Dustin and his dad's.
Hawkins, Indiana – June 1986
It had started because the school finally kicked Eddie out.
Technically, he graduated—which was the shocker of the century according to half the teachers at Hawkins High. But the real problem came after: no longer being a student meant he couldn’t claim the AV closet for Hellfire anymore, and the janitors were itching to get their storage space back.
So, he’d gotten a notice from the school office (“Final warning before items are discarded,” in all caps) and immediately called in reinforcements. Namely: Dustin, who owed him at least a dozen favors; and Steve, who didn’t owe him anything but showed up anyway, because that’s just what Steve did now.
Hellfire’s old headquarters was chaos incarnate. Towering cardboard dragons. Mismatched dice in cracked film canisters. Paint-chipped miniatures. Torn campaign maps. A box of cloaks that smelled like body spray and ramen. Eddie treated it like sacred treasure. Steve treated it like it might contain anthrax.
They spent the morning hauling boxes out to Eddie’s van, then to a half-cleared unit at an old storage lot outside of town—one he claimed was "temporary," though he’d already hung up Christmas lights in the rafters for ambience. Something about maybe throwing band rehearsals in there. Something about “the vibe.”
The heat was punishing—Indiana summer already in full swing—but Steve had shown up in a cream-colored cable-knit sweater and slacks, like someone’s dad on his third wife’s second wedding.
Dustin gawked at him when he arrived. “What the hell are you wearing? Are you okay?”
Steve just shrugged. “Had brunch with my mom. You know how it is.”
He didn’t elaborate. And no one really asked. But the truth was: it was safer this way. After what happened last spring—everything in the Upside Down, everything with Vecna, everything they couldn’t tell anyone—his mom had become just attentive enough to notice if he looked “unraveled.” Sweaters hid scars. Slacks hid bruises. Sweaters meant “I’m fine, Mom,” and for a while, that was what he needed to be.
Besides, Eddie had looked at him once while he was wearing it and called him “Professor Daddy Issues,” and then blushed so hard he nearly tripped over a crate of resin dice. Which honestly made it kind of worth it.
Eddie, by contrast, was in full gremlin-mode: black jeans torn at both knees, boots scuffed to hell, and a Nirvana tee with cracked yellow lettering under his vest. The shirt technically belonged to a cousin from Indianapolis—some college guy with a taste for weird zines and off-label punk. He’d handed Eddie a tape labeled Bleach (Sub Pop) the last time they saw each other and said, “You’re welcome, metal boy.”
Eddie had listened to it so many times the tape was already warping.
“This band’s gonna blow up,” he kept telling Steve and Dustin, like he was personally manifesting it.
“I’m sure,” Steve said dryly, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his sweater, which made Eddie grin and mumble something like, “God, you’re such a jock.”
But he didn’t mean it like an insult. Not anymore.
---
The Secret of Them
Steve and Eddie hadn’t meant to end up together. It was never part of the plan.
They'd started talking more after spring. After the battle. After the hospital. It began with late-night drives and shared cigarettes on the roof of Family Video. Steve had a lot of quiet he never used to have, and Eddie had a lot of noise he didn’t know how to shut off.
Somewhere in between they started hanging out just to hang out. Not because Dustin begged. Not because there was supernatural horror afoot. Just... because.
One night, Eddie let it slip that he never really dated anyone seriously in Hawkins. Steve said “yeah, same,” and meant it for the first time. A few weeks after that, Steve kissed him on the back step of the trailer when he thought no one was watching.
That was early May.
Since then, it had been movie nights, and stolen looks, and hands brushing when they passed soda cans. Quiet stuff. Small stuff. Hidden stuff. Dustin and Robin didn’t know. Wayne probably did. But they didn’t say anything. Not yet.
---
And Now... This Dumb Joke
So when Dustin showed up, jittery from sugar and full of post-graduation chaos energy, it wasn’t surprising that he found Steve and Eddie loitering in the string-light glow of a half-empty storage unit, surrounded by old cloaks and boxes labeled “Critical Hit!” and “DO NOT OPEN – CURSED?”
What was surprising was the way Dustin grinned and declared, “Mike. Take a picture of me and my two dads.”
Steve blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. Come on.” Dustin wedged himself between them, practically bouncing. “Dad #1: leather, rock n’ roll, possibly cursed. Dad #2: sweater-wearing, mom-car-driving, looks like he pays taxes early.”
Eddie wheezed with laughter. Steve huffed but didn’t pull away.
Mike—beyond done—snapped the photo and muttered, “Say ‘bad life choices.’”
The shutter clicked. Eddie barked out a laugh. Steve gave Dustin a noogie. Dustin screamed. It was dumb. It was great. It was... over.
Until the photo showed up in a frame.
---
It was the following weekend when Dustin spotted it.
He’d dropped by Eddie’s trailer to borrow a box of old D&D minis and maybe convince him to run one more summer campaign before college stuff stole everyone away. But as he stepped into the living room, there it was. Sitting proud and centered on a shelf just above the legendary Mug Wall™—Eddie’s weird, ever-growing shrine to novelty mugs.
“Uh.” Dustin blinked. “You framed that?”
Eddie looked up from where he was trying (and failing) to glue a goblin’s arm back onto a tiny figurine. “Framed what?”
“That.” Dustin pointed like it might disappear if he didn’t. “The dad pic.”
“Oh,” Eddie said, like it was no big deal. “Yeah, of course I did. It’s a classic.”
“You have, like, a hundred mugs and one photo up here. This is practically a shrine now. What, is this the Church of Eddie and Steve?”
“Maybe.” Eddie smirked. “Don’t be jealous just ’cause we’re photogenic. Also, look at your face in that shot. You look proud. You look like we just picked you up from Little League.”
“I’ve never played Little League,” Dustin scoffed.
“But if you had,” Eddie said, gesturing with the glue-covered goblin, “we would’ve been in the stands. With matching ‘Henderson #1’ shirts.”
Dustin snorted. “Oh my God.”
Just then, Wayne appeared from down the hall, towel slung over one shoulder, having clearly just showered after a shift. He nodded at Dustin in greeting, then paused.
“Huh,” Wayne said, squinting at the photo. “That’s a good one.”
Eddie perked up. “Right? It’s got energy.”
Wayne scratched his chin. “You, your boyfriend, and the kid. Real cute. Like a Sears ad if Sears had a section for weirdos.”
Record scratch.
Eddie froze. Visibly. The kind of full-body panic Dustin had only seen in horror movies and the time Mrs. O'Donnell almost caught him cheating off Lucas in history class.
“I—he—I—” Eddie stammered, suddenly red-faced and nearly dropping the glue.
Dustin’s mouth fell open. “Wait. WAIT.”
Wayne frowned. “...What?”
“You knew?!” Dustin squeaked, spinning toward Eddie. “You’re dating Steve? Like, actually?”
“Okay, first of all—Wayne, what the hell, I told you we were keeping it quiet!”
Wayne held up his hands, utterly unbothered. “Didn’t know it was a secret. You’ve been starin’ at him like he’s a damn Hallmark movie for months. I figured everyone knew.”
“I didn’t!” Dustin shrieked. “How do you know before me?! I live in the middle of all your weird flirt fights!”
Steve chose that exact moment to enter, holding a paper bag. “Hey, I brought fries. Why is everyone yelling?”
“STEVE,” Dustin said, pointing dramatically. “YOU.”
Steve blinked. “...Me?”
“YOU’RE DATING EDDIE.”
Steve looked at Eddie. Then at Wayne. Then back at Dustin.
“Well,” Steve said slowly. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”
Eddie groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill Wayne and then myself.”
Wayne patted his shoulder on the way to the fridge. “Relax, kid. It’s cute. And I’m too tired to be murdered today.”
---
Dustin didn’t shut up about it for a week. He made Steve and Eddie endure endless teasing, dramatic reenactments, and a new nickname: Dad².
But what he didn’t tell them—what he told no one—was that a couple days later, he got a copy of the photo printed.
He slipped it into a frame from Melvald’s and set it on his own desk at home, right next to a little science trophy and his radio.
Because... yeah. They were his dads.
And maybe it was kinda cute.
Even if they were idiots.
