Eddie had heard plenty of stories about Steve losing fights.
He had the concussions to prove it.
But what Eddie saw with his own two eyes was far more impressive than whatever version of Steve had let Jonathan Byers and Billy Hargrove win.
He’d seen how quick he was to defend the kids, defend Nancy and Robin, even defend Eddie when he barely knew him. He’d thrown himself head first into the mix, nail bat in hand or not.
So when Eddie asked about it, Steve shrugged it off.
“Everyone loses fights.”
Sure, everyone does. But he’s seen Steve win against literal alternate dimension monsters.
No way a human teenage boy or two could be harder to beat.
But he let it go. If Steve insisted on it being a couple of genuine losses, so be it.
But Eddie doesn’t let things go. Especially not when it comes to Steve.
“I guess I just don’t understand how you lost to Jonathan. I mean had he ever even been in a fight before?”
“No. But neither had I.”
“But you should’ve won that fight with no effort. No offense to Jonathan, but he’s scrawny and doesn’t even punch right.”
“I don’t know. Why are you so hung up on this?”
Well, because this wasn’t simple. Eddie could tell Steve was hiding something, he just didn’t know what.
“I guess because no one else ever asked you.”
Steve stared at him, probably trying to figure out how to avoid answering.
“No one seems to ever ask you about you.”
Steve looked down at the floor.
“They don’t need to.”
“You deserve to have people care. So I’m gonna care for now and then I’m gonna have a chat with your idiot kids about relational reciprocity.”
“What?”
“They have to show they care about you as much as you care about them. That’s kind of the deal with friendship.”
“Oh.”
Oh? Did Steve genuinely not know that?
Jesus Christ.
“So?”
“I think I just wasn’t good at fighting.”
“Nah. That’s not it.”
Eddie could see Steve thinking.
When he finally spoke, he wasn’t making eye contact. Eddie reached his hand out towards his face, cupping his chin and lifting his face so he had to look at him.
“Try again, Stevie.”
Steve took in a shaky breath.
“I wasn’t good at fighting for me.”
Eddie nodded. “Why’s that?”
“Just didn’t seem like I deserved to win. I deserved the hits I got.”
“Why?”
“Because I was awful. I said shitty things or did shitty things. Or with Billy, I knew I had to let him take it out on me and I guess I thought I deserved it. I dunno.”
“Mm.”
He released Steve’s chin, watching as his head dropped back down and he seemed to curl in on himself.
Eddie couldn’t allow that to happen.
So he pulled Steve into his lap, smirking to himself just a little when he let out a yelp of surprise at the manhandling.
“So all this time, you’ve put your body and mind and future on the line for everyone else without a second thought, but when you had to protect yourself and only yourself, it’s not worth the effort? Am I understanding correctly?”
Steve didn’t respond, but then again, Eddie hadn’t really expected him to. He was too busy hiding his face in Eddie’s chest.
“That’s what I thought. So who taught you that you’re not worth fighting for? Who told you that anything you’ve done wrong should be considered a debt owed to whoever wanted to raise their fists? Who made you believe that your mistakes could only be absolved if you let them get punched out of you?”
Steve was crying; He could feel the cold wetness seeping through his shirt.
“You tell me who it was and I’ll make sure they know how it feels to lose a fight.”
“Just me.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
He let Steve sit with the words for a few minutes before speaking again.
“You did some not great things as a teenager, as many teenagers tend to do. Have you seen the way Mike talks to people? He’s a shithead. But do you think he deserves to get concussed from a punch to the temple?”
Steve shook his head.
“Dustin gets an attitude anytime we don’t immediately bend to his will and calls us names all the time. Do you think he deserves to get a plate smashed over his head?”
“Of course not.”
Steve’s voice was quiet.
“You have more than made up for any mistakes you may have made in the past, even without the punches being thrown at you. If I have to tell you that you deserve to be treated with kindness and respect every day, then I fucking will. Hear me?”
“Hear you.”
Steve was staring at Eddie, tears still silently and rapidly falling down his cheeks.
Eddie wiped them away and gave him a small smile.
“You have no idea how special you are. But that’s gonna change.”
“Okay.”
Eddie placed a kiss on his forehead before he wrangled him against his chest again, moving his legs so he could relax completely.
“Just relax, okay? I got you. You’re worth protecting.” Eddie sighed softly. “You’re worth everything.”
2K notes
·
View notes
There's a lot of validity in the idea that older Bakugo is a traumatized pro-hero with major PTSD... but you know what's kinda fucked up to think about? The fact that Bakugo is also a 22-year-old pro-hero with major PTSD even before that, too.
It's almost easy to imagine that things are actually better when he's older (the therapy finally a routine, the trauma long set and on the path to being healed)... and that it's his whole 20s that are spent as a pool of disaster trying to recover from the war(s).
He looks back and barely even remembers being twenty, much less twenty-five or twenty-seven. Barely remembers how little he slept, not at the hands of trying to balance hero work and getting a degree at the same time, but just out of the pure insomnia that came from trying to move on and every nightmare attached.
Hardly ever showering, never shaving (not that he ever grew much of a beard, but the facial hair was definitely there. There's pictures of him on the news with an awkward, grown out haircut and patches on facial hair that make him look positively... immature), barely even eating more than a few protein bars or an energy jelly drink-a day. It's a blur, and his friends are hardly there to pick him up out of it because they're all going through it, too. Somewhat.
It's definitely weird if you meet him during this period. He's not all there, at least, not all of the time. He doesn't really register your interactions, the friendship you extend to him (a younger, or ever older, version of him would've shown you that deep seeded ferocity in response, tried to bite the hand that fed him, even if it were love... but 20s Bakugo... doesn't seem to notice). Even though only one of his eyes is clouded over, the good one never seems to brighten up.
There's definitely moments when the old him shines through: when he's with Deku, when he's in the midst of battle, when he finds out that Todoroki still does a shitty job at chopping scallions. But it's a long time before he's even close to the same, able to step out from underneath the fog of simply surviving and into the sunshine of recovering.
But I think sticking through it with him is worth it.
(It's a weird moment, a happy moment, the first time you realize that Bakugo has changed. That the pouring rain outside hasn't bothered him since he showed up at your apartment. He forgot his umbrella, he's been quite careless ever since the war—wet and shaggy hair frizzed up, cheeks red from cold—but he doesn't seem to mind, with his bare feet up on your coffee table, his eyes gazing out the window. You hand his tea, and instead of gulping it down in one go, letting it burn in his throat, he winces at the heat.
"Tastes like shit," he says, and you laugh because it always does. Just this time, he noticed.)
425 notes
·
View notes