food for the steddie brainworms

Hi! I'm Cass. This is gonna be a place for me to put all my steddie thoughts/fic recs/reblogs/etc. Follow along!! Mainblog: @throwbackthrowaway

[augustsgrass]

don’t think i can call it a hyperfixation anymore fam im afraid im just long term insane about this piece of media

[lydjah]

the music guy

for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt Day 25: smoking section | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: smoking | POV: Eddie | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, AU - no Upside Down, sharing a cigarette (the sluttiest thing two people can do) 

“You’re him, right? The music guy?” 

Eddie looks up from his examination of his fingernails. There’s a guy standing in the entrance of the smokers’ section, wearing a polo shirt that denotes him as venue barstaff. He’s got a glorious swoop of hair, that Eddie, as something of a hair guy himself, can appreciate. He also looks exhausted – understandable, given Corroded Coffin had packed the house out tonight. Poor guy was probably run off his feet. 

“The music guy?” Eddie echoes, around his cigarette. He doesn’t do groupies, so if this is that then he’ll be pretending to be anyone other than who he is.

“Yeah,” the guy says, though a note of doubt does creep into his tone. Perhaps not. “You know, with the guitar or whatever.” 

He mimes playing the guitar, which – dorky. Cute. It’s both. Eddie likes both, so to speak, he plays for both teams. He runs his eyes over the guy again, noting he’s very good-looking. “That’s me,” he says, chuckling. He digs in his pocket for his pack, and holds it out. “Want one?” 

The guy takes one, and Eddie lights it for him. He mirrors Eddie, leaning against the wall with about a foot between them. Eddie watches him in his peripheral vision; he takes a few leisurely drags, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Eddie asks, after a while. He’s curious, but not hopeful – Mr Handsome looks very straight-laced, very pop-rock, very church on Sundays. 

“I could see this much of you from the bar,” the guy says, framing his face between his two hands from his eyebrows to the top of his head. 

“And yet you still came looking, huh?” Eddie can’t help himself, can’t help dipping his toe in the waters to test them – he’s a born flirt. 

Gorgeous shoots him a bitchy sideways look that sets Eddie’s heart aflutter, especially when the corner of his mouth twitches ever-so-slightly. “I don’t know that the sound is for me,” he says, with distaste, the way one would say a daily colonoscopy is not for them. 

Eddie might be in love. 

“Ed! Come on dude, we gotta go!” Jeff calls from the doorway. Eddie lifts himself away from the wall, ashing his cigarette and tossing Handsome a charming grin and a waggle of his fingers. 

“See you tomorrow night,” he croons, following Jeff out. 

***

“It could grow on me,” Mr Handsome says, appearing and taking his spot against the wall in the smokers’ section near Eddie. 

“What could? Mould? Probably need to get that checked, big boy.” 

Oh that look of bitchy contempt. Eddie’s going to write a love song about it.

“I mean, if you want to compare your music to mould,” he says, lifting a brow. He sticks out his hand and opens and closes it in a give me gesture. Eddie’s already handing over a cigarette. 

“Either way, you came back,” Eddie says, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Mr Handsome’s gaze follows the motion for a flicker of a heartbeat before it darts away. 

“I work here. I have to come back.” 

“No, I think it’s me, I think you’re obsessed with me and you’re Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan,” Eddie teases. Their shoulders brush, leather against polo. Behind Mr Beautiful’s head, Gareth appears, gesturing for Eddie to hurry up. 

“There’s that famous rockstar ego, huh?” Handsome says. 

“Guilty. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he leaves. “Third and final show.” 

“I wouldn’t count on it!” 

***

Gorgeous is already waiting for him the next night. 

“Steve.” When Eddie lifts a questioning brow, Gorgeous points at himself. “I’m Steve.”

He doesn’t offer Eddie a pack of cigarettes – he offers Eddie his own lit one. Eddie takes it, their fingertips brushing. Steve watches Eddie bring the cigarette to his lips, his eyes trained on Eddie’s mouth, on the way they indirectly kiss by touching the same spot. Eddie feels it so acutely, more than he has in a long time – the loneliness of the road and the lifestyle that he’s been ignoring, the deep longing for his person. It’s a strange thing, to miss someone you haven’t even met yet. 

But Eddie’s had the beautiful bartender – Steve – on his mind for two days now. 

And Eddie… well Eddie’s never exactly played it safe. 

“You know the French have a saying,” he begins, conversationally, “‘qui allume encule,’ which roughly says, ‘light their cigarette, fuck them in the ass.’” He holds the cigarette out for Steve to take back. 

He’s gone very still though, and Eddie tenses, suddenly aware that Steve is clearly athletic stock; probably well and truly capable of kicking Eddie’s ass. Maybe he read this wrong, maybe Steve wasn’t looking at him like that, maybe he’s been alone so long he can’t read signs anymore– 

“You just threatening me with a good time, or you gonna follow through?” Steve asks, low and husky. 

Eddie blinks, because he didn’t realise they were standing so close – they’re facing each other, their shoulders against the wall, a scant six inches between their chests. Eddie can smell his delicious cologne, and see the green in his hazel eyes. Steve tilts his head, rocking a little closer. They’re alone in this smokers’ section, the venue already closed up for the night. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Eddie says regretfully. His hand finds Steve’s hip, and slips around to his lower back. 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t like this job much. My best friend has always wanted to design band merch.” Both his hands rest on Eddie’s chest. 

“Did you just hire yourself to my crew?” Their noses brush. 

“Someone has to come keep your ego in check.” Steve’s mouth ghosts against the corner of Eddie’s lips. 

“I promise you none of this is deflating my ego,” Eddie says, and before Steve can answer, he captures his open mouth in a kiss. 

[morganbritton132]

You have to have a job to make money. You have to have money to go to Europe. You have to have a job to make money. You have to -

Robin keeps telling herself this.

She repeats it when she's cold. She repeats it when her feet hurt. She repeats it when the nautical music playing over the speaker starts permeating her dreams. She repeats it incredibly hard when she goes into the back of Scoops Ahoy for her lunch break and five minutes into it -

"I need you to cover."

Her food isn't even finished heating up in the microwave, "I’m on br-"

"I need you to cover," Steve says, not even stopping in his stride across the room and out the back into the hallway.

"Un-fucking-believable."

She almost doesn't. She almost sits her ass down and eats her lunch but, "You need to have a job to make money. You need money to go to Europe."

She abandons her lunch and walks to the front. Her frown twists in disgust, "What can I get you?"

"Not gonna take me for a sail on an ocean of flavor, sweetheart?"

Robin raises an unimpressed eyebrow and states, "You're smudging the glass, Hargrove. What do you want?"

"Where'd Harrington scurry off to?"

"I recommend USS Butterscotch," She states. "It's a big hit with Neanderthals."

"Harrington is-"

"We don't allow loitering," She talks over him. "If you're not ordering than you need to leave before I have to call mall security. You don't want that because Greg - the mall security officer - he hates being called because the, you know. Lack of air conditioning. Puts him in a bad mood and-

"Okay," Billy says, already annoyed by her yapping. She keeps talking until, "Okay! I’m leaving. Tell Harrington that I'll see him around."

Robin watches him go.

She frowns.

Her eyes dart around the mostly-empty shop and then she pushes off the counter. She goes into the back, past her lunch cooling in the microwave, through the door.

She doesn't have to go far to find Steve.

He's sitting on the ground with his elbows rested on his knees. His hands in his hair. He's breathing in a familiar way, measured and intentional.

Robin slides down the wall beside him.

She stares ahead.

She chews on her bottom lip and thinks to say something but - they're not really friends. They're barely coworkers. They started two weeks ago so...

"He tried to kill me."

"What?"

"Hargrove," Steve clarifies to the wall in front of them. "Last year with, you know. The fight. He was. Yeah, he probably would've killed me if - and."

He tugs on his hair, takes a deep breath, "He's such a dick. I hate dealing with him."

Robin watches Steve stand up. She watches him brush off his clothes and say like nothing bad has ever happened, "Thanks for covering. I owe you one, Buckley."

[sunshinewriterx]

[blipblot]

Security is a Bitch

Steddie // Modern AU // Meet Ugly // 2,447k words

“Badge for security clearance, please.”

The man stops in front of Steve, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he looks Steve up and down. Steve continues to chew his gum, giving the man a bored look before blowing a bubble and letting it pop.

“Um, I’m Eddie,” Eddie, apparently, places a hand on his own chest like that’s explanation enough. “Eddie Munson?” 

“Hi, Eddie,” Steve swaps the gum from one side of his mouth to the other. “Badge for security clearance, please.” 

“I don’t have a badge, dude,” Eddie chuckles awkwardly. “Badges are for assistants and technicians. I’m a performer. If I do have a badge, it’s likely in the green room. I'll tell you what, let me through and I’ll gladly hunt it down for you.”

Steve stops Eddie from moving forward by placing two finger tips on his sternum, gently pushing him back. He blows another bubble, holding back a grin as he watches Eddie’s eye twitch like he can’t believe Steve’s audacity.

“No badge for security clearance, no entrance to the venue,” Steve explains flatly as he drops his hand away. “Sorry dude, them’s the breaks.”

“But I’m a prefor-” 

“Even "performers" need badges to gain access backstage,” Steve uses his fingers to make air quotes before crossing his arms back over his chest. “Please make your way down to the front entrance and take it up with the head office if you want.”

Eddie stands there, stunned before laughing with disbelief.

“But I’m Eddie,” Eddie throws his hands up. “This is ridiculous, I’m headlining this fucking show!”  

“And I’m Steve,” Steve tilts his head to the side, widening his eyes and talking slowly like he’s speaking to someone particularly stupid. “Steve with security. Which means if you don’t have a badge for security clearance, I can’t let you in. Simple math, Eddie.”

“It’s obvious you don’t know this, and that’s fine, but I’m kind of a big deal around here,” Eddie squints at Steve, his smile sarcastic. “Like I said, I’m headlining this show and I really need to get back there so I can get ready for the performance tonight. Surely you’ve heard of the headliner for the show you’re working on since you take your job so seriously.”

“Of course,” Steve says, his face indifferent. “His name is Kas. He plays with Corroded Coffin, who are all already backstage. I swiped their badges earlier. Nice guys.” 

“I know they’re nice guys, they’re my band, and that’s my stage name,” Eddie grits out. “Which I would love to prove to you but you have to let me back there in order to do that.”

Steve doesn’t respond, continuing to chew his gum while Eddie scrubs at his face out of frustration.

“Under different circumstances, this little bitchy indifference act would really work on me but as it stands I actually need to get back stage so I can do my fucking job.”

“No badge, no-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, thank you so much,” Eddie interrupts him, waving him off. “You’re an immovable pillar of securital integrity, your parents must be very proud.”

Steve feels expression tighten slightly, not dignifying Eddie with a response as Eddie continues glares up at him. 

“Who even added you onto the security team? I don’t remember seeing you before tonight,” Eddie squints at Steve suspiciously. “See, I take pride in knowing everyone on my team. It’s a courtesy thing.” 

“Dustin Henderson added me tonight because someone called out sick and I owed him a favor,” Steve explains boredly, privately mourning the loss of flavor in his gum. He’d have to grab a new stick as soon as he got rid of this persistent weirdo. “He’s the head technician and an old friend of mine. Since it’s your team and you know everyone, why don’t you just give them a call and have someone grab your badge for you?”

“That-” Eddie responds hotly, pointing a finger in Steve’s face before hesitating as soon as he’s taken in what Steve’s said. “-is a great idea, actually. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?”

Steve quirks an eyebrow, continuing to chew his hardened, dull gum as he watches Eddie fish around in his pockets for his phone. 

Eddie pats his front pockets and then the back ones, grumbling to himself as his eyebrows furrow. His expression turns frantic as he slaps his palms over the decorated vest he’s wearing. He checks the inner pockets of the vest before dropping his hands back down to his pants pockets again.

Steve swallows his gum and shifts his weight from one hip to the other, his eyebrow raising even higher as Eddie continues feeling around for a phone that’s clearly not there.

“...Okay, so the thing is, I might have left my phone on-”

“Look, man,” Steve interrupts with a tired huff. “It’s clear that you really want to get back there so this band must mean a lot to you, which I can appreciate. But this is not the way to go about this. The Corroded Coffin guys seem like good dudes, I’m sure they’ll make an appearance at the stage door tonight after the show if you wanted to get some merch signed. But my friends are working on this show and I’m not going to let some random guy back there and potentially put people I care about in danger, okay?”

Eddie’s face falls from angry to sheepishly and guilty.

“Okay,” Eddie says with a tone of defeat. “Okay, that's fair. I have to hand it to you, you’re really good at your job, Steve. Normally, I would appreciate and commend you for but right now it’s kind of fucking up my whole evening.”

“Sorry,” Steve says with a small shrug. “Dustin would never let me hear the end of it if I messed this up for him. This job means the world to him.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty good at it too. Don’t tell him I said that though, he’ll turn into such a smug little bastard,” Eddie says with a forlorn sigh before his eyes widen with realization. “Wait! Dustin! You said he’s your friend, right?”

“Right,” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Which means you have his phone number, right?” 

“Right,” Steve says again, his expression turning guarded. “It would be weird if I didn’t. It’s not like pen pals are super in these days.”

Eddie lets out a cackle of success, leaning into Steve’s space with a wide grin.

“Let me borrow your phone. I’ll call him and prove I’m not some freak groupie,” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with glee and mischief.  “Then would you let me backstage, Mister Doorkeep?”

“No,” Steve moves subtly back, his face heating up at Eddie’s close proximity. “Because you still won’t have a badge I can scan. Maybe I would if Dustin came down here and confirmed it but-”

“That’s fine, whatever works,” Eddie interrupts, holding his open hand out in front of him expectantly. “Your mobile device, if you would be so kind?”

Steve stares down at Eddie’s open palm, glancing back up at him with a doubtful grimace. 

“Come on, big boy. I won’t run off with it, I promise,” Eddie tilts his head to the side with a teasing grin. “Besides, even if I did you could probably catch me in, like, two seconds. Your thighs are insane, by the way. Do you run track in your spare time?”

“No, I coach a swim team for middle schoolers,” Steve says with an embarrassed frown. “All the flirting in the world isn’t going to save you if you actually run off with my phone, though. I will tackle you to the ground the second I think you’re going to run for it, I’m not kidding.”

“Promise, promises,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows as he watches Steve fetch his phone from his back pocket. “Thanks, Doll. You’re a life saver.” 

Steve grumbles under his breath as he watches Eddie type in a number, taking the free moment to fetch his pack of gum out of his pocket. He’s unwrapping a new piece out of its foil when Eddie glances back over at him.

“Ew, dude, did you swallow your gum?” Eddie asks, his nose scrunched up in distaste as the phone rings. “That’s gross.”

“Well, I’m not going to spit it on the ground,” Steve shoots him a look back, stuffing the new stick in his mouth. “That’s gross. I’m not some kind of animal.” 

“That gum is going to be in your stomach until you die, you know that right?” Eddie says with a haughty little shimmy of his shoulders. “The coroner will have to pump it out of you someday.”

“What? No way, that’s totally a myth-”

“Dustin!” Eddie cheerfully interrupts Steve as someone picks up. “Hey buddy, can you do me a favor? Tall, broad, and handsome here won’t let me through the stage door without a badge. Will you come grab me?”

Steve watches as Eddie listens to whoever's on the other line. 

“I told him that and he politely told me to fuck off,” Eddie glances over at Steve with a grin. “He said he values the safety of his friends or something ridiculous like that. Yeah, he’s a real peach. How long do you think it’ll be before you’re down here? I gotta make it to sound-”

Eddie’s interrupted by the door being yanked open behind Steve.

“-check.” Eddie finishes with a grin, hanging up the phone.

Dustin wheezes breathlessly behind Steve, leaning on the door frame with both arms.

“Holy shit, dude, did you run all the way down here from the sound booth?” Eddie hands his phone back to Steve who moves to the side so they can both stare at Dustin as he tries to catch his breath.

Dustin holds one hand out in front of him in the universal sign of ‘Just one moment please’ as he pulls out an inhaler and squeezes it before breathing in deep.

“Jesus, Dustin,” Steve says, rubbing his back with a concerned frown. 

“I’ve been looking for you-” Dustin grits out between wheezes. “-for an hour.”

“Don’t look at me like that, no one told me we added security badges.” Eddie holds up his hands in mock defense.

“Yeah, because you’d lose it and that would be another issue entirely.” Dustin glares up at him before snapping his gaze over to Steve. “And you!-”

“Oh brother, here we go-”

“-What the hell is the matter with you?!” Dustin throws his hands above his head in disbelief.  “How could you not know what the lead singer of the band you’re working for looks like?” 

“Well, it’s not like I was shown pictures,” Steve huffs back, crossing his arms over his chest with a defensive glare. “They told me no one without a badge can get in so I didn’t let anyone without a badge in. Sorry for doing my job.” 

Dustin groans, scrubbing at his face before moving out of the way and jabbing his finger down the hallway.

“You, get to hair and make up-” Dustin glares at Eddie before turning to Steve. “-and you! We’re having words later, so help me god.”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns away, mocking Dustin by repeating him under his breath with a high pitched voice. Eddie stares at him with enamored disbelief.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re perfect?” Eddie leans in close again, his smile growing as Steve looks at him with an annoyed frown. “Now that I can go, I almost want to stay.”

“Lucky me,” Steve says flatly. “And yeah, people call me perfect all the time. Why, did you think you were special for saying so?”

“Steve!” Dustin stares at him with a look that could kill. “What the hell is wrong with you? Come on, Eddie, ignore him.”

Eddie bites his lower lip, staring at Steve for a long moment before holding out his palm expectantly in front of him.

“...What?” Steve shoots a look down at Eddie’s palm. “I’m not giving you any gum after you were so rude about it earlier. Go find your own.”

“I want your phone, Dove,” Eddie explains with a silky voice. “So I can put my number in and call you after the show. I wanna tell you things that’ll make you think I’m real special.” 

“Oh, you’re special, alright,” Steve scoffs but digs his phone out of his pocket to hand to Eddie anyway. “Just not the kind of special you think.”

“God, you’re such a bitch,” Eddie says with a pleased little laugh as he types in his number. “What are your thoughts on marriage? There’s a chapel down the street.” 

“That’s a synagogue,” Steve rolls his eyes as he takes his phone back. “I’m not Jewish. Are you?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter,” Eddie leans in even closer, incredibly pleased to see blush taking over Steve’s face. “I’d marry you in a gas station parking lot, if you’d let me.”

“Promises, promises,” Steve says back, a light reminder of their flirting earlier. “Don’t you have a show to get to?” 

“Well, you told me I couldn’t get in without a badge,” Eddie grips the railing behind Steve with both hands, caging him in. “Guess I’m stuck out here with you until that gets rectified, right?” 

“Mm, I did say that didn’t I?” Steve looks down at Eddie through his lashes.

“You sure did,” Eddie licks his lips and leans in closer. “Dustin, will you be a dear and go grab that for me?”

“What? No, it’ll take me, like, thirty minutes to find that stupid thing. I’m not running around backstage just so you two can schmooze-”

“Thanks, pal, you’re a real dear,” Eddie sing songs before reaching out and closing the door in Dustin’s face. “Now, what do you think we can get up to in thirty minutes before the little squirt gets back?” 

“Certainly not marriage,” Steve snorts. “That’ll take an hour, at least.” 

“How about I tell you I want to get through that door real bad-” Eddie walks his finger tips down Steve’s chest, stopping to tap lightly at his belt buckle. “-and then show you all the things I’d be willing to do to get through it.”

Steve cocks his head to the side with a look of indifference but Eddie can see how heavy his breathing has gotten.

“No badge for security clearance, no entrance to the venue,” Steve says with a low voice, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind Eddie’s ear.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Eddie chuckles, his grin widening as the clinking sound of Steve’s belt buckle being undone.

[riality-check]

This is not how Wayne was expecting to come home from work.

He had expected, as usual, that Eddie would be asleep, and he’d be free to watch the 5:00 AM news. He’d have a bowl of cereal for dinner (or was it breakfast at that point?), and then he’d be out like a light while Eddie did whatever it was he did before noon. Usually, that was sleep.

The exact opposite of what Wayne was expecting is happening right now. 

He didn’t even get his keys out of his pocket before Eddie whips the door open. He looks a mess: hair tied back loosely, pajamas off kilter, panic mixed with exhaustion on his face.

“Oh, thank Christ,” he croaks. “Wayne, I need your help. I have no idea what to do.”

Wayne can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Eddie panic like this. He shoulders past him into the trailer and is greeted with the sight of Steve Harrington standing in the middle of his living room.

“What on God’s green earth,” he murmurs. He blinks, then blinks again, but Harrington is still there, in pajamas, the tire iron Eddie still keeps under his bed in his hands. He’s breathing real heavy, and he stares out the window, stock-still.

“The hell happened?” Wayne asks, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Eddie whispers desperately. “I don’t know what happened, but he got up and grabbed the iron and just stood here-”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

Wayne doesn’t like where this is going. “Has he responded to you at all?”

“No-”

Shit.

“-but I can try again?”

Wayne eyes the white-knuckled grip Harrington has on the tire iron. He’s ready to swing, and Wayne knows he’ll swing hard if given the chance.

No way he’s risking Eddie. No way he’s risking Harrington. Wayne doesn’t know him well, only met him a few times in passing, but he knows he’d never forgive himself if he hurt Eddie.

“No. Don’t try again.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Didn’t ask you to. All I’m saying is don’t go near.”

Eddie is very good at following instructions to the letter and to the letter only, much to Wayne’s fond annoyance. So, he doesn’t go near.

Instead, he says, voice strangely soft, “Stevie, sweetheart.”

Harrington doesn’t respond, but he turns a little in the direction of Eddie’s voice. Wayne takes that as a good sign, even if he can see the tension on his face now.

“Will you come back to sleep? Please?” Wayne hates hearing Eddie’s voice crack the way it is right now.

Harrington faces them a little better, and Wayne sees what he was expecting.

He’s staring through them, not at them. Wherever Harrington is, it sure ain’t here.

“I don’t know how much that’s gonna help, Eddie. He’s having-”

“I know he’s having a flashback, Wayne!” Eddie snaps. “I’m not stupid. It’s usually just not this bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Alright,” Wayne says because snapping back won’t help anyone. That and because he’s trying to process the fact that Eddie has had to deal with this before. “Let me try.”

He takes a few steps toward Harrington, keeping his hands up and his movements slow.

“Harrington,” he calls, keeping his tone light. “You’re at Eddie’s place right now. It’s almost five AM on a Friday night.”

Harrington blinks, and it looks like his eyes are coming back into focus.

“You’re safe right now. Eddie’s safe right now.”

Harrington shakes his head and lifts the tire iron a little higher. Christ, his arms must be aching by now. “No. I saw the lights flicker, and I heard a thud outside, and it got cold.”

“Stevie, the gate’s closed,” Eddie pleads. “You saw it happen. Nothing got out. You’re safe.”

Wayne doesn’t know what any of that means, but even though it was supposed to reassure Harrington, he just shakes his head again.

He hears Eddie sigh behind him, and he knows without turning around that he’s trying not to cry.

Guess he’s gotta try something different, then. “You just wake up?”

Harrington blinks, and for a minute, Wayne thinks this won’t get them anywhere. But then he whispers, just loud enough to be heard, “Yeah.”

“Okay. I just got off work.”

Harrington stares at him, confused.

“So, I think I’m a little more awake than you. I’ll take what you’ve got in your hands, and I can stay up.”

Harrington shakes his head. “It’s fine. I stay up most of the time when I’m alone.”

Alone. Wayne knows from experience, both personal and witnessing this shit, that alone is the last thing anyone should be when they’re having a flashback. Harrington says it like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

He dismisses his questions - why is Harrington having flashbacks, why is he alone - and focuses on getting him to put down the tire iron and go to bed.

“You’re not alone this time,” Wayne says. “You’ve got Eddie here, too, and I think both of you would feel better if you were together.”

Harrington looks over Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne doesn’t turn around, but he can imagine the pleading look on Eddie’s face just fine.

Wayne holds out his hands for the tire iron, and after a minute, or maybe a month, Harrington sets it there. Immediately, he looks lighter and heavier.

Eddie walks up next to Wayne and murmurs, “Come on, sugar.”

Harrington goes to him and just rests his head on his shoulder. Eddie holds him there, just standing in the middle of the living room, sunrise just starting to peek in through the windows.

Thank you, he mouths to Wayne.

Wayne nods, but he’s got a hell of a lot more questions than answers - what the hell brought this on, what exactly is Harrington to Eddie. That can wait for morning, though.

For now, he just hopes Harrington will be okay by then.

No, not Harrington. Steve.

After something like this, Wayne has learned, you start using first names.

[morganbritton132]

Chief McKinley has made it clear.

They will not investigate the clear case of child neglect happening in Loch Nora until a complaint comes directly from Dick Harrington's five year old.

There is - as Chief McKinley puts it - no use in upsetting the apple cart because of a few bruises, right?

Maybe Hopper is a coward for not doing more. Maybe he's a new father and cannot afford to lose his job, and maybe there is an excuse big enough to justify failing this kid.

He's never found it.

So Hopper tries to make himself available.

He listens to the kid ramble. He lets him interrupt his lunch. He pulls a card out of his pocket with his home phone number on it and gives it to the kid.

He says to call if he needs anything.

The universe twists a bad deed like a knife and plunges it in deep with, "Mr Hopper!"

"I got something for Sara," He says. "Can you give it to her?"

"Sure."

Steve digs into his pocket and pulls out a slightly bent piece of card stock paper. Steve's name, address, and phone number are written on the paper in big little kid writing.

"It's my business card," Steve explains. "You gave me your card and said I can call you if I need help so now Sara can call me if she needs help."

"She don't have to call me," Steve says, sounding shy. "It's just, um. She don't have a big brother and I don't have a little sister so I can be like her brother, and um..."

"I don't want her to be scared and stuff 'cause she needs help," He adds. "Can you give it to her?"

Hopper takes a breath.

God, it hurts in his chest.

This kid that's always so goddamn alone is always looking out for Hopper's baby girl so, "Yeah, Steve. I'll give it to her."

"Can you show her how to use the phone too?" He asks. "She little. She might not know."

"Yeah, sure."

He takes a breath before asking, "You still got my card?"

"I have four of them, Mr Hopper."

[morganbritton132]

Will admitting to having a bit of a crush on Steve at times and Jonathan is just like, "Yeah. We all do. Do you have a crush on anyone you age? Can it not be Mike?"

And Will is just, "Can we circle back to 'we all have a crush on Steve?'"

"No."

[lavenderprose]

I love how some fics are called shit like "They Only Shoot The Birds Who Cannot Sing" and it's like the most insane porn you're ever read and then some fics are called Spit On Me and it's 18,000 words of the most achingly id-scratching prose you've ever read and they're both. They're both so fucking good. thank God for fanfiction.

[the-inspector-jones]

Steve loves Billy Joel and it exhausts Eddie. Everything is just so goddammed chipper and it gets stuck in his head, and then the inane lyrics about Staten Island or some kid named Veronica or whatever are trapped in his mind for days. One time, he makes Billy Joel the big bad in a campaign, and delights in watching the kids summarily execute him. He complains any time he comes home to find Steve dancing around the kitchen singing I don't need you to worry for me cuz I'm alright. Sighs when Steve brings home another record.

But. Then. Steve goes on a work trip, gone for a week (he'd love to tell you where or for what, but he's not entirely clear what Steve does, and when Eddie asks these days, Steve just rolls his eyes because he thinks Eddie's joking. He isn't.). And the house is just so goddammed quiet. And Eddie hates quiet. Like. Hates it. Quiet means your thoughts creep in. Quiet means the demons have a chance to hear you from your breathing alone.

At first, he decides this is a chance to play all the records Steve has vetoed while he's there. Slayer, which Steve flat out banned without headphones and which doesn't sound the same without the subwoofer. Celtic Frost, Morbid Tales, which even Eddie can't listen to without being a little bit high.

But nothing is working. It all feels just a little bit wrong. The house's dark corners don't get pushed back the way they normally do. There are unexplained shadows and echoes of the upside down, and Eddie can't physically occupy all the rooms at once, so he's standing in the middle of the living room with his arms around his middle when the answer hits him square in the face.

He pulled the album out with a sigh, flipped to the B side and angrily dropped the needle. Turned the speakers way up.

Vienna waits for you. Yeah, right. Eddie knows better. Nothing waits for anyone. But. It works. He drops down onto the sofa and feels calmer, more grounded. Why is he still so afraid?

He's singing along at the top of his lungs as the bridge hits, which makes it the perfect time for the phone to ring beside him. He picks up without thinking.

"'Lo?

"DO YOU HAVE BILLY JOEL ON?"

"Steve?

"Oh my god, YOU DO. THAT'S THE STRANGER. You hypocrite!"

Eddie presses the receiver harder into his ear like that’s going to muffle the sheer delight coming through the line.

“Don’t start,” he snaps automatically, even as he turns the volume down a notch, like he’s been caught doing something illicit.

“Oh my god,” Steve says, laughing now, bright and warm and there, even from however many states away he is. “Billy. Voluntarily. I wish I could see your face right now.”

Eddie just groans.

“What track are you on?"

Eddie hesitates. Briefly considers lying.

“…Vienna.”

There’s a beat. A small one. But Eddie hears it.

“Yeah?” Steve says, softer now.

Eddie scowls at the wall. “Don’t make it weird."

“I’m not making it weird,” Steve says, immediately making it weird. “It’s just...good choice."

“It’s not a choice,” Eddie shoots back. “It was circumstantial. The house is…off, without you here."

The words slip out before he can stop them. He freezes, staring at nothing. It's too vulnerable.

Steve doesn’t say anything right away. There’s a shuffle on his end, like he’s adjusting the phone, settling in.

“Off how?” he asks, quieter.

Eddie huffs. “You know. Quiet.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, like that explains everything.

And it kind of does.

“I tried Slayer. Didn’t work. Tried scaring the shit out of myself with Morbid Tales. Also didn’t work. Which, frankly, is insulting.”

Steve snorts. “Wow. Billy Joel succeeding where Slayer failed. I'm speechless, honestly."

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters, suffused with love. He glances at the stereo, at the spinning record, the soft crackle under the music. "The house was demanding brightness."

“Yeah?" Steve says again. “Billy's perfect then. All those inane lyrics."

Eddie leans back into the couch, phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear. “You’re insufferable, you know that?"

“Mmhm. And yet,” Steve says lightly, “you’re the one listening to my records and still pretending to hate them."

On the stereo, the song drifts into the last refrain.

Slow down, you crazy child.

Eddie exhales, long and steady. His voice drops another tone lower as he tries not to ask the needy question.

"When are you back?” he hums.

Another small beat.

“Couple days,” Steve says, smiling through the phone. “Thursday night, probably."

“Okay,” Eddie says, too quickly. He clears his throat. “Good. Because if I have to listen to this guy one more time without you here to suffer through it with me, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Steve laughs, and it settles something deep in Eddie’s chest.

“Hang in there,” Steve says. “Put on side A next. You’ll hate it."

Eddie glances at the record, then back at nothing.

“…Yeah,” he says, already reaching for it. “Wanna listen with me?"

"Course, sweetheart."

[mixsethaddams]

Wayne tried his best for his nephew as he grew up brainwashed by Al’s promises of one day being a real family.

Eddie never relaxed when he came to stay in Forest Hills, always refusing to fully unpack because he swore ‘Dads coming back soon anyway’.

Broke his heart.

Nothing Wayne did ever made Eddie feel like the trailer was home. Not dinners, not movie nights, not giving him his own space, nothing.

They argued sometimes. A lot of times. It was harder for Wayne as Eddie got into his teens and started to look and act more and more like his father’s son.

The bad attitude, the disregard for the law, the disrespect of the trailer’s basic house rules like clean the mud off your damn shoes before you come in onto the carpet. All of it made Wayne feel like well, there goes another Munson boy, destined for nothing but a jail cell.

Their biggest argument came two days after Wayne came home early from work and found Eddie and another boy on the couch.

Wayne didn’t get it, you see. He was old school. Live and let live and all that, but this was something he couldn’t understand.

‘Keep that shit out of my house!’ he yelled.

The door was already slammed shut as Eddie ran from yet another fight, leaving Wayne alone with nothing but an elevated heartbeat and the sound of his nephew’s van wheel spinning out of the trailer park.

Eddie came back the next day to shove some of his belongings into a duffle bag.

‘You’ll have your house back soon enough, old man’ Eddie muttered when Wayne poked his head into the room.

Wayne retreated to his recliner and didn’t look away from the tv when Eddie stormed out once more.

There was a rerun of the Twilight Zone on. ‘Dead Run’ was the episode name.

The character was in hell to deliver souls. Wayne watched with a clenched jaw as one was sent there for being gay.

He turned the station to the news and watched a report on some guy called Fauci who reckoned a million Americans had a virus that would kill them. Activists begged for treatment.

The report rolled on and Wayne rubbed a hand over his face. He’d talk to Eddie when he came back. Sit down and try to understand it all. Eddie had no where else to go, and that guitar of his was still on the wall. He’d never leave for good without it. Wayne knew he’d be back.

It was another day before Chrissy Cunningham died and Eddie was on the run.

People said all sorts of things but Wayne knew not one of them was true. Eddie damn near fainted at the sight of a cat with a broken leg wandering nearby, he’d never have the stomach to kill her.

And as for the people saying he assaulted her? Wayne bit his tongue and told anyone who’d listen to keep their mouths shut. They didn’t know his boy like he did. They were wrong about him. As soon as Eddie was found, it’d all be smoothed out and the truth would come to the front.

The ‘earthquake’ hit soon after, and Wayne was left with nothing of his nephew but a guitar pick on a necklace. Wayne had been the one to show Eddie how to put a hole in it to string the chain through. Eddie was only 12 at the time, barely big enough to hold on of Wayne’s old guitars.

A knock at the door a few weeks later shook Wayne out of a stupor. Soaked in whiskey and pickled in cigarette smoke, he struggled to focus on Jim Hopper, standing tall at the door of the government issued highway-side motel room.

‘Thought you were dead’ Wayne said.

‘Yeah me too, come on’

Hopper helped Wayne into some shoes and out to a car. A few cups of the blackest coffee they could find later and Wayne was sober enough to understand what was being said to him.

‘He’s dead, Jim. I don’t know what kind of game this is but-‘

‘So was I, remember?’

Wayne was brought out to the lab on the edge of town and made to swear up and down that he’d never breath a word of what he saw in there to anyone.

‘Nice of y’all to think I got friends’ Wayne said gruffly, earning a smirk from Hopper.

A doctor named Owens led them down a hall.

Locked door after locked door finally opened up into a dim hospital room.

‘Eddie?’

Wayne couldn’t move. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t-

‘Jesus christ. Is- Is it you?’

Wayne blinked hard and fast expecting to wake up any moment.

And then…

‘It’s me’

Wayne walked forward on shaky legs.

Eddie was talking to him. Promising he never killed anyone and apologising for not coming back after their fight. He even apologised for what Wayne saw that day.

Wayne just stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

‘Wayne?’ Eddie asked with a crack in his voice. ‘Say something, please’

‘You’re alive’ was all Wayne could say before he flung himself forward and gathered his nephew up in a tight hug.

He cried into the side of Eddie’s head, petting his hair and thanking god for bringing him back to him.

Wayne pulled back to look at Eddie’s own tear stained face.

‘I never believed what they said about you, I never did, you’re a good kid, I told ‘em all, I said my boy would never do all that’

‘I’m sorry Wayne, I swear’

‘You ain’t got nothing to apologise for, you hear me? Not a damn thing’

They embraced again for a long time. Eddie knew what Wayne was saying and he was grateful that his uncle was here with him.

It was another couple of months before Eddie was able to leave the hospital. Wayne had been given a new trailer by the government as a way to buy his silence on everything

Wayne would never have blabbed anyway, but a second bedroom was nothing to turn your nose up at.

While everyone fussed around getting Eddie ready to be discharged, Wayne watched the strange little group that gathered around his nephew closely. They all seemed nice, very close knit. Some more-so.

The Harrington boy, Harrington man now, god he was a lot taller than his daddy ever was wasn’t he, was always within touching distance of Eddie. He was always there when Wayne was brought in to visit, never so far away that he couldn’t reach out to steady him if he wobbled on his feet.

It was obvious, really.

They were hiding it from everyone else, that much was obvious too, except for that red headed girl. They tried to never look at each other too long but whenever it was just Wayne with them they seemed to forget he had eyes too.

He’d stare at the paper long after finishing a crossword to give them some extra time to hold hands over top of Eddie’s bedsheets when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, and acted dumb when Steve didn’t hesitate on helping Eddie get dressed on his last day before leaving the lab’s medical wing

Steve drove behind them on the way back to Forest Hills. There was some equipment Eddie needed to help the last stages of his recovery and he’d jumped at the excuse to volunteer to go back to the trailer with them.

Wayne eyed him in the rearview mirror while they idled at a red light.

‘So, it’s Harrington?’

Wayne could see the way Eddie’s posture stiffened in the corner of his eye.

‘He’s leaving as soon as he drops my stuff off’ Eddie said quickly and quietly. ‘And he won’t ever be around. I’ll stay with him a couple of times a week and-‘

‘He’s welcome in our home whenever you want him there’ Wayne said smoothly, taking off again when the light turned green.

‘What?’

‘Whenever you want, you hear?’

‘But you said-‘

‘I’m a jackass’ Wayne said sharply. ‘Shouldn’t have taken you damn near dying for me to not give a damn about anything’

Eddie didn’t speak. Wayne heard him sniffle lightly.

‘You called me your boy’ Eddie whispered. ‘When you first saw me’

‘You are my boy. You are my boy and nothings gonna change it. I’ve spent months fighting anyone who says anything sour about you and I’ll spend the rest of my life doing it too’

‘And I’ll spend as long as I need to making sure you and your boy back there don’t get no hassle from any small town or big city bastard who wants to say anything against you, you hear?’

Eddie sniffled again. ‘I hear’

The trailer park was gripped by winter when Eddie approached Wayne shyly one night. He and Steve had kept low key until now, trying to not be around too long whenever Wayne was home and leaving no trace behind of Steve’s visits.

‘Spit it out’ Wayne said as Eddie shuffled around uncomfortably.

‘Steve’s dad, he, um…’

‘He what?’

‘He kicked Steve out. He caught us and um…’

Wayne felt rage boil through him. ‘He hurt you?’ Eddie shook his head. ‘He hurt Steve?’ Eddie looked at his feet.

‘Where is he? Come on’

Wayne grabbed his keys and dragged Eddie out to the truck.

Wayne knew where the Harringtons lived, everyone did, and got to their driveway in record time.

‘They’re home’ Eddie muttered, seeing Steve’s dads car.

Wayne opened his door and pulled a shotgun out from under his seat.

‘Wayne, jesus’ Eddie said with wide eyes.

‘You go get him and his stuff, I’ll keep his folks talking’

Wayne didn’t knock on the door, pushing it open and announcing that they wouldn’t be long, they were just collecting something belonging to them before leaving quietly.

Eddie scrambled upstairs towards Steve’s room.

Sylvia and Richard screamed about breaking the law and how they would call the cops on him for having a weapon in their home

Wayne cocked the gun. ‘Go ‘head, ain’t registered, cops’ll never find it’

Wayne didn’t mention Jim Hopper himself helping to file the inside of the barrel the week before.

They’d become good buddies, drinking and smoking and laughing about ‘to hell with the army what do they know anyway’ at least once a week.

Wayne liked the company of it all and he particularly enjoyed having his old misdemeanours mysteriously scrubbed from the Hawkins PD’s filing cabinets.

Eddie came back down the stairs clutching a bag of Steve’s belongings under one arm and Steve himself under the other. Steve had a black eye and a pale complexion. Wayne felt that rage build up again. He swung his gun up over his shoulder and nodded towards the door. Eddie and Steve went quickly.

‘Don’t y’all come lookin’ for him, now’ Wayne warned before following them out to the truck.

Steve took four or five days to stop moving like a twitching cat. Every noise outside had him jumping to the window to make sure neither of his parents had tried to come get him.

‘Calm down’ Wayne told him one night when Eddie had gone to the store to pick up dinner and some beers.

‘Sorry’ Steve said. ‘I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I save the money for my own place’

Wayne sighed. ‘You and Ed, same as each other, never feeling welcome here. You even unpacked yet?’

Steve shook his head lightly.

Wayne sighed again. ‘This is just as much your place as Eddie’s, and its his just as much as it’s mine, for as long as you want’

‘Thats… Thank you, Mr Munson’

‘Told you to call me Wayne. Go take your stuff out of that damn backpack in there’

Steve smiled and ambled back to the room he and Eddie had been sharing to do just that.

Eddie arrived home soon after, and when Steve came to greet him there was a small baseball figurine in his hand. Wayne saw his chance.

‘Got some room right there, if you want’

He gestured to a spot on top of the tv, between a mug filled with fishing lures and a carriage clock.

Steve smiled again and held the figurine tightly in two hands as he gingerly made his way towards the tv, placing it as gently as he could in the place Wayne had pointed out.

‘Fits great’ Steve muttered.

‘Course it does, now lets eat’ Wayne said, moving on quickly before anyone could dwell on the moment too long.

Later that night, Steve snoozed on the couch while Eddie floated around the trailer in the background of whatever gameshow Wayne was half paying attention to.

What had his full attention, was all the small trinkets that were appearing in each of the nooks and crannies around the place.

After one was put down and adjusted just so, Eddie would look quickly over his shoulder to check if Wayne was reacting to it.

When it was ignored, Eddie would rush back to his room before reappearing with something else, and doing it all over again.

It took maybe two to three hours before Eddie had fully decorated the trailer with various things that Wayne couldn’t name but knew had the hallmark of his nephew’s taste.

Eddie sat gently next to Steve, who was still snoring lightly, and was clearly trying his best to ‘look natural’. He was sitting straight up, tapping his fingers on his knees, eyes darting between the things he’d put up.

Steve shuffled in his sleep and curled towards Eddie.

Wayne looked over to the boys, his boys, and wondered how he could ever have thought it was wrong.

He was a fool, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

From the way Steve had cared for Eddie in the hospital to the way Eddie was watching Steve now to make sure he wasn’t having a nightmare, Wayne knew there was nothing more pure and more right than the love they shared.

‘Looks great Ed’ Wayne said, watching the tv instead of Eddie. ‘Feels more like home’

Eddie relaxed into his seat. ‘Yeah, its home’

Wayne smiled into the top of his beer can, allowing himself a long breath of relief.

Finally.

(Originally posted over on bluesky for #waynewednesday )

[hawkinsbelfry]

Eddie brightened up when he saw Steve rounding the side of the trailer, couldn’t help it, Pavlov’s goddamn grin.

“Gimme a sec here, Harrington,” he called, raising his voice over the wailing guitars from his bedroom window, and tightened the last nut with a flourish. As he straightened he wiped hair away from his mouth, then caught a glimpse of his hands streaked with oil and swore under his breath.

“Well now I look like an idiot.”

Steve made a noise, strangled in his throat, and Eddie watched, startled, as he collapsed back against the side of the trailed and knocked his head back against the metal.

“Hey!” Eddie darted forward, hovered his hands uselessly near Steve’s face, protective instincts warring against the prospect of wrecking the perfection of his hair with his clumsy stained hands. It was an old thought, worn familiar.

“You gotta give me a break, man,” Steve said, and Eddie took an automatic step backwards, would’ve gone further if Steve hadn’t looked so pained.

“A break.” It wasn’t a question, never was, because he knew, he knew.

“You can’t keep - “ Steve gestured, incomprehensible, and Eddie could feel his face settling back into its familiar mocking smile, losing all trace of delight.

“I wasn’t aware I was -“ Eddie said, and made the same gesture with his fingers, exaggerated and mocking, then stopped self-conscious when Steve made a noise low in his throat.

“I’m handling it, I am,” Steve said, that pinch between his brows that Eddie always wanted to smooth out, only his hands were never clean. “I can - you’ve just got to give me some time.”

“Time.” Eddie said flatly, and Steve nodded like he was grateful, only - “I don’t understand what you’re asking me. You want me to keep out of your hair?”

He took another step back and Steve reached out after him, like an automatic motion, and Eddie stopped again, rocking his weight on his heels.

“No, don’t - “ Steve sighed out a long breath, frustrated. “I’m fine,” he said, not like it was so but like he was going to make damned sure he made it that way. “I can deal with it, I’ve done if before, and if I don’t see you playing guitar -“ his eyes dropped to Eddie’s hands. “Or - or your rings, maybe, maybe you could stop wearing your rings, just for a couple of weeks -“

Eddie pressed his finger to Steve’s mouth, stopping the flow of words in its tracks. Steve swallowed, clicking in his throat.

“You gotta,” he said, voice caught all hushed in his throat, “you gotta break this one down for me Stevie, I don’t -“

He can’t, right? He couldn’t be reading this right… except Steve was staring up at him, eyes dark and pupils blown, his lips parted against the streak of oil Eddie had left across his skin.

It wasn’t the best tastin’ first kiss, sure, but maybe the world can only hold so much perfect in one place.

[the-inspector-jones]

Lucas has never really warmed to Steve. He likes the guy fine or whatever but he can't quite trust him, for some reason. The others are confused because, in theory, he has the most in common with Steve. Max has tried to change his mind, which would normally work on Lucas. Dustin accuses him of being anti-jock ever since the whole witch hunt incident, but Lucas doesn't think that's it at all. They operate as acquaintances. It's fine.

Lucas would therefore like it on the record that he did not volunteer for this.

He did not wake up one morning and think You know what would really enrich my life? Helping Steve Harrington romance Eddie Munson.

No, Steve had just showed up at their weekly shakes and fries night one random Tuesday looking like a kicked puppy, pathetically confessing a hopeless crush to Dustin, who'd panicked and immediately decided that it was everyone's problem.

Which is how Lucas finds himself here.

“Okay,” Steve says, leaning across the diner table like they’re planning a bank heist. “But does he like...y’know. Flowers?”

Lucas stares at him. Blinks. Beside him, Dustin makes a helpless face, insisting Lucas step in.

“Eddie,” Lucas says slowly. “Eddie Munson? Yeah, no, safe to say he's not a flower guy.”

"Were you going to, like, show up with a dozen red roses?” Dustin adds. "He'd think you’re making fun of him."

Steve deflates. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. That was dumb."

Lucas rubs a hand over his face.

This whole thing had started three weeks ago when Steve began hanging around Hellfire in the basement more than usual. At first Lucas had assumed it was Dustin-related. Dustin’s gravitational pull for weird situations and weird people. Steve hovering in the doorway during D&D, pretending to be interested in campaign maps, felt like standard Dustin collateral damage.

But then, Lucas noticed Steve was watching Eddie.

Not subtly.

Not creepily, exactly, but not...not creepily, either. Harrington's focus was intense, like Eddie was speaking a language Steve was desperately trying to learn on the fly.

Lucas clocked it in about five seconds, but, unfortunately, so did Eddie.

Which meant Eddie immediately did what he always did when he noticed attention. He turned it into a bit.

Steve had lasted two meetings before Eddie started calling him “Harrington, my most loyal courtier.” Three meetings before Eddie began bowing every time Steve walked into the room. Steve had blushed so hard at that that Lucas had thought he might pass out.

But he'd been planning on ignoring the entire situation. First of all, he didn't give a single fuck who Harrington dated. Second, Eddie flirted ridiculously with anyone who held eye contact with him for more than ten seconds. It didn't mean anything.

But. Dustin had trapped him.

“Okay,” Steve says, rallying. “So not flowers. That’s fine. I can pivot.”

“You can’t pivot into a personality,” Lucas mutters.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Dustin kicks Lucas under the table.

“Look,” Dustin says, leaning in. “The problem is Eddie thinks this is a joke.”

“Because Steve keeps acting like it is,” Lucas says.

Steve straightens. “I do not.”

“You laugh every time he flirts with you.”

“That’s because he’s…he says stuff like ‘my liege’. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Lucas opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Unfortunately Steve has a point.

Eddie flirts like he’s narrating a Shakespearean tragedy performed by a metal band.

Lucas sighs.

“Okay,” he says reluctantly.

Both of them lean forward.

Which is weird. Lucas does not like being the person with the plan.

But the thing is, now that he's paying attention, he knows the problem isn’t Eddie.

The problem is Steve.

Specifically, that Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High, cannot seem to believe that Eddie Munson might actually want him back.

Which, Lucas will admit privately, is kind of insane.

Eddie watches Steve like he's the last person on earth who hasn't figured out he's worth something. It's extremely embarrassing to notice and Lucas would really just like it to stop.

He clears his throat.

“You have to stop acting like he’s joking.”

Steve frowns. “But he is joking.”

“No,” Lucas says. “He’s hiding.”

Steve blinks at him like he'd just been handed a puzzle piece he didn’t know he was missing.

Dustin grins.

“Lucas,” he says proudly, “is our resident relationship translator.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Lucas ignores him.

“If Eddie says something weird,” Lucas continues, “you just… respond like it’s normal. Make conversation. Stop laughing."

Steve nods slowly.

“Like if he calls you, I don't know, 'my lord knight Harrington'?” Steve groans. “You say something like ‘Hi Eddie.’”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Steve considers this with the intensity of someone being given instructions to defuse a bomb. Then he nods again.

“Okay,” he says.

Lucas feels a weird flicker of satisfaction.

This might actually work.

------

It works immediately.

Which is the part Lucas finds most annoying.

Two days later they’re all in the Hellfire room again. Eddie is halfway through explaining some insane trap scenario when Steve walks in late.

Eddie doesn’t even look up.

“Ah,” he says dramatically, “the prodigal Harrington returns to grace us with—”

“Hey Eddie.”

Silence.

Lucas actually hears the moment Eddie’s brain short-circuits.

Slowly, Eddie looks up.

Steve is just standing there. Hands in his jacket pockets. Slightly nervous, maybe, but not laughing. Not brushing it off.

Just looking at Eddie. Eddie stares back.

Lucas feels Dustin vibrate with excitement beside him.

“Okay,” Eddie says finally, voice a little thinner than usual. “Well.”

He clears his throat.

“Take a seat, Harrington.”

Steve does. The campaign continues.

But Eddie keeps getting distracted. His eyes keep drifting back to Steve like he’s trying to solve a problem. Lucas pretends not to notice.

Across the table, Dustin scribbles something on a piece of paper and slides it over. PHASE ONE SUCCESSFUL. Lucas shoves it back.

He is not part of this operation. He is simply…adjacent to it.

Which is why, when Eddie corners him by the lockers looking suspiciously rattled, Lucas absolutely refuses to feel responsible.

“Your jock is acting weird,” Eddie says.

Lucas sighs.

“He’s not my jock.”

“Well, he’s not my jock.”

“Give it time,” Lucas mutters.

Eddie squints at him.

“Out with it, Sinclair. What's he doing?"

Lucas shrugs. Says nothing. Eddie studies him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, his shoulders slump.

“He’s gonna change his mind,” Eddie says quietly.

And there it is.

Lucas exhales.

“No,” he says.

Eddie snorts. “You don't know that.”

Lucas thinks about the way Steve’s been hovering around Hellfire for weeks. The way he listens to Eddie, like every word matters. The way he sought out Dustin, pretended he wasn't embarrassed, asked for help.

Lucas meets Eddie’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I kinda do.”

Eddie goes very still.

Lucas immediately regrets everything.

“Anyway,” he adds quickly. “If you blow this because you can’t stop doing medieval flirting, that’s on you.”

Eddie barks out a laugh.

But he looks a little less scared. He's smiling. It's...kind of nice. He's sad so often. It's nice to see Eddie genuinely enjoying some curiosity.

Lucas walks away before anyone else can ask him for help. He is absolutely not gonna keep running point on Steve Harrington’s love life.

But.

If Steve happens to ask him tomorrow what kind of music Eddie likes…

Lucas might have some thoughts.

Reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

[munsonmanor]

thinking about that one HC of eddie being originally from appalachia before moving to hawkins and steve going absolutely feral every time the accent slips out, so here’s a tiny ficlet about steve realizing it’s basically his kryptonite

They’re in the horror aisle at Family Video, doing what they always do when it’s dead: finding the worst covers known to man.

Robin holds one up that looks like it was drawn in crayon. “This one,” she announces, “is a crime.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Lord, have mercy,” he says, and it rolls out of him warm and thick, a little different than usual.

Steve freezes.

He’s heard Eddie talk a million times. Ranting, scheming, flirting, yelling over amps. But this is… softer. Rounder. It hits his ears and lights up some stupid part of his brain like, oh. Oh, that’s new.

“Okay, where the hell did that come from?” Steve blurts.

Eddie blinks. “What?”

“That.” Steve points at him like he’s just witnessed a crime. “You sounded like, like a whole other guy for a second.”

Color crawls up Eddie’s neck. He shrugs one shoulder, all defensive and twitchy. “Nowhere. Hush.”

“No.” Steve is immediately, deeply annoying about it. “Absolutely not. Say it again.”

“Not a chance, Harrington.” Eddie shoves a VHS into his chest. “Go alphabetize something.”

“Robin,” Steve whines, turning on her like a traitor witness. “Did you hear that? He did a voice.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, gleeful. “Country boy jumped out.”

Eddie groans, shoving his hair back. “I hate both of you,” he lies, and stalks off down the aisle.

Steve follows, grinning, tossing movies back on the shelf. “C’mon, just one more ‘Lord, have mercy.’ Just for me. Just a little one.”

“Drop it, Steve.”

He does not drop it.

By the time they close up, Steve’s said “Lord, have mercy” in three different terrible impressions, and Eddie’s told him to shut up in at least five creative ways. The accent doesn’t come back, though, and Steve goes home weirdly, stupidly disappointed about it.

—————————-

Later, they’re at the trailer, door propped open to let in the night air. Some crappy late-night talk show mumbles on the TV, volume low. They’re half lying, half sliding off the couch, feet tangled on the coffee table.

Eddie’s flipping through a battered magazine. Steve’s not even pretending to do anything else; he’s just watching him.

“You’re staring,” Eddie says without looking up.

“You’re avoiding,” Steve shoots back. “Say it again.”

Eddie drops the magazine onto his face for a second like he wishes for death. “You are so persistent.”

“Yes,” Steve says. “I am. We’ve established this.”

Eddie peels the magazine away and eyes him. Steve is sprawled out, hair a mess, socked toes nudging his thigh. He looks… annoyingly sincere.

“One word,” Steve says. “One. Then I’ll shut up forever.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, I’ll shut up for, like, ten minutes.”

Eddie snorts. He should say no. Dig his heels in. But there’s this warm, fizzy feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to look at too closely, and Steve’s looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

“You’re real persistent, ain’t you, sweetheart?” Eddie says finally, letting it come out the way it wants to, vowels soft, consonants a little lazier, the word sweetheart wrapped up in the drawl he’s been choking down for years.

Steve’s brain short-circuits.

It’s like someone unplugged and replugged him in a different outlet. His stomach does this weird swoop. His face goes hot. Something about the sound of it, about Eddie saying sweetheart like that, all slow and easy, hits directly behind his ribs.

“Oh,” Steve says, a little breathless.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, already smirking. “There. You happy now?”

“No,” Steve says, and then he’s moving before he really decides to, leaning over the tiny space between them.

He kisses him.

It’s not planned. It’s not smooth. He just goes on impulse, mouth landing on Eddie’s with a soft, shocked sound like he surprised himself. His hand catches on Eddie’s shirt, fingers fisting in the worn fabric without thinking.

Eddie makes a tiny noise, half gasp, half laugh, and kisses back on instinct, then pulls away just enough to see Steve’s face. Steve’s flushed, wide-eyed, looking at him like he just handed over the Holy Grail.

There’s a beat where Eddie could pretend he doesn’t know exactly what just happened. Then he feels the grin pull at his mouth, slow and sharp.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, letting the vowels go loose on purpose now. “I can work with this.”

Steve swallows. “Eddie.”

Eddie leans in again, close enough that Steve can feel his breath, and drops it low, sweet, a little smug. “Watch me, darlin’.”

Steve practically launches himself into the next kiss, and that’s when Eddie realizes he’s just unlocked the most unfair advantage in the world.

[morganbritton132]

Steve may have been trapped in a Russian elevator, drugged, tortured, fought a flesh monster, watched his high school bully die, and can’t really remember if Robin’s mom picked her up or he lost her but…

The window is down, the air is fresh, and the wind is blowing through his dirty blood-tacky hair and, you know what?

“This is better than the last time I got kidnapped.”

“For the last time,” Eddie says behind the wheel of his van. “You’re not kidnapped. You got on my van. No one asked you to be here.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean last time?” Gareth asked, poking his head up from the back. “When were you last kidnapped?”

Steve stares blankly ahead either not hearing or not caring to answer the question. Eventually, he asks, “Are you taking me to your lair?”

“We’re taking you to the hospital.”

[morganbritton132]

Eddie hates hospitals.

He has accepted that it makes him a bad person if he pulls up outside the emergency room and pushes Steve out of his van, but that’s what he wants to do.

Unfortunately, his friends are better people.

They want to stick around to make sure Harrington doesn’t croak so…Eddie drops them off. He parks the van.

He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, head resting against the wheel, giving himself a minute when - “Whoa, too loud.”

Eddie’s scream dies on his lips and he watches in disbelief as Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington melts his sailor suit aas back into the passenger seat of his van. Again. For the second time tonight.

“What the f-“

“Can’t be in there.”

Despite the fact that his heart is jackrabbiting in his chest, Eddie is incredibly calm when he asks, “Why not?”

“Cause,” Steve slurs, eyes looking everywhere without seeing anything. “Bone saw.”

“Bone what?”

“I don’t want ‘em to rip of n’more of m’fingernails.”

Eddie frowns.

He looks down at Steve’s hands in his lap, at the dried blood on the fingertips of his left hand, and finally asks, “What the hell happened to you?”

[morganbritton132]

"Are you kidnapping me?"

"No," Eddie says for the third time to the man in his passenger seat. "You keep getting in my van."

"Oh," Steve says, blinking like he's not really awake. Eddie thinks he might fall back asleep like he has been doing since he apparently checked out AMA and climbed back into Eddie van but then, "...Did you kidnap me?"

"No," Eddie repeats through his teeth. "Do you want to go back to the hospital? You shouldn't have left in the first place."

Steve blinks, "M'head hurts."

"That's the concussion."

"Where are m'friends?" Steve asks, looking in the back. "Where-"

"I took them home," Eddie says. "And I’m either taking you back to the hospital or home to-"

"No," Steve yawns. "No, I neeed. I need ta'go to Henda- Dustin's. His house. Take me there."

Eddie tightens his grip on the steering wheel and says with frustration pressed between his teeth, "Who the hell is that?"

"It's - it's Dustin, man. It - great hair, gumbo. Dustin...Dustin."

"...Fine, where does he live?"

Steve is only capable of giving half-mumbled and vague directions every three to five business days so it takes Eddie an hour of creeping through streets after midnight before he pulls up outside of a fairly nice house. He reaches over and pushes open the passenger door, "There you go. Brain bleed in someone else's property."

"Kay," Steve mumbles, melting onto the pavement and then...walks over to the curb and sits down.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks out his window. "Go inside."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Half'ta watch."

... Okay. Fucking weird thing to say but okay. Eddie can just leave. He can wash his hands of this weird fucking night and go home but... "What are you watching for?"

"Bad guys."

Eddie is unfortunately reminded that he doesn't actually know what happened to Steve. He won't say and he won't stay at the hospital so he probably won't stay at home either so, "Goddamn it. I already regret this. Get in the car."

"I can't-"

"I’m taking first watch," Eddie says. "Get in the car and rest. I'll wake you up if anything happens, okay?"

Steve stares at him.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then, "Okay."

[morganbritton132]

Steve’s mom repeatedly used Murray to find out of her husband was cheating and because Murray is a paranoid bastard, he investigated the whole family every time.

He knows about the women, about shady back room deals, and exactly how impressive it is that nothing fell on the Harrington name when Starcourt went down. He knows Steve’s mom store money in a secret bank account and he knows they stopped paying for a babysitter in 1972 but not plane tickets.

All to say, he knows too much about Steve.

Murray talks too much. He makes these little comments, takes these little jabs, and maybe Steve hasn’t put two and two together. Maybe he’s ignoring it but Robin isn’t.

“You knew,” She confronted Murray one day, after one too many abandonment jokes. “You knew what his parents were doing to him, didn’t you?”

“I know a lot of things, sweetheart.”

She makes a face at the pet name but stays on point, “You didn’t do anything about it.”

“What was there to do?” He asks. “The kid survived.”

“They left him alone for days, for weeks or sometimes months without enough money to buy food. They didn’t come home when he was sick. They didn’t even- and you knew. You knew all of it.”

“He was pretty friendly with Hopper,” Murray defended. “He could’ve said something at any time. Sometimes a kid’s gotta save their own bacon. I can’t do it for them.”

“Should Holly? Should the other kids?” She asks. “What are you doing here if everyone should just save themselves? He was five.”

She doesn’t give him time to speak.

She doesn’t want to talk to him ever again actually but… sometimes she thinks the only way Steve really reconciles with his childhood is viewing it as a choice. He couldn’t told people what was going on but he chose not to (though Robin has a lot to say on why that choice wasn’t a choice at all).

Maybe if he told someone things would’ve been different, or easier, or less lonely but he didn’t. What happened wasn’t okay, it just was.

She thinks it’d break him.

She thinks of he knew that someone else could’ve taken the hard steps, that someone else knew and that they did nothing…it’d break something inside him.

“Don’t tell Steve,” She says. “Don’t ever talk to him again.”

[morganbritton132]

(Still on this train of thought)

Eddie is sitting on the shitty couch in Rick’s shitty basement.

He’s watching partygoers bob their heads to his band’s mixtape. He’s watching them open beers and pass joints, and then he tunes into Rick’s conversation and rolls his eyes.

Rick is regaling their friends with a tale about Eddie’s failed excursion into Loch Nora and then, strawberries.

Specifcally, strawberry scented shampoo.

Specifically, Steve.

He sticks out like a sore thumb in Rick’s basement as he sinks knees first onto the couch beside Eddie. His smile bright and rich, flirty when he says, “Hi, thief.”

Eddie grins back even though he has never successfully stolen anything, “Hey.”

“This party is boring,” Steve declares. “Wanna break the law?”

God, this guy might actually be insane.

Eddie might love him.

“Yes.”

Eddie was kinda hoping they’d be breaking some indecency laws in the back of his van, but Steve leads him by the hand into the woods behind Rick’s place, and then deeper into the woods. And deeper. And…

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah.”

They’d been walking for well over fifteen minutes when the forest finally opens into a clearing. Eddie is almost sober as he stares at the lone wood cabin.

Steve drops Eddie’s hand, “Okay. We’re here.”

“Okay,” Eddie repeats. “…What’s happening?”

“You like to steal stuff,” Steve says. “Let’s break in and steal stuff. No one’s there.”

Eddie brinks.

Steve actually is insane because, “What’s the point? It looks abandoned. Theres gonna be nothing worth stealing.”

“There’s at least one thing,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. “And a bed.”

Well…

The place looks less abandoned inside but still. There’s nothing worth stealing here. Even the medicine cabinet had nothing more than advil.

Eddie leans back, watches Steve open and close cabinets and drawers until, “Aha.”

He shoots Eddie a grin and holds up a pair of car keys which, “Yeah, no. Stealing a car is a pain in the ass, man. You-“

Eddie freezes.

He grew up around enough guns to know when one is cocked.

He finds the shotgun first, follows it up to a pair of angry eyes and a threatening demand to, “Put it down.”

“They’re my keys, Hopper,” Steve scoffs. “Are you serious right now? Put the gun away.”

Eddie’s eyes dart over to Steve before it registers that, “You brought me to the chief of police’s house?!”

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugs. “You know how to pick a lock.”