I just had a thought: Steve gets kicked out of home in his final year of high school by his parents, but is trying to hide it.
Eddie is ranting to Wayne at home about how rich and entitled Steve is.
And Wayne is like "Eds, you know I volunteer at the Hawkin's Food Bank?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So, Steve Harrington has been getting groceries from us every Thursday. Why would he queue up for an hour every week if he was still getting everything on a silver platter?"
Steve Harrington using exercise as a form of self-harm.
He's athletic. He's been working out one way or another for every sport he's ever played. And, thanks to his dad's high expectations of him, that's a lot of sports.
Post-S2 concussion his coaches drop him one by one, calling him a liability at best or a glorified bench warmer at worst.
Sports were his stress relief. Basketball, swimming, baseball-- he needs the release. Can't function without it.
So he takes up running.
He runs until he's sick, light-headed, and barely able to stand. He runs from the monsters and the doctors and his parents and everything he can't shake off. Runs until he's shaking, tripping over himself on the pavement. He doesn't care about anything except for the burn in his lungs and the pain in his legs.
Doctors warned him to take it easy. Nancy tells him to stop. His parents call him lazy. The kids think he's just a jock, even though Dustin and Max have both walked in on him heaving into the kitchen sink.
The migraines get worse. He probably needs glasses, maybe hearing aids-- but he stopped going to his follow-up appointments when his parents started asking too many questions.
It all comes to a head when he goes for a run on a hot summer day, the sun baking him alive before he even gets started.
One foot in front of the other. There's black spots in his vision. He can keep going. His stomach cramps. Keep going. Just one more step. Push harder.
One more.
One more.
One more.
One more.
He wakes up in the back of an unfamiliar van.
He'd worry the G-men finally came for him, but there's matted shag carpeting scraping his neck. The smell of stale weed makes him sick all over again and thank God there's a plastic bag shoved under him so it doesn't get everywhere. He just wishes this dude would stop yelling, he's louder than Dustin.
"Fucking Christ, Harrington, thank god you're alive. If you'd died in the back of my van they would've burned me at the stake."
"Munson?"
"Yeah Golden Boy, it's me. Although," Munson pauses, assessing Steve with the same clinical eye he gets from Nancy, "you're not looking so golden right now. Almost as pale as me."
And that's it. After a few protests, Munson drops him at home. Steve keeps running himself into the ground.
Almost nothing changes. He gets a job at the mall. There's some torture and another monster. He meets Robin. Billy dies.
And he runs. And runs. And runs.
Except maybe Steve starts running past the trailer park. He knows Max is going to move in soon, and it's his job to scope it out. One time he nods when he sees Munson on the porch. The guy's decent enough to wave back.
Steve's not sure if it's coincidence or not, but eventually Munson starts handing Steve a water on his way by. Then a Gatorade. Then calling out to him to say hi, inviting him to sit and offering a granola bar.
Max starts turning up at about the same time. She starts running with him. She's not as fast, she can't go as far or as long as Steve can.
He slows down. He makes sure she doesn't overwork herself and shortens their routes. They always somehow end up at Munson's porch even though Max's trailer is right there.
The burn in his lungs has cooled down, the shooting pains in his legs become a warm ache instead. Stretching feels practically euphoric.
Munson sits down next him, handing him another glass of water. Their sides are brushing. Steve's insides flutter with nerves, the sensation so similar to how running used to make him feel, all the way back before his concussion. He realizes suddenly that it's been a while since running made him sick.
The tip of Eddie's pinky brushes his own. Max smiles to herself as she pretends not to notice. It's better than any runner's high Steve could ever chase down.
"How're you feeling, Stevie?"
Honestly... "Pretty great, actually."
"Yeah," Eddie smiles, "you're looking more golden every day."
what if: high school steddie, where Eddie is all too aware of the social hierarchy of Hawkins High and his standing in it—the lowest of the low—versus a Steve who either doesn't know or doesn't care.
Eddie knows he's at the bottom of the food chain. Knows he's the first to eat shit when some jocks are hungering for some violence. Knows he's about as good as the dirt on their shoes, as far as they're concerned.
And at the top of that mountain, just about the other side of the world, really, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. Double Team Captain. Mister Harrington Charm.
They shouldn't EVER interact. It's against the laws of nature, or some shit, Eddie's sure.
Which is probably why it seems like the world's imploding when Steve "The Hair" Harrington—Mister Harrington Charm, Double Team Captain, whatever the fuck else Gareth has on his endless list—asks him to prom.
It's probably a good thing they're alone, in the middle of the woods, on opposite sides of Eddie's favorite deal-making table, so no one's around to hear him yell, "What the fuck?"
It echoes around the woods anyways, maybe louder than he meant to be, which is good, because it's definitely a 'what the fuck' moment.
They've literally never spoken before. Actually, they've done less than spoken—they could live on opposite poles of the Earth, for all the interaction they've had. They don't share any classes. Hell, they don't even see each other in the halls.
And now Steve Harrington is staring at him like he's actually waiting for an answer.
Again: What the fuck?
A record scratches in his brain and yup, there’s Harrington’s voice again, smarmy little smile on his face, asking: “Will you go to prom with me?”
As in, Steve Harrington just asked, in this existence, in this reality, on this planet, for Eddie Munson to go to Hawkins High Senior Prom with him. For real.
For real?
No. No way.
Harrington’s joking, Eddie knows. Figures the day’d come he decides torturing Eddie is just as much fun as the rest of his shit-jock cronies made it out to be.
And then, suddenly, Eddie knows what it is. Has seen enough of those terrible movies on early-morning TV with Wayne. Has seen the same damn plot enough times to smell it coming from a mile away.
“You know what,” he says, leaning into Harrington’s space, too close, brimming with irritation and a disgusting desire to one-up the smug, cocky bastard, “You get me a bouquet of roses as black as your twisted, festering soul, and I’ll wear a pretty little dress for you, too.”
Harrington’s frown makes anger tighten Eddie’s jaw. “Do roses… grow in black?”
“I guess that’s for you to find out and for me to know, Harrington,” Eddie sneers. He gets up, snatches his lunchbox, and stalks back through the trees to school.
He throws a “fuck you” over his shoulder when Harrington calls out “Benny’s at six?” but doesn’t turn around because the last thing he needs is to eat shit tripping over a goddamn branch. As it is, he’s already waiting for any of Harrington’s little friends to appear out of the shadows and jump him. That’s how it goes, right?
Only, it doesn’t.
There’s no swirlies, no shoving into lockers, no missing clothes after gym, no brutal beatdown on late days after Hellfire. Eddie’s almost worried the meatheads have had too many concussions and forgot he was next on the hit list.
And then he realizes—oh. Oh no. They’re waiting for prom. Actual prom night to fucking flay him open on stage in front of the whole school or something equally psychotic. Drown him in the punch. Stomp him to death on the dance floor.
Clearly, they HAVE had too many concussions if they think Eddie would EVER show his face there. Fuck Harrington, and fuck his minions. Like Eddie’d make it that easy for them.
Except, in the days leading up to prom, weird things keep happening. And Eddie doesn’t know what to think about it.
There’s pudding at his spot at the head of the table. Once a week, because the cafeteria only has pudding once a week. Eddie loves cafeteria pudding.
Steve Harrington grins at him from across the goddamn cafeteria and Eddie’s gut curdles.
One of the Hellfire posters he puts up monthly (and is always shredded by first period’s end) is still up a week later. Sure, torn and taped back together, but it’s not slush in a toilet, either.
Steve Harrington tells him that he looks nice when he finds him smoking just outside the school, and Eddie’s skin itches like he needs to tear it off.
There’s a flower on the driver’s seat of his van the day he forgets to close the window all the way, a day-old daisy with the petals stained a dark blue, the yellow center dulled.
Steve Harrington says he’s got a nice voice and he’s really good at playing the guitar and Eddie wonders how the hell he knows that.
One day, Harrington drops down to sit on the curb next to him, in the parking lot of the shitty little convenience store that’s a five-minute walk from the trailer park. He passes over a pack of his fancy smokes and nabs one of Eddie’s cheap beers so they can drink and smoke together and neither of them say anything. Eddie wants to say it’s because he doesn’t want Harrington to realize exactly what he’s done and get his shit beer cans crushed over his head, but in truth, it’s because he can’t get a damn read on the guy.
Another, Harrington and Hargrove both come to school looking like they’ve been run over, then backed up over, and then run over again for good measure. Hargrove doesn’t haggle him for weed again, and Harrington still smiles at him from across the cafeteria like the pull of his cheek doesn’t make his broken nose and black eye smart.
Again: What the fuck?
He asks the guys. “What the hell is going on with Harrington?”
He doesn’t like how they look at him, mouths twisted and uncomfortable and unsure.
“Heard he and Hagan beat the shit out of each other a while ago. Haven’t talked since.”
Hagan. Not Hargrove. A while ago.
“Ditched Carol P. and Stacy C., too.”
…
What the fuck?
…
The day of prom comes. Vaguely, Eddie remembers: Benny’s at six. Yeah-fucking-right.
He doesn’t go. Doesn’t have a suit, anyway, and wouldn’t have gone even if he did. Obviously. He might be stupid, repeating senior year, but he’s not THAT stupid.
An hour later, the phone in the trailer rings. When he picks up, Gareth is on the other end of the line. Distantly, Eddie can hear the shitty pop that makes up the school’s prom mixtape.
“What’d Harrington’s face look like?” he asks. “Was he pissed?”
“He didn’t show,” Gareth admits. “I dunno, man, maybe he was being serious.”
Eddie’s laugh probably pisses off half the trailer park. He can’t hear Gareth’s through the phone. “Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t kill the messenger.”
“Messenger might get me killed,” Eddie bites back, and then he hangs up. He hopes the punch is spiked and Gareth gets so drunk he falls asleep in a bush.
He grabs his keys off his nightstand and the trailer door slams behind him when he leaves.
Outside Benny’s diner is dark, shadows over the parking lot, but Harrington’s beamer is still there, clear as day. Maroon and hideous. God-fucking-damnit.
Harrington is in the driver’s seat, arms crossed over his chest as his head lolls back against his seat, half-asleep and definitely getting there. He’s wearing a nice shirt and nice pants and his tie goes flying like a whip across his cheek when Eddie knocks his fist against the roof of the car.
“The hell’s your damage, Harrington?” He barks, before the guy can even get his bearings.
Harrington fumbles, flailing limbs punch a short blare out of his horn, and his tie ends up over his shoulder.
“Eddie, hi. Hi, Eddie.” There’s drool at the corner of his mouth. Eddie’s lips curl.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps again. Harrington’s window is half-down—he can definitely hear him.
“Um.” Harrington looks sheepish, now, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “It was—Benny’s at seven. I was waiting for you. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens.
“It was Benny’s at seven, right? I thought it was Benny’s at six, at first, but I can’t really keep dates straight up here, anymore,” he knocks against his head with a knuckle, “All the pointless melon-splits of American sports, or whatever.”
Vaguely, Eddie remembers a long-winded rant on the top of a cafeteria table about the same subject.
“It was at six,” he acknowledges. “I didn’t bother showing up.”
“Oh.” Harrington’s eyes drop, take in his pajama pants and his threadbare tee. “But you did. Now.”
“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns the words over. “Call it a lapse of judgment.”
Harrington nods. He’s not looking at Eddie anymore. It sours something in his gut that he doesn’t acknowledge.
Eddie looks past him. In the passenger seat, a bouquet.
Of black roses.
Harrington’s fingertips are stained a shade darker, black stuck underneath his nails.
What the actual fuck.
“What the hell was your plan here, Harrington?”
Harrington blinks up at him with those stupid big eyes that Eddie definitely, absolutely hates.
“Dinner, and then, you know, prom? Isn’t that how is usually goes?” He asks, like Eddie would have any fucking clue.
Eddie grinds his teeth. “You realize you’ve wasted your only senior prom on this dumb joke, right? And I didn’t even fall for it? Way to have your priorities in order, King Steve.”
Harrington’s face scrunches. Eddie bites his tongue.
“I’ve had the misfortune of having two, and I didn’t subject myself to either. So you can cut the shit—”
“Wait, hold on,” Harrington cuts him off. “It wasn’t—what joke, Eddie?”
Oh. Oh no. If Gareth’s right, he’s gonna have to throw himself from the quarry cliffs.
“You know,” he spits, like it doesn’t affect him, that every last goddamn person in fucking Hawkins sees him as a freak, like a bug to torture and then squash, “Lure me to prom. Dump a bucket of pig’s blood over my head or however that movie goes.”
Harrington—Harrington looks horrified.
Well. The quarry’s always empty at seven in the evening.
“Even I’m not that dumb, man.” He ignores how the words come out, slower, an edge of uncertainty.
“That’s fucked up,” Harrington whispers, “There’s a movie like that? I wouldn’t—that’s not what I—”
“Yeah, I think I’m starting to get that.”
Harrington’s jaw shuts with a click, and they’re both quiet for a minute. And then, like a curse he doesn’t want to say aloud lest he bring it to life, Eddie asks, “That was you, wasn’t it? With the pudding and the posters and the flowers.”
“I broke Tommy’s nose when I caught him trying to let the air outta your tires, too,” he says, hollowly, like it doesn’t matter anymore.
Fuck.
There’s no one in the parking lot, and Eddie tells himself its the only reason he rounds the car and drops into the passenger side seat. The flowers are saved by Harrington’s quick reflexes, and Eddie kind of wants to curse him out for having his doors unlocked.
“Okay.” He hypes himself up like he’s seen Harrington do in PE, a quick breath in and out. “I didn’t know you were being serious. I thought it was just a dumb joke.”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
He twists his fingers together. “Those were for me, right?”
Harrington hums. Hands them over. “Kinda makes it worse, but sure. Yeah, they were for you.”
“Worse?”
Harrington laughs, scrubs a hand over his face. “I thought it’d be funny. You said you’d wear a dress if I got you black flowers, but I—I didn’t mean it that way. I just wanted to get you flowers you’d like.”
Fuck. Eddie does remember that, now.
The stems are still thorny and prick at his fingers when he hold them. He likes them better that way.
“You’ve been… practicing these,” he realizes. Remembers the little blue daisy.
“First ones came out a really gross kind of green,” Steve admits.
God fucking damn it.
“I don’t do prom,” Eddie says.
“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Steve replies. Dry. Still isn’t looking over at Eddie.
“No, I mean—I wouldn’t have gone even if I’d thought you were being honest from the get-go. I don’t DO prom. It’s the death of counter-culture and individuality.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“What I’m saying is,” he takes a deep breath, a little part of him still praying Steve won’t punch his damn lights out, “I’m not gonna go to prom. Ever. That’s an invitation to douchebags like Hargrove and Hagan to split my skull open on the gym floor. I don’t want my last breath to be weeks-old jock socks.”
He ducks, tries to catch Steve’s gaze. Doesn’t manage. He ends up pressed against the dashboard like a moron.
“But there’s this bar I go to,” he continues, “It doesn’t really check ID. I think they’d go out of business if they did. They let us play on Tuesdays.”
“I know.”
He knows? Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe Eddie needs to buy the flowers. About six dozen. Fuck him.
His leg jostles, knocks against Steve’s door. He finally looks up.
“That’s more my speed,” he admits, in a big rush. “It’s… probably better than prom as a first date, anyways.”
Steve’s eyebrows jump up into that famous hair, perfectly styled. Eddie’s is a mane of despair and hopelessness, wilder than a tornado.
“Really?” he asks, like Eddie didn’t just say he’d thought he was a piece of shit in seven different ways. “That’s—you’d—really?”
“I mean, not right now,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve’s face drops. He hurries to amend, “I’m not really dressed for the occasion. But maybe, like… tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Steve repeats, and Eddie flushes. “That’s soon.”
“Or never,” he snaps, because he’s a goddamn moron, “That works too.”
Steve’s grin splits his face and Eddie has to look back at the flowers in his lap. “Tomorrow’s good,” he agrees, too easy.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, kicks the door open, probably leaves a scuff, but Steve doesn’t say a word. “Better be.”
Steve’s still grinning as he gets out of the car, slams the door closed, rounds the side again. He’s not scared of a gaggle of dipshits ready to jump him because they’re not there. And he’s got a bouquet of black roses pressed to his chest.
“See you then, Eddie,” Steve chirps, as Eddie climbs back into his own van, and Eddie—Eddie has to hide his smile behind a curtain of hair as he throws the piece of shit into reverse and backs out of Benny’s diner.
…
He leaves the flowers on their tiny kitchen counter and the next morning, Wayne’s put them in a vase Eddie didn’t know they had, with water and that weird flower-food crap and everything.
Steve’s parents died shortly after he gets the family video job. He tells no one and keeps working even though he’s got MASSIVE inheritance now.
He sort of forgets that he shouldn’t be able to afford paying for all of his friends but no one really questions it bc he always bitches about paying even though he’s more than happy to he just likes being difficult
And then he buys Eddie a perfect replica of the guitar that was lost to the upside down
Do we really know Steve isn't into metal though? He definitely likes rock, and I love the HCs where he just doesn't know who he's listening to half the time which would gel with the "Ozzy who?" moment.
Eddie fully expecting the standard Normie reaction to his music the one time he's "permitted" to play his own cassettes in Steve's car, Steve looking puzzled as he listens before shrugging and carrying on driving.
It's not a negative reaction, +1 for Harrington apparently, but as they drive he keeps getting that little puzzled look on his face, and Eddie's starting to suspect Steve is fighting the urge to be a bitch about it, he's heard about his "trying" from the others.
He's not going to back down if Steve picks a fight over it, Eddie will defend his music to the death if he has to, so he's ready to bite back when Steve finally opens his mouth.
"Is this a new one?" not what he was expecting,
"huh?"
"The tape, is it a new one? I swear I know the voice but... I don't know the songs, is it new?"
"You've heard Black Sabbath before?"
"Is this that Ozzy guy then?" it's not, it's Ronnie James Dio, but that Steve remembered that is Interesting, that he recognises the music is more interesting.
"What songs do you know?" he asks, suspicious, Steve must be bullshitting him, there's no way.
"I dunno... that uh... one that—" he stops and starts 'da-na-na-na'ing Stargazer of all things,
this is killing me because Dustin what do you mean you keep telling him. how many times have you told him. why is that your immediate response to Lucas pointing that out. why did Lucas have enough familiarity to notice a difference. what’s wrong with the two of you.
Jeff can’t put his finger on it, but something’s wrong with him.
He’s never the first one to arrive for band practice, let alone early. But here he was in the garage tuning his guitar.
Jeff is watching from across the room. He’s punctual. He’s been playing his music at a lower volume. He hasn’t killed anyone’s character out of spite in at least a month. And Mike actually deserved it last week.
Jeff even heard him make comments about the cubs/cardinals game to Wayne in passing.
And there’s something wrong with Eddie’s hair.
It’s not frizzy like it normally is. It looked … soft. Defined. Conditioned —
“You’re sleeping with Steve Harrington!” Jeff snapped, pointing accusingly to Eddie.
Eddie’s face dropped.
His eyes darted between their friends — when did the other guys get here?
For a moment Jeff felt bad blurting it out, catching the fear in Eddie’s eyes. But just like everything else Eddie has faced, he’s replaced the fear with confidence.
Eddie’s eyes narrowed angrily at Jeff. “So what if I am?”
Jeff shrugged, plucking at his strings. “Good for you, man. Just hit me, that’s all.”
That made Eddie physically stumble. Like he wasn’t expecting that. “What?”
“You’ve been different,” Jeff said. “Not in a bad way. Good actually. Just — made me realize it.”
The garage was silent. As if everyone was afraid to make a move.
“Is there — is there gonna be a problem?” Eddie asked, all bravo drained from his voice.
“Nope,” Jeff said. “Like that we’re not waiting on you. Bring him by sometime.”
Eddie stood still, still trying to process everything.
“How did — how did you know?”
Jeff pointed to his own curls. “Your hair. Looks nice. Figured Steve washed it, huh?”
Eddie blushed, pulling a strand over his face. There was a mumbled of a ‘yeah.’
Gareth scoffed. Eddie’s glare quickly went to him. Gareth threw his hands up defensively. “No, it’s just that if anyone can take that mane of yours, it’s Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington.”
Eddie let out a laugh. “Whatever. Just play, bozos.”
Yeah, something’s different about Eddie.
He’s happier than he’s been in years. And Steve Harrington is to thank for that.
Eddie is attacked by the demobats, but lives. Dustin's conflict instead takes place between him, Will, Lucas and Mike. After everything, they still rush into danger and go with the first plan they come up with. Dustin is terrified of losing someone because not only did he just come so close to watching it happen, but also Max is still in a coma and they don't know when she'll wake up if ever.
It devolves into arguments pretty often, where the other boys have come up with a reckless plan and Dustin has a safer one that they won't go with because it would take too much time, requires too many resources etc. It usually ends with one of them saying something along the lines of, "You don't know everything. Just because you came up with it, that doesn't mean its right." and Dustin getting upset and storming off.
Steve and Eddie are the friends Dustin goes to when he needs to complain about it.
They pause whatever they're doing to listen as Dustin paces back and forth and tells them about the latest escapade. Ending it by slumping into the nearest chair with a: "They're not invincible! I don't get why they just don't get that!"
Steve looks at Eddie like a character on the office looking into the camera every time Dustin goes on one of his rants because what Dustin's complaining about is the exact same stress he's put Steve through for years now.
picturing Dustin watching at the trailer park, right after Eddie says, “Hey, Steve? Make him pay.”
And for some reason Dustin’s reminded of ‘84, of his conversation with Steve on the railroad tracks, it’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh... electricity, you know?—although he’s grown enough to suspect that Steve might not know everything in that regard.
And it’s not electricity he senses, not exactly, but it’s definitely a storm of some kind: something fragile. Something—someone—that’s very scared.
Dustin’s running before he’s even registered his decision. “Steve!”
Steve turns around, and he already looks like he’s about to ask a question—something practical, like whether Dustin’s forgotten something—and Dustin feels a twist of regret, that that’s where Steve’s mind goes; yeah, they’re all ready for battle, so it makes sense, but…
Feeling suddenly very young, Dustin barrels into Steve and hugs him.
He hears Steve’s surprised inhale, his hesitancy, before he returns the hug in full force.
For a little while, it’s like the world narrows down to only this. No ash in the air, no nightmarish red in the sky. Just the two of them.
Dustin’s about to pull away when he feels Steve’s chin dig into the top of his head. Hears him sniff, very quietly, like he’s trying to hide it; and that makes Dustin think of the tunnels, or afterwards, really, when Steve held onto him with shaking hands, kept saying, “We’re okay, we’re okay.”
So he just keeps hugging back.
Steve’s the one to let go; he’s smiling, but he looks a little sad too, forehead creased with worry.
“I need a ride tomorrow,” Dustin says.
Steve huffs. “Oh, yeah? Where to?”
Dustin taps his nose obnoxiously. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
It’s bullshit, of course; Dustin doesn’t need a ride anywhere.
Steve rolls his eyes, but some tightness in his jaw finally eases. “God, you’re such a dick.”
“Bright and early, Steve!” Dustin adds smugly. “Five am!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving him off, and for a moment it’s like they’re just in the school parking lot. He looks as if he’s about to say something else, then thinks better of it—glances back to where Robin and Nancy are waiting. He pulls Dustin in with one arm, a brief but tight hold. Nods, as if to himself. “Go on, scram.”
Dustin runs back to the trailer with a stitch in his side but a smile on his face. He knows it’s naive to think he can fix everything, but in this moment at least some part of the universe has been righted, even while in The Upside Down.
Eddie’s standing right where he left him, like he’s been frozen the whole time.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “is he, uh… is he okay?”
Dustin’s reminded that of course, Steve isn’t the only one who’s scared.
“Yeah, he will be,” he says, which he thinks is a more accurate answer than a simple yes or no.
It’s funny how life works, he muses while gathering supplies for the trailer defences. There’s no way he’d have thought even a week ago that Eddie would be sincerely asking him about Steve’s well-being. Whenever he happened to bring Steve up at Hellfire, Eddie would imitate him in a comedic falsetto, “Oh, Steve this, Steve that.”
For a minute, Eddie remains rooted to the spot, still staring in the direction of where Steve went—like he’d watched helplessly as Steve walked into the eye of a storm or something.
“You just gonna stand there and gawk?” Dustin says.
Eddie snorts. “So rude, Henderson.”
And it’s not like Dustin really knows, not when Steve and Eddie are still barely dancing around it themselves. Still, he can pick up on some things.
Like when they’ve finished setting up everything, waiting for the go-ahead for Eddie to start playing his guitar—to pass the time, they recount the high points of the day, keep it light. It’s a practice Eddie used to implement after campaigns.
And look, Dustin’s damn good at picking up on patterns. Like, he loves Steve, but he’s pretty sure the reality of him driving the hotwired RV doesn’t quite match up to how Eddie’s currently waxing lyrical about it.
He’s making it sound like it was something outta James Bond, Dustin thinks, when he’s sure Steve drove right into several trash cans.
Suddenly he knows exactly what he should do.
“Steve this, Steve that,” he sing-songs.
Eddie flushes; Dustin cackles.
“Fuck off,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling as Dustin keeps laughing, like he knows there’s nothing mean-spirited in it. He keeps going, Steve this, Steve that, talking right over Dustin’s teasing—somehow finding even more moments where Steve truly shines.
And Dustin doesn’t know everything, not even close, but at the very least, he knows that this feels right.
Eddie finds out Steve loves "the teddy bears" from Star Wars so he buys him an Ewok stuffed toy he sees in a random shop one day and Steve loves it, he was so excited when he realised what it was and he calls it Teddy, named after Eddie but also because its a teddy bear and Eddie is feeling pleased with himself until they're round at Steve's and Dustin finds it
Eddie thinks Dustin is about to make fun of Steve but instead he kicks up a fuss that he introduced Steve to the Ewoks and he loves them just as much as Steve does and Eddie can see Steve reluctantly gearing up to offer Teddy to Dustin so Eddie swoops in and says he'll get one for Dustin too
Robin happens to be around when Eddie manages to hand one over to Dustin and she sees Dustin squeeze his to his chest and Steve had brought Teddy down to the living room because they were all going to watch Star Wars together and she half joking demands to know where hers is so Eddie sighs and agrees to head back to the store tomorrow
He hands over Robin's stuffed Ewok and before Erica can even open her mouth to complain about how the rest of the Scoops Troop has their own Ewoks so where's hers Eddie presents one to her and announces that nobody else will be getting one because his wallet is empty so they are a Scoops Troop exclusive
whenever they hang out as a group at Steve's or Eddie's their Ewoks sit in a little line all together and they had to get little accessories so they always knew who's was who's after Robin accidentally took Teddy one day and Steve nearly had a meltdown
I have a headcanon that after S2, Dustin feels guilty everytime he sees a cat so he starts bringing home every stray cat that he can find and Claudia doesn't even mind because she can finally live out her crazy cat lady dreams. Steve on the other hand is slightly exesperated at being roped into cat rescue missions every other week
Comic Sans Was Never Bad @justdrugsformethanks - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
amandla
yousharknotpass
titsay
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
