#steve and mike

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve's half asleep on the couch when Dustin arrives the next day, and Robin lets him in.

“Hearts out,” Dustin demands immediately.

Steve winces. “Not a good idea, bud. My ribs are-”

“It's not your ribs,” Dustin interrupts. “You think I didn't see some blood when you were waving your heart around? Don't treat me like a baby, Steve, come on.”

Robin looks at him, and Steve shrugs.

“Okay,” he says, and Robin takes his heart out from her chest.

It looks better than it did yesterday, but it's still pretty pulpy, and Dustin goes pale.

“Steve,” he whispers, voice cracking.

“It's getting better,” Steve promises.

Dustin frowns, looking between him and Robin. “Are you having trouble breathing again? Why is Robin holding it?”

“It heals better when someone else has it,” Steve says. “Some kind of science thing.”

Dustin's frown deepens, then smooths out, and he holds his hands out to Robin. “My turn.”

“Dustin, I'm not going to ask you to-” Steve starts.

“You can't ask, I'm telling you I'm going to,” Dustin retorts. “I'm the first person who carried it, remember?”

Steve looks at Robin. She shrugs, and he can feel that she's not opposed to it, so he shrugs back. She hands his heart over to Dustin. There's some fumbling as Steve gives Robin's heart back to her and takes Dustin's instead, and then -

Huh.

Dustin is just as stubborn as he's always seemed, but underneath that is a quiet fear and a sense of love deeper than anything Steve's ever felt - other than from Robin.

“Come here.”

Steve gives him a hug - or as much of a hug as he can manage - then leans back on the couch again. “Breakfast's in the kitchen,” he says, already closing his eyes.

—

The next time he opens them, it's to the sound of half a dozen gremlins talking in what's probably supposed to be hushed tones.

“How did you all even get in here?” he asks.

They jump, then Dustin juts his chin out.

“I called them,” he says.

“We are here to help,” El says solemnly.

“Dustin told us what happened,” Lucas says.

Steve grimaces. “Look, you guys don't have to-”

“Will it work?” El asks.

Steve blinks at her. “Will what work?”

“If I try to heal your heart. Dustin says he looked it up, and it works best if it's someone you care about. Am I?”

Oh, that's just cheating. How is he supposed to protest with those eyes looking at him.

“Yeah, Ellie, of course you are. It'll work.”

She holds out her hands determinedly. "I don't have my powers. I couldn't save my - my dad, but I can do this. I can help you."

And that's that.

The next thing he knows, they've scheduled up a rotation along with Robin, and taken over his house, setting themselves up to watch TV or play games or do whatever else.

He finds himself alone with El, and he looks at her for a moment before asking, “Do you like cookies?”

Of course she likes cookies.

Steve can't actually do much work, but he can sit at the kitchen table and give directions, and she determinedly follows all of them as she puts together cookie dough.

He can feel the rough edges of her grief and her hopelessness, and he tries to give back as much support as he can.

She isn't alone.

“May I ask you something?” she asks, when a batch of cookies are in the oven and they're eating cookie dough.

“Sure,” he says.

“Dustin is not your brother.”

That's not a question, but he answers it anyway. “Not the way Mike is Nancy's brother or Will is Jonathan's, no.”

She frowns. “I don't understand,” she admits. “Mike says you are brave. That he likes you better now that you're not Nancy's boyfriend. I thought - you are like Mike.”

Oh, he is definitely remembering that for later. “Like Mike how?”

“Mike stepped off of a cliff for Dustin.”

Steve's brain screeches to a halt. “Mike what?”

“There were mouth breathers - bullies. They threatened to hurt Dustin if Mike didn't jump. He did. I caught him,” she's quick to reassure him, like that's what he's stuck on. “So - I thought you are like Mike. You protect your friends.”

“Like you, too,” Steve says, deciding to table the whole Mike thing for now. “You protect your friends.”

She smiles at him, a tiny, fleeting thing before her face scrunches in confusion. “But Max and Dustin and Lucas were not always your friends. Max says you jumped in front of a demodog the day you met her. I don't understand.”

Yeah, Steve's not sure he really understands either - a feeling she must pick up, because she looks even more confused.

“I just - wanted to help.” It sounds even lamer than it did when he said that about cleaning up the graffiti at the theater, but it's what he's got. “Maybe - we don't have to be like anyone, you know? We can just be like us. We can just want to help.”

Her expression smooths out, and he can feel - she kind of likes that.

“What I like,” she says, which is clearly a call back to something else with the way she's feeling, though he has no idea what.

It's okay. He doesn't really have to know what, he thinks - they understand each other.

And they have cookies.

—

He calls Mrs. Byers, just to make sure she knows where Will and El are.

She does, of course, but he also wants to check on her.

Her voice is unsteady and thick with grief, but she tells him not to worry about her, asks how the kids are doing, how he is.

He doesn't want to worry her, either, but he tells her what the kids’ plan is, how hard they're trying to help him.

How guilty he feels about it.

She's gentle when she tells him to let them help, that they care about him and they want to be able to do something good. He promises he will, and that he'll look after them.

He wishes he could do more.

—

Mike's up next, like he wants to get it over with.

Steve wants to tease him about the whole thinking he's brave thing, but when he's hit with everything Mike feels - worry and love and pride and protectiveness and how can I keep them all safe what am I supposed to do, he finds he doesn't want to give him a hard time.

Mike's angry at him, but he's angry at him because he's scared. Because he doesn't want to like him, doesn't want to trust him, but he does.

Mike likes him a whole lot, actually.

And Steve guesses that Mike can feel his own slightly amused fondness, because the kid scowls at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve replies.

He thinks for a while, while Mike sullenly sits at the kitchen table with him and pretends like Steve doesn't know that he actually has feelings.

Eventually, even though he knows it's going to get him scoffed at, he says, “Do you know why teams have co-captains?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Because they're too stupid to figure out how to play themselves?”

He tamps down on his irritation, though he knows not quickly enough, because Mike looks smug.

“So there's more than one person to make the hard choices. So if one person can't be there, the other can. So no one has to be in two places at once. So one person doesn't have to be everything to everyone,” Steve continues.

Mike scoffs, but Steve can still feel that it resonates with him. “Your stupid sports game is way less important than real life danger.”

“Yeah, sure. But so is your dragons game, and you guys use that all the time.”

He can feel that Mike wants to protest, though he also reluctantly thinks that Steve's right.

“So, what, you think we should pick captains for our Party?” Mike asks.

“Nah. You're already the party leader, right?” Steve asks. He knows that's how Mike sees himself, knows that's the pressure he puts on himself.

Now more than ever.

“But last time and this time, we had to split up, right? And you can't be everywhere.”

“You don't get it,” Mike says. “It's my job to protect them. How am I supposed to do it if I can't look out for everyone?”

“You get some help. Look - that's what I'm here for, all right? Let me help watch out for you guys.”

Mike snorts. “You?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think it's worked out so far.”

Mike glances away. Whatever he's thinking of, there's the faint memory of fear and an unbidden, reluctant wash of relief, of safety.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever, you're in the Party.”

Steve doesn't point out that he's already been in it, according to some of them. He has a feeling that's the most he's going to get out of Mike, for now.

It's enough.

—

It's easy, with Max and Lucas.

Probably easier than it should be.

He and Max swap, and he sits with her angry, confused grief. He can feel her daring him to say something, so - he doesn't.

He opens his arms, and he says, “Come here,” and she's exhausted enough that she does.

He hugs her tight while she cries into his chest, angry with herself for crying and angry with Billy for being so terrible and saving her life anyway. Angry with Steve, too, but that one's too complicated for him to figure out with the echoes of the feelings he gets from her.

“I'm here,” he says after a while, even though it makes her cry harder. “I'm right here.”

He sits with Lucas, after, staring at the door where El and Max have retreated to try to get some sleep.

“I don't know how to help her,” Lucas says.

He doesn't sound lost, but his heart beats in Steve's chest, and he can feel it anyway.

“Me either,” Steve admits, because he knows Lucas can feel it from him, too.

“What am I supposed to do?” Lucas asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “Be there for her. Don't push her, but make sure she knows you're there. That you're not going anywhere.”

Some of the helplessness fades, and Lucas nods.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

They're quiet for a little bit.

“I want to try out for the basketball team,” Lucas says suddenly, then shoots an almost shy little look over at Steve at his pleased surprise.

“That's awesome, man. You want to get some more practice in after a few weeks?” Steve asks.

Lucas nods, then hesitates. “I don't think that Mike and Dustin and Will are going to like it.”

Steve frowns. “They like me okay.”

“Well, yeah, but that's different. We used to think you were a douchebag.”

It startles a laugh out of Steve. “Wow, thanks, Sinclair.”

Lucas shrugs, unapologetic. “We know you aren't now. But they're going to think I'm abandoning them.”

Steve considers. “Are you?”

“No! I'll still play D&D and stuff with them, we'll still be the Party. I want to prove you can do both. I want - I don't want people to mess with them. I want to do what you did.”

Steve swallows, suddenly a little choked up. He wishes he could blame it on his injuries, but he knows damn well Lucas can feel how touched he is.

“You're gonna be great, man,” he says when he has himself more under control. “You're gonna be way better than I ever was.”

—

When Will's up in the little rotation the gremlins have worked out, he lingers a few steps away, hesitant.

"Hey, man, you don't have to," Steve says awkwardly. "I can tell the other gremlins that you're needed at home."

Will looks at him for a moment. "Do I count?"

"What?" Steve asks.

"You didn't hunt a demodog with me, or barricade a bus in a junkyard, or fight off a bully, or go to the Upside Down tunnels, or invade a Russian bunker. You just let me into movies for free and let me hang out at your house with everyone. Is that enough?" Will's tone had been very matter of fact, but it goes a little bit more tenuous there.

"Yeah," Steve says. "Yeah, it is."

Will comes up to the table, holding his hands out expectantly, and Steve drops his heart into them.

It doesn't hurt, but by now, he doesn't expect it to. Steve's not sure he'll ever be able to thank any of the kids for this, but if Joyce is right, if being able to do something helps them after everything they just went through, then he guesses he's glad for that.

The awkwardness lingers a little after they've exchanged hearts. Probably because now they can feel an echo of each other's feelings. It makes Steve scramble for a topic.

"Mike and Lucas apologize to you yet?" Steve asks.

Will looks at him in confusion. "What for?"

"You think I didn't notice they've been kind of shitty? My money's on Mike being more insensitive about it, but Lucas has been right there with him, you know? Ditching Dustin half the time since he's been back, and before that it was always you playing fifth wheel."

Will looks a little surprised. “How'd you even notice that?”

"Because the same thing happened to me," Steve admits.

"I doubt it," Will mutters.

"It did!" Steve insists. "I had two best friends growing up. Then in middle school, they started dating, and suddenly every time we hung out I was the third wheel. It drove me nuts at first."

Will frowns. "Wait, but. You were always dating girls."

"Well, yeah, because I knew I was supposed to. I did a lot of things because it was what I was supposed to do." Steve'd liked all of them well enough, enjoyed dating them - especially once he started having sex and realized how good at it he could be - but he's not going to pretend like there isn't a reason his relationships didn't last very long.

Nancy'd been the only one he could see a forever with.

The kid's brows furrow, like he's not really sure what to do with that information.

"My point is-” Steve points at him with his spoon. “-don't let them rush you, or make you feel like you have to do something you don't want to do just to fit in with them. They're a lot better friends than mine were; they'll understand."

Will considers that. "Jonathan says I should never like something just because people tell me I should. That it's okay that I'm a freak, because he's a freak, too.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “What'd you say back?”

Will scrunches his nose. “I asked if that was why he didn't have any friends.”

He shouldn't, but Steve gives a little snort of laughter. Oh, no, Will is funny.

“Your brother has friends,” Steve protests, to counter his laughter. “He's got Nancy and me.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Nancy's his girlfriend.”

“Point in your favor,” Steve admits. “Still leaves me. And Robin will be his friend.”

Will toys with an apple from the fruit basket on the island. “Are you and Jonathan even really friends? It's not like you guys hang out.”

“Ouch, Byers, I thought you were the nice one,” Steve says, giving the kid a fond little smile to show he doesn't mean it. “There's different kinds of friends, I guess. Did, uh. Did Jonathan ever tell you how I got involved with all this?”

“Not really.” Will says with a shrug. “Just that you and him and Nancy fought a demogorgon.”

“That's because your brother's a good guy,” Steve tells him, then nudges the chair across from him.

It only moves a handful of inches, making Steve grimace - he'd wanted to kick it all the way out from under the table, but clearly he's not at full kicking strength. Still, it does the job, and Will takes a seat.

“I saw Nancy and Jonathan together on her bed one night, when she and I had just started dating. She couldn't tell me about the Upside Down stuff yet, but I knew she was lying, and I thought they were seeing each other behind my back.”

Will's looking at him, eyes huge, and it makes guilt twist in his stomach at the thought of what he said to Jonathan that day.

“We got in a fight the next day,” Steve admits. “I was really mean to him. So I went to your house later to apologize, and that's when I stumbled in on him and Nancy setting their trap. I gotta tell you, it was a really rude awakening, getting my apology speech interrupted by a demogorgon.”

“Try getting your bike ride home interrupted by one,” Will says dryly.

For a moment, Steve wonders if he should feel guilty bringing it up and potentially traumatizing the kid, but - Will doesn't look like he wants to be tiptoed around, and he can feel the faint trepidation from the kid's heart beating in his chest. The fear that someone's going to treat you different.

So Steve snorts instead. “Okay, you've got me beat,” he concedes. “You win the gold medal of demogorgon attacks.”

“Thanks.” It's just as dry, but Will's smiling at Steve like he said the right thing, so he'll take it. “Do I get an actual medal?”

Steve gives a surprised little laugh. “You know what? Sure. Come on.”

His pace is slow as he heads upstairs, and out of the corner of his eye, he's pretty sure he sees Will's hands twitch like he's debating trying to help him up. Steve resolutely ignores it until they get to his room, and then he unearths his first place medal from the medley swimming relay in eighth grade.

“Hang on, let me-” Steve digs around for some duct tape and a sharpie, then slaps a strip of tape on the back of the medal, pressing it down to get it to stick well. He writes demogorgan attack on the tape, blows on it to get it to dry, then hands it to Will with all the solemnity as if he was actually presenting him with a first place medal.

“Oh my God,” Will says, looking a little gobsmacked. “You're a nerd. You're one of us!”

“Hey! You spread that around, and I'll take your medal back!” Steve threatens.

“No way,” Will retorts. “Come back when you get dragged into the Upside Down by a demogorgon for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Steve says. “It's all yours.”

Will is beaming at him, and Steve kind of hates to ruin the mood - but he also really has to sit down. The downside to having them all on a rotation of heart exchanges is that he can't hide when it gets really bad.

He sits down on his bed while he can still do it without just dropping down onto the mattress. Will watches him for a moment, then carefully sits on the bed too, a foot or so away from him.

“So - that's why you and Jonathan are friends? You apologized and you fought a monster together?” Will asks.

“Yeah, I guess so. Look, there's different kinds of friends, right? There's the friends you have because you share a class together, or the ones you play the same sport - or, uh, hobby with, or the ones you just hang out with sometimes. And then there's the good ones, the ones who know you. Jonathan and I might not hang out outside of school, but I know he's got my back, and I've got his. Any time he needed me, I'd be right there.”

His feelings about Jonathan are - complicated, but that's the truth. Whatever else, Steve cares about the guy a hell of a lot, trusts him like he trusts very few others.

Steve's not sure what Will can pick up from him, but it must be enough to convince him that Steve's sincere, because he just quietly says, “Oh.”

“That goes for you, too,” Steve tells him. “Okay? You need me, I'm there.”

Will's cheeks go just a little pink, and there's a faint flutter of some kind in his heart, but Steve can't really tell what it is. “Okay.”

They're quiet for a moment, but it's not really awkward anymore - or at least, not beyond Steve trying to figure out how long before he's going to be able to get himself back downstairs without leaning on anyone.

“Did you date Nancy because you were supposed to?” Will asks after a while.

“Nancy's different,” Steve replies automatically, hearing an echo of himself saying the same thing to Dustin the day they were looking for Dart, and knowing it's just as true now as it was then, even if he's over her now - or as over her as he thinks he'll ever be.

Will mulls that over. “So - I might find a girl one day that's different, even if I've never liked girls before?”

There's something about the way that Will says it that sends him back into the Starcourt bathroom with Robin, watching her stare at him as he said but Tammy Thompson's a girl, waiting for it to click into place for him, and -

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit, he thinks he's accidentally implied something he didn't really mean to imply here. He thinks about trying to stutter out a clarification, that when Steve said he did it because he was supposed to, he didn't mean that he didn't like girls - he loves girls, girls are fantastic -

But.

But there's Eddie.

Will's voice had been so small, and whatever he can feel from Steve's heart in his chest is making his eyes go wide and scared, and it -

“Maybe,” Steve finds himself saying before he really knows what he's talking about. “But maybe not. And that's - that's okay. Whoever you like, or don't like, whoever you want to date or not date, it's okay.”

Steve pauses, feels like that isn't enough, and scrunches his face up. “Unless they're like, objectively terrible. If you get a crush on some little asshole, I can and will make fun of you.”

There's a ghost of a smile there. “Like Dustin and Suzie?” he asks.

“Way worse than Dustin and Suzie,” Steve says. “I had to be nice about Suzie, because everyone thought Dustin was making her up. I'm talking no holds barred here.”

—

"Do you think that guy's dead?"

Steve doesn't have to ask what guy Dustin means. He grimaces a little, because even if he wanted to, there's no way he can lie with their hearts in each other's chests. "We blew up their lab, man, I think most of them are dead."

Dustin frowns, looking like he's not sure if he thinks that's a good enough answer.

"I guess," he says finally. Then, so quietly Steve can barely hear it, Dustin asks, "Am I a bad person?"

"What?" Steve asks, thrown. "You've saved the world how many times now?"

Dustin gives him a look. "The same amount of times that you have."

Steve bumps Dustin's shoulder with the back of his knuckles. "Saved Nancy and Jonathan, maybe, but not sure how much world saving I did the first time. You got one up on me."

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Basically the same."

"All right, all right," Steve says. "We've saved the world a few times. Bad people don't usually do that."

Dustin fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "Billy did. Kind of. He helped, at the end. Does that make him a good person?"

Shit, Steve is way too concussed for this.

"No," he says after a little while. "I don't think so. Maybe if he had more time, but I don't think one good thing that he did while he was already dying makes up for all the other bad things he did."

Dustin screws up his face in concentration, then nods. "Me too."

Steve'd really like to just end the conversation there, but he's pretty sure Dustin needs him to keep going, and, well.

He's always going to be there when Dustin needs him.

"What makes you think you're a bad person?" he asks.

Dustin stares at his hands for a little while. "I don't feel bad."

Steve tries to make sense of that for a moment, then gives up. "You lost me."

"I killed that guy," Dustin says, looking back up at him almost defiantly. "And I don't feel bad. I'm not sorry he's dead."

Guilt stabs through him so strongly that he knows Dustin must feel some of it, and he grimaces a little when Dustin frowns at him.

"What was that?" Dustin asks.

"I'm sorry that you had to do that," Steve says. "It's not fair."

Dustin scoffs. "None of this is fair."

All right, yeah, Dustin's got a point. Okay, new tactic.

"Look at me, Dust," Steve says softly.

Dustin pulls a face. "I am looking at you."

"Ugh, no, I mean look at me." Steve waves a hand at himself.

"You look like shit," Dustin tells him.

"Exactly," Steve agrees. "You know why I look like shit?"

There's an echo of something remarkably similar to the guilt Steve just felt.

"Because of me," Dustin says, voice small.

Shit.

"What? No! How is this your fault?" Steve asks.

"I pushed the Russian message thing. You only looked into it because I wanted to," Dustin says.

"That's not - I looked into it for the same reason I helped you look for Dart, okay? Because I'm in this, and we're in this together, and if there's something out there, it's going to find us. That's not your fault."

Dustin doesn't look convinced.

"There is nothing that's going to keep me away from being in this with you, okay? Even if you didn't push me. Even if you didn't even tell me. I'd find out, and then I'd be mad." He pauses. "Like, really mad. Like telling your mom you ditched me and got in trouble so she doesn't let you leave the house for a year mad."

"Okay, okay," Dustin says, but he looks happier. "So what was your point, then?"

His point?

Right, his point.

"I look like shit because of the dead guy and his buddies." Part of Steve thinks he should hedge around this, try to sugarcoat it a little, but - treating Dustin like he's a kid who can't handle this isn't going to do anything. "You saw my heart, Dustin. You think the guys who did that were just going to let me walk out of there?"

Dustin looks at him, eyes big. "No," he admits quietly.

"The only reason I'm still standing here is because of you. I mean it, man - I'd be dead without you. And it sucks that you had to do that, and I wish I could have been faster or better, saved you from being the one that had to, but I'm not sorry that he's dead, either. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe I'm a bad person because I would do the same thing, because I'd have killed all of them to protect you and I wouldn't feel bad at all."

Dustin's lip quivers a little. "You're not a bad person, Steve."

"Neither are you," Steve tells him.

The kid's eyes look suspiciously wet. Steve shifts, straightening up a little and lifting his arms.

"Come here."

Dustin drops down onto the couch, squished into his side. Steve drapes his arm over his shoulder, gingerly hugging him, and pretending that he can't hear Dustin's quiet sniffles or feel the shake of his shoulders.

"You're like the best person I know," Steve says softly.

"You too," Dustin replies, voice a little wet. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna be fine."

His heart might not ever be the same, but with all of them trying so hard to keep it together and help it heal - it makes him feel pathetic, but he kind of thinks he might be even better.

It seems a good enough response for Dustin, who stays tucked in against his side, eyes slipping shut like he's going to fall asleep right there.

Steve wants to bitch about it, but he also doesn't want to move, so he just lets it happen.

"I used to be so jealous of Mike and Will," Dustin mutters sleepily after a while.

"Yeah?" Steve asks absently.

"All this sucks, and they had Nancy and Jonathan," Dustin says.

"Mmm," Steve agrees, feeling pretty close to sleep himself.

"I'm not anymore though."

"No?" Steve asks.

"Nah," Dustin mumbles. "You're way better than Nancy and Jonathan."

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

----

Part 8

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally @thatdamnfan @justalittledrainbamage @strangerfolks @disrespectedgoatman @amber-ambience @anxietyfulloption @thepossummoldypasta

[findafight]

RE the posts about Nancy and Jon just kinda leaving the kids to their own devices; I find it very telling that in season four that despite Steve complaining a number of times about being the babysitter, none of the kids raise any objections to him being the babysitter, despite what it implies about them. It’s Nancy who reminds him “they aren’t babies anymore”.

I used to find that kind of funny, the idea that they might kind of like being babied a bit by Steve (for whom indulging younger kids is still a novelty). And it’s fascinating to me how Mike in particular, despite regarding Steve with utter disdain, feels entitled to Steve’s time and attention. Even *months* after Nancy has broken up with him, and Mike could just follow her lead and not have anything more to do with him, *Mike’s* the one ringing the service bell until Robin shouts for Steve.

The kids are maybe a little bit clingier than we or the characters give them credit for, eh?

(This reading gets really interesting when you consider that out of all the teens/adults, Steve’s probably worked/fought alongside them the most and knows full well what they’re capable of.)

I think Steve being someone the younger teens look up to as both a friend and as a leader is probably key. The age difference between them is enough that it makes a difference in how they look up to him and small enough that they'll be functional equals given a few years, but that they'll still defer to him. They like Steve! I think they like knowing that there's someone older willing to call some of the shots and take the heat y'know? Even if they also want to contribute to the decisions it's nice for them to know he has their backs.

Tbh I think Mike and Steve butt heads for the bit. Like they biker and groan about each other but Steve still thinks of Mike as maybe kind of annoying (as are. All fourteen year olds 🫡) one of his (mildly ungrateful) little friends. Of course it would be Mike ringing the bell repeatedly, he and Mike show friendly affection by being obnoxious motherfuckers to each other.

Sooo correct that what makes it different than Nancy and Jon, was that even though they've all gone through Upside Down stuff, Nancy and Jon went through it together, while Steve went through it, starting in S2, with the young teens. They see him and even though they stop Billy from killing him he saves them (specifically Mike!!) In the tunnels. It sort of establishes Steve as someone they KNOW is going to take charge to help them. They can and have! Mike knows he can rely on Nancy, probably, but he doesn't have the same...proof? I guess? That he does of Steve.

I think it's natural for them, even as they get older, to defer to Steve. He's sort of invincible to them, and they trust him. Does this make sense? They can call their own shots but I think maybe they'll also go "right, Steve?" Even if just in their brains.

[ostriches-because-i-said-so]

Listen, listen, I'm just gonna say it. If Will and Robin get to be the chaotic queer duo of WLW/MLM solidarity, then I want at least one conversation between Steve and Mike. One! That does not include a, "so you really like my sister huh" type joke convo- NO I want bonding. Even if it's a throw away heart to heart that lasts 3 seconds. Even if it's not about byler or Will and Robin being friends, give me a moment. Maybe something that's just a bit of fluff/angst like, "Y'know Dustin misses hanging out with you guys outside of DnD... Like a lot" and some more contemplation from Mike about how his "obsession" (if I can call it that) with El, or maybe just having a girlfriend in general, has been affecting the other people in his life and his relationships with them.

Or maybe I just think Steve Harrington's a badass bisexual mom who whoops ass and takes care of his kids, and I want to see that with more than just Dustin (and Max kinda) for just a few scenes.

I'd also be happy with a similar heart to heart scene with Mike and Nancy mostly because I wish we got to see more of them together.

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Wheeler

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.6k || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Karen Wheeler stands in the open door of her own house, shock etched into her gaping mouth and wide eyes. She reaches out towards what Steve assumes is the wound across his forehead and into his hairline, an angry red from getting the stitches removed earlier that morning. He sees the moment she decides against it, dropping her hand back to clutch the door handle. "I'm sorry, Steve, but Nancy isn't home right now."

He accepts the change in direction with a sharp pang of disappointment, forgetting amidst all of the bullshit his life has been lately that Karen Wheeler loves her children and the people close to them. And that's not Steve, not anymore.

She’s wearing the red and green sweater she bought on sale last winter. Karen had thrown her handful of oversized shopping bags into the middle of the living room floor while Nancy and Steve were cuddled up watching reruns on the couch. Nancy tried making up an excuse for them to skip the fashion show, but Karen looked so disappointed– plus Steve really does love shopping. So they’d spent the next twenty minutes pouring over each piece she found. The sweater was one of his favorites, and she’s now paired with simple light-wash jeans and a casual pony-tail. 

She looks good, but Karen Wheeler always knows how to put herself together enough to fool anyone, even her own family– like mother, like daughter.

"It's ok," he replies, tone bursting with false cheer. "I was hoping to talk to you, actually. About Mike."

Although Steve practically lived with the Wheeler's for the past year– much to Ted's chagrin– Steve and Mike tended to avoid interactions at all costs. Their arranged seats for dinner were at opposite sides of the table. While Steve and Nancy watched a movie in the living room, Mike would hide upstairs. And whenever Mike beat them to the remote, he would steal Nancy into the basement. Steve was always cordial when he could be, but Mike would only reply with dirty looks or a roll of his eyes.

So when Karen sighs and waves him to follow her into the kitchen, he's surprised that she seems like she’s been expecting him. He takes his normal seat at the table and she hands him a glass of iced tea with lemon on the side. The familiarity clogs his throat, and he thinks the slight twist of her mouth means she's stuck in the same moment, a nostalgia for affection neither of them had a choice in ending, but with an ending all the same.

"Mike told me you got into a fight with a boy from school, but I never imagined–" Karen gestures at his face, mottled brown and yellow like bruised fruit. One scrutinous glance from Karen Wheeler has him mentally cataloging the numerous injuries decorating his face, and he can feel them all at once. 

The swelling in his eye has gone back to normal. His lip's scabbed over for the third time and he can feel the edges peel away where he absently pokes at it with his tongue. Steve wishes he could hide the evidence of his failure in the same way he can with the headaches, fuzziness, and the night terrors. The stiffness in his hands and neck, and the high-pitched static in his ears.

"Yeah, looks like I'm not the best fighter in town." His laugh is hollow. She knows it in the tilt of his lips. He knows she’s figured him out by the tap, tap, tap of her foot.

"Mike said you were protecting them," she says, lilting up at the end in question. "He said something about the new girl, Max, and how her brother didn't care much for Lucas."

When he nods, she pulls out the chair next to him. Her normal spot at the table, Steve on one side and Holly on the other. He never really understood why Nancy and Mike always seemed annoyed by the way she was always around, or how they felt genuinely misunderstood when Karen would ask about their days. Maybe they saw Ms. Byers carve her way into another dimension to save her son, setting a bar so high it forced them to wonder if their mom would do the same. Not realizing some parents wouldn't notice their child missing in the first place.

It's not a competition, Steve repeats to himself whenever he feels that familiar thick bitterness climb up his throat. The Wheeler’s lives aren’t better or worse from one his, just different.

Karen pats his fisted hands, pulling him from his reverie. He unclenches his teeth to take a sip of his favorite drink, and she smiles at him. "Is that what you came to talk about, Steve? About the fight?"

"Kind of," he answers. "I'm worried that Max's brother won't– that maybe it'll happen again. And I want the kids to feel safe, so I was hoping you'd let me watch out for Mike when he's not home. I've already talked with Mrs. Henderson and the Sinclair's, and they're ok with me driving the kids to and from school, hanging out at my house until they're done with work. Stuff like that. Max's mom's alright with it too, not that you know her, I guess."

He takes another large drink to stop his rambling. Talking with the other kids' parents wasn't easy for him– well, except for Claudia, who welcomed him with open arms and a slightly painful kiss on his forehead. But now all he can think of is the fact that he can't remember the last time Karen Wheeler hugged him and that she probably never will again.

"Do you think Mike would feel safe with you?" The question cuts through him. He looks up to see genuine softness in her eyes, and Steve’s forced to realize he's not actually sure what Mike would think. He'd only thought of the kids being together, all in one spot where he can see them and know for certain they’re alright without having to drive all over town in his pajamas in the dead of night just so he can be absolutely certain. "I know Nancy forgave you pretty quickly for what happened last year. And since I've gotten to know you, I've seen you grow and change for the better. But Mike," she trails off.

"I know." He’s not sure of what else to say. How did he get this far without even considering what Mike would want? He spent weeks planning what he'd say to everyone's parents, assuming the kids would be ok with it. How could he be stupid enough to remember that, no matter how hard he fights, Mike’s never quit hating him. "I'm not sure what to do to get him to forgive me."

"My boy might be stubborn," she says, "but he knows right from wrong, and he knows a good person when he sees one." Karen stands from the table, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she bends down to look him in the eye. "If you talk with Mike and he's ok with it, then I'm ok with it." She pats him on the shoulder and he moves to follow her where she’s headed to the side door leading out to the garage.

They find Mike kneeling on the floor, bike flipped upside down and fingers covered in grease as he holds the chain in front of him. Without looking up at them, he huffs, annoyed and frustrated. "Mom, I told you I'd be done before dinner, okay? Jesus–"

"Hey, language," Steve chides in time with Karen. They share a smile until the moment's severed by Mike's shrill screech.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Instead of scolding him once more, Karen gives Steve's arm a last reassuring squeeze before he hears the door close behind him. Mike stares at him, confused and impatient. Steve supposes he can't blame the kid, but it doesn't change the fact he doesn't know what to say.

Steve takes a cautious step down off the entry mat, the hard concrete floor shooting spikes of cold through his socked feet. Mike stands and takes a step back, wiping his greasy fingers on his pants, and he finds himself feeling a little bad for Karen when she inevitably finds them in the laundry pile.

Might as well rip the band-aid off.

"I want to be your babysitter."

"Fuck no!"

"Hey, I said language, Wheeler! How many damn times–" he trails off, the automatic response dying out as Mike's answer settles into his brain. "Why?" It comes out sounding small, more desperate than he likes.

"Why would I want you as my babysitter?” He throws his head back, barking a laugh so full of hate it reminds Steve of himself, of his father. “You think you can get whatever you want just because you've got money and hair and a fancy car. You've convinced everyone to forgive you, and that you're a 'good guy', but you're still just King Steve.” 

Mike throws the chain down on the ground between them, and Steve flinches on reflex. The tantrum unfolding in front of him is red and swollen and hurts more than the cuts on his face. 

It leaves Steve momentarily frozen, long enough for Mike to dash towards the side door and out into the yard. He follows Mike around front to the driveway, socks damp and cold with melted snow. Steve wraps his arms around himself, jacket on the hook inside the front door with only a maroon Henley to fight away the chill of a dark, winter evening. Mike isn’t faring any better in jeans and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt, but Steve breathes a small sigh of relief to see the kid’s at least got shoes on.

"Mike, look, I'm sorry–"

"You're sorry?" Mike yells, turning to get in Steve's face. "Do you even know what you're sorry for?"

Headlights blind them as Nancy pulls into the driveway, hurrying out of the driver's side door. Steve takes a step towards her when he hears another car door close. Jonathan rounds the front of the car from the passenger’s side, taking his place shoulder-to-shoulder with Nancy as they stare at him in confusion.

"What's going on?" Nancy asks, gesturing to the both of them.

Mike scoffs. "King Steve here thinks he's going to be my babysitter just because he's charmed everyone else’s parents into thinking he’s a good person now." He's looking at her like she's in on the joke, but she's looking at Steve with surprised awe in her eyes. Brief butterflies fill Steve's chest, quickly dying out when Jonathan takes Nancy's hand. He sees her squeeze his grip, yet she doesn't look away.

"Steve?" Her eyebrow's arched in question, and even Jonathan tilts his head as they wait for an explanation.

He somehow can't find the words. They're trapped in the fog behind his eyes, and each time he thinks he's grasped it, all he finds are nightmares. 

You weren't there, you left me! You left me and I was scared and alone and I almost died because you weren’t there and youleftmeyouleftmeyouleftme–

“Nance.” A small whisper, a plea. Jonathan squeezes her hand but Steve couldn’t care less. There’s only one thing now that matters. “I just want them to be safe, please.” She frowns, pulling Jonathan in her wake as she stands in front of Steve. Nancy’s gaze pierces through him, and he watches as she catalogs each and every one of his injuries. 

Steve closes his eyes as she gently runs her hand over the cut on his forehead and into his hair. They never talked after they made it back to the house. He doesn’t blame her for it, at least he tries not to. She’d been concerned with Mike, flying to his side as soon as her and Jon had stepped through the door. Mike poured himself over Will’s limp body draped in Jonathan’s arms, and Nancy had wrapped herself around him from behind. It was beautiful and painful and it was in that moment he knew Jonathan Byers was the perfect man for a girl like Nancy Wheeler.  

Steve hears her sigh, and as he holds back tears when her touch leaves him unmoored, Steve looks up to see Nancy and Jonathan share a look of understanding he’s never experienced from her. The way she looks at Jonathan isn’t with what he now understands as motherly exasperation. When Nancy gazes at Jonathan, she sees a partner. Someone who will stand next to her in a fight and support her the way she supports him. 

Jonathan needs her just as much as Nancy needs him back. But she’s never needed Steve, not really. He’s only ever needed her, and that only ever weighed her down. 

He knows she sees the desperation for purpose in his eyes. The drive to be useful if not wanted in full. As Steve holds back tears when she removes her hand from his hair, he’s momentarily bolstered by Jonathan patting his shoulder. A gesture in solidarity that leaves Steve stunned enough to miss Nancy turning to Mike.

"Mike," she says, firm and unyielding in a way only Nancy Wheeler can sound. "You know Steve’s changed. None of us would be standing here if he was still just King Steve. He kept you safe from the demodogs and from Billy. You know he deserves a second chance so why won’t you give it to him?"

Mike sneers at her. "Just because you were stupid enough to give him a second chance doesn't mean I will. He's an asshole, Nancy! He was an asshole to you and you act like it never happened. You just took him back and he got to have Christmas with us like we all loved him. How did you expect us to like him when you couldn't even pretend to?”

Her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open, and she steps back to gain some space. Steve's never seen this kind of anger in a kid before– deep seeded and heavy– and it seems Nancy's just as surprised. 

He turns to face Steve now, screaming at him for all of Hawkin’s to hear. Light from the kitchen window flashes across the snow covered front lawn, and Steve absently wonders if Karen predicted how this would all go and wants to see for herself.

“You're an idiot if you think you’re the one who kept us safe. You got your face beat in while Max did all the work. Why would you think you're good enough to be my babysitter when all you are is a punching bag?" Steve watches Mike's face bloom red across his cheeks and ears, flamed with rage built up over a year of sharing a dining room table with a guy he hates.

When Mike’s first punch hits one of Steve’s bruised ribs, he tries his best not to wheeze and fall back. The second hit sends sparks of lightning through his chest. Even through the searing pain and the high-pitched ringing in his ears, he finally understands that Mike’s right. Steve really is stupid, in a way. 

Because when Mike looks at Steve, he sees every bully who’s ever pushed him down or called his friends names. Every popular asshole who looks at him in the halls and only sees the weird kid who plays DnD and joins AV club. 

Mike looks at Steve and refuses to see the difference between him and bullies like Billy Hargrove. People who find outlets for their anger through violence and scathing slurs instead of brains and compassion. 

Steve’s always been angry. An angry child raised in an angry home by an angry father. All out in the open and easy to see by anyone who looked their way, not that anyone did. Best to avoid Richard and Elizabeth Harrington if they could, but obvious all the same. So Steve tries not to be too hard on himself that he failed to recognize the same undirected anger in Mike’s eyes. It’s not so obvious with the Wheelers.

Maybe monsters and bullies and missing friends drove an angry and confused Mike to his father, unbothered and aloof, leaving Mike with only the same bullies and monsters to model his anger.

Maybe Nancy looked to her own mother to find a polite, mild-mannered woman who kept her feelings close to her chest. Steve only ever saw Nancy as passionate with a fierce sense of justice, when she’s just a girl angry that her best friend is dead and there was nothing she could do about it. How their relationship fell apart because Steve’s never seen a girl filled with rage, so he couldn’t recognize the fire in her eyes for what it was, and how Jonathan’s eyes burn the same.

Maybe, Steve thinks, the four people standing in this driveway are all searching for outlets for the same, too-big emotions bubbling inside of them, and Mike’s picked Steve. 

Good. Because now Steve finally has a purpose for Mike Wheeler.

He’s not sure when his arms wrapped so tight around the boy screaming into his chest that he couldn’t move, but he feels Mike shaking against him as his small, grease-covered fists continue to hit him in the back, each strike slower and softer than the last. Steve’s surprised to see Nancy silently crying in Jonathan’s arms, her hands clenched in the front of Byers’ jacket and knuckles as white as the snow around them.

Steve’s whispered apologies morph into just a string of slurred, repetitive noises. He knows the anger never really goes away, but there’s only so much energy to burn before it flares out and dies. 

Steve’s socks are soaked through, his toes are filled with painful pinpricks, and there’s a wet spot on the front of his jacket where Mike’s head rests against his chest. Whether it’s just a towel and a punching bag or a babysitter and protector, Steve will be whatever Mike Wheeler needs him to be. 

Drained, Mike finally slumps against him. Steve holds him up.

“Mike,” Steve says softly, moving the boy back far enough to look him in the eye, “it’s ok if you don’t want me around, or if you don’t want me to be your babysitter. I want you to feel safe, and if that’s not with me– then it’s not me.”

The kid’s face is a wreck of red splotches, puffy eyes, and a leaky nose. Steve smiles, as soft and gentle as he can manage as he tries to pry Mike’s dirty fingers from his sweater. The small hands hold firm, and he watches as Mike does his best to stop from hyperventilating. 

“What about Will?” Mike asks.

Before Steve can ask what he means, Jonathan cuts him off.

“I’ll talk with Will,” he responds, smiling at Steve. He lets out a small chuckle. “I think Will’s been wanting to meet you anyway. He’s heard enough about you from Dustin and Lucas that I think he feels a bit left out.”

“Really?” Everyone jumps at the volume of Steve’s voice, shocked.

“Yeah, man,” Jonathan laughs again. “They won’t shut up about how cool you are. I think even Max likes you.”

The scab on Steve’s lip breaks open, his smile so wide he can feel it prickle behind his eyes. He hoped the kids had grown used to him by now. Fairly confident that Dustin, Lucas, and Max enjoyed having him around, even if it was just to poke fun at him. All in good spirits, and that’s ok with him.

Knowing Will Byers, of all kids, wants the chance to get to know him is more than Steve could’ve ever hoped.

“I’d love that,” Steve chokes out, releasing his hands from Mike’s shoulders to rub the wetness from his eyes. 

“Come over Thursday morning. Early, like six-thirty. Mom’s usually getting ready by then.”

Steve nods, hard and fast and excited enough that it makes him a bit dizzy. Last year, Jonathan had told Steve all was forgiven, that saving him from the demogorgon more than made up for their fight. He never really believed him. Steve only accepted the apology because it was important to Nancy, not because he felt he deserved it. 

To find out Jonathan not only truly forgave him for what happened, but that he trusts Steve to keep Will safe. After everything the boy’s been through, everything the entire Byers family has survived, he feels overwhelmed with gratitude. 

Mike sighs, low and exhausted. “If it’s ok with Will, then I guess I can give you another shot.”

Steve tastes the metallic tang of copper on his tongue when he smiles again. 

“I promise I won’t let you down, Wheeler,” he vows. He’s met with a hesitant but genuine smile, and it fills him with hope.

Steve walks with them back up to the house to grab his shoes and coat. Karen greets them at the door, pulling Mike, then Nancy, and then Jonathan into a hug. He finds the same bitterness in his throat again, but it’s smaller now. Easy to push aside now that he’s starting to understand the Wheeler’s as they are, rather than how he used to see them.

He hopes he can be more than what Mike sees in him too, happy just to be given the chance to show them all the person he’s trying to be. Someone who’s safe and strong and caring. All the things he needs to be a good babysitter.

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[bethsvrse]

“Their eyes locked from across the room”

[morganbritton132]

Steve ranks the severity of his migraines on a scale of Lucas Sinclair to Mike Wheeler with everybody else in between.

Robin knows this. Eddie doesn’t.

He’s truly baffled when Steve says his head hurts and Robin asks, “Who is it?”

“Dustin,” Steve answers, running his eyes. “Getting to Mike.”

“California Mike (migraine with aura) or Hawkins Mike (migraine without aura)?”

“California.”

“Hm, yeah,” Robin says already getting up to close the curtains. “Let’s get you to bed before it gets worse.”

Then Eddie is left alone in a dark room like, “What the fuck is a California Mike.”

[chuulyssa]

being an x reader writer and trying to be inclusive of all readers makes me overthink so much like should i write about you having smth with milk in it? no no what if the reader is lactose-intolerant. about the reader being the big spoon? noo what if they wanna be cuddled like a little spoon. about fingers through your hair? noooo what if the person reading it is bald

[glennussy]

so starved for content I might go to the real hellsite (wattpad)

[chloesimaginationthings]

“I assure you Mike, it's still me”

[moonxnite]

I smile like an idiot when I see my man, who’s not my man, on my television screen.

[findafight]

Obsessed with the idea of Mike only-boy-yet-still-the-middle-child Wheeler viewing Steve as sort of a hand-me-down from Nancy, and getting kind of territorial and possessive when he thinks that they might be getting back together. Steve’s *his* friend now, Nancy! Just because he’s not Steve’s favourite and they aren’t that close, doesn’t mean you get to take him back!

He doesn’t even have a crush on Steve (because it’s funnier to me that way), he’s just *pissed* at the idea of having to share Steve with Nancy . Sure, he’s already sharing with Holly, but that at least gets him out of babysitting her. They already have fucking *Robin* to contend with…

:0 Steve being Mike's hand-me-down friend from Nancy omg. Once Dustin brings him in Mike is actually on board for it they're snippy bitches to each other. He no longer glares at Steve he's glaring at Nancy he's pushing Steve out the door like "let's gooooo stop looking at her it's pathetic and bums everybody out! Nancy you're not allowed to try to get him back he's OUR friend now! No takebacks!!! Holly gets him because I GUESS she got her sharp little baby fingernails into him first."

Then post S3 Robin's ALWAYS around Steve, and Mike is going okay I can live with this Dustin thinks Robin's cool, we can all be cool. Robin can have Steve while we have Eddie it's cool it's chill. ITS FINE THAT DUSTIN ONCE AGAIN GOT TO BE ON STEVE'S TEAM THE WHOLE TIME THE UPSIDE DOWN WAS BACK AND MIKE BARLEY GOT TO SEE HIM ITS F I N E

S4 and Mike gets back going NANCY WHAT DID YOU DO I TOLD YOU NO TAKEBACKS!! I CANT BELIEVE I WASNT ON STEVE'S TEAM AGAIN

God yeah he WOULD have middle child possession issues. I love him.

[luffyssa]

when the fic is good but uses first person pov

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Mike getting absolutely BODIED by Spring Bonnie

[queenie-ofthe-void]

THE BABYSITTER CHRONICLES FOR MIKE PLEASE 💖💞💝💕💖💞💝💞

ugh MIKE! I'm really starting to like this one. But I love angst so lol

OG Snip

He accepts the change in direction with a sharp pang of disappointment, forgetting amidst all of the bullshit his life has been lately that Karen Wheeler loves her children and the people close to them. And that's not Steve, not anymore. "It's ok," he replies, tone bursting with false cheer. "I was hoping to talk to you, actually. About Mike."

Make me write!