#jewish steve harrington

[libraryofgage]

A Place Like Steve in a Boy Like This

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three (you’re here!) Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse (also on the way and also a modern royalty au cuz I got the urge to write one so bad lmao)

This AU was line-jumped on Ko-Fi, which means y'all got it sooner!

If you want to line jump your favorite series, you can learn more here

I hope y'all enjoy this part! It was a lotta fun to write, actually, since I got to talk about folklore I'm more familiar with lol

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

----

Steve huffs as he kicks a pebble down the street. It bounces a few times before settling on the sidewalk, doing nothing interesting enough to alleviate his boredom. He turns around, squinting against the sun shining in his eyes, and looks at his parents. His mother is speaking quietly to a woman with a shawl around her shoulders, both of them bent over some book that definitely should have been crumbling by now. His father idly taps at bricks on the building next to them, looking relaxed but alert.

Steve glances at the building his parents are avoiding, the one the woman with the shawl walked out of. It’s a pale, faded yellow, the kind that tells him the building is old, old enough to have seen wars and generations pass it by. Shingles line a low roof, but something that’s either incredibly durable wood or stone so old it’s turned brown makes up the vaguely mountain-shaped top that reaches to the sky. Steve studies the building, his eyes wandering until he sees the door cracked open on the side. 

He takes a slow step towards it, checks that neither of his parents noticed, and takes another. This continues until he’s in the shadow of the building, his fingers brushing against the wood. It’s cool against his skin, and the door isn’t nearly as heavy as it looks. He pushes lightly against it, an eager feeling building in the pit of his stomach as he slips inside.

A dimly lit hall made of stone sprawls out in front of him, and Steve hums softly as he passes by the paintings and scraps of scroll that are framed along the wall. He recognizes Hebrew on all the scrolls, but he doesn’t linger long enough to read any of it. Instead, he continues to walk, glancing through an opening that leads into a sanctuary. The opening is to the left of the bema, and he’s momentarily caught by the ark that contains the Torah. He can’t even see the holy scrolls, but something in his spine jerks and he’s overwhelmed by the urge to open the doors so he can gaze upon them. 

He’s already going to get in trouble for slipping inside, though. Maybe he shouldn’t make it worse. Steve grasps this thought tightly, holding it in his mind until he’s able to tear his gaze away and continue walking down the hall. Other than that opening, there’s only one door left at the very end. It, too, is made of wood and opens far easier than Steve expected.

Shafts of sunlight stream in through narrow windows, illuminating dust that floats in the still air of an undisturbed staircase. Steve looks down at the first steps, crouches, and drags his finger carefully over the stone. A layer of dust comes off, and Steve comes to the conclusion that nobody has been up these stairs in a long, long time. 

With a grin, Steve begins to climb. 

The stairs wind up and up, far higher than Steve thinks should be possible given the height of the building itself, but what does he know? He just focuses on climbing, on reaching the top as he passes narrow window after narrow window, breathing in stale air that stirs in his lungs and builds. Strangely enough, he’s not breathless from the climbing, but from something else entirely. He isn’t able to name that feeling until he finally (finally) reaches the top of the stairs. 

As he stands on the top step and looks over the loft spread out before him, he realizes it was anticipation. Like the stairs, this attic-loft is covered in dust, untouched by people for a very long time. A large window is opposite the stairs, allowing sunlight to stream into the area. The space holds a desk, a bed, more books than Steve has ever seen before, and a statue.

Steve stares at the statue, licks his lips nervously, and steps into the room. He doesn’t spare the books or anything else a second glance, instead making a beeline for the statue. It’s huge, towering over the twelve-years-old Steve even though it’s sitting. Its legs are crossed, and its hands are held palm-up just above its navel. The statue is round and smooth, not a straight edge in sight. It doesn’t have a neck, and its head is like a little bump on its shoulders, just big enough to hold triangle-shaped divots for eyes. Carefully placed next to the statue is a small clay jar and a paintbrush.

Without thinking, Steve picks up the jar and looks inside. Golden-hued paint shimmers inside, and Steve wonders how it hasn’t caked over or disintegrated after all this time. He tilts the clay pot a few times, watching the paint slide against the edges, and then looks up at the statue again. At second glance, he sees that the statue’s head is big enough for more than just its eyes. He could probably write on it, too. 

With that thought, Steve grabs the paintbrush and very carefully pokes his foot against the statue’s leg. It seems strong enough, so he climbs up, following the statue’s calf to its knee. From there, he carefully holds the paintbrush with his teeth so he can steady himself on the statue’s arm. Once he has, Steve pulls himself up onto the statue’s hands, finding himself at the perfect height to reach its forehead.

Steve holds the paintbrush and dips it into the jar. The brush comes out covered in the gold paint, and Steve pauses, looking at the statue’s forehead.

He remembers a story his mother once told him about this very city, this very building. It involved a statue like this one, a golem, that was brought to life to protect his mom’s ancestors. Steve hums softly and carefully paints aleph, mem, tav on the statue’s forehead. His mom will find it funny when he brings her up here to show her the “golem” he found. 

As he finishes off the tav, giving it a pretty little flourish just for the fun of it, the ground beneath him jerks. No, not the ground. The hands he’s standing on. Steve yelps, losing his balance and about to fall only to be cradled and carefully set on the ground.

Steve blinks, looking up at the golem to see it leaning down and staring at him expectantly. “Uh. Hi,” he says, breathless as he receives a small nod and wave in return. “Holy shit.”

Before he can say more, he hears a familiar voice in the distance shouting, “Steve! Where are you?”

Keeping his eyes on the golem, Steve sets the jar and paint down, scooting back along the floor until he reaches the top of the stairs. “I’m up here!” he shouts, hearing a muffled curse and the slam of a door far below. He sighs and stands, slowly approaching the golem.

“You’re really real,” he mumbles, stopping in front of the golem as he hears someone running up the steps.

He turns just in time to see his father reach the attic, guns at the ready, and panting from adrenaline and the climb. “What the fuck is that?!” he shouts, aiming the guns at the golem without thinking. 

“Don’t shoot it!” Steve yells, barely getting the words out before he’s scooped into the golem’s arms and completely covered by its hands. The world goes dark, and he’s pressed close enough to the golem’s chest that all he can smell is pomegranate and the old ink and paper of Talmud studies. 

“It’s holding you captive, and you’re telling me not to shoot it?!” his father asks. 

“It’s protecting him!” his mother shouts, her voice shrill and panicked enough about his father shooting a golem to make Steve almost laugh.

Steve wiggles around, tapping the golem’s chest. “Those are my parents,” he says, “Please let me down.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, the golem does, carefully and slowly placing Steve on his feet once more. Its hands stay on either side of him, looking ready to pull him back into its protective embrace. His father looks harried, but his mother looks awed as she steps forward. The golem allows her to approach, and she carefully runs her fingers over the golem’s arms. “This is amazing, Steve,” she says softly.

“Can we please step away from the dangerous statue now?” his father asks, taking a step forward only to stop when the golem suddenly stands and towers over him. “Uh, what’s it doing?”

“You’re not Jewish, Rick,” Steve’s mother says, looking over her shoulder. “The golem is a protective figure in Jewish folklore, among other things. It’s most famous stories are about keeping Jewish towns safe from pogroms. It’s wary of you.”

“I’m your husband!” Steve’s father protests, angrily shoving his guns back into their holsters, “And Steve’s father! We should be on the same team!”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, walking over to his father and taking his hand. “I just have to introduce you.” With that, Steve leads his father over to the golem, placing his father’s hand on its arm, and saying, “This is someone you should protect, too.”

----------

After explaining everything, with plenty of interruptions from the kids after they came running back into the living room to escape Uncle Jonathan’s gin, Steve’s parents demanded to see the lab where it all started. 

And now they’re here, standing in one of the lower levels, surrounded by dead vines that still haunt Steve’s nightmares on particularly bad nights. If he’s lucky, he won’t have one of those while his parents are home, but Steve has never really called himself lucky in situations that don’t involve life or death. 

The wall that once held a gate to the Upside Down is nothing more than charred cement, reduced to a jagged line of something Steve really hopes is soot and not, like, disintegrated demogorgon. He carefully makes his way through the vines, avoiding them when he can and holding his breath whenever he has to step on one. 

“Did you know this was a lab?” Rick asks, his voice echoing in the hall ahead of them. 

“Of course, not,” Evelyn replies, and Steve can picture the glare she’s aiming at him. “I wouldn’t have let our son live here if I’d known.”

“Well,” Eddie says, “I, for one, and very relieved Stevie lived here considering several of us would be dead without him.”

“Me, too,” Dustin says.

“Me three,” El says.

“I think Steve and I would’ve found each other even if he wasn’t in Hawkins,” Robin says, nudging Steve’s ribs with her elbow as she grins. “Platonic soulmates can’t he kept apart.”

Steve snorts and stops when he reaches the wall. He looks around and notices the corpse of a demodog a few feet away. Or, well, he thinks it’s a demodog corpse. “Stay here,” he says, tightening his grip on his bat as he takes a step closer to it.

“Hold it right there, young man,” his mother says, her tone bringing him to an immediate halt. “Your father will go towards the monster, and you will stay a safe distance away.”

“Gee, thanks for asking,” Rick mutters, rolling his shoulders as he makes his way over to the demodog corpse. He studies it for a second before just kicking the thing with his foot. Steve nearly jumps in to yank his father back, but stays frozen in place by Robin’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

His father kicks the corpse again, and Eddie suddenly asks, “Why do I feel like this is disrespectful?”

“Because it used to be alive,” El offers.

“It’s definitely not anymore,” Rick says, crouching down and using the barrel of his gun to push back one of the petals on its head. “Shit, what’s it need so many teeth for?”

“The better to eat you with,” Steve says, earning a snort from Robin and Eddie.

“And there were how many of these?” Evelyn asks.

“Dozens. Like, multiple packs, and they were all connected by this hive mind kinda thing,” Dustin explains, walking over to the corpse with no fear. “I mean, they weren’t all bad. Dart was okay.”

“He ate your cat,” Steve says.

“Yeah, and then he didn’t eat us in the tunnel.”

“I can’t believe you were facing these things and didn’t use your guns to spare some girl’s feelings,” Rick says, looking at Steve over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just use the golem,” his mother says, frowning as she turns to Steve. “I mean, you know where it is, dear. You know how to bring it to life.”

“A golem? Like…from Lord of the Rings?” Dustin asks.

“You had a golem? Why didn’t you tell me you had a golem?” Eddie asks.

“How did we not think of the golem? Holy shit, we’re dumb,” Robin says, smacking her forehead with her palm.

“I couldn’t trust that it wouldn’t hurt one of my friends,” Steve says, ignoring Dustin for now. “It would only protect me and Robin. If something happened to one of us, it would abandon the kids without question. What’s the point then?”

“Hello! Confused people over here!” Dustin shouts, getting their attention. “What golem?”

“You know,” Robin says, “like…of Prague.”

“No, still lost,” Dustin says.

Steve sighs, about to explain it when Eddie beats him to it. “The golem is from Jewish folklore,” he says, tilting his head as he looks at Steve, “It was created and brought to life by a rabbi in Prague to protect his congregation from pogroms and acts of antisemitism. There are debates on why he had to disintegrate the golem, though. Some stories say it started killing innocent people, others say it fell in love, and others say the congregation were using it to do chores instead of letting it focus on protecting them.”

“Yes, exactly,” Evelyn says, smiling at Eddie and nodding with approval, “The golem doesn’t speak much, but it can answer basic questions. According to it, Rabbi Loew removed its aleph because it requested to go to sleep.”

“Oh, so it just wanted a nap,” El says, nodding as though this makes perfect sense to her.

“You said you had the golem,” Eddie says. “Where?”

“At the house,” Steve replies, watching as his father stands from the corpse and drags Dustin away from it. “I keep it in the locked room downstairs.”

“You said that was your parents’ room,” Dustin says.

“No, you assumed it was, and I never corrected you.”

“Can I see it?” Eddie asks.

Steve looks up, meeting Eddie’s gaze. After a few seconds, he nods once and looks at his parents. “Did you see what you wanted?” he asks, “Can we head back?”

“Yeah,” Rick says, frowning as he nudges a vine with his foot. “I’ll come back later with Ardeth. See if he knows anything that might help.”

“What do we need help with?” Dustin asks. “The portal is closed for good. We closed it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with making sure,” Evelyn tells him, smiling reassuringly before turning back the way they came. “Now that Rick and I are here, we’ll do everything we can to make sure those gates never open again.”

“And if they do,” Rick says, bringing up the rear as the kids follow Evelyn, “we’ll take care of it. You kids don’t need to put yourselves in danger anymore.”

Something in Steve settles at hearing this, his next exhale taking all the stress that had made its home between his shoulders with it. For the first time in a long time, he thinks about something normal. He glances at Eddie and Robin and thinks about going to see a movie with them, drinking at the lake, and just being stupid teens that don’t have to worry about interdimensional monsters.

------

Tag List (there should be room still! So, if you’d like a tag, let me know!)

@trueghostqueen, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @mogami13, @blcksh33p1987, @beawritingbooks, @remus-is-trans, @your-confused-friend, @estrellami-1, @nburkhardt, @vacantwatchers, @yeahhhh-suga, @phantomcat94

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@nadenia, @northernlight-witch, @steddie-as-they-go,

[atimeofyourlife]

Kindling the light

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: hanukkah | rated: t | wc: 577 | tags: jewish steve harrington Steve's father prevented him from celebrating Hanukkah, or observing any Jewish traditions passed down from his mother. After finding his Grandmother's Hannukiah, he allows himself to celebrate for the first time since he was a kid, bringing Eddie and Robin along with him.

Steve grumbled to himself as he searched the attic for Christmas decorations. Somehow he'd been the one chosen to host the party's Christmas gathering, and he didn't even really celebrate Christmas. He only went along with it as a kid because his father told him he had to, because it looked better if they were seen as a good, Christian family, and not a family of mixed faiths. He had always much preferred the years he could spend with his mother's family. The years he got to celebrate Hanukkah. Something he hadn't been able to do for nearly a decade, since his grandmother had passed away.

He tried to pull himself out of his thoughts, going back to searching the boxes. But he only moved a few more and he found a smaller, unlabeled box. He opened it to see his grandmother's Hanukkiah, and the memories came flooding back. Gathered as a family saying the blessings as the Hanukkah candles were lit, spending the evening together playing dreidel and eating latkes and receiving gelt alongside his cousins from his aunts and uncles and grandparents. It caused an ache in his chest, thinking about all the traditions he had missed because of his father.

"Steve? Did you find the decorations?" Eddie called from the ladder.

"I. Yeah. Some of them." Steve replied. "D'you want to grab them?"

Eddie pulled himself into the attic and came over to Steve. "Which boxes do you- what's that?"

"It's a Hanukkiah." Steve glanced up at Eddie, noticing that he looked confused. "It's a type of menorah for Hanukkah."

"Hanukkah? You're Jewish?"

"Yeah, on my mom's side." Steve wasn't sure what else to say.

"How did I not know that? And why do you have all this Christmas stuff then?" Eddie asked.

"Dad. He didn't want anyone to know that we're a mixed faith family, so me and mom had to follow his Christian beliefs. He wouldn't let us do anything, we couldn't celebrate Hanukkah, we couldn't observe Shabbat, we couldn't keep kosher. It was only when we visited Mom's family that we got to do any of it." Steve explained, a little sadly.

"Your dad is a total asshole. But when they're not around, why don't you do that stuff anyway. They don't have to know."

"If anyone else found out and it got back to my Dad, he would kill me."

"Just do it at home then." Eddie looked back at the Hanukkiah in its box. "When is Hanukkah anyway?"

And that was how Steve found himself celebrating Hanukkah for the first time in a decade. He had to focus to keep his hands steady as he lit the candles in the Hanukkiah, sitting pride of place in the front window, after reciting the blessings. He'd had to look up the blessings after not saying them for so long, something he felt a little ashamed about, even though he knew it was not his fault. He stepped back, Robin and Eddie on either side of him. He had missed so much of his traditions, but now he was looking forward to bringing it to his found family. Over time, he would introduce it to the kids. But for now, he had latke batter made up ready for frying, and he planned to teach Robin and Eddie how to play dreidel. Who had both been insistent on helping Steve celebrate Hanukkah, and helping him make it the best it could possibly be.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Christmas was supposed to be a time for family, that’s what Steve has always been taught anyways, but, seeing as his parents don’t really understand what it’s like having gone through what he and his friends have, they aren’t much of a family these days.

Steve was never of the Christly faith, he was Jewish actually, but the family chose to celebrate Christmas for its messages and the staples of the season. Things like the wood burning stove crackling with warmth and watching snow coat the evergreens in the backyard. Baking and relaxing and peace on earth and such.

The festivities of both of his holidays weren’t quite dampened as much as his faith was the moment a six foot faceless monster dropped out of the ceiling with intent to kill him. Though last Christmas went pretty shit anyways, for the first time in years spending that time of year with someone he genuinely cared about, only to realize in retrospect it hadn’t been a mutual love and cheeriness.

Steve isn’t sure about getting into the festive spirit this year, whatever that even means to him anymore.

He doesn’t decorate as much as he used to; something about having all those lights in his house, the way they used to wrap around the banister and frame the huge wreath above the mantelpiece, it just makes him paranoid now. No sense of wonder filled nostalgia and warmth in his chest, instead just waiting for the moment they start to flash and signal something coming after him. A festive beacon signaling his location across dimensions, that’s a big ‘no’ from him.

He realizes about four days before Christmas that his apathy had bled into the rest of his traditions too, altogether forgetting to bake the cookies he’d inevitably eat all by himself anyways, or to write cards to family members who probably only trashed the envelope without opening it. Steve can’t stop himself from this depressing spiral either, every last idea of mirrored baubles and other delights shot down in a heartbeat with a negative one twice as strong.

Hell, he even forgot to fish out an old bayberry candle from the attic, which is enough on its own to make him worry a little. His Ima always told him if there was one tradition he could never give up, it was the candle, and every year he’d light that thing and watch it like a hawk to make sure it burned down to the base starting on Christmas Eve morning. It’s bad luck to not. The whole family will be cursed by every god imaginable.

There’s a little flier in his mailbox for Christmas Eve service. Even if his faith has been tested, he can say for certain he’ll never be Christian. His faith and his identity are linked in some ways too tested and true to just move on.

Still. He considers going. Christmas Eve service won’t be enough to undo the damning of his soul for forgetting the candle, and it won’t change his mind on the religion thing either.

It’ll get him out of the house, though. Maybe allow him to see some old faces. Connect with real humans again. There’ll be coffee and cookies anyways, and one of his favorite parts of Christmas has always been the baked goods.

Blame it on all that’s happened in the last year, but Steve decides to go, if not just because he’d failed at achieving literally everything else he had on his to-do list for the season. He’d at least rather feel like he was being judged by old church bitties than feel the crushing weight of having nothing at home for himself.

He’s already late when he does show up at the church, as in -the old people have stopped bullshitting and the service had actually started- late. Actually, he’d been there for a half hour before then at least, but sat outside in his car until he mustered the courage to go inside and face what he’s quickly realizing was a bad decision.

Steve is forced to sit at the very back of the church since, even if he won’t be listening, he doesn’t want to interrupt everybody else. Not a bad deal for someone who guilt-tripped his own sorry self into coming in the first place, but the problem he has with the situation is the company.

He thought this would be helping. It isn’t.

See, most of the church is full of families, people grouped together in their little circles and rubbing it in just how lonely Steve is this year.

In the last few rows there are a couple of other loners like him, but even those are mostly full of people who look generally friendly with each other at least. Steve doesn’t have the luxury.

Billy Hargrove’s taking up almost a whole pew for himself, slouched down with his legs all spread, like he doesn’t want to be seen. Knowing Hargrove the way Steve thinks he does, he assumes that’s exactly the case. That the asshole got dragged along by his nice family to church, to celebrate the community he made it a point to terrorize since day one of being in Hawkins.

Steve’s God isn’t quite the same as the one from this church, but whoever is up there, if anybody, he curses them for creating such a dick as Billy and sending him down to bother Steve.

Maybe he’s projecting a little, but all the same, the only seat left where he’s not going to be interrupting something is right next to Hargrove.

If he had any pride left he’d turn and walk out the door, but he’s only here because he’s already at rock bottom. Might as well spend the holiday with someone who’s probably going to kick his ass again for being a bother.

But Hargrove doesn’t even look at him when he sits next to him, his head is tipped back against the seat and there are sunglasses perched on his nose, despite it being dark out already and one a dreary winter day when there was no sun to begin with. The only indication that he even noticed Steve’s presence is that he moved his leg away so he and Steve aren’t making contact.

Steve’s not going to act like he suddenly likes the guy, but he can tell something is up with him. He asks, pretty bluntly, “What’s a guy like you doing passed out drunk in a church, Hargrove?”

Billy’s face shifts slowly into a half-assed smirk, looking mostly like he’s in pain from forcing the expression, “Why, you want in on it?”

“Honestly, it wouldn’t suck as much if I had a drink first.” Steve shrugs, trying against every instinct in his body to be civil with Billy. It’s not like the other boy is much of a threat the way he’s slumped down and broken looking anyways. Steve feels almost bad for passing judgements.

Until Billy calls him on his hypocrisy, hardly even looking in his direction, “You came in here alone. You wanna be here, Harrington. Don’t act like you’re like me.”

Arguing back with those assumptions, Steve insists, mostly because of the nerve of Billy to assume his situation insults him, “Well I don’t see your family around.”

“‘Cause they're too embarrassed to be seen with me after I beat your sorry ass. Ruined a reputation that didn’t even exist yet. They're up at the front, putting on their happy family routine to make up for it.” Billy relays.

The tone of his explanation would imply that it’s nothing to him, just a mild inconvenience no larger than their own dispute, but his demeanor reads otherwise. And suddenly makes a lot more sense to Steve.

Steve’s definitely chastened, reluctant as his heart tells him to be in trusting Billy, “Oh. Couldn’t you have just.. stayed home then?”

“No way. And get up to more trouble while the rest of my family has to pull the weight of our publicity. Yeah right.” Finally Billy sits up a little straighter, if only to mumble, mostly to himself more than for Steve to hear, “That’d only get my ass beat worse, even if I didn’t do shit.”

And really, as much as Steve is never prepared for what spiteful bullshit is about to come tumbling out of Hargrove’s mouth, this is especially surprising. Like, the kind of unexpected that leaves him speechless and just staring for a moment.

He settles on blurting out, “You.. didn’t have to tell me all that.”

Maybe bitter, or maybe perfectly unbothered in that annoyingly trademark Billy Hargrove way, he meets Steve’s disaster of an attempt at coherency with a simple, “You didn’t have to accuse me of being a drunk either. But the more you run your mouth, the more I feel perfectly justified in giving you that concussion.”

“Never heard of a joke, have you?” Steve tries again, thinking he can be on a bully’s level now, but clearly that wasn’t the vibe Billy was actually going for.

Billy scoffs, glaring with suspiciously wet eyes under those tinted glasses at Steve, “Right. ‘Cause it’s so hilarious, getting to see the new King of the bullshit high school hierarchy at an all time low. You’ve got lots to laugh at Harrington.”

“But I’m not. You think I don’t got my own shit to deal with? Like I just wander into a church I don’t even worship at, an hour late and without my best on, just for fun?”

Knocking himself down a few pegs succeeds in getting Billy to warm back up to him, inviting a new interest in his expression, “So what’s your sin then, Harrington? What’s got you crawling out here and stooping to the peasant level?”

For more reasons than just their location, Steve answers honestly, if not somewhat dramatic, “Incurable loneliness. Being an idiot. Never being good enough. Forgetting to light my goddamned bayberry candle.”

“That bad, huh?” Billy fake winces, the edge bleeding back out of his demeanor. It reminds Steve of the Billy he’d first met that night. Before he’d lied and things went to hell.

Speaking of, Billy abruptly comes out with what they’ve both been thinking, “Look. Do you even believe in all this.. this savior bullshit?”

Steve shrugs, swallowing the fear of denouncing tradition in favor of impressing Hargrove, “Nope. And if we’re being really honest, I only came here because there’d be food.”

“Exactly. Our problems ain’t gonna be fixed by the big man in the red suit or whatever. You and me Harrington, we gotta take this shit into our own hands.” Billy rambles, and for a second it looks like he’s about to put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, before he changes position at the last minute and rests his arm over the back of the pew instead.

Why does Steve kind of wish he had touched him? He brushes it off. They’re playing mind games right now, talking about shit without talking about it. He’s gotta focus or he’ll fall behind.

“And just how are we going to do that?” Steve hums, some part of him wondering at this point if he is just amusing a drunken Billy.

But the other boy surprises him once more, challenging how convinced Steve is in his perceptions of him, “Step one, let’s just get outta here.”

Steve’s mouth feels dry and his stomach feels in knots.

“Uh, Hargrove. Didn’t you like, just say you had to be here though?”

“That was ten minutes ago. I’m a new man now, unrestrained by the confines of a paternal dictatorship keeping me bound to this holy house of worship.”

That doesn’t make it any more obvious to Steve what his intention is, if anything just making him more confused. Feeling like a jackass about it, he asks for clarification, a problem that has every bit to do with himself and his expectations, and not so much with Hargrove’s, “What?”

“I said fucking stick it to Neil Hargrove and to God. And let’s go already before we get struck down or something.” Billy stands then, the preacher thankfully deep enough into whatever speech was going on that only a few churchgoers turned to glare at the interruption.

Steve realizes he doesn’t have much choice, or desire, to do anything but follow Billy.

They almost wordlessly end up at Steve’s car, Billy himself having been driven with the rest of his family and having no other way to get home.

It’s still tense between them, this spur of the moment Christmas truce not doing much to ease Steve’s worries. Things feel even more awkward than they need to be, at least to Steve.

Billy, on the other hand, makes himself right comfortable in Steve’s car, like they’d been best friends all along and this was a perfectly normal thing for the two of them to be doing.

Somehow it simultaneously made Steve really want to get closer to him,so he could understand the way his head works to make him so sporadic in a way Steve himself had never been good at being.

Part way through the drive, Billy had cranked the heat in the car all the way up, a sign he’s not taking his first white Christmas that well. His salt-stained boots are kicked up on his dashboard, and the sunglasses he wore for no apparent reason were finally removed to be looped onto the collar of his jacket.

He wasn’t lying about the beating. Behind the shades wasn’t a drunken, out of focus gaze. No.

A bruise the size of almost the entirety of his left cheekbone stretches and warps into his swollen brow, where a cut near his eyelid forces it half-shut.

“You’re not nervous are you?” Steve needs the reassurance.

They could both get in trouble from the man they both know landed that bruise on Billy’s cheek. Getting caught wasn’t a question, they would know he wasn’t at the church anymore, it was just a matter of what excuse Billy could come up with that wouldn’t get him in more trouble.

“Me? Never.” Billy just shrugs him off, though again adds something under his breath, sort of like a filter for the truths he finds painful to speak, “Just hurry up and take me as far away from here as possible. I hate this stupid hell hole and I don’t want Neil’s ass dragging me back in there.”

And it’s not like Steve is going to disagree, he’s admittedly had his problems with being lonely, and he’s got his own reasons for why Hargrove might just be the best company he could make right about now.

Still, because it’s their thing, he gives him a hard time all the same.

“We were enemies when I walked into that church. Why should I do anything for you?”

“‘Cause we’re both two out of place fuck ups in the very back of the house of God. And we both know you’re too soft to hold a grudge anyways. Since I decided to forgive you, the way I see it, we might as well have never met ‘til tonight. Perfect meeting, perfect reason to help out.” Billy explains it, again like he’s fixing himself to be a real genius, but Steve’s skeptical of how easygoing he is.

Those shaking hands don’t go unnoticed from him. Or the scratchy, high pitched lilt that trails after each word Billy speaks.

Steve is more than willing to move past the fight at this point, but there’s something that may or may not even have anything to even do with Hargrove himself, that stops him from just letting them be close like that. Something that Steve has kept a secret his whole life.

Something like a boy crush.

It’s not even Billy’s fault that he pushes back against this friendship, preventative measures for the future. Steve talks dismissively. “Nah, I don’t know man. I think you’d prefer it if my first impression of you wasn’t formed right now.”

Billy doesn’t even look at him, “Fucking rude, Harrington.”

“Dude, you reek like booze and old cologne. You’ve got that nasty bruise on your face and I can tell from the way you’re acting there’s more. You’re a disaster all around.” And maybe Steve was a little harsh, but he's almost offended by the way everything Billy stands for directly goes against the image of him he’d built in his head.

The kid he’s talking to now is nowhere near the same douche that he thought for sure was going to kill him. Not to say he’s a sweetheart, but Steve doesn’t even know why he thought Billy was such hot shit.

Probably something about fantasy. Attraction versus adrenaline and all that.

Billy himself isn’t in the least bit offended though, and Steve can tell that’s only because he’s reading him and his attempt at playing Billy’s game like a book.

There’s a smirk that just barely plays at the corner of his mouth, at least the side without any injuries, the dead giveaway of his clarity, “Well then. What was your first first impression of me like? What makes it so special?”

“I don’t know man. You looked intimidating I guess. Glared at everyone in that parking lot like you already owned the place. And you were a thousand times more put together. Before you were just pretending to be all rough, a hoser by definition, but now you’re really a mess.” Steve is rambling again, trying his damndest to not say the part out loud where him and Carol Perkins had been gossiping about how Hargrove’s ass looked in those jeans.

His genuine first impression a hell of a lot more confusing and even worse to admire to a bully than the way he sums it up.

“Damn. And here my first impression of you was that you were a prissy little thing just like Wheeler sitting right next to you in your fancy rich boy car. Here I thought you saw yourself as better than me.” The tone of Billy’s voice sounds almost impressed, actually looking over to Steve in the driver's seat.

His face is so analytical, so smugly uncalled for. Like pure satisfaction, because he cracked the goddamn code, “But no, I get it now. Pretty boy had himself a crush. Still does too.”

Steve almost slams on his brakes.

“Hold on. I never said anything like that.” He denies it outright, because it is true. There’s a swell of panic in his chest at the thought that he’s too obvious. Over who else might know.

Billy clarifies a little more, “But you don’t need your damn words to see it. This overly critical, hiding your feelings shtick. Probably learned that from your girl. Tearing me apart like your first thought wasn’t how fucking hot I am in three layers of acid wash.”

“Christ, where the hell did you even get an idea like that?” Steve acts bigger than he feels, at least he’s good at that, always has been.

“Lighten up. You think any old meathead’s gonna notice something like this that easy?” Billy waits for an answer but Steve can’t speak. The other rolls his eyes and continues, “I see through that shit ‘cause I’ve done it all too. Open your fucking eyes.”

Call him neurotic, but Steve is still skeptical, “No way. You’re talking about shit that doesn’t happen, Hargrove. It just doesnt! Whatever *this* is, it doesn’t have anything to do with me, alright?”

“You didn’t even ask my impression of you. I could tell you, about.. about the way I fell for every little freckle and dumb eyelash on your dopey face? I could fucking tell you but we’d probably still be here well into the new year if I did.”

Steve grips the wheel tighter, “No, Billy.. I mean it. If you’re pulling something on me... just save it for someone who wants to hear it.”

“I’m not though. Honest to God.” Billy tilts his head back against his seat and laughs at himself, the seriousness of the situation escaping him. He’s also fucking nervous, which Steve can see.

It makes him regard the next thing Billy says with at least a little more trust. All he wants is to have somebody like that. Billy smiles when he sees those walls coming down,

“Well, I guess two queers running away from Church on Christmas Eve probably shouldn’t swear on the big man like that, but you get what I’m sayin’, Harrington.”

Whether this was a bullying or a love confession, Steve wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, and it’s fucking confusing. He crinkles up with nose and eyebrows in an obvious puzzling expression, “I.. guess I do?”

“Aw, don’t go getting’ shy on me now, Harrington.” Billy snickers, finally shifting that piercing gaze away from Steve to the window beside him, asking in an unceremonious change of subject, “Where’re you taking me anyways?”

“Since you’re laying it on so damn thick all of the sudden, I figured I’d just take you back to my place.” Steve all but grumbles sarcastically, stressed from this conversation, from it being Christmas, from everything else going wrong in his life.

Billy at least can sense that, allowing the subject change to carry them in an almost casual conversation. Almost, if not for the overly flirtatious tone he takes on, “Sure. You got a present waitin’ there for me this Christmas?”

Steve’s face flushes and he can’t handle the heat. He shuts it down with a shrug of his shoulders, “Dude, I don’t even have a tree up at home. Best I can promise is what you were probably already hopin’ you’d get.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Wrapping paper that important to you? I can figure something out.”

Billy shakes his head; it’s his turn now to look at Steve like he’s lost his mind, “No. I was just fucking with you about a present. I meant about the tree.”

“Yeah, I didn’t decorate at all. But.. what’s that even matter?” Steve glances over at him, seeing the hurt behind that baffled expression and knowing instantly there’s something more there, another mystery about Billy Hargrove that will remain unsolved, because he turns the attention off of himself as quickly as that expression fades behind a new one of determination.

“Not gonna lie Harrington, I was totally down to blow you and just pretend the serious parts of this conversation never happened and never speak to each other again. I kinda thought that was the path we were going down here. But now that I know how deep this goes, and I’m invested in this shit way too much.”

“What does that even mean, Billy?”

“Means we’re skipping all the sex bullshit and we’re gonna light your goddamn candle. And do every other thing on your list of failures this year. You know, since you’re totally head over heels in love with me, it’s my job to give you your Merry Christmas.” Billy explains it like he’s got it all planned out perfectly. Like he’s some kind of genius.

Steve rolls his eyes, mostly because it hides how easily flustered he is by Billy’s proclamations, “Oh come on. It’s not like that..”

“What? You’re having a hard time this year, for obvious fucking reason- did I mention I already hate your parents?”

“Billy.” Steve warns, not ready to sidetrack another topic to talk about something that will only make him depressed. It’s not as easy for him to hate his parents as it is for him to hate Billy’s.

Billy nods in unspoken understanding and goes back to his point, “All I’m saying is, the point of havin’ someone like me around, is to make shit better. Right?”

“I don’t know man, since I seem to remember the last time I tried to help you first, you told me you weren’t a charity case and to never bother you again..”

Steve never forgot that attempt, even after everything that went down between them. It was just one time, in the showers after their way too high contact game of basketball. The angry red belt scars on Billy’s back caught his attention and he’d brought it up, only to be shut down.

There was always a sick, guilty feeling in his stomach about never trying again after that.

“If you’d just quit bein’ so stubborn, we got lots of shit to get done tonight. No time for self-deprivation.” Billy remarks casually though, unbothered by Steve’s worries. He even adds with an over exaggerated wink, “Maybe I’ll throw in that present I promised you once you start cheering up.”

~~~

The Harrington house does end up shining brightly that night.

Just as Billy promised, they stayed up all night doing everything they wanted to, no imposed rules or familial traditions involved, no triggers of past Christmases that neither were quite ready to share yet on display.

They don’t bother fishing out the huge eight foot synthetic tree Mrs. Harrington insisted on having to show off, the monstrous thing just there to collect dust in the basement now. They find a smaller one instead, an old fiber-optic tree Steve used to keep up in his room as a kid, his way of sneaking a nightlight past Mr. Harrington’s strict rules for his boy.

The tree is proudly displayed on a side table pushed over to the front window, and decorated with only homemade ornaments. Billy “accidentally” dropped a few of the fancy collector ornaments that used to force Steve’s own childhood creations off.

His mother was obsessed with making everything look straight out of a catalog, but the simple and childish decor was enough for Billy and Steve, without the additional twenty strings of lights in every corner of the house, or the poinsettias and crystal nativities adorning every available surface in the house. That was all a headache.

They light the bayberry candle too, putting it on a fancy dish at the center of the coffee table, not in the fancy sconces he’d have to scrape wax out of later. Billy pretends about a thousand times he’s going to blow it out just to fuck with Steve, earning him equally as many lectures on the bad luck and death and pestilence he’s bringing upon them.

Really that’s the dynamic they have the whole night; Steve flutters around his house an absolute nervous wreck, Billy just tailing after him to remind him that whatever they want to do.

It’s actually fun this once, behaving in a way not for appearances or hollow celebrations. Billy understands making Christmas special, personal. He’s someone who gets maybe one present per year and can’t afford any decorations but generations old glassware and yard sale blow molds.

Steve admittedly wasn’t really expecting to solve so many of his troubles in one go, especially not with help from Billy, who he thought was supposed to hate him after everything. But Billy just makes it so easy to like him, once Steve got the handle on understanding him.

He even got to see that gentle side of him open up. When Steve tangled himself up in tinsel and started to panic, and Billy had to remind him everything would be fine, he got to see it up close. The delicate concern in Billy’s eyes. The softness in his voice.

Okay, and maybe they shared one or two kisses under conveniently placed mistletoes Billy claims to not know the origin of.

He wasn’t all sunshine though, instead of just telling Steve that a Christmas angel or the hard to display window wreaths didn’t need a place in their festivities, he’d taken to literally smacking whatever was troubling Steve out of his hands and making him go do something else while it was put away.

In the end they still don’t do a lot of the things Steve normally would, most things really, but he realizes at some point, after baking a batch of cookies at about three in the morning, both of them wearing his Ima’s glittery aprons, that this isn’t about all that anyways.

What he and Billy started, this Christmas Eve, was a new tradition, one which didn’t rely on expectations, or keeping up with everything everyone ever asked him to do.

All of this was about doing something new, something they hadn’t up to this point been able to call their own for countless unhappy reasons they pledged not to talk about until at least the day after Christmas. Neither saw any need to dampen the cheer they did find this special holiday, all on their own.

Once everything’s sort of wound down, Steve’s head is all fuzzy with a buzz from the cheap alcohol Billy had convinced him to put into the generic gallon of eggnog he had about to expire in his fridge. Billy has a blushing face and a finally relaxed posture.

The both of them are sitting under their tiny tree for reasons neither can remember. Somewhere down the line, they started holding hands.

Steve asks, mostly as a lighthearted comment he doesn’t really expect an answer to, “So, I guess you’re gonna come over for Christmas every year now, huh?”

Billy looks to him and scrunches his nose up, emphasized by the way his face is pink, his smile turns bright and lopsided, the way it looks when he really means it, “Are you kidding me, Stevie? I’m coming over here every goddamn day if I can.”

[jarviscockerssecrethusband]

Steve had heard a lot about Billy before he ever met him.

The Hargrove’s had arrived during Shabbat so Steve was busy trying to wrangle his dyslexia into actually reading Hebrew for once while Hargrove was making his unforgettable impression on everyone. Still, Jonathan Byers and Dustin Henderson went to his Shul so Steve felt like he already knew the guy by the time Monday came knocking.

The way Henderson described him was like a cartoon monster, probably because he’d already developed a crush on his kid sister. The way Byers described him was almost with a quiet admiration. A guy flagging in small town Indiana had a lot of balls.

Hargrove was hot. Naturally. Almost scarily blonde, kind of like Jason Carver. Definitely Catholic. Could definitely ruin Steve’s life if he put his mind to it.

They didn’t officially talk until Halloween. Steve wasn’t drunk but he was one of the few. Tommy had been trying to get him to eat pork for a solid hour. Because it was so funny that Steve had religious dietary restrictions when they were all hammered.

Hargrove rolled his eyes and told Tommy to knock him off. He was about three inches shorter than Steve but he felt taller. Judging by the tightness of his leather pants, he’d been blessed by God in more than just his angelic good looks. That is, if the Christian God made angels who swayed slightly on their feet and were at the point of the night where everything smelled kind of old boots.

They ended up just talking. Nancy had gone god knows where after dumping his ass for Byers, Steve was pretty bummed after the sudden collapse of a year long relationship, even if he was slowly realising that he was gay, and Hargrove was happy to just have a chat. They debated the merits of Indiana Jones vs James Bond, then Steve drove him home.

The Hargrove house was absolutely fucking terrifying. Externally, it was just a fairly average place for a working class family of four but the confederate flag on Neil Hargrove’s pickup truck gave Steve pause. As did the old belt hanging out the back. Spikes attached.

Billy crashed at Steve’s instead. He said several lewd things about a mixture of girls and boys from Hawkins High, attempted to write a poem about Steve’s ass then promptly passed out and started snoring.

So. Billy Hargrove liked guys. Steve also liked guys. It wasn’t weird. Not unless Steve made it as such. They’d be fine.

It was not fine.

Billy had vanished by the time Steve woke up the following morning. He’d penned a short thank you note in very fancy handwriting, telling Steve that if anyone found out what had happened, he was dead. Eh. Steve had threatened worse.

He didn’t see Billy for about a week after that. Not until the blue Camaro parked outside the Byers. While there was a demodog just lying on the floor of the kitchen and Max was under Steve’s care.

Shit.

Steve sensed that flirting would not get him out of this one.

So he tried to act macho. Puffing out his chest. Peacocking just like Hargrove. Until Max’s ginger hair peeled out the window and he had to change tactics again.

Steve was not going to let his new crush get eaten by an alien. So he told him the truth.

Billy smoked five cigarettes right down to the filter while staring in horror at the creature on the kitchen floor. Ash got all over Joyce’s nice wooden floors. Nobody brought him up on it.

Then Billy’s face steeled and he fished a red bandana out of one of his pockets (Steve would pay attention to which side it had been on when he didn’t fear for his life) and grabbed his lighter.

“Let’s send these assholes to Hell.”

Steve couldn’t agree more.

Billy was not happy about having to sign a contract afterwards. Grumbling about how government was authoritarian bullshit. Still, he wrote his name with a flourish and asked to pull one of the scary government people to the side.

He did something unexpected when he finally emerged from the room afterwards. He kissed Steve. Apparently Steve hadn’t been making up a mutual crush in his head after all.

They had their first date a little before Christmas. Billy took him to Makeout Point. Fun was had. Then Billy drove Steve back to the Harringtons and made him watch Star Trek. Fucking nerd.

Six months went by and Steve never met Neil. He’d heard a lot about him, his opinion of African-Americans and Mexicans and Jews were dark and ugly and made Steve want to smash his teeth in. What cemented that opinion was that Billy was still coming to Steve’s with bruises patterning his torso, a split lip, broken toes.

It was the day when Neil had cracked Billy’s ribs that Steve decided to take matters into his own hands. Billy wasn’t well enough to come but Steve decided to have a little trip to the Hargrove’s, bat in hand. To have a talk.

Neil called Steve a kike and both of them faggots. There wasn’t a lot of talking after that.

Nobody knew quite where Neil had ran off to after that evening. Not even Steve. Not that he minded, as long as he stayed far away from Max and Billy.

He had Billy now, wearing his stupid leather pants as a joke, forcing him to watch more Star Trek. That was all that really mattered.

[italiansteebie]

For the Past, the Present Glory

TW// Autsitic Meltdown, Child Neglect

------

Steve doesn’t know how to feel about the holidays. They’re always so overstimulating with the songs, and the lights, and everyone constantly moving and ringing out cheers of “Merry Christmas!” He gets the appeal, truly, but it’s hard to enjoy it when there’s no one to celebrate with, not to mention the fact that he doesn’t even celebrate Christmas, and fire is much too frightening to handle by himself so lighting the menorah is out of the question too. Unless it’s one of the rare Hanukkah's where his parents are actually home. But get real, that hasn’t happened since he was 6, and at that he’d had a meltdown over the open flames and his parents claimed he ruined the whole thing. It was only the second night, they’d left on the morning of the third, telling the babysitter not to bother with the ceremony, and fucked off to who knows where. He knows they can’t be bothered to tell him where they’re going, but he tracks the days and weeks and finds the pattern and makes up an informal schedule for himself. That way he knows when to prepare himself and the house for their arrival.

There are pictures of him as a young child donning his yarmulke and following after those, there are photos of him with tears streaming down his face as the garment is pinned uncomfortably to his head, with his fathers stern hands holding his smaller, shaking ones, as to shield the calming motion.

He tries to not let it bother him, the loneliness, but he’s only human, and even for an introvert of his magnitude, the solitary feeling of his house gets to be too much sometimes. That is until he meets Dustin Henderson, and gets dragged into the Bullshit that is the Upside Down, and all of a sudden he’s never alone. So here he is, sitting in the Wheeler’s basement, with a scratchy Christmas sweater on, watching as the kids pass around gifts, smiling fondly over their bickering. He lets his eyes drift over the movement of the room, briefly landing on Robin and Nancy who are not so subtly flirting with each other in the corner before moving on to catch a glimpse of Jonathan and Eddie sneaking out the back door with a bag of a suspicious green substance. He hears the faint flick of Eddie’s lighter and it’s not long after that, that the distinct smell starts wafting through the room. He grimaces to himself. The only time weed isn’t overstimulating is when he himself is smoking it, and even then he has to take breaks fairly often. Tommy used to make fun of him for it, so he started making up different excuses that were more acceptable than “It smells bad,” because that always got him dirty looks and shoves that were a bit too rough to be considered playful.

The noise picks up, and he tries to not let it get to him, but he can feel his wrists twitching, and a hum buzzing softly in the back of the throat. He tries to rock subtly, but quickly ceases his motions when Robin and Nancy make their way over to him. “You okay, Stevie? You look a little pale…” Robin trails and Steve waves a hand, trying to speak but the words die in his throat and something like a grunt comes out instead. He smiles nervously, before shrugging and all but scampers away, definitely NOT in shame. His hands are twitching, and the blinking lights are giving him a headache, and not to mention the stupid cough he’s had for like, two weeks, is making his chest rattle uncomfortably, and he knows he has to get out. He shakes his head a little maniacally, gaining the attention of the room, before he chokes out a laugh and shoves a thumb towards the door, grabbing his keys and making a beeline for his car.

He’s alone for about two seconds before the knocking starts, and he knows they mean well, but it’s getting excruciating.

“Steve, c’mon, open up!”

“Don’t leave!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Steve, talk to us!”

And their fists are still beating on the window, and tears are starting to stream down his face. He curses himself, this meltdown coming out of nowhere, but really he knows, it had been building up for months, he’s surprised he’s lasted this long.

“Don’t cry, Steve! It’s christmas!”

And that's what breaks him. He feels his hands roughly grab his hair, and body rocking on autopilot, “Steve, please.” He hears a meek voice say. “Fuck!” He shuts, voice coming out hoarse, chest heaving as his hands move from his hair to beat on his chest. He opens his eyes briefly to see Mike making his way towards his car, the last thing he needs is Wheeler’s snide comments so he tries to steel himself but to no avail. He brings a heavy fist down onto his thigh. “What's going on?” He hears Eddie ask, a bit sluggish, no doubt high out of his mind, Steve wished he was too, then maybe he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself like this. “Steve is freaking out and ruining christmas.” Is what comes out of Mike’s mouth, and he knows the kid doesn’t really mean any harm, but he can’t stop himself from yelling, “I’m fucking Jewish, you little brat.” And the sobs are coming out in full force now, and he hears Robin jimmying the door open, and crawling into the passenger seat. She leans over, pulling him into a tight hug, letting the pressure wash over him, his sobs calm down, and his hands that were frantically beating at his chest and grasping his hair are calmer now, gentle and soothing, rather than desperate. From his position of having his head buried in Robin’s chest he can hear Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie ushering the kids away from the car, before hearing Eddie approach again.

He takes a shuddering breath before moving away from Robin and wiping his eyes harshly. “Sorry,” He sniffles, and Robin looks at him incredulously, “Steve, don’t apologize, just… Are you okay? That looked like… Well. It looked like a meltdown.” She soothed softly. He nodded, eyeing Eddie who was standing outside the car door apprehensively, before admitting softly “I’m not as normal as I seem, Robin. I’m. I’m pretty far from it actually,” He says, laughing bitterly. He opens the door for Eddie, motioning for him to slide in. “You too high for this Eddie?” Robin asks, to which the metalhead shakes his head no, hair swishing back and forth, “Nah. Sobered up pretty quickly, thanks to Stevie boy here.” He says playfully, softly, almost endearing. Robin thinks it’s disgusting.

“You okay, Steve?” Eddie asks, sliding his larger hand into the others shaking one, Steve nods. “I just… Got a bit overstimulated there. I tried to leave like we talked about but… Then everyone followed me out here.” Robin cringed at that a little bit, “I'm sorry, Steve. You looked like you were about to get sick, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Steve smiles softly, “It’s okay, Robs. I haven’t been super open about any of this stuff, you didn't know. In fact the only reason Eddie knows is because he found me in the bathroom in sophomore year having a meltdown.” He flashes a small smile at the metalhead beside him, who returns it, a bit sadder than the original. Robin doesn’t miss the way Eddie rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles in that soft, telling way, but she also doesn’t say anything about it. “I'm going to give you two a minute, whenever you’re ready Steve.” She says softly, moving out of the car, hearing Steve’s heavy sigh as she shuts the door.

The two boys sit together for a moment longer, while Steve prepares himself to answer the questions that are about to be thrown at him. “I can answer some of them, If you’d like me to?” Eddie offers gently, to which Steve shakes his head. He heaves another sigh before scooting out of the car and back towards the house, Eddie in tow.

As soon as he step foot into the basement, there's a cacophony of questions and his hands shake slightly in Eddies, “Everybody, shut up!” The long haired boy yells, angling his face away from Steve’s so he doesn’t get the brunt of the shout. Everyone goes silent at this, and Steve takes this as his chance to start talking.

“Okay so, first things first. I am. Well-” He huffs out a sigh, Eddie rubs his shoulder encouragingly, “I’ve got autism, which means… Like sounds and stuff can get too much and really freak me out. Like you just saw. It was. A lot of therapy, when I was a kid,” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work. He continues, “I’m also Jewish, I don’t… Really celebrate. My parents aren’t ever home during Hanukkah, and fire is… Hard for me. Like, y’know. I can’t light the menorah by myself…” He trails off, murmuring under his breath, “God this is so stupid, I’m stupid.” Eddie put an end to those comments real quickly, squeezing his hand. “Anyway… Yeah. Sorry for yelling at you, Mike. And uh. I’ll probably be pretty quiet after this.” He cleared his throat as he finished his speech. Everyone seemed to understand, and at the end of the night, he overheard the one and only, snarky, Mike Wheeler, planning a Hanukkah celebration for next year.

“Mike can be a brat, but. He’s also pretty cool. Sometimes.” Nancy says as he and Eddie leave, in lieu of a goodbye, and somewhat of a pseudo apology for her brother's antics. Steve smiles, nodding along in agreement. And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he’s looking forward to the next Hanukkah.

[drewgoodenenjoyer]

wife !!!

[shieldofiron]

7/8 of the Way There

Billy knew that Harrington was rich. Like, of course, how could he miss that the shirt Steve lent him when he slept over (too long, he didn’t mean to do that) had a designer label. And Steve’s place was, while not as nice as his parent’s, still an extremely nice place for a single guy to own in the middle of Bumfuck, Indiana.

But... Steve was rich, and never was that more clear than when Billy was looking over the spread Steve’d ordered in for his Hanukkah party. Billy was clutching his grocery store flowers with both hands, trying not to wring them into dust, as he looked at what must have hundreds of dollars of food, attended by servers with crisp white aprons. Billy wasn’t even dressed as nice as the staff. He tugs at the collar of his one nice shirt, feeling his neck get hot with embarrassment.

“Billy,” Jonathan sidles up to him with a shy smile, “Hey, how’s it going?”

Billy eyes Jonathan’s Hanukkah tie and worn button down, tipping his chin up and trying to hide the panic that’s rising like the tide in his stomach, “Good. I’m good. How are you?”

Jonathan smiles, “Happier now that I see you. Steve really does go all out, huh?”

Billy glances across the party at Steve, sparkling in a tailored grey suit as he talks to some polished looking older woman.

“Yeah. I didn’t really know what to expect, so,” Billy looks down at the flowers and the crushed index card in his hand. He’d memorized the prayer, hoping to impress Harrington, but there was so many people here, Steve wouldn’t be able to really tell who was saying it and who wasn’t. He’d only barely greeted Billy at the door, rushing away to host.

“Yeah. He loves a party,” Jonathan laughs, “Will was asking where you were, he wants to teach you how to play dreidel, if you want.”

“Oh... I might be headed out soon, so maybe... another time,” Billy twists the flowers in his hands, “Maybe tomorrow night, I’ll come hang with you guys.”

Jonathan glances out the window, “You’re going? It’s not even sundown yet.”

Billy tugs at the sleeve of his (too casual, too thin for the weather, too poor for Steve) jacket.

“Yeah, I just-”

Murray Bauman cuts them off with a loud clap, “Boys!”

He gives Jonathan a hug, and Billy a polite but a little-too-hard chuff on his chin.

“Hey, Murray,” Jonathan smiles at him.

Billy scowls, “Murray.”

“I’m surprised to see you here, William,” Murray booms.

Billy’s scowl deepens, “I was invited.”

Murray’s eyes just sparkle, “Alexei and I weren’t sure if you would show, though.”

Anger sparks low in Billy’s stomach, but he tries to reign it in. Maybe he should have known Harrington was only inviting him to be polite. After all, Steve seems to have invited everyone else in town. And he’s just the fool who thought it was sincere.

“Headed out in a few,” Billy smacks down his stupid carnations, on the stupid fancy buffet table, “So don’t worry about your bet, you can still win if Alexei hasn’t seen me.”

Murray cocks his head to the side, tugging on the edge of his garish sweater, “I bet you would show.”

Billy stuffs his hands into his pockets, “Well. Here I am. Here and gone.”

Murray rocks back and forth on his heels, “Before sundown?”

Billy tightens his shoulders, “Yeah. The sooner the better.”

Murray just laughs, gesturing over his boyfriend with two crooked fingers. Alexei is hovering by the wall alone, but he lights up when he comes over. Billy likes him, always has.

Alexei smiled gently at them, “Jonathan, it is so nice to see you. William, nice to see you.”

Billy digs his nails into his palms and tries to relax his fists. He likes Alexei. Likes Murray too, when he wasn’t trying to embarrass Billy at a party he was clearly not welcome at.

“I’m about to leave, Alyosha. Pад вас видеть,” Billy pulls one hand out and offers a handshake and one of the two phrases he memorized in Russian, grinning easily, “I’ll see you around, ok?”

“You are leaving?” Alexei looks up at Murray, shaking Billy’s hand almost absentmindedly, “Why?”

Billy swallows, “You know. Places to be. Stuff to do.”

Alexei’s face falls, and then he looks at Murray, “Did you embarrass him, котик? Что ты сказал?”

Murray smiles, “No, he was leaving already. Not before saying goodbye to your host, I hope?”

Billy bit back an insult, and just looked helplessly at Jonathan, “Yeah. I’ll just say goodbye. Nice talking to you man. Give me a call tomorrow, I’ll come over and hang with Will.”

Jonathan nodded, brows furrowed, “Billy are you sure-”

Billy smiled wide, shoving his trembling hands and the stupid, stupid index card into his pockets, “Places to be, man. Places to be.”

He backs away from them, headed towards Steve, glancing, not without envy, at Heather and Robin who were folded into a loveseat together, whispering. Heather was in a pretty red Christmas sweater, and Robin had a matching one with a white dreidel on a blue background. He’d helped Heather pick out the yarn, but now the whole thing just made him feel sort of seasick. He wanted that. He wanted...

Steve jumps out in front of him, hair bobbing gently against his forehead, “Hey! Someone said you were leaving?”

Billy fights the urge to scan the room for Murray and flip him off. But this was a fancy party. And Billy didn’t want to ruin the party by being... himself.

“Yeah,” Billy clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “See you, ok?”

Steve’s face falls, and he looks around, “What happened? We haven’t even lit the candles yet.”

Billy’s heart squeezes in his chest, “Nothing happened, Pretty Boy. I just gotta go, okay?”

Billy turns to go, and he can feel Steve watching him. He’s probably just looking at Billy’s stupid jacket, or his nicest pair of jeans. Billy’s stomach twists with shame, as he weaves his way past Murray and Alexei, shooting Murray an evil look as he passes.

He knew he didn’t belong. He didn’t need anyone to point it out for him.

He’s in the foyer, ignoring tray of chocolate coins in crinkly blue bags. Party favors. Billy doesn’t deserve a favor. He feels sick. He feels-

“Baby,” It’s Steve, taking his arm as Billy reaches for the door, “What’s wrong? Why are you leaving?”

“You know... you didn’t have to invite me,” Billy spits out, too angry to look at Steve’s soft brown eyes, to see him look at Billy like that after everything went wrong tonight, “Just to be nice.”

“I wasn’t trying to be nice,” Steve frowns, “I wanted you to come. Want you to stay, actually.”

“You don’t have to say-”

“I’m not being nice,” Steve tugs on his arm, “What’s wrong?”

“I... I...” Billy frowns, “I don’t fit in here.”

Steve blinks at him, “Who says?”

Billy looks back at the party, “Everyone.”

Steve’s face is soft an open, and he slides his hand down, linking their fingers together, “Not everyone. I say you fit in here. I say I’m really glad you came.”

“I’m not dressed right,” Billy mumbles.

“You look great to me,” Steve’s lip twitches, “A little cold, maybe. I’ll lend you my jacket. But you look great.”

“I... I...” Billy bites his lip.

“I was really looking forward to lighting the candles with you this year,” Steve smiles, “You haven’t been over the past few nights and I was kind of hoping to host the party with my boyfriend this year.”

“I...” Billy swallows, “Am I your boyfriend?”

“Well... we’ve been fucking for a few months,” Steve smiles, “I figured we could make it official tonight.”

Billy’s heart clenches, “I...”

He wanted to ask Steve tonight. He supposes... this is just as good. No, it’s better. Much, much better this way, with Steve smiling under his fancy chandelier, looking at Billy like he’s really glad to see him. Like... he really does belong here.

“If you want,” Steve tugs on his hand, “I didn’t want to announce it or anything. Just... show you off a little bit. If you want.”

Billy shivers, heart clenching again, “I... I really wanted to impress you tonight. I even...”

He pulls the crumpled index card out of his pocket, and hands it over, too anxious to explain, and trying not to look at his inelegant chicken scratch. He’d spelled the prayer out phonetically, the same way he did when he wanted to make Alexei feel welcome, or when he learned Spanish as a kid. But hopefully Steve can still translate it somehow.

“Oh,” Steve’s eyes glow, “Baby. This is-”

“I... I wanted to...” Billy stuffs his hand back in his pockets, looking away when the words dry up.

Steve tugs Billy closer, reaching out with the index card in his hand and cupping Billy’s cheek.

“This is the sweetest, best thing...” Steve’s breath smells like cinnamon and apples, and it makes Billy weak in the knees, “Will you be my boyfriend, Billy? Please?”

Billy just kisses him, pulls Steve’s hands around Billy’s neck and slides a hand under that fancy jacket and presses a hand to Steve’s heart. Their hearts are both beating so fast, Billy can barely believe it’s really happening. And all of this, before the sun has even gone down.

---

@intothedysphoria You know what they do next AYYY

[frostfairysteve]

having more thoughts related to this

steve who remembers celebrating christmas and easter and going to church every sunday before his parents started travelling more

steve who doesn't keep it up without them because there's nothing to celebrate alone and he has no interest in going to church

steve who feels lost about god and religion even before he knows monsters are real but even more so afterwards because what god would allow this

steve who is just out walking around town when someone stops him to tell him that he looks like his mother when others have only ever compared him to his father

steve who gets told that this stranger is actually his family and he doesn't have to be alone and that he has people that would be happy to get to know him and love him

steve who gets invited to learn more about his mother's roots and for the first time he feels like he understands god and how religion fits into his life

steve who gets the family that was withheld from him

[riality-check]

Eddie needs this to go perfectly.

He’s… okay, saying he’s not an anxious person would be a lie. Eddie is very acquainted with the fight or flight instinct, with the latter of those two options being far more familiar. He’s vaguely obsessive and twitchy and, frankly, puts way too much thought and time into planning one-shots, nevermind regular campaign sessions.

Majority of the time, he likes to have control of a situation. There are reasons for that, plenty of which he knows, some of which he’s gone to therapy for, and more that are on the bedroom and currently irrelevant side of things.

The relevant side of things is the guy in front of him who doesn’t have any sort of ear protection on.

Eddie should mind his business. He really should. Corroded Coffin isn’t even headlining. They’re the openers for the tour of a much bigger band that noticed them and asked if they wanted to tour with them and Archie fangirled so hard he passed out. It was a whole thing.

Still, it’s their first real tour, and Eddie is a control freak, and he needs it to be perfect, which means no one gets hurt. This random guy - probably a roadie of some sort from how he’s plugging cables into something Eddie doesn’t know the name of - not having any sort of ear protection counts as someone maybe getting hurt.

Eddie doesn’t even know him, but he can’t have that happen.

Hell, this guy’s friend has her earplugs looped around her neck on a string like Eddie does. But Hottie - yeah, he’s hot and Eddie’s queer with a healthy sex drive, get over it - has none in sight.

That’s a problem. Eddie can’t have problems, not tonight, not before the first show.

“Hey!” he calls, walking over to Hottie and his friend, who are setting up equipment away from the stage. “You gotta have something for your ears, dude!”

Hottie and his friend exchange a look that Eddie can’t make heads or tails of.

“Thanks man,” Hottie says, and that nickname applies to his voice, too. “But I’m good.”

Eddie frowns. “You need to protect your hearing.”

“Trust me,” Hottie says. “I’ve worked a lot of gigs. Never wore anything then, won’t wear anything now, probably won’t wear anything at the next one.”

Okay. It’s fine. Eddie should walk away now. He’s totally capable of walking away. It is, quite obviously, the better alternative to this circular conversation.

But Hottie is gonna hurt himself this way. Potentially really badly if it’s not a one time thing. This is a metal show, for G-d’s sake. He’ll do some serious damage over time.

Eddie needs this to go perfectly, and for things to go perfectly, he can’t be responsible for that.

“I don’t think you get it,” he says. “You’re gonna destroy your ears that way, especially if you do this for a long time. This show is gonna be really intense, hell, the whole tour is! You can get cheap shit at the hardware store, it’s better than nothing-”

At the beginning of his rant, lecture, whatever, Hottie stares right at him. He has a really intense stare. Pretty brown eyes set in a prettier face with even prettier hair on top of his head. Eddie gets distracted by all that pretty and by trying to make his point.

And he doesn’t notice until halfway through that Hottie isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at his friend.

Eddie looks at her, too. Looks at her confused and focused expression. Looks at her hands moving rapidly.

Oh. G-d.

Hottie’s deaf, isn’t he?

“Trying my best but I’m not fluent, Steve,” she says. Her hands pause, and she looks down at them, confused.

Hottie - Steve - shrugs, and his hands move as he talks. “I’m not either. You were doing pretty good, though. I think. Or our mistakes just line up that well.”

“What’s the sign for reverb? It’s the last word he said.”

“No clue. You can just fingerspell it.”

“I can’t remember R.”

“How do you forget R? It’s in your name, Robin!”

The friend - Robin - throws her hands up. “You know I get it mixed up with X!”

Eddie wants to die. This is it. He’s going to melt into a puddle due to sheer embarrassment, fifteen minutes before the doors open to let in the biggest crowd Corroded Coffin has ever played for.

What a shitty way to go.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t-”

Steve cuts him off. “Normally, I can lip read enough to get the gist. But you speak too fast and trip over your words.”

Ouch. Okay.

“I do lights,” he continues. “Robin does sound. We know what we’re doing, and we don’t need you to tell us how to do our jobs, even if you mean well.”

Seriously?

Eddie should have minded his business. He knows that. But G-ddamn, that’s blunt.

He’s saved, thankfully, from digging himself into a bigger hole.

“Eddie!” Jeff hollers from the stage. “Get your ass over here!”

He turns to walk away, then turns back to Steve and Robin. “Sorry,” he says again.

He turns back around before he can see their reactions and runs back toward the stage. Intimately familiar with flight, and all that.

Shit. First night of tour, and he’s already made an enemy of the light and sound people.

And the light guy is hot.

Really hot.

And he hates Eddie.

This is gonna be a long few weeks.

Now with a continuation and a part 3!

ao3

[unclewaynemunson]

'What's your favorite holiday?' Steve asked while they were looking at the fireworks, pressed against each other in the dark of the night. They had been dancing around each other for months, ever since Eddie woke up in the hospital with Steve already at his bedside. They had taken their time to get to know each other better, to let that something between them grow and to figure out what it all meant exactly. But around the time Eddie graduated, it had finally culminated into what it had been destined to be from the start.

Eddie could barely believe they had only been official for about a month and a half, that Steve had only been part of his life for a little over three months. But he knew, with a certainty that he couldn't really explain, that he and Steve belonged to be like this. No matter how scary it had been to fall for him, it had been the only available option.

'Sukkot,' Eddie answered his question with no hesitation.

Steve leaned away a little bit to be able to look at Eddie.

'Was that the one that was, like, three weeks ago?'

'No, that was Shavu'ot,' Eddie answered patiently. He knew that Steve was trying very hard to keep up, and that the Hebrew words didn't exactly make it easier on him. 'The boring one that Wayne's obsessed with.'

Steve chuckled. 'So what is Sukkot?'

'I thought you'd never ask, big boy,' said Eddie, a wide grin creeping over his face. 'It's the best fucking week of the year. We build those huts in our yards where we're supposed to live all week. It's really awesome, we get to be outside all the time and Wayne tells all the best stories about how our ancestors escaped from Egypt and wandered through the desert for years. Back in Virginia, on the farm, it also used to be this celebration that the harvest was done. The best moment of the year, man, like when the summer holiday starts, y'know.'

'Sounds pretty cool.'

'Pretty cool?' Eddie repeated in a mock-offended tone. 'Pretty cool?! Stevie, how dare you, it's fucking magical! It's the awesomest of holidays! You know what? You're gonna have to join us this October and get the whole experience!'

'Are you sure?' Steve looked weirdly hesitant about Eddie's proposal and Eddie felt the excitement in his chest deflate like a popped balloon.

'Yeah, I mean... If you want to,' he said, reigning himself in a little bit. Maybe Steve thought it was weird, maybe he would never quite understand it, maybe –

'Of course I want to,' Steve cut off his spiraling thoughts, like the mere suggestion was completely ridiculous. 'But would it be okay? You wouldn't mind? And your uncle?'

'Why the hell would we mind, Stevie?'

'Well, I'm not Jewish...'

Eddie chortled. 'Yeah, we know that, dude. But you're always welcome in our humble little home.'

And Steve's face lit up in a way that the fireworks in the sky above them could never compete with. 'Alright,' he said. 'Then I'd love to celebrate this awesomest of holidays with you.'

******

And so it happens that a little over three months later, Eddie runs out of the trailer with even more excitement than usual when Steve's way too fancy car shows up. He basically jumps into his boyfriend's arms as soon as Steve gets out of his car – and of course Steve catches him, stumbling only a little bit while huffing out an “oomph” as Eddie wraps all four of his limbs around his body.

'Hello to you, too,' he murmurs with a soft smile on his face. He can't exactly kiss Eddie here, in broad daylight with all of Eddie's neighbors to see, but he lets his hands linger around Eddie's shoulders when he gently puts him down on the ground.

'You're excited.'

'We're building the hut today!'

'The sukkot, right?'

And the proud smile around Steve's lips makes it almost impossible for Eddie to correct him.

'The sukkah, babe. It's one sukkah, multiple sukkot.'

'Sukkah,' Steve repeats, his voice still as unsure as ever when he tries the Hebrew words that are so familiar to Eddie and Wayne and still so foreign to him.

'C'mon, Wayne's already waiting for us.'

Eddie starts tugging Steve along with him towards the trailer. He wishes he could do that by taking his hand instead of the sleeve of his jacket, but he's too aware of how careful they have to be here, out in the open in the trailer park.

They go around the trailer, where Wayne is already surrounded by a bunch of corrugated sheets and some big pine branches.

'We're building it here?' Steve sounds surprised. 'Why not on the porch?'

Eddie sees his uncle's face fall, and his own excited smile fades away as well.

'It's too eye-catching, on the other side,' Wayne explains to Steve. 'Too many folks lookin' to trash stuff 'round here, ya know.'

Almost every year, they find some graffiti on the walls of their sukkah at some point of the week. It has become better since they moved the hut to the backside of their trailer, hidden away from Forest Hills' main roads. Before, when they still built it in front of their home, they'd regularly find the roof or the walls demolished. Nothing ever happened when one of them was home: both Wayne and Eddie were protected from any serious danger by their own scary looks. But unfortunately, the sukkah did not enjoy the same protection when the Munson men weren't present to keep an eye on it.

Wayne doesn't outright say it with that many words – that's not his style – but Eddie can see in the arch of Steve's eyebrows that he gets it. That he understands that Forest Hills is not the kind of place where Hebrew should be spoken loudly and that anything more than a menorah in front of a window can be considered offensive real quick. He sees that Steve understands it, because Steve knows what it feels like to not be able to take his boyfriend's hand when they're outside. It's not the same, but it's similar, in a way.

When Eddie came out to Wayne, his uncle told him that he was sorry Eddie got dealt the wrong cards twice. But that's not how Eddie sees it. Standing here, in the quiet world behind the trailer, with his uncle, his boyfriend and a pile of junk that will soon turn into a refuge, he gets the confirmation of what he already knew back then: that he wouldn't have it any other way. Even if it means having to hide away from prejudiced eyes, he'd choose this right here over anything easier in a heartbeat.

Wayne takes off his trucker hat to reveal the kippah he often wears hidden underneath it, then turns Eddie around by his shoulders so he can attach a kippah to his curls with some hairpins. Eddie usually never wears one: he doesn't like being told what to do in any way, and he proudly wears the pentagram of the Church of Satan on his denim vest. But for events like this, Wayne insists the kippah is important, and Eddie has long since he moved in with his uncle learned that there's no use digging his heels in the sand about it. If it's that important for Uncle Wayne, he'll doesn't mind complying.

'And one for you,' Wayne states after Eddie's kippah is properly secured to his head, turning towards Steve with a third one in his outstretched hand.

Steve's eyes widen in an almost cartoon-like way.

'For me?' he repeats, as if he's unsure if he understands Wayne correctly.

'U-huh,' Wayne confirms with a nod of his head.

Steve's eyes flash back and forth between Eddie and Wayne, still clearly confused, like he's trying to catch some lie or a prank between the two of them.

'That's – would that be okay?' he stammers.

'Neshama sheli,' Eddie says, his voice soft. 'Of course that'd be okay. It's the polite thing to do, actually, when you're in shul – or in other Jewish places – whether you're a Jew or not.'

'Okay, cool,' Steve says with a little shrug of his shoulders. He's slightly too obviously trying to play it cool, and that makes Eddie realize something he hadn't really considered before: that Steve is nervous about this. For Eddie, sukkot is nothing but a holiday of fun. But Steve doesn't know any of those traditions, he doesn't know any of the unwritten rules. For all he knows, what they're doing today is something sacred and solemn – it makes sense that he's afraid to do the wrong thing or mess it up somehow. It's written all over his face: he's afraid to be disrespectful, to be an intruder, to somehow offend Wayne and Eddie without meaning to...

Steve takes the kippah from Wayne and places it on his hair, where it lies dangerously close to sliding off.

'Here, lemme help you.' Eddie digs around in his own pockets to find some long forgotten hairpins and slides up behind Steve, attaching the kippah to some strands of his soft, shiny hair. When he's done, he slides his arms around Steve's waist and tugs him close to his chest.

'Hey,' he whispers in his ear, nuzzling his nose against the soft hair right above it because he simply can't resist the temptation of touching Steve's locks in any way, ever. 'You don't need to worry 'bout anything. We're just gonna build a hut, that's all. And we're trailer park Jews anyway, we don't care about etiquette and shit. Or, well, maybe Wayne does, a little bit, but he's used to me, so... You're good.'

Steve chuckles, then turns himself around in Eddie's arms until they're face-to-face.

'Thank you,' he whispers in the space between them.

Wayne emphatically clears his throat, no doubt worried that the boys are about to forget he's still with them.

'You lovebirds ready to get to work?'

Slightly unwilling, Eddie lets go of Steve and flashes Wayne an excited grin. 'Alright, my dearest uncle, tell us what to do.'

The next hour or so is spent hauling corrugated sheets around and assembling them into a decent-sized hut. While Eddie is drilling their metal walls together, Wayne tells Steve all about the meaning behind what they're doing. He gets like that with every holiday: he loves the big stories, and Eddie has always loved listening to Wayne telling them.

'All of this,' Wayne explains with a gesture towards the half-finished sukkah, 'Is to remind us of what happened to our people a long time ago. They were enslaved in Egypt, far away from their homes. When they got out, they wandered through the desert for forty years, tryin' to find their way back. They suffered drought, storms, heat, famine... But G-d's protection was with them every step of their way, until He safely delivered them back to their homeland. For forty years, they didn't have no place to call home. They slept in huts beneath the stars. That's why, for one week a year, we still live in huts. We don't sleep here, 's too cold for that in Indiana –'

'I do sometimes,' Eddie cuts in.

'Your boy is crazy,' Wayne dryly states. 'But we live here as much as possible. The most important thing is to have all our meals in here, as long as it ain't raining too hard. We're not supposed to make a solid roof, y'know, 'cause it's supposed to be a reminder of how our people used to sleep under the open sky. It's a symbol for how we should submit ourselves to G-d's protection.'

Steve listens attentively and keeps asking Wayne all kinds of questions while they continue working on the roof, which they assemble out of pine branches that Eddie and Wayne took from the woods around the trailer park earlier that day.

'This day's extra special,' Wayne tells Steve when they're almost done, 'Cause it's a Friday evening. Means our first meal in the sukkah is a Shabbat meal.'

Usually, Wayne isn't exactly world's most diligent cook, but for days like this, he always tries to go a little bit bigger than usual. Not that their kitchen is suited for fabricating any kind of fancy meals – let alone that they can afford anything like that – but that doesn't really matter. Not to Eddie, at least, and he's pretty sure the same thing applies to Steve. The most important thing is that Wayne tries his very best to make days like those feel special. So while Steve and Eddie get tasked with setting up the interior of the sukkah, Wayne heads back to the trailer to make sure the food will be all done before sunset.

Steve and Eddie haul a bunch of plastic lawn chairs and a trestle table inside. After the furniture, they add some pillows, a truly hideous tablecloth, and a bunch of random clutter from the trailer to make it feel more homely. Eddie always likes to put this one Jesus sculpture they once got from the old Mrs. Brooks from number 70 in one of the corners, for no other purpose than to get on Wayne's nerves. Steve, on the other hand, actually cares about making the sukkah look good, and he comes up with the idea to walk around the trailer park and go into the woods to find some flowers as a finishing touch. Most of the vegetation around Forest Hills is withered all year round, but Steve manages to find some branches with beautiful autumn colors and a bunch of shiny chestnuts among the decaying junk.

'You manage to make anything pretty, huh,' Eddie notes when they're all done, with leaves of dark orange and golden yellow miraculously brightening up every single corner of the hut.

Steve smiles and pulls Eddie in his arms. Now, shielded by the walls of their dwelling, they can do that without worrying about the watchful eyes of nosy neighbors.

'Nah,' he murmurs, his lips ghosting over Eddie's cheek. 'I don't make things pretty, I attract pretty things.' And the way in which Steve's lips find his, soft and full of promise, tells Eddie that he wasn't merely talking about pretty things. It makes his heartbeat stutter and his cheeks heat up.

Steve pulls back before the kiss can become anything more than a promise, with a sparkle in his eyes and a soft smile still tugging at his lips.

'C'mon, let's go help your uncle with the food.'

By the time they're ready to welcome Shabbat, the autumn sun has long disappeared behind the trees and it's rapidly cooling off outside. Wayne puts on his thick plaid jacket and Steve borrows one of Eddie's favorite black hoodies. During this time of the year – when it's not yet cold enough to waste money on heating – the trailer doesn't really stay much warmer than the sukkah, so they're used to the cold anyway. Steve, however, is shamelessly exploiting the chill of the evening as an excuse to cuddle up close to Eddie at the table – not that Eddie minds that at all.

But when Wayne lights the candle and recites the blessing at sundown, it feels like the sukkah is actually much warmer than any other place in the world. It's because what's happening in this place is special, Eddie thinks. For a week, this hut is their home. It's designed to house two people – just Wayne and him – but Steve fits in this cramped space with them like he was always supposed to be here. And when Steve turns to Eddie to wish him a good shabbos with a smile on his face, Eddie knows that he will never want to celebrate another holiday – Jewish or not – without him.

Some fun facts for those who are interested: Sukkot 1986 indeed started on a Friday (October 17th) The use of corrugated sheets for a sukkah is actually quite common, and I took the liberty to interpret the skillful way in which we see Eddie drilling them down in the Upside Down, as him having plenty experience with creating a refuge with those things. For those who don't speak Hebrew: when Eddie calls Steve neshama sheli, he uses a common Hebrew pet name which literally translates to "my soul." I imagine Eddie loves calling Steve all kinds of Hebrew pet names and this is a truly beautiful one imo. I hope I did right to this really cool holiday with my lil story!

[sentient-trash]

More progress on the sillies I love their facial expressions they are so silly

[libraryofgage]

Hashah Tovah! It's Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and there's no such thing as too much Jewish Steve in my book (that being said, this story isn't about the New Year, it's about Shabbat hfjdks)

Also, I'm gonna be honest, this fic is a love letter to Judaism and my experiences with my temple and the people there. My experiences aren't universal, though, so please don't take anything here as, like, the end-all-be-all of Judaism. If you have questions about anything here, you can ask me; I'll be happy to answer ^_^

The time period is also very loose. Upside Down happened, but some of the attitudes are probably a bit more modern. Honestly, I suggest just shutting off your brain and enjoying the story lmao

CW: vague mentions of antisemitism and homophobia

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

(also this is like 4k so buckle in bois)

----

Steve's car has officially given up on life. Honestly, he's surprised it even managed to live this long. For all it's been through, it probably deserves some rest and TLC. Steve just wishes it could have demanded that rest and TLC on any other day.

Because it's Friday. Because it's Shabbat. Because he's about to have a mob of concerned elderly members of his temple crowding his door if he doesn't go to services tonight, and that's not something he wants his neighbors to see.

He considers calling Robin, but she won't be much help. She might be his Emergency Goy, but she doesn't have a car. Now that he's thinking about it, Robin may not be the best Emergency Goy, not that he'd ever tell her that.

He knows one other person with a car, of course, but that means he has to call Eddie. Not that Steve has anything against him, of course, but Eddie makes him feel a lot of things that he's not quite ready to confront just yet.

Steve frowns, staring at the phone for a long moment, trying to come up with any other option.

Steve comes up empty.

Shit.

He takes a deep breath and takes the phone off the receiver, slowly punching in the numbers as though he'll suddenly have an epiphany before he's finished dialing.

Unfortunately, he doesn't, and the phone is now ringing. It rings twice before getting picked up, Eddie's familiar voice saying, "You've reached Casa de Munson. The fuck do you want?"

"Do you always answer the phone like that?" Steve asks, momentarily forgetting about the favor he was planning to ask.

He hears Eddie hum and can practically picture the way he's now leaning against the wall next to the phone, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Stevie. What, pray tell, has you calling me?" he asks.

Steve almost hangs up. This is already stressful for him. What if Eddie doesn't agree? Worst, what if he does? Wouldn't that mean Eddie is going to see a part of himself that nobody but Robin has seen? That's fucking terrifying. What if Eddie suddenly hates him?

"I, uh, I need a favor," Steve admits.

"What kind of favor?"

If he wanted, Steve could just lie. It wouldn't be his first time lying about Friday plans. "My car won't start," Steve says, hesitating for a second more before continuing, "and I need a ride to the next town tonight."

"Gee, Harrington, get invited to a party?" Eddie asks, a slight edge to his voice that Steve can't quite place.

"What? No. I...it's not a party, okay? This is really important to me, man. Can you give me a ride or should I ask someone else?"

Maybe Hopper or Joyce would have enough time to give him a ride. He just needs to be dropped off. Getting back...can be a bridge he crosses when he comes to it.

"What time would we be getting back?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

"Probably after nine. And we need to be there at six, so that means leaving here no later than five," Steve says, trying to ignore the growing hope and sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. "I know it's really last minute, but you could spend the night at my place after. If you want."

"Will it be fun?"

"Uh, maybe? I don't know, man, it kinda depends. I find it fun, but you might get...bored," Steve says. Or offended. Maybe infuriated? Maybe betrayed that this is a whole part of Steve's life he's never hinted at.

"You're being real mysterious about all this, big boy."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just hard to explain."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm bored and curious."

----

On the drive, Eddie keeps trying to figure out where Steve is directing him. He keeps asking questions, Steve keeps dodging them, and that feeling of inevitable dread keeps growing.

Of course, all that dodging is rendered obsolete as Eddie pulls into a parking spot and shuts off the van. A few families are walking into the temple, some parents glancing curiously at the unfamiliar van, some glancing suspiciously, and some too distracted by kids to notice.

"Uh, are you sure this is the place?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly as he looks at the temple and then at Steve.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, his hands nervously gripping the material of his sweater. "I'm Jewish," he blurts out, feeling his face burning. When a few seconds pass without any response, he burns holes into a tree outside and adds, "It's Friday night services. Shabbat. I've missed too many because of...you know. The, um, the Rabbi called and asked if I was okay, and I promised to be at services tonight. You don't have to stay if you don't feel comfortable."

"You don't look Jewish."

Steve tenses, jerking his head to look at Eddie. There's no malice in his eyes. No suspicion, either, thankfully. He just looks...confused. "What's a Jew supposed to look like?" Steve asks in return, wondering if Eddie even knows that he's toeing the edge of the antisemitic swimming pool.

Eddie opens his mouth before closing it again. "Uh...I don't know, actually. Just...not you, I guess?"

Okay. Yeah. Steve can deal with this. He forces himself to relax. "Well, Jews come in all shapes and sizes," he says. He hesitates before deciding to get a burning question out of the way. "Are you angry?"

"What the fuck would I be angry about?"

"That I didn't tell you. That I was Jewish. To be fair, only Robin knows."

Eddie shakes his head, turning in his seat to face Steve. "No, Stevie, I'm not angry. I mean, I live in Hawkins, too. Not exactly the place to be standing out unless you wanna get accused of murder."

Despite himself, Steve can't help snorting at that. He takes a deep breath, the last bit of tension leaving his shoulders. "Well, uh, do you want to stay for services?" he asks.

"Can I? I'm not Jewish. And I'm dressed like this," Eddie says, gesturing at his clothes.

A Hellfire Club shirt, denim vest, gaudy rings, and dark jeans. It's incredibly Eddie, and something about it reassures Steve. He says, "You're with me, so not being Jewish is fine. And your clothes are okay, too. It's not formal."

"My shirt literally says Hellfire."

"Well, it's a good thing Judaism doesn't really have a hell."

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds, clearly full of questions, but then he just nods and climbs out of the van. Steve blinks and scrambles out as well, wanting to create some kind of buffer between Eddie and the congregation members who see a stranger and instantly become defensive.

The moment he's shut the door, he hears a little kid shout excitedly, "Steve!"

He whirls around in time to see a young girl rush across the parking lot, much to the shock and concern of her guardian. Thankfully, there aren't any cars, so the girl is unimpeded in her rush to Steve.

Eddie comes around the side of the van just in time to see the girl launch herself at Steve, giggling when he lifts her up and spins. "Yael! Have you gotten bigger?" he asks, smiling brightly as he comes to a stop and sets her on his waist.

Yael returns his smile with a grin of her own, tilting her head up so he can clearly see the brand-new gap in her teeth. "I lost a tooth! See? It came out last week," she tells him, practically bouncing in his arms.

By now, Yael's grandfather has reached them, smiling indulgently. "Yael," he says, his voice gentle but firm, "you know better than to run across parking lots." When she mumbles an apology, he looks at Steve, his smile turning warm. "Steve, it's been a few weeks. I'm glad to see you again, and you've even brought a friend."

Steve returns the smile and nods, shifting closer to Eddie. "Yeah, things got a little...chaotic in Hawkins. Oh. Mr. Adler, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, Elijah Alder."

Mr. Adler's eyes light up, and Steve suddenly remembers something incredibly embarrassing. "Oh?" he says, looking at Eddie with renewed interest, "So this is the famous Eddie Munson? I'm glad to see you've healed well."

Eddie blinks, glancing at Steve. "Uh, thanks. How'd you know?"

"Steve asked the Rabbi to include you during the Mi Shebeirach."

"The Misha what now?"

"Mi Shebeirach," Steve says, gently nudging Eddie with his elbow. "It's a prayer for healing."

Mr. Adler nods once, his eyes practically dancing with new gossip. "Oh, yes, you've created quite the stir among the Sisterhood, you know. They have a backlog of Mi Shebeirach cards and nowhere to send them."

Steve translates that information as "the old ladies have been dying to know who this mysterious Eddie Munson is, so Steve had better brace himself." His smile becomes a little strained. "Well, let's get it over with, then."

Mr. Adler nods and gestures for Steve and Eddie to follow as he leads them toward the temple. While they walk, Yael looks at Eddie, her eyes wide. "Why is your hair so long?" she asks.

"Cuz I like it that way."

"Oh. Why are you wearing rings?"

"Because they're cool."

"Oh. Why did you need healing?"

"I was hurt really bad."

"Oh. By what?"

"A bear."

"Oh. Are you Steve's friend?"

Eddie glances at Steve, meeting his eyes for a brief second before smiling at Yael. "Yeah, Stevie and I are best friends."

Yael smiles right back. "Steve is my best friend, too! He's super strong and can carry me without getting tired and makes the best hamentaschen at Purim!"

"Yael," Mr. Adler says, cutting off any continuation of the conversation as they reach the doors of the temple. "Why don't you go let the Rabbi know Steve has joined us?"

Her entire face lights up with joy. "Okay!" she shouts, wiggling in Steve's arms until he lets her down. She tugs open the door, straining until Steve smiles and helps her. "Thanks! Bye, Steve!"

With that, she dashes into the temple, her voice carrying Steve's name into the room full of other people. When almost all of them, including three children that Steve can see, stop what they're doing and look over at the door, Mr. Adler says from behind Steve and Eddie, "Brace yourselves, my boys. The wolves have appeared."

Steve groans as Mr. Adler pushes them both inside. "Should I be worried?" Eddie whispers, leaning in closer to Steve as the door shuts behind them.

"I apologize in advance," Steve tells him.

Despite his words, he has a large grin as the three kids shout his name and rush over, much like Yael did. They're followed by a few teenagers and their parents. The kids pounce on Steve, two holding onto his biceps and hanging from them as he raises his arms while the third clings to his leg.

"Where ya been?" one of the teens asks, her hair pulled back into a ponytail so permed it looks ready to burst.

"Yeah, man, I've been manning the oneg table by myself," another teen says, his arms crossed over a Metallica shirt. He's got piercings climbing up one ear and through an eyebrow, and his gaze moves to Eddie as he speaks, taking in the other boy. "Who's this?"

"Yeah," another girl asks, smiling at Eddie and batting her eyes in a way that makes even Steve feel uncomfortable, "who's your friend, Steve?"

"Kids," an older woman says, pushing her way through them, "you know better than to crowd. Shouldn't you be passing out prayer books right now?" Once she's managed to shoo the teens away, she turns her gaze on the children still clinging to Steve. "And you three, I heard Mrs. Rost needs help in the kitchen. Something about there being too many cookies to platter all by herself."

Steve suddenly finds himself weightless as the kids abandon him, dashing down the hall toward the kitchen. He smiles with slight relief and looks at the woman. "Thanks," he says, rolling his shoulders.

"Of course, Steve. Now, who's your friend?" she asks, looking Eddie up and down curiously.

"Oh, right. Uh. Rabbi, this is Eddie Munson. Eddie, this is Rabbi Sara. I, um, I was hoping he could sit in on services tonight?"

Rabbi Sara immediately smiles at them. She holds out her hand to Eddie, shaking firmly when he returns the gesture. "Of course! I'm glad to see you're doing better, Eddie. We've been a bit worried about you here," she says. She glances around before leaning in and conspiratorially whispering, "There's a betting pool on whether his name would be added to the Mourner's Kiddish."

Steve snorts, knowing exactly which members would have started that bet. "Yeah, well, tell Diane and Yakov they've lost."

Rabbi Sara barely holds back her laughter, nodding once as she lets go of Eddie's hand. "Well, how about I spare you boys from socializing more," she offers.

When Steve nods, she gestures for them to follow her, leading the way to the sanctuary. He glances at Eddie as they walk, taking in the way he's tugging on a lock of hair and looking at the hall around them. "You doing okay?" Steve whispers, leaning in closer.

Eddie glances at him, is silent for a few minutes, and then says, "It's a lot to take in."

"Service will be easier. Lots of music. You'll like it," Steve promises, smiling reassuringly at Eddie. He hesitates before adding, "And if you want to leave, just let me know. The important part was making sure people saw I wasn't dead."

That's not entirely true. Steve doesn't want to leave the Shabbat service. He misses the routine of it and the feeling of togetherness as everyone sings. But Eddie's comfort is taking precedence here; he's already given Steve a ride and has begun subjecting himself to Steve's nosy congregation. Leaving early if he gets overwhelmed is the least Steve can do, really.

The teen in the Metallica shirt, Sam, holds out two prayer books when Rabbi Sara leads them to the sanctuary doors. His gaze lingers on Eddie for a few seconds more before asking, "Dude, do I know you?"

Eddie blinks and raises an eyebrow. "I don't know. Do you?"

Their gazes hold for nearly a minute before Sam's eyes widen and light with recognition. Steve is bracing himself for the worst (you know, devil worshipper, accused murderer, wannabe criminal, take your pick). Instead, Sam grins and says, "Yeah, I totally do! You're in that band, yeah? The one that plays at Hideout sometimes? Corroded Coffin. Your music is metal, man."

Eddie returns Sam's grin, throwing an arm over his shoulders and leaning in close. "You know, you're alright. Always happy to meet a fan. What's your favorite song?"

"You played that new one last Saturday. Bats, I think. It spoke to me, man."

Steve stares at Eddie, wondering how he missed the fact that Corroded Coffin started playing gigs again. A curl of something like regret or maybe hurt begins to build in his stomach, and he's almost overtaken by it when Eddie nods and says, "Oh, yeah, that one's about Stevie."

"Oohh, dude, that makes so much sense now."

"You wrote a song about me?" Steve asks, successfully regaining Eddie's attention.

Apparently, Eddie sort of forgot he was there. His relaxed posture becomes a little awkward, and he removes his arm from Sam's shoulder. He clears his throat, tugging a lock of hair in front of his mouth as he says, "Yeah. Is, uh, is that a problem?"

"No," Steve says, feeling a reassuring smile tug at his lips, "but you should play it for me sometime."

"This is all very touching," a voice says behind them, "but can you take the flirting inside the sanctuary? We still need our prayer books."

Steve jolts and looks behind them, laughing awkwardly when he sees Rivkah, a woman in her early 30s, and her partner, Tamar. "Sorry," he says, grabbing Eddie's arm and dragging him through the doors.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie whispers, allowing himself to be pulled over to some chairs near the left corner of the sanctuary, "is everything okay? Like...are we...safe?"

It takes a moment for Steve to understand what Eddie means. Like, of course, he can't guarantee their safety. It's a synagogue. Every person here old enough to understand the world knows the risk, the potential for one person to show up and wreak utter destruction. Steve is about to say as much (and explain the temple's "worst case scenario" game plan) when he notices Eddie glancing at Rivkah and Tamar.

A light bulb practically clicks on above him, and he almost laughs at himself. He sits down and tugs Eddie into the seat next to him. "Yeah, we're safe, Eds," he promises, smiling softly when Eddie looks at him. "Rivkah and Tamar are married. I attended the ceremony. It was very nice. Tamar broke the glass."

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, and he looks around the sanctuary with renewed interest. His gaze especially lingers on the people that file in, taking in the couples and families and groups that wouldn't make much sense outside the temple's doors. Steve is content to let him look, allowing himself to relax back into the seat and wait.

After almost 15 minutes, Rabbi Sara approaches the bema and smiles at everyone. "Good evening, and Shabbat Shalom," she says, nodding along as her greeting is returned. "I'm glad to see so many familiar faces tonight. And some new ones. The week has been long for some of us, but it's now come to an end, and we have gathered to celebrate its end, another week's beginning, and being together. Now, please open your books to page 47 for the L'cha Dodi."

Steve flips open his book as Anna, the cantor and the same girl who tried to flirt with Eddie, starts playing the guitar next to Rabbi Sara. "Uh, the book is backward," Eddie whispers, leaning close to Steve.

"Hebrew is written right to left," Steve explains, taking Eddie's book and opening it to the right page. "Also, don't worry about singing along. Just try to follow. If you don't know where we are, just nudge me. I'll point you to the right spot."

Eddie nods, looking almost overwhelmed, but Rabbi Sara starts singing before Steve can reassure him verbally. Instead, he just shifts so their shoulders are pressed together, flashing a tiny smile when Eddie looks at him before joining the rest of the congregation in singing.

Steve has to point Eddie at the right line a few times, but he doesn't mind. He's memorized the prayer by now, and the book is really just for show. He pulls Eddie up with the rest of the congregation during the L'cha Dodi, turns him to the sanctuary doors, and places a hand on his back to gently nudge him into a bow. Eddie blinks through it, following along but seeming overwhelmed by the entire process. When the prayer is finished and Rabbi Sara invites them to greet each other, Steve looks at Eddie with a smile (one of the most genuine smiles he's had in weeks), holds out his hand, and says, "Shabbat Shalom, Eddie."

Eddie doesn't hesitate to take his hand, leaning in close and returning the smile. "Shabbat Shalom?" he asks, speaking slowly to test the words and let Steve approve of the pronunciation. When Steve nods, Eddie's smile grows wider, and he whispers, "Shabbat Shalom, sweetheart."

That...that's a new nickname. And Steve doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe Eddie just wanted the pseudo-alliteration, but his smile says otherwise, and Steve feels like he's frozen in place.

And then a few of the kids dash over to him, shouting, "Shabbat Shalom!" at the top of their lungs and practically fighting to shake his hand first. Steve would feel honored if he didn't know they raced to beat each other to every adult.

After greeting, they light the candles. After lighting the candles, Rabbi Sara leads them into the next prayer, the rest of the service flowing smoothly with her as their guide.

The service is (beautifully, wonderfully, incredibly, thankfully) the same as always. Prayers are sung, and Steve can practically feel them in his bones. He's never been particularly religious (his mother would say they're more culturally Jewish than anything else), but he can't deny that the sound of over 50 people, young and old and in-between, singing together is an otherworldly experience.

They are singing a language that only a few of them actually know how to speak. Steve is reading a language that he wouldn't recognize outside of the prayer book. It's disconcerting as always, but also special, because he shares in the ignorance and devotion wrapped into singing words he wouldn't understand without the book's translation on the opposite page.

The Mi Shebeirach and the Mourner's Kiddish are Steve's sign that service is almost over. And for the first time in forever, Steve doesn't speak any names when Rabbi Sara calls for them. He sinks back into his seat, an unfamiliar relief easing tension he didn't even know he had anymore. But it's true. Everyone is fine, and they've all healed, and Steve no longer has to say Max's name or Will's or Hopper's or Eddie's. He no longer has to dodge questions or call up the Rabbi and ask her to include an extra name in the service.

And this realization, the sheer relief he feels at the simple act of staying quiet when Rabbi Sara's gaze sweeps past him, is almost enough to bring him to tears. His throat gets tight, his eyes burn, and his voice almost cracks when he joins the rest of the congregation in singing for those in need of healing and those who have passed.

Eddie nudges him gently, and Steve glances at him and then at their shared armrest. Eddie's hand is lying palm-up, a silent invitation, and Steve doesn't hesitate to accept. He slips his hand into Eddie's, interlocking their fingers, and feels infinitely better when Eddie squeezes his hand gently.

----

"So," Steve says, refraining from getting up as others file out of the sanctuary, practically tripping over kids racing to reach the oneg brownies first, "did you...like it?"

Eddie is silent for a few minutes, staring down at their hands. Steve almost pulls away, an apology ready on his tongue, when Eddie squeezes his hand tighter. "Yeah. It was...different. But good. I...there was more singing than I expected."

Steve grins, glancing up to see the sanctuary has mostly cleared, and stands. He pulls Eddie up with him. "Yeah, we sing most of our prayers. It's nice."

"It is," Eddie agrees, still looking a little lost for words.

Steve doesn't push. Instead, he pulls, leading Eddie out of the sanctuary. He gives their prayer books to Sam, grabs two tiny, sample-sized cups of Manischewitz wine, and gives one to Eddie. "Don't drink it yet," he says, nodding to where Rabbi Sara has her own cup and is waiting for the rest to be passed around.

Once everyone is ready, she blesses the wine, blesses the challah, and invites them all to drink and eat. Steve braces himself before knocking the wine back, the strong, warm grape flavor coating his tongue, vaguely reminiscent of cough medicine. He sees the same grimace on Eddie's face. "This is shit wine," Eddie whispers, his nose still scrunched as he tosses the cup into the trashcan like he can't get rid of it fast enough.

"Yeah. It's specifically for services," Steve says, "it's not supposed to be good."

"Right," Eddie mumbles, glancing at the oneg table, his eyes lingering on the desserts laid out. "Do you wanna stick around? You know, talk to people?"

Usually, Steve would. He likes catching up with the kids and teens, likes ganging up on them when their parents come around and playfully scold them, and he likes hearing the most recent temple gossip. But as he looks at Eddie, feels their hands still tightly holding onto each other, Steve finds he doesn't mind leaving early.

So, he leans in closer to Eddie and grins at him. "Or," he whispers, "we could steal an extra pack of brownies from the kitchen, sneak out the back, and eat them on the drive home."

Eddie returns the grin, amusement and eagerness practically dancing in his eyes, and says, "You read my mind, sweetheart."

Later, when Eddie pulls into Steve's driveway after an hour-long ride spent eating brownies, explaining different prayers, and telling him about old temple gossip, a different kind of tension will start to fester between them. Steve will delay getting out of the car, Eddie won't comment on it, and they'll slowly gravitate toward each other.

And they'll kiss. It will be awkward and taste like chocolate and end far too quickly, but it will be perfect.

Steve will pull away, a faint blush rising and his heart racing faster than it ever did with Nancy, and shyly offer to let Eddie spend the night. And Eddie will accept and spend the night and ask to attend Shabbat with Steve again and...

And so much more.

But for now, while he has no clue of the future that's about to start after an hour's drive, Steve glances around the crowded hall and pulls Eddie toward the kitchen.

After all, they've got brownies to steal.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddiemas Day 8: Hanukkah Traditions

Steve was nervous. He'd moved in with Eddie and Wayne a month ago since his parents told him in no uncertain terms to be out by the time they got back. The past month had felt so warm and loving. But Hanukkah was beginning tomorrow and Steve was freaking out.

"Sweetheart, you don't need to stress out about it, you don't even need to join in the traditions if you don't want to. Plus Wayne and I are very chill about it, I think Wayne just likes to remember his mother's stories the most, she would've loved you."

"But it is important, Eds! You and Wayne have been so good to me and I want to show you that I appreciate that."

Eddie sighed moving towards him, curling Steve's clenched hands and intertwining their fingers.

"We know you appreciate it, Stevie, and we both love you so much, secretly I think Wayne prefers you." Steve has a quirk of a smile for a moment.

"Only cause I don't burn the toast when I make breakfast."

"It was one time and I was 12, sorry for putting effort into father's day for him," Eddie joked. "C'mon let's go help Wayne finish letting up."

Later, when the menorah was set and ready on the windowsill, cabinets stocked with ingredients for all the food they'd make, and gifts wrapped for the week ahead, the three men sat with mugs of coffee despite the late hour.

"You ready for your first Hanukkah, Steve?" Wayne asked.

"I think so, Eddie has told me a bit but I'm excited to learn."

"That's good of you, son, don't worry if you don't get it all right away, Eddie tried lighting all the candles at once when he was little."

"Can we lay off poor baby Eddie, he was a sweet boy."

"A sweet boy that brought toads home as pets."

"The frogs are mean to them."

Wayne chuckled at his nephews antics.

"Would you like to hear the story of Judah and the Maccabees, Steve? My memory isn't as good as it used to be but I'm sure I can make it as exciting as my Ma used to tell it."

"I'd love to," Steve smiled. Wayne smiled softly, getting comfy in his chair and began to tell the tale. Steve leaned into Eddie as he listened, he might not know all the traditions yet, but it already feels more like home and family than Christmas with his parents ever did.

Ao3

[hargrove-mayfields]

It’s Disabled Billy and Steve Week

Day 1- Music

My prompt: Harringrove- Dancing to music at their wedding

-•-•-•-

In 1996, Billy and Steve get married.

They didn’t want to wait an unknown amount of time just for a legal certificate that wouldn’t mean much anyways, so they each picked a ring from one another’s jewelry boxes, bought some thrifted suit jackets, and set the date.

Mrs. Byers was more than happy to lend her back yard to the event, as long as her kids agreed to help her with the load of work setting up and decorating would create. They got help from their friends, and through the grapevine that led to Carol, a now professional interior designer, getting her hands on the theme and decorations. Control, drama, whatever, it’s all in Carol's wheelhouse, but Billy’s just grateful she involved Steve in choosing the theme.

Steve had had a stroke and lost 90% of his eyesight in the aftermath of the Starcourt attacks. In the years since it’s never returned, the old nurse's promises of magic recovery all hollow attempts at making him feel better, so it meant a lot when Carol went out of her way to get tactile decorations for Steve to enjoy in his own right.

Massive fake flowers, braille signs and table settings, even the cake is textured with sugar pearls and rolled chocolate to give Steve something to touch, a way to build his own image of his special day. The cake came courtesy of Jonathan and Tommy, a more than unlikely duo who came together for their friends, and because of their mutual artistic interests.

Nobody expected Tommy to become a baker of all things, but damn if he doesn’t make the best tres leches cake any of them had ever tried. Though to be fair, the majority of their Midwestern friend group couldn’t say they had tried one before. Argyle and Billy had bragging rights on culinary experiences growing up in a more culturally diverse region.

Jonathan on the other hand had become a painter, and done the decorations for Tommy’s cake. After all the monster encounters, flashing lights and loud sounds weren’t really his thing. Photography just wasn’t his passion anymore. Art was still a big interest of his though, and it was actually Heather who introduced painting, since she took lessons as a little kid.

Heather, who is the stand-in bridezilla. Both Billy and Steve are calm about their wedding, caring more about what it means to each other than the actual event. That isn’t that case for miss Heather Ernestine Holloway-Buckley. She wants everything to be perfect. Absolutely. Everything.

From the tablecloths being the same color as Billy’s white and gold suit jacket, to the flower petals scattered in the neatly trimmed grass matching the crown of flowers in Steve’s hair. She demands everyone get matching dresses or suits depending on their preference, so the pictures will turn out perfect. In Jonathan’s place, El takes the photos, taught by her older brother about the craft and determined to capture as many memories as possible.

The rest of the smaller details are kept secret from the boys. Things like who will officiate, the food, how the backyard will be set up, and the music are all a total surprise to keep things exciting.

With everything in place, all they need is to be there. To say their vows and dedicate the rest of their lives to the one they consider their soulmate.

But Steve is terrified. Having nightmares every night leading up to the wedding because he’s scared his blindness is going to ruin something. Even Robin, who has been with him every step of the way, has been warning him numerous times to be careful on that night.

The wedding will be by daylight, made even brighter by small candles on the tables, and fairy lights strung in the trees, but that only means Steve can see basic, blurry silhouettes. If he trips, or runs into something, or someone, on his wedding day, he’ll never live down the embarrassment.

There’s only one day left until the ceremony when he brings it up to Billy, trying to be subtle about it and failing hugely.

At the breakfast table, over pre-game chocolate chip pancakes as Billy called them, Steve asks him, “Are you nervous?”

Even at this stage, Billy gets grumpy in the mornings. He cooked breakfast, sure, but he might as well still be asleep until noon. Usually, thanks to his pain meds, he might take a few half hour power naps up until then. Still, his answer and its gravelly delivery are playful and unserious, “Nah. I’m just eager for the honeymoon stage.”

Only, Steve’s nerves are so wound up, he can’t find it charming like usual. A simple, quiet, “Oh.” is his only response.

Right away, he can tell from the shift in his partner's energy that Billy knows what that means. Some part of Steve is glad he can’t look into Billy’s face and see the pain in his features, from knowing Steve isn’t perfectly alright.

That’s something Steve forgets sometimes, that just because he can’t see someone, doesn’t mean they can’t see him. Every emotion he feels is expressed freely in the look on his face, revealing the anxiety, and the bubbling uncertainty that makes this so hard.

Billy encourages him to talk about it, “Come on, Stevie. Spill. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

Something tells Steve to lie. Maybe it’s the pressure of the wedding being just a little over twenty four hours away at this point. Probably that. His entire life he grew up thinking there was nothing more important than marriage, and now that he has the chance, he’s terrified of things going poorly. So he assures Billy, “Nothing! I get to marry you! What could be wrong?”

“Darling. I see those gears turning. You’re thinking something.” Billy sees through it. Of course he does or he wouldn’t have ever broken down Steve’s mask personality enough to one day become his husband. Billy must worry that he hasn’t done exactly that, because he asks, softer and more quivery than his other words, “Getting cold feet?”

“No! Oh, god Billy no. Never ever.” Steve promises passionately, reaching over to the spot where Billy is for his hand, the responsibility of actually placing their hands together and sharing touch placed onto Billy. Squeezing it gently so he knows he feels him, Steve tries to explain his feelings, “I just. I feel wiggly.”

“Can you tell me what wiggly means?” Billy asks, always asking questions to make sure he understands Steve’s needs enough to help. It’s no mystery why he loves him so much.

That said, it takes a moment of thinking for Steve to put it into words, “Like everything’s shaky and bad. And I’m scared and nervous. And kinda shy. But the bad kind of shy.”

“All that about the wedding?” Billy’s definitely worried about him. Scared that maybe marriage, even if it’s not technically official, is possibly too much pressure for him.

Steve eases that quiet nagging with his response, and takes the blame too, “More like about messing up the wedding.”

Trying to soothe what little tension there has become, Billy softly comforts Steve, “Honey, you’re not going to mess up. There’s no right way to get married.”

“But not everyone who gets married is blind.” Steve mumbles, and Billy realizes it’s that kind of wiggly.

Ever since losing his sight, Steve’s been a bit more quiet. It’s not like he changed, but Billy had a suspicion there was something brewing under the surface. Now that it’s been confirmed that Steves worries come from that, and since fear of the changes disability brought to their lives is something Billy is familiar with himself, he thinks he knows how to help.

“I'm in a wheelchair maybe four days a week, and the others I’m in bed. That’s not exactly typical either.” Is his choice of words.

It seems to work for a moment, since Steve relaxes a bit, but then his mind starts going again and he fishes up a new fear to bring to Billy.

“But you have special braces and stuff if you want to stand up for pictures and dancing.. I can’t just put in a new pair of eyes.” He sounds almost sad.

Billy wants to make sure he knows he doesn’t have to feel that way.

He asks, “Is that what you’re worried about? Dancing?”

Steve shrugs, still physically expressive as a habit despite his inability to see those mannerisms, and says quietly, “A little.”

Billy seems to think that’s a fixable issue, even offering up a quick solution, “Chrissy did cheer for her whole life and she’s married to a paraplegic. She can totally help us with a dance.”

“She’s also very pregnant. I don’t wanna bother-“ Steve denies right away, but Billy’s already wheeling over to the phone before he can really stop him.

“Too bad. I’m already calling her.” Billy’s tone of voice just sounds like he’s smiling mischievously, which has Steve rolling his eyes without meaning anything by it, especially when Billy greets their friend by saying, “Hey, Chris! Got a second, toots?”

•-•-•-•-•

Before Steve knows it, it’s the next day, and the time for practice is over.

Instead of a wedding march, the soft strum of an electric guitar signals Steve to come down the aisle, which is really just a bolt of soft fabric rolled out over the grass and weighed down by dollar tree candles.

He’s not sure who’s playing, but it’s sweet, the soft version of a Cinderella song Billy and Steve both love. It brings a smile to his face, but doesn’t cancel out the clammy feeling he gets when he realizes it’s time to step forward and actually walk down the aisle.

It’s only the officiant at the other end, Billy still inside getting ready for his entrance after Steve’s, so he’s not sure why he’s so scared. With Dustin and Claudia on either side of him, and a hand on the harness his guide dog wears, he should feel stable and supported.

But every step forward makes that intensity of the butterflies in his stomach only grow stronger.

Until something cuts through, the voice of the officiant;

“And here we have Groom number one. Led by the one and only, Miss Peanut Butter Cup the Beagle. She’s feisty, she’ll bite your ass, and she loves to cuddle. Sounds like a great honeymoon.”

Talking like an infomercial, or some kind of weird radio announcer, Murray fucking Bauman is the man who will marry Steve to the love of his life. At least half of his fears dissolve on the spot. This isn’t some all serious, super tense event like his biological parents would have planned for him.

This is a celebration, and all of his friends and family are going to stumble their way through it, so why shouldn’t he?

Him and his Henderson entourage keep walking to the makeshift altar, and Murray keeps talking, “Oh yeah. And the rest. You all know him, you all love him, it’s Dustin! Here to impart his uninvited wisdom unto the newlyweds. And what’s this? A Jewish mom who will adopt any roughian street kid she sees? That’s right folks, it’s Claudia Henderson, and with her she has- her newest adoptee!”

“Stefan Harrington! And today is his big day. Everybody give him a hand. He can’t see your stupid cheeseburger smiles. Give him the entrance you’d give the president if he walked past.” Murray laughs at himself in the midst of the lengthy introduction, “Actually, no. Please don’t do that. Just clap for him.”

All of this makes Steve giggle his way down the aisle, largely forgetting about his fears of ruining the ceremony. After all, with Murray in charge, there are no rules to abide by.

When he makes it to his spot, and Dustin and Claudia step away, Steve has a one-on-one with Murray, “How you doing, kid?”

Recognizing there’s no time to dive into the nuances, Steve says simply, “I’m okay.”

“Just okay? This is the real deal! You gotta be pumped!” Murray encourages him, which makes Steve remember that there’s something holding him back.

“I’m too wiggly.” He sounds defensive.

Murray on the other hand just sounds happy, and eternally positive, as he suggests, “Shake out those wiggles. C’mon, I’ll do it with you.”

Together the two of them shake and flap and wiggle, a moment that never would’ve happened without the support Steve has gotten from his family. There was a time when, although he wasn’t very good at masking, he’d have been too ashamed to openly stim in front of an entire wedding party of the most important people in his life. Now though, by the end of this, he’s giggling and smiling and having the time of his life.

Checking in again, Murray asks him, “That better?”

“A little.” Steve shrugs, struggling to assign any qualities to the big big feelings he has. Feelings are so hard right now.

He’s getting married.

“C’mon, what can I do to make it best?” Murray keeps trying, something of another parent to Steve. Even making another joke, “I mean, I can start taking my clothes off, but I don’t think Joyce would be too happy.”

A little bit haunted by that mental image, but mostly amused, Steve shakes his head, and gives his best response, “Just, can you read slowly? And not tease me so much during the real thing?”

Instantly Murray agrees lightheartedly, “A deals a deal. Smack me in the head if I screw it up, alright. This is the only time I’ll ever tell you that because I am perfect otherwise.”

It’s the guitar melody rising up that cuts off their conversation, and suddenly Steve’s heart rate is picking up again. This is really happening.

Murray puts it not so gracefully, “Oops. I’ll stop running my mouth now. Looks like your other half is coming.”

Since Steve can’t see what’s happening, Murray goes back into his narration mode, which Steve appreciates a lot.

“Coming up next folks is our half off sale. That’s right, now you can get two for the price of one. Just add a wedding band- Sold separately.” Murray jokes, earning a little scoff from Joyce, which makes Steve laugh softly.

He’s grateful for the dry, cheesy sense of humor Murray has, otherwise he might be totally panicking right now.

“What’s this? We have a flower girl, people. Leading the way is miss Chrissy with her lovely paper flower petals. Behind her, to match her developing appreciation for all things butch, Heather does not have flowers. Oh no. She has seashells. Imported from the fine beaches of the dollar store they were purchased at.”

It’s probably rude, but Steve loves the mental image it gives him. He can imagine Heather in her suit, and Chrissy in her flowy dress, decorating the aisle with delicate little pieces of Billy and Steve’s love. The best part is he can hear them laughing at the jokes about themselves, so he can imagine the smiles on their faces.

His favorite part is the next introduction, the one that refers to his culture most, “Last but not least, Jane brought some sea glass, since there will be no stomping of any glass until our two grooms get some functioning body parts. Since that will never happen, join me in telling the Jewish ancestors to suck it and deal. But not groom number two. He’s too catholic.”

The trio of groomsmaids stand off to the side, their shoes crunching on the grass, and Steve knows what that means. It means Billy is coming.

“Speaking of, and without further ado- escorted by his creepy little sibling Max, here he is. Come on down William.”

The walk is slow, with Billy using his limb braces and forearm crutches instead of his wheelchair for this special moment. Steve can be patient. He’s wanted this to happen since his third date with Billy, when he brought training treats for Peanut Butter Cup and a sensory necklace for Steve. What’s a few more minutes?

The pacing does however warrant more Murray monologuing, which is something of a treat anyways.

“Ooh, not too shabby for a man with no usable limbs. Speaking of, why exactly did we just turn the aisle into a safety hazard? Oh well. At least if he falls on his ass, he’ll look good doing it.”

The comment must remind him to give a description of Billy for his sightless groom to be, “A diamond earring, tons of mascara, way too much hairspray in that fluffy perm- I’m starting to feel underdressed.”

And then he’s there. Steve can feel his energy, the radiant, sunshiney happiness Billy always produces. Since there are no rules, he decides to reach out his palms, the sign that means he wants to hold Billy’s hands. The weight and warmth of the touch when Billy obliges adds more butterflies to Steve’s chest.

He’s smiling like an idiot, and if he had to guess, he’d say Billy probably is too.

After a few moments, they’re interrupted by Murray clearing his throat, “That’s it? No hello?”

Steve can practically hear the eye roll Billy gives as he speaks, “Hi Murray. Don’t forget this is my wedding.”

“Ohhh. And here I thought this was a bat mitzvah. Don’t panic, but I think I grabbed the wrong book.” Murray pretend-whispers, letting the imaginary tension build before he pats them both on the back, and assures, “Kidding. Sure I was the worst choice for this, I don’t know shit about romance and never will, but I can do my job.”

The guitar music ends, and the residual chattering and laughing stops too. It’s time. Steve’s hands are shaking. Billy squeezes them once reassuringly.

“Once upon a time, William Reuben Hargrove met Stefan Mihai Carson Harrington; They fought, they fucked, blah blah blah, they caught feelings- and a monster possession- Oh, whatever. Point is, they’re getting married now! Two souls united and all that jazz. So are you ready to say ‘I do?’” Murray rushes through a fake service, earning groans from much of the audience.

And from Steve, who whines, “Murrayyy!”

“Fine, fine. But you're gonna pay me after this, right? I’m a licensed therapist now. My services aren’t free anymore.” Murray snarks, totally playful and unserious.

He’s not the only one who can do sarcasm, since the entire wedding party starts to boo. Steve is pretty sure he hears Carol, his strongest advocate since they were kids, shout the loudest to, “Get on with it!”

•-•-•-•-•-•

An hour later, they were married. Mister and mister Hargrove.

In the style of a picnic of sorts, everyone had brought food to share. From Claudia’s mac n cheese, to Heather and Robins take on a vegan sushi, their newest cooking experiment, to Sue Sinclairs potato salad that she sent with Lucas even though she couldn’t be there herself- there was a little something for everyone. Steve personally loved the Zeytoon Parvardeh that Joyce had made from an old family recipe. Billy preferred the ceviche Argyle brought, so he’d fed Steve all his olives, a nice romantic moment that had Steve blushing.

By now the actual party aspect of the day has begun, after the cake had been cut and the wine poured. Joyce limited the amount of alcohol allowed to be served to two bottles, one white and one red, to respect the boundaries of those like Billy recovering among them. Tommy and Robin probably have drunk the majority of that portion, and the two of them are tipsy, pestering Eddie over at his makeshift music booth.

While all the noise and everything started picking up, Steve had settled into a little corner by himself to stay calm. He hears someone approaching by the sound of footsteps, and turns his head their way, to make sure he can hear them properly.

Turns out it’s Joyce, who enthusiastically says, “Congratulations, sweetie!”

Steve thanks her, and reaches for her hand, to make a connection that will make communication easier, “Thank you, Mrs. Byers.”

Joyce rubs his knuckles, her tone soft and kind, “I hope Murray didn’t ruin your ceremony. Would you believe me if I said that was the toned down version of his original plan?”

Steve brushes it off in stride, “Somehow, yes, but we loved it, Mrs B. Billy hasn’t laughed like that in a while.”

“I’m glad. This was your day. All about you!” Joyce enthuses, sounding a little relieved to hear her friend hadn’t messed anything up, “I bet you feel so happy!”

Steve just nods, and flaps his free hand, the words escaping him but the physicality of happiness easy to express.

“Can I hug you, sweetie?” Joyce asks, delighted by Steve’s own happiness.

Now, Steve isn’t the most hug friendly person, but today, a nice tight embrace from Joyce Byers sounds like a much needed break. A respite and a safe place.

He tells her, “Yes please.”

And so she wraps her arms around him and squeezes the life out of him, gushing, “Oooh, I’m so so proud of you! You’ve come so far!”

All Steve can say is a bashful, “Thank you, Mrs. B.”

The hug lasts maybe a few minutes, of Steve taking deep breaths of perfume and cuddling soft brown hair, just savoring the whole thing and the therapeutic effect it has on him.

But all too soon, his worst fear is reality- It’s time for his first dance with Billy.

Eddie announces it, since he’s something of the coordinator now, “Looks like it’s time for a sloooow dance. Where are my two grooms?”

Joyce sounds thrilled on the other hand, “Are you ready, dear?”

Steve physically winces, “Actually…”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll do just fine. Just breathe.” Joyce puts her hand on his back and helps him catch his breath for a second, before offering sympathetically, “He’s waiting for you, sweetie. Do you want me to walk you to him?”

Nervously, Steve nods. Earlier today, he married the love of his life. That was the easy part. Dancing in front of literally everyone he’s ever cared about is not easy.

Joyce is kind enough to walk him to Billy, leaving Peanut Butter Cup asleep under Steve’s chair. Letting him do it himself would’ve probably ended in him knocking Billy over, since his braces are all that’s holding him up. Instead he gets to settle into Billy’s embrace, with Joyce’s help to sturdy them both.

His head rested on Billy’s shoulder, and Billy’s arms around his waist, toes together, they started to get into the music.

Their dance song is fitting, a song Billy had learned marching in the streets for the rights of the disabled like them. On Being Special by Sue Napolitano. A beautiful poem all about family and love.

It sets a rhythm good for swaying, and soft little shuffles. Getting lost in it, Steve closes his eyes, blocking out what little light gets through, and lets his husband guide him. Billy knows the song by heart, and, pressing his lips to give a gentle kiss to Steve’s forehead, he mumbles the lyrics against his skin.

Even though there’s a lot of their friends there, in that moment it’s just them. Center stage, dancing on scrap lauan in Mrs. Byers’ backyard to the gentle crackling and crooning of a beat up old stereo, since Eddie and the band didn’t think they could do it justice.

Not even the thunking and clacking of Billy’s hardware is enough to take anyone out of the moment. This is them. Their reality.

Their disabled love story.

Steve is thankful he had Murray and Joyce and Chrissy and Billy to ease him through the nerves that led to this very moment. He did it. He had his first dance, with the love of his life, on his wedding day. Steve is maybe crying happy tears by the time it’s over, but he can hear from the general sniffles that a few other people are too.

When the song ends, there’s a beat of silence where nobody really knows what to do next. Steve can tell just from the energy shift that they’re wondering if they should help the newlyweds off the dance floor. But Steve doesn’t want to let go yet, and since they don’t move, that must be a cue for some folks to join them in dancing.

Or, that’s what Tommy interprets it to mean, because he’s stomping over towards them and shouting, “Let’s fucking goooo!!”

Steve guesses he dragged Carol along too, because she’s shriek-laughing his name, “Tomàs!!”

Their boldness inspires other couples to join in. Jonathan and Argyle, Chrissy and Eddie and their little two year old, Heather and Robin, even Hopper and Joyce, after a little coercion to get the grumpy old cop off his ass to have some fun too. The kids all come up together, leaving just a few stragglers, one being Murray. His dance partner of choice happens to be miss Peanut Butter Cup, bribed with a few blueberries he’d grabbed from the snack table.

They’re all together, and they’re all happy. So fucking happy.

•-•-•

A few songs in, Billy taps on Steve’s cheek, after giving him a small little kiss, to alert him to a conversation.

He asks softly, “Sweetheart, Patrick is dancing all by himself. Haven’t talked to him in a good while either. D’you think I could-“

But Steve doesn’t even make him finish that justification. He’s overdue for a break, and loves their friends just as much as Billy, so he’d actually prefer it if he did go to Patrick for a bit.

He tells his husband, “You don’t have to ask, babe. Go see your friend.”

“You’re sure?” Billy checks in again.

Steve nods, and gives him another small kiss to seal the deal, “I need a rest anyways. Big feelings.”

It’s still hesitantly that Billy pulls away, and only after a tight embrace, but he lets Steve go get his dog off of Murray and take his seat back in the corner. On his way away, he hears Billy call playfully, “Hey, McKinney! Get your ass over here!”

•-•-•-•-•

Out of nowhere, Steve hears the tapping of little feet running right towards him.

He’s already deduced who it is, based on the fact that there’s only one little tyke here, but the bubbly excited voice that falls to him gives it away even more, “Teevee!!”

Little Jackson is an outgoing boy, his enthusiasm curbed by nothing. Except maybe bumble bees, since he’s afraid of those, but there’s no buzzing demons around, so he’s all giggles as he pulls on Steve’s jacket sleeve.

On instinct, Steve picks him up, and blows a raspberry on the toddlers chubby little cheek, “Jackie!! There’s my favorite little groomsman!”

Jackson kicks his legs as Steve tips him onto his back, tickling his tummy and laughing along with him. Chrissy tells him he’s not as open with other people, but Steve has always been good with kids, so maybe it’s true.

Something about their pure hearts reminds him of who he’s always wanted to be. Their wonder and their fascination with everything just lifts his heart up. And at the moment, gives him the courage to get back on his feet and have some more fun.

Together with little Jackson, he twirls and spins, earning an endless stream of giggles from his friends’ baby boy.

“Wheee, you like to dance, huh?” Steve asks him, and immediately gets a very enthusiastic response.

“Yah!!!” Jackson even claps his little hands, a stim he’s clearly picked up from Eddie. Their little one is autistic and has adhd just like his dad, which probably also has to do with why he loves Steve so much.

And also why he has an abrupt energy crash and falls asleep without warning, his curly head laying on Steve’s shoulder, drooling down his back. They got their pictures already, so he doesn’t mind the mess. He just quietly takes Jackson back to a seat and cradles him softly, listening to the ongoing party and reveling in that bliss.

At some point, Billy snuck up on him, announcing his presence with a soft pet name, “Sweetheart.”

“Yes, my love?” Steve hums, turning his head in the general direction of Billy.

He’s not expecting what Billy is about to say.

“What’s the next step after marriage?”

Because of how random it seems, Steve has to think about what he’s asking, taking a moment before he remembers the old rhyme from childhood, “Uh-uh. No baby carriages yet, bubs. Give it at least a week.”

Billy is persistent, if only playfully, suggesting, “There’s always the honeymoon.”

Patting little Jackson’s back, Steve just responds vaguely, “We’ll see.”

All of it is lighthearted teasing, and a little bit of their classic pigtail pulling. They’ll talk about their future seriously when they’re ready.

That’s something Steve loves the most about Billy. He always considers him first, not societal conventions or outrageous expectations. Just Steve, and what he wants or feels comfortable with. Soulmates, he’d decided.

After all, internalized ableism be damned, what could be better than marrying his soulmate?

~~~~~~~~

Hi all! If you’ve read this far, please don’t click off!

As both mod and contributor to this event, Ive been inspired to use my fics to boost charities that aid the disabled community!

For this day, I’ve chosen the Friends of Disabled Adults and Children.

This is a charity that has a mission of “[assisting] individuals with disabilities… [by providing] free or low-cost wheelchairs and other home medical equipment.” This includes cars, tubs, power chairs, stairlifts, and more.

While founded as a religious organization, they serve all disabled community members with no limitations, and have a board of 35 members that work together to provide the best care.

They accept online donations, mail-in checks, purchases from their thrift store, or donations of gently used mobility equipment.

Friends of Disabled Adults and Children is based in Tucker, Georgia and can provide assistance to disabled individuals within a 25 mile radius of their facility. On their website, you can find statewide partners of FODAC for more resources.

Here is a link to their site: https://fodac.org

[chronicrabbit]

A Very Steddie Christmas

Listen. I had an idea.

It’s post-Vecna. Steve and Eddie are friends. Eddie has had a hopeless little crush on Steve for years, yada yada yada. The usual shit. You get the picture.

It’s mid December and Steve Harrington is hyped up for Christmas.

Steve had always been a Christmas fan. He lives for it; the tacky decorations, the twinkling lights strung up on every tree and house on the block, the joyous atmosphere, the warmth of a good cup of cocoa on a snowy Hawkins night.

Everything.

Steve loves Christmas, even more so now that he has a Family™️ to share it with!

So when he overhears Eddie talking to Gareth about how he’s:

“Never had an actual Christmas”

he knows his services are needed.

He makes it his mission to give Eddie Munson the best Christmas ever, despite Robin’s teasing looks and Dustin’s frown of confusion.

He starts it all off with inviting him over to decorate inside and out, mostly because he doesn’t particularly want to do it himself and Robin point blank refuses when he asks her.

It’s not the funnest holiday activity, but the end goal is worth it; that’s what Steve’d always thought, anyway.

The Harrington’s were not terribly festive people, but they were deeply prideful and competitive, so naturally there were about five shelves in their sizable garage packed full of lights, tinsel, baubles, and other more expensive pieces of decor purchased by a fuming and wine-drunk Claire Harrington after a single and very passive aggressive conversation with Mrs. Thompson across the street.

Steve and Eddie work for hours, ending in tinsel littering every available surface, a bent gutter from a very close call with the ladder, and a declaration of hatred for string lights, but the huge grin on Eddie’s face is undeniable as they stand side by side, clinking together their hideous holiday mugs of eggnog and rum as they survey the impressive product of their hard work.

It looks amazing.

Mrs. Thompson, eat your heart out.

His next step is to bake his Nonna’s red-hot cinnamon snickerdoodles, the ones she’d sneak him every Christmas when he was a kid before his parents decided visiting was too much effort, and to watch a few Christmas Classics.

The cookies were meant to be a surprise, but Eddie shows up an hour and a half earlier than he’d said he would with the movies Robin had set aside for him and finds Steve in the kitchen, hair pinned back, glasses on, and red knit sweater covered in flour despite the apron tied around his waist.

He finds he doesn’t so much mind the change of plans as he and Eddie dance around the kitchen to George Michael, Eddie grabbing the batter covered wire whisk for a compelling performance of “Last Christmas”, a song he very clearly knows none of the words to.

Once the cookies are safely tucked away in the oven, they make their way to the couch, sitting nice and close for extra warmth as “It’s a Wonderful Life” begins to play.

Eddie talks through the entire first part of the movie, and when they return from the short break they take to retrieve the cookies from the oven and divvy them out between the two of them along with two cups of steaming hot cocoa, he talks through the rest through his mouthful of cookie.

Steve’s never enjoyed that movie more.

The third step is a bit more of an impromptu thing, because when Steve wakes up to see a fresh layer of beautiful powdery snow on the ground, he basically has no choice but to round up the party for the worlds most epic snowball fight.

Eddie complains at first, but quickly changes his tune the moment Mike manages to nail him directly in the face with a snowball.

He leaps into action with a declaration of:

“Oh it’s on, Wheeler!”

No matter how much Dustin swears you can’t win a snowball fight, Steve and Nancy definitely take the victory that day between her killer aim and his brutal throwing arm.

They split up into groups after the fact for some more snowy day activities.

El, Max, Nancy, and Steve build a little snow family together, Mike, Lucas, Will, and Robin work exceptionally hard to craft a nice sturdy fort with packed snow and ice (they write out actual equations and dimensions that make Steve’s head spin), and Erica, Dustin, Eddie, Jonathan, and Argyle make a serious of increasingly more ridiculous snow angels, ending in the five of them just tackling each other over to see what shape it makes.

Everyone stays out until their fingertips and noses are bright red and numb, finally giving in and heading inside once the sun starts to set and fresh snow starts to fall.

They clamber into Steve’s house, bundling up in blankets and huddling in front of the fireplace together to watch, much to Steve’s chagrin, the He-Man Christmas Special from the year before that Dustin had recorded over an episode of Night Court (Claudia was still upset with him over it).

And he couldn’t lie to himself and pretend he didn’t know how close he was sitting beside Eddie on the couch; close enough that their shoulders were bumping together with each breath.

He also couldn’t pretend he wasn’t enjoying every single time Eddie would turn to face him, to share in the excitement of whatever was happening on the screen.

Steve hadn’t watched a single second of the movie, far too focused on the dimples that appeared whenever Eddie smiled that big sunny smile, or the crinkles that appeared likewise around his big brown eyes, or the small freckle just over his lip…

Oh.

Oh.

Well…

He’d have to adjust his plan just a little.

With that new information tucked safely away in his mind, his next step became very clear. Thankfully, he didn’t need a different gift idea than the one he’d already come up with, perhaps just a different method of delivery.

………

It’s the afternoon of Christmas Eve when he knocks on the door of Eddie Munson’s trailer, the only one in the park with a complete absence of Christmas decorations or, at the very least, a wreath or something.

Eddie answers with that heart stopping smile, dressed in a blue sweater Steve is 90% certain he snatched from Robin who stole it from him some time last year.

He doesn’t give Eddie much time to greet him, holding out a small green bag with a red bow.

“What’s this, Steve?”

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together, his smile not quite dropped, more slanting into a look of gentle confusion.

“It’s a present. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, so…”

Steve does a ‘here we are’ motion with his hands, pushing the present towards Eddie once again.

The movement seems to reactivate Eddie, who pulls Steve into the warmth of his living room with a shiver.

“You got me a present?” Eddie inquires the moment the door was closed behind them, protecting them from the bitingly cold air.

“Of course. Can’t have Christmas without the gifts, can you?” Steve laughs.

“Christmas,” Eddie repeats after him a bit dubiously.

“Yeah, I suppose you can’t,” he shrugs, as if he doesn’t know.

“Exactly, so!” Steve extends the bag towards Eddie once again, shaking it enticingly.

Eddie’s nose scrunches in that way it does when he’s very carefully considering something.

“Steve. As much as I appreciate the constant stream of hot cocoa and holiday cheer you’ve been bombarding me with for the past week, I gotta ask. What gives? Why are you doing all this?”

Steve sighs.

“Well, I…” he starts, licking his lips as he tries to sort out his jumbled thoughts before continuing.

“To tell the truth, I overheard you telling Gareth that you’ve never had a real Christmas before. I… I’ve always loved Christmas. It’s the only holiday my parents would stay home for- well, up until I turned 16, that is. So, I guess I just… wanted to give you one. A real Christmas, that is.”

Eddie presses his lips together into a thin line, his usually open expression strangely unreadable as he considers Steve closely.

He nods when he seems to come to a conclusion, reaching his hands out towards the little bag and clenching and unclenching his fingers as if to say:

“Gimme.”

Steve smiles and hands over the gift bag, his stomach turning somersaults like an Olympic gymnast.

Eddie tears through the tissue paper, sending it flying to litter across the carpet, until his fingers find the occupant of the bag; a single Polaroid.

He fixes Steve with a raised eyebrow before letting his eyes fall back down to take in the picture.

“Alright,” Eddie nods as if he’s trying to understand a joke, mirth-filled gaze landing back on Steve over the Polaroid.

“Ok, Stevie. Very funny.”

Steve can’t help the smirk that overtakes his own face.

“And it’s all yours,” he assures him, playing into the playful tone as he watches Eddie survey the snapshot of the guitar; a BC Rich Warbeast with a glossy black body and a cherry red flame motif.

“I’ll cherish it, Big Boy,” Eddie snorts good naturally, pressing the image to his chest with a dramatic little sigh.

“I sure hope you will,” Steve nods.

“It cost me most of my savings up front, and I still have payments to make on it for the next few months.”

Eddie eyebrows scrunch together at that, that puzzled look from before returning to his face as he pulls the picture back up to take a closer look.

“Steve, wha- this… is this in your living room in this pic- Did you…”

Steve watches as several emotions crossed Eddie’s face; confusion, bewilderment, disbelief, and then, finally, understanding.

“Steve…” he says in what’s barely a whisper, Steve leaning in a bit closer to hear him.

“Did you… did you actually…”

He can’t seem to finish the sentence, so Steve takes it upon himself to answer him.

“I know you’ve been missing your old one. It’s not the same, but it’s the closet I could find and it’s waiting for you under the tree at my place. I had to drive all the way to Indy for it, and it’s not new, but I checked it out and it’s only lightly used. The scratches were easy enough to buff out, and Jeff helped to make sure it was-“

Steve grunts at the sudden impact of a body against his, warmth flooding through him as Eddie wraps him up in the tightest hug he’s even been given in his life.

He can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes him, sputtering as some of Eddie’s hair gets in his mouth. He winds his own arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him somehow closer and simply breathing him in.

“You are unbelievable,” Eddie breathes as he gives him a solid squeeze before pulling back, though he doesn’t relinquish his hold on Steve’s shoulders.

“So, I’m guessing you like it?” Steve asks through his smile.

“Like it? Stevie, I… I could honestly kiss you right now! You’re damn lucky there’s no mistletoe here, or else-“

Eddie’s words die out as Steve digs in his pocket, pulling out and raising up high above their heads a little sprig of mistletoe with the most charming smile he can muster.

He prays his nerves don’t show through as Eddie’s eyes meet his, wide with shock as they flicker back and forth between them and the mistletoe.

“Damn lucky,” Steve says, his tone steady with resolve even as his hand shakes.

In the next second Eddie’s lips meet his and it’s everything he could’ve ever dreamed of.

It’s everything every single cheesy little Christmas RomCom promises.

Magic.

When they finally part, both breathless and dazed and smiling like complete idiots, Steve tugs Eddie in close by his pilfered sweater.

“So? Was this a good first Christmas?”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise up and he honest to god giggles.

“Considering Christmas is tomorrow, I’d say it’s a pretty solid start.”

Steve allows himself a very John Bender-like fist pump, much to Eddie’s amusement as he pulls him into another kiss.

“As sweet as this is, Sweetheart,” Eddie whispers against his lips, hands fisting in the fabric of his sweater to hold him nice and close, which is lucky considering how hard Steve swoons at the word “sweetheart”.

“I feel the need to ask.”

“Anything,” Steve promises, nudging Eddie’s nose with his own as he presses a couple more gentle kisses against his grinning mouth.

“You know I’m Jewish, right?”

………

I might turn this into an actual multi chapter fic. Let me know if that’s something y’all would want!

[omg-i-think-i-like-you]

Steve woke up to a loud noise from downstairs. He jumped out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He grabbed his bat, and slowly and quietly went down the stairs, only in his boxers. As he was approaching the end of the staircase, he heard the loud noise again, this time followed by soft humming. He kept walking towards the source, the kitchen, when the noise startled him again, and he jumped into the kitchen, holding the bat high and ready.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Eddie yelled and ducked behind the kitchen island. Steve lowered the bat, and scanned the very messy kitchen. Mixing bowls and pots were all over the place, along with ingredients that Steve couldn't think of what they can make together.

"Eddie? Did you go to war in my kitchen?" He put the bat on the floor and walked around the island, where Eddie was stretching up and standing again.

"Hi Stevie," Eddie avoided the question and kissed Steve quickly on the lips, who smiled against the kiss but kept his arms crossed on his chest.

"You scared me," He said when Eddie broke the kiss, "I thought someone broke in. Are you trying to cook something?"

"Not trying, sweetheart, I am cooking something. Baking, actually." Eddie smiled cheekily and started picking up pots from the floor.

"Then why are all the pots out?" Steve teased and Eddie stood up and released a nervous laugh, "Well, I... I didn't know exactly where you keep things, so I kinda took everything out?" He rubbed his neck and Steve laughed.

"It's okay," He started putting the pots in place, "What are you making?"

Eddie, relieved that Steve isn't mad, started clapping in excitement, "Hamantashen!"

Steve looked at him, confused, "Bless you..?"

"No!" Eddie slapped Steve's shoulder, "It's food. And it's amazing."

"I want to believe it's food," Steve teased and Eddie crossed his arms and looked at Steve seriously.

"I don't make fun of your traditional cultural food, do I?"

Steve froze in place, "No, you don't. I'm sorry. Wanna tell me what haman... what did you say, tashen, is?"

Eddie smiled, "With pleasure!" He then pulled a chair and pushed Steve onto it, who giggled to himself, knowing Eddie is about to make the explanation into a whole performance.

"It all started in the faraway kingdom of Ahasuerus," Eddie opened and his eyes lit up, "The King of The Persian Empire, who ruled from India to Kush. He was a hedonistic king who had parties and feasts almost every day," He checked on Steve, making sure he was following. Steve nodded and Eddie continued.

"One day, King Ahasuerus was having one of his many parties, when his wife, Vashti, refused to join. Ahasuerus, who had a very fragile ego, took it personally and decided to fire her, and banish her. Silly Ahasuerus, realized soon after that he misses her, and decided to look for a new wife. He sent people around the kingdom and put his eyes on Good Girl Esther, a Jewish sweetheart who was raised by her Jewish cousin, Mordechai," He checked on Steve again, who looked a little lost now, "Are you following?"

"Yes, it's just... Is all of that important for the food?" He asked carefully.

"Yes." Eddie stated, "moving on. Joining the story now, the infamous Haman. Haman was an official in the king's court, and had an order from Ahasuerus himself, that everyone who saw Haman had to bow down to him. They all did, except-" Eddie stopped to see if Steve completes him, but he only tilted his head at him and stayed silent, "Mordechai, Steve! Mordechai didn't bow down to Haman!"

Steve was invested now, "Oh shit, he probably didn't take that well, did he?"

Eddie smiled in delight, "Oh, absolutely not, Stevie, dear. Haman also had a fragile ego, even more fragile than Ahasuerus. He got so upset, that he decided it's required not to only kill Mordechai, but to execute all the Jews in the Persian Empire!"

"What?? How can he do that??" Steve was on the edge of his seat, "Did Ahasuerus agree? Wait! Isn't he married to Mordechai's cousin??"

Eddie held Steve's face, "He is, Stevie, he is." He did a little twirl and continued his lecture, "Ahasuerus is married to Esther, but he doesn't know she's Jewish. Haman came to Ahasuerus and asked him if he can kill all the Jews, and the stupid king agreed. Haman went on with his plan, and even prepared a special tree for Mordechai's hanging," He paused, enjoying Steve's curious face, and proceeded, "The rumour got spread, Haman was gonna kill all the Jews in the Empire and no one was saying a thing," Steve shook his head, "I know, terrible. Mordechai walked around wearing bags, but it didn't do a thing. That until..." He stopped again, teasing Steve.

"Until what??" Steve burst and Eddie laughed.

"Until Ahasuerus found out Mordechai saved his life. You see, Ahasuerus had these two guards who planned to assassinate him, and Mordechai uncovered their plan and saved the king's life."

"And Mordechai didn't want credit for that? How did Ahasuerus find out?" Steve asked quickly.

"He told Esther to tell Ahasuerus. The guards were executed and Mordechai got promoted, but here things get complicated." He paused again.

"How??" Steve stood up and Eddie pushed him back into his seat, giggling.

"Ahasuerus summoned Haman, and asked him, 'what is to be done for the man whom the king wishes to honor?'" Eddie finger quoted the sentence, "Haman, who thought Ahasuerus was talking about him, told him to give him a city, dress him in fancy clothes, give him a horse and have him escorted around the capital for everyone to see. Ahasuerus accepted the idea, and told Haman to do all that to Mordechai."

"Yes!" Steve jumped, "Poetic justice!"

Eddie chuckled, "Yes, but Haman was still gonna kill all the Jews. He went around the capital with Mordechai and cursed every step, having his rage and hate fueled more and more."

"So what happened? Didn't Ahasuerus realize Haman wants to kill the person who saved his life?" Steve asked.

"I remind you, Ahasuerus was very dumb," Eddie answered, "He didn't care about Jews or not Jews, and he didn't even know Mordechai and Esther were Jewish themselves. So what happened, is that as the date came close, Esther started to fast -"

"Wait, what date?" Steve cut him mid-sentence.

"Oh, right," Eddie shook his head, "I forgot that part. When Haman decided to kill the Jews, he left it to fate to set the date. He basically rolled dice, and it fell on the thirteenth day of the Hebrew month Adar, so everyone knew when the mass killing was due. We call it Pur."

"That's intense..." Steve almost whispered, "So all the Jews were just waiting for their death?"

"Almost. They all fasted and wore simple clothes and grieved, but Esther, who was the closest to the king, took it a step further. She was having feasts where she wouldn't eat, and Ahasuerus was getting worried. He asked her why she wouldn't eat or drink, and she said an evil man wants to kill her and all her people. Ahasuerus got scared, and asked her who it is, and that he would kill him immediately." Eddie stopped.

"And?? You can't stop here! What happened?! Did all the Jews die??" Steve started pacing around in worry.

"Esther told Ahasuerus it's Haman who wants to kill all the Jews." Eddie said seriously and Steve started jumping in excitement, and Eddie smiled, "Ahasuerus, who finally found some brains, ordered to kill Haman, who was hanged on the same tree he prepared for Mordechai."

Steve clapped and hugged Eddie, "Yes! Amazing!"

Eddie laughed, "It really was. All the Jews were celebrating for days afterwards, partying and drinking, and everything was good." He hugged Steve back.

"This is such a cool story," Steve said with dreamy eyes, "But what does it have to do with the hamantashen? Wait, it has Haman's name in it??"

"Yes, but it's not like that," Eddie assured, "There are a few interpretations of the meaning of the hamantashen. Some say it symbolises his ears, some say it's his hat or his pockets, but the idea behind it is to celebrate his defeat." Eddie smiled in victory, and Steve smiled back.

"As we should!" He laughed, "But what are hamantashen anyway?"

"Oh, they're cookies. Triangular cookies with filling, traditionally it's poppyseed filling, but poppyseed is disgusting, so I'm putting chocolate." Eddie said and Steve chuckled.

"Of course you are. Can I... help you make them?"

Eddie nodded enthusiastically and the boys got to work. They kneaded the dough in turns, and put it to rest in the fridge for a few minutes. They cleaned up the counter and Steve started washing some dishes, and then closed the tap.

"What holiday is this? Like this story, and the cookies, what are we celebrating?"

Eddie beamed, "It's called Purim, from Pur, fate. We celebrate the defeat of Haman, and how we were saved by the Pur, instead of killed."

"It must be a very happy holiday then," Steve smiled, "Are there more traditions, other than eating Haman's ears?"

Eddie laughed, "Of course there are. First of all, we wear costumes. Purim is the holiday of changed fate, so like Haman was killed instead of the Jews, we symbolise that by being someone else for a few days. We also have a big feast and read the Megillah, the story I just told you," He smiled, "We also make gift baskets for each other, and donate food and money for those who need them. Another thing we do, and you're gonna like that, is to get so drunk, that we can't tell between Evil Haman and Good Mordechai," he giggled, "I know I like this one."

"Do you... Wanna do that?" Steve asked shyly and Eddie started laughing.

"I think you know the answer to that." He winked.

They took the dough out of the fridge, rolled it and cut circles into it with a glass. They then put chocolate in the middle of some, after Steve convinced Eddie to make some with strawberry jam too. They folded them into triangles and put them in the oven, and then Steve poured them newly opened wine.

"Happy Purim, Eddie," Steve clinked their glasses together.

"Happy Purim indeed, Stevie, L'Chaim," He clinked back and took a long sip.

"You made that sound again," Steve said, "Like in tuches."

Eddie started laughing so hard, he had to put his glass down, "Steve, god. Yes, it's the same sound," He kissed him wetly on the cheek, "but it's a very different word. L'Chaim means cheers in Hebrew. It translates to 'to life'. We celebrate life." He smiled, a warm feeling set in his chest. "We celebrate life." He said again, quietly, and Steve smiled at him in understanding.

"We celebrate life." Steve repeated and kissed Eddie slowly and deeply.

The oven rang a few minutes later. Eddie pulled the tray out and a warm, sweet smell filled the kitchen. He put the hamantashen on a plate and took it to the living room, and Steve followed with the already half-empty bottle of wine, and another one he found in the fridge.

Steve and Eddie spent the rest of the day feeding each other hamantashen, getting drunk out of their minds and kissing like it was their first time, again and again and again.

They both passed out on the couch, laying on top of each other, full of wine and hamantashen and love.

Celebrating Life.