I am back from my holiday and I'm inconceivably exhausted :D Give me like a week to drag myself into an upright position before I return to In The Same Orbit đ
I'm gonna be so honest, I've been trying to understand the difference between third person omniscient and head hopping for weeks and I'm still lost so I fear the POV on this chapter is gonna be a mess, I can only apologise in advance đ
I am back from my holiday and I'm inconceivably exhausted :D Give me like a week to drag myself into an upright position before I return to In The Same Orbit đ
To be honest I'm totally unsure on whether I'll have chapter 6 finished before I go on my holiday next week. I'm basically all set to go. Don't have much else to get ready. But as for the chapter, it's still a little clunky right now (I think cause I'm so tired and STILL dealing with the final parts of my move) so I'm not gonna promise an update and end up rushing through it.
That said, here's a tease! We're with Dustin for this one đ
You ran out on Steve almost three years ago in the middle of a sweet fling, but now youâre back in Hawkins, and thereâs a little girl on your hip that looks just like him. fem, 14k
afab reader, second-chance romance, girl!dad steve, slow burn idiots, no upside down auÂ
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
You realise how fucked you are pretty quickly.Â
Itâs something in the way the kid is looking at you. Heâs staring at you, not unfriendly but piercing, and his gaze keeps flicking to Leah like heâs trying to make sense of her, and his mouth is stuck obnoxiously with his tongue flat and pulled into that cruel letter âSâ.Â
You freeze up like youâve been caught, which doesnât help.Â
And the kid spins in his Nikeâs and races for the entrance, ditching a basket full of veggies and a pack of gum in the middle of the aisle.Â
âOkay, Lee,â you say, sweating despite the November chill. âLetâs get going.â
Leah grins in her seat in the shopping cart. âMeemawâs?â she asks.Â
âYeah. Letâs go make sure your meemaw had her dinner.â
Your ears ring all the way home. They donât stop ringing. You spend the night waiting for a phone call you donât get, awkward and clammy. Thereâs a certain way that rich families work in Indiana. You can see the coming hush money or the threat to leave town almost as clearly as you could see the loveless marriage years ago. You and Leah need to get out of dodge before youâre stuck having conversations you never wanted to have.Â
I mean, who couldâve predicted that? One of Steveâs teenagers recognises you in the grocery store three years after your fling, howâd they even remember?Â
The phone doesnât ring, that night.Â
Or the next.
Maybe Steve didnât believe the kid. Maybe the kid had an emergency completely unrelated to Leah. Maybe Steve believed it and didnât care. You deem yourselves safe from harm in a venture to the grocery store when your mom asks for chicken noodle soup.Â
Itâs there you recognise your mistake. Steve Harringtonâs shiny BMW sits parked in the bay by the sign for the laundromat and the man himself sits inside with a paperback bent open on his thigh. Heâs glaring at it like it killed his whole family.
You move bodily away from him with Leah clasped to your chest, wondering if you can beat him in, but then a chirp sounds near the door and you watch in slow motion as a young teenager brings a radio to his mouth and says, âCode milkshake!â
You hear a curse and canât help looking back, right at the bimmer, where Steve is looking up through the windshield with a look of frozen trepidation on his face.Â
â
So.Â
How did you end up where you are?Â
You arenât one for thinking about the past. Donât like doing it. In fact, you try your very hardest not to think of the past when you can help it. Once Leah was born, that was easy to do. Babies are demanding, they take over your entire life, and your new life in Portland was already busy to begin with. You find thinking of the past incessant and unnecessary, but. Things are happening oh so fast âyou had genuinely figured you could get through your homecoming without being spotted. You figured you could leave Leah at home with your mom while you shopped, but meemawâs stroke has affected more than her body, and you couldnât leave Leah there in good conscience in case an accident happened.Â
Itâs not like you had many friends, before you left. Any, in fact. Steve was the first guy to ever show any interest in you, and as nice as heâd been in the quiet moments after, he hadnât exactly brought you roses or promised you anything. Youâre the dummy who got pregnant by the âwashed outâ king of Hawkins High. It was probably going to be one of his peers, and it was never going to be Nancy Wheeler.Â
Things were obviously more detailed at the time, but you and Steve had come together in a fling. Itâs not a relationship that youâd pictured for yourself, but itâs not as though you set your sights on him and thought, yeah, Iâm going to fuck him. It was more that he was friendly, and you were both at the same bar at the same time sitting by yourselves, and with a little gin and a ton of mutual loneliness, itâd felt natural to let him kiss you against the hood of his car. When he drove you home, worried youâd get stuck in the rain, youâd offered him into an empty house. Things snowballed from there.Â
The sex was good. Steve was kind. He was a bit awkward from time to time and he didnât know what to say without putting his foot in his mouth, but you liked it. Liked him.Â
Then the test. Then the memory of his Harrington name, how his mom wanted him to marry a socialite and his dad was priming him to get into the family business, whatever that may be. That silly conversation about kids. âIâd never put them through it,â heâd said, naked and tracing a star into your shoulder blades through the sheets, his hair damp at the nape of his neck with sweat, âare you joking? Theyâd be the loneliest kid ever.âÂ
You remember laughing softly. Youâd wanted him to say something different, but you arenât sure what it is he couldâve said to make it right enough to stay.
In the end, you figured Leah could be part of a brand new start. You applied for a job in the classifieds and uprooted the rest of your life to go to it, and when you finally had your baby, you didnât let yourself call Steve. What use would that have been, letting him smash the lingering, aching bit of your heart that wanted him to love you? You were smart enough then to recognise that your dream for the future was about as childish as getting knocked up at nineteen.Â
It hurts now, though, as he gets out of the car, how badly you want him to want you, and how stupid youâve always been.Â
Steve shuts the door to the BMW and makes his way in a jog across the parking lot. He breathes your name. Youâre nervous, not stupid. You donât try to hide the baby.Â
She grumbles on your hip.Â
Steve stands in front of you. Heâs remarkably not shouting at you, but heâs not smiling, either. He looks different than the last time youâd seen him for sure, fuller and broader, lip dark with stubble and his hair shorter (but not short). Thereâs a funny scar stretching unkindly against his throat, startlingly new to you but clearly healed.Â
He stands there in quiet.Â
Leah makes a fawning sound, like sheâs tired and excited to see a new person.Â
âHi, Steve,â you say, to get sound out in the air.Â
His eyes fall on Leah. Sheâs a good mix of you both. Got her dadâs eyes and her momâs nose and a handful of his beauty marks, small dark freckles that sprouted all over her body a few weeks after she was born.Â
âIs she mine?â he asks, cutting straight to the fat.Â
You shift her closer to your chest. Heâs impossible to read for once, not a lick of anything on his face as he waits for you to answer. The cold chaps your lips and the late-fall sunshine threatens to blind you where itâs rising from behind him.Â
âYou didnât want to have a baby,â you say carefully. Each word said with less enthusiasm than the previous.Â
He doesnât speak. Leah whines at the pause, her hand spreading against your collarbone in protest.Â
âI know you didnât. You said itâd be miserable, and youâd get stuck with a woman you didnât love to save face, and I knew that. I didnât see any good in⌠in making you go through that.â
To your complete and utter surprise, his face softens. His mouth puckers in sympathy and his arm twitches like heâs going to reach for you. His hair curls into his eyes in the cold breeze. He squints against it, gaze falling once again on Leah, who he canât get enough of. Heâs full-blown gawking at her, watching her sigh and sniffle and press her hand into your neck.
âIs she mine?â Steve asks again.
You clear your throat to answer, but you canât summon the words. Your nod is jerky and embarrassed and annoyed, all at once. Of course sheâs his baby. She looks so much like him, and you never let anybody else touch you.Â
Steve opens his mouth to finally speak and you cut him off. âWell, sheâs mine,â you say tightly.Â
He nods like he understands. He doesnât even look mad at the insinuation.Â
âHer name is Leah.â If heâd been angry with you, cruel, even agitated, which maybe he deserves to be, youâre not sure you could offer this to him now. âShe⌠she looks a lot like you, huh?â you ask.Â
Steve manages a laugh, strained as it may be. âYeah. Yeah, she does.â He swallows harshly. âI thought if I came by the house youâd turn me away. Uh. Because I thought there mustâve been a reason you didnât want me to know, but now weâre⌠here.â
You glance around the parking lot. His tattle of a child has made himself scarce.Â
âDo you wanna come home with me?â you ask. Mostly for want of something to say.Â
âYeah.âÂ
You go to leave, but Steve makes a sound and brings you right back. Without comment, he curls an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into a half-hug, slotting his nose against your temple like he used to, even as you tense up in his embrace.Â
âI thought youâd be more angry at me than this,â you say under your breath.Â
âYeah, thatâs not really how I work.â He parts from you awkwardly and points to the car. âIâll follow you?â he asks.Â
âOkay.âÂ
âOkay.â He turns very suddenly and makes his way to his car.Â
You meander to your own car and pop open Leahâs door. âSorry, Lee,â you murmur, tucking her into her carseat.
âWhy?â she murmurs.
âWeâre gonna go to meemawâs, okay?â If your mom could hear you calling her meemaw before her stroke sheâd have knocked you up the side of the head, but itâs all Leahâs ever known her as, and meemaw doesnât have much choice in the matter now. Youâd laugh if you didnât feel sick.Â
âOkay.â
You kiss her cheek, getting stuck there with your nose in her hair, all manner of panic and awkwardness and Iâd-rather-nots thrumming through you. I shouldâve stayed in Portland, you think.Â
Leah kisses your cheek while youâre stooped there. Your misery takes a backseat as you gather your bearings.Â
You climb into your own seat, close the door, lock it, and shove the keys in the ignition. Steveâs car idles a few spaces behind, waiting for you to go. You cannot put this off much longer, but youâd pictured the moment so differently, thereâs a sense of unreality now. Is this happening? Did you really spill the truth to him the very first time he asked?Â
Whereâs your backbone?
Whereâs your common sense?
With a groan, you pull the car out of the space and begin the drive to your momâs house. You were never close with her, as strange as it seems. She was a woman with interests and her kid happened incidentally. It doesn't bother you anymore. You came to Hawkins to take care of her. Nobody else was going to do it for you, but so far sheâs been an easy patient. She needs help making dinner and she canât walk more than the length of the hall without finding herself breathless, but sheâs recovering slowly, so long as her mental faculties recoup with her body, sheâll be alright.Â
You, however, have screwed the entire pooch. You look at Leah in the rearview mirror and worry youâve ruined her entire life.Â
âChill,â you say to yourself quietly, almost missing the road to your momâs house. Worst comes to worst and we go home to Portland, you tell yourself. Nothing has to change.Â
âMommy?â
âMm?â you ask.Â
Leah leans forward in her car seat, huffing with annoyance when the belts keep her in place. The jacket sheâs wearing has bunched into a lump under her chin. âOff?â she asks.Â
âTwo minutes.â
âOff.â
âLet me park the car, Lee. Iâll take it off of you as soon as we get home.â
She whines long and loud.
âSorry, sweet girl. Two minutes and weâre there.â
Leah sulks the entire way there. You park in the space in front of the house and hurry out of the car, quick enough to see Steve in the bimmer pulling onto the sidewalk. You open Leahâs door and offer her a huge smile, hoping to cull a tantrum with bubbly affection. âHi, off?âÂ
âYes!â
You laugh to yourself and bring her out, even as your heartbeat climbs up your throat. You can hear Steve getting out of his car as you unbuckle Leah from the car seat and drag her out. You sit her in the slight dip of the window and use your stomach to keep her up as your fingers search for the zipper of her coat. You pull it tight down and unzipper her, freeing her of the thing that had been irking her so bad and restoring her good mood.Â
She exhales dramatically in relief, which has you laughing again. âIs that better?â you ask through it.
âBetter,â she echoes.Â
Leah sits up at the sound of shoes on gravel. Steveâs crossing the drive, hands shoved in his pockets.Â
âWho?â she asks.Â
Uhhhh.
âHeâs gonna come in and have dinner with us, okay?â
âYâokay.âÂ
âYeah?â
Leah nods enthusiastically. You can see Steve grinning in your peripheral vision, and itâs so much like Leahâs smile you find your heart going haywire.Â
âOkay,â you say, your full attention to Steve. âIs that cool?â
âCan we talk, first?â
You donât blame him for asking.Â
âYeah, weâll talk first. But⌠my mom, sheâs not doing the best right now, so. Maybe we should talk outside?âÂ
âIâm not going to yell.â
âNo, but. If youâre angry, I get it, but she canât cope with that right now.âÂ
âAre you angry?â he asks.Â
âNo.â
âThen we donât have anything to worry about,â he says, the sound of his smile palpable as Leah gives one back. âIâm not gonna yell. I promise.â
You show him into the house. It feels like walking yourself to the gallows.Â
The room is narrow. The sides of your vision start to dissolve as you drop your car keys in the bowl by the door, then walk Leah to the kitchen. You hold her one handed as you palm off her shoes, dropping them and then her on the floor by the kitchen table. âOkay?â you ask her.Â
She wanders off toward the living room and the sound of TV.Â
Steve Harringtonâs standing in your momâs rinky dink kitchen waiting for you to talk. Youâre standing there useless, taking sips of air that sting, waiting for him to cut the crap and berate you. It would make sense. If heâs upset that you didnât tell him you were pregnant, or that you were stupid enough to keep her, to get pregnant in the first place, it wouldnât surprise you. Men are cruel, and Steve had a reputation for popularity. It would make sense for him to be mean to you now.Â
âHow old is she?â he asks finally.
âSheâs turning two soon.â
Steve seems to be holding his tongue.Â
âJustâ ask.â You try to look sorry. âAsk me whatever you want.â
âCan Iââ He throws a hand out, the first sign that heâs not as genial as he appears. âCan I be her dad?â
You flinch. âWhat?â
âLike, I want to be her dad. A real dad. I want to be in her life, I want her to know me. Did you think I wouldnât want that?â
âI didnât think you wanted kids at all.â
âI want kids.â Steve crosses his arms over his chest. âI always wanted a whole team of them.â
âThatâs not what you said.â
âWhen? When you told me you were having my baby?â
This is more what youâd been expecting. Thereâs a cruel pleasure in being vindicated. âWhen you told me you didnât want kids, Steve. You said you didnât want a miserable kid in a miserable marriage, what was I supposed to glean from that?âÂ
âExactly, I didnât want a miserable kid, which is exactly what I was, and I didnât want it in an arranged marriage that my mom thought would be good for me.â His anger drains a little. âI never meantâ I mean, even if I didnât, you shouldâve told me.â
âItâs not fair to act like I wouldnât have cared,â he clarifies, frowning at you. Itâs so disappointed-looking it pisses you off worse, but you're trying to keep a level head. Nobody here deserves for you to blow up and say words you donât mean.Â
You bite your lip. âIâm sorry, Steve, but I wasnât convinced that you would. I wanted what was best for me and her.âÂ
âI can be best for you both.â
You wait for him to hold it up. To prove what he means.Â
âIf sheâs mine, I want to be her dad,â he says.Â
âIf?â
He waves a hand, like he could roll his eyes. He should thank his lucky stars he didnât. âNot like that, Iâm not saying sheâs not, I just want to look after her.âÂ
âSheâs looked after.â
âIâm not saying sheâs not,â he says, uneasy now, shifting to hide a hand in his pocket. He wasnât expecting you to be difficult, you think. âIâm not saying that. Iâm not saying anything about you, Iâm asking you if I can do right by you.â
âYou might not actually want her, Steve.âÂ
âI havenât stopped thinking about her since the kids told me. I didnât get a good look at her, but the idea? Just the idea of her? I wanted it.â
You sigh, frustrated, and set your sights on the fridge. âCanât believe you had kids posted up at Bradleyâs to stalk me,â you murmur.Â
âI needed to see her for myself.â
âSteve... Youâre twenty three. We arenât married. You donât have to be anything to her, you donât have to do right by me, we donât have to play house until youâre miserable. In a couple of months weâll go home to Portland and you donât have to do anything. Iâm sorry I didnât tell you, but you donât have to worry. You can tell everyone you tried and I said no and youâll still look good.â
âWhy are you being like this?â he asks, leaving little air between your sentence and his. âWhat are you talking about? Iâm asking you if I can keep you guys and youâre trying to run me out?â
âKeep us?â you ask indignantly.Â
âYes!â He clears his throat. âI donât get why you left without telling me and I am angry, but I also donât understand what itâs like to have to make that decision, and Iâm sorry you made it by yourself, and I donât blame you for running away. Okay? Is that okay?â
Heâs so loud, then, so tightly wound and upset, his voice a shade of pleading, that the protests youâd been making die on your lips.Â
âYeah,â you say quietly.
âYou didnât think I wanted a baby, and I guess I didnât give you a reason to think that, but I do want one. I wouldâveâ if youâd told me, I wouldâve lost my mind. Iâm still losing it.â
You pull out a chair at the kitchen table to take a wobbly seat. Your heart is racing, that stupid kiddie feeling of being in trouble for hurting him clouded by a lingering sense of mistrust. Youâd thought⌠all these years, that Steve didnât want kids, or marriage, or anything, andâ andâ maybe you didnât run away because of him, maybe it was all you, maybeâÂ
âHey,â he says, a hand landing between your shoulders, âIâm sorry.â
âFor what?â you ask, sharper than you mean to.
âI donât know. I wanted you to stop freaking out.â
âWell,â you say, licking your lips, your breath coming short and shallow, âit didnât work.â
Steve Harrington rubs your back. You try desperately to chill out, Leah in the other room, your mom sleeping or listening, probably already wound up from all the ruckus, and Steve, who you havenât seen in years, who used to kiss all over your face before heâd hug you in the dark of his bedroom, waiting for you to calm down so he can say what he needs to.Â
A chair pulls out next to yours after a while. Steve sits beside you, resting his hand on your knee.Â
After a few minutes, you cover his hand with yours.Â
âSheâs beautiful,â he says.Â
âLooks like her mom,â you mumble.Â
âYeah, she does. More like me though.â
You huff a weak laugh.Â
âAre you gonna throw me out?â Steve asks.Â
âYou want to be her dad?â
For a few seconds, you worry he hasnât heard you. But he rubs a small back and forth on your leg and says, âPlease.âÂ
âOkay. Okay, then. Iâm not letting you meet her if youâre not serious, Steve. You have to mean it.â You raise your eyes to his and all his perfect lashes. âPromise?â
He offers his pinky, which is so dumb. This whole scenario is so stupid. Too bad itâs mostly (almost entirely) your own fault.Â
You shake his pinky. He keeps them tied for a long time.Â
In a rush, you sniffle yourself dry and usher Leah into the room with a hand on her shoulder. She is so, so small. At least your mom missed the commotion, sleeping sat up in the armchair.Â
âYou promise?â you ask Steve, pausing at the table.Â
Steve nods emphatically. By the looks of things, heâs all in.Â
You pull your chair out opposite Steve and scoop Leah into your lap. You hold her wrist in your hand gently and lean down to talk in her ear. âOkay, Lee. I gotta tell you something, okay?â
âYâokay.â
âThis is daddy.âÂ
You can tell heâs not expecting such a straightforward introduction, but after a moment, he cannot hide his smile. Leah looks at him with his almond shaped eyes, all smiles in return.Â
âOkay? This is daddy, and heâs gonna spend some time with us.âÂ
âHuh?â
You point at Steve, smiling even as your hand trembles between you both. âThis is your daddy. He missed you very much and wanted to see you. Can you say hi?â
âHi,â Leah says, her voice raspy and high.Â
âHi, Leah,â he says, ever so slightly choked up. Just barely.Â
âHe was my best friend,â you say, âand he wants to be your best friend, too. Do you want to play a game with daddy?âÂ
âWamâ play game?â Leah asks Steve.Â
âPlease, I would love to play a game. What game do you like?â he asks.
âUmâŚâ Leah places her hand in his and you could probably weep, but heâs smiling at her with so much love as he waves it up and down you never get there. She shakes her fist up and down in his, giggling when he over exaggerates her strength.Â
âWoah, strong girl!â he says. âDonât break my arm!â
Leah gives him a good shake.Â
â
âI do not understand why youâre so calm. How youâre so calm. This is not how Iâve seen you react to things.â
Steve pushes the shopping cart into Robinâs hip. She squawks and thrusts it at him, the crate of kiddie water bottles heâd balanced on the bottom rung hitting him clean in the ankle.Â
âHow am I supposed to react?â he asks, wincing as he brings his leg up to rub at the new wound.Â
âUh, to blow the fuck up?â She tucks her hair behind her ears, staring at him. âI was expecting more whining, if Iâm totally honest.â
Steve gets back to the task at hand. The aisle theyâre in is pink no matter where you look, full of Barbie dolls and ballerina tutus and teddy bears with hearts in their palms. âWhat would you want if you were two?â he asks.Â
Robin offers one of her kinder smiles. âI guess Iâd want everything.â
âWell, Y/Nâs not gonna like that.âÂ
He wants to take care of you both. He doesnât want to make you feel like you werenât doing that already. So. The cart is full of stuff for him mostly, things heâll need to look after Leah should he ever be allowed to take her by himself, which he assumes he will. Heâs got diapers, sippy cups, wet wipes, rash creams, a mountain of clothes he has to remember to keep the receipt for, baby snacks, a changing pad, bath toys. He has a towel like a poncho with a ladybug hood and a great big bottle of bathroom cleaner to shape things up for his baby.Â
He also got you pajamas. Heâs not sure why. He remembers that old pair you used to wear whenever heâd make it to your place with the pink and purple plaid, and heâd been wondering if you kept them, and a desire to see you in them again had come over him and now theyâre in the cart. Heâs hoping he can sort of slip them in between diapers.Â
Steve doesnât want to show you up, but he does want to prove heâs being serious, emotionally and physically âfinancially. Leah is his baby. Kids are expensive, and she mustâve already cost you a small fortune, and you didnât want his help but you can bet youâll be getting it, not singularly because he cared for you (he has to gloss it into that one word, care, things being complicated enough as it stands without remembered notions of falling and love) but because Leah is literally his baby.Â
He pauses on the spot.Â
Leah is his girl. Heâs allowed to buy her things. It will not be an insult.Â
He grabs a Barbie with a puppy dog on a leash, a box of stickle bricks, a teddy bear with a big cutesy grin, and purple bunny rabbit to be his best friend.Â
Robin watches him put it all in the cart in silence.Â
âIs that enough?â he asks, despite previous internal decisions. Sheâs his best friend. Everyone needs one.Â
Robin turns on the spot to look at the shelves behind them, grabbing a box set of storybooks bound with ribbon down the spines. âThese ones are from me,â she says, dumping them next to the second jumbo box of diapers.
âIâm not, like, super angry,â he says, getting behind the cart to push for the checkout. âI want kids. I want Leah. This isnât a bad thing.â
âYou kind of missed out on a lot,â Robin says. Carefully, not to be cruel, but to present it to him in case he hasnât thought about it. Obviously heâs thought about it, but.Â
âI mean, yeah. But do you remember being a baby?â
âItâs, like, a deep down thing.â
He swallows. âSure, I donât like that I didnât get to be there when Leah was a baby, but⌠Iâm finding it hard to be mad when she was protecting all of us from things we didnât want, or, thatâs what she thought.â Steve gives a jerky shrug. âIâm sure she got enough love from her without me, but Iâm gonna make up for whatever she missed out on.â
âOkay. Well, when you explode, Iâm literally right here.â
Steve is overcome with the urge to snuggle her in the middle of the store, but he hits her with the shopping cart again and feels the thanks get stuck in his throat. âIâm not gonna explode. Iâm happy.âÂ
Steve is thrilled. He has a baby. He has a child. Maybe itâs not the wife and six kids he thought he wanted, but Leah is his baby.Â
âSheâs mine,â he says.Â
âI know, dingus. Youâve said it a hundred times.â
He parks his cart at the belt behind a grandma buying cat food. âI canât wait for you to meet her, Rob, sheâsââ
âSheâs beautiful,â Robin says, rolling her eyes. âWeâre way too young for kids, Steven. You were supposed to go to college.â
âIâm still gonna go!â
âWith what money?â
Steve will save again. Itâs community college.Â
Robin holds his eye. He avoids it, starts putting things on the checkout belt. âYouâre doing the only thing you can do,â she says, âI donât wanna be friends with a deadbeat, but I wanted you to go. Iâm too young to be an Aunt.â
âIâll going, Rob.âÂ
âFine. I believe you.â
âCan you help?â
She pulls stuff out of the cart reluctantly.Â
Together, they pack what can be bagged and take it all to the car. Steve drops Robin off at home without much of a goodbye âeither sheâll call him tonight or heâll call her, âcos one way or another, theyâre gonna talk. Then he takes the side road to your momâs house and parks the bimmer behind your old blue Pontiac.Â
He grabs the toys and the bag of groceries. Heâll have to make another trip for the diapers, but he figures itâs best to see your reaction before he lugs it all up the driveway.Â
You answer the door. Parenting has been going better than expected considering you kept the baby a secret for two whole years, and youâre already smiling when you see him. Things were awkward that first week, but heâs been coming by every single day after work if he works, bright and early if he doesnât. He can tell youâre growing more confident in his promises. Heâs not gonna realise how big this whole thing is and run. Heâs well aware of how world-changing his decision was to stay, but it wasnât a decision at all.Â
âHi, is she awake yet?â he asks. Leah naps every day at noon.Â
âMm-hm. She was asking me for daddy all morning,â you say. Secrets you may have kept, but youâre glad for both of them whenever Steve and Leah get along. âI promised youâd be here after dinner.â
âIs it cool that Iâm early?â
You eye the bags in his hands. âSure. I already told you, Iâm not gonna dictate anything. You can see her when you want to⌠Whatâs that?â
âI was thinking Iâd make dinner?â He shakes the lighter bag. âAnd this is for Leah.â
âRight. Okay.âÂ
You let Steve in. He, despite all things in his body that remember this song and dance and demand he kiss your cheek hello, powers through to the kitchen without making a fool of himself.Â
âBrought your favourite. Thought Leah would probably like it, since you liked it so much,â he says. âAnd those pastries you loved.â
âYou want me to go grab her?â
âWhere is she?âÂ
âSheâs sitting with my mom. Donât think she heard the door, she wouldâve come out running by now. Sheâs a little sleepy.â
âThatâs okay. I can put all this away and Iâll go see if sheâs awake.â
You cross your arms over your stomach, leaning against the counter. âYou didnât have to get stuff for me.â
âI wanted to.â
âYou donât have to, though. Leahâs your baby, but IâmâŚâ
He feels achy in his jaw. He abandons the bag full of groceries to look at you fully. âIf youâd turned up here without Leah, after two years of full radio silence, no letters and no clue where you went, if you came back, Iâd want to see you. You know that, right?â
âIâŚâ
âI asked your mom where you went, did you know that?â
âNo.â
âWell, she wouldnât tell me.â
âI donât think she knew.â
Steve hates how much that annoys him, hates the way he relates to it. He dries his hands on his pants, not sure if he wants to hug you or tip your head with his thumb at chin, forcing you to look at him, to say the things heâs said in his head before bed a couple nights a week for years.Â
Steve Harrington does not love by halves.Â
âYouâd tell me if you were gonna leave again, right?â he asks.Â
âWe are leaving.âÂ
âI know, I know, but. Youâre not gonna disappear in the middle of the night.â
âNo, Steve. Iâll tell you before we go home. I promise.â
His shoulders relax. âOkay, then, Iâll keep bringing stuff you like, too. Trade deal.â
âMutually beneficial. I won't kidnap your baby again and you bring me raspberry turnovers.â
âExactly.â
You surprise him with a laugh. âOkay.â
âOkay, good,â he says, grinning, wondering if heâs finally paving a path into your lap again.Â
From the doorway of the kitchen comes a pleased gasp. âDaddy?â Leah asks, her eyes widening in delight, feet stomping on the spot, âHi, daddy!âÂ
He was supposed to give this up for community college? Steve squats down in a half-second and holds out his hands, ready for an armful of sleepy toddler. Her hair is all puffy and her pajamas big at the neck like sheâd wriggled for hours, but sheâs soft, smells clean as he wraps his arms around her and she burrows into his neck.Â
âHi, Leah,â he says softly.Â
Leah hums her content.Â
âGood nap?â
âYeah.â
âYeah? Did you have a good dream?â
She laughs as he strokes her back. He mustâve tickled her. âDa-ddy,â she says, a long, pulling word.Â
Sheâs so small Steve canât hug her properly like this, so he hooks her in one arm and stands up to his full height, catching your unreadable expression from over her shoulder. Whatever youâd been thinking fades away, your smile strengthening as Leah pulls out of his neck to wave at you.Â
âMommy,â she says, poking at Steveâs neck. âLook. Daddyâs for dinner.â
Steve laughs loudly. âIâm for dinner? Youâre gonna eat me? I thought you liked me!â His head falls in a dramatic agony. âLeah wants to cook me up for dinner, I canât believe it.âÂ
âNo!â Leah says, giggling as she grabs his face. She pulls at his cheeks, forcing his head up. âNot eating,â she says, like heâs silly.Â
Steve shifts her so sheâs sitting braced on his lower belly, looking down at her. God, sheâs so pretty. Sheâs perfect. Sheâs tiny, slim for her age according to you, but she isnât weak. She holds herself up, her hands confident as they spread over his chest. Steve has to confess that this feeling is the strongest heâs ever experienced. Nothing compares to looking at this little kid who already treats him like heâs the best person sheâs ever met, knowing that sheâs his. He has to look after her. He gets to be loved by her without hesitation. Leah has no reason to love him, and yet here she is giggling in his arms from the excitement of seeing him. Itâs like every day she likes him more, and every day, Steve gets to love her more. Itâs so weird, but it's nice.
âI brought you something,â he says, shifting her again so he can cover her back with one arm, using the other to brush a stray bit of lint off of her face. âButâ mommy, can she have it now?â he asks.Â
You flush. Steve recognises this look on you, pleased and startled. Heâs seen it on you a hundred different times. You were always that girl who didnât expect kindness, or to be considered. He remembers how endearing it was to surprise you with a kiss to say thank-you, or picking up the bill no matter how casual dinner felt, or something as small as helping you into your pajamas after youâd both showered. It was heartbreaking, but heâs never been unfamiliar with the bare minimum.Â
âYeah, of course she can.â
âAlright,â Steve says, grinning. âYour Aunt Robin sent me with a gift for you, but daddyâs is better, so you can have mine first.â He twists for the bag itâs in and yanks it out, Barbie to him so she canât see. âItâs only small, but I saw it and I thought youâd like it.â
âCan have?â she asks.Â
âDepends. Can I have a hug first?â he asks, checking your face to make sure heâs not being weird.Â
Leah nods erratically and throws herself forward. Steve gets a big kiss right on his smooth-shaven cheek, and he canât stop himself from beaming, his punched out sigh poorly suppressed as he turns her to give her a much gentler kiss at the very top of her cheek. âThanks, Lee.â
Her eyes squint with a smile. âCan I have, please?â
Steve brings the box up and tosses it to flip it, brandishing it right way round to her glee.Â
âBarbie!â she cries.
âWith a puppy!âÂ
âOh gosh.â
Steve bursts out laughing. âGosh! Should we get the box open? Then you can gosh at the accessories. She has two pairs of shoes, Leah. Two!â
Leah squirms to be put down, hands clenched tightly on each side of the box. Youâre already grabbing scissors to get it open.Â
âThank you.â You lean over Leah to start the dissection.Â
âDonât,â he says, quiet but less shame-faced. âYou donât have to say thanks.âÂ
You shake your head to yourself. âYeah, well.âÂ
âShe deserves it, and itâs not up to you to say thanks. Iâm serious.âÂ
âItâs nice of you.âÂ
He doesnât know how to prove how certain he is about staying. He decides to keep his mouth shut for now, which is hard. Almost slips up that whole evening. You donât look happy when he doubles back before he leaves that night with the bag of snacks and the huge box of diapers, but he catches you as you and Leah stand on the stoop waving at the bimmer. Youâre smiling. A real one, teeth on display for the first time since you came home.Â
â
âOkay,â you say quietly, âup, baby. And another one. Good job.âÂ
Leah demonstrates a unique level of concentration as she climbs up the stairs with you. Youâd have carried her if she didnât insist she could do it herself with a displeased squeal. Her eyes are nearly closed, her tongue slipping between her lips and a hand thrown out for balance, the other held in your own as she manages two, then three, the few shallow steps that lead into the WSQK building.Â
âHi,â you greet a quiet man sitting at the door. âIs Steve in?âÂ
âThink so. Why?â
âI wanted to talk to him, if thatâs okay.â
The man gives you a suspicious look that eventually metes. âSure. Gotta knock the booth before you go in, though, they might be on the air.â
âSure. Thank you.âÂ
Leah stumbles with you inside. Thereâs a wide wooden panelled room and smaller glass one within. You knock on it and wait for movement, too scared to look through the panels. Youâve learned that Robin has her very own radio show on the 94.5 called The Morning Squawk, and Steve, through best-friend nepotism, gets to be her sound guy. He has this WSQK van they drive around to do on the road interviews, and theyâre both a hundred times happier here than they were rewinding tapes at Family Video.Â
Itâs a pretty firm knot of roots to lay.Â
The door opens a good fifteen seconds after youâd knocked. Youâre immediately greeted by a blondified Robin Buckley, her freckled cheeks slack with surprise. âUhâŚâ
âHi, Robin.â
âHi,â she says.Â
The last time you saw Robin, youâd been laying on Steveâs couch in his socks and what mightâve been Robinâs own sweatshirt, the three of you arguing on what movie to watch and what candy you were gonna tip into your popcorn. Youâd laid your head in Steveâs lap.Â
âLeah,â you say, clearing your throat as subtly as possible, âsay hi, bubby.âÂ
âHi, bubby,â Leah says.Â
Robin snorts.Â
âThis is your daddyâs best friend ever, Aunt Robin,â you say, shooting Robin a sorry look as you mouth, âIs that cool?âÂ
Robin culls your misery and manages a real smile. âThatâs me, babe.â She bends at the waist. âOh, you really do look like Steve. Shit, this is so cool.â Her awkwardness has melded to full-bodied delight. âYouâre like his twin! Well, you do look like your mommy, duh, but this is trippy! Hey, did you get your books?â
Leah looks up at her with huge eyes.Â
âDid you like your storybooks?â you ask Leah, kneeling down behind her to hold her shoulder. âAunt Robin gave you those ones, remember, daddy read one to you about the ugly duckling?âÂ
âThe duckies,â Leah says factually.Â
âAwesome,â Robin says. âIâm so happy you liked them, sweetie. And Iâm so happy to meet you.âÂ
You donât question for a second that she means it.Â
You pat Leah on the shoulder. âAunt Robin is your daddyâs best friend in the whole world.âÂ
âDaddyâs here?â she asks Robin.Â
âUh, not right now, he had to go get lunch.âÂ
âOh.â
âBut you can totally come in!â she says, opening the door to the booth wide. âI can show you how the radio works! And then Steveâ then dad can come back. I bet heâll be here any second.â
âYouâre not busy?â you ask.Â
âI mean?â Robin laughs, nervously incredulous, âif I ever have kids theyâd be her cousins. Thatâs pretty important. And, like, sheâs Steveâs, so? Iâd die for her?â Robin scratches a hand through her hair. âCome on, baby Stevie, Iâll show you the keyboard. Itâs your dadâs favourite gimmick.âÂ
You hover in the middle of the small room as Robin slides a chair over to the desk with a keyboard and a mic balanced on top of it. She glances at you before she holds her hands out to Leah, and Leah goes into them willingly. Robin pulls her up and settles her in the chair. She can barely see the keys, but sheâs already reaching for them as Robin starts to explain which ones do what, toggling a switch that you assume makes sure whatever sounds Leah plays are off air.
You sit yourself down on a loveseat by the door.
âWe can play all of this stuff on the radio in the car,â Robin says, âdo you listen to the radio?â
âThe music, bubby,â you say.Â
Leah gives a neck-breaking nod.Â
âWell, me and dad choose what songs to play. Do you have a favourite song?âÂ
âShe loves âSave it For Laterâ by The Beat. She gets super into it,â you say.Â
âOh, we have that one! Letâs queue it up, Leah.â
Leah mashes the keyboard in a cacophony of introductions and funny sounds, then a long run of the Rockinâ Robin intro. She finds a sound bite of applause loaded up on the tape deck, hitting it over and over as she giggles.Â
âBe careful, Lee, donât break it.â
Her hitting doesnât slow.Â
âLee,â you say more firmly, âbaby, stop. You have to be nice. Donât slap the buttons.âÂ
Leah throws you a glare. âMommy,â she whines.Â
âWhat? You have to be nice to other peopleâs things. Aunt Robin is letting you play with her keyboard, but itâs important. Itâs okay to try all the buttons! But with nice hands. Yeah?â
The ajar door opens fully. âIs my Leah not being nice?â Steve asks, already beaming with all his teeth as he sees her behind the keyboard. âI donât believe that for a second!âÂ
Leah wiggles her excitement in the depths of the chair. Doesnât bother calling out for him, thereâs no need. Steve laughs, saying hi with a quick hand dropped on your shoulder, the gentlest squeeze anyoneâs ever given with his thumb rubbing a half circle before he bends down by Leahâs chair. âHi,â he says, your heart beating so loudly in your ears that you hardly hear him. âYouâre at the radiohouse! Did Rockinâ Robin show you how to play a song? Do you wanna talk on the microphone?âÂ
âHi,â Leah says.Â
âHi.â
âHug me now?â
Steveâs like butter in the sun. He melts into nothing. âYeah, babe, right now.â
She slinks forward and he picks her up, standing with a baby on his hip like heâs been doing it all his life.Â
âIâm gonna play her a song,â Robin says. âMy queues almost empty.â
âOkay, thanks,â he says, to which Robin wrinkles her nose.Â
âSure,â she says, sending you a look as she heads to her desk. Like, get a load of this idiot.
Steve presses his nose to Leahâs hair and smells her. Then he smiles, patting the small of her back.Â
Leah looks straight at you and says, âDaddyâs here,â in case you werenât aware.Â
Steve blinks away a pained flutter, his brow pulling like heâd been in pain, quickly wiped away and hidden by the time Leah glances at him again.Â
You think maybe, for a second, heâd wanted to cry.Â
âSteve?â you ask quietly. âYou okay?â
âYeah. No, yeah.â
âYou sure?âÂ
He tugs Leah higher on his hip. âIâm okay,â he tells you, holding your gaze, his left sclera bloodshot but his nearly-tears blinked away. âIâm great, âcos Leahâs here,â he adds, pressing his mouth to Leahâs cheek, âat work! Sheâs a working girl now, we gotta get you on the payroll.âÂ
Itâs a little while later, sitting on the couch and waiting for Steve to ask you what it is youâre doing here, when the door opens. Leah perks up in his lap, the headphones sheâd been wearing falling down around her neck in a heap that makes her cringe, giving a warbly cry as Steve offers assurances to her.Â
Youâre focused on the teenager standing in the door. Itâs the kid.Â
His eyes widen at the sight of you.Â
âLucas Sinclair,â you greet, giving him a stony look. âYou ratted me out.â
âUhâ did I?âÂ
âI know it was you.âÂ
Lucas grimaces. âAre we sure it was me?â
âI saw you.â
âSteve couldâve got the information from anyone.â
You glare for a few more seconds, then relax. âIâm messing with you, Lucas. Iâm not mad. Even if you are a narc.â
âI am not! I told Dustin and it was Dustin that radioed Steve. Heâs the narc. I said we had to wait for proof.â
âWell, thanks for trying.â
Lucas hesitates with you, though he comes further into the room and lets the door shut behind him. âI am sorry. Kind of.â
âWeâre working things out.â
Leah tugs the headphones off of her head and out of the outlet in a great show of toddler rage, Steve laughing where he holds her. He grabs the headphones before Leah can throw them at the floor. âHey!â he admonishes through laughter, âThose arenât mine, babe. Should we put them on the desk?â
Steve takes them from her and sets them high. He moves the chair, bumping Leah on his knee, forcing her eyes to the new figure in the room. âLook, Lee, itâs your Uncle Lucas.â
Lucas gives an awkward, endearing smile. âHi.â
âHi!â Leah says.Â
âWhatâs up?â Steve asks.Â
âCan I get a ride, tonight? I asked my dad but heâs going to that miniature car thing.âÂ
âWhere to?âÂ
âMaxâs.â
âWhy are you being cagey?â Steve asks, lifting an eyebrow.Â
âIâm not!âÂ
âYou so are, dude. Whatâs happening at Maxâs?âÂ
âNothing! She doesnât, like, know Iâm going, thatâs all.â
Steve leans in his chair in what would be a total act of casual derision if he werenât also holding Leah to his front, his fingers waving patterns into her tummy affectionately. âSo Iâm gonna be on her shit list for whatever it is you have planned? No deal, dude.â
âIâm not in trouble. Sheâs not mad at me,â Lucas says.
âFor once.â
âSheâs not. I have a surprise planned? And itâs gonna get ruined on my bike, so.â
Steveâs suspicion wavers. âWhat sort of surprise?â he asks.Â
His smile is nice. Doesnât it suit him? Heâs calm where he sits despite the rumble of noise coming from Robinâs booth and Leah talking to herself in his lap. The red glow of the ON AIR light makes his brown hair nearly purple at the tops but leaves his face untouched, tan fading pale in the fall, his beauty marks the darkest bit of colour to him when you arenât looking into the well of his eyes. His irises are like wet tree bark. His lashes look long from across the room.Â
And his biceps donât look half bad when theyâre wrapped around your baby. Her tiny stature emphasises the bulk heâs put on while you were in Portland. Youâve been noticing more of him latelyâhis weight gain, the change in his muscle, the cut of his hair, those reading glasses he keeps in the console of his car. But there are things about him that didnât change. Heâs pretty happy, as things go. He likes doing things for other people.Â
Their conversation drifts into focus. ââŚnot too much, right?â
âNah, I think thatâs appropriate. Four years of dating is a long time.âÂ
âEven if youâre broken up for half a year in the middle?â
Steve chuckles. Leah looks up at the sound. âI wouldnât mention that part,â he says. âLook, Iâll come get you after Iâm done hereââ
âYouâre not coming tonight?â you ask, entirely sincere in asking. Not a lick of judgement in it, but surprise, and a second emotion you arenât eager to name.Â
âI wasâ I was gonna come,â Steve says. âIf thatâs cool.â
âOh, sure. Sorry. I thought you wereâ Yeah, itâs fine,â you say.Â
Steve looks at you for a long second. âI canât miss out on dinner,â he says, dipping down to speak in Leahâs ear, âcan I? What am I making tonight, Lee, do you remember?â
âSâgetti,â she says, with a vindication bordering evil.Â
Steve presses his lips together. Shrugs at Lucas smugly. âSâgetti,â he says. âIâll be there at six, okay?âÂ
Lucas shoots an âAwesome, thank you, sorry,â over his shoulder as he leaves.Â
âThank you sorry,â Leah repeats.Â
Steve has to lock into work and he doesnât ask you to leave, moving Leah around in his arms and plugs the headphones in. She enjoys the novelty enough to sit there without complaining, bathed in attention. Itâs weird to have Leah with you without having to look after her. Like, she gets uncomfortable and Steve moves her. She whines in his arm and he opens a drawer to uncover a bag of chips. He does ask if itâs alright for her to eat them, but you say yes and he doesnât need guidance after that. He wipes her dirty face in his sleeve and twists a knob on the keyboard.Â
He is startlingly capable.Â
You are startlingly hot.Â
You pull at your neckline, wishing youâd brought a book to read or a zip tie to garrote yourself with for thinking such stupid shitty thoughts.Â
â
Steve packs his shit up at five with Leah on his hip, happy to stay with him. Youâve been quiet bordering silent and he hasnât summoned up the bravery to ask why. He didnât wanna look a gift horse in the mouth, âcos youâre here, and you brought Lee without any begging on his part. He shows her off to everyone they pass on the way out, less subtly to the smiley cleaner Cindy who loves to call him handsome in the morning. Whoâs this? she asks.Â
This is my baby, Leah.
The problem arises when heâs trying to pass Leah to you to part ways in the parking lot.Â
âI donât think Iâve ever heard something that loud,â Robin laments, blinking fast. Because, despite years and time to learn, heâs her ride home.Â
Leah screams another ear-splitter. âNo!â sheâs shouting. âNo, no!âÂ
She sobs.Â
You try to disentangle her from Steveâs chest. He can feel your individual fingers pressing into his pecs. âLee, come on!â you say, laughing nervously. âDaddy has stuff to do, weâll see him for dinner!â
She sobs louder.Â
Robin shakes her head as though dislodging water from her ears.
âBaby, please,â you say, apparently possessing the patience of a god, âitâs okay, I promise, itâs not long. Weâll be okay for a bit.âÂ
Leah sews her hands in his hair tightly, yanking until it stings. Steve flinches and you immediately stop trying to make Leah disengage.Â
âSorry, honey,â you say, and Steve realises with a full body start youâve spoken to him, your hand resting open on his upper shoulder. Itâs an obvious slip of the tongue. You lean forward with a slight stammer, âIâ Leah, donât pull, youâre hurting.â
âNot going,â Leah says.Â
âJust for now!âÂ
âNo!â
You give Steve a wide-eyed frown. âIâm sorry, I donât know whatâs going on. She doesnât do this⌠usually.â
âThatâs okay, itâs fine, maybe you could come with me?âÂ
You nibble your lip. âI gotta go check on my mom, I havenât been home all day, I donât know if sheâs eaten yet.âÂ
Steve tries to pass Leah into your arms with renewed purpose. The snap of hair behind his ear gives him pause. âUh, can she come with me?â Steve asks, loud now, his head angled against her hand. âOw, Lee!â
Leah stops pulling his hair with a sob.Â
âIâll take her with me and Iâll drop Robin off, pick Lucas up early, and weâll come straight to the house.â
You falter.
The thought of you not trusting him hurts his stomach, but you say, âSteve, can you deal with that? She might not get any happier for a while.â
âSure I can, youâve had to do it a hundred times. Iâm mostly patient. If she doesnât calm down, I wonât yellââ
âI didnât think you would.â You pout, wrinkling your nose. âYouâd have to move the car seatââ
âYeah, I got one.â
âYou got a car seat?â
âInstalled it last week. Jesus Christ, Leah, not the hair!â He reaches up to force her hand as gently as he can away from his scalp. âBaby, owwww. Not the hair.âÂ
Leah shudders away to check heâs not angry. He can see it on her tiny face, the worry. He brings his hand to her cheek, finds his hand is too big, and has to rub her cheek with his thumb alone. âYou wanna come with daddy to drop off your Aunt Robin?â he asks.
âYeah.â
âYeah?âÂ
âCome with you,â she says, a crocodile tear rolling down her cheek.Â
âBut mommy has to go home, is that okay?âÂ
Leah shudders again. âYâokay.â
âOkay. Give mommy a big kiss,â he says, repeating one of your favourite lines when itâs time for Steve to leave.Â
You get a kiss. Youâre startled, he thinks, almost expressionless in how slack youâve gone, but Steve smiles at you and you smile in turn. âYou know how to do the car seat?â you ask.Â
âSure. Itâs got the two mechanisms, right? Her arm goes through each of the triangle strap thingys?âÂ
âYeah. Okay. Are you sure you can manage?â
âAre you okay with me taking her?â
You shrug. He can see why Leah does it as much as she does. âI guess I am. I mean, when we go home⌠like, youâll have to have her for summers, I guess?â you ask, and youâre as beautiful as you usually are, the awkward twist of you and your tired eyes donât touch it. You were beautiful when he walked into the sound room and found you in the loveseat, beautiful when you told him youâd stay for now without saying goodbye, beautiful when he spotted you across the parking lot with his surprise on your hip. Youâve always been beautiful. He knows you donât feel strongly about your looks, but he does, and now you made his girl? And she looks so much like the two of you?Â
Steve stares at you, not even in hopes of any realisation, but he stares at you and thinks I cannot let this girl go back to Portland without me.Â
He doesnât expect you to stay. All he needs is to beg a ride.Â
Because yes, Steve will become your awkward cling-on. Heâll find a shitty apartment close to you and heâll build his life around Leah if thatâs all he can have.Â
But itâs not everything he wants.Â
âYou go take care of your mom, and weâll meet you for dinner at 6? 6:15 at the latest?âÂ
âOkie dokie.â
Steve rolls his eyes to stop from kissing your cheek. âSay see you later, mommy,â he tells Leah.Â
âSee you later, mommy,â Leah says.Â
You use his shoulder as an anchor to kiss her cheek. He swears you rub his arm as you pull away, but Robin would call that delusional thinking. âSee you soon, bug.â
He watches you walk away. Every step is perfect. âYour momâs such a bombshell,â he murmurs, âholy sugar, sheâs everything.â You turn over the top of the car and give him a wave, blowing Leah a kiss. He wants to catch it. He finger waves back.Â
Then he spins and finds Robin judging him hard.
It takes them twenty whole human minutes to figure out how to get Leah safely secured in her car seat. Then he spends four minutes framing her face in his hands and kissing her cheeks, enamoured beyond anything to see her in the bimmer. Robin laughs at how lame he is and he strokes a hair off of Leahâs forehead rather than feed into her ridicule. His baby laughs up a storm as he chucks her under the chin.Â
âSteve, Iâm gonna starve!â Robin warns.
âRight, right!âÂ
He kisses Leahâs small forehead and clambers out.Â
Robin talks a big talk, but she bends around in the passenger seat to chatter to Leah the whole way to her neighbourhood. âAnd then dad got us stuck on the side of the road! It was crazy! I told him we were in trouble and he kept laughing! But nothing is that funny, Leah, nothing. I think itâs âcos your dad has a bunch of screws loose from that time he slipped on melted ice cream at work.âÂ
âDonât listen to her, Lee!â Steve protests, laughing at her rolling giggles.Â
âHe busted his head! Luckily I saved him, because I am very very smart and I went to campââ
âYou went to Girl Scoutâs sleep away camp, thatâs not real camp! You were there for a week.â
âBut they taught me what to do when your dingus gets a concussion,â Robin says, in her silky radio voice that Leahâs magnetised to. âAnd thatâs why dad only looks a bit wonky, as opposed to a lot.âÂ
âIâm not wonky, am I, Lee?â Steve asks, checking the rearview for her.Â
âWonky?â she asks.
âDoes daddy look wonky?â
âMm,â she says.Â
âWhat! That is so mean! Baby, I thought you liked dad?âÂ
She giggles and goes all shy. Robin, bless her clumsy, alternative, mixed-up huge heart, goes soft as taffy against the seat. âWe donât like him at all, do we?â she asks, reaching out to rub Leahâs arm. Steve nearly hits a curb trying to watch. âStinky dad. You can be my girl instead, if mom wants to share. I donât mind your Harrington blood.âÂ
He drops Robin off, but her mom comes out and wants to meet Leah and thatâs a whole thing. Sheâs squarely heartbroken when she first sees her, going, âAw,â and âOh,â as her eyes fill with tears.Â
âMom!â Robin says.Â
âSorry, but sheâs beautiful. Well done, Stevie.âÂ
He murmurs a Thank you, Mrs. Buckley and gets the usual Itâs Melissa, Steve.
It takes another ten minutes to get Leah in the car after her quick trip. He heads straight for Lucasâ and finds him freaking out about the bouquet he got Max âErica told him to put salt in the water to keep them fresh. Steve drives him to the florists ten minutes before they close and they end up with two smaller bunches combined into a vibrant hodgepodge.
Steve buys a handful of daisies for Leah, tucking one behind her ear.Â
Max likes her flowers, but sheâs far more interested in the baby. Lucas stands behind her rubbing his mouth.Â
âShe does look like you,â Max says thoughtfully.Â
âRight? She has my eyes.â
âYeah.â Max leans into the car. âHi, Steveâs baby,â she says quietly.Â
âThis is your Aunt Max,â Steve says.Â
Leah, who has taken all these new aunts and uncles in her stride (or is too young to get what the hell is going on), offers Max a huge smile with her tiny baby teeth. âHi Amâ Max,â she says.Â
Max grins despite herself. âHi. Are you having a good day?âÂ
âYessss.â
âYeah?â She glares at Steve momentarily before standing in front of him, like sheâs annoyed heâs seen her being normal, like he doesnât catch her in a good mood all the time. âDonât worry, you donât have to lie. Did you have dinner?âÂ
âMax, I am perfectly capable of looking after her.â
âIâm just checking!â She shakes Leahâs hand nicely. âThis party had enough boys,â she says.Â
Steve ruffles Maxâs hair, unbound and bouncing behind her. Heâs lucky he makes it to the car with his hand.Â
Steve sighs when theyâre on the road to your place. âOkie dokie,â he says, clenching the steering wheel to listen to the leather creak, âletâs go see your mom. Itâs onlyââ He checks his watch. Blinks big and wide. Itâs 6:37PM already, and itâs a five minute drive to your side of Hawkins. âOh, my god. Youâre mom is gonna kill me dead.âÂ
âKill?â
âKiss!â he says, cringing. âYep, sheâs gonna kiss me! No other words.âÂ
âYâokay.â
âWho taught you to say that so cutely?â he asks, fully stressed now, the tightness in his voice surprising a giggle out of Leah. âStop laughing!â
She giggles worse.Â
He canât be more anxious as he pulls up to the house. He climbs out of the car, grabs Leah from her car seat, and in his rush to get her home before you murder him, slams his head so hard into the roof of the car he sees stars.Â
âOh, fuck,â he says, holding Leah to his chest as his vision fades out.Â
Your laugh sounds out from behind him. âEvery parent has to do it, Steve, Iâm sorry to say,â you call, jogging down the path to the car. âI was wondering where you guys went. Itâs⌠Steve?âÂ
He blinks hard as he stands up, his arms around Leah shaky as his head pounds and pounds and pounds. âSorry,â he says.Â
âSteve, whatâs wrong?â You rest your arm behind his shoulders to hold him. âHey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?â
He urges you to take Leah.Â
The pain is radiating from the centre of his skull outward, into each eye and down the nape of his neck. Itâs such a sudden sharpness he loses his breath, spotty vision fading in and out as he curls into himself.Â
âLee, can you go inside, baby?â he hears you ask. There are a few steps, your dark shadows on the ground drifting further away before one returns, all alone. âSteve, what happened? How hard did you hit your head?â you ask softly.Â
âItâsâ I got thatââ Every word pulls at the nausea brewing in his stomach. âIâm gonnaââ
Steve gags. He aims for the grass. Everything goes white.Â
â
Steve does a valiant job of keeping himself upright long enough for you to sit him down inside, but after that, heâs useless.Â
âOkay, itâs okay,â youâre saying, a ringing in your ears you canât cope with, âitâs alright, Steve, youâre okay. Come forward, honey, let me seeââ
You arenât sure heâs conscious, but he slumps forward regardless to expose the back of his head. You feel through his hair and pull your hand out quick to check for blood on your fingertips, but they come away clean.Â
âDaddy?â Leah asks, wandering into the living room with her little smile and a daisy drooping behind her ear.Â
âHow was meemaw, bub?â you ask.Â
âSleeping.â
âWhy donât you go snuggle with her for a minute? Iâll bring you a buppy?â
Leah hugs your leg from behind. âBuppy?â
âYeah, do you want one?â
Leah shoots for the bedroom. You take her absence as an opportunity to pull Steveâs head up, meeting his droopy gaze. âSteve, baby,â you say, so softly itâd be a wonder if he could hear you, âare you okay?âÂ
He groans. âJust a migraine.â
âAre you sure?â
âFeels like one.â
âYou get them a lot?â
âMore since you left.â
You swallow roughly. âIâm gonna call an ambulance.â
âNo.â At that, he sits up, holds his own head up to plead, âYou donât have to. Iâm fine, this just happens sometimes. After I hit my head at the mall, I get these killer migraines.â
âYou hit your head, though. I think you have a concussion.â
âNot my first one.â
You hold his cheek in your hand. Your thumb brushes over his beauty marks. âNo?â you ask.Â
âHad three.â
âYou never told me.â
âI know. Didnât want you to think I wasâ some loser? I donât know. I donât know, I donât know why it was hard to be honest with you, guess I thoughtâ itâs not like itâs ever done any good before. I always say the wrong thing.â
You get on your knees in front of him. To cope with the strain of looking up at him, but more to see him face to face. âSteve, you nearly yacked in my yard. I think weâre past appearances.â
Steve covers his mouth with a big hand.Â
You tuck as much of his hair behind his ears as you can. âCan you look at me? I want to check your pupils.âÂ
He opens his eyes properly, pouring his gaze into yours without hesitation. You check the size of each pupil and find them normal, though the longer he looks, the bigger they become. âI think thereâs something wrong, Steve. Your eyes are blown.âÂ
âItâs fine. Itâs not âcos I hit my head. Itâs a headache.âÂ
âYou almost knocked yourself out. Youâre throwing up. What if I donât call the ambulance and Leahâs dad dies on my couch?â
âI donât need an ambulance. I barely puked, it was all spit.â
âSteve.âÂ
âIâm serious. I didnât even go for the first two concussions, and the third one, they said this could happen. Turns out that taking a couple of bad knocks to the head makes you fragile, Iâm fine.â He cups your cheek. âJesus, donât feel sorry for meââÂ
âI do feel sorry. Iâm so sorry.âÂ
Seconds of stringy silence follow. He squints at you through the pain. âItâs okay,â he says, his own thumb rubbing at your veins. âIâm sorry, too.âÂ
You pull his hand off your face. Not without care.Â
ââŚCan I please call an ambulance?â you ask, uneasy.
âI donât need one.âÂ
âHow do you know?â you whisper.Â
He turns his hand in your grip to hold yours. His eyes are brown and teary with pain, but theyâre so familiar. âI just do. Can you trust me, please?â
You try to stand. Steve squeezes your hand in his and makes you sit on the couch beside him as his eyes shutter closed and his head tips back, the column of his throat there and pale and working as he swallows his pain. You stare at the length of it with your hand too hot in his grip, wondering when itâs acceptable to pull your hand away, and if youâd even want to when the time came.Â
You told me you didnât want this, you think, your two joined hands rising and falling where heâs pulled them to his chest. You swear you can see his heart in his chest. The gentle bump-bump of it against skin. A miserable wife.Â
âCan I get you anything?âÂ
He croaks a hum. âMm, no.â
âAre you sure? I have aspirin.â
His fingers flex. âItâll go away.â
âWhen?â
âIt depends. It can take a few hours, sometimes, but I donât get the worst of the pain for long.â His voice is hoarse with its quiet.Â
âThe other times?â
âThey can last for days.â
Youâd seen the physical change in Steve. He went weak and sweaty in seconds. His nausea was obviously extreme. You can feel the tremor in his hand as he talks like every word spurs pain.
âIt wonât, though,â he says. âDonât worry. I need five minutes and I can make dinner.â
âUh, no you canât. You can sit right here until you feel better, thanks.â
He sinks impossibly further into your momâs old couch. âOkay. Sorry.â
âItâs okay.â You lower your tone. âI donât mind. Iâm sorry if you thought I would.â
âI didnât mean toââ
âTo what? Give yourself a concussion on the roof of the car? I gathered that.â
âDidnât mean for it to become your problem,â he says.Â
âYouâre not a problem, Steve. I promise.âÂ
You fight for better judgement and lose, letting yourself caress a piece of hair away from his pale neck.Â
âI think I really screwed up,â he says. âThink I made out all the wrong things. You didnât think you could tell me about the babyââ
âWe donât have to do this againââ
âYeah, we do. We do. Because I made you think I wouldnât want you. I lied to protect my ego and I couldâve had everything I wanted,â âhis brow pulls tight and glared, his jaw rigidâ âand I hurt you.âÂ
âI hurt myself. You didnât make me run away, Steve. I did it all alone. Iâm good at that.âÂ
âI donât want you to be alone.â
âI donât want you to live a life that you hate.âÂ
âI donât. I wonât. How could I ever hate anything about her?â
You have to give him that. But. âI didnât tell you for a bunch of reasons, Steve,â you confess, hardly wanting to let it out. âI was scared of everything, you and your parents, making you into the reluctant husband, orâ or at the least the reluctant father. I didnât want to deal with it. And I didnât wanna be that stupid girl who got knocked up by the prom king. I ran away and nobody had to know.âÂ
âIt wouldnât have been like that.â
âI realise that now.âÂ
His head lolls to see you. He pulls his lashes apart enough to peek through them, that dark hedging a line youâd like to count. You tip your head toward his and face him across the couch cushions, hands joined and hot as a hearth.Â
âIt was never messing around, to me,â he says quietly. Sweat wets the hair at his temples.Â
âYou donât have toââ
âI got my heart stomped on pretty hard over and over and I stopped trying. I put all my cards on the table every time. But with you, I couldnât do it again. I thought I couldnât, so I acted less into you than I was.â
You remember all his kisses and tight armed hugs, his affectionate nudges, his nose lined to your temple as he bore down. It hadnât felt like less. But youâd never thought it was more, either.Â
âI pretended we were this summer fling, told you I didnât want kids, that I wanted to live in the city and get a full time job at a firm with a company car, like that stuff mattered.â He frowns at you deeply. âIâm sorry. I wish I could change it.âÂ
His throat bobs.Â
âSâit still hurting?â you murmur.Â
âSo much,â he murmurs too, holding your hand against his heart. âI canât get it to stop.âÂ
âI canât do this with you.âÂ
He shakes his head minutely. âMânot asking you for anything you canât give me. Iâm just sorry.âÂ
You want him to lean in and align his mouth to yours. You imagine it vividly, the press and taste of him, the scratch of the stubble on his upper lip and his hand slipping behind your neck, squeezing your nape gently, his thumb at the hinge of your jaw trying to open your mouth. You want him so badly itâs a palpable ache in your teeth, like heâs already kissed you harsh and quick, that clack of a collision and the subsequent metallic on your tongue.Â
But you arenât lying. You canât do this. Â
A thudding noise echoes from your momâs room, compelling you up and away from his warm touch. Your hand sings with pins and needles as it falls out of his.Â
âLee?â you call. âSorry. I have to go make sure sheâs okay.âÂ
He frowns again as he pinches the bridge of his nose. âThatâs fine. Iâll be here.â
â
The bedroom throw blankets havenât changed since you were here last. Your mom didnât waste much time turning it into a guest room, but the sheets and blankets are the same, soft with wear in your hands as you lay them out. Leah waits for you to finish before climbing into bed, her bottle teat bitten between her teeth. It slips out of her hand with a rush of air as she slips into the pillows. You pick it up and offer it to her again, your shoulders aflame with the weight of an uncommon gaze.Â
âWhat side do you sleep on?â
Steve, at half-mast but less obviously pained, takes his time answering.Â
âLeft.âÂ
âLeft sideâs all yours.â
He shuffles forward in a polo and a pair of his old sweatpants. You, in a horrible stroke of great luck, had them in the bottom of the chest of drawers.Â
âMake room for me?â he asks Leah.Â
She grins around her bottle.Â
Youâre pretty sure that if Steve canât open his eyes for more than ten seconds at a time, he canât drive, and you donât want him to fall asleep at home and never wake up. Hence your impromptu sleepover. The bed is a queen and you have a shared child as a buffer, but youâre already annoyed with yourself. Your arms keep remembering what it felt like to stretch out over him whenever he ended up on his front. It is not helpful.Â
You put the big light out and the nightlight on, a ladybug on a mushroom that glows a warm orange on Steveâs side of the room. In your own sweatpants and a vest, you climb into the right side of the bed and nearly fall straight back out at the lack of space.Â
Steve curls an arm around Leah tentatively, encouraging her into his side to make room for you.Â
âYou okay?â he asks Leah quietly.Â
âYou okay, daddy?â she asks.Â
âIâm fine, beautiful. Iâm good.â
âSleep?â she asks.
âWith you, if thatâs cool?â
âCool,â she says decidedly.Â
When you lie down, Leah immediately rolls out of Steveâs grip and makes herself comfortable in the curves of you, her nose digging hard in your arm, the bottle warm on your chest.Â
âIâll move her when she falls asleep,â you whisper, nodding to the foldout cot next to the bed with its padded interior.Â
Sleeping in the same bed as Steve Harrington is a long gone artefact of the past. Itâs odd to be face to face with him, to smell him so close, the toothpaste on his breath and the salty, earthy sting of sweat mixed with allspice. You donât strictly mind it, but you didnât think youâd ever be this close again. It hurries the heart. You miss him like a slap.Â
Refusing to think on it is the best way forward.Â
âYou sure youâre okay?â you ask him under your breath.Â
Leah suckles at her bottle, breaking the quiet, though itâs a monotone sort of sound. Steve doesnât answer. You glance at him and find him dozing already, not a blanket over him nor a sheet untucked.Â
âSteve.âÂ
He blinks to attention. âHuh?â
âPull the blanket up over yourself.âÂ
He must like your tone. Youâd gone soft by accident, too used to lulling Leah to sleep via sweetness and dulcet murmuring. He kicks it down and then pulls it up to his ribs, a tight white parcel with the pink throw laid over his feet.Â
âItâll be cold tonight. Does that make the migraines worse?â you ask.Â
âNo. Iâll be okay.â
You let him fall asleep. Leah snuggles under your chin. This isnât the daydream. You arenât being cuddled and coddled by warm kisses along the side of your face, his big arm around you, your baby between you. Steve keeps a good distance and heâs exhausted.Â
Leah takes a lot longer to fall, but when she does itâs for keeps. You give her ten minutes tucked up on your chest but decide to move her when you feel your own eyes drifting shut. A rush of unnecessary shushing and a soft kiss later, you creep toward the bed and lay down on your side. Steve sleeps as your mirror, one cheek and eye hidden by the pillow, the sheets pulled haphazard over his hip. You yank them from under you and pull them up to cover him to the shoulder, tempted to tuck his hair behind his ear again. Itâs long enough.Â
âCan feel you staring,â he whispers.Â
Your heart leaps in shock, though thankfully you donât jump. âHm?â
âStaring at me.â
âTrying to gauge whether you died in your sleep.âÂ
âStill âlive.â
You do reach for him, then, stricken by how badly you want to take care of him. âI can see that.âÂ
He peeks down at your hand on his cheek and grins dopily. âMissed you,â he says.Â
âMissed you, too.âÂ
You wouldnât tell him if it werenât dark, if he werenât in pain.Â
âYou did?â he asks.Â
âI always miss you,â you say. You pull your hand away like itâs him thatâs said the wrong thing, annoyed at your own boldness, moving onto your back to stare at the ceiling.Â
He feels at your wrist, up your arm. Steve slides his palm over your stomach and holds it there. When youâre starting to think he mightâve fallen asleep again, your breath aching in your throat to be expelled, he presses down carefully and sighs. âI wish I got to see it. Donât know why you were alone.â
âI wasn't.âÂ
âWouldâve looked after you, though.âÂ
âSteveâŚâ
âI wouldâve.â
âI know.â You know now. You couldâve stayed here and had him look after you, but itâs not what you wanted. âI wanted⌠more, than that.â
He stares at you across the pillows. Your breath catches as he brings his hand up to your cheek and encourages your head toward him, as he lifts himself up off the pillows to bear down over you.
âDo you still want that?â he asks.Â
You laugh, weak and weary. âNot when youâre concussed.â
He laughs in your face. Itâs quiet to leave Leah sleeping, and to stop from hurting himself again, but itâs a genuine laugh of joy leaning over you. His hair falls in his face and heâs beautiful. All freckled and gold in the dim amber light sunning in from behind him.Â
âI am not concussed,â he says, leaning down.Â
You donât kiss. Wonât lift your lips to his where he waits, though waiting might not be the right word. Itâs like heâs alright with anything youâre about to do, or not do, sharing your breath.Â
âI donât believe you,â you tease lightly.Â
Heâs moved so much to be over you. It is unquestionably the position of a man whoâs going to kiss you.Â
You press your forehead to his chin.Â
âWe should sleep,â you say, because you shouldnât kiss.Â
Portland feels very, very far away as he trails his fingers down the front of you and takes a handful of your hip.Â
âIâm not concussed,â he says, though itâs not asking for anything; Steveâs already pulling away. He sits up and slightly away from you, rubbing a wave into your abdomen lovingly, like you never went to Portland at all. Like itâs the sleepover after a night spent kissing slow and watching shit TV. âGet some sleep, angel,â he adds, so quietly youâd doubt he spoke if you hadnât watched his mouth shape the words.Â
â
In the morning, you wake to find Leah chest to chest with Steve, his hair like water on your pillows.Â
âAnâ my hand anâ my nose as my mouth,â she says factually.Â
âAnd your ears,â he says back to her quietly, stroking a path from her shoulders to her lower back and up again. âYour eyebrows, and your hair, and your neck.â
âYeah.â
âYour tummy, and your legs, and your little toes.â
âAmâ my toes,â she says.Â
âEven your toes are pretty,â Steve agrees. ââCos duh. Leahâs the prettiest girl I ever met, right?â His voice drops low enough to rattle hoarsely. âJust as pretty as mommy. I didnât know that was possible.â
You hide your face in the pillows, pretending to sleep.Â
This is not going to go how youâd first thought.Â
â
thank you for reading!! so excited I love steve and I know he could be bitchier and angrier here but Iâve decided to make him whipped instead cos heâs cute when heâs in love and if itâs not implied enough heâs still whipped for the reader lol. hope you enjoyed it thank you very much for reading and taking the time
Summary: Steve Harrington, in his seventeen years, had been shown one lesson that was paramount above all others: he didn't warrant care. Meanwhile, caring was all you'd ever known to do. When a fateful monster attack draws your worlds together, you would find yourselves in a place so different from where you started.
Chapter summary: A missing cat leads to an important conversation with Robin, and you come home to the second shock of the day: Your brother and Steve Harrington, gearing up for war.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Henderson!Reader
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings: Discussions of homophobia and queer identity, mentions of bullying, drug mention, discussions of pet health, missing pet, parentification of a child. Please read the fic masterlist for a full list of warnings!
<- Prev
Mews is missing.
Itâs typical, really. The cat who eats the Henderson family out of house and home disappears in the dead of night without a trace, as opposed to actually making good on her insurance and dying by some tragic illness.Â
Naturally, your mom is a wreck. You can tell sheâs bargaining with the universe, pleading to the god of lost cats to return her furbaby, and reassuring her mind that the thoughts flooding through it are an overreaction. Because god knows the world needs more of your mom talking herself down.Â
An image was constructed. Mews is camped out under a deck somewhere, shielding from last night's rain. Terrorising some poor rodent, lifting her paw from its tail before clamping back down again, the little tormenting shit that she is. The image is solid, if morbid, but considering the longest sheâs been absent is the gap between the end of class and dinner time, and she hasnât been spotted since last night, its likelihood of coming true is rapidly declining.Â
Meanwhile, Dustinâs innocence hangs in the balance, telephone clasped between two hands and speaking with the poise of an adult to someone on the other end who doesnât exist. The automated message had floated heavily into your periphery, but your mother was none the wiser, too busy blubbering âI love youâs to him and hurrying out to Loch Nora to smell the pants on fire. The door had closed behind her. Outrage permitted. You had demanded that your brother explain his plot to you.
But he had been saved by the bell.Â
The bell being Robin.
âWait, waitâ this one!â Robin clears her throat with a show, clutching it. ââHelp wanted. In search of someone to paint a two story house. Required use of ladders. Ideal for a high school student who is looking to gain job experience.ââÂ
âOh, my god. Why would they write that?â
She puts on the accent of a stiff upper lip British gentleman. âI hope to find a young Victorian child to sweep my chimney. Must be malnourished. Payment in stale bread and absolutely nothing else.â She snorts in a cacophony, upwards into the treeline. âSo Iâll put you down for that one, right?âÂ
You kick up a wave of leaves that fall wetly over her shins.
She shakes them off, which is evidently hard to do while fighting the giggles vibrating her body like a buzzed squirrel. Once subsided she bends the newspaper into itself to catch the light of the greyed out sun and scans the next recruitment ad.Â
âYou could be a tester for Coke?âÂ
âYeah, great, letâs test how far we can stretch that dental insurance.âÂ
You rattle the box of cat food, elevated in the air to project the noise over the clearing.Â
âYou know it used to have cocaine as an ingredient?â
âWhyâd they remove it?âÂ
â(Y/N)!â
âIâm kidding!â A beat. âYou think I could be a cocaine tester?â
Sticks and soil batter you in the face.
âWhat else?â You ask around restricted sounds, tongue extended and blowing a raspberry peppered with dirt.
She twists her neck, leaning over the inked paper. âNot much. Lot of hardware jobs. Plenty inside of school hours. Thereâs tutoring?âÂ
âI guess. Not much security out of semester, though.â You flick the reddish brown mulch under your finger nail free. âThanks for the help, by the way.âÂ
Itâs a glowing use of your weekend, ambling through the woods with your best friend. Ground slippy, air stinking potently of manure. Many different obstacles for Robin to knock herself out on. Above all, youâre second guessing the choice to utilise her this way, instead of in a double interrogation of Dustin.Â
She flaps her arm your way, hand folding dismissively at the wrist. âI wasnât gonna leave you unattended. Canât add matricide to your list of problems.âÂ
âHoly shit.â Your chest heaves with a laugh.
Itâs a bust. She rolls up the newspaper conclusively and follows it with further shouts of Mewsâ name. You join in the chorus, with the added percussion of the kibble box. Â
She drops her cupped hands when nothing further happens.
âYou know, I think itâs time we take things back to basics. Lemonade standââ
âBlood donation.â
âAnd we canâ What?â
âDo you have any idea how much they pay for blood?â
She whacks you against the arm with the rolled tube. âNo more than people pay for lemonade!â
âI think itâs a damn sight more than what they pay for lemonade.â
âNo!â She barks, causing you to stifle a laugh at how genuinely adamant she appears on the matter. Her hands reach out to pat down your torso, as if poked full of a million microscopic holes that sheer force of will could stop from leaking with O positive. âKeep your insides, inside.âÂ
You apprehend and shake her wrists. âFine. If I bomb this interview and the black market doesnât work out, then yeah, weâll open a lemonade stand.âÂ
She puffs up, weirdly delighted by the purely hypothetical prospect of citrus entrepreneurship. She tucks the paper into the back of her pants and slows, preparing to traverse down the slight slope before you. She grips one of the frailer trees and uses it to leverage herself around the thicker coating of leaves on the ground, shiny wet ones that are sure to become a slip and slide death trap. You follow, lodging your shoes into the footsteps sheâs embossed the earth with. The friction holds you until the bottom, as you take her waiting hand tightly in yours.Â
âSo, listen,â you resume, back foot slipping when you move to follow after her. âThereâs something I wanted to talk to you about.âÂ
You can tell by the look on her face that sheâs immediately on high alert. And the second your arm settles, slung around her shoulder, the ignition sparks. She hums firmly. âDonât like that.â Her hand is already trying to untwist you from her, head shaking.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âThis corner.âÂ
Comedically ironic, given the sparse patch of woods surrounding the two of you. A small cluster of trees being wrapped by wind and funneling through the negative space like a jet tunnel. Nature has a sense of humour, rebutting her with its whistles.Â
âRight, yeah, with a million different escape routes. That was my plan all along.â
âAll Iâm saying is that it feels really suspicious to take someone to the bottom of a plateau where no one can hear them scream just to talk.âÂ
The Robin effect: your brain scrambling itself into another world of melodrama that makes perfect sense to her and none to you. Floor dropping out beneath you as she floats away on a cloud. âWhaâ what plateau?âÂ
She flaps a hand confidently behind you, drawing your eyes to her evidence of the barely declining plane that you just came down. What kicks it over is her utterly indisputable face on the matter.Â
Rivalling your braindead frazzled one.
Her arm flops back to her side, before sheâs turning and continuing on her way, strides inconsistent in length to evade brambles and odd pieces of litter left by teens on their way to the nearby makeout spot.
You trod hurriedly on tiptoes to match her speed, shoving her shoulder when you get there in the hope that her mind might kickstart and turn serious for just two seconds. Enough so that you can actually quiz her about what youâve been carrying with you for the past few days.Â
âNo,â And you cringe at how much it sounds like a whine. âYou know that asshole who bumped into us a few days ago?â
Youâre briefly confused because since when is she the holder of all teen intel? But itâs obvious. No doubt the wave of speculation has come her way from her fellow band geeks, fearing that they might become the target of a new beast after just evading one of the last.Â
âRight⌠Well, I talked to him a couple days ago.â
âWhy?â
âThere was this whole thing, with his car and Dustinââ
Robinâs foot locks around a root bursting free from the ground. âWhat? Is he okay?â
Probably should have opened with that. âYeah, heâs fine!â You amend quickly. âThe prick tried to hit him."
âYouâre kidding.â She stews for a couple seconds. âWhat the hell is wrong with the men in this town?â
ââMenâ is a loose term.âÂ
âManchildren.âÂ
âDemons.â
Perhaps those nutty gossip columns hold some truth after all. Something in the townâs water supply, merging with teenage boy chemicals and erupting on rage and unaccountability. Making the insane criminally so.Â
Thatâs what they said when Will Byers turned up in the quarry. And then turned up in the hospital days later.Â
Resurrection was the word. Water that simultaneously killed him and brought him back to life. That, or everyone mass hallucinated him going missing in the first place.
A switch flicks in your mind, triggering a bemused smirk to sprout on your face. You gleefully springboard off a stump of a felled tree and land both feet flat atop a shiny red chestnut with a satisfying crunch. âYou know Dustin has a crush on his little sister?â
The crater of Robinâs mouth opens, wide enough that a woodland family could nestle inside for the winter. âDusty?â
You nod, cheeks protruding and lips broadening.Â
âMy little Duststorm is in love?â
âI donât know about love, butââÂ
She sandwiches you between two fluid arms and jiggles you excitedly. You try once to get a word out, but itâs incomprehensible, jittering within your mouth. You swat her off when itâs gone on long enough.
Her eyes bug out. âWe have to get rid of this guy. He canât be the one thing standing between littlest Henderson and his happiness.âÂ
âIf you wanna go down for murderâŚâ Your hand clasps around the bark of a tree, lifting one foot and swinging off it like a pole. âFunny how families work out, though. His sister is pretty awesome.â
Robin swings from the opposite way, coming around to meet you with her eyelashes fluttering. âYouâre meeting the family already?âÂ
Your nostrils twitch with a light puff of laughter while you settle in against the trunk. âJust⌠gave her a ride home a couple times.â
âMhm.â
You slap a hand lightly across the span of her cheek.Â
âLook⌠I talked to him. And he brought up something.â
The span of her body thrusts right back to wariness without even a muscle shift, the energy thrumming off in waves, going from standing on steady ground into a free fall. âWhat something?â Â
You mirror each other, slumping face to face in varying degrees of anxiety. She knocks a knuckle against the tree.
âHe mentioned the party the other night. Said that someone was talking to him about what I didâ?âÂ
The tiniest of nerves pulse beneath her jaw, and her lip shifts, revealing where teeth have pressed their marks.Â
âAnd then all day, I kept getting these stares. But I canât remember what for. I mean, I was a total write off.âÂ
Robinâs face is the sight of dread. It sinks before you as if sheâd rather be anywhere else.Â
âWhat?â You ask.Â
Her shoulders slant when the one against the tree shrugs and hits her ear. Her eyes remain where they are, averting yours, locked into where sheâs picking beneath a loose segment of bark. âNothing.âÂ
You absolutely detest how that feels.Â
Her silence is awful at the best of times, but now she falls into a strain of it where you feel like a stranger. Distanced.Â
Like you canât be trusted anymore.Â
It makes your throat burn.Â
âRobin, câmon.â Pleading. Already feeling out the damage and finding a cavern.Â
You squint your eyes. âDid I do something to hurt you?âÂ
âYou got drunk.â The facts. Coming immediately.Â
It jars you, how naturally she slots into passivity.Â
âAnd I was really stupid.â
Her nail comes free and scrapes into the tree. It looks like it hurt, and the knot in her eyebrows would confirm that. Nonetheless, she keeps scratching at it, agitated. âAnd⌠I tried to help you sober up, but you werenât particularly receptive to that.â
âAndâŚâÂ
She huffs through her nose. âAnd⌠wouldnât you guess who turned up right then and there.âÂ
You open your mouth, but she cuts you off. âTommy frickin Hagan.â
âCarol,â you finish.Â
âCarol.âÂ
She chuckles sardonically.Â
âWhat did they say? Waitââ You withdraw from the tree in search of somewhere more permanent, for what youâre sure is a long overdue unpacking of recent events. âCome on.â You take a step. Desperate for her to follow and determined to be sure that thereâs nothing else unsaid that might remain burning through her.Â
Her head lifts from the tree, but with minimal enthusiasm. She folds sideways at the waist once, twice, gaining momentum to push off and follow. Never so unwilling to cooperate with you, and for the first time itâs because of strenuous discomfort instead of playfulness.
You stop at a rock, concave wide enough to seat two tense friends.
She strains, parking her butt. âWell⌠Jonathan took a few hits, for starters. Probably nothing they havenât said before. Real doozies for their IQ. And then, I guess, two girls standing beside each other was the most interesting thing in the world, so they had it out over us for a while. At some point we became Jonathanâs hussies. Thatâs basically it.â
âThatâs not something youâd get torn up about.âÂ
âThatâs what happened.â
âAnd I suppose that was enough for the entire school to be staring me down.âÂ
âYup,â she hits back, popping her mouth on the final letter.
âRobâ.â
Her eyes roll back in that literal way Robin does. Up, over and down. âDonât do that.â
You shake your head.Â
ââRobââ me. Iâm mad at you.âÂ
âIf you tell me what youâre mad about I can help un-mad you.âÂ
âThatâs not a word. And you went all WWE on Carol.â
You sputter over nothing, the revelation coming up too quickly for what you were expecting, landing in your head with a thunk. âWhat?âÂ
Her green, moss-dyed nails drum against the stone. âI guess it depends on your perspective. Technically she started it, but⌠you sure as hell finished it.â She huffs blankly, filling the uncomfortable silence.
âWhy?â
The corners of her mouth upturn fractionally before sinking again, deeper than before. Her upper lip crashes over the bottom one, preventing its quivering from going haywire. âShe and Tommy said some⌠especially stupid shit.â
âWhat stupid shit, Robin?â
Itâs too hard. Sheâs growing restless with herself.Â
âThey were⌠theyââÂ
You donât push. Youâve done enough of that lately. You only watch, as displeased a spectator as possible, as each muscle in her face weathers a tidal wave, perhaps still adjusting to the turn of the conversation after thinking she might have made it out of having this exact one days ago.Â
âThey implied we were a couple.âÂ
It lands, for sure. But perhaps not with the weight it should. Because you donât understand. Tommy and Carol say stupid shit all the time. Rarely based in reality. And Robin knows that and mocks them regularly for it. They project all sorts onto the class, based in their own twisted version of things, full of spun tales and prejudice.Â
Oh.Â
You set a hand down as if theyâre right in front of you, fingers tensing into claws. âDid they find out? What the hell did they say to you?â
Sheâs tired witnessing this flavour of your anger, coming several days too late, in her eyes.
âCome on⌠you think I canât handle the casual homophobia of those meatheads? I mean, it sucks and itâs exhausting, but thatâs what the world is. Nothing new.âÂ
Each syllable is fighting the way it comes out, dragging and deflecting, tinged with fatigue and a fortitude that has been worn down too thin, and who can fucking blame her.Â
âSoâ I donâtââ
âDo you remember homecoming last year?â She starts. Your eyebrows knit together, losing your momentum, but for her to bring it up, it has a roundabout point.Â
âThey played Patti Smith and we had some of that pineapple soda I like?âÂ
âYeah, you were convinced they cleaned out the townâs supply. Couldnât find it for weeks.â
âExactly. But it felt like those two things had been tailored for me. In this town, of all places. And to top it all off, I saw Tammy across the dance floor, and she was alone. I thought: Okay, universe. Youâre throwing me a bone here. So I was gonna walk over there. All I was gonna tell her was that I liked her rendition of What A Feeling. Short, sweet. In and out, before I choked.â
Sheâd taken a huge bite of whatever it was you were both eating, for luck, and leaned down to tie her shoes again. Double knotting them, because no tripping me today, Satan.Â
âI heard her talking about Irene Cara earlier that day during rehearsal. About how talented and versatile, and⌠beautiful she was. And for a second, I thought, maybeâŚâ
She restarts, patting her lap. Physically recentering her emotions. âSo I walked over. Didnât even fall on my face. And she smiled at me. So big and sweet.â
âShe does have a pretty smile.â
âOh my god, so pretty. Gave me all the courage I needed. I told her she sounded great and she told me that she wanted to be a professional singer. And my brain had remembered how vowels and consonants work.â
Sheâs rising slowly, posture straightening, torso lifting. Thighs about to come away from the rock, floating in her reverie.Â
You remember it. How she had spied the girl she had fawned over for months. Whacked her face against your pillow at the mere mention of. Tried time and time again to rehearse that perfect first sentence that would unlock everything.Â
âAnd then⌠who else. They saw me across the hall. Zeroed in on me.âÂ
Her blinking quickens, deciding for you the moment to pull your arm around and press your palm against her spine.
âAll I ever try to do is keep my head down. I donât draw attention to myself, I donât do anything to upset anyone. But still, itâs like⌠itâs like the longer they look at me, the closer they get to cracking into what Iâm trying to keep away from them. And I could see them, drawing conclusions about me, or both of us. I guess they saw me smiling at herâŚ? And it felt like I was about to suck her into that mess, too, so⌠I came right back. I didnât even say goodbye. I must have looked like such an asshole.â
âThereâs no way she would have thought that.â
âThatâs not the point. I couldnât even be nice to a girl without them closing me in. Making me shrink. I canâtâŚâ
She thumps her screwed up palm beside her knee.Â
âI canât love without it creating an implication about me or whoever it is that Iââ The words rupture from her all at once, tangling together. âI canât love on my terms. I canât even hide on my terms. And at the partyâŚâÂ
A carefully controlled breath. Breathless.Â
âIt forced me out of my terms. They didnât need an answer from me, because the way you reacted told them everything. I mean, sure, theyâre occupied with you right now, but how long does that last? I canât even bring myself to think about what would have happened if Jonathan wasnât there to drive us home. Iâve tried. I know I have to face it because itâs the reality and I have to understand the dangers of being me in a place like this, but I have to do that every day of my life and sometimes itâs too much.âÂ
The air is thick. Fragile. Combustible. Unstable around the shape of crossed limbs and hurting hearts.
And Robin still wonât look at you.Â
At some point you started crashing. Between Minnesota or Hawkins, it's anyone's guess.Â
Robinâs guess.Â
But during the crash, you took ahold of her hand and haven't let go since. Twisted it. Bent it until a joint popped out of place and a couple bones shattered. And then time moved on. You found new ways to navigate your problems, which really only meant more volatility. More noise. But Robin always stayed.Â
And in the noise, she was buried. Expected to fix it with a bandaid, jest and kiss on the cheek. Collateral. Because she was there. Because she listened. Threw herself in it with you.Â
Because alone, you were the sole implosion, and she would never have accepted that for you.
One hand is still on her back. The other cups the ball of her hand and her thumb. âI let you down.â
Her head bobs. Up and down, diagonally.Â
Too right.Â
âI put you at risk.â
âYou were drunk,â she offers.Â
âWeâre not doing that. Donât talk it down.â
âI know itâs not entirely in your control.âÂ
You turn your head inwards towards her. âIâm not just talking about the other night.â
âMe neither.â A beat. âCan we justââ
A piercing screech kills the woods.Â
Youâre on your feet immediately.Â
Birds evacuate the treeline in droves, a marginal distance away.Â
Robin stands right after you.Â
âWhat was that?â She gasps, already in a halfway state to tears.Â
âItâs⌠itâs probably a bird. They make weird fucking noises.â
A roar. Monstrous. Far too big and bellyful to come from a pigeon.Â
Chittering.
âWe shouldââ
âGoââ
Youâre running. Sprinting. Digging hands and knees through the dirt scrambling back up the way you came. Pushing at Robinâs back to help her move faster. She drags you up and onto the path, and then youâre gunning it to your car.Â
Another scream. In no way is it human. You make the terrible mistake of looking back.Â
The trees at the bottom of the slant bend like theyâre nothing. Separating down the middle by a force you canât see.
âGo!â You roar.Â
âWhat the hell is that?â Robin cries.
âI donât know!âÂ
You reach the parking lot. Lungs burning, legs thrumming. The taste of blood in your throat.Â
Fisting the pocket of your jeans frantically, the loop of the keyring hooks around your finger, but you withdraw it at such a speed that it skijumps off the end and skids across the tarmac. It stops closest to Robin, who claws it up and jostles it to find the key encased in black plastic.
âHere!â You shout. Both hands out for a catch.Â
âIâve got it!â She jams it into the slot, twists. No time to argue about who has the license, the two of you scramble into the seats and slam the doors, punching the door locks.Â
âKey, stick, pedalââ
The breaks slam. Dust burns off the tires. The car veers and howls violently from side to side and then bumps over the edge of the road, flying away.Â
Sheâs too occupied with not crashing to check the mirrors, and thank god for that.Â
Because you see something.Â
And it's inconceivable.
â
The Chief is away attending to some personal business.
As weâve told you, the situation has been delegated to services outside of this department.Â
And as I said, the Hawkins Chief of Police is indisposed.Â
Thereâs nothing else I can do.Â
Youâre welcome to file a report.
The ground comes up faster than your feet were expecting. Body half hanging from the car, sat sideways in the driverâs seat, boots settled against the driveway.Â
Robin went home, afterâŚ
You peer at your feet. The muscle just above your right ankle pulses. Trying to connect a brain signal to a body part. To move. But you fear whatever part of your mind responsible for such a thing no longer remains.Â
Breathing has become manual. You stare at the way the leather of your boots bend and creak. You do this until youâre gasping for air. A hand braces against the door.Â
Come on. Work.
A shuddered breath departs your lips at the same time a tremor reverberates through. You stand.
Your world is different. But everyone elseâs⌠it moves on just the same. Same roads. Same neighbour trimming his lawn. Same problems.
Your problems suddenly feel so inconsequential. Or maybe the new ones have just thrown up a curtain over the rest.
âWe stick to the original plan. Draw him out and get him with your bat.â
You turn your neck. Everything else is still catching up.Â
There are two cars already parked in the driveway ahead of you. One is your momâs.
âI donât know if youâve forgotten, kid, but you said that thing was growing.âÂ
Wait.
âCorrect. Moulting. Three times now, meaning by the end of the day, he could be a fully fledged demogorgon. Which is why we have to find him before it gets to that.â
âAnd if heâs too big already? What, we just get mauled to death?â
You know that voice.
âWell if it wasnât for the rest of the party going radio silent, we wouldnât be in thisâ Hey!â
You round the wall with the speed of a haggard old woman. You feel the part and surely look the part too, hair brushed out and round into your eyes. Hanging from your head with no real life. Feeling like youâve been through a paper shredder.
Dustin stands at the entrance to the storm cellar with Steve Harrington. Steve is loaded up with equipment as Dustin piles a spool of fishing wire atop the rest. Buckets, meat products, yellow dish gloves, goggles. And a baseball bat balanced in between, with⌠are those nails?Â
Steve looks like heâs just been caught committing a serious crime. Or is about to be the victim of one. Never mind trespassing, heâs prepared to die by your hand. Dustin looks between the two of you, antenna on his headset whipping your classmateâs shoulder where it flicks back and forth.Â
You point a thumb back at your car, still open and wheezing. âShe wasnât there.â
â(Y/N)ââÂ
âDustin. I donât⌠I need you to start explaining some things to me.â
âWhat things?âÂ
âIâve had⌠Iâve had a really shitty day, alright?â You slide your hand into the hold of the other, palm shaking. You grip it tighter, trying to stabilise yourself. But it only rattles up the rest of your spine and spreads into your limbs. Like a burning, endless chill. Thrown into a frozen lake. âThe last thing I can manage right now is you trying to bullshit me some more.â
Steve flinches.
âIâm not bullshitting you!â
It comes out at just the wrong volume of shriekiness that sets your skin ablaze. Â
âDustin!â You shake your hands. âYouâve been lying to me for months! What the hell are you involved in?â
âIâm not involved in anything!â
âThen why is he here?âÂ
âWho?â He turns, trying to pretend like heâs only just noticed the whole other person beside him. âOh, Steve?â He grins, lie plastered across him. âHeâs justââ
âEnough! Please, just enough!â
âAre you okay?â
Your head flinches, up at Steve, whose face appears to only have room for concern. His arms hesitate slightly, moving just an inch before remembering theyâre occupied.
âWhat do you mean, am I okay?â And it comes out with more bite than you might have planned with a little more foresight.Â
âI mean, are you okay?â He bats right back, voice pinching.Â
Your head shakes erratically, out of your control. âNo. No, Iâm⌠Iâm done! Thereâs been weird shit happening all week. All goddamn year. And I know youâre hiding things from me.â A sedate jab at Dustin, fingers bound too tight. Unable to care how crazed you look in front of Steve right now having had your brain loaded into a microwave with a metal spoon. âAnd everyone keeps talking around me like thereâs this huge thing we should all know and I just donât understand.â
Dustin holds his hands out the way you approach an animal, twisting his upper half between whatever this other engagement is and you. His eyes scrunch up but soften all at the same time. âI donât⌠I canât talk right now.â
âWhy?â Asked in nearly a sob.
âHoney!âÂ
Thereâs the flatline.Â
Movement occurs within the house, and your momâs head emerges from behind the door. She looks at you. âYouâre going to be late for your interview!âÂ
Because that would be her sole concern.Â
The goddamn interview.Â
âFuck,â you cry just below your breath, pressing a hand to the front of your hair and padding it, summoning soundness.Â
Dustin and Steve stare in the face of a bomb about to explode.Â
You step forward, imploring him. âAre you in trouble? Did you get into something you didnât mean to? Because whateverâs going on, I donât care what it is, I just want you safe.â
âI⌠I know. I am safe.â
âPromise me.â You cup him at the shoulders. âCut all the crap. The fact that you donât want to talk to me anymore, youâve outgrown me, whatever it is⌠promise me youâre telling the truth. That youâre not in any kind of danger.âÂ
âI promise.â
You donât even know what that means. How his mouth parts to utter those two words. And so immediately, too. The way the skin around his eyes moves and cheeks bob. You canât sync it to one definitive emotion.Â
â(Y/N)!â Your mom bites. âYouâre not even dressed!â
âI know, I hear you!â Your lungs give out before the end of the sentence.Â
Your grip opens back up, releasing your brother. He waits a second longer to check heâs clear, before stepping by you to Steveâs car.Â
Steve moves to follow. You hook out an arm to intercept him. He halts, looking down at your wrist around his forearm and then you. Youâve seen him, on the various sports teams. Heâs tall and lean, but he packs muscle.
âHeâs back by six thirty.âÂ
He nods once, shortly. âSix thirty.âÂ
âYou stay in the middle of town where there are streetlights.â
âOkayâŚâ
âAnd you donât go anywhere near the woods.â
His eyes change. âWait, why?âÂ
You donât answer. Canât.Â
Steveâs eyes flick again, jaw shifting as he peers in closer, and asks lowly, âHave you seen something?â
Your lips purse, trembling. Gnawing beneath. While you grip his arm tighter.
Inhale. Exhale, barely functional.Â
You watch your fingers unlatch. âDonât leave him alone. And Steve, if you hurt himâŚâ
âI wonât.â
âHeâs more sensitive than you think.â
âI wonât, he repeats.Â
The tiniest head movement brings you back up to his features. Slight enough that you hope he wonât catch you checking him.Â
He dips his head. âI swear.âÂ
âThat doesnât mean much.â
âIt does to me.â
And part of you might just believe him.
<- Prev
Author's note: WE ARE SO BACK. I'm so so happy to be writing this story again!!! That was the longest month of my life. I'm absolutely climbing the walls to write the next chapter. Just as a head's up for that, there was a structural issue back in chapter 2 that has bugged me ever since, so it might be that in chapter 6 older readers might spot a scene they've read before. No, you're not going mad lol I'm just having a jiggle around to see where things fit best. Thank you for your patience for the last month! Let's hope it's a while until I need to take another break. Let me know what you think and lots of love!! <3333
- the kids know what love is because they've seen it through you and steve. based of this request
- cw: family trauma, minimum mentiones of fights and the hargrove men and papa (yuck.) found family vibes
2k+ words
For a group of six kids, they really had terrible odds when it came to love. Almost unfair odds, really.
Only Lucas had grown up watching a love story survive.
Not perfect, but real. His parents still danced together in the kitchen sometimes. Still looked at each other like partners instead of burdens. Still chose each other every day in a way the others had never really seen before.
The rest of them learned early that love left. That it screamed and hurt, or disappeares.
Max Mayfield still missed California sometimes.
Not because Hawkins was awful, at least not anymore. Hawkins had become home in its own strange, haunted way.
But California had been before.
Before Neil Hargrove. Before fear becoming something that lived permanently in her chest. Before she learned to listen for footsteps and slamming doors and changing tones.
There had been a time where her mom laughed more. Where dinner didnât feel tense. Where love hadnât looked dangerous.
The Hargrove men ruined that.
Billy inherited Neilâs rage like it was something carved into his bones, and Max grew up watching what happened when love became ownership instead of care. It permanently altered the way she viewed family. Because in Maxâs experience, love was something that eventually turned mean.
Will Byers lost two fathers.
The first one emotionally long before he physically disappeared.
Lonnie Byers had never understood him. Never protected him. Will spent most of his childhood trying to take up as little space as possible around his own dad.
Then came Bob.
Sweet, gentle Bob Newby who made their house feel warm again for a little while.
Bob who smiled easily, listened, tried. Bob who made Joyce laugh in a way Will hadnât heard in years.
And then Bob died too.
So eventually Will stopped believing father figures stayed.
Now the closest thing he had to one was Jonathan. His exhausted older brother trying to become a man too quickly because life demanded it from him.
Dustin Henderson remembered his dad more than people expected him to.
People assumed he was too young, but Dustin remembered everything.
He remembered sitting on his fatherâs shoulders at the fair when he was five. Remembered family movie nights. And worst of all he remembered the leaving.
The suitcase by the door and his mother crying quietly in the kitchen for weeks afterward. The way the house suddenly became smaller and emptier all at once.
Dustin learned young that people could promise forever and still walk away.
Mike Wheeler grew up in a house filled with passive silence. His parents werenât explosive.
Sometimes he thought that was worse. Every conversation between them sounding tired.
Karen Wheeler fought out of frustration, desperate for someone to actually see her, while Ted Wheeler responded like a man waiting for the argument to end so he could go back to his recliner and television.
There was no cruelty loud enough to point at. Just indifference.
And Mike learned that marriage could become two people surviving beside each other instead of loving each other.
And then there was Eleven.
El had been raised by a man who called himself Papa while treating children like experiments.
Love, to her, had always come with conditions.
Obedience.
Isolation.
Pain.
Performance.
Dr. Brenner taught her that affection was something earned through usefulness. That protection meant control. That caring for someone meant owning them.
Even after finding Hopper, even after finally having a home, pieces of that fear stayed lodged inside her. And Hopper loved hardâsometimes too hard.
His protectiveness wrapped around El so tightly it sometimes felt difficult to breathe inside it.
She understood why. But understanding didnât stop the suffocation.
Given everything theyâd lived through, you would think the kids would grow up cynical. That theyâd decide marriage was pointless. Because what was the point? You either lost the people you loved or they abandoned you. Or they hurt you until loving them felt unbearable.
So why bother?
Why give someone the power to destroy you?
Except⌠love did have a point.
And somehow, impossibly, the thing that taught them that was you and Steve.
Not because your relationship was perfect. But because it was healthy. And none of them had ever truly seen that before.
Lucas realized it first.
Or at least he realized it the clearest.
It happened after a fight with Max. A bad one.
Not screamingâMax rarely screamed when she was genuinely hurt. That was the problem. She just shut down. Went cold. Looked at him like she was already preparing herself to leave before he could leave first.
Lucas hated that look.
So he showed up at Steveâs house one evening while Steve was outside cleaning pool leaves.
Steve glanced up. âYou look miserable.â
âI need girl advice.â
Steve dropped the skimmer immediately. âOh, this is serious.â
Lucas rolled his eyes but sat on the edge of the pool anyway.
âI messed up.â
âWhatâd you do?â
âI forgot something important.â
Steve winced. âAnniversary?â
âWorse.â
Steve looked horrified. âHow is there worse than anniversary?â
âSomething about her mom.â
âOh,â Steve said immediately, expression softening. âYeah. Thatâll do it.â
Lucas sighed heavily. âI donât know how to fix it.â
Steve sat beside him quietly for a second. âYou donât fix it by defending yourself.â
Lucas frowned. âWhat?â
âYou listen first. Like really listen. Donât argue about intention when sheâs trying to explain impact, you know,â Steve mentioned with shrug, like it was common sense to him.
Lucas stared at him.
Because no adult man had ever said something like that to him before.
Steve let out a sigh seeing as he wasn't following. âSometimes people donât need you to be right. They need you to care that theyâre hurting.â
âAnd Y/N taught you that?â
Steve snorted. âRepeatedly.â
Lucas laughed despite himself.
Then Steve nudged his shoulder.
âIf you love her, act like it when things are hard too. Anybody can love someone when itâs easy.â
Lucas carried that sentence with him for years.
Max had realized accidentally.
One evening sheâd gone downstairs looking for water while staying over at your place.
Then she heard your voices in the kitchen.
Immediately she froze.
Instinct.
Years of listening carefully for danger.
You and Steve were arguing quietly about bills.
Maxâs stomach tightened automatically, already bracing herself for sharp words and blame and the kind of tension that made your chest feel too tight. Something she understood too well.
Instead she heard you say softly, âyou donât have to carry everything by yourself, Steve.â
Steve exhaled shakily. âI know, I justâ I like taking care of you.â
âAnd who takes care of you?â
Silence.
Then quieter, âyou do.â
Max stood there in the hallway for a long time afterward. Because nobody had ever spoken like that in her house.
Not gently.
Not during a fight.
Not with concern instead of cruelty.
It genuinely unsettled her at firstâthe realization that conflict didnât have to become violence.
That loving someone could mean trying to understand them instead of win against them.
Will noticed it in the smallest ways. Of course he did. Will noticed everything.
One rainy afternoon, the kids were all crowded inside Steveâs house after plans got ruined by a storm. Thunder rattled the windows while Dustin complained dramatically about boredom.
You werenât there yet. Still at work. But Steve glanced outside once and immediately stood up.
Will watched him quietly.
Steve grabbed blankets from the hallway closet, tossed popcorn in the microwave, then started setting up the VCR in the living room.
Dustin blinked. âWhatâre you doing?â
âMovie night.â
âYou hate rainy movie nights.â
âI do not.â
âYou literally said they make you sleepy and depressed.â
Steve ignored him.
Then Will understood.
You loved rain.
Loved movies during storms specifically. Said rain made everything feel softer somehow.
Steve remembered without you even being there.
Will watched him dim the lights before casually saying you had rough shift today. And something in Willâs chest ached unexpectedly. Because Steve paid attention.
Not performatively, but naturally.
Like caring about you had become instinct.
Will had spent most of his life watching people miss each other completely. But you and Steve saw each other constantly.
Mike realized it late at night.
The Wheeler basement was loud that evening, everyone spread around after another near-disaster.
Eventually exhaustion took over.
At some point during the movie, you fell asleep curled against Steve on the couch.
Mike barely noticed until the credits rolled and Steve carefully shifted underneath you.
Not annoyed.
Just gentle.
He slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You stirred slightly.
Steve immediately whispered in your ear. âGo back to sleep, baby. I got you.â
And you did.
Trusted him enough to instantly relax again.
Mike watched Steve carry you upstairs slowly so he wouldnât wake you.
And suddenly he thought about his own parents. About how his mom wouldâve loudly shaken Ted awake instead. About how Ted would complain. About how affection in his house always seemed inconvenient.
But Steve looked at caring for you like it was an honor.
That realization stayed with Mike long after everyone else fell asleep.
El always knew. She was observant like that.
Always watching.
Always learning.
And there was no way she couldnât notice the calmness surrounding you and Steve when the rest of the world constantly felt like it was moving too fast.
One afternoon she and Max had wanted to go to the arcade alone.
Steve immediately said no.
âAbsolutely not.â
El crossed her arms instantly. âWhy?â
âBecause last time you two disappeared for six hours and nearly got arrested.â
âThat was one time.â
âYeah, it was one very long two month ago.â
You tried not to laugh while making coffee.
El expected the conversation to become a fight.
Thatâs what she knew. That's what Hopper would do.
Instead Steve crouched slightly to meet her eye level.
âI know youâre smart,â he said gently. âThatâs not the issue.â
âThen why no?â
âBecause something bad happens to you guys constantly and I canât stop thinking about it.â
El frowned slightly.
Steve sighed. âIâm not trying to control you, El. I just⌠worry.â
You stepped beside him carefully.
âHe wants you safe,â you explained softly. âHe's not trying to limit youâ
El looked between you both.
No anger or manipulation behind your words.
Just pure honesty.
Finally Steve added âif I didnât trust you, I wouldnât let you out of my sight at all.â
That made El smile a little. And for maybe the first time in her life, protectiveness didnât feel suffocating.
It felt like love.
Without realizing it, you and Steve became something sacred to the kids.
A safe place.
The place they escaped to after bad nights at home. The people they called when things hurt too much. The proof that love could survive softness.
That it could be patient and kind.
The kids even started measuring relationships by you two without even meaning to.
One afternoon at lunch Lucas said casually that âif my future relationship isnât like Steve and Y/Nâs, I donât want it.â
Max immediately threw a tater tot at his forehead.
But she didnât disagree.
None of them did.
By summer, the Harrington pool unofficially became theirs again.
One Saturday afternoon the kids invited themselves over without warning. Not that you minded. Or weren't used to it.
You stepped outside carrying lemonade only to find complete chaos.
Dustin doing cannonballs (after being banned from backflips). Lucas and Max arguing over the singular pool floatie they had yet to pop. Mike was pretending not to splash El while very obviously splashing El. Will floating peacefully near the deep end with his eyes closed.
And Steve.
Steve standing in the middle of it all laughing so hard he could barely breathe after Dustin slid off the floatie Lucas finally managed steal from Max.
You leaned against the patio doorway watching them.
Your people.
Your strange little family stitched together through trauma and monsters and survival.
Steve looked over eventually, smiling immediately when he saw you.
That smile never changed after all these years. Still soft and certain.
âBabe,â he called. âTell Dustin heâs banned from doing backflips.â
âI landed it!â
âYou landed near it,â Steve argued.
It seemed as the world had finally decided to be gentle with all of you for once. As the sun dipped lower the kids laughed louder.
Somewhere between the pool water, the fading sunlight, and the warmth of everyone gathered together, the kids finally understood something theyâd spent years trying to learn:
Love was never the thing that ruined people.
The absence of it was.
likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
Summary: Steve shows up at your house with a terrible cold.
Warnings: fluff. dating Steve Harrington. Steve being a baby about being sick (but in a adorable way) no use of y/n.
_____________
Steve Harrington is, objectively, the worst sick person youâve ever met.
You realize this about ten minutes after he shows up at your door looking like a tragic Victorian orphan.
âI think Iâm dying,â he croaks.
You blink at him. ââŚYou have a cold.â
âItâs worse than that,â he insists, leaning dramatically against the doorframe. âI can feel it. This is how it ends for me.â
You stare at him for a long second. His hair is somehow still perfect. His eyes are glassy. Thereâs a blanket draped over his shoulders like heâs committed to the bit.
You sigh, stepping aside. âGet in here before you infect the entire city and cause a pandemic.â
Ten minutes later, Steve is fully horizontal on your couch, cocooned in three blankets he absolutely did not need.
You stand over him, arms crossed. âYouâre not even that warm.â
âI run cold,â he mumbles, voice muffled. âItâs serious.â
âYouâre being dramatic.â
âIâm being brave,â he corrects weakly.
You roll your eyesâbut youâre already heading to the kitchen. Because dramatic or not⌠he came to you. And that still means something.
When you come back, youâve got water, medicine, and a bowl of soup thatâs probably too hot but heâll survive.
Steve squints up at you like the light itself has betrayed him. âIs that⌠for me?â
âNo, I just like carrying soup around for fun.â
He gives a faint, approving nod. âYouâre so nurturing. I always knew.â
âTake the medicine, Harrington.â
âBossy,â he mutters, but he sits up anywayâbarely.
You watch him fumble with the pills, slower than usual, like everything takes more effort right now. Your chest tightens a little.
âHere,â you say quietly, handing him the water.
He takes it, fingers brushing yoursâwarm, a little shaky. âThanks,â he murmurs.
And just like that, the dramatics fade a little.
It hits you later when he falls asleep. Because of course he doesâmid-movie, halfway through complaining about the plot. His head tips sideways, then slowlyâinevitablyâends up in your lap.
You freeze at first. Old instincts. Old fears. But he doesnât move away. Breathing soft. Even and trusting.
Your hand hovers for a second before settling carefully in his hair. Itâs as soft as you imagined. You thread your fingers through it gently, slow enough not to wake him.
Steve hums in his sleep, barely there. And something in your chest settles.
âDonât go.â The words are slurred, half-asleep.
You blink down at him. âIâm not going anywhere.â
His hand finds your wrist, loose but insistent. âPromise?â
Thereâs that flicker againâthat old reflex to deflect, to avoid saying things that might break later. But heâs here.
Even like thisâmessy, sick, a little patheticâhe showed up.
âPromise,â you say softly.
His grip loosens, satisfied. âOkay,â he mumbles. And then heâs out again.
You donât realize youâve dozed off too until you wake up to movement. Steveâs shifting, blinking up at you with that soft, unfocused look.
ââŚHi,â he rasps.
You smile a little. âHi.â
He studies you for a second like heâs piecing something together. âYouâre still here.â
âYeah,â you say. âI told you I would be.â
He nods slowly, like that makes perfect sense. âGood,â he whispers.
Thereâs a pause. Thenâ âYouâre really pretty, you know that?â
You snort. âYouâre delirious.â
âIâm serious,â he insists, frowning slightly. âLike, unfairly. Itâs kind of rude, actually.â
âDrink your water.â
âYouâre avoiding the compliment.â
âIâm managing your condition.â
He squints at you. ââŚYouâre a really good nurse.â
âI am not your nurse.â
âCould be.â
âSteve.â
âOkay, okay,â he sighs, sinking back down. âBut if I survive this, Iâm writing you a glowing review.â
âYou have a cold.â
âA devastating cold.â
By evening, heâs a little better. Less dramatic... slightly.
Youâre sitting beside him now instead of under him, your shoulder pressed lightly against his. The TV is on again, something equally unimportant.
Steve nudges you gently. âHey.â
âMm?â
âThanks.â
You glance at him. âFor what?â
âFor⌠letting me come here,â he says. âTaking care of me. Not⌠you know. Kicking me out when I got annoying.â
âYou are always annoying.â
He smiles faintly. âYeah. But you kept me anyway.â
Your heart does that quiet, steady thing. âSomeone has to make sure you donât actually burn down your house trying to make soup.â
âWow,â he says. âSo this is purely practical.â
âEntirely.â
He leans his head against yours. You donât move away.
âGood,â he murmurs. âThen youâre stuck with me.â
Later, when he falls asleep againâthis time properly, tucked into your bedâyou pull the blanket up around him carefully. He shifts slightly, reaching out even in sleep.
Your hand finds his without thinking. He settles instantly. You stand there for a moment, watching him.
Still here. Still yours.
ââŚYouâre such a baby when youâre sick,â you whisper.
Steve hums, half-dreaming. âYeah,â he mumbles. âBut Iâm your baby.â
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. And this time you donât even try to hide it.
_____________
Thank you so so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated
Summary: Steve Harrington, in his seventeen years, had been shown one lesson that was paramount above all others: he didn't warrant care. Meanwhile, caring was all you'd ever known to do. When a fateful monster attack draws your worlds together, you would find yourselves in a place so different from where you started.
Chapter summary: A missing cat leads to an important conversation with Robin, and you come home to the second shock of the day: Your brother and Steve Harrington, gearing up for war.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Henderson!Reader
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings: Discussions of homophobia and queer identity, mentions of bullying, drug mention, discussions of pet health, missing pet, parentification of a child. Please read the fic masterlist for a full list of warnings!
<- Prev
Mews is missing.
Itâs typical, really. The cat who eats the Henderson family out of house and home disappears in the dead of night without a trace, as opposed to actually making good on her insurance and dying by some tragic illness.Â
Naturally, your mom is a wreck. You can tell sheâs bargaining with the universe, pleading to the god of lost cats to return her furbaby, and reassuring her mind that the thoughts flooding through it are an overreaction. Because god knows the world needs more of your mom talking herself down.Â
An image was constructed. Mews is camped out under a deck somewhere, shielding from last night's rain. Terrorising some poor rodent, lifting her paw from its tail before clamping back down again, the little tormenting shit that she is. The image is solid, if morbid, but considering the longest sheâs been absent is the gap between the end of class and dinner time, and she hasnât been spotted since last night, its likelihood of coming true is rapidly declining.Â
Meanwhile, Dustinâs innocence hangs in the balance, telephone clasped between two hands and speaking with the poise of an adult to someone on the other end who doesnât exist. The automated message had floated heavily into your periphery, but your mother was none the wiser, too busy blubbering âI love youâs to him and hurrying out to Loch Nora to smell the pants on fire. The door had closed behind her. Outrage permitted. You had demanded that your brother explain his plot to you.
But he had been saved by the bell.Â
The bell being Robin.
âWait, waitâ this one!â Robin clears her throat with a show, clutching it. ââHelp wanted. In search of someone to paint a two story house. Required use of ladders. Ideal for a high school student who is looking to gain job experience.ââÂ
âOh, my god. Why would they write that?â
She puts on the accent of a stiff upper lip British gentleman. âI hope to find a young Victorian child to sweep my chimney. Must be malnourished. Payment in stale bread and absolutely nothing else.â She snorts in a cacophony, upwards into the treeline. âSo Iâll put you down for that one, right?âÂ
You kick up a wave of leaves that fall wetly over her shins.
She shakes them off, which is evidently hard to do while fighting the giggles vibrating her body like a buzzed squirrel. Once subsided she bends the newspaper into itself to catch the light of the greyed out sun and scans the next recruitment ad.Â
âYou could be a tester for Coke?âÂ
âYeah, great, letâs test how far we can stretch that dental insurance.âÂ
You rattle the box of cat food, elevated in the air to project the noise over the clearing.Â
âYou know it used to have cocaine as an ingredient?â
âWhyâd they remove it?âÂ
â(Y/N)!â
âIâm kidding!â A beat. âYou think I could be a cocaine tester?â
Sticks and soil batter you in the face.
âWhat else?â You ask around restricted sounds, tongue extended and blowing a raspberry peppered with dirt.
She twists her neck, leaning over the inked paper. âNot much. Lot of hardware jobs. Plenty inside of school hours. Thereâs tutoring?âÂ
âI guess. Not much security out of semester, though.â You flick the reddish brown mulch under your finger nail free. âThanks for the help, by the way.âÂ
Itâs a glowing use of your weekend, ambling through the woods with your best friend. Ground slippy, air stinking potently of manure. Many different obstacles for Robin to knock herself out on. Above all, youâre second guessing the choice to utilise her this way, instead of in a double interrogation of Dustin.Â
She flaps her arm your way, hand folding dismissively at the wrist. âI wasnât gonna leave you unattended. Canât add matricide to your list of problems.âÂ
âHoly shit.â Your chest heaves with a laugh.
Itâs a bust. She rolls up the newspaper conclusively and follows it with further shouts of Mewsâ name. You join in the chorus, with the added percussion of the kibble box. Â
She drops her cupped hands when nothing further happens.
âYou know, I think itâs time we take things back to basics. Lemonade standââ
âBlood donation.â
âAnd we canâ What?â
âDo you have any idea how much they pay for blood?â
She whacks you against the arm with the rolled tube. âNo more than people pay for lemonade!â
âI think itâs a damn sight more than what they pay for lemonade.â
âNo!â She barks, causing you to stifle a laugh at how genuinely adamant she appears on the matter. Her hands reach out to pat down your torso, as if poked full of a million microscopic holes that sheer force of will could stop from leaking with O positive. âKeep your insides, inside.âÂ
You apprehend and shake her wrists. âFine. If I bomb this interview and the black market doesnât work out, then yeah, weâll open a lemonade stand.âÂ
She puffs up, weirdly delighted by the purely hypothetical prospect of citrus entrepreneurship. She tucks the paper into the back of her pants and slows, preparing to traverse down the slight slope before you. She grips one of the frailer trees and uses it to leverage herself around the thicker coating of leaves on the ground, shiny wet ones that are sure to become a slip and slide death trap. You follow, lodging your shoes into the footsteps sheâs embossed the earth with. The friction holds you until the bottom, as you take her waiting hand tightly in yours.Â
âSo, listen,â you resume, back foot slipping when you move to follow after her. âThereâs something I wanted to talk to you about.âÂ
You can tell by the look on her face that sheâs immediately on high alert. And the second your arm settles, slung around her shoulder, the ignition sparks. She hums firmly. âDonât like that.â Her hand is already trying to untwist you from her, head shaking.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âThis corner.âÂ
Comedically ironic, given the sparse patch of woods surrounding the two of you. A small cluster of trees being wrapped by wind and funneling through the negative space like a jet tunnel. Nature has a sense of humour, rebutting her with its whistles.Â
âRight, yeah, with a million different escape routes. That was my plan all along.â
âAll Iâm saying is that it feels really suspicious to take someone to the bottom of a plateau where no one can hear them scream just to talk.âÂ
The Robin effect: your brain scrambling itself into another world of melodrama that makes perfect sense to her and none to you. Floor dropping out beneath you as she floats away on a cloud. âWhaâ what plateau?âÂ
She flaps a hand confidently behind you, drawing your eyes to her evidence of the barely declining plane that you just came down. What kicks it over is her utterly indisputable face on the matter.Â
Rivalling your braindead frazzled one.
Her arm flops back to her side, before sheâs turning and continuing on her way, strides inconsistent in length to evade brambles and odd pieces of litter left by teens on their way to the nearby makeout spot.
You trod hurriedly on tiptoes to match her speed, shoving her shoulder when you get there in the hope that her mind might kickstart and turn serious for just two seconds. Enough so that you can actually quiz her about what youâve been carrying with you for the past few days.Â
âNo,â And you cringe at how much it sounds like a whine. âYou know that asshole who bumped into us a few days ago?â
Youâre briefly confused because since when is she the holder of all teen intel? But itâs obvious. No doubt the wave of speculation has come her way from her fellow band geeks, fearing that they might become the target of a new beast after just evading one of the last.Â
âRight⌠Well, I talked to him a couple days ago.â
âWhy?â
âThere was this whole thing, with his car and Dustinââ
Robinâs foot locks around a root bursting free from the ground. âWhat? Is he okay?â
Probably should have opened with that. âYeah, heâs fine!â You amend quickly. âThe prick tried to hit him."
âYouâre kidding.â She stews for a couple seconds. âWhat the hell is wrong with the men in this town?â
ââMenâ is a loose term.âÂ
âManchildren.âÂ
âDemons.â
Perhaps those nutty gossip columns hold some truth after all. Something in the townâs water supply, merging with teenage boy chemicals and erupting on rage and unaccountability. Making the insane criminally so.Â
Thatâs what they said when Will Byers turned up in the quarry. And then turned up in the hospital days later.Â
Resurrection was the word. Water that simultaneously killed him and brought him back to life. That, or everyone mass hallucinated him going missing in the first place.
A switch flicks in your mind, triggering a bemused smirk to sprout on your face. You gleefully springboard off a stump of a felled tree and land both feet flat atop a shiny red chestnut with a satisfying crunch. âYou know Dustin has a crush on his little sister?â
The crater of Robinâs mouth opens, wide enough that a woodland family could nestle inside for the winter. âDusty?â
You nod, cheeks protruding and lips broadening.Â
âMy little Duststorm is in love?â
âI donât know about love, butââÂ
She sandwiches you between two fluid arms and jiggles you excitedly. You try once to get a word out, but itâs incomprehensible, jittering within your mouth. You swat her off when itâs gone on long enough.
Her eyes bug out. âWe have to get rid of this guy. He canât be the one thing standing between littlest Henderson and his happiness.âÂ
âIf you wanna go down for murderâŚâ Your hand clasps around the bark of a tree, lifting one foot and swinging off it like a pole. âFunny how families work out, though. His sister is pretty awesome.â
Robin swings from the opposite way, coming around to meet you with her eyelashes fluttering. âYouâre meeting the family already?âÂ
Your nostrils twitch with a light puff of laughter while you settle in against the trunk. âJust⌠gave her a ride home a couple times.â
âMhm.â
You slap a hand lightly across the span of her cheek.Â
âLook⌠I talked to him. And he brought up something.â
The span of her body thrusts right back to wariness without even a muscle shift, the energy thrumming off in waves, going from standing on steady ground into a free fall. âWhat something?â Â
You mirror each other, slumping face to face in varying degrees of anxiety. She knocks a knuckle against the tree.
âHe mentioned the party the other night. Said that someone was talking to him about what I didâ?âÂ
The tiniest of nerves pulse beneath her jaw, and her lip shifts, revealing where teeth have pressed their marks.Â
âAnd then all day, I kept getting these stares. But I canât remember what for. I mean, I was a total write off.âÂ
Robinâs face is the sight of dread. It sinks before you as if sheâd rather be anywhere else.Â
âWhat?â You ask.Â
Her shoulders slant when the one against the tree shrugs and hits her ear. Her eyes remain where they are, averting yours, locked into where sheâs picking beneath a loose segment of bark. âNothing.âÂ
You absolutely detest how that feels.Â
Her silence is awful at the best of times, but now she falls into a strain of it where you feel like a stranger. Distanced.Â
Like you canât be trusted anymore.Â
It makes your throat burn.Â
âRobin, câmon.â Pleading. Already feeling out the damage and finding a cavern.Â
You squint your eyes. âDid I do something to hurt you?âÂ
âYou got drunk.â The facts. Coming immediately.Â
It jars you, how naturally she slots into passivity.Â
âAnd I was really stupid.â
Her nail comes free and scrapes into the tree. It looks like it hurt, and the knot in her eyebrows would confirm that. Nonetheless, she keeps scratching at it, agitated. âAnd⌠I tried to help you sober up, but you werenât particularly receptive to that.â
âAndâŚâÂ
She huffs through her nose. âAnd⌠wouldnât you guess who turned up right then and there.âÂ
You open your mouth, but she cuts you off. âTommy frickin Hagan.â
âCarol,â you finish.Â
âCarol.âÂ
She chuckles sardonically.Â
âWhat did they say? Waitââ You withdraw from the tree in search of somewhere more permanent, for what youâre sure is a long overdue unpacking of recent events. âCome on.â You take a step. Desperate for her to follow and determined to be sure that thereâs nothing else unsaid that might remain burning through her.Â
Her head lifts from the tree, but with minimal enthusiasm. She folds sideways at the waist once, twice, gaining momentum to push off and follow. Never so unwilling to cooperate with you, and for the first time itâs because of strenuous discomfort instead of playfulness.
You stop at a rock, concave wide enough to seat two tense friends.
She strains, parking her butt. âWell⌠Jonathan took a few hits, for starters. Probably nothing they havenât said before. Real doozies for their IQ. And then, I guess, two girls standing beside each other was the most interesting thing in the world, so they had it out over us for a while. At some point we became Jonathanâs hussies. Thatâs basically it.â
âThatâs not something youâd get torn up about.âÂ
âThatâs what happened.â
âAnd I suppose that was enough for the entire school to be staring me down.âÂ
âYup,â she hits back, popping her mouth on the final letter.
âRobâ.â
Her eyes roll back in that literal way Robin does. Up, over and down. âDonât do that.â
You shake your head.Â
ââRobââ me. Iâm mad at you.âÂ
âIf you tell me what youâre mad about I can help un-mad you.âÂ
âThatâs not a word. And you went all WWE on Carol.â
You sputter over nothing, the revelation coming up too quickly for what you were expecting, landing in your head with a thunk. âWhat?âÂ
Her green, moss-dyed nails drum against the stone. âI guess it depends on your perspective. Technically she started it, but⌠you sure as hell finished it.â She huffs blankly, filling the uncomfortable silence.
âWhy?â
The corners of her mouth upturn fractionally before sinking again, deeper than before. Her upper lip crashes over the bottom one, preventing its quivering from going haywire. âShe and Tommy said some⌠especially stupid shit.â
âWhat stupid shit, Robin?â
Itâs too hard. Sheâs growing restless with herself.Â
âThey were⌠theyââÂ
You donât push. Youâve done enough of that lately. You only watch, as displeased a spectator as possible, as each muscle in her face weathers a tidal wave, perhaps still adjusting to the turn of the conversation after thinking she might have made it out of having this exact one days ago.Â
âThey implied we were a couple.âÂ
It lands, for sure. But perhaps not with the weight it should. Because you donât understand. Tommy and Carol say stupid shit all the time. Rarely based in reality. And Robin knows that and mocks them regularly for it. They project all sorts onto the class, based in their own twisted version of things, full of spun tales and prejudice.Â
Oh.Â
You set a hand down as if theyâre right in front of you, fingers tensing into claws. âDid they find out? What the hell did they say to you?â
Sheâs tired witnessing this flavour of your anger, coming several days too late, in her eyes.
âCome on⌠you think I canât handle the casual homophobia of those meatheads? I mean, it sucks and itâs exhausting, but thatâs what the world is. Nothing new.âÂ
Each syllable is fighting the way it comes out, dragging and deflecting, tinged with fatigue and a fortitude that has been worn down too thin, and who can fucking blame her.Â
âSoâ I donâtââ
âDo you remember homecoming last year?â She starts. Your eyebrows knit together, losing your momentum, but for her to bring it up, it has a roundabout point.Â
âThey played Patti Smith and we had some of that pineapple soda I like?âÂ
âYeah, you were convinced they cleaned out the townâs supply. Couldnât find it for weeks.â
âExactly. But it felt like those two things had been tailored for me. In this town, of all places. And to top it all off, I saw Tammy across the dance floor, and she was alone. I thought: Okay, universe. Youâre throwing me a bone here. So I was gonna walk over there. All I was gonna tell her was that I liked her rendition of What A Feeling. Short, sweet. In and out, before I choked.â
Sheâd taken a huge bite of whatever it was you were both eating, for luck, and leaned down to tie her shoes again. Double knotting them, because no tripping me today, Satan.Â
âI heard her talking about Irene Cara earlier that day during rehearsal. About how talented and versatile, and⌠beautiful she was. And for a second, I thought, maybeâŚâ
She restarts, patting her lap. Physically recentering her emotions. âSo I walked over. Didnât even fall on my face. And she smiled at me. So big and sweet.â
âShe does have a pretty smile.â
âOh my god, so pretty. Gave me all the courage I needed. I told her she sounded great and she told me that she wanted to be a professional singer. And my brain had remembered how vowels and consonants work.â
Sheâs rising slowly, posture straightening, torso lifting. Thighs about to come away from the rock, floating in her reverie.Â
You remember it. How she had spied the girl she had fawned over for months. Whacked her face against your pillow at the mere mention of. Tried time and time again to rehearse that perfect first sentence that would unlock everything.Â
âAnd then⌠who else. They saw me across the hall. Zeroed in on me.âÂ
Her blinking quickens, deciding for you the moment to pull your arm around and press your palm against her spine.
âAll I ever try to do is keep my head down. I donât draw attention to myself, I donât do anything to upset anyone. But still, itâs like⌠itâs like the longer they look at me, the closer they get to cracking into what Iâm trying to keep away from them. And I could see them, drawing conclusions about me, or both of us. I guess they saw me smiling at herâŚ? And it felt like I was about to suck her into that mess, too, so⌠I came right back. I didnât even say goodbye. I must have looked like such an asshole.â
âThereâs no way she would have thought that.â
âThatâs not the point. I couldnât even be nice to a girl without them closing me in. Making me shrink. I canâtâŚâ
She thumps her screwed up palm beside her knee.Â
âI canât love without it creating an implication about me or whoever it is that Iââ The words rupture from her all at once, tangling together. âI canât love on my terms. I canât even hide on my terms. And at the partyâŚâÂ
A carefully controlled breath. Breathless.Â
âIt forced me out of my terms. They didnât need an answer from me, because the way you reacted told them everything. I mean, sure, theyâre occupied with you right now, but how long does that last? I canât even bring myself to think about what would have happened if Jonathan wasnât there to drive us home. Iâve tried. I know I have to face it because itâs the reality and I have to understand the dangers of being me in a place like this, but I have to do that every day of my life and sometimes itâs too much.âÂ
The air is thick. Fragile. Combustible. Unstable around the shape of crossed limbs and hurting hearts.
And Robin still wonât look at you.Â
At some point you started crashing. Between Minnesota or Hawkins, it's anyone's guess.Â
Robinâs guess.Â
But during the crash, you took ahold of her hand and haven't let go since. Twisted it. Bent it until a joint popped out of place and a couple bones shattered. And then time moved on. You found new ways to navigate your problems, which really only meant more volatility. More noise. But Robin always stayed.Â
And in the noise, she was buried. Expected to fix it with a bandaid, jest and kiss on the cheek. Collateral. Because she was there. Because she listened. Threw herself in it with you.Â
Because alone, you were the sole implosion, and she would never have accepted that for you.
One hand is still on her back. The other cups the ball of her hand and her thumb. âI let you down.â
Her head bobs. Up and down, diagonally.Â
Too right.Â
âI put you at risk.â
âYou were drunk,â she offers.Â
âWeâre not doing that. Donât talk it down.â
âI know itâs not entirely in your control.âÂ
You turn your head inwards towards her. âIâm not just talking about the other night.â
âMe neither.â A beat. âCan we justââ
A piercing screech kills the woods.Â
Youâre on your feet immediately.Â
Birds evacuate the treeline in droves, a marginal distance away.Â
Robin stands right after you.Â
âWhat was that?â She gasps, already in a halfway state to tears.Â
âItâs⌠itâs probably a bird. They make weird fucking noises.â
A roar. Monstrous. Far too big and bellyful to come from a pigeon.Â
Chittering.
âWe shouldââ
âGoââ
Youâre running. Sprinting. Digging hands and knees through the dirt scrambling back up the way you came. Pushing at Robinâs back to help her move faster. She drags you up and onto the path, and then youâre gunning it to your car.Â
Another scream. In no way is it human. You make the terrible mistake of looking back.Â
The trees at the bottom of the slant bend like theyâre nothing. Separating down the middle by a force you canât see.
âGo!â You roar.Â
âWhat the hell is that?â Robin cries.
âI donât know!âÂ
You reach the parking lot. Lungs burning, legs thrumming. The taste of blood in your throat.Â
Fisting the pocket of your jeans frantically, the loop of the keyring hooks around your finger, but you withdraw it at such a speed that it skijumps off the end and skids across the tarmac. It stops closest to Robin, who claws it up and jostles it to find the key encased in black plastic.
âHere!â You shout. Both hands out for a catch.Â
âIâve got it!â She jams it into the slot, twists. No time to argue about who has the license, the two of you scramble into the seats and slam the doors, punching the door locks.Â
âKey, stick, pedalââ
The breaks slam. Dust burns off the tires. The car veers and howls violently from side to side and then bumps over the edge of the road, flying away.Â
Sheâs too occupied with not crashing to check the mirrors, and thank god for that.Â
Because you see something.Â
And it's inconceivable.
â
The Chief is away attending to some personal business.
As weâve told you, the situation has been delegated to services outside of this department.Â
And as I said, the Hawkins Chief of Police is indisposed.Â
Thereâs nothing else I can do.Â
Youâre welcome to file a report.
The ground comes up faster than your feet were expecting. Body half hanging from the car, sat sideways in the driverâs seat, boots settled against the driveway.Â
Robin went home, afterâŚ
You peer at your feet. The muscle just above your right ankle pulses. Trying to connect a brain signal to a body part. To move. But you fear whatever part of your mind responsible for such a thing no longer remains.Â
Breathing has become manual. You stare at the way the leather of your boots bend and creak. You do this until youâre gasping for air. A hand braces against the door.Â
Come on. Work.
A shuddered breath departs your lips at the same time a tremor reverberates through. You stand.
Your world is different. But everyone elseâs⌠it moves on just the same. Same roads. Same neighbour trimming his lawn. Same problems.
Your problems suddenly feel so inconsequential. Or maybe the new ones have just thrown up a curtain over the rest.
âWe stick to the original plan. Draw him out and get him with your bat.â
You turn your neck. Everything else is still catching up.Â
There are two cars already parked in the driveway ahead of you. One is your momâs.
âI donât know if youâve forgotten, kid, but you said that thing was growing.âÂ
Wait.
âCorrect. Moulting. Three times now, meaning by the end of the day, he could be a fully fledged demogorgon. Which is why we have to find him before it gets to that.â
âAnd if heâs too big already? What, we just get mauled to death?â
You know that voice.
âWell if it wasnât for the rest of the party going radio silent, we wouldnât be in thisâ Hey!â
You round the wall with the speed of a haggard old woman. You feel the part and surely look the part too, hair brushed out and round into your eyes. Hanging from your head with no real life. Feeling like youâve been through a paper shredder.
Dustin stands at the entrance to the storm cellar with Steve Harrington. Steve is loaded up with equipment as Dustin piles a spool of fishing wire atop the rest. Buckets, meat products, yellow dish gloves, goggles. And a baseball bat balanced in between, with⌠are those nails?Â
Steve looks like heâs just been caught committing a serious crime. Or is about to be the victim of one. Never mind trespassing, heâs prepared to die by your hand. Dustin looks between the two of you, antenna on his headset whipping your classmateâs shoulder where it flicks back and forth.Â
You point a thumb back at your car, still open and wheezing. âShe wasnât there.â
â(Y/N)ââÂ
âDustin. I donât⌠I need you to start explaining some things to me.â
âWhat things?âÂ
âIâve had⌠Iâve had a really shitty day, alright?â You slide your hand into the hold of the other, palm shaking. You grip it tighter, trying to stabilise yourself. But it only rattles up the rest of your spine and spreads into your limbs. Like a burning, endless chill. Thrown into a frozen lake. âThe last thing I can manage right now is you trying to bullshit me some more.â
Steve flinches.
âIâm not bullshitting you!â
It comes out at just the wrong volume of shriekiness that sets your skin ablaze. Â
âDustin!â You shake your hands. âYouâve been lying to me for months! What the hell are you involved in?â
âIâm not involved in anything!â
âThen why is he here?âÂ
âWho?â He turns, trying to pretend like heâs only just noticed the whole other person beside him. âOh, Steve?â He grins, lie plastered across him. âHeâs justââ
âEnough! Please, just enough!â
âAre you okay?â
Your head flinches, up at Steve, whose face appears to only have room for concern. His arms hesitate slightly, moving just an inch before remembering theyâre occupied.
âWhat do you mean, am I okay?â And it comes out with more bite than you might have planned with a little more foresight.Â
âI mean, are you okay?â He bats right back, voice pinching.Â
Your head shakes erratically, out of your control. âNo. No, Iâm⌠Iâm done! Thereâs been weird shit happening all week. All goddamn year. And I know youâre hiding things from me.â A sedate jab at Dustin, fingers bound too tight. Unable to care how crazed you look in front of Steve right now having had your brain loaded into a microwave with a metal spoon. âAnd everyone keeps talking around me like thereâs this huge thing we should all know and I just donât understand.â
Dustin holds his hands out the way you approach an animal, twisting his upper half between whatever this other engagement is and you. His eyes scrunch up but soften all at the same time. âI donât⌠I canât talk right now.â
âWhy?â Asked in nearly a sob.
âHoney!âÂ
Thereâs the flatline.Â
Movement occurs within the house, and your momâs head emerges from behind the door. She looks at you. âYouâre going to be late for your interview!âÂ
Because that would be her sole concern.Â
The goddamn interview.Â
âFuck,â you cry just below your breath, pressing a hand to the front of your hair and padding it, summoning soundness.Â
Dustin and Steve stare in the face of a bomb about to explode.Â
You step forward, imploring him. âAre you in trouble? Did you get into something you didnât mean to? Because whateverâs going on, I donât care what it is, I just want you safe.â
âI⌠I know. I am safe.â
âPromise me.â You cup him at the shoulders. âCut all the crap. The fact that you donât want to talk to me anymore, youâve outgrown me, whatever it is⌠promise me youâre telling the truth. That youâre not in any kind of danger.âÂ
âI promise.â
You donât even know what that means. How his mouth parts to utter those two words. And so immediately, too. The way the skin around his eyes moves and cheeks bob. You canât sync it to one definitive emotion.Â
â(Y/N)!â Your mom bites. âYouâre not even dressed!â
âI know, I hear you!â Your lungs give out before the end of the sentence.Â
Your grip opens back up, releasing your brother. He waits a second longer to check heâs clear, before stepping by you to Steveâs car.Â
Steve moves to follow. You hook out an arm to intercept him. He halts, looking down at your wrist around his forearm and then you. Youâve seen him, on the various sports teams. Heâs tall and lean, but he packs muscle.
âHeâs back by six-thirty.âÂ
He nods once, shortly. âSix-thirty.âÂ
âYou stay in the middle of town where there are streetlights.â
âOkayâŚâ
âAnd you donât go anywhere near Skull Rock.â
His eyes change. âWait, why?âÂ
You donât answer. Canât.Â
Steveâs eyes flick again, jaw shifting as he peers in closer, and asks lowly, âHave you seen something?â
Your lips purse, trembling. Gnawing beneath. While you grip his arm tighter.
Inhale. Exhale, barely functional.Â
You watch your fingers unlatch. âDonât leave him alone. And Steve, if you hurt himâŚâ
âI wonât.â
âHeâs more sensitive than you think.â
âI wonât, he repeats.Â
The tiniest head movement brings you back up to his features. Slight enough that you hope he wonât catch you checking him.Â
He dips his head. âI swear.âÂ
âThat doesnât mean much.â
âIt does to me.â
And part of you might just believe him.
<- Prev
Author's note: WE ARE SO BACK. I'm so so happy to be writing this story again!!! That was the longest month of my life. I'm absolutely climbing the walls to write the next chapter. Just as a head's up for that, there was a structural issue back in chapter 2 that has bugged me ever since, so it might be that in chapter 6 older readers might spot a scene they've read before. No, you're not going mad lol I'm just having a jiggle around to see where things fit best. Thank you for your patience for the last month! Let's hope it's a while until I need to take another break. Let me know what you think and lots of love!! <3333
Chapter 5 of In the Same Orbit WILL be out this week!! I took a break for a month because my brain was goo and I'm so glad I did, because I've only been back working on it for a couple days and I've flown through it.
Thank you so much for your patience! Here's a sneak peek in the meantime đđ
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Steve's mom (and obv also Steve Harrington x fem!reader)
Word count: 3k
Summary: Steve's mom is back, for good. Steve has to come to terms with it.
Warnings: estranged parent, parental guilt, fixing familial relationships, steve having a hard time adjusting and you are there for him, a lot of em dashesâi wrote it MYSELF xoxo
Author's note: my birthday fic y'all, my present from me to you... this might not be my usual writing/pairing, but hello... this is a gem if I have to say so myself. maybe it feels a little weird, reading this, but I thought it would give Steve more emotional depth, a little inside in how adjusted he was living without a parent and also the emotional side of his mother.
please lmk if you like it, if you have requests. divider by: @enchanthings-a
Steve Harrington doesnât expect anything good to come from the front door opening. Not anymore. The house has always sounded the sameâlocks clicking, shoes on tile, voices that donât stay long enough to matter. So when the door opens on a quiet Thursday afternoon and doesnât immediately close again, when thereâs the soft roll of a suitcase and then⌠nothing, no phone call, no hurried footsteps back outâSteve frowns.
Heâs halfway stretched out on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes, and for a second he thinks maybe he imagined it. Then he hears it again. A breath. A shift. Presence.
âSteve?â
He sits up too fast. âMom?â
Sheâs standing in the doorway like she doesnât quite know how to enter her own house. Christina HarringtonâChristy, to people who know her well enough, which suddenly feels like a very small groupâis still impeccably dressed, still composed in that polished way he grew up around, but something is different. Her hair isnât perfectly set. Her posture isnât rigid. Thereâs a suitcase behind her. Not decorative. Not for a night. A real one.
âYouâre here,â he says, because itâs the only thing that makes sense.
âI am,â she answers, softer than he expects.
He waits for the follow-up. The âfor a bit,â the âjust passing through,â the explanation that turns this back into something familiar.
It doesnât come.
âIâm staying,â she says instead.
The words land in the room like they donât belong there.
Steve blinks. âStaying⌠how long?â
Christy hesitates, just for a second. âI'm moving back, Steve.â
Moving back.
Not visiting.
Not stopping by.
Something in his chest tightens. âWhereâs Dad?â
Her expression shifts...controlled, but not untouched. âHeâs not here.â
âThatâs not an answer.â
âI know.â She exhales slowly, like sheâs choosing her next words carefully. âWeâre divorcing.â
It hits differently than he expects. Not loud. Not explosive. Just heavy.
ââŚYouâre serious.â
âYes.â
He searches her face for something familiar, detachment, distance, the version of her that always had one foot out the door. Itâs not there. Instead, thereâs something steadier. Something⌠grounded.
"He plans to stay in, umâItaly, for the forseeable future."
âWhen did this happen?â he asks.
âOver the past few months,â she says. âItâs been⌠in process.â
âYou didnât tell me.â
âI didnât want to burden you with it.â
That stings more than the divorce.
âIâm your son,â he says, sharper than he means to. âI think I qualify.â
âI know,â she says quietly. âAnd Iâm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.â
Steve huffs a breath, running a hand through his hair. âYeah. That seems to be a theme lately.â
She doesnât argue.
Instead, she nods, almost looking defeated. âYouâre right.â
That throws him off more than if she had defended herself.
Silence stretches. The house feels different already. Smaller, somehow. Like the air shifted.
âSo what now?â he asks finally.
âNowâŚâ She glances around, taking in the space like sheâs seeing it for the first time. âI stay. I fix what I can. I'll be here.â
âFor how long?â
âAs long as youâll let me,â she says.
Thatâs not an answer heâs ready for.
ââŚOkay,â he says instead, because itâs the only thing he can manage.
Itâs not acceptance.
But itâs not rejection either.
Itâs a start.
The next morning confirms itâs real. Sheâs still there. In the kitchen. Actually cooking. Steve stops in the doorway, watching her like she might disappear if he blinks. She turns, gives him a small, almost tentative smile, like sheâs not sure if sheâs allowed to take up this space yet.
âGood morning,â she says.
âMorning,â he replies, slower.
âI made breakfast.â
He looks at the plate. Then at her. âYou didnât have to do that.â
âI wanted to,â she says.
That phraseâI wanted toâdoesnât fit in his memory of her. It makes something in his chest twist.
He nods anyway. Sits. Eats. Itâs good. Of course it is. Thatâs not the point. The point is that sheâs there while he eats. She doesnât leave halfway through. She doesnât check her watch. She doesnât disappear.
Itâs unsettling.
He doesnât know what to do with it.
So he does the only thing that makes sense.
He finds you.
Youâre curled up on your bed, halfway through something youâre not really paying attention to, when you hear the knock.
Itâs quick. Impatient.
Familiar.
You open the door, and there he isâSteve, standing a little too still, like heâs not sure what to do with himself.
âHey,â you say, already reading the tension in his shoulders. âWhat happened?â
He exhales, staring at nothing for a second. âMy momâs back.â
You blink. âAs in...back back?â
âSuitcase and everything.â
Your expression softens. âOkay⌠that sounds good?â
âI donât know if it is.â
You tilt your head, studying him. âWhy?â
âBecause it feels not normal,â he says. âSheâs cooking. Sheâs asking questions. Sheâs staying in the same room. Itâs like she suddenly decided to beââ he cuts himself off.
âA mom?â you finish gently.
He huffs. âYeah.â
âThatâs not a bad thing, Steve.â
âNo, but itâs not something Iâm used to. They have been gone for so long, always stopping by, never staying. It just feels weird.â
You shift closer without thinking, your shoulder brushing his. âYou donât have to decide what it means right now. You can just⌠let it happen.â
He looks at you. Really looks. Like heâs grounding himself in something familiar.
âShe said sheâs staying,â he adds.
âThen maybe she is.â
He doesnât answer right away. Instead, his hand finds yours, squeezing gently.
You give it right back, kissing his chin and then laying your head on his shoulder.
That steadies him.
Always.
Over the next few days, the house changes in small ways. There are dishes in the sink. Music playing low in the background. Conversations that donât end abruptly. Christy asks him about school, about his friends, about his life. At first, his answers are short. Guarded. But she doesnât push. She listens. Thatâs new too.
And then there are the other things.
The things that donât have anything to do with him...but still do.
Steve notices the first time when he comes downstairs and finds her standing by the front door, smoothing down her blouse like sheâs about to walk into a room full of strangers. Thereâs a tray in her hands...store-bought cookies arranged carefully on a plate, like sheâs trying to make them look homemade.
âGoing somewhere?â he asks.
She startles slightly, then smiles. âMrs. Callahan next door. I thought Iâd⌠say hello.â
Steve blinks. âYouâve lived here for, like, twenty years.â
âI know,â she says, a little sheepish. âBut I donât think Iâve ever actually introduced myself.â
That lands somewhere strange.
ââŚHuh,â he mutters.
She lingers for a second longer, like sheâs debating whether to go through with it, then straightens her shoulders just slightly.
âI wonât be long,â she says.
He watches her leave.
Watches her knock.
Watches the hesitation in her posture before the door opens and she forces a polite smile.
Itâs⌠uncomfortable.
Not in a bad way.
Just unfamiliar.
The next time, itâs a phone call.
Heâs in the living room, half-watching something, when he hears her voice from the kitchenâcareful, measured, a little too bright.
âNo, I understand,â sheâs saying. âItâs been a while.â
A pause.
âYes, well⌠I thought Iâd reach out.â
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Steve doesnât mean to listen.
But he does.
ââŚOf course,â she says finally, softer now. âMaybe another time.â
When she hangs up, the kitchen goes quiet.
Steve glances toward the doorway.
For a second, he thinks about getting up.
He doesnât.
But later, when he walks in to grab a drink, sheâs standing by the counter, staring at nothing, her expression composed in that practiced way he knows too well.
âYou okay?â he asks.
She turns, smiles faintly. âYes.â
He doesnât push.
But he notices.
He notices when she starts going out in the afternoonsâdressed a little nicer than necessary, coming back with small things she didnât really need. Groceries they already had. Flowers that end up in a vase in the kitchen. Conversation starters, maybe.
He notices the way she lingers outside sometimes, talking to neighbors heâs only ever waved at in passing. The way she laughs just a little too easily, like sheâs trying to fill the space before it can go quiet.
And he noticesâ
how hard sheâs trying.
Not just with him.
With everything.
It shifts something in him.
Because this isnât the version of his mom he remembersâthe one who always had somewhere else to be, someone else to see, something more important waiting.
This version stays.
This version knocks on doors.
Makes phone calls.
Puts herself in places sheâs clearly not entirely comfortable in anymore.
Just to not be⌠alone.
Steve leans against the doorframe one afternoon, watching her from a distance as she stands at the edge of the driveway, talking to a neighbor about something smallâweather, maybe, or the garden, something that doesnât really matter.
But the way sheâs standingâ
open.
Present.
Trying.
It does.
He hadnât thought about that part before.
What it mustâve been like for her, coming back to a house that doesnât quite feel like hers anymore. To a town where people remember her, but donât really know her. To a life she stepped out of and is now trying to step back into without knowing where she fits.
He looks away after a second.
Gives her that space.
But later, when he walks into the kitchen and sees the fresh flowers sitting in a glass vaseâ
he pauses.
Then, quietlyâ
ââŚThey look nice.â
She glances up, surprised.
âThank you.â
Itâs a small thing.
But it matters.
And for the first time, Steve doesnât just see whatâs changed in his life.
He sees what sheâs trying to rebuild in hers.
And how hard sheâs working to not lose it again.
So, one evening, when he comes home late from work, he finds her sitting at the kitchen table, the light still on. Steve stops in the doorway, just as she looks up.
âHi.â
Christy looks up from the kitchen table, a little startled, like she hadnât heard him come in.
Then she smiles...soft, a little tired, but real, familiar. âHi, baby.â
Steve pauses in the doorway.
Thereâs something about the way she says itâgentle, unguardedâthat feels unfamiliar now, even if it shouldnât.
âWhat are you doing, still up?â he asks.
She hesitates, fingers tightening slightly around the mug in front of her. âI was, umâwaiting.â
That lands differently than it would have a week ago.
Not just for him.
But like she didnât have anywhere else to be.
ââŚYou didnât have to do that,â he says.
âI know,â she answers quietly. âI wanted to.â
Steve lingers in the doorway a moment longer, taking in the small things he wouldnât have noticed beforeâthe cold tea she hasnât touched, the second chair pulled out just slightly, like sheâd been expecting him to sit there.
Like she hoped he would.
He exhales, then walks in, pulling the chair out the rest of the way and sitting down across from her.
For a second, neither of them says anything.
The house hums softly around them.
âYou didnât have plans?â he asks after a moment.
She lets out a small breath, something almost self-aware in it. âI tried.â
That makes him look up.
âTried?â
âI stopped by Mrs. Callahanâs,â she says. âAnd I called a few⌠old friends.â
âAnd?â
She gives a small shrug, gaze dropping briefly to the table. âItâs just been a long time.â
Thereâs no resentment in it.
Just⌠consequence.
Steve leans back slightly, processing that.
âYou donât really have anyone here anymore,â he says.
âI didnât make the effort to keep anyone,â she corrects gently.
That lands.
Because it mirrors something heâs already starting to understand about her returnâthis isnât just about him. Itâs about everything she stepped away from.
A quiet pause stretches between them.
âI donât want that anymore,â she adds, softer now. âI donât want to be⌠outside of things. Not with you. Not with my own life.â
Steve watches her carefully.
Thereâs something different in her voice now.
Not rehearsed.
Not distant.
Real.
âI missed a lot,â she continues, her fingers lacing together like she needs something to hold onto. âAnd I keep realizing it in pieces. Little things I should know that I donât.â
He doesnât say anything.
Doesnât interrupt.
âI donât know what your days look like,â she goes on. âI donât know who you spend your time with. I didnât even know aboutââ she hesitates, glancing up at him, more careful now, ââabout your girlfriend.â
There it is.
Steve shifts slightly in his seat.
ââŚYeah,â he says, a little guarded without meaning to be.
âIâm sorry,â Christy says quickly, wiping away a tear threatening to fall. âNot because of herâshe seemsâŚâ she searches for the right word, a faint smile tugging at her mouth, âimportant. I justââ she exhales, shaking her head slightly. âI should have known. I should have been there to see that part of your life happen.â
That softens something in him.
Just a little.
âShe is important to me,â he says, quieter now.
âIâd like to know her,â Christy adds carefully. âIf thatâs something youâd be okay with. Not to intrude. Just⌠to understand your life better. To understand you. And obviously, I also want to meet her, because I want to meet the woman who makes my son happy.â
Steve looks at her.
Really looks.
And more and more, it feels like sheâs asking because she actually wants to know.
It feels like she means it.
Like she is curious about him, her son,
and his life.
ââŚYou would?â he asks.
âYes,â she says simply. âShe matters to you. That makes her matter to me.â
Thatâ
That hits differently.
Thereâs no pressure in it.
No expectation.
Just⌠intention.
âI donât expect you to suddenly tell me everything,â she continues. âOr to let me in all at once. I just⌠want the chance to learn. To be part of things. If youâll let me.â
Steve exhales slowly, leaning back slightly, his thoughts quieter than they were a few minutes ago.
âYouâre trying really hard,â he says.
She huffs a small breath, something almost like a laugh slipping out. âIs it that obvious?â
âYeah,â he says. âKind of.â
A pause.
âI donât want to keep missing things,â she admits. âNot with you.â
That settles somewhere deep.
Because itâs not about fixing the past.
Itâs about not repeating it.
ââŚOkay,â Steve says after a moment.
Itâs not big.
But itâs not nothing either.
Her expression softens, something grateful flickering there.
âOkay?â she repeats gently.
âYeah,â he says. âWe can⌠start with that.â
Itâs the closest thing to an invitation he knows how to give.
And she takes it.
Carefully.
âThank you,â she says.
He shrugs, like itâs nothing.
But it isnât.
They sit there for another minute, the quiet stretching between themâbut not uncomfortably this time.
Just⌠present.
When Steve finally stands, pushing his chair back, he hesitates for a second.
âGoodnight,â he says.
âGoodnight, baby.â
The word feels different now.
Still unfamiliar.
Still something heâs adjusting to.
But it doesnât sit wrong anymore.
He pauses, glancing at herâreally looking this time, at the quiet, the effort, the loneliness sheâs trying so hard to outrun.
Then, softerâ
âThere will be people in your life again, Mom.â
And with that, he heads upstairs slower than usual, his thoughts quieter than he expected them to be.
Heâs still unsure.
Still adjusting.
Still waiting for something to feel off.
But, even with that flicker of uncertainty, the part of him thatâs still a kid just wants his mom.
So, a few days later, Steve lets Christy meet you properly. Steve is nervous in a way youâve never seen before. Pacing on the front porch, running a hand through his hair, probably overthinking every possible outcome.
âWeâre going to be fine,â you tell him, reaching for his arm.
âYeah,â he mutters. âThatâs not what Iâm worried about.â
âThen what are you worried about?â
He glances at you, something softer flickering in his expression. âThat this is going to be weird.â
âItâs going to be new,â you correct, while knocking on the front door. âNot weird.â
He exhales, reaching for your hand. âStay close?â
Your heart softens, your fingers wrapping around his. âAlways.â
Christy opens the door. Her gaze moves from Steve to you, and something in her expression shiftsâcuriosity, warmth, a quiet kind of awe.
âYou must be the one Iâve heard about,â she says.
Steve groans. âMomââ
But sheâs smiling at you. Not polite. Not distant. Real.
âIâm really glad youâre here,â she adds.
Dinner is⌠easy. Surprisingly so. Thereâs laughter. Conversation that flows. Christy asks you questionsânot intrusive, not interrogating, just⌠interested. She watches the way Steve looks at you, the way he relaxes around you, the way he reaches for your hand under the table without thinking.
Later, when youâre upstairs, Steve exhales, dropping onto his bed. âThat went better than expected.â
You sit beside him, smiling. âShe likes you.â
He snorts. âGod, Iâd hope so.â
âI meant she likes the person you are now,â you correct.
That quiets him.
ââŚYeah,â he admits.
Thereâs a pause. Then, softer with a tremble in his voice, âShe wasnât there for a lot of this.â
âI know.â
âI donât know how to just⌠let her in.â
âYou donât have to do it all at once,â you say. âJust let her be there.â
He nods slowly.
âShe it really trying,â he says.
âAnd I think you are too.â
He glances at you, something soft settling in his expression. âYeah.â
Downstairs, Christy sits alone for a moment after you leave, staring at the quiet house that doesnât feel so empty anymore. She thinks about the years she missed. The dinners she wasnât there for. The conversations she never had. The boy she left alone too many times.
And nowâ
now she sees him.
Not as a child.
But as someone whole.
Someone kind.
Someone who loves deeply.
Someone who found you, despite everything.
She exhales slowly, a quiet promise settling in her chest.
Sheâs not leaving again.
Upstairs, Steve leans against his door after bringing you home, watching the empty hallway for a second before turning back into his room. It still feels strange. This new version of things. This presence. This⌠possibility.
But when he thinks about you downstairs at the table, laughing with his momâ
"So, I called in an order a few days ago for Pleonexia."
"Ah, remind me of the name again."
"Uh, Lamram. L-A-M-R-A-M."
"Huh, starting to think you weren't gonna show."
"Well, I had a little hold up."
(don't repost my gifs or edits)
- marmalade spoilers
Finished Tales from '85! While I enjoyed the Steve content, I should just clarify that I won't be canonising it for In the Same Orbit.
I feel like the show just rehashed a lot of the arcs those same characters have already been on in the main show, while character assassinating others along the way. Don't get me started on Dustin "that childhood was stolen from me" Henderson saying he's yearning for another adventure in front of his friend who was missing and hunted for a week.
Maybe I'll find ways to slip certain lines of dialogue in (enjoyed Steve getting Dustin's Star Wars reference v much) but other than that I really don't feel compelled to write this in lol