’ll be fine.”

“Unless it's funnier if we're not,” Robin mutters. 

Her words make Steve grimace, because he knows exactly what's going to happen now. She's set the scene. Robin has pointed out the gun on the mantle, and now it's going to go off. Because the universe loves a cruel joke every once in a while.

“We’ll be fine,” Eddie says, unaware that he’s hammering nails into their coffin with each word. “We’re just here to explore, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, flashing a grin before leading their doomed group into the abandoned lab.

The inside is dusty and chaotic. Furniture is turned over, potted plants are spilling dirt across the floors, and there’s a large stain on the floor that Steve immediately recognizes as blood. Based on the shade, he’d clock the stain as three weeks old. One of the doors across the room is hanging on by a single hinge, leaning dangerously to the side and rendering the ID scanner by it pointless. 

“I thought they just ran out of funding,” Robin says, shifting closer to Steve to avoid stepping on the blood stain. She grabs the edge of his shirt as they slip through, careful to avoid disturbing the door.

“I heard they accidentally blew up the basement,” Eddie says, his voice low and conspiratorial like they’re sharing secrets at a sleepover. He leans even closer, hand on Steve’s shoulder for balance. “Some of the baseball team were around the night it happened. They heard explosions and screaming, something like a monster wailing through the trees. Maybe it’s still here, waiting for its next meal.”

Robin glares at him. “Don’t be such an asshole, Munson.”

“Well, he’s probably right about the monster thing,” Steve says.

“Wait, you were serious about that?” Robin asks.

Steve pauses. “You thought I wasn’t?” he asks in return.

“I mean, yeah? Hawkins has seen some weird shit recently, sure, but monsters are a little unbelievable.”

“He’s literally from Gotham,” Eddie says, gesturing at Steve. “Like, Gotham Gotham. Of Batman fame. They’ve got Poison Ivy and The Riddler and King Shark, sometimes, I think.”

“He’s in the Pacific right now,” Steve says, vaguely remembering the last postcard he got from King Shark about running into an ex on some island getaway. 

“That’s Gotham,” Robin says, “Hawkins doesn’t have shit like that. We just have kids that disappear and malls that explode sometimes.”

“Your mall exploded?”

“Yeah, they said it was a busted gas pipe or something.”

Well, that sounds suspicious. Steve is just about to say as much when Eddie nudges him and points out an elevator. “Think it works?” he asks.

“This whole building has been cut off from the grid for nearly two years. Why the fuck would the elevator work?” Robin asks.

Steve considers this for a moment before grinning and leading them closer. “I mean, it’d be pretty funny if it did, don’t you think?” he asks, looking at both of them as he presses the button.

A resounding ding echoes around them, followed by the whir of cables pulling the elevator. Eddie and Robin stare as it comes to a stop and the doors open. Steve takes a step inside, inspecting for safety. The light is flickering inside and glass covers the floor, but the elevator is otherwise intact. Steve kicks the glass aside and gestures for Eddie and Robin to join him.

The doors slide shut after them, and Steve looks over the buttons before choosing the one for the basement. Tinny, garbled elevator music begins to play as it jolts and starts to descend. “So, uh, speaking of Gotham,” Robin says, fingers tapping against the side of her thigh, “what’s that place like?”

“It’s just a city,” Steve replies, shrugging.

“But have you seen Batman? Oh, what about Harley Quinn?” Eddie asks.

“I’ve heard she’s twelve pounds of crazy in a three pound bag,” Robin says, grinning widely, “And she’s hot.”

Steve grimaces, trying desperately to erase from his brain the connection between his mother and the word “hot.” He knows she’s pretty, of course, but that’s still his mom. He’d rather hear someone say Bruce Wayne is a total knock-out than his mother.

“Bruce Wayne is pretty fucking smoking, too,” Eddie says, waggling his eyebrows like that will suddenly turn Robin straight long enough to agree with his assessment. 

When Steve tries to think about Bruce in that context, all his mind can offer is Bruce hunched over, squinting at a computer screen, three days without a shower, and running solely on coffee and protein bars. 

Smoking, though? Well, Steve has seen Bruce on fire more than once, so it’s with complete confidence that he says, “He smolders, too, sometimes.”

“Ugh, gross,” Robin mutters, rolling her eyes as the elevator comes to a jolting stop. 

The doors screech as they open, making Eddie and Robin wince. Steve just frowns, taking a step forward so he’s the first thing that can be seen from the other side.

The hallway ahead of them has a few flickering lights and a dim red glow at the end, but it’s dark otherwise. Vines creep along the walls, crowding around the elevator, overlapping and competing for space. Something is dripping in the distance, and the smell of petrichor is wrong.

Steve knows what petrichor is supposed to smell like, especially in the presence of plants. It’s earthy and almost clinging. It lingers like mist after the rain. It hugs the streets and people of Gotham like it’s scared something will happen if it goes away.

This, though? This petrichor is overwhelming. It invades and smothers and nearly chokes. It puts Steve on edge.

“What are we waiting for?” Robin asks, peeking around Steve.

He holds an arm out, blocking her path. “Stay behind me,” he says, the sudden seriousness in his tone enough to make both of them listen without questioning. 

Steve walks down the hall carefully, studying the ground to make sure he doesn’t accidentally tread on any vines. Their footsteps echo with the drip, but nothing else can be heard. “This is kinda creepy,” Eddie whispers, shuffling behind Steve until he’s close enough for Steve to feel the heat from his body.

“Yeah, no shit, Munson,” Robin whispers back. “Also, why are we whispering?”

“Seems like the kinda place you whisper.”

They reach the end of the hall before Robin can respond. Steve motions for both of them to be quiet as he sticks close to the wall and looks around the corner. 

The vines are thicker at the dead end of the new hall. They all shoot out from a large opening in the wall, clinging to brick as they grow. That dim glow is coming from the opening itself. Whatever it leads to, a thick fog fills the space between it and the hall. The red dances across the walls and floors, the vines creating shadows large and small. 

Steve narrows his eyes. When he looks close enough, he can see the glint of metal just under the vines around the opening. He traces the brief glints of metal until he lands on what must be a switch in the wall. It, too, is flickering gently, a nearly-imperceptible green drowned under vines and darkness.

“What are we looking at?” Robin whispers.

“A portal,” Eddie replies.

“One we can close,” Steve adds, gesturing to the switch and pointing out the metal beneath the vines. “Whatever they were looking for, they had the sense to make something they could close. We hit that button, the door closes, and we go get pizza.”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Robin says, “but those vines are in the way.”

“We just need to cut them.”

“Oh, and I suppose you carry a fucking sword around for just this occasion?” Robin hisses.

With such a perfect set up, how could Steve not follow through?

He grins brightly, places a hand on his hip like he’s grabbing the hilt of a sword, and fluidly pulls one out of nowhere. It’s black and red, covered in clubs and spades like one of his mom’s old costumes. With a glance, he can tell it’s a broadsword, huge and unwieldy but perfect for cutting through thick vines.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Robin asks.

“You’re the one who made it possible,” Steve tells her, shrugging as he steps around the corner. “Wait here.”

As he walks away, he barely hears Eddie mutter under his breath about boys with impossible swords. A smile tugs at Steve’s lips, and he twirls the broadsword in his hand just to show off. It’s not nearly as heavy as it looks, but that’s only because he thinks it’s funnier that way. 

A faint humming starts to sound in his ears as he nears the portal. He studies it carefully, adjusts his grip on the hilt of his sword, and slashes through the vines at the bottom. A pained screech echoes through the hallway, and he hears Robin and Eddie yelp.

Steve tenses, waiting for something to attack, but nothing does. He chances a look over his shoulder to see Eddie and Robin catching their breaths. “You okay?” he calls.

“That scared the shit outta us,” Eddie says, placing a hand on Robin’s shoulder and wheezing just to be dramatic.

With a nod, Steve turns back to the vines. He swings his sword again. The vines screech again.

And so it continues for ten minutes as Steve hacks and slices and saws away the vines stretching from the portal. The entire time, he keeps an ear open for any other sounds. Any step, any growl, any shift that doesn’t come from Robin and Eddie, and he’ll turn around swinging.

Nothing happens, though. He clears away the vines, including the ones covering the switch, and takes one last look around before slamming his hand against the thing. Like a rope has snapped, the metal door comes crashing down, cutting off the portal and the little bit of steady light that had been illuminating the hallway.

“Huh, that was easier than I thought,” Robin says, hands on her hips like she’s almost disappointed.

“Yeah, no kidding. I was expecting more, you know, danger,” Eddie adds.

Steve, because he can feel the universe turning and twisting around to get a good look at the show, braces himself. He takes a deep breath before saying, “See, I told you we’d be just fine.”

He was the last to speak on purpose, because then the universe will target him, and he can bounce back from anything. Hopefully, the searing pain of something lancing straight through his stomach is included in that anything. 

Steve hears Eddie and Robin scream as he looks down, a clawed, monstrous hand sticking out of him just below his sternum. A monstrous scream drowns out his friends, making his ears ring as putrid air rolls over him. 

It hurts. Of course it fucking hurts, but adrenaline is rushing through Steve like never before. It keeps him standing long enough to twist around to see the monster currently feeling up his insides without permission. It looks like a person-shaped version of those demodogs from a few days ago, tall and gangly and utterly inhuman.

The thing starts to pull its arm out, raising the other at the same time. Instinct and the voice of Alfred telling him that he should never remove what impales him has Steve swinging his sword around. It cuts through the monster’s forearm, allowing Steve to jerk a few steps away and spin around. 

“RUN!” Eddie shouts, the only word Steve can process before the monster shrieks again. 

It charges at Steve, blood dripping from its stump. Steve takes a moment to spit out his own blood that’s been pooling behind his teeth. He adjusts his grip on the sword, crouching slightly to brace himself. When the monster is close enough, Steve swings the sword in a large arch, swiftly cutting the monster in two across its torso.

He quickly retreats as the monster freezes. A second passes before its top half slides to the ground and the bottom half falls forward. Silence echoes, broken by Steve dropping his sword on the ground and coughing.

The world is spinning, black spots dancing along the edges of his vision as he turns to Eddie and Robin. They’re both staring at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths. “I bet someone found that hilarious,” he wheezes before his knees give out.

He’s barely hit the floor when he feels arms wrap around him. Frantic words fill the air above his head and panicked heartbeats echo in his ears. “Don’t worry,” he says, drawing in a painful breath. “I won’t die. Wouldn’t be funny.”

With that, Steve passes out, knowing his mother and Jason would appreciate his dramatics.

-------

Tag list (there's definitely still room, so please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!)

@nectandra, @y4r3luv, @just-a-tiny-void, @dotdot-wierdlife

@midwestharpy,

@bxnghy,

@twilitdragoneye, @disrespectedgoatman, @lawrencebshoggoth, @gunsknivesandplaid, @sadisticaltarts

Anyway, me rn:

[graysmiles-world]

Not Everything is As it Seems

"I'm leaving to join the monastery," Steve told the congregation, ignoring the shock that spread throughout the church. He could feel his father staring at a hole in the side of his head, which is why Steve didn't tell him. Not that he had the chance; he made the decision moments before he opened his mouth.

Bishop O'Donnel's popping vein was visible even halfway through the church, face going the color of the devil. It was no secret that he despised monks, constantly murmuring how all the money going to the monk's community was better spent at the church.

Steve now stood there, frozen and unknowing of how to proceed. His father and mother stood beside him, planning to announce his engagement with him and Tammy Thompson to the court. The same Tammy Thompson he refused to look at now. Either she'll be crying or bursting with anger - Steve knew she's had a crush on him since they were children.

"I just want to thank everyone for supporting me and helping me realize my true purpose," Steve said, laying it on a little thick. But they believed it, based on the large eyes of many men and women around the chapel. "I just want to journey to find my inner peace in the eyes of God."

Every sermon was pressed together into some scrappily crafted sentences, but it was enough. Someone started to clap, and then another, and soon, the chapel was bursting with applause. Steve supposed he would be clapping too, if some other chump was announcing he was giving up all earthly pleasures to go live in a dank temple.

But this was his only choice, and he knows it.

"When are you leaving?" Joyce Byers asked. Johnathon and Nancy were sitting next to her, both staring at him with wide eyes. He quickly pulled his gaze away and spoke to everyone.

"Immediately," he smiled. "I just wished to thank anyone one last time."

Bishop O'Donnel's withering expression had settled down to a glare, so he was able to speak without blowing up.

"We will miss you, Mr. Harrington," the Bishop said, voice echoing through the chapel. Steve resisted the urge to snort, sure. O'Donnell's hated him ever since he was a kid and was caught with his daughter out at night. They weren't even doing anything, but it was enough for him to be on his shit list.

As Steve stepped out of the pew and into the aisle, many from the town came up to shake his hand and wish him luck on his journey. Steve thanked each one, ignoring the stare of his father and mother on his retreating back.

He'd just made it out the doors and into the fresh air when he heard someone come out after him. His shoulders tightened, preparing to go toe-to-toe with his father.

But it was Senior Harrington, but Nancy Wheeler - now Byers. Steve and her stared at each other for a moment before she actually said anything.

"What are you doing, Steve?" she asked like they were friends. Like she didn't reject his marriage proposal and called him bullshit. "You don't want to become a monk?"

"How do you know?" Steve snapped. He wasn't a monk yet, he could still be a dick for a little bit.

Nancy didn't look taken aback by his temper. In fact, her own shoulders loosened a bit. "You'd hate being a monk, and you know it."

"Well," Steve shrugged. "There isn't anything for me here. This is my only chance to escape Nancy."

This is what seemed to get through to her. Her mouth opened but before she uttered another word, the doors of the church opened once more. Johnathon stepped out, eyes flitting between the two.

"Go home, Nancy," Steve said, turning and walking away before anyone else came after him.

Steve was able to sneak back into his house to grab some new clothes and some food for the journey. Monks were allowed anything of monetary value, so he just let his gaze and fingers linger over the softness of his bedsheets and books, let the old plush he's gotten from Dustin fall back onto the covers.

He was able to get out before Church let out, and thank the lord for that. He knew the second his father had him alone, Steve would pay for potentially ruining their chances to get in bed with the Thompsons. He could see his mother's wobbly lip now, quivering as she asks tearfully why he isn't thinking of his family.

Steve got out into the path before his house before realizing he had no idea where to go. He's heard rumors of one being out east, but the forest was dangerous. He wasn't very keen on wandering around on hope.

But there was no one else around, and Steve wasn't sure that there was anyone who knew where it would be, so he went with his gut. He headed out east.

The forest was dark and windy. Thankfully, spring had yet to melt into summer, so Steve wasn't suffocating in the humid heat. He traveled for a few days, resting when the sun set in between tree roots.

He ate through his rations quickly, wishing that he knew more about the wildlife so that he could actually know what's safe to eat or not.

Sometimes at night, Steve heard rustling in the bushes or footsteps against the dry dirt. There's never been anything there, until now.

Steve had found a little nook in a hill to rest for the night, curled up with his arms under his head as a makeshift pillow. He woke up to people talking.

He's woken up before to noises, but nothing as loud or clear as this. And when Steve slowly opened his eyes, it was to firelight. Someone was carrying lanterns - splashing light against the brush. Steve sat up, back pressed against the hill.

He had a quick second to debate whether or not to run for it when the man holding the lantern appeared. Steve couldn't see his face well with the darkness and the hood he was wearing, but he was able to see the widening of the man's eyes.

"I found something!" he called back, persumingly to the others. Moments later, more lanterns appeared, swinging from the hands of at least six other young men.

Steve slowly rose to his feet, rocking back and forth on his heels just in case he needed to make a break for it. The man who initially found him set down the lantern and held up his hands, approaching Steve like one would a wild animal.

Growing closer, Steve could see him more clearly. He was covered in freckles with dark eyes and hair, and something in him settled at the sight.

His cloak was a rough brown, and Steve knew he'd found the monks.

The man, Thomas, led him back to the monastery. The others followed. They were all silent in their movements, almost unnervingly so. Steve felt like an idiot trampling the underbrush alongside him, but no one mentioned anything.

The monastery was small and made of dark stone. There was a cross hanging above the entrance. Thomas led him down several corridors to a door that swung open to reveal a small room. It was only a few paces long, with a cot shoved in the corner. There was a tiny window perched above it.

Steve entered and sat down on the bed. The mattress was thin, and he could feel the wooden planks beneath it. Thomas was the only one left in the doorway when he looked up; the rest must have retreated to their own quarters for the evening.

"Feel okay?" Thomas asked, leaning against the door.

Steve cleared his throat. "Yeah, thanks."

Thomas nodded at him once before shutting the door. Steve laid back on the cot, laying his head on the thin, limp pillow. He watched the shadows move across the ceiling briefly before falling fast asleep.

He woke up the next morning to someone unlocking the door. Steve sat up, breathing heavily as he remembered where exactly he was. He didn't even realize the door had been locked the night before. He wondered if that was normal for a monastery.

The man who opened it was not one of the men Steve had seen the night before. His hood was down, so Steve could see his face clearly in the early morning light.

"Breakfast," the man said gruffly, looking Steve up and down once before turning and walking out into the corridor.

Steve stood up and hurried after him. This place was almost like a maze, and it wouldn't do any good to get lost.

The man led him to a great hall of sorts. Long wooden tables stretched out the room's length, with various monks milling around. Portraits hung on the wall. Paintings of the devil and suffering. Of children dying and men growing sick.

Steve was a bit disturbed by the images, but he knew the Bible was very dark. It probably is just a reminder of why they're monks, of how earthly pleasures can lead you to the devil.

Steve sat down next to Thomas, who gave him a toothy grin before turning to the other man, who sat opposite him.

"Billy!" he crowed. "We on for tonight?"

Billy glanced over to Steve quickly before nodding at Thomas. "Yup," he told him. "The usual stuff."

Steve furrowed his brow, running his spoon through the bowl of porridge some had dropped in front of it. "What's tonight?" he asked Thomas.

"Mass," Thomas said quietly. "Billy's the leader here; he always makes 'em interesting." Thomas winked at him before returning to his own porridge, shoveling it down like it was a delicacy. It wasn't.

But Steve was starving, so he scarfed his down, too. It was filling, at least, sitting heavy in his stomach. He sipped at the water he was also given, washing away the oats that caked in the back of his throat.

He wasn't really sure on what to do afterwards, so he just sat and listened to the conversations happening around him. A lot of people were excited about tonight, nudging each other and cracking jokes.

Steve relaxed a little bit. Maybe he'll fit in here easier than he thought. No one seemed to be the uptight monks everyone thought they would be.

After a few minutes, Thomas had scrapped the bottom of his bowl. He threw an arm around Steve's shoulder and jostled him a bit, standing up from the bench seat.

"Come on, let's get you changed."

Steve sighed in relief. He hadn't wanted to ask, but his clothes were caked in mud and brush, and he felt gross. He followed Thomas out of the hall, ignoring the whispers and stares from the other monks. He felt like he was back at church, like he was getting ogled and judged all at once.

Thomas led him to another room with only a desk in it. Across the old desk laid a long white tunic. Steve looked back at him, confused, but Thomas just gestured him forward.

He rubbed the fabric in between two fingers and was awed at the feeling. This was silk, smooth and chilled against his finger tips.

Steve looked back at Thomas again, but he was looking out the door - probably to give Steve some form of privacy. He looked back at the clothing and started to strip.

The silk tunic made gooseflesh appear on his arms and the back of his neck. It fell halfway down his thighs, but there was no trousers to go with it. He looked over to Thomas's long robe.

"Why do I have to wear this?" Steve asked, wrapping his arms around his middle to combat the chill that all stone buildings seem to bring.

Thomas looked him up and down, something flashing in his eyes. But it was gone when he met Steve's gaze.

"I'm not sure, something about being bare before God," he shrugged. "All new converts do it."

Steve stared at him for a moment. "How do you know I want to join?"

Thomas snorted a bit. "There's nothing else around here. There's no other place you would have been going."

Steve shrugged, finding no thought in the logic. "Now what?"

Thomas grinned, "Now is solitude."

"Solitude?" Steve asked. Thomas had exited the room, Steve following.

"Yeah, it's when we all go to our chambers and pray to God for a couple hours. Happens once a week."

"Oh," Steve furrowed his brow. "That's..." He couldn't find the right word to describe it.

Thomas had led him back to the chamber from the night before. "Have fun!" he said, closing the door behind him and locking it.

Steve looked around the room, at a loss for what to do. Finally, he just went to lie down on the cot. He's prayed before, but never on his own. Only in church or before meals, so he doesn't even know what'd he say to God.

While debating it, Steve fell asleep.

Steve woke up to the door unlocking for the second time that day. He sprang to his feet, hoping it looked like he was doing something productive instead of napping. But the guy who opened the door didn't even seem to care.

"Hey, I'm supposed to bring you to Mass," he told Steve in a rather monotone voice. Steve nodded, willing his heart to stop racing.

Steve followed the guy down various corridors, almost dizzy with the number of turns. He's sure he'll get it eventually, though. The man didn't say a word to him, so Steve stayed silent. They were both barefoot, so they made no sound as they walked through the monastery.

Steve wondered what time it was. He knows it was mid-morning when he ate and returned to his room, and it must have been a couple of hours since then. But there were no windows to show the sunlight and his stomach was starting to pain from hunger.

Finally, the man opened up a door at the end of a hallway and let Steve through. The man quickly joined the others who knelt before a great stone altar, lit up with candles that were spread throughout the room.

Steve caught Thomas's eye, who grinned and winked at him before returning to the altar. He wondered if he was supposed to kneel down too or if he had to do something else because he was new.

The door opened again, Billy strolling in with the same air of confidence as that morning. He grabbed Steve's arm, bringing him up to the dais where the altar sat.

Steve looked around, very confused by what was happening. Maybe there was an initiation or something. No one would meet his eyes, all staring straight forward.

Billy placed one hand on Steve's back, shoving him forward a bit so his stomach dug into the altar. Steve gasped a sound of pain, preparing to ask what the hell was going on.

Before he could, however, someone was grabbing his middle. He struggled, trying to kick back at the guy, but someone else held tight onto his arms and another to his legs.

He was set on the altar, heading banging back against the stone. His wrists and ankles were strapped to the edges, Steve eagle-spread across the top.

Steve looked around, wondering what was happening. Something thudded heavily in his gut as he realized all the weird things that had occurred since he arrived.

No one asked his name, he was given strange clothing, he was locked in the chamber for most of the day, and how everyone looked at him like he was a piece of meat.

Steve wasn't becoming one of the monks, he was their sacrifice.

[redlegumes]

Little Monster Chapter 2:

On AO3

"His identity was secure. Not only secure but envied. However, Steve was beginning to feel deeply lonely. The past few years of high school he'd been propelled by goals to further his transition, remain stealth. Now that he'd secured what anyone could describe as success, there wasn't even a friend he could celebrate with. There was no one in his life he could share his fears or worries with let alone the successes."

Steve Harrington finds and loses love, finishes high school stealth, and is pulled into the mysteries and horrors of the Upside Down. (Transpires over the events of Stranger Things Seasons 1-3)

CHAPTER AFTER THE CUT IS MATURE 18+

Notes:

A lot of CW's for this chapter, trying to cover my bases.

I'd say I hope the warnings don't discourage you from reading, but they're literally here so people can make informed choices about the entertainment they're consuming. So please read the warnings.

CW: Mild homophobia, parental transphobia, mild internalized transphobia, canon based underaged sexual history discussed as well as high school aged Steve and Nancy sex talk (mature but not explicit), brief bully Billy Hargrove appearance, high school locker room verbal bullying/homophobia, Steve Harrington has bad parents, verbal abuse, disownment

Turning sixteen meant Steve secured a driver's license with his gender and name, thanks to his birth certificate being handled when it was. It also meant testosterone, thanks to his doctor in Chicago that he checked in with virtually. Steve was set up with a prescription and tracked down an online pharmacy that would ship it directly to the house. He didn't mind the needle aspect, it felt like a small price to pay for what he received in exchange. The bottom growth alone was so satisfying. Packers were fine and all, his prosthetics helped immensely, but having his own body shift closer to what he knew it should be was gratifying in ways he couldn't express. But of course there wasn't anyone to share his euphoria with either.

Steve was grateful for what his parent’s money afforded him and his access to medication, but he couldn't tell them that. They only wanted to see him in a tidy little gender box. He was their son, and he 'should be able to manage and maintain that identity' without slipping in the slightest. If anything, as soon as he received the car keys to the BMW it felt as though they were pulling away. Chip and Mitzi Harrington spent more and more time in Indianapolis, and when they were home, the pressure on Steve to present as the perfect son had a whiplash effect on him. One moment he was meant not to care about their frequent abandonment and the next he was expected to treat them as though they'd hung the moon.

Steve started to feel it wasn't his parent's good opinion of him that he needed, it'd never truly been. They weren't going to suddenly love and support him, no matter what hurdles he overcame, the hoops he jumped through. They weren't going to give him more of their time or consideration.

Steve's priorities shifted.

He could use his money and lack of supervision to his advantage. Steve's life alone, at home when his folks were away, didn't need to be a living mausoleum. He could get love and attention from his friends. While he couldn't completely squash that desire to get his parent's acceptance, this would do, and once he started, they didn't even seem to notice. He was fully integrated in the Hawkins High School power dynamic. Whether or not he passed was no longer worry number one. He now had to worry about other incidents. For example, how fast an ambitious sophomore, Cynthia Evans, tried to get her hand down his pants after baseball practice.

Steve liked girls. They were soft. He'd never noticed, before going on T, just how much softer they felt. They smelled lovely too. He found femininity on someone else wasn't a turn off at all. There was something affirming in the differences he clearly saw and felt between himself and female partners. They were foreign yet familiar, the paradox lightly plaguing him as he began to date around. Dating was part of the popularity deal. It also afforded him a little more leeway with his own identity. Steve cared about his hair and clothes obviously because he was a lady killer, not a 'homo' with feminine tendencies that he feared would one day be some sort of smoking gun that outed him.

Though, he still noticed guys.

Men were exciting in a different way. Certain traits, a muscle or light pattern of chest hair, these things drew Steve in beyond just gender envy. But even if he could keep his trans status secret while coming out as bisexual, there'd be no understanding from his folks. Despite the internet and TV show representations becoming more frequent, being bisexual wasn't much of an option around Hawkins. Steve knew if he dated a dude he'd be seen as gay with all the casual homophobia that came with it. He hadn't encountered a girl he wanted to reveal his genital situation to. Being bisexual and having to reveal his bottom bits to a guy? It seemed like a reality he wasn't going to live. General consensus was that it was easier to be a straight, cis dude, and Steve was inclined to agree.

So instead, there was some closeted experimentation. A few cocks sucked in a few locker rooms. Steve found his hookups perfectly content when he asked them not to reciprocate or touch him.

Girls worked similarly. Steve knew all the spots to park in or walk to with a picnic blanket. Sometimes it was just the sweet intimacy in kissing, feeling so adored, desired. But often there was a push for more, and Steve obliged if they did things his way. Nowhere else in his life did he feel as 'in control' then he did in the back seat of his car, with a pair of thighs trembling around his head.

He cycled through dates, getting off the prettiest girls in school, and he did it well enough that the rumors were all praise. No one brought up his avoidance to press his partners for his own climax, and Steve encouraged any whispers that implied he had gotten it. He wasn't struggling with a complete lack of self satisfaction. He found a select few packers that allowed him to really benefit just by rutting against another's body.

It all worked. His identity was secure. Not only secure but envied. However, Steve was beginning to feel deeply lonely. The past few years of high school he'd been propelled by goals to further his transition, remain stealth. Now that he'd secured what anyone could describe as success, there wasn't even a friend he could celebrate with. There was no one in his life he could share his fears or worries with let alone the successes. He had a community, but it began to remind him of paper mache. There was no solid core, only pretty paper that could all melt away.

...

Then came Nancy Wheeler.

Steve was seventeen and he finally felt secure enough. Ready. Ready to let someone see him, know him, perhaps even his story. Nancy was thoughtful and kind. And Steve wanted to… he wanted to do more with her than what he'd done with others. She was so smart. So much smarter than Steve, and yet he could get her flustered, make her blush, and make her smile.

He started to let his guard down around Nancy. He let a lot of the persona he'd developed fade while hanging with her. He didn't need to keep it up like he did with Tommy, his 'best' friend. The bitchy quips and asshole brush offs were designed to keep people from getting too comfortable, to keep himself a little superior, separated, safe. With Nance, he wanted her to press, to touch, and ask. He was ready to answer.

…

He ended up being the one with questions.

Steve climbed up the front of the Wheeler house and in, through the window of Nancy's room, one night. Predictably, she was studying. They'd been not quite 'dating' for a little while… and unlike his other relationships, Steve wanted this one to go further. He wanted more. He wanted it to last.

The night started with helping Nancy study. Steve soon shook his head with laughter as it became clear she knew the subject matter, front and back. Nance was more than prepared for her test the next morning. They were both reclined on either ends of her bed and it struck Steve as though everything was comforting, soft. The lighting, the furnishings, even Nancy's shrewd yet shy smile…

"You know I want to do more with you, Nance," he said, not quite sure how else to word it.

"More than study?" She giggled, raising a manicured eyebrow.

"I normally..." He fidgeted with the flashcards before setting them down. Steve thought he'd mastered moving past nervousness. Guess this situation is different. Well, no reward without risk. "I don't open myself up to a lot of people. I don't actually, um do more than what we've been up to."

Nancy moved a hand out towards him. "Steve, it's okay… you don't have to-"

"-No. I really do. I want for it to be us. For there to be an us? You're not like the other girls."

Nancy's lips twisted into a small, curt smile as she looked away from him, the blush on her cheeks deepening. "Oh my God. Don't say it like that."

"Hah." Steve felt a grin spread over his own face, and he leaned toward her. "I mean you're really special. You Nancy, you make me want more, make me feel like we could have more."

"I think. I think I'd like that." Her eyes snapped back to him as her smile grew wider. "Could be really nice, being an 'us.'"

Steve breathed out a big sigh of relief. His happiness, over Nancy seemingly being on the same page, barely tempered his anxiety transferring to his next confession. Steve swallowed and looked into her sharp blue eyes. "Hey. So, I feel like there's something you ought to know. Something only my parents know about, but I trust you. I don't… believe that you would hurt me with it, if I tell you."

"Steve?" Nancy reached out and this time took his hand. She squeezed it lightly. "I would never knowingly try to hurt you. Sometimes you can be sort of an asshole jock." Steve laughed nervously. "But I wouldn't turn your secrets against you."

He nodded. She truly had such beautiful eyes. Steve stared at the shifting, gentle waters of her gaze and found his center.

"Nancy, I'm trans." The words sounded distant when he spoke them.

Nancy's eyes widened. They flashed over his body and then back up to his face. Her brow furrowed, but she didn't let go of his hand. "Steve, I. Thank you I. I really appreciate that you told me."

Woah, I did it. Wow, okay. "Now you know," he said meekly, building back up the courage to say what he'd wanted to. "I'm serious about you Nancy. If this is a deal breaker... I need to know."

"No!" She looked as surprised as he assumed he did at the speed of her reply. "No, actually I'm good with this. I, I said I was ready to do more. I don't have an issue with the fact that you're, you," she said, squeezing his hand again and glancing down his body. "I mean, seems like some of your parts might just be more familiar to me than what I was expecting."

His mind went blank with the unexpected acceptance. He was so awestruck he couldn't think but to ask, "how would you… would you want to?" He trailed off in a daze, and Nancy leaned forward to give him a sweet kiss on the lips. Steve had thought it out before but now it was real. "I've got the means to do it the y'know, 'classic' way. If you want."

"The classic way Steve? That makes it sound like I'm ordering a burger."

They laughed together and Steve felt lighter. "We can talk more later if you need time, it's no rush."

"Maybe. I think right now I'd like to kiss you again."

…

The days that followed their first time were confusing to say the least. Steve saw Nancy repeatedly with Jonathan. He took stalker shots of her from the woods behind his house! Steve tried not to even think about what could have happened if he had stood in his window that night. Byers didn't strike him as the type to 'out' somebody, but Steve was angry, scared. He finally opened up, just for it to all come crumbling down? Had Nancy been so disgusted by him that she had to run out and get biodick to erase the memory of his store bought member? Jealousy filled his head and hurt grew in his chest. Tommy and Carol were gleefully ready to turn on Nancy Wheeler after hearing that Steve may have been cheated on. It felt like friendship when they defaced buildings downtown, when they encouraged Steve and Jonathan to fight.

But even in the face of Steve's petty friends, magnifying his hurt, Nancy was true to her word. She didn't reveal his secret and she denied wrongdoing.

Would anyone in his life take that level of character assault and not lash back at him? Use any perceivable weakness to wound him? Later, Steve only wished that Jonathan hadn't had to beat his face in for him to get it. All his fears of discovery, betrayal, loss of the popularity that he'd clung to, believing it was his shield. Those relationships weren't an ounce of what he could have with Nancy. And someday maybe with others? He could have people in his life who really cared for him.

Steve broke with his old friends, cleaned graffiti, and sought after Nancy Wheeler.

The demogorgon adequately summed up why she'd acted so odd.

...

He and Nancy were good for a while after that, finding comfort in one another, and then it began to fall apart. Steve loved her, and she couldn't say it back. He tried to cope with her over Barb's death, but their methods weren't the same. Steve wanted to swallow the sadness and try to move on. Nancy wanted retribution, and a small vengeance. When she set out to find that closure, she didn't seek Steve's aid.

Steve wished that was the summary of his senior year troubles, but then Billy Hargrove came to town.

…

Hargrove had joined the basketball team. He was fresh from California, one of those high school guys who was plainly built like a full adult. His play style was aggressive, and the first practice he joined after making the team he dedicated to shoving Steve around. Steve's game on the court wasn't what it had been. Swimming and his swing at the batting cages were fine, but basketball… Steve now shied from contact heavy plays. His doctor had warned him about concussions after he mentioned a few 'falls' he'd taken that past year during his last check in.

However, Billy seemed determined. It was typical 'prison yard' mentality: establish dominance by beating the best. Steve had been the 'king,' and Billy appeared to hunger for the discarded crown.

After that practice, Steve changed into his swim suit in the locker room handicap stall like he normally did. He was ready for a couple laps in the pool after the mild humiliation on the court.

The locker room was still fairly full when Steve headed toward the pool exit; unfortunately, the crowd included Billy. He was showering and called out loudly enough that it echoed on the tiles, over the shower's spray. "So this 'king Steve' I've been hearing so much about is fucking allowed, flaunting even, that weird ass, full body thing." Billy sneered and shut off the shower head, stalking nude right up to Steve. "How'd you even swim like that man?"

"What, have you never seen a full body speedo? You wanna Google 'men's fastsuit' or do you just never watch Olympic coverage." Steve had defended himself before, but then it had always come with a degree of expectation. Naked Billy ranked high in unnerving and unexpected. He was far too close. Power move bullshit, Steve realized, grimacing. "Man, you don't have to like it and my performance proves it's not an issue, so." Steve moved to sidestep Billy but found himself blocked.

"Sure. You knoooow I'm wondering if you aren't just too self conscious Steve-o. Maybe you just need help with it, huh?" Billy snapped Steve's shoulder strap to punctuate his point.

Steve's skin began to buzz. There was definitely an undercurrent to the hostility in Billy's voice. One he didn't like.

Fuck.

Before he could truly panic, his teammate Brian spoke up, cutting the tension. "Dude, lay off. We need Steve. He's a solid player. Don't fuck with him like that."

"Really?" Billy stepped away, and grabbed a towel. "You pussies all agree?"

Steve was grateful to see the team members still in the locker shoot Billy looks that confirmed just that. Billy's gaze eventually landed on Tommy who had excitedly become Billy's bootlicker since the start of the school year.

For the first time since their friendship's explosive ending in the parking lot, Tommy didn't dig at Steve. He shrugged and mostly mumbled his reply. "We've all got our shit. Besides, I'm not gonna force a dude out of his swimsuit with a bunch of other guys in the locker room showers man. No one's gonna buy that's not some gay shit right there."

"No homo," another player called out from in back to a smattering of laughter. Billy dropped it.

Apart from the harassment 'dick looking ' at the urinals received, Steve found few instances where he was grateful for homophobia. That moment ranked.

...

His parents never asked him about the injuries, the bruising, or the scars that formed after. Though his mother once stopped him, offering cryptic advice concerning vitamin E, shirts that covered arms for all seasons, and make up tips for covering sections of 'damaged' skin.

Steve often wondered just what they thought had happened to him. Not that he volunteered any information. Not like he really could. Steve could tell it made them uncomfortable, even more adverse to his company. He only had the vague outlines of what they expected him to do after high school, but he'd begun to grow anxious about it after college rejection letters started to show up in the mail.

Nance had tried her best to help him, but his sports achievements weren't enough to balance out his piss poor grades. Steve graduated without any acceptance offers from a four year university. He absently wondered if the hits to the head over the years had anything to do with it, or worse (in his own opinion), his mental health.

Steve resigned himself to the fact that there would be no Harrington graduation party. After he walked across the stage and pulled his tassel to one side, he followed his parent's car home. Once the door to the house shut behind them all, his father began a tirade.

"This is ridiculous! The trouble, the cost, to keep your reckless 'identity choice' from scandalizing every friend and colleague our family has and now, no real college would take you?" The indignation was rich coming from his father. He'd never even suggested a specific school Steve should aim for, let alone help with applications. "Do you expect us to stay here another year? Hawkins," he spat out the name. "No. We're leaving this pointless little town. You are taking any office job I can get for you at the firm. This is what I get for giving you carte blanche you ungrateful shit," his father muttered. "I'm done being 'Mr. Nice Guy.'"

Steve's hand clenched as the words bounced around his mind like a pinball machine. "...that's what the last 18 years were? Nice? You barely speak to me. Here I've been grateful you rarely misgender me. No wonder. When was the last time you actually talked to me? If we don't count screaming, I can't remember. The move here was always about you. I would've stayed in Chicago. I wasn't the one who needed to hide who I am. That was always you two!" His eyes fluttered over his mother, including her in his address. He didn't raise his voice. He couldn't bear the thought of mimicking his father that way. "You signed my name change and gender indicator paperwork so others would think you didn't have some freak for a son. I look every inch like your son, so I better at least play that role for you? Look at the car you bought so you didn't have to drive me to practices or pick me up. You're moving?" Steve pushed out another clipped question. "When's the last time you were living here?"

"You're done." Chip Harrington's fist shook, his index finger pointing at Steve. "We're done. You're cut off. This is the last straw. You've rejected all we've tried to give you from your first name to a chance at a future. You disgust me. I want you gone by the time I'm done with work tomorrow."

The declarations and demand didn't fill him with anger. It only made him feel drained. It dawned on Steve that he'd fought to hold up his parents' approval of him and now he couldn't do it anymore. He let it slip away. His care for their opinion was gone. It wasn't a triumphant moment but it sure as hell wasn't a sad one.

…

Steve packed his things.

He didn't want to call Nancy, but he wasn't really sure what he was going to do. Hawkins was too small to have too much in the way of homeless youth resources, and he genuinely didn't want to leave Hawkins; it'd become home. His kids were still there, and he'd learned that they rarely stayed safe. He couldn't abandon them…

So he loaded the beamer with the documents and possessions he could claim entirely as his and got a job at the new mall. He pawned and sold clothes, shoes, and watches to scrounge up enough for rent and a deposit. Steve realized there was a new problem. Who would rent to him? Eighteen years old, no credit score, working minimum wage… disowned…

Steve finally broke down and called the only adult he thought could help: Jim Hopper.

He hadn't known what to expect when what was essentially a gruff acquaintance answered after three rings.

Hopper's first question was if Steve was safe.

"I move the car around to different spots each night. I know the public pool staff, so I go in early to shower there."

Hopper exhaled heavily. "How long have you been living out of the car?"

"Just a couple of weeks..."

"Moving the car regularly, that was smart kid." He sighed again. "Okay, we're gonna get you set up to find some section eight housing. You're going to qualify…" Hopper began before detailing all the assistance Steve did have available to him.

…

Hopper met him later that day to look at places with him. He cosigned on an apartment and helped Steve out with his truck, thrifting necessary furniture and basic cookware. Hopper asked once if Steve wanted the others to know, mentioning they'd want to help. Steve insisted Hopper's help was enough. Beyond enough. Steve had no idea how he could begin to thank him. The apartment rental had required a background check. The background check required Steve's previous name. Hopper saw. He knew and nothing changed.

After Steve was set up with necessities, Hop hugged him, and they never spoke of it again.

...

Steve's job slinging ice cream at Scoops Ahoy was going fine, but he hadn't really 'bounced back.' His flirting attempts fell flat. He was grateful that his slump hadn't affected his relationships with the kids. At least he still kept in touch with them. He even had a co-worker who, for the first time since Nancy, would make him feel safe. He realized he could be himself with her, without having to guard any part of his identity. Unfortunately, this breakthrough came after more Upside Down fuckery and the Russian military. Literally the Russian military in Hawkins, IN.

Robin Buckley aided their ever-growing trauma-family and was rewarded the same way they all were: psychological and physical injury and eventually a non-disclosure agreement from the government.

She'd revealed her closeted truth to him. They were still loopy, on the public bathroom floor nearest the mall's movie theater, but no longer in an actively drugged state. Whatever 'truth serum,' chemical cocktail the Russian doctors injected them with, in an attempt to get them to reveal that they worked for someone other than Scoops Ahoy, had been yacked out. Robin told him of her frustration at Steve in high school. Girls fawned over him, and she felt she'd never have even one notice her.

Steve was in awe of Robin, supporting him, fighting to keep the kids safe, and now that trust. In return, Steve worked to make her smile, make her laugh. He'd definitely fallen for Robin but even he knew, could feel, that it was a different love than what he'd known for Nancy. Closer to what he felt for the kids.

I know there are supposed to be different types of love. I just dunno what this one is supposed to be called.

A 'mall fire' was the cover story for the Mindflayer's victims, the Russian madness, and, to everyone's horror, Hopper's death. Robin's parents picked her up from the emergency vehicles as did the rest of the kids' families, after being checked out by government agents. Even El bittersweetly had someone to take her home. A contingency plan few had known about made it so Joyce Byers now had custody of 'Jane Hopper.'

Hop was gone and everyone else had homes… families to return to. Steve was almost grateful that the EMTs said he needed to stay a night at the hospital under supervision. They'd determined he'd suffered another concussion. The news was practically a relief. Steve didn't have to haul himself back to his empty, one bedroom apartment yet.

'Hawkins lab' took care of the bill for Steve's treatment. He absently realized if they hadn't been aware of his medical history, they probably were now. Hopefully, there'd be no ramifications from the sketchy government types if he came to deal with them in the future. It seemed likely. The terrors of the Upside Down didn't feel far away. The scale of the Mindflayer gripped Steve's heart with an icy fear for the future villains they might face, seeping up from the 'other Hawkins.' Beings that seemed to be increasing in intelligence and purpose.

When Steve was released from Hawkins Memorial Hospital, he plugged his phone into his car charger. After he'd been cleared to drive, Steve had found the beamer waiting for him in the visitor parking lot. He decided that it was one of those things not worth questioning. Messages flooded in on his device, including repeated missed calls from Robin.

He'd given her a ride or two to work before, so he knew exactly where he needed to go. Steve drove directly to her house and parked on the street. The Buckleys lived in a one story, ranch style home, and Steve silently thanked the powers that be he didn't have to climb to get to Robin's window. It was about ten pm and he really didn't want to bother with the questions her parents might have. He carefully skirted the house before locating her room. The curtains were parted, revealing the warm glow of a lamp on a nightstand, illuminating Robin curled up on the bed inside. She was wrapped around a large plush shark. A laptop was on the bed, a few inches from her, playing what he vaguely recognized as the Trolls movie. Steve tapped on the window as cautiously as he could.

Robin jolted immediately, turning toward the sound. She let out a sort of garbled 'Steve,' and raced over to open the window, pulling him in.

They hugged each other tightly. "Dingus, you didn't answer your phone," she said, sounding choked as her head shook against his shoulder.

"Phone died."

Robin pulled back, her nose crinkled. "Steve, oh my god. They couldn't give you anything else to wear?"

"Didn't want to come over in the hospital gown," he replied, shrugging. He could have gone to his place first, but then again he couldn't've. He needed to see Robin again, know she was alright. The others had been through some degree of it all before (except for Erica, but she had Lucas to help her). The kids had their phones but also the walkies for unmonitored discussion of the events from the past week. He figured Robin would need him about as much as he needed her.

She grabbed the barely charged phone from his limp grip and plugged it into her charger. "Okay. That'll help some. Dustin's freaking out about you. The others too, but y'know."

"I know."

Dustin's sweet 'you die, I die,' declaration from the elevator hadn't left Steve's mind. But Dustin and the others had been updated on Steve's condition before his phone died. Robin seemed to already understand that 'worry' would be everyone's default for a while.

"Here. I've got to have some clothes that'll fit you." Robin turned toward her closet.

He'd already decided. Robin had been completely open with him, Steve felt he owed it to her to do the same. If he was being honest with himself, he craved a friendship where he wouldn't worry that slipping off his shirt would ruin it.

"Robin, wait. I need to tell you something."

She gave him her full attention while joking. "Can't it wait until after we burn that uniform?"

"Uh no. Actually not, uh, not really." Like a bandaid? Steve let out a steadying breath. "Robs, I'm… I'm trans."

He eyebrows shot up and then down. Her jaw dropped. "What? No." She shook her head. "What?"

"Yeah, ha, uh. Surprise? Is that…" He bit his lip, hating the shame and uncertainty beginning to boil in his stomach like a deep indigestion. "Is it um-"

Robin cut him off, arms wrapped around him in another hug. "You're okay," she said. "We're okay."

"Yeah?" He whispered the question, needing to hear the acceptance again but feeling ashamed to be so... needy.

"Yeah," Robin replied in a kind but firm tone. She pulled back slightly. "Though I still… Seriously 'king' Steve is lgb't?'" Questions began to pour out. "That's mind blowing. Who else knows? Oh gosh, who do you want to know? And why did you tell me? I mean I'd never out you… but this is a big deal right? Just, wow."

Steve kissed the top of her head and sort of grimaced. "I know, and you know. It wasn't something I was allowed to talk about and now, I dunno."

She cocked her head to the side and lightly rested her hand against his injured face. "Thanks for letting me in. Steve, really. Is it weird to tell you I think you might be my best friend?"

Steve's heart felt fit to burst. "Really?" His voice dropped to a whisper again.

"Really. You're my schmuck, remember?" She leaned up a little and kissed his less beaten cheek before turning back to her dresser.

Robin pulled out a large shirt that had a faded image of the Great Lakes on it and a pair of sweatpants she assured Steve were giant on her. He nodded and was about to remove his shirt when she suddenly stopped rambling about the clothes. He raised an eyebrow at her.

Robin took in a deep breath and spoke carefully. "Can I see…?" She moved her hand over her chest in a manner that looked almost as if she had failed to properly cross herself.

Steve thought about it. He wasn't ashamed of his chest. In fact, he loved it. The faded jagged scars next to the surgical ones. They were an emancipation, and, he loved the way his torso looked. But…

"No one's really seen it."

Robin's eyes were wide though her brow was pinched. "I'm sorry. Honestly, just curious. I want to hear your whole story. But I'm not gonna demand to know everything. You telling me in the first place is… huge. Just. I wanna be your person. So share whatever you're comfortable with. Know I'm interested and I care." She shrugged.

Steve chuckled. "My platonic person?" Platonic. That's it, the type of love I couldn't name.

She snorted. "Obviously. You forget?" She shoved his shoulder without any real force. "Not into dudes like that."

Steve took off the bloodied Scoops uniform, toed into the sweatpants, and then turned around so Robin could see.

"Wow," she gasped. She reached out but stopped halfway as though mentally schooling herself. "Can I um…"

"Yeah. Sure." He thought he might flinch or suddenly feel dysphoric with her hand on the left scar, but instead he was simply reminded his body was littered with other scars. His new bruises and cuts were sensitive, but they would heal like the others. Like the one Robin curiously starred at now.

Robin was mindful of the fresh damage, lightly tracing over his skin. "Steve… Did the first top surgery, uh, not take?"

He laughed and finished dressing.

They lay in Robin's bed that night. Steve started talking about his top surgery and, before he knew it, spilled his whole life story to her. Robin took it all in stride. It was difficult but liberating. She shared too, thoughts, feelings, reactions. It felt inaugural, like the first sleepover of many with his best friend. His person.

[that-ineffable-devil]

Rainbow in the Dark | Chapter 6

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Author's Note: The last two weeks have been hellish, but I think we're over the worst of it now--at least for the moment. I can't attest to the quality of this chapter--transitioning from Child!Eddie to Teenager!Eddie has been a CHALLENGE. Still, I hope you enjoy it as we get a little more into his motivations during S4.

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter references the effects of abuse and also describes how Eddie becomes a drug dealer. There's no explicit abuse, violence, or drug use--I just decided to err on the side of caution.

Chapter 6: Can’t They See It’s Why My Brain Says Rage?

The day he’d brought Eddie home from the hospital with him, he’d made sure that Eddie’s “welcome home and happy belated birthday” present was perched carefully against the sofa, a giant red bow tied gently around its body.

Even though he was still in pain and using mobility aids, Eddie had stopped in the open doorway and gasped loudly, his entire body rigid. Slowly, he’d turned his questioning eyes toward Wayne, who smiled and nodded in response. Eddie had approached the guitar slowly, with such care and reverence that Wayne wondered if the boy was afraid it might disappear if he startled it.

When he finally reached it, he gently ran his fingers across its strings, emitting the slightest of hums.

“Uncle Wayne…I…she’s beautiful…” his voice was soft but tight—almost fearful. “But…”

Wayne waited patiently for Eddie to finish his sentence, but soon realized Eddie had gone completely rigid again.

“But what, son?” he’d asked gently.

Eddie had jumped a little at his voice but kept his eyes on the guitar.

“I don’t know how to play…”

“Is that all? Don’t you worry, boy, I’ll teach you what I know—I bet in a year or two you’ll be out-playing my rusty skills with ease.”

Eddie had finally looked up at him then, his expression at first only shock, but it quickly morphed into the widest dimple grin Wayne had ever seen. He couldn’t help but grin back, knowing full well that this boy was now his whole heart.

Eddie never found out what happened to his father after that terrible night. He’d had his guesses, but he never asked—Wayne didn’t seem open to discussing it. As far as Wayne was concerned Eddie was his kid, and God have mercy on any soul who even considered hurting his boy.

Truthfully, Eddie was content to live in that reality, too. His memory of the time before Hawkins was a murky shadowland, full of all manner of unholy beasts waiting to consume him whole. So, he actively ignored anything his brain had been unable to repress—all but the Party and Luke. Eddie tried every day for a month to get Wayne’s permission to call them—he wanted to tell them he was OK. That he hadn’t abandoned them.

“You don’t understand,” Eddie had pleaded, “They…they’re family—they kept me alive!”

“Maybe so, but they didn’t keep you out of that hospital,” Wayne had replied, his gruff southern accent remarkably soft—a stark contrast to the Warden.

“No contact,” he continued as he removed the phone from the wall after Eddie had tried to sneak in a call while Wayne was out working on his truck. “That was the condition for the police releasing you to come home with me.”

It was half-true. It was a condition of his custody arrangement—just not the only one. Eddie hadn’t known that while he was still in and out of consciousness in the hospital, Wayne had arranged to move his entire life back to Indiana—the one place he knew his brother would never come back to. The court order was very clear that he and Eddie couldn’t stay at his last known address. When the judge asked why he’d chosen Indiana, he’d leveled them with a stare that could make a lion cower.

“There’s no safer place for him,” he’d said firmly, staring them down.

Nothing ever happened in Hawkins, Indiana.

Despite his baptism by fire, Eddie proved to be a gentle, funny, thoughtful boy with far too much kindness for a world that was all too unkind to him. Wayne could hardly believe his brother had even been partially responsible for creating this boy.

Sure, he was rough around the edges, a little prickly maybe, but he was never cruel. When faced with the choice, Eddie’d always choose kindness. Of course, Eddie didn’t like to show that part of himself. He’d rant and rave and bluster his way through each day, loudly expressing his anger at an unjust world.

Eddie had never been able to tolerate injustice, and there was just so much of it in the world. All evidence to the contrary, the boy had a strong sense of right and wrong—his right just didn’t always align with what society considered “right”…or lawful.

Sometimes, Wayne wished Eddie cared a little less—just to make his own life easier. But when Eddie appeared on his doorstep in handcuffs after being caught stealing a bike back from some bully that had taken it from another kid, Wayne loved him all the more. Wayne often felt like he was raising a superhero—his kid was going to change the world.

This was utterly different from Eddie’s opinion of himself. He was no hero—nor even particularly kind or thoughtful. If he had to describe himself in one word, he’d choose “terrified.” He saw the world as it was—unjust, unfair, and unkind to those who deviated from that very narrow scope of “societally appropriate.” And Eddie—well, Eddie was definitely a deviant.

Wayne had been the first adult to just let Eddie be—to express himself how he wanted, to speak freely, to make noise and trouble. To laugh. But the Warden’s lessons remained etched deep in his brain, as though he were branded with them. No matter the circumstance, no matter how frightened or upset he felt, he never cried—not even around Wayne, who had proven to be safe.

And love? Well, Eddie loved Wayne of course, but he never forgot that love was pain, and pain was love. Suffering was how you proved your love—but Wayne never made Eddie suffer. He never raised a finger in anger at Eddie—hell, not even his voice. So, Eddie had to find creative ways to show he was willing to endure anything so Wayne knew he loved him.

Wayne worked himself to the bone at the plant to make sure they had enough to put food on the table, but he wouldn’t let Eddie get a job in the afternoons or on weekends.

“Your job is to be a kid, son—and school. That’s it. You’ll have plenty of time to earn money in a few years, and we’re doin’ alright,” Wayne had argued, shaking his head at Eddie.

“But you work so…”

“No’s no, Eddie. Don’t make me call the businesses around here an’ tell ‘em what I think of you getting’ a job.”

Thus, Eddie found himself in the presence of “Reefer Rick” Lipton, the local drug dealer. The man oozed the personality of someone stuck in the 70s. His greasy, wavy mop of blonde hair was parted down the middle. His flowery green button-up shirt hung open, revealing his lithe form and ridiculously untamed jungle of chest hair. Though his pale blue jeans were tattered and stained, they were still evidently bell-bottoms hanging widely over his bare feet. And his enormous blue-ombre sunglasses with thin metal frames perfectly accented his gloriously bushy blonde brows and mustache.

Eddie could tell by the way Rick sized him up that he was younger than his usual…entrepreneurs, and he wasn’t convinced.

“I’m young, I know, but that could really work to your benefit, you know…” Eddie started, eyebrows raised.

“Uh huh, how’s that?”

Eddie flashed his dimples and lowered his eyebrows, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Well, based on the way you’re eyeing me with the suspicion of a cop being handed an unmarked brown package, I’m assuming you’ve got no sales reps in or around the schools, yeah?”

Rick’s eyebrows shot up as he nodded, also leaning in with interest now.

“I’d be your in. And a lot of those suburbs kids have money to burn—literally. Not only that, I’d be taking some heat off you since you won’t be at risk of being caught selling to minors. The only minor you’ll be ‘selling’ to is me.”

His arms crossed in front of him, Rick tapped a finger against one arm. His eyes were glassy, yet he seemed to be considering Eddie’s pitch.

“And I can read people, man. I can identify risks and match the products to the right users. I’m an enormous ass…et,” he added with a wink.

Rick doubled over, snorting with uncontrolled laughter. Eddie just grinned.

As Rick regained control, he smiled at the mop-headed runt in front of him. He pulled a joint from his shirt pocket and lit it, taking a long drag before offering Eddie a hit. Eddie breathed in as Rick released the smoke from his lungs in a slow exhale, aiming it away from the kid’s face.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you kid,” Rick said while taking back the joint, his glassy eyes meeting Eddie’s and a frown suddenly overtaking his face.

Eddie knew Rick was trying to play him, trying to make him think he wasn’t willing to work with him. But like he told Rick, he could read people. He could see the bright excitement behind the hazy glaze of the pot, the way the corners of Rick’s mouth twitched to fight off a smile, the way he leaned toward Eddie with interest.

“I know, I know,” Eddie said in mock disappointment. “I’m hired.”

“Ha! I got you kid! You thought I was gon…wait, what?”

“You liked my pitch. You want me to sell for you, and you’re giving me the job.”

“Well fuck man, you’re gonna be hard to fuck with…”

“You have no idea.”

Eddie found he was as good a dealer as he’d told Rick—hell, even better. He know how to identify potential whales—rich clients who were willing to pay a premium for lower quality products because they didn’t know any better. He could discern the reason behind a purchase and adjust products accordingly. He could even spot a set-up long before he’d put himself at any risk, much to the chagrin and frustration of Hawkins PD.

Though it put an even bigger target on his back from the sheriff and his goons, Eddie couldn’t deny the benefits significantly outweighed the risks. The rich punks at school still treated him like shit, but he was no longer a target for violence—nobody wanted to be responsible for removing the school’s source of “party supplies.”

And he’d been able to bring in enough money to afford some new musical equipment and band merchandise—he even bought himself a leather jacket—though he refused to replace the jean Dio jacket Wayne had given him for his birthday one year, so he ripped the already-tattered sleeves off and wore it over the leather.

He’d even earned enough to help cover his portion of household costs. Wayne had sacrificed so much to raise him, and Eddie thanked his unlucky stars every day that he’d been a good man, unlike the Warden. Eddie knew he was a lowlife and Wayne deserved better, so he did everything he could to avoid dragging the man into hell with him. Wayne never asked him where the money came from, but Eddie felt he knew. Maybe he thought Eddie had it rough enough without taking away what little protection he had. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Regardless, Wayne would smile softly at him when Eddie handed him a portion of his earnings every month, squeeze his shoulder gently, and tell him he was a good boy. Eddie’s eyes would flood with unshed tears so that he had to cough and rush away, his body viscerally reacting to the memory of the Warden’s reaction to his tears. Wayne didn’t get mad when Eddie cried, but it didn’t stop the pit in his stomach that opened like an abyss of emptiness every time tears threatened to spill.

If the Warden had ever taught him anything, it was vigilance. Eddie likened it to Spider-Man’s “spider sense.” While he’d struggled to understand unspoken languages in his youth, he’d developed this ability to read people like books. Though he couldn’t explain how, he could sense the biggest threat in any room as soon as he entered. He could feel when someone’s mood shifted and adjust his personality accordingly.

Whether he’d intended to or not, the Warden had taught him how to survive—Eddie just wished he could turn it off sometimes. It was exhausting, feeling the emotions of the people around him. So, like any wild animal when threatened, Eddie made himself big and loud—bolder than life itself. If he could appear more threatening than his predators and adapt himself to those closest to him, he could bluff his way out of anything.

It was how he’d convinced a group of absolute chuckle-fucks to come together and start a metal band—Corroded Coffin—after only 5 minutes of observing them individually. It was also how he’d convinced those same chuckle-fucks to play D&D for the first time, and how he got them irrevocably hooked after only one session.

It was what made him such an adept dungeon master during their D&D campaigns. He’d always been a natural at the game, but he’d honed the skills required of a good DM over the years. His strategies and puzzles were unparalleled, and where those failed him his improvisation skills rose to the occasion. It was rare for a party member to surprise him, and he’d never let them know if they did. The man was a master of “yes, and” and it showed in every moment of his games.

Being the “friendly neighborhood drug dealer” and the loud, brash leader of Corroded Coffin didn’t protect him from the rumors and hateful words bandied about as though he couldn’t hear them. According to various groups within Hawkins High—from the teachers down to the lowly AV club—he was a fag who murdered his father when he caught Eddie “in the company of” another man, a masochistic dope-fiend, and his favorite: the sadistic son of Satan himself. No one knew the real reason he’d transferred to Hawkins, and he wasn’t inclined to clarify.

He'd learned that there was a certain safety in being feared, and if you could build a group of like-minded, loyal individuals, like Luke had done…

Ah. Eddie didn’t like it when his mind wandered to Luke and his old Party. His heart ached painfully when he remembered what he’d lost, and that he’d never been able to say goodbye. But at least he had made some friends here…

You see, it wasn’t that Eddie didn’t like people. He did—in theory. The problem was that people didn’t seem to like Eddie, no matter what he did or how he changed. In his younger years, he’d tried so hard to fit in with anyone who was nice to him. But kids are cruel, and many of them were only nice so they could turn on him a week later—always a prank or a joke. After being stung again and again by the scorpions in Hawkins’ schools, he finally decided to lean into their worst ideas about him.

If they wanted him to play the part of town freak, he would be the greatest damn freak these small-minded bigots would ever experience. He’d begun dressing in baggy and black clothing; adorning himself with skulls, chains, and other “demonic” symbology; even allowing his curly brown hair to grow to what many considered an “unkempt” length.

While he hadn’t chosen the role, he decided to revel in this new character—Eddie the Freak. He rejected the status symbols and styles of the masses, denigrated their music, and preached the evils of the oppressive System. Eddie the Freak simply oozed superiority and self-ordained authority. If he played the part long enough, he might even begin to believe this was who he really was.

Eddie the Freak came with other perks, too. With the adoption of this confident hellspawn persona, he drew in other freaks. He remembered the kindness and solidarity he’d found with the Old Party, and decided this was his opportunity to build a new party—a Guild, even.

So, with the help of his band buddies—Gareth, Jeff, and Ben—he spent the later years of his school career identifying and gathering the other downtrodden, bullied, and freaky little lambs of Hawkins High into his “flock” so that he could shepherd the next generation of freaks into a better future. They created the Hellfire Club—a nod to his status as devil-spawn—to lend the Guild a sense of permanency and fraternity.

Hellfire gathered weekly to adventure through one of Eddie’s masterful campaigns. If he wasn’t welcome anywhere else, then he would create a niche no one else would fill. He leapt at any opportunity to share his disgust with conformity and normative society, and rarely would anyone stop him. No one wanted to challenge a group with Lucifer as its leader. This would be his legacy.

But not every lamb invited in wanted the permanency of being labeled a “freak.” Some, perhaps, were wolves in sheep’s clothing, hoping to learn just enough about his group to add fuel to the fire and gain ammo for the weaponized language of teenage cliques. Each wolf that defected broke off a piece of Eddie’s heart and took it with them, though he’d never show it.

So, he became guarded and more selective, protecting his group with a ferocity—one that may have become even bit too rigid—all in service to his desire to keep Hellfire together. To keep his friends near him. Because while they could survive without him, without them, he was just a lonely little freak too afraid to become a part of the larger world. A world full of people who leave like his mother and punish like his father. Hellfire had to survive, no matter what—because without Hellfire, Eddie would lose his friends and his legacy in one fell swoop, erasing any evidence that anyone other than Wayne had ever cared to know him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Post Notes: In order to keep the story going, I rushed a bit past Eddie's adjustment period with Wayne--I feel like that could be a story all on its own. Still, I hope the shift wasn't too abrupt and the "why's" behind his actions in S4 are coming more into focus. Our next Eddie chapter will cover the lunch room scene, but will include far more detail about what was going through his mind and why he was so "revved up" to begin with.

Chapter 7 Preview: [In development--I'd originally planned to only write from Eddie's POV so I have several nearly-completed Eddie chapters but no Steve chapters to go between. Like Eddie, it will likely speed through some of his experiences and personal development (like seasons 1-3) so we can keep the story moving; I could fully do a fic entirely on Steve, given the time, but that's not what this story is about.]

Thank you to all readers who have made it this far! Likes, comments, and shares are deeply appreciated! I, like Steve, am heavily motivated by praise.

Credits

Bat dividers courtesy of StrayWords.

Fic title courtesy of Rainbow in the Dark by Dio.

Chapter title courtesy of Welcome Home (Sanitarium) by Metallica.

[kingdomvel]

Steddie | 3.4k | ao3

five times people don't believe Steve and Eddie are dating + one time they have to

Made the silly post, decided to actually write it

1.

Eddie stops his van in front of Dustin’s house. His was the last stop of the drop off after the dnd session at Gareth’s house. Dustin turns towards Eddie. He is drumming his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the DIO song playing, never still. When Dustin doesn’t move, he turns to look at him with his eyebrows raised.

“Anything wrong, Henderson?”

He is looking at him with his big eyes and Dustin gulps. Even after everything they have been through, Dustin can’t help but feel nervous. There is still this feeling that tells him he has to try to impress Eddie, to be cool enough to be his friend.

“Will you teach me how to play guitar?” Dustin blurts before he chickens out.

Eddie looks at him with surprise, blinking a few times. He was clearly not expecting that question.

“Sure.”

“Wait- really?” Dustin is genuinely surprised. A part of him knew that Eddie wouldn’t say no, but he fully expected some teasing, some ‘what, Henderson, you wanna be like me?’ which. Yes. But he didn’t want Eddie to say it.

“Yeah dude, why not?”

Dustin lets out a delighted laugh and slaps the dashboard. “Yes! Thank you! When are we starting? Any time is good for me-“

“Calm down,” Eddie says with a chuckle.

“What about tomorrow? I can do tomorrow. I will bike to your house after school and you can teach me the basics or-“

“Calm down Henderson,” Eddie repeats louder. Dustin shuts up. ���I can’t do tomorrow.”

Dustin’s heart breaks a little. “Why?”

“Because this humble bard has a date with Steve Harrington.” He has a stupid smile on his face when he says it.

There are a couple of seconds of silence and Dustin knows that he is pulling a face.

“Dude, don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” Eddie looks baffled, almost offended, but there is a shiver going down Dustin’s spine.

“Like that! A date? Just say you are hanging out like a normal person.”

He is used to Eddie’s way of saying things, rarely in a normal way, but that was weird. Don’t get him wrong, he is very happy that Steve and Eddie have stopped acting like idiots every time Dustin mentioned the other and that they are hanging out now. But it’s still strange, seeing them actually getting along so well.

“If I’m going to have the King all to myself I am calling it a date.”

“STOOOP! It’s weird.”

“What is it Henderson?” Eddie says in a teasing tone as he leans towards Dustin. “Jealous that me and Steve are giving each other a bit of love?”

“Stop saying it like that!” Dustin screams. This would be so much weirder if Dustin didn’t know he is just teasing him. Maybe it was better when they were not friends.

The front door to his house opens, and Dustin scrambles to get out of the van before his mother can come and embarrass him more. The last thing he hears is Eddie’s crackling laugh.

2.

“Okay, what is happening?” Robin asks as soon as the door closes after the girl that had just rented Back to the Future.

“Something’s happening?” Steve sends a brief look around with a confused frown on his face before he looks at Robin.

“That girl.” Robin gestures to the door for emphasis.

Steve snorts, “yeah. Back to the Future? That’s funny.” He says as he crosses his arms in front of himself.

“That is not what this is about.”

“It’s not?”

“No! She was a babe!”

“Was she?” Steve looks at the door again, like he had not even seen the girl, like it had not even occurred to him to look at the girl. Robin could kill him.

“Yes! She was!”

“Did you want me to set you up with her? Because I will, you know that. Maybe we can have a code for that, you say- I don’t know- ‘have you watched Fast Times?’ and I will put my best wingman skills to use. I will get you a date in no time.”

Steve is the best friend Robin could ask for. He is also incredibly dumb and she is going to strangle him.

“I didn’t want you to set me up with her.”

“What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is that you are Steve Harrington and you didn’t even try to flirt with her! You should have been all over her, trying to get a date or her number. You haven’t been on a date in weeks! And it’s not even that you are striking out like in scoops, you are not even trying Steve. What is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean I haven’t been on a date in weeks, I was with Eddie just yesterday, I told you.” He has this confused frown on his face, like he seriously doesn’t understand where Robin is coming from.

“Steve, hanging out with Eddie doesn’t count as a date. Also, ew, don’t put that image in my head, I know he is our friend now or whatever and that you like hanging out with him but I would hope for you to have better taste than that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Eddie? Seriously? Did you see the stains on his mattress?”

Steve pulls a face, like had not thought about it before. “We’ll buy a new mattress.”

Robin looks at him, trying her best to communicate how gross she finds Eddie with her mind. Steve looks back at her with his eyebrows raised, daring her to say something else about Eddie.

The bell at the door interrupts them. It’s not a babe this time, just a normal guy, returning a tape. They act like the professionals they are until he is out of the door again.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I didn’t flirt with him?” Steve asks, his hand gesturing to the door in that annoying way of his.

“No,” Robin says, but Steve doesn’t really wait for her answer before he continues talking.

“I didn’t because I am dating Eddie!”

“No you are not,” Robin answers with a snort.

“Yes I am.” Steve looks completely betrayed. “I am with him almost every day.”

“Oh, I know what is happening.” It’s so clear, so easy to understand now that Steve has said that. She puts her hands on Steve’s shoulders. He looks at her with a frown, a tilt of his head as he uncrosses his arms in confusion. “Steve.” She tries to convey as much seriousness as she can, just so Steve understands what is happening too. “Just because you have realised you like boys and he is gay and you two are hanging out, it doesn’t mean you two are dating.”

“Oh fu-“ he tries to move away from her but she clutches his shoulders tightly.

“You have to learn how to have friends your age, Steve. Remember when you though you liked me? I got away because I don’t like boys, and Eddie does! But that doesn’t mean he is into you!”

Steve rolls her eyes at her. The audacity. He bats her arms away with more easiness than Robin would like to admit. “Whatever.” He just says.

3.

“Steve”

“Mike” Steve answers in the same serious tone. If not a bit confused. Mike had followed him inside when he had come to get some drinks. He can still hear the others in the pool outside.

“I saw you speaking with Nancy.” Mike states. They had been speaking, close, too close. “And Dustin told me you were making eyes at her during the Vecna thing.”

“What?” Steve whispers as he shakes his head while he takes the drinks out of the fridge.

“Anything to say to defend yourself?” Mike asks him. He crosses his arms, tries to put on a serious pose. Intimidating, as much as he can.

“Listen,” Steve starts, he turns towards Mike him and leans back on the counter. He crosses his arms, and it makes Mike shift, conscious of his own crossed arms. He doesn’t like his tone, as if he is talking to a kid. “I know you are still pissy about me dating your sister, for some reason,” he uncrosses one of his arms to say it. “But she is with Jonathan now and I am totally over her.” Mike just squints at him. He doesn’t believe him. Everyone knows that Steve is not over Nancy. “Totally! I mean it. I’m dating Eddie now.” He says it like it’s a question.

Mike snorts. That is the stupidest lie Steve could have come up with to try to get out of this. “As if.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie is too cool to date you.”

“He is too- I’ve saved your life,” he points to Mike.

“Eddie is still cooler.”

Steve takes a deep breath and Mike doesn’t really want to hear what Steve is going to say to defend himself. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything, his mouth closing as his eyes drift someplace behind Mike.

“I was promised beer,” Eddie’s voice comes from behind Mike.

“You’d have it if Mike here hadn’t decided to give me shit,” Steve answers as he moves to open a can of beer and hands it to Eddie when he gets to him.

“Just-“ Mike huffs. “Don’t get any ideas with my sister.” He says it as he points to Steve while he walks back outside.

Mike doesn’t stay to see Steve’s reaction, but he hears Eddie say “anything I should be worried about?” before the noise of the others drowns everything else.

4.

Max and Eleven giggle as the stand outside of the window to Eddie’s room. He is inside, they can see the lump inside the sheets and the mess of curls on the pillow. They look at each other and nod with a grin before they start banging on the window and shouting his name.

Eddie starts on the bed, Max could swear he lifts a few centimetres from the bed she can hear him scream ‘jesus christ’ through the window before he turns towards them with a squint. He sits up on the bed and reaches across to open the window, he is not wearing a shirt, so they have a full view of all his tattoos. It’s not like Max ever wants to see them so close, but she knows El likes them.

“What the FUCK Mayfield,” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. Then, after a second of him squinting and them more. “Mini Hopper.”

Max doesn’t answer, because behind Eddie another lump is raising from the bed and looking at them with a squint. “Max? Is anything wrong?” Steve asks as he rubs his face and hair with the hand that is not currently propping him up.

“I…” Max starts, but she doesn’t continue. Sure, she had seen Steve shirtless at the boat that one time when they were going after Vecna, but it was nighttime and she had to look through some shitty binoculars.

Eddie reaches a hand back to try to push Steve back down, but it doesn’t really work. He just pushes his face, and Steve lets himself be pushed, just for a bit, before he is straightening again.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says as he snaps his fingers in front of Max. It works on bringing her attention back to him. “Anything wrong?”

Max shakes her head.

“Are you having a sleepover? I also sleep with Max when we have a sleepover,” El asks.

Eddie looks between them for a couple of seconds before he says, “sure we are.”

It just sounds like he just wants to get rid of them.

“You boys are gross, can’t you put a shirt on?” Max asks. Billy was always walking around shirtless too.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Eddie just replies.

“Did anything happen?” Steve insists.

“We had a sleepover,” El says.

“Yeah, gathered that,” Eddie deadpans.

“We came so you will take us out for pancakes.”

Eddie groans as he lets himself fall back on the bed and looks up at Steve.

“I totally blame you for this being my life now, just so you know.”

Steve just laughs and pushes his face to the side. Max pulls a face, their friendship must be one of the weirdest things that has come out of the whole Vecna thing. Steve turns towards them with a stupid smile on his face.

“Go get your things, we will be out in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?!” Eddie protests, but Max and El don’t pay attention to him, already celebrating and running back to Max’s.

The last thing she sees is Steve leaning down towards Eddie with a hand on his face out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t really put much thought to it.

5.

Lucas loves having Steve to play with. After all the Vecna stuff, he didn’t really want to hang out with the guys from basketball all that much, so Steve had stepped up. He had bought a hoop for his big driveway for them to practise and everything.

The day is hot, and they have been going at it for hours, so they are both sweaty and tired. They are at Steve’s driveway. It’s just them, sweaty under the sun, and Eddie sitting on a folding chair on the side, for some reason. He was already here when Lucas had arrived, and he had refused to leave. He is on the shade, reading a book, looking way more comfortable than them.

“Pause for drinks?” Steve asks, and Lucas is very happy to agree with him. “Hey!” he yells towards Eddie, he jumps as he looks up. “Don’t think I don’t see you looking at me like a creep. You should be getting us drinks.”

“Sorry sweetheart.” Eddie shouts back as he waves his book.

“Drinks, now.” Steve says with a jerk of his head towards the house.

Eddie drops the book in his haste to stand up and follow Steve inside. They are weird, they act so weird all the time. They should get girlfriends, that way they would maybe stop being weird with each other.

“You want anything, Lucas?” Steve asks as he walks away.

“Just a soda!” Lucas calls out after them.

Steve gives him a thumbs up as he goes through the door.

It’s ten minutes later that Lucas starts to wonder what’s taking them so long. He got tired of practising shoots, and also of sitting down on the grass waiting for them.

The house is blessedly chilly and dark when he comes in.

“Steve?” he calls out.

He walks towards the kitchen. There is sound coming from it, shuffling. When he gets close enough to the kitchen he hears Eddie speak quietly.

“Were you afraid your neighbours might see, big boy?”

“Shut up,” Steve answers. Then there are some wet sounds and when Lucas comes into the kitchen Steve is all over Eddie and-

“DUDE!” Lucas screams. Steve jumps away from Eddie. “What are you doing? What if Robin had seen you?”

Steve looks around. “What?”

“Dustin said you like Robin, what if she was here and she saw you…” he can’t even describe what they were doing, he just knows that if some girl saw that, she would never consider dating Steve.

“I don’t want to date Robin, why does everyone think I want to date Robin?” Steve says.

Lucas doesn’t answer. He just looks at Steve. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nancy, for sure. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her, or anyone.”

Eddie laughs like a maniac, Lucas just squints at him and goes to grab his soda.

+1

Robin is not sure how they have ended up here. At the Hideout. On a Tuesday. With all the kids and Eddie’s band helping them get ready before even the freaking owner has arrived. She doesn’t know what about Eddie he thought was reliable enough to give him the keys to the bar, but she guesses it’s ‘I don’t want to go work early because some teenagers want to set up their instruments to play their shitty music’. It works for them though, because the kids had been saying how much they wanted to see them play, but they are not allowed to come into the bar when it’s open, so they have come extra early so they can listen to a couple of songs before people start arriving.

“Hey lovebirds!” A voice shouts. It’s one of Eddie’s bandmates. Gareth, Robin thinks he is called. “Stop being disgusting and come here so we can start?”

Robin turns to look for who he could be calling out for. Nancy and Jonathan have not come today, and everyone is in the stage area, everyone except…

“Did you just call Steve and Eddie lovebirds?”

“Yeah, since they started dating they’ve been unbearable.”

“DATING?” Dustin shrieks beside them.

“Shit, sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?” Gareth asks, and he sounds genuinely scared. Robin would normally appreciate it but-

“Oh, you think they are actually dating?” Dustin asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question, more like a realisation.

“Aren’t they?” Jeff asks.

“No, no, it’s just Eddie saying weird things.” Dustin dismisses, but Robin is frozen in place, the cogs in her mind turning.

“You are not dating?” Gareth asks to the side and yep, there Eddie and Steve are, now close to them. Eddie has his arm around Steve’s shoulder and they are leaning against each other.

Shit.

“We are,” Steve says easily. “They just don’t believe us.” Eddie bumps his head against Steve’s and he moves his head slightly away with an annoyed look that looks more fond than anything else.

Robin and Dustin are gaping at them and, from the sudden quiet around them she guesses the rest are too.

“Wait you two are actually dating?!” Lucas voice comes from behind them. “But Dustin said you weren’t going out with anyone because you liked Robin?”

That shakes Robin out of it, if only to turn around and say, “Ew, no.” Doesn’t matter who he is talking to.

“And I told Mike and Robin I was dating Eddie,” Steve says. “And you saw us kissing.”

“Yeah but- I don’t know.”

Eddie’s bandmates are now dying of laughter, Robin can’t even blame them.

“How was I supposed to believe you were telling the truth!” Robin exclaims. That provokes more laughs.

“Wait,” Max intervenes. “So that day you were sleeping together without a shirt…” She trails off, but they all see in her face what she just realised. “Gross!”

“Oh shut up Mayfield,” Eddie says. “I saw you looking at my boyfriend’s tits.”

That shuts Max up.

“You really are dating Steve?” Mike asks.

“Yes, and no stupid comments or your character is dead Wheeler.” Eddie states, pointing to Mike with the arm that is not around Steve.

And that shuts Mike up with a huff and a shake of his head.

“So you two are boyfriends?” El asks. “I think that’s cute.”

“Thanks El,” Steve says.

“I can’t believe you got with a boy before I got with a girl!” Robin exclaims. “And I didn’t know!”

“You would have known if you had believed me!” Steve exclaims back.

“Well sorry for thinking about your dating record and drawing conclusions.”

“Okay, okay,” Gareth interrupts them. “As funny as this is, we need to start now if we want to play anything before the owner arrives.”

“Let’s get this party going,” Eddie exclaims. He moves away from Steve to grab his guitar, and then goes back to Steve and kisses him on the lips. Actually kisses him on the lips in front of everyone, and Steve doesn’t really react except from a smile because why would he? They have been boyfriends for weeks apparently. “Be back in a minute sweetheart.”

Robin fake gags.

Steve moves to stand next to Robin. He has this shit eating grin on his face that Robin can’t stand.

“Shut up,” she says.

Eddie is on the stage now, looking at them with a stupid smile on his face. She should have known they were dating.

“Told you so,” Steve just says.

[hellfire--cult]

im just putting this here

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Part 1

Eddie’s propped up against the door in the backseat, warm breath fogging the window, eyes open but completely sightless. Nancy wonders what’s going through his head, if he’s figured out why Steve’s upset and Robin’s angry enough to pick a fight. 

She doesn’t think he knows that Steve’s bisexual. Clearly Robin’s constant meddling hasn’t spurred his confessions. At the very least, Eddie has to be confused about how abruptly Steve reacted. Nancy could see the helpless anguish in Eddie’s face as he watched tears shimmer in Steve’s eyes. 

The sight of a heartbroken Steve Harrington is awful to bear. It isn’t something she’d wish on anyone, let alone someone as amazing as Eddie. Now it’s just another shitty thing she and Eddie have in common, like surviving the apocalypse or having curly hair. 

She shifts her eyes sideways and finds Argyle slightly more relaxed than Eddie but still unusually quiet. It could be the high, she supposes. But she’s seen him smoke almost twice as much as he had tonight and be completely fine. She doesn’t even know him that well and the silence is still unsettling. 

They’re about five minutes into the drive when Argyle’s eyes flash to the rearview mirror. “So, Eddie, I didn’t know you and Johnny were a thing.”

“We aren’t,” Eddie startles, almost like in his brooding he forgot where he was. Nancy catches him shifting in his seat. He’s clearly uncomfortable, biting his lip as his eyes skirt back and forth between his lap and Argyle’s in the mirror.

“Sure looked like you two were pretty into each other,” Argyle says. His tone is an honest attempt at light and carefree. It lacks the signature Argyle vibrancy. 

Eddie catches her looking in the rearview mirror, faster than Nancy can avert her gaze. He huffs, nostrils flared, though his eyes are wide with anxiety. “It’s not like that,” he tries to argue back. 

Argyle scoffs. “Seemed like Johnny thought it was.”

“Well it wasn’t.”

The boys almost simultaneously cross their arms and slump back into their seats. It’s quiet until they pull up to Argyle’s new apartment. Once out of the car, he leans back inside. Big brown eyes downcast, his hair hangs loose around his face, shielding him from view of the backseat. Nancy can practically see his heart on his sleeve when he looks at her.

“Nance, let me know how he’s doing?” The question is vague enough that he could mean any of them, but Argyle’s heart is four sizes bigger than anyone she’s met. Of course he’d care about Steve even now that he’s got his own problems.

She smiles, small and sad but hopefully reassuring. “It’s a deal.” He taps the roof of the car, moving to close the door before she surprises herself by calling out to him again. “But if you need anything, you know, maybe someone to talk to–” she hesitates, scrambling for the right words. “It’s just– I know Jonathan better than anyone, other than you, obviously. So if you want to talk, you can always call me.”

Now more than ever Nancy cringes at how socially out-of-place she always feels. It sounds like she’s placing some sort of weird claim on Jonathan, implying that he’s still somehow, inarguably hers after all this time. Even after Robin. 

She quickly gathers her wits to explain herself, wishing she could just shove her tiny foot in her mouth when he cuts through her anxiety with a smile. It matches hers from only moments ago: small, sad, but hopeful. “Sounds like a deal, Big Wheels.”

Nancy chuckles at the new nickname, pulling a more genuine smile out of the both of them. She watches as steps inside before pulling out of the lot and back onto the road toward the trailer park.

Argyle’s absence somehow only makes the tension worse. Eddie stays sitting in the back, slumped forward enough that Nancy worries he’s not actually buckled in. His head is in his hands, face hidden away. 

Her and Eddie have grown close since the final battle with Vecna, just barely making it to the hospital in time to stop him from bleeding out. Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Dustin had sat by his bedside in shifts almost every day for two weeks until he finally woke up. She’d driven him to his appointments, helped him with errands, and made an easy, detailed schedule for his medications.

They’d sat around watching shitty TV reruns. She’d smoked her first joint with him, just two of them sprawled out on the couch talking about all the shit they’d been through. Except every single time, no matter how their conversations started, they always ended with Robin and Steve. 

What started as delicate conversations turned into late night confessions. Eddie was the first person she turned to when she started questioning herself. Nancy knows she was the only person he’d told about his crush on Steve. He’d made her promise not to tell anyone– especially Robin, obviously– and she’d agreed to take it to the grave. She’s fairly sure Robin made a similar promise to Steve. Though, that didn’t stop them from constantly encouraging the boys to just talk to each other.

After what happened today, it’s painfully obvious that Steve likes Eddie just as much as Eddie likes him. Robin’s reaction to everything almost outright confirms it without Steve even having to say anything. At least, it’s obvious to most people.

“I don’t see what the big deal is– why anyone even cares.” Eddie’s words are barely discernible, mumbling into his own hands pressed against his face. He runs his hands roughly through his hair as he leans back against the seat, looking at Nancy through the mirror with wild, angry eyes. 

“I maybe get why you would be upset,” Eddie continues his rant, gesturing at her. His voice begins to rise with frustration, his movements a bit erratic– ‘worked up’ as how Wayne puts it. “You’re with Robin now, and I know you don’t feel that way about Jonathan anymore. But… It just doesn’t make sense.” 

He’s pulling at his curls, and she wants to wrap her hands in his to get him to stop. “Robin’s never been mad at anyone before, and she looked like she was trying not to hit me. She wouldn’t even let me talk to Steve, which is bullshit considering I spend just as much time with him as she does, spend just as many nights there as her. I deserve to know why he’s upset!”

She stays quiet, knowing she’ll get her moment when he runs out of fuel. He always does eventually, it’s just a matter of patience– something she’s grown a lot better at between being best friends with Eddie and dating Robin.

He slumps down into the seat, strings cut. Eddie fails to stop a stray tear from breaking loose as he tips his head back. She sighs as they finally pull up to the trailer, throwing the car in park before she fully turns around to face him. When he refuses to meet her gaze, Nancy sighs again, loud and obnoxious to get his attention. 

She puts a steadying hand on his knee and heaves herself over the center counsel, pushing herself clumsily into the back seat. Eddie yelps in surprise when her knee hits something soft, but they eventually sort themselves out. They turn to face each other, legs tangled up in the middle.

“Nance,” Eddie sighs, his quiet voice tinged with sadness, “why do I feel so shitty about a stupid kiss?”

She reaches across the seats to grab his hand, gently running her thumb across the top of his knuckles. “Do you like Jonathan?”

“Of course I do. What’s not to like?” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true, eyes scrunched and brow furrowed. She shoots him a scrutinizing glare, and he rolls his eyes in response. “Jesus Christ, Nancy, just say whatever you want to say. You look like you’re trying to kill me with your brain.”

“No, El kills people with her brain. I shoot guns.”

He chuckles nervously, trying to pull his hand away, but she grips it tighter.

She sighs and asks him again, with pointed emphasis. “Do you like like him, though?”

“Do I like like him?” Eddie mimics her, his teasing laugh strained with sarcasm. “Never thought I’d see the day where Nancy Wheeler– my actual fucking best friend, despite the odds– holds my hand and asks if I like like her ex.”

“Which ex?” Nancy shoots back, quick as a whip.

“... What?”

“Jonathan or Steve?”

“What–” Eddie tries to pull away again, and this time she lets him– “I thought we were talking about Jon?”

Nancy hums in thought. “Are we? Is this about your feelings for Jonathan?”

Before Nancy can stop him, he scoffs and throws himself out of the car. She scrambles across the seat and follows him out. His legs may be longer, but even after almost a full recovery, she’s still faster on her feet. Nancy catches him by the wrist just as he jams his key into the front door.

“Eddie, stop acting like a child and talk to me,” Nancy says. “Don’t storm off and pretend like we both don’t know why you’re upset.”

“It was just a kiss!” He rounds on her with red fury in his cheeks, tears clinging to his lashline. “It was just a stupid, fun kiss. I shouldn’t have to feel this way because someone kissed me at a party and I kissed them back. I don’t see why it’s a big deal, it’s not like it matters.”

“Seems like it mattered to Steve.” It’s about as close as she can hint without getting into trouble with Robin. Nancy knows Steve’s still playing his cards close to his chest, but she also knows sometimes it’s best to just go all in. 

Air rushes out of Eddie’s lungs, breath punched out of him as Nancy hits her proverbial target. Although she does wish she could actually punch him sometimes. Which is why it almost feels like a small triumph when she watches the poorly-obscured implication settle over him. 

Another tear breaks from its hold. He uses the back of his sleeve to wipe his face and drag it across his sniffling nose. Absolutely disgusting, but she doesn’t say anything, even though she desperately wants to offer him a tissue from her car.

“He was just upset because of the–”

“‘The shitty weed?’” Nancy finishes for him, quoting Robin’s awful excuse from earlier. “Do you mean Argyle’s personal stash?” It’s the best marijuana Nancy’s ever smoked, although that only includes Eddie’s wrinkled joints he re-discovers in random pockets and bags.

When Eddie opens his mouth, she’s already one step ahead of his ridiculous arguments. “And don’t you dare say he was upset because he’s homophobic.”

She hears the click of his teeth for how hard his jaw snaps closed. Nancy slips her hand down from his wrist and slides her fingers between his. This time when she squeezes, he squeezes back.

“He’s straight, Nance. You should know that better than anyone.” He sniffles and– to her horror– doesn’t let go of her hand when he uses the same arm to wipe his face again. God, men are animals. At least she’s never had to watch Robin pick her nose, even though the way she flosses is pretty graphic.

She sighs, throwing her arms around him in a hug, if not to get away from his snotty hands. “Seemed pretty upset for a straight best friend.” Nancy kisses him on the cheek before pulling away, making her way back down the stairs toward her car. “But you’re right, I would know better than anyone how Steve could feel right now.”

Driving home, she hopes her message landed, that maybe she’s helped and not overstepped. Especially when it comes to Steve. She can’t bear to see him heartbroken again, up close and personal in a way she selfishly distanced herself from last time. 

But she thinks, unlike the last time, Steve has a chance to be truly happy with someone who loves him more than anything in the world. The chance to be with someone who wants to take care of him, and be doted on in return. She’s finally found that in Robin, and she damn well knows Eddie’s the one for Steve. So if it means she toed the line on saying too much, then it’ll all be worth it if it’s the nudge Eddie needs to find his courage.

~~~

I always upload to Tumblr first but follow on ao3 if you prefer

Part 3

Tag List: (lmk if you'd like to be added/removed!)

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[starrystevie]

“i must have been real sweet on you,” eddie murmurs as he runs his fingers over his husband’s cheek, sleepy and sated, warm in their bed. 

steve chuckles, twisting his head to catch the tips of eddie’s fingers with a kiss. “why are you talking past tense? you’re not sweet on me now?”

the room is peacefully still. years of baby monitors are long gone only to inevitably give way to their daughter’s teenage years of slamming doors and too loud stereo speakers. but in this moment, with the pale moonlight streaming in through the windows and crickets chirping in the distance, the room is peaceful, thick with love. 

“quit your pouting, ‘course i’m sweet on you now.” eddie wipes away steve’s fake frown with a kiss, turning it into a sticky sweet grin. “it’s just something my mom used to tell me. that freckles are all the places your soulmate in a past life kissed you.”

eddie pushes steve back so he’s laying flat on the mattress and dips his head to press featherlight kisses on the side of his neck. across his shoulders. over his cheeks. his fingertips flutter over the spots afterwards, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the heat radiating between them. 

“must have loved you a whole lot in our last lives to leave so many on you now,” eddie whispers, pulling back to stroke the back of his hand over steve’s face once more, letting his lips curl up in a dopey half smile that only steve ever gets to see. 

it doesn’t take long for steve to tilt his head up and press kisses of his own where he can; under eddie’s eye, the bottom of his chin, right over his heart. it doesn’t take long for eddie to giggle as his sensitive spots are found and attacked with ticklish kisses and fluttering eyelashes. it doesn’t take long for their legs to tangle together underneath the sheets and their breaths to get caught in their chests and their hearts to start beating a beautiful melody of their own making. 

steve lays a firm kiss to the side of eddie’s chest, over jagged white scarring and half bitten away tattoos. over memories that somehow don’t haunt them as much anymore. 

“what was that one for?” eddie asks, eyes half lidded, the adoration in his voice loud across the quiet room. 

another kiss on another scar. “wanna give you some freckles. for your next life and for this one, too. so you know just how sweet on you I am-” kiss, “ -and was-” kiss, “- and forever will be.”

they won’t know for however many more years if it worked or not. but here in this lifetime, they have all the time in the world to try their damndest to make sure it does. in this lifetime, they don’t have to worry, because they know they’ll  find each other in the next one. 

[jadewritesficshere]

Just thinking about s4 but when Alpha!Eddie grabs Steve to shove the bottle against his neck, he doesn't realize Steve is an omega and accidentally scruffs him. And Steve is just boneless, kinda goes down. And Eddie isn't expecting deadweight and almost falls ontop of Steve but realizes what's happening (let's just say he's fought off a few bullies who scruffed members of his pack). He immediately drops the bottle and holds onto Steve, who tries to scent Eddie. Just shoves his face into Eddie's neck and nuzzles it, lets out a purr unintentionally.

[alwaysurvalentine]

marry me (if I ever get the nerve) - st fic

Based on a prompt from my @steddiebingo 12 Days of Christmas card: 'proposal'

wc: 2.4k | cw: none

enjoy! 💛

~

One.

A crowd is blocking the pathway when Eddie and Steve round the corner. Steve cranes his neck to see around the crowd and then scoffs. 

“What, what is it?” Eddie’s trying to see through the people in front of him, but every time he shifts, they do too. 

“Someone’s proposing in the middle of the park. Can’t even imagine how embarrassed she feels right now. Can you imagine?” 

Steve continues to rant, one hand waving in the air while he vents and the other one tugging Eddie along the edges of the crowd to get past. 

Marriage has been brought up between them before, an idea that seemed nice but somehow far away. Even without saying it, Eddie knew it was something that Steve wanted. It’d been an easy plan from there: save up money for a ring, pop the question, and then marry the fuck out of Steve Harrington. So far all Eddie had done was start saving for a ring. 

He stumbled upon the perfect ring just last month, a simple gold band with the option to engrave the inside. Right now he can’t decide what he wants to put there, but he figures he’s still got some time to think about it.

“Like what if she wants to say no? He’s basically put her in a situation where she has to say yes and then go back on that answer later.”

There’s genuine distress in Steve’s voice at this stranger having to deal with this. Eddie squeezes his hand and offers a placating smile. Up ahead is the cafe they’d been heading towards in the first place. For once there isn’t a line and Eddie lets go of Steve’s hand just to open the door and bow. 

“My love.”

All of the tension building up in Steve leaves him with a roll of his eyes and he smiles when he steps in before Eddie. Even though Steve wasn’t a fan of the couple they saw, Eddie sends a quick thanks because now he knows. 

Absolutely no proposing in a crowded public place.

~

Two.

Light always finds Steve. No matter the time of day, if there’s a ray of sunshine, it’s shining on his boyfriend. It’s one of the first things Eddie noticed about him when they started dating. Now is no exception, sun peeking through their blinds to shine on Steve’s face. 

Steve has barely moved from where he left him this morning, mouth slack with a line of drool leading to a small spot on his pillow. Eddie sets the tray holding their breakfast down for a moment, leaning over to swipe the drool away with his thumb. He rubs his hand on his pants and then rests a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Steve’s eyebrows furrow when he wakes, eyes blinking open just to squint shut at the light. 

“C’mon, I made breakfast.” 

Steve yawns and smiles softly, rubbing at his eyes. Eddie grabs the breakfast tray again, orange juice sloshing in the glass but not spilling with the movement. The small smile on Steve’s face turns into a full blown grin and he smooths over the blanket when he sits up. 

The plate of breakfast smiles back at him, bacon curving up towards two eyes made of eggs. A gentle hand takes his wrist and Eddie’s tugged down close enough for Steve to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Thanks, baby.” Sleep still paints Steve’s words, a roughness there only because of their activities from the night before. An image of Steve on his knees, eyes half lidded and tongue hanging out of his mouth flashes into Eddie’s mind. He’s quick to dismiss it though, trying to stay on task. 

Afterall, this breakfast is serving a purpose. Today is going to be the day that Eddie proposes to Steve. All he’s got to do now is pull the ring out of his bedside table and ask the question. Just a small, intimate setting for his Stevie. 

He leans toward his dresser drawer right as the phone starts to ring. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh, hi Eddie. Is Steve there?” Max is on the other end of the line, voice tight.

“One sec.” Eddie passes the phone over easily and mouths that it’s Max on the other end. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

Judging by the face Steve makes at something Max says, this proposal is about to be pushed to another day. When Steve shifts the tray off of his lap and scoots out of bed, Eddie knows he’s right. 

“Woah, hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you called. Give me fifteen and we’ll be there.” Another pause and Steve flashes a grimace in Eddie’s direction. 

“You know he would understand. Okay, okay, yeah, it’ll just be me. See you soon Mayfield.” 

Guilt covers Steve’s face when he turns to Eddie. He tosses the phone back onto the bed and pulls jeans over his boxers. 

“Sorry, Max needs me to help her with something real quick, but I’ll be right back after that. Rain check on breakfast in bed?” 

Disappointment curls in Eddie’s stomach but he nods anyway. “Of course, no worries. Is Red okay?” 

Just as much as the kids are Steve’s in all the ways that matter, Eddie’s adopted them too. If one of them is in trouble, he wants to know. 

“Yeah, just something going on with her mom.”

“Why don’t you bring her back here? I can make some more breakfast and we can all do brunch and watch trash TV.” 

Steve closes the distance between them with a few quick strides, pressing a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. His hands come to rest on Steve’s hips, keeping him close so he can steal a couple close mouthed kisses before Steve leaves.

“That would be great, I love you.” Another kiss and then Eddie lets him go so Steve can brush his teeth before heading over.

Might need to recruit Robin to help make sure proposing doesn’t get interrupted.

~

Three. 

Tuesdays are date nights.

Eddie doesn’t know if it was on purpose, but the first date he and Steve went on was a Tuesday and now it’s just become tradition. It’s the one day of the week that the gremlins know to let them have their night. 

Tonight, Eddie’s even got Robin helping to run interference. Obviously he had to run this plan by her. They both figured while he’ll be popping the question, doing so over a candlelit dinner without getting on his knee was still lowkey enough for Steve to let it pass. 

(Robin also tried to argue that Steve would be fine with a massive proposal because the only answer he’d have for Eddie would be yes. Her puppy dog eyes aren’t nearly as lethal as Steve’s, so he hadn’t caved.)

Eddie had asked Steve to dress up for dinner tonight for a reservation made at The Grillhouse. They don’t always do fancier dinners, more than happy to dance around the kitchen together instead. Steve had asked what the occasion was and squinted skeptically when Eddie stuttered that he had big news he was excited to share. Despite all of his practice as a DM, he still can’t lie to save his life. Luckily, Steve had dropped it and shifted the focus to a story from work. 

Now Eddie finds his palms sweaty, empty plates sitting between them. This is his window.

“Stevie?”

His boyfriend tilts his head to the side, humming quietly to show he’s listening.

“I brought you to dinner saying I had some big news to share. But really, that news couldn’t be possible without you.” 

Steve’s face softens and he reaches across the table to take one of Eddie’s hands. They sit like that for a moment, Eddie swallowing before reaching into his coat pocket to grab the ring. 

The pocket is kind of deep and all he feels is fabric so he digs in a little further. Still, all he feels is the cotton lining against his fingers. 

And then he realizes. 

He forgot the ring.

He forgot the ring. What is he supposed to tell Steve now?

“I’ve decided to send some of me and the guys’ tapes to some producers.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is bright enough to challenge the sun and Eddie knows he’ll be sending out those tapes this week just so that he hasn’t lied to the man in front of him.

“Holy shit!” A couple of people swivel their heads at the sudden exclamation but Steve doesn’t pay them any mind, raising his glass to Eddie. Never one to leave Steve hanging, he’s quick to lift his own glass for Steve’s toast.

“Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you!”

Hot tip: don’t forget the ring.

~

Four.

Steve’s bopping his head as he walks through the kitchen. Everyone’s just cleared out of the apartment after spending the night. He hasn’t been able to convince Steve to play D&D, but it doesn’t mean his boyfriend doesn’t love any opportunity to host. Every couple of weeks their apartment is flooded with the full group, pizza for dinner and then Steve pulls out all of the stops for brunch the next day. 

There’s a pile of dishes waiting to be washed in the sink and a couple of pans left to cool on top of the stove, but like always - Steve’s turned on the radio first. Which works perfectly with Eddie’s plan. 

He’d called the radio station earlier in the week and asked them to play their song so he could propose to the love of his life. The girl on the other end had squealed at the request and let Eddie know she’d email with the time they’d be able to put it into the show. 

When he glances over to check the time, he’s surprised to see that there’s only a a couple of minutes to wait until their song is queued up. He’s got just enough time to run upstairs to grab the ring and then he’ll finally be able to ask. Steve’s just grabbing the pans off of the stove to move them towards the sink when Eddie steps out of the kitchen. 

It seems oddly quiet when Eddie makes it downstairs. Maybe it’s just because of how loud it was last night and this morning.Mumbled cursing welcomes him back into the kitchen and Eddie sees the reason behind the quiet. Their radio is currently cradled in Steve’s hands, eyes locked in on the different dials like it’ll suddenly start working if he looks disappointed enough. 

“Steve?” 

The look of horror on Steve’s face has Eddie chuckling as he walks over.

“I broke the radio.” Genuine heartbreak colors Steve’s words and Eddie takes the radio from his hands with a smile.

“That’s okay, looks like it got some water on it. Did something splash out of the sink?” Steve nods, eyes focused on the radio in Eddie’s hands. 

From what Eddie can tell, they might have to just replace the whole thing, somehow Steve’s managed to get the entirety of the speakers wet. His proposal might’ve been foiled again, but at least he gets a huff of a laugh when he rolls up his invisible sleeves to wash the dishes, bumping Steve out of the way. 

Alright, maybe the radio thing was a little complicated, time to regroup.

~

Plus One.

“Wayne, I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

His uncle just laughs from his side of the table, coffee cup lifted to his mouth despite the steam rising above it. 

“No, I mean it. I’ve tried proposing to him so many times but I keep messing it up!” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and has to stop for a moment when a ring tugs on his curls. The chipped mug in Wayne’s hand gets set down and he leans back, eyes squinted in a smile while he looks Eddie over.

“Alright, let me get this straight. You wanna propose to your boy?” Eddie nods. “Why don’t you just ask him, plain and simple?” 

“Oh, yeah, just ask him plain and simple. Because that’s totally easy. Have you met him?”

Wayne raises a brow, unimpressed at Eddie’s dramatics. 

“I just want it to be perfect, Uncle Wayne. What if this is like the universe telling me not to do it? Everything keeps going wrong…”

Another sip of coffee and then Wayne leans forward, elbows on the table. “Listen here, you love him?”

“Of course I do.”

“And he loves you?”

Eddie can feel the blush when it spreads across his cheeks. 

“He tells me all the time.” 

“Then I think no matter how you ask him, the only answer he’s going to say is yes. Knowing you two, you could just slide the ring on his finger and Steve would have the wedding planned in a week. What’s really holding you back?” 

Damn Wayne for knowing him so well. 

This answer doesn’t come as easy, dread building in Eddie’s gut while he tries to figure out the best answer. If he voices this and Wayne agrees, he’ll probably never recover.

“C’mon, spit it out.” 

“Whatifhedoesn’tthinkI’mworthbeingstuckwithfortherestofourlives?”

Another unimpressed stare, lips pursed at Eddie’s quick speech.

“Just, what if he doesn’t think it’s worth it? Being stuck with me forever?”

“Eddie, listen up, and listen good. No such thing as being stuck with you. I can tell that he adores you, knew as soon as I saw the two of you together. Just because your old man,” and Wayne pauses when Eddie’s head snaps up, “chose to ignore the gift you are, doesn’t mean other people will. I’ve been lucky enough to see you grow from that scrawny kid angry at the world to the man I see now. You’ve got your own family now, one you built all on your own, and not a single one of them feels like they’re stuck with you. Y’hear me?” 

Eddie wants to feel embarrassed at the tears in his eyes, but instead all he feels is warmth all over - loved. He jumps up and scoots into Wayne’s side of the booth, throwing his arms around the older man’s neck just like he did as a kid. When he backs up, Wayne’s eyes look a little teary themselves.

“Alright, let’s go, I gotta get ready for work.”

(When they get back to the trailer, Eddie opens the door to his own makeshift family crowded around the living room. It takes a moment to take it all in, streamers hanging from the ceiling, balloons all over the floor, and then Steve on one knee with a ring held out. 

It’s an easy yes.)

[libraryofgage]

A Place Like Steve in a Boy Like This

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One (you're here!)

The Mummy (1999) is one my comfort movies, actually, and I realized Rick and Steve are very alike actually. It's the looks, it's the hair, it's the loyalty and devotion.

Anyway, here's an AU where Rick and Evelyn O'Connell are Steve's parents lol

If there are any other people you think would make good parents for Steve, let me know! I'll take them into consideration and see if inspiration sparks :D

Anyway, if you'd like a tag on any future parts, let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

-----

After being relegated to the open-air portion of some ruins in Crete, Steve entertains himself by slowly moving closer to the cats nearby in the hopes of petting them. His parents said he couldn't go into the ruins, but they didn't say a thing about playing with the ruins' inhabitants. Said inhabitants are gathered in a circle, some standing and some stretching out in the sun, but sticking together as though they're waiting for someone to begin a discussion.

He takes a piece of jerky from his bag, tearing it into small pieces as he peeks around the corner of a column. A few large stones are scattered around it, nearly reaching his shoulders and helping to hide him from the view of the cats on the other side. Though, in all honesty, they're probably only sticking around because they smell the jerky in his hand.

Steve grins and tosses a piece of meat over the stones, watching as it lands in the middle of what he's dubbed the Cat Council. A calico cat jolts, ears perked as she stares at the meat before taking a tentative step forward. She sniffs the meat, decides it's an acceptable offering, and eats it.

When it's gone, Steve tosses more pieces. He feeds a few more of the cats now, and he's practically buzzing with excitement. Deciding they're less likely to scatter, Steve clambers onto the huge boulder in front of him, managing to find little footholds to boost himself up. With a grunt, he makes it to the top and looks down on the Cat Council, ready to throw the last of his jerky when he hears the stone beneath him shift.

In the time it takes to blink, the ground crumbles beneath the rock, scattering the cats and dropping the stone out from under Steve. He falls with it, momentarily and terrifyingly weightless before gravity takes over and he drops. A yelp escapes him, followed by a pained cry as he lands feet-first on the rock, his ankles taking the brunt of the impact and, if not breaking, severely spraining for the effort.

Grit, dirt, and dust coat Steve's tongue and throat, and he coughs up as much as he can while taking in his new surroundings. Thankfully, sunlight filters into the underground space, allowing him to see the tiled floors and walls covered in a carefully carved and painted frieze that has, somehow, survived the centuries since its creation. Several figures wearing togas and carrying baskets line up outside a darkened arch. They don't exactly look happy to be there, but they seem resigned to their fate. Steve can even see the tears meticulously carved into several faces.

When he follows the frieze, he realizes the space he's in is really a hallway, one that seems to stretch forever on either side of him. Amazingly, there's no other sign of aging in it. No spiderwebs crowding the walls, no erosion from wind or water damage, and no sign of people having walked the passageway in centuries. It's the kind of perfectly preserved discovery Steve and his mother lose their heads over while his father waits for something to go wrong.

Steve is about to try standing (if he can stay upright, maybe he can explore a little and find something to show his mother before they realize he's gone missing) when he hears...a snort? Maybe it's more like a heavy puff of air. He tilts his head, twisting around to squint down the corridor to his right. Something glints in the darkness, close to what he assumes is the ceiling, and Steve grabs his flashlight.

He clicks it on, aiming the beam at the ground and slowly moving it down the corridor. He stops when the light shines on cloven hooves, a bad feeling beginning to build in his chest. With a now somewhat shaking hand, Steve slowly raises the beam, that bad feeling growing as it shines over furry hind legs and a furry waist that seamlessly blends into scarred skin just below the navel. Despite everything, he keeps going, only confirming his worst fears when his flashlight finally reaches the top to find the head of a bull staring straight at him, the horns cracked and nearly scraping the ceiling, the black eyes undeniably trained on Steve, and a glimmering golden ring looped through its nose, as untarnished by time as the friezes.

For ten seconds (Steve counts while trying to control his panic), he and the minotaur stare at each other. Then, it puffs out air again, the force strong enough to sway the ring in its nose. Steve grips the flashlight tighter, swallowing around the wariness threatening to choke him and briefly wondering if, maybe, centuries have somehow soothed the minotaur's anger.

And then it roars, deep and loud and powerful enough to shake the corridor and bring more dust and grit raining down on Steve from above. It lowers its head, aiming its horns straight at Steve, and charges with all the fury of a creature that's been denied centuries' worth of sacrifices.

Steve screams as the minotaur's hooves shake the ground with each step, too scared to do anything more than sit there and wonder if there will be enough of his body for his parents to identify when the minotaur is done with him.

He's just about accepted the answer (it's no; the answer is no) when something grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him up just before the minotaur crashes into the boulder. Strong arms wrap around Steve, holding him close as his father's familiar voice says, "I gotcha!"

Steve blinks, his heart still hammering as he clings to his father's neck and looks at his mother over his shoulder. She's staring at the hole, a frown on her face as the minotaur's enraged roar sounds from below. "Rick, I think we should go now," she says, grabbing the back of Rick's shirt and yanking him back just in time to avoid the minotaur's giant hand slamming into the ground next to the hole.

"Great idea, Evie," Steve's father says, his voice a little strained as he passes Steve over and pulls out a gun. "I'll cover you. Get Steve to the car, get it running, and I'll meet you there." The minotaur screams again, and Steve is still close enough to see it realize it can climb the stone to reach the surface.

"You have three minutes, or I'm coming back for you."

Rick looks over his shoulder, flashing a grin at Steve and his mother. "I'll be right behind you," he promises.

And he was. With a minotaur right on his heels and another week added to their time in Crete while they tried to get the whole situation straightened out without too many casualties or Steve's uncle Jonathan ruining more than one good pair of trousers.

-----

Steve doesn't think he'll grow used to the smell and sounds of the hospital. The antiseptic, sterile atmosphere isn't too bad, but the constant background noise has the potential to drive him up the walls. It helps that he, Eddie, and Max were finally moved to a room together, mostly muffling the beeps and PA announcements with each other's chatter, snoring, and other noises.

Right now, everything is drowned out by the kids arguing with Eddie about their next campaign. Eddie wants to do a sequel of their current one while they've been gunning for something sci-fi-themed if Steve is understanding their debate correctly. He's not sure why it's so important, but their voices are creating nice background noise, and Robin's rhythmic, habitual tapping of her fingers on his arm grounds him, so he lets his mind wander.

Honestly, Steve thinks they'd all benefit from a nice trip somewhere. Maybe Paris. They can't possibly run into anything in Paris, right?

Well. The catacombs do exist, and nobody knows what's down there. So they'd have to stay well away.

But still. Paris. The food. The Louvre. The history. And, you know, maybe they could just pop into the catacombs just so Steve can take pictures and show his mother later. Following a strictly regulated guided tour should be perfectly fine.

Steve drops his head back against the pillow, wincing slightly when the action tugs at the stitches along his throat. They hurt, but his worst injuries are on his sides where the demobats bit and feasted. The doctor said they'd scar permanently, looking somewhat apologetic about the fact until Steve waved her off. What's a few more for the collection?

Besides, at the time the doctor was giving him a rundown of his injuries, another had been doing the same for Eddie. His list was pretty similar to Steve's, and it only took him a few seconds to realize something very important: if Steve hadn't been there to share the demobat burden, Eddie would be dead.

That fact had sat with him for a while. Death is no stranger to Steve. In fact, he's intimately familiar with the concept. And all the ways it can be subverted. Steve doesn't want to think he'd be the kind to pull out the Book of the Dead after everything his parents have told him, but he also knows he'd do anything for the people he loves. Like Eddie. Like Robin. Like the kids.

Steve has risked his life for them numerous times, and he'd do it again without a moment's hesitation.

"I can't believe we're only just finding out!"

This statement comes from the hallway on the other side of the room's closed door. The voice is achingly familiar to Steve, one he's only heard over the phone for the past few months, and he sits up straight. The conversation in the room falters for a few seconds before picking up again after the kids decide it's probably not relevant to them.

And then comes hurried, angry footsteps outside the door and a doctor's voice saying, "I'm sorry, but only authorized visitors are allowed to see patients."

"I wouldn't stay in her way," a man's voice says, his tone teetering between amused and genuinely sympathetic toward the doctor.

Apparently, he doesn't heed the warning, and the room is silent enough that everyone hears the following tirade. "Authorized visitors? Authorized visitors?! Are you stopping me from seeing my son? Who on earth do you think you are? If you don't get out of the way, I will make you move, mister."

"I wonder when she'll realize she's got the wrong room," Dustin says, sounding amused.

"Ma'am, I ca--," the doctor's words are cut off by a sudden yelp and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor outside.

The door is thrown up to show a woman, her shoulders heaving and her curly hair in disarray. She's covered in grime like she dragged herself out of a grave and came right away without stopping to clean up. Which, honestly, might be the case. Behind her is a similarly disheveled man, a fond smile on his face as he looks at the woman. "That's my girl," he says, the smile becoming a full-blown grin when the woman smacks his chest without turning around.

The sight is so familiar that Steve nearly tears up. He hasn't seen his parents in months, and their appearance suddenly lifts a weight that he didn't even realize was on his shoulders. Whatever else happens, they'll take care of it.

Finally, Evelyn's eyes land on Steve, and the anger on her face melts away into relief and worry. She rushes over, sliding around Robin before she can move, and cups Steve's face in her hands. "Oh, my poor boy, are you okay? What have the doctors said?" she asks.

Steve's father hovers behind her, giving Steve a once-over with his eyes before determining he's fine. "Better question," he says, placing a hand on Evelyn's shoulder and leaning closer, "Where in the hell were your guns?"

Steve is about to answer when his mother whirls on Rick. "His guns? Our son is in a hospital bed, and you're asking where his guns were?! Are you daft? Have you lost your mind?" she asks, poking her finger into his chest.

He sighs, takes her hand, and wraps his other arm around her waist. "Evie, he's fine. He's awake, and nobody in here looks like they're preparing for a funeral. Clearly, he's gonna be discharged soon. So, I think asking where his guns were is reasonable because maybe he wouldn't be in a hospital bed if he'd had them."

"Dad is right," Steve says, getting his parents' attention. He grins at them. "I'm fine. Doctors said it would just be another scar. Or, well, like three more scars. Doesn't matter. I should get discharged later this week."

Before Evelyn or Rick can say anything else, Dustin asks, "What the fuck is going on here?!"

"Language!" Steve shouts, turning his head to glare at Dustin.

"Did you seriously just call him out on language?" Rick asks. "You?"

"His mom gets upset when he swears, so I've been trying to set a good example," Steve mumbles, slumping down in his bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Everybody, these are my parents. Evelyn and Rick O'Connell. Parents, this is, well, everybody."

"Oh, let me see if I can name them," Evelyn says, her eyes lighting up some at the challenge before pulling away from Rick. She points to each child as she correctly names them. "I already know Robin. So nice to see you again dear--"

"Nice to see you, too, Mrs. O'Connell."

"--Now, you must be Dustin. I've heard plenty about you, young man. And based on the haircut, you're Will. You've got to be Mike, and you two are Lucas and Erica. This must be El, and you're Max, right? I'm sure you'll get better soon, dear." When Evelyn turns and sees Eddie, she gets a softer smile. "And you're Eddie. I've heard quite a bit about you, too. All good, I promise. It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Wait," Lucas says, frowning slightly in confusion, "Eddie and Steve have only known each other for, like, a week?"

Everyone looks at Steve, and he shrugs in response. "Eddie was pretty impossible to ignore in high school," he says, brushing off the questioning looks until only Robin and Eddie are left staring, the former with a knowing glint in her eye and the latter with a confused one in his.

"Sorry, I still can't get over Steve having parents," Mike says, his nose scrunched up like this entire thing might be some hallucination.

"Did you think he was an orphan?" Robin asks, shooting him a similar scrunched-nose look.

"I don't know! He's never talked about them! I thought his parents were, like, absent assholes or something," Mike says, his shoulders raising defensively.

"That's our fault, I'm afraid," Evelyn says, smiling apologetically as she moves to stand by Steve again. She places a hand on his head, gently carding her fingers through his hair. The motion is familiar and reassuring, and Steve leans into the touch, unaware of Eddie staring at his mom's hand.

"Our work is pretty, uh, need-to-know," Rick says, shrugging as he reaches behind Evelyn and places a hand on Steve's shoulder. "As in, nobody needs to know."

Steve is nodding in agreement when more footsteps sound from the hallway and his uncle slides into the doorway, nearly tripping on his own feet. He clears his throat, adjusts his jacket, and looks up to find a whole room staring at him.

He blinks and tugs on his collar, shifting his gaze to Evelyn and Rick. "Well, after you lot ran off, I got us visitor passes," he says, holding up three stickers.

"You stole them," Steve and Rick say, their voices in synch and nearly indistinguishable.

To his credit, Jonathan doesn't question it. He just scoffs, walking into the room and slapping a sticker on Rick's chest. "I am offended. How could you possibly think I stole them?" he asks.

"Should I remind you how we met?" Rick asks, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan.

"Fair enough. Carry on," Jonathan says, looking away and moving to Steve's side. "Good to see you, old boy. Glad you aren't dead, and sorry it took so long to get your parents here. It's not easy making phone calls to the Amazon Rainforest."

Steve shrugs. "I figured," he says, watching as Evelyn pulls her hand from his hair to place the visitor sticker on her chest.

There are going to be endless questions later. The kids are definitely going to try to grill Evelyn and Rick about their work and about Steve as a child. But there's plenty of time for that later.

For now, Steve is happy to just relax and let his parents take over. He doesn't have to be the responsible one anymore, and he can finally breathe with that weight off his shoulders.

----

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@badgerburrows

[wynnyfryd]

the only “insecure about his looks” steve i will accept are the fics where he’s struggling to cope with having a giant scar across his throat, and even then i feel like he’d be most annoyed that he didn’t get a hot scar lol

talking to eddie like “yours looks like you fought a bear and lived and mine looks like i got tangled up in the tow rope on the back of the boat”

eddie: “no i look like a chew toy. and also, casually referencing tubing at your family lake house is not making me feel pity”

[steviewashere]

I want to write something sort of meta, hear me out on it. Sorry, if this hits too close to home. The idea came to me and I needed to get it out of my system. And...would you look at that, another half-written fic.

Steve ends up getting really into Star Wars after Dustin shows him to it. Like, so much that he gets himself involved with conventions, cosplay, collecting anything and everything he can. He's involved in a fandom space. Learns the world of fan fiction. And let's say that maybe, during his time figuring out where he wants to go with life, he picks up writing fanfic as a hobby.

It encourages him to get an English degree. Encourages him to lean more into that hobby, but then expanding upon it to write original short stories and small novels that go published. But he holds strong to Star Wars and fandom and finding his spot cemented in it. He's been a fan for...nearly forty years at this point (set in 2024, ugh I know).

And maybe he dabbles in online spaces here and there. He ignores the insufferable adults in the Star Wars fandom (the "um, actually..." guys, btw). Indulges the effort of typing out his handwritten fan fiction, ones he used to bring and pass around at conventions, ones he'd let Eddie read with a shy look in his eyes. And he posts them online, has a Tumblr account, maybe does a few short things on Twitter, definitely is on AO3 (albeit newer, having never attempted online fan work before).

But then...then he gets his first little bit of hate. Vicious, gross comments on his work. Sometimes in private messages. Even publicly, once, on Twitter. It irks him. He holds strong, he does. But then it gets worse and worse and somehow, worse. Younger people claiming he's too old, others claiming that he can't write for certain characters because they're out of his age range, that he can't ship certain people, he can't say that a character would do this or that, that Star Wars is media for a younger audience (despite being somebody who saw it "back in the day"). But that he...That he's not supposed to be there.

And that last little comment sticks with him for a long time. It makes his effort and his attention and his love for writing fanworks falter. He stops. Thinks about the characters he loves, of Leia and Han or even Luke and Han or Lando and Han (listen he loves writing Han). But then he wonders if it's even worth it, to indulge this interest anymore. Yeah, maybe he's older than the source material. Sure, maybe he was introduced to it a little later than most, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. Yet, his attention towards Star Wars completely falls away.

He stops watching it. His DVDs going dusty and unused. Starts putting away all his action figures, because what if he posts a photo one day and somebody sees them and claims that that's not for him and—

Then, he goes completely offline from fandom. Even if he still gets the emails from users who actually enjoy his stuff, ignoring them completely. Focuses on using the internet for work. For his novels, for the little stories he actually gets paid to write. But his work just isn't the same. The passion, despite being an original story and original source material, is completely dwindled.

His hobby has been stripped from him. His interest has been knocked straight out of his hands. And he just...moves on.

Even if it hurts to go down into the basement of he and Eddie's home, eyes catching on the see-through bins of original action figures, Lego sets, comic books. Even if it makes something strangle in his chest when he opens up the browser on his phone and it immediately opens to a new ship he'd been getting into: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker—because he finally picked up The Mandalorian, because he was finally talked into watching it when he had the free time.

And then it all bursts over when Eddie finally approaches him about it, when they're enjoying a night-in, sitting around lazily on their sofa.

"There's a convention coming into town," he comments, "supposedly, Hayden Christensen is going to be there. We should go, try and meet him."

Steve just grunts in response.

"Oh-kay...or we could just stay home and watch the movie?" Eddie suggests. "Been a while since I've seen Darth on screen, telling Luke about"—

"I don't want to," Steve cuts in quietly, "isn't really my thing anymore."

Silence then follows. For a beat. Then two. A third.

"Not your thing?" Eddie asks him incredulously. "Not too long ago you were raving all about that new show that's coming out! That you saw they were doing lightsaber whips and you were excited to see how they worked! What do you mean it's 'not your thing'?"

Steve shrugs. "Grew out of it or whatever. Got more important things to focus on now." He sniffs, trying to keep himself held together, grumpy and firm in his decision.

Eddie's stare drills into the side of his face. Scalding, just like that lava was in Revenge of The Sith. "Baby," he speaks softly, "did something happen? You haven't even...you don't read your beautiful little stories to me anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't even seen your lightsabers around here. What's goin' on?"

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A ratty plain white t-shirt that he wears now when he's lounging around the house. It used to be one with the Millennium Falcon on it, but that's tucked down far in his dresser. Not for him anymore.

"Steve," Eddie presses, "did something happen?"

His stare stays down at his lap, still fiddling with his shirt. Fingers flexing unfamiliarly in the strings, unlike the loose ones on his Star Wars shirts. "I just"—Steve heaves a deep sigh—"it's time I grow up. It's...not for me anymore. Too old for it now, I guess."

"You guess or you know? Because nobody's too old for anything. Unless, y'know, you're like eighty-nine and in terrible health and trying to hike Everest, then..."

Despite everything, Steve finds himself chuckling. A giddy little sound here and gone in a breath. He shrugs again, albeit smaller this time. Crumbling within himself. Quietly, honestly, he admits, "People were being mean to me about it online. About my writing. That I'm doing it wrong, that I—that I'm too old for it. That I don't belong because of my age." He finally brings himself to look at Eddie, blearily because his eyes are aching and wet. "I got to thinking and I...maybe I've just been too caught up in my own bliss to realize that those people are right. They're right and I shouldn't be into kids stuff anymore."

Eddie makes a soft, sad cooing noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, baby," he breathes. "Baby, those people don't know a single damn thing about your love. But...but I do. I know that you've seen every single Star Wars movie more times than I've probably eaten in my entire life. And what about all those Halloween costumes over the years? I didn't dress up like Leia for nothing, Mr. Solo."

Steve scoffs wetly. Goes to protest, but—

"And...and that handshake! The one with Dustin? You guys have had that for nearly forty fucking years! So, why bother indulging any of these...these hardasses on the internet? Did they sit next to you on the sofa as you fucking curled yourself like a shrimp and wrote every little intricate detail of a kiss between Luke and Han? Have they read your work while you blushed all shy, while you tucked your hair behind your ear and asked for the most earnest of feedback, to make sure you spelt things correctly or put a comma in the right place? These people, did they get to see you blossom and grow like a fucking bushel of roses over your hobby?

"Because I know I did. And even though you were nervous about your words on the paper, you still came to me. You still wrote and wrote and wrote until I had to bully you into breaks, just so you wouldn't ruin your poor wrists. If they had even an ounce of the passion that you do, they could write their own stories. They can make their own endings and make the characters the way they imagine them.

"They choose, instead, to—what—make fun of you because you have a space to express yourself? Because you found passion and turned it into something so beautiful, even I—a dungeon master, someone supposed to be amazing at storytelling—can't put into words? You found a way to do that, Steve. And you do that with kindness. You do it for free, mind you. If their only passion sits within sending you vitriol over people who aren't even remotely close to real, then they're the ones who don't belong.

"If I've learned anything, fandom is a space to share and bounce off each other's words. It's community and it's belonging and it's sharing what you love because you just love it. Fandom isn't bullying. Bullying is just bullying, Steve.

"And everything you've ever done in your life, in regards to fandom and outside of it, is so much better than hate. You may be a nerd or...or a little bit overzealous or whatever, but at least you aren't hateful. I think being hateful, that's worse—don't you think?"

Steve can only stare in response, fast tears down his cheeks, hands shaking in his shirt. Mind reeling. Because, yes, Eddie's right. And he maybe should've talked about it initially, but the hurt festered and festered and tangled and grew until he was nothing but an unhealed scab. And Eddie, he's the antiseptic to his uncovered cuts—the ones deep on his heart, where all his love is—even for things considered mundane, like movies, like TV shows.

"Steve," Eddie carefully murmurs, wrapping Steve's hands with his own, "you don't have to do something right to love it. You don't have to be a certain way to be happy. If Star Wars made you happy, then why give it up?"

He sniffles and chokes back on a sob. Because, again—damnit—Eddie's right. "I miss it," he admits quietly, "all I've done is miss it."

Eddie gives him a small smile. Something achingly soft that reaches deep within Steve. "Then open your arms and welcome it back, baby," he whispers, "even if you can't be online anymore, do it for yourself."

"I...I want to try it again, I'm just...scared. What if people hate it all over again? What if they're just nasty to me and shut me down and push me to the side and"—

"But what if they love it? What if your readers have missed you just as much?"

"You think?" he meekly asks.

Eddie's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "I know, actually. Your emails keep coming in on the computer's desktop because I keep forgetting to log you out. And, baby, you would not believe how many people have been eager for updates, for your return." His thumbs work into the backs of Steve's hands, warm and sure. "And, if it helps, maybe I can moderate your comments before you look at 'em? I'll read them to myself and if they're mean, I'll delete them."

Steve blows out a breathy little chuckle. "You'll just get mad at them," he gently teases. "But that doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I should try again. Not yet, though. I'm not ready."

"That's okay," Eddie assures, "take things slow. Maybe we start with watching the movies again? Getting your lightsabers back on display?"

"Can we go to the convention, too?"

"We can do whatever you want, Stevie."

For the first time in a long while, Steve finds himself smiling. "I love you," he whispers.

"I know."

[hairmetal666]

TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions

Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.

You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.

Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.

He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.

There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.

The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."

And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.

"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.

The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.

The world around him falls away at the touch.

---

He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.

---

They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--

He wants to kiss Eddie.

So, he does.

It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.

---

Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.

He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.

She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.

He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.

Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.

---

He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.

He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.

"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"

He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.

"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."

Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.

"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.

His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.

Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--

"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"

Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.

---

He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.

A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.

He's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.

Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.

"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"

Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.

---

They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.

Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.

They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.

He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.

In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.

---

He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.

"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"

Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.

They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.

"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.

"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.

---

Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--

"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."

Eddie stays limp in his arms.

"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."

The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.

"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."

He goes still in Steve's hold.

---

The images come faster now--

A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence

Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there

Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize

Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him

Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face

In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head

In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect

---

The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.

Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.

"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"

Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.

The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.

[that-ineffable-devil]

Rainbow in the Dark | Chapter 7

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Author's Note: This was the first chapter I'd had to do from scratch for a while, since I'd had brief bits of story pre-written for the previous chapters. I'm still not sure I'm happy with it, but with no alpha- or beta-readers, we get what we get.

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter references the effects of parental abandonment.

Chapter 7: You Give Me Pale Shelter

“Why did you have to say those things to him?” Steve asked in a harsh whisper.

“What, the truth?” Tommy replied without looking at him.

“You don’t know what the truth is, Tommy, you never have.”

“Oh, so our Harrington runt has a little bark to him after all—I like it!”

“Fuck you.”

“Careful, Steve, people might mishear you and think you’re offering…”

Steve felt a heat rising from his chest, avoiding Tommy’s gaze, unsure if he was overcome with anger or embarrassment.

“You wish, Hagan. Everyone knows I have better taste than that.”

“Not if they think you were crushing on Jonathan Byers,” Tommy retorted, his voice a low but harsh whisper.

“That’s bullshit, Tommy.”

“Doesn’t matter—all that matters is what they think, right? So, what’s it going to be, friend?”

Steve ate the rest of his lunch in silence, not listening to the conversation Tommy seemed to be holding with himself. Every time Steve closed his eyes, he saw the betrayed look on Jonathan’s face. The constant hum of lunchroom chatter rose and fell, but all he could hear were Jonathan’s words.

Jonathan was right, he was bullshit. And he couldn’t help but feel like he’d thrown away his only chance at a real friendship—at anything real—and it felt like a deep pit had opened in his stomach.

At least he’d be able to honestly tell his father that Jonathan Byers would never talk to him again—a thought that made stinging tears well in his eyes. Tears he refused to shed in front of Tommy—because he now knew Tommy wasn’t above hurting him to get what he wanted.

Ever since that dinner with his parents, the dynamic between him and Tommy had shifted. He couldn’t be sure, but Steve hadn’t told Tommy about Jonathan—so he must have seen them in the library together. And, for whatever reason, Tommy must not have liked that—and he knew what a bastard Steve’s father was. So, he’d brought up Jonathan at dinner intentionally to get Steve in trouble—a resounding success.

But now, Tommy was all he had. He knew he’d never earn Jonathan’s forgiveness or trust again, and he was starting to think Tommy would sabotage any attempt at making new friends. And Steve couldn’t bear the thought of going through this again.

At the end of the day, Tommy’s mother waved Steve over to her car as Tommy got in.

“Hello, dear, I’m taking you home today.”

“What?”

While it wasn’t unusual for Tommy’s mom to drive him home, his mother always told him the morning of so he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Mmhmm, your mother called, and she asked me to drop you off at home.”

“Is…is she OK?” Steve asked nervously as he lowered himself into the car.

“Of course, dear, she just said she needed me to pick you up. I’m sure she’ll explain when you get there.”

“OK…sure.”

But as he waved goodbye to Tommy and Mrs. Hagan, Steve couldn’t help but feel that the house was even less welcoming than normal. The door was locked—odd, since his parents usually left it unlocked during the day if they were home—so he grabbed the hide-a-key and let himself in.

“Mom?” he called out as he hung up his backpack in the entryway.

He only heard the echo of his own voice in answer.

“She must have had an errand to run,” he muttered to himself, heading to the kitchen for a snack.

He saw the note before he was even through the kitchen door—a big yellow sheet from a legal pad with his mother’s loopy writing. Steve’s brow furrowed—it wasn’t like her to leave notes…but it wasn’t like her to not be home after school, either. He grabbed the note, removing the wine-bottle magnet holding it in place.

Steven, I’ve gone to retrieve your father from his business trip. He was supposed to be back Tuesday, and he refuses to give a reason for his extended stay. I apologize for not telling you I was leaving before you went to school this morning, but I will be back as soon as possible with your father in tow. Please take care of the house while we are away. There is money in the coffee can behind the cleaning supplies under the sink if you need food. Love always, Your Mother

Steve read the note over and over, the pit in his stomach growing wider with each reading. When he finally set the note down, he checked under the sink for the coffee can—expertly hidden behind bottles of bleach and other cleaners. He inhaled sharply as he peeled the lid off the can to reveal an obscene amount of money rolled and tucked neatly to the brim of the can.

What was his mother socking all this money away for? It couldn’t be a regular “rainy day fund.” This looked like enough to buy a brand-new car—and then some.

The pit widened.

She wouldn’t have told him about the can if she expected to be back in a few days. He checked the letter again, hoping she’d left a phone number he could reach her at—but no. She didn’t even say where she was going—and it’s not as though his father ever talked about his travel around him.

So, he was on his own.

For now, his mind corrected.

Sure. For now.

His parents were gone for two whole months—the first of many extended business trips. He received only one call from his mother the day before their return flight, letting him know when they’d be getting in—so he could make sure the house was clean and tidy before they arrived.

He knew she was warning him so his father wouldn’t have a reason to lay into him immediately on his return, but it still stung.

“I was worried, Mom. You’ve been gone so long, I thought something had happened—why didn’t you call?”

“I know, I’m sorry Steven. I’ve just been…busy…keeping an eye on your father.”

His mother’s voice was terse and quiet—strained, as though she was holding something back. Steve swallowed the sudden ache in his throat that threatened tears.

“Sure, OK. I’ll have the house in order when you and Dad get home tomorrow evening.”

“Thank you. You’re a good boy, Steven.”

Tears flooded his eyes at those words, so he gave a quick “I love you” before hanging up the phone. He pressed his palms into his eyes as though trying to force the tears back, refusing to let the last two months of abandonment wash over him.

They weren’t worth it.

After a few deep, steadying breaths, he started tidying the house for their arrival. Before tucking the coffee can back in its hiding place, he ordered two large supreme pizzas for himself and gave the delivery guy an obscenely generous tip with some of the stored cash.

He knew his mother would find it if he took any for himself, so he could at least give someone else a great night.

Steve would find himself living alone more often than not as he grew older. It didn’t take too long for Steve to piece together that his father was a serial cheater, and his mother was accompanying him to keep an eye on him. The arguments behind closed doors and the passive aggressive comments between them at dinner didn’t leave much room for doubt.

Steve understood why his mother was hurt and upset, but he didn’t understand why that meant he had to be left home alone. He confronted her about it one day, his father still at the office. It had started off calm enough, but his emotions quickly got the better of him.

“Screw Dad, Mom, stay for me!”

“I can’t, Steven,” she’d replied, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Why? Why am I being punished for his mistakes?”

“I’m not punishing you, Steven! I’m…I’m not even punishing him! I just can’t bear the thought…”

“He’ll find a way to do it again, you know he will.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make it more difficult. And I can only imagine what the rest of Hawkins thinks…”

“Screw them, it’s none of their business.”

“Appearances are everything,” she said coldly, her icy blue eyes piercing into his own.

“…Well…what about the appearance of abandoning your kid?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, nobody thinks that. If anything, they think we feel strongly about your independence and ability to care for yourself.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a near-silent “whatever” as he left his mother to pack for yet another out-of-state trip.

At least she calls more frequently now, he thought to himself.

Yeah, to let me know they’re OK.

And to make sure you’re not hospitalized! She also refills the coffee can funds before her trips.

Steve shook his head. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she was keeping such a crazy amount of cash hidden from his father. He’d always thought the man was a bloodhound with a nose trained to sniff out cold hard cash, but if he knew, he kept it to himself. And that seemed unlikely as hell.

Steve’s freshman year went by in a flash. While his parents may have spent most of it abroad, he found it easier to cope when he didn’t have to deal with Jonathan Byers’ baleful glares every day at school. He hoped the guy would be over it by now—he didn’t want to put up with that freak’s antics next year. He’d decided Tommy had been right about him all along, and he was not going to allow Byers to ruin his sophomore year.

While Steve spent many nights at home alone, his weekdays were filled with school, students, and sports. And weekends? Well, weekends were for parties. This weekend was going to be the party of the year, celebrating the end of freshman year. He was supplying the snacks and location, and Tommy and Carol were bringing the booze. Tommy had also talked him into procuring some “party favors” for select partygoers.

Thus, he found himself in the woods with Eddie “The Freak” Munson. Steve had never interacted with Munson before—they ran in different circles—but he couldn’t deny the wild, shaggy-haired boy had a presence that could fill a room. He was impossible to miss or ignore—even when he wasn’t ranting at the top of his lungs about “mass conformity” and “the man.”

Steve didn’t know much about the guy beyond the rumors: that Munson had killed his father and got off on a technicality; that he worshipped Satan and ran a secret, underground satanic cult right here in Hawkins; that he was the son of Lucifer himself; that he’d been seen in Indianapolis getting cozy with some older men in a few clubs.

Steve knew to take rumors with a grain of salt, but Munson never refuted any of them. In fact, he seemed to embrace them, leaning heavily into demonic and satanic imagery. Steve didn’t know if that meant there was any truth to the rumors, or if Munson had just decided to flip society the bird and make a joke out of it all—both sounded equally plausible.

Steve eyed the boy warily as he approached the table. As Eddie hopped over the picnic table’s bench seat, his curly mane tumbled over his shoulders, brushing lightly over the black leather jacket and denim vest Steve knew he wore nearly every day. The vest was festooned with patches, badges, and pins that Steve could only guess were bands Munson liked—or maybe comics? He wasn’t familiar with either, really.

Eddie’s left hand was adorned with his usual enormous, silver rings—rings that, frankly, Steve felt looked a bit dangerous...but appealing. He couldn’t help but notice how the bulky rings seemed to make Eddie’s fingers seem longer, more elegant. His right hand held only a single, more intricate ring inlaid with a black stone gracing his ring finger. He wondered if it held some significance for Eddie, or if he’d just liked the look of it. He only realized he’d been staring when Eddie dipped his head to catch Steve’s eyes.

“Steve Harrington,” Eddie said with a smirk, drawing out the “e” in his first name.

The boy crossed his arms over his metal lunchbox casually, tapping out a rhythm with his fingers.

Steve cleared his throat, hesitant to take a seat. Eddie clocked his hesitation and a slow grin curled across his face. Steve was beginning to think this was a mistake—why did Tommy push him into this? He and Carol had bought from Munson a million times—why did it have to be him?

“Apologies, my liege, I forget my place—royalty always sits first,” Eddie announced as he placed his palms heavily against the table and rose suddenly.

Eddie removed his vest and jacket while he stood, the bottom of his black t-shirt riding up ever so slightly before he set them both down on the table. Steve felt his eyes flick toward the movement instinctively, noting the bit of briefly exposed skin along Munson’s waistline, then furrowed his brow—why had he done that?

Eddie bowed deeply, suggesting he should sit, and Steve clocked a tattoo depicting some demon being puppeteered by a disembodied hand running up his forearm as the boy held his arms wide. Moments later, Eddie caught his eye and winked. Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“R-royalty? The fuck you on about, Munson?” Steve finally managed, though his voice cracked a bit, his throat suddenly hot and dry.

He shuffled his feet a few times before he approached the table. Eddie waited until he’d slung both legs over the bench seat before he rose from his bow and returned to the table.

“You are the King of Hawkins High, are you not?” Eddie replied teasingly as he sat back down.

Steve groaned and covered his face with his palms, a headache already growing in his left temple.

“Jesus, don’t start with that. Aren’t we here to do a drug deal?”

“Of course, as his majesty wishes! How could a lowly peasant such as myself withhold anything his king desires,” Eddie asked, placing his hand across his heart as though he were offended by the very idea.

Steve unshuttered his fingers to look at the other boy. Peering through his fingers, he saw Eddie’s eyebrows waggling in a ridiculously suggestive way. His entire body flushed and broke into a cold sweat—what the fuck was wrong with this guy? He shuttered his fingers again, hiding his embarrassment.

“So, what can this humble apothecary offer to appease his king?”

Steve dropped his hands, his face contorted in confusion.

“The fuck is an apothecary?”

Eddie laughed, loud and genuine. Steve flushed even darker in embarrassment—he didn’t like being ridiculed for his ignorance, and when Eddie saw his expression he abruptly stopped laughing, offering a friendly smile instead.

“Apothecaries were like medieval doctors, pharmacies…drug dealers. Nobody gets the reference, so don’t feel bad. My buddies keep telling me to stop using it, but it sounds better than ‘drug dealer,’ right?”

Oh. Well, when he put it that way…

“Yeah, I guess it does. I mean, most people would probably just look at you weird if you said ‘I went to see the apothecary today,’ but ‘I went to see the drug dealer’ gets a very different reaction,” Steve replied thoughtfully.

Eddie laughed again, and this time Steve joined him—though his laugh was higher, more nervous. Eddie mimed wiping the corner of his eye as his laughter died down to a chuckle.

“So, tell me King Harrington, what are you here for?”

“Drugs,” Steve replied bluntly, grimacing at Eddie’s use of the moniker.

Eddie snorted loudly.

“Yes, I think we’ve established that—what specifically?”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Post Notes: Much like Eddie's last chapter, we had a bit of a time skip to get to Steve's high school years--and I felt we'd gone on long enough without any direct interaction between our boys. It will be quite a while (in-universe) before they meet again, but don't worry--we'll be skipping over most of that time. Sorry it's so brief! I'd intended to go on longer, but once I'd reached that last line in the Eddie/Steve interaction, it felt like the perfect close to a chapter.

Chapter 8 Preview: Eddie knows the impression he gives off, but that doesn't mean words don't hurt. After overhearing a teacher's comments, Eddie lashes out during his lunch period--an action that would have unforeseen consequences.

Thank you to my readers! As always, likes are greatly appreciated and reblogs are both appreciated and heavily encouraged. 🖤

Credits

Bat dividers courtesy of StrayWords.

Fic title courtesy of Rainbow in the Dark by Dio.

Chapter title courtesy of Pale Shelter by Tears For Fears.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

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