Steve looked at himself in the mirror from all angles. Maybe, even just a year ago, he might have squashed all of this down and pretended he was just like any other All American white boy in a Midwest state. Except a year ago he still carried the baggage of his failures and was trying to be someone he was not.
And then Robin Buckley, with her ‘You Rule, You Suck’ board, entered his life.
Now, he was able to fully appreciate how much he had never been able to get Eddie “the Freak” Munson out of his head. He might have played it off had this situation never arose, might have been able to keep his lies to himself secret, but…well. It was a good thing Vickie’s locker had been right next to Eddie’s.
Admittedly, he did feel a little guilty about using the lip gloss that Nancy had left at his place, but then she had let him borrow some before back when he worked at Scoops, so really…was it that bad?
He just hoped that Eddie liked the taste of strawberries.
If Steve was lucky enough to find out.
So here he was, fifteen minutes early, waiting to meet Eddie in the band room after school. He’d never been here, obviously, but he’d managed to sneak into the place Robin and Vickie frequented quite often. Luckily there were no other band geeks hoping to use the free time to practice their instruments…or their instruments—he never realized how fucking horny band geeks were before Robin spilled all that gossip. He should have cast his net wider in high school.
Anyways, Steve got himself ready, trying to pose himself perfectly against an abandoned desk, legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned back on his hands to push out his tits, or whatever guys had, accentuating the thickness of his thighs as well. He’s got this.
And then the handle was turning and there’s Eddie, glancing behind him to obviously make certain he wasn’t being followed and no one is paying attention to him—he must know that the room is used for more than just music practice too—before finally turning to face his supposed secret admirer as he closed the door.
Only to freeze when he caught sight of Steve, face draining of color. Steve was across the room in an instant, hand keeping the door shut where Eddie had turned and immediately tried to open it again, leaning into Eddie’s space with a small smirk.
“What’s the rush, Munson?” he murmured in a tone he hadn’t had to use in a while, letting his eyes drag over the dumb Dungeons & Dipshits club shirt Steve couldn’t wait to get his hands under. His eyes drifted lower, thinking of other things he’d like to get under. When his eyes finally made their way back up to Eddie’s face, the dude’s face was tinged pink.
“Ha-Harrington,” Eddie said with a small stutter, eyes darting frantically to the hand keeping the door closed. The metalhead cleared his throat, stiffening his spine as he seemed to gather himself, though he crossed his arms defensively across his chest. “Is this some sort of sick joke? Got you buddies hiding around here somewhere waiting to jump me?”
Steve softly snorted. “While I’ve had a threesome before, I’m not really interested in a gangbang. Besides, darling, I’m not super keen on sharing,” he purred, reaching out with his free hand to lightly brush through the curly hair at Eddie’s shoulder, twirling a strand with a smile.
To his credit, Eddie didn’t flinch, though he did frown severely. Even still, his eyes dropped to Steve’s lips for the briefest moment, which Steve took as a win. “What the hell, Harrington?”
Steve chuckled, moving to lean his shoulder against the door instead, since it allowed him to pop his ass out a bit. “You got my note, didn’t you?” A little fib since it wasn’t technically his note that Robin had accidentally slipped into Eddie’s locker, but whatever. “I wanna take you out on a date. Right now, if you’d let me.”
Eddie blinked at Steve like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. “I know I have hair like Wheeler, but you do know I’m a dude, right? I have a dick.”
“You’re a musician, yeah?” Steve said, ignoring that for a moment to lean in closer, trailing the hand from Eddie’s hair down his arm. “Then I bet you’re really good with your hands.” He let his eyes drop to them meaningfully. “I bet those fingers can reach all sorts of places. Bet you know how to get the best sounds with them.”
When Steve looked back into Eddie’s face, it was flushed a bright pink this time, his mouth dropped open slightly in shock. Steve took the opportunity to press his fingers under that sharp jaw to close it with a soft click.
“Bet you’re talented with that mouth too.” And, okay, normally he wouldn’t be quite so forward with a girl, but Eddie wasn’t a girl. Things were a little different here. He had a feeling Eddie would appreciate the direct approach too. “You know, I’ve done a bit of singing myself. I’d love to show you my talent as well.”
Eddie let out a huff of breathless laugh of disbelief as he took several steps back into the room, holding his hands up. “I don’t know who put you up to this, man, but—”
“No one put me up to it,” Steve interrupted. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since high school and I would be the idiot of the century if I didn’t ask such a pretty boy like you out on a date.”
“No one thinks I’m pretty, Steve,” Eddie said with another nervous laugh, grabbing his hair to cover his mouth in embarrassment.
“Then everyone else has to be the idiot. You’re gorgeous, Eddie.” Steve let his gaze drop again, taking in all of Eddie’s lithe form. “You’re hot as fuck and I should have asked you out on a date years ago. Sorry I don’t have flowers with me, but if you let me take you on a date, I’ll buy you whatever flower you want.”
“D-dude, what even makes you think that I’m…you know,” Eddie said, eyes darting around as though searching for another escape route.
“Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have checked out my ass back in high school.” Eddie looked terrified again, which wasn’t Steve’s intention. He was supposed to be charming for Pete’s sake…whoever Pete was. He stepped forward, holding his hands out to show that he was without malice. “I promise I don’t mean any harm, Eddie.”
“No? Former Keg King and head cock of the roost Steve Harrington just asked Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson to an empty classroom to ask him on a date? Am I really supposed to believe that?” Eddie scoffed, arms once more wrapping around himself.
“I checked you out too, you know,” Steve murmured. “I think I did even before I realized that guys could be an option.” He licked his lips, tasting that hint of strawberry, but it had the desired effect of snapping Eddie’s gaze to them again as well.
“What, you wanna get dicked down by the king freak?” Eddie lightly sneered. “Really fell that far, Stevie?”
“What can I say, you’re easy to fall for,” Steve said with a wink, slinking his way slowly closer. That seemed to shut Eddie up, his face turning that lovely shade of dusty pink again. “But if you need me to fall further…”
Steve smirked as he dropped to his knees in front of Eddie, who gulped thickly enough that it was audible. He reached out to grab Eddie’s fingers, bringing them to his lips as he looked up at the older boy through his lashes.
“Because I am more than willing to worship Hawkins High’s one true king,” he whispered, pulling out all the stops as he brushed his lips over Eddie’s knuckles in a soft kiss. He had a feeling that a theatrical man like Eddie would appreciate some theatrics himself.
And appreciate it Eddie seemed to do, judging by the first honest look of awe on his face as he stared down at Steve. Like he was maybe starting to realize that Steve meant everything he was saying. Eddie drew in a deep, shuddering breath, before releasing it with a small smirk of his own.
“Is that so? And what does that make you, Steve? My dashing knight, ready to obey my every command?” Eddie murmured, turning his fingers in Steve’s hold to slip under Steve’s chin, his thumb brushing just under his glossy bottom lip.
Steve shivered at the touch. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Eddie, if it gives me the honor of taking you out on a date.”
“Well,” Eddie breathed. “You do look good on your knees.” He leaned in, bending down to bring his lips to Steve’s ear, his hair curtaining around them. “Do you look just as good on your back?” he whispered.
Steve grinned, bringing his other hand up to hold on to Eddie’s hip. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, Munson,” he murmured back. “So what do you say? Go on a date with me? I promise to treat you good. And then you can treat me very, very bad.”
Eddie flushed again, but he was smiling as he pulled back enough to look down at Steve. “That a promise, Sir Harrington?”
“Wanna seal it with a kiss?” Steve grinned.
It turned out, Eddie did like the taste of strawberries.
Later, when he learned the truth about the note mishap, Eddie laughed so hard he cried, but he didn’t waste any time in thanking Robin for her little blunder. After all, without it, he never would have gotten his first (and hopefully last) official boyfriend.
Who did, in fact, look entirely too good on his back.
1:00 am: witness what you fully believe to be your girlfriend cheating on you with the school freak
1:30 am: go to bed
7:30 am: wake up, skip school
8:30 am: meet up with friends who are also ditching
10:00 am: either personally graffiti a shitty thing about your girlfriend on the movie theater marquee or fail to stop your friend from graffiting a shitty thing about your girlfriend on the movie theater marquee
10:15 am: catch sight of your girlfriend and the school freak leaving the hunting supply store looking like they’re about to commit violent murder
10:30 am: provoke a fist fight that ends with you being roughly straddled on the ground by another boy as he absolutely beats you to shit
10:35 am: realize you like boys (jonathan byers)
10:40 am: run away from the cops and your bisexuality
11:30 am: abruptly realize that you are being a huge asshole, ditch your friends at the convenience store and drive off
1:00 pm: begin cleaning graffiti off of movie theater marquee
4:00 pm: finish cleaning graffiti off of movie theater marquee
4:15 pm: go home and sulk
6:30 pm: hype yourself up enough to drive to the byers’ house to try to apologize
6:40 pm: arrive at the byers’ house
6:45 pm: get a gun aimed at your head by your girlfriend
6:50 pm: find out that monsters are real when one jumps through the living room ceiling
7:00 pm: leave the byers’ house
7:10 pm: re-enter the byers’ house just in time to save your girlfriend and the school freak from getting eaten by some kind of evil teeth demon
7:15 pm: assist the other guy in setting his own house on fire
7:20 pm: watch christmas lights flicker like it’s the goddamn world series
7:30-8:00 pm: have panic attack, unfortuitously concurrent with the panic attacks your girlfriend and the other guy are both also having
8:10 pm: calm down
8:20 pm: attempt to internalize monsters being real, half-succeed
8:30 pm: get dragged to hospital by your girlfriend and the other guy
8:45 pm-11:30 pm: wait awkwardly in deathly silent hospital lobby
11:45 pm: drive home, miraculously do not crash your car
12:30 pm: stop jumping at shadows long enough to fall asleep
1:00 am: wake up in cold sweat as you remember that you like boys (jonathan byers)
Steddie I pre-S4 I secret relationship AU I rated M I 3.9 k I angst I S4 fix-it I time skips
This was going to be a fully fleshed out story but I lost the umpf to finish, it just felt unnecessary to commit to an entire fic, so here's the rough draft for anyone interested.
July 10th, 1985
Eddie answered the door to find Steve Harrington standing off the porch, one foot on the bottom step, looking a bit like mangled raccoon roadkill, with somehow still an immaculate head of hair.
“Whoa, man, who'd you piss off this time?”
Steve slow blinked up at him. “I don't wanna talk about it. You open for business?”
He didn't normally take house calls but they weren't in school right now - Steve never would be again, the lucky bastard - and Eddie was saving up for a new amp, so yeah, he was open for business today.
“For you, Moneybags, always.” He held the door open wide.
Steve walked in, mumbling, “Not sure Moneybags is accurate now that I'm unemployed.”
“Well, then your money is even more precious. You could've spent it all on Budweiser but you chose me.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Steve.
“Don't know any other drug dealers,” he pointed out.
Eddie scowled. “C'mon, man, give me the illusion of being special.”
Steve's lips quirked, playful, even though it must've been stretching that cut painfully. “Oh, Munson, only your steller ditch weed can save me!”
Eddie would never admit it but the fact that he played along, albeit sarcastically, made him give Steve an extra pre-roll for free.
***
Aug 16th 1985
“And I said to her, ‘You can't expect me to tell you that. It's against the bro code or something,’ not that we were ever actually bros, it's the principle, right? But then she gives me the fuckin’ wet eyes, like I'm killing her-”
Eddie wasn't really listening, he was more focused on the task at hand, but Steve was a talker and Eddie had made peace with that weeks ago, so he politely hummed and nodded as needed to keep him going.
“Shit.”
“What?” Steve stopped monologuing to ask.
“Nothin’, just didn't have as much in this bag as I thought.” He put the tray aside and got up to grab another sack. There should be enough to round out Steve's usual six joints in his dresser stash.
“Anyway,” Steve continued on, unperturbed by the interruption, “I said to her-” He continued to wax about Nancy fucking Wheeler while Eddie dug through his top drawer. Ridiculous man couldn't wait thirty seconds, no, had to follow Eddie into his room. “Like Byers has the balls to cheat on her, ya know? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about it if he did? Fly to California and… Huh.”
“What?”
He was so wrapped up in looking for the right strain, he didn't turn to look until Steve's continued silence became weird.
He should've just given Steve five joints and charged him less.
“Uhhh. I can explain?”
Steve looked up from the skinmag on Eddie's side table and laughed. Actually laughed. “Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it.”
Why did he look so happy about it? Christ, he was literally bouncing on his toes.
“You're being weirdly chill about this,” he pointed out when Steve continued to grin.
“It's just funny, I guess. I have that same one.”
Time stopped. It started back up of course but not in any way that made sense. Because Steve was giving him that look, that open faced ‘See anything you like?’ look, with the steely eyed determination of a man who knew what he was doing. He'd seen that look before, in clubs, on the street. The problem Eddie was trying to work out wasn't so much ‘Could Steve Harrington really be queer?’, it was ‘Could Steve Harrington really want to fuck around with me?’
“What the fuck does that mean?” He asked, sure he was reading this wrong.
Steve cocked his head. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”
He turned to give Steve his full attention. “You, Steve Harrington, own the August edition of Drummer magazine.”
“Yes.”
“The gay porn mag.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He watched as Steve's face turned a lovely shade of pink. “To look at pictures of naked men and jerk off,” he said calmly, despite the blush. “Also the articles are well written and informative.”
That shocked a laugh out of Eddie. He crossed his arms and leaned up against the dresser. “Uh huh. What was your favorite one?”
“That story about the military rites of passage. Something about being told what to do gets me going.”
It could've just been a good guess, Eddie supposed, but he didn't think so.
“Oh yeah, private?” He said, all bravado. “Drop and give me twenty.”
The bravado died a soldier's death as he watched Steve hit the floor, on his knees, and then begin doing actual pushups. He watched up until twelve or so - the play of muscle under that blue and white polo was really something - before stopping him with a laugh.
“Get up, you fuckin' jock. We get it, you're in great shape.”
Steve did stop but only so he could sit back on his heels, hands placed firmly on his thighs, to look up at Eddie as though awaiting further instructions.
He gulped.
***
Sept 28th 1985
Eddie had his hand down Steve's pants, sucking a sizable hickey on his neck, when Steve blurted out, “Teen Wolf is playing at the Drive-In in Shelbyville.”
He backed away slowly, swimming through a haze of horny confusion to mumble, “The fuck?”
“Um. Just sayin'.”
“‘Just sayin'?’ Why are you ‘just sayin'’ right now?” He articulated this with a heavy squeeze to Steve's dick.
“Ha!” Steve arched toward him while also wincing in embarrassment. “I just wanted to ask before I forgot.”
A drop of cold lead sank Eddie's stomach. “Ask…what?”
He blinked at Eddie in the dark. “Do you wanna go? To the movies? With me?”
Heat washed out the cold feeling and replaced it with mounting anger; Eddie slowly pulled his hand from Steve's pants. He watched Eddie back away with wide-eyed confusion, going to ask what was wrong probably, but Eddie beat him to it, unwilling to hear the concern in his voice.
“I thought you understood what this was, Harrington. We don't do dates,” he spit the word like a curse. “That's something you do with the nice girls from your daddy's country club. We get each other off in the back of my van, where no one can see it rocking. Right? That's what this is.”
Steve's whole face shut down, giving nothing away. He gave Eddie a small nod, doing his pants back up. That was probably for the best, he was too rattled to get off now anyway.
“Yeah, I think we're done for today. Come see me when you remember what it is I'm good for.”
Steve didn't respond, just kicked open Eddie's back doors and hopped out. The beemer started a second later, not peeling out angrily, not kicking up gravel and dust in its wake, just drifted off into the night.
Eddie's hand shook as he tried to light a cigarette, flame winking in and out as his fingers slipped, another thing Steve had ruined. What an asshole, he thought, still furious. What the fuck was he thinking, asking Eddie out? That they'd just go to the movies together? Like a couple of regular people? Didn't he know that's not how things worked? If you're lucky, which Eddie was, you find a mentor to teach you the rules of staying safe. If you're not lucky, you learn the hard way.
Going steady with rich, popular boys was not on the list of approved activities.
Eddie snapped his cigarette in half and chucked it out the back door. The black of the lake beyond the trees, near invisible under a waxing moon, left him feeling sick to his stomach and lonely. The nights were getting too chilly to sit with the doors open anyway. He swung them shut and shrugged his flannel back on. The memory of Steve running his warm hands over Eddie's shoulders, slipping it off as he ran them down his back, struck Eddie like a slap to the face.
He shouldn't have freaked out. He could've handled it better. It wasn't Steve's fault he didn't know the rules. He didn't have someone like Gil to warn him about how dangerous it was out there. Oh well, it was too late to take it back now. He'd apologize when Steve came around again.
***
Oct 10th 1985
“I just don't get why he won't talk to me. I tried to see him at Family Video and he ran into the back office and locked the door. Buckley just stared at me until I was sure my hair would catch fire. Like I ever did anything to her,” he grumbled.
“Ed,” Gil sighed over the phone like Eddie was being particularly stupid, “he wanted to take you out and you yelled at him.”
When he said it like that it sounded reasonable. “Yeah, except we don't do that! You taught me that! That's not safe!”
“Oh, no. Oh, Eddie,” he sighed again. It was really starting to piss him off. “I didn't mean for you to take that to heart. You can't shut out everyone who might love you-”
“Love me?!” He screeched. “Are you insane? He didn't love me!”
“I'm not saying he did, I just mean you can't expect everyone you sleep with is going to agree no strings attached forever. Eventually you're going to fall for someone, and then all the bullshit running around in secret, that shit becomes worth it. I wasn't trying to stop you from falling in love, I was just trying to teach you how to get around safely.”
Eddie sputtered. He was so confused. Where was the burly, son of a bitch, leather vest wearing, biker bear who once told Eddie where to find the best glory holes in a new town? What the fuck was the shit about falling in love? That wasn't supposed to be in the cards for him. And certainly not with Steve Harrington. That was never going to be a thing. Not in the cards, not in the casino, not in Las Vegas itself! But all of a sudden he was allowed to date if he was sure the other person was worthy? Since when?!
Gil, instead of taking pity on him, doubled down. “I think it's probably too late with this Steve fella, but Eddie, don't push away the next one who takes an interest in you. Okay? It's still rough out there, it's still dangerous, but, god, what is any of this for if we aren't allowed to be in love?”
“You asshole,” he sniffed, “where was all this lovely advice two years ago?”
“You were a kid, dumb ass. If I'd told you to run off with the first guy who gave you butterflies, you'd be dead already. I was trying to keep you safe first, cut me some slack!”
“Fine! But I still blame you for fucking me on the Harrington thing. You have no idea what you cost me. Literally and figuratively. The wallet and the ass on that man.” He wasn't going to admit to missing the man attached to the wallet and the ass. It was too fresh of a realization.
“I'm sorry, kid. Seems like you really liked him.”
“What? No I didn't.”
“That why you called me and ranted about him for a half hour straight? Because you don't like him?”
Eddie scowled at the sink. “Shut up.”
Gil sighed at him again.
***
March 29th, 1986
A car had pulled up.
His blood was rushing in his ears, nothing but the sound of the ocean in a giant seashell, like the one his mom had kept on her dresser, so he didn't hear the voice at first. It wormed its way into his understanding slowly, a male voice, low, calling his name.
He grasped the bottle tighter, waited until the voice got closer, and then sprang out from under the tarp. His senses grew sharp, focusing on the dark shape in front of him. They came together hard, fell into the wall with a jarring crash. All thoughts went into stopping the body against him from hurting him first.
Hands grasped his wrist to keep the bottle from finding its mark. Strong hands, with wide knuckles, ones that Eddie hadn't seen in six months but still, unbidden, saw in his dreams.
He finally looked up and found Steve Harrington at the end of his makeshift knife.
“It's me, Eds, it's me” he was panting. “You're safe. I promise. It's okay.” He kept repeating it until Eddie finally let go of the bottle. Let go and then buried his face into Steve's neck and wept. He couldn't stop it, it just came out of him, everything, all the terror and confusion and guilt.
“I didn't do it, I didn't hurt her, it wasn't me,” he kept repeating.
“I know. I know, Eds, I know you didn't,” Steve answered, hand still running over the back of his head. Like the last six months were just a terrible dream.
He didn't even notice Steve wasn't alone, not until Henderson clasped him around the shoulder and told him there were things living under Hawkins, things that would make a horde of Beholders turn tail and run.
And they'd been dealing with it all since ‘83?
Which meant Steve was already a hardened veteran when he was goofing off in Eddie's trailer, making tusks out of pretzel rods and calling Ewoks by the wrong name.
“Jesus Christ.” He put his head between his knees and did his best to ignore Steve's hand rubbing up and down his back. He didn't want the comfort but he took it anyway.
***
March 31st 1986
“Hey, Eddie,” Steve pulled up next to him, skipping over the slimy Devil Roots with ease, “I just wanted to say thanks for savin’ my ass back there.”
Eddie chuckled lowly, not ready to say, ‘You know what you did, you macho asshole.’ “Pretty sure Wheeler saved your ass but you're welcome.”
“You definitely helped. I mean, you didn't have to swim through a portal to hell after me but you did.”
The shame of Steve giving him even an ounce of credit crept up his throat and started to choke him. Steve had been getting drug to hell by some unknown force and still Eddie had hesitated. He was a coward.
“Man, I just didn't want to be the asshole who stayed behind.”
The silence felt damning, like he should've just kept his mouth shut.
Steve jammed his hands into his ratty sweatpants. “Right.”
Now he thought Eddie didn't care at all.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he whispered, “You know that's not the whole truth, right? I know things are weird between us but I don't want you dead.”
He had to keep his eyes on the ground as they walked but out of his periphery he could see Steve nod.
“Yeah. I get it.”
He didn't but Eddie didn't know what else to say. He hadn't let himself think about what they were to each other now. Not friends, not ex’s, not strangers. He’d tried not to think about Steve at all - except what he couldn't avoid, like Henderson’s obsession with him and things his brain forced him to remember at night - since whatever they were doing ended. Since Steve left and never came back.
He opened his mouth to soften the moment, tell Steve how Henderson would've killed him in a more creative way than Vecna if he'd let Steve die, but Steve cut him off.
“I should thank you for that too.”
Eddie chanced looking over.
“For what?”
“For ending things when you did.”
The squirm in his gut worsened. They hadn't talked about it. He didn't want to talk about it. “Oh?” He choked out.
“Yeah, I was, uh, making a bigger thing out of what we, what we were doing, than I should've. I blame Robin for enabling me, she's the one who said to just ask you out like a normal person. Sorry for making it weird and ruining it. Always trying to give my heart to people who don't want it.” He chuckled morosely. “Anyway, thanks, I guess. You probably saved me from a lot more heartache later down the line.” He slapped Eddie on the back, like they were old chums, and then he skipped up to the girls without a backwards glance.
Eddie stood there, alone, gaping at his retreating back.
***
April 1st, 1986
Eddie had always been good at compartmentalizing. When his mom got sick, he got really into Tolkien, let that be his focal point in a storm of hospital visits and missed days at school. When his dad got picked up and sent to prison, he let Wayne teach him how to play guitar, which he spent most of his waking hours on. When Steve made it clear he was done with Eddie, he packed up the little pocket of time they had, the enjoyment he'd found in Steve's company, and folded it under the recesses of his mind, told himself it was all for the best, to not think of it again, and then he threw himself into Hellfire.
So, now that he’d found himself in another untenable situation, clarity struck Eddie like lightning as he thrashed on the ground - Hey, dumbass, Steve Harrington actually liked you, wanted to date you, would've fallen for you, and you fucking blew it. Not only did you blow it, you broke his fucking heart.
It was an asinine thought to have while he was actively dying but considering the alternative was acknowledging that he was being eaten alive by demon bats, he welcomed thoughts of Steve.
Steve, who Eddie had convinced himself was just scratching an itch with someone who wouldn't tell, but who had actually been telling his best friend the whole time.
Steve, who came over for weed but stayed to hang out, sometimes for hours, well before they were fooling around.
Steve, who wasn't anything like Eddie had assumed he would be, was exactly the kinda guy Eddie would've fallen for. If he was allowed.
But he had been allowed, the whole time apparently, and was too stupid to notice.
Henderson showed up a minute later, just as the bats collapsed around him, thank god. If he'd gotten the asshole killed he was fairly certain Steve would've brought him back somehow just to kill him again.
He wasted a lot of breath apologizing to Dustin, agreeing that he was totally gonna make it. Wasted some more trying to bequeath Hellfire to him. Wasted his last breath to say, “Tell Steve I'm sorry.”
Dustin wouldn't understand what for but maybe Steve would.
Just before he lost consciousness he caught Dustin saying, “Tell him yourself,” and then something that sounded suspiciously like, “Eddie! No.”
But by then he was gone.
***
Date unknown, 1986
He was never sure if what he was experiencing was real or not. Since the pain had stopped everything had a surreal quality, mostly flashes of light, some sound trickled in, shouting and crying and tires squealing; all of it was fleeting and seemed unimportant.
The first thing that felt real was Wayne's voice. Gruff and short and so, so familiar. It brought tears to his eyes. He was pretty sure anyway, hard to tell when he couldn't open them yet.
“Get your boy, Fletch, or I'm gonna break his arm.”
“Now, Wayne, we're just doin’ our job,” Chief Powell said in a softer tone than Wayne's snarl or Callahan's offense.
“Either one of you touch a hair on his head, I'll-”
“Have Steve call his famous lawyer dad,” Robin piped up from somewhere in the room, thankfully stopping Wayne from further incriminating himself.
“He's a divorce attorney,” Steve mumbled. “But he knows people!” He rallied after what Eddie imagined was a look from Robin.
A beat went by, Eddie almost slipped away in the quiet, before Chief Powell spoke up again. “You're all gonna go to bat for this kid?”
Steve responded first. “He's a hero.”
Eddie didn't get to enjoy that for long, a nurse came in to shuffle them all out of the room so they could re-up his pain meds and then it was nighty-night again.
***
Date Unknown, 1986
The next time Eddie woke, it was dark in the room, only a bit of light coming in from under the door and from the parking lot lights outside. His eyes felt gritty, heavy with sleep, but he could make out the shape of Steve in the chair beside his bed.
He was awake, staring down at the side of Eddie's mattress.
No.
Eddie followed his gaze and found Steve staring at his hand where it laid across his own forearm, careful of the tubes they were both hooked to. As soon as he saw it, he became aware of the warmth of it, Steve's huge hand draped over his cold skin.
“Feels nice,” he tried to say but it came out more garbled mess than actual words.
It was enough to get Steve's attention though.
“Eddie!” He said with excitement, relief. “What do you need? I should get the nurse.”
Eddie forced his arm to respond, to turn over and clasp Steve where he was about to remove himself. His grasp wasn't near enough to keep Steve in place but the fact that he tried kept Steve where he was.
His voice refused to cooperate, felt like coughing up glass, but he tried to communicate that Steve should stay.
“Okay, okay, I'm here. Not going anywhere. Do you need anything? Water? Pain meds?”
Eddie could definitely use both of those things but the most pressing thing, the only thing he could really think of was…
Lifting his hand to point as steadily as he could at Steve's chest.
He chuckled. “Why do you keep trying to take my shirt?”
The question made little sense. For one thing, this was the first he remembered being coherent enough to demand anything, and second, Steve wasn't wearing a shirt, he was in a hospital gown, same as Eddie.
He shook his head as best he could, a frustrated frown and a grunt to indicate that wasn't what he meant at all.
Steve leaned closer. “What is it? I don't know what you need, Eddie.”
Now that he was closer, Eddie reached out as best he could and pressed his palm to the left side of Steve's chest.
They stared at each other. Eddie could feel the tears slipping down his face but he didn't dare move his hand to wipe them away.
Slowly, like he was scared, Steve's hand came up to press Eddie's hand closer. Big and warm and missed to the point of aching, though Eddie had been loath to admit it to himself.
“You’re serious?” Steve whispered. “You want...this?”
Eddie nodded frantically.
“If you mean my tit I'm going to be so pissed at you.”
Eddie choked on a laugh. He did his very best to mouth, “That too.”
That got him a laugh, a soft one. "Some things don't change." He looked away, shy. Or not shy exactly, cautious. "I hope you remember you said all this when you wake up again. You're pretty doped up."
That was an easy fix. The drugs probably made it easier to admit but he was tired of pretending it wasn't true.
He pulled Steve's hand until it settled over his own chest, stitches and all, and forced himself to croak, "I already tried to forget, sweetheart. It didn't work."
I wasn’t tagged by anyone but this brain worm has been in my head for a while I just have to get it out.
🧠 🪱
Pre-S4 canon divergence because fuck that shit.
Steve secretly plans to learn how to play D&D to surprise Dustin with a game for his birthday. He obviously ropes Robin into learning with him since she’s gonna play with them whether she likes it or not. After all, they do everything together and Scoops Troop sticks together too, no matter what. It’s for Dustin’s birthday after all! She equally obviously agrees, though she makes fun of Steve for being such a good step dad.
Now, Steve can’t let any of the brats know, not even Erica, because he knows that they’ll spill the beans, so he goes to the only person he knows who plays who won’t snitch on him: Eddie Munson.
Which, yeah. Eddie thinks Steve is there to start some shit at first, or to make fun of him or whatever. He’d think it was just to score some weed had Steve’s first words to him as he accosted him by his van not been “Hey! You run that nerd dragon club, don’t you?” So forgive him for expecting some form of bullying.
Of course, Steve clears the matters up and, though he reluctantly has to listen to Eddie wheeze laugh at the prospect of teaching The Hair how to play DnD in secret for a few minutes, Eddie eventually agrees. So they set up a schedule for Eddie to go to the Harrington house to teach Steve and Robin how to play and get some characters set up for them.
After some back-and-forth, Robin decides to play as a half-elf Druid, while Steve goes for something much simpler and just chooses a human Fighter, smirking over at Robin as he noted a spiked club as a potential weapon.
And Eddie is…confused. Steve is nothing like he thought he was, and the relationship between him and Robin is even more confusing. He thought they were dating at first, what with how weirdly close they were, feeding each other snacks, sharing the same drinks, and practically sitting on top of each other on the other side of the table from Eddie. He was pretty sure they shared the same piece of gum at some point too.
That is, until during one of the tester games Steve’s and Robin’s characters shared a bed for the night and Eddie had joked that even in DnD, the Hair could get anyone he wanted in his bed.
Robin had promptly made gagging noises and shoved Steve away from her, while Steve had thrown his head back and laughed before making kissy faces at Robin, who promptly screeched and threatened to rub her chip greasy fingers in his hair. Steve broke into a truly horrendous parody of what sounded almost like Kermit the Frog, causing Robin to actually throw chips at Steve while shouting “You suck! You suck! You suck!”
They eventually got the game back on track, and though Steve came close to dying, they managed to survive Eddie’s (incredibly easy) starter game. They made plans for more, and somehow even convinced Eddie to come up with a special one-shot just for Dustin’s birthday too.
Despite himself, Eddie was having fun.
And, if he didn’t know any better, he would swear that Steve Harrington was flirting with him…
🪱 🧠
Anyways yeah that’s all I’ve got for it now, but I liked the idea of Steve learning how to play DnD in secret for Dustin, asking Eddie to teach him, and the two of them falling in love in the process.
Honestly this could even be pre-s3 if you want to have Steve still in school for this too, and opens it for an alt meeting between Stobin. Because Stobin will always be #1 in my heart.
This idea is absolutely open to anyone who wants to do their own version of it, just please tag me in it so I can your vision!
Just gonna tag my Hostage Hotties (my permanent tag list), no pressure tho and everyone else is welcome to consider them tagged, but also if any of y’all ain’t a writer, feel free do the tag with just something you’d love to see or your favorite tropes!
The whole video is a compilation of her trying to film her crafts while Steve and Eddie are off-camera having the world’s dumbest conversations. It’s like:
Robin, on camera: *crocheting a blanket*
Eddie: I haven’t seen 12 Angry Men. What about that? Wanna do 12 Angry Men?
Steve: Not in one night. Jesus.
Robin, on camera: *making a mosaic*
Eddie: What’s it called when time is bisexual?
Steve: …Biweekly?
Eddie: That’s it. I get paid biweekly.
Robin: *restocking her bead cases*
Steve, walking into the room: - one to talk, you pissed in the sink.
Robin: What?!
Eddie: Not our sink.
Robin: *trying and failing to spin clay on a pottery wheel she bought*
Steve, loud: Dude, just talk. I get distracted by your hands and miss what you’re signing.
Eddie, also loud: Do. You. Want to. Door. Dash?
Steve:
Steve: Wow. Yelling at the hearing impaired? That’s so offensive.
Steve: Robbie, cancel him.
Robin, flat: Eddie, you’re cancelled. Trash duty for a month.
Eddie: A month!? You set me- *video cuts*
Robin, on camera: *trying to film a tutorial*
Eddie: Bisexual, huh? And you sleep with mostly women? Interesting.
Steve:
Steve: I can fuck your uncle if you’re concerned about it.
Robin: *opens her mouth to speak but Dumb and Dumber just walked into the room*
Continuing a bit from this post where Steve is the most background character of all time: Robin edition.
Robin is by no means ‘internet famous’ but she likes to do crafts and has a TikTok account. When she’s not defending Steve’s cryptid-Chicago-man ass in comments, she’s posting videos of her projects.
Steve makes an occasional guest appearance in her videos but it takes forever for anyone to notice because she never shows his face.
She has a running series on her account (five parts so far) called ‘Crafts and Tea.’
The posts are cut together clips of Robin working on her current bead project whole Steve complains about whatever is bothering him off-screen. The last one has her making a beaded purse and Steve complaining about his parents.
The only reason people realize that her off-screen roommate is the cryptid chicago man everybody is obsessed with is because she posted a video titled, ‘painting the bottom of my bestie’s shoes until he notices.’
People connected it to a video of someone singing on the subway. Steve is in the background with his legs stretched out and the soles of his shoes visibly a painted sunset. He is also, notably, the only person enjoying the singing.
The only time Robin even kinda shows Steve’s face was when they were stuck on the flight where that girl was singing Moana songs over the PA system. Steve leaned partially into frame when she was filming her reaction to unironically say, “This is great.”
Hopper comes back from Russia and immediately and unwillingly gets adopted into whatever the hell Steve and Robin have going on because - “Well, you were tortured by Russians, right? Welcome to the club.”
“Why is there a club?” Hopper asks, saddled with two morons that won’t leave him alone. “What do you mean by torture? What happened to you?”
Steve and Robin keep trying to be like, no. Yeah, it sucked. But you gotta laugh at stuff like that, right? Wrong. Hopper is not having it because, “They put me in a cage and made me fight a Demogorgon.”
“Sick,” Steve nods. “They drugged us and ripped off our fingernails.”
Here’s the thing about natural—or unnatural, as it were—disasters.
Regular social norms go right out the fucking window.
In Tommy’s case, all it took was to see one news report, highlighting the burning husk of Starcourt, for him to turn to his girlfriend and ask “Do you think…?”
He didn’t bother to finish his sentence.
Didn’t need too—Carol immediately and instantly knew what he was on about.
They were in Tommy’s house, but that didn’t matter. Carol went right for the phone like she owned it (or like she’d been practically raised in said house given she’d known Tommy since he was seven, which meant she might as well own it.)
“He’s not answering.” She reported after a tense moment,
Tommy bit his lip.
“Think he’s still messing around with Wheeler enough to be at her house right now?” He asked, but it was a hail mary and they both knew it.
Carol rewarded his stupidity with a flat stare. “He’s not dating anyone right now, he’s person non grata with that hideous uniform.”
And for other reasons, not that either of them bothered to voice it all.
Tommy opened his mouth again, no doubt to ask something else idiotic in his growing panic, but was stopped by a finger held loftily in the air.
Carol expertly dialed with her other hand, before once again returning the phone to her ear.
This time she got someone.
“Hi Miss Maple, is Mindy home?”
A pause, and then a rapid-fire back and forth took place, in which Carol:
Assured Miss Maple she was not at the mall.
Was happy to know Mindy was also not at the mall.
Made an appropriate gasping noise upon finding out Mindy had left only an hour before the mall had caught fire and could she talk to Mindy? Pretty please? This is so scary!
--Until Carol was finally connected to Mindy herself.
“No, I'm glad you’re safe.” Carol was saying, after another exchange that to Tommy, felt like some kind of over-complicated girl language where they both made soft reassuring noises until they finally got down to business.
Which in this case, was asking if Mindy saw Steve Harrington, their wayward third, at the mall.
“He was there.” Carol confirmed a scant few minutes later, frown slashing across her face as she hung up the phone. “She said he had the closing shift.”
Tommy panicked harder.
“What do we do?”
Carol, bless her, gave him the easiest answer in the world.
With steel in her eyes, she calmly determined: “We go get him.”
They did.
xXx
Steve was not at the mall.
One of his obnoxious children was however, and insisted Steve was both fine and had gone home.
(As if anyone was ever fine after escaping out of a burning building.)
Lucky for Carol’s temper and Steve both, that proved to be true.
“Hello Steven.” Carol greeted the second one of the Harrington’s double doors swung open. “You look like shit.”
“‘Ro?” Steve asked in blatantly disbelief, squinting at her.
Give how fucked up one of his eyes was, Carol wouldn’t be surprised if he honestly could’t make her out.
Steve’s messed up face moved to the left with another blatant squint before he warbled out: “‘Tommy?”
“Yes, yes, it’s us. Move over.” She flicked her hands into a “shoo” gesture, as Steve dutifully stepped back, allowing them in.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, somehow managing to sound normal for that one singular line.
Carol beelined right for the cabinet with the medkit, while Tommy went for the fridge.
“Taking care of you, idiot. How the hell did you get a black eye in a mall fire?”
Or choke marks, or any of his other wounds she’d taken in at first glance, none of which looked to be a burn.
It took a long, long moment for her to get an answer, during which Steve had trailed them both to his kitchen, confused but not fighting their presence.
“Part of the building collapsed. I--there was--” He struggled for a moment, looking lost in his own kitchen. “A lot happened.”
“No shit.” Tommy snorted, wrapping a hand towel around an ice pack before dutifully handing it to Steve.
“Put that on your eye.” He muttered, when all he got was a blank stare back.
“Oh.” Steve stared at him, without moving. “Thanks.”
With another loud snort, Tommy shoved it in his hands, then forced Steve to actually put it against his eye.
An interaction that did not bode well for the state of Steve’s head.
“Take that disgusting shirt off.” Carol commanded a few seconds later as she finished laying out medical supplies on the counter. Lined them up like little soldiers gearing up to ship out.
Bandages, neosporin, alcohol wipes and various other little bits and bobs weren’t going to fix whatever the hell happened to Steve, but given his aversion to hospitals, Carol knew this was as good as she was getting.
“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” Steve grumbled, but thankfully, complied.
Or tried too, anyway--he seemed to be reluctant to take the ice pack off his eye now that he figured out that's where it should go, and equally seemed to be having issues raising his arms above his shoulders.
Carol sent a pointed look at her boyfriend, then jerked her eyes in Steve’s direction when the idiot just stared at her.
“Let me help you.” Tommy said a moment later, right before Carol decided to throw something at him.
It took them both a minute, during which Carol rolled her eyes twice at their incompetence, but eventually they managed to get Steve’s busted torso out in open air, and the ice pack firmly back on his eye.
Carol turned to survey the damage, and nearly dropped the bandages she was holding in shock.
Tommy too seemed at a loss for words, eyes wide at the sheer amount of bruising.
Steve was a mess.
More than, a mess--this was the worst state Carol had ever seen anyone in, and the fact that he was on his feet still was a fucking miracle.
‘Staring won’t fix it.’ Carol told herself harshly, and she knew damn well Steve wasn’t going to fix it either unless someone forced him.
Hence of course, why they were there.
“Steven Harrington, did you run from the paramedics?” She demanded, as she finally picked her first weapon (a disinfectant wipe) and strode over to begin her battle. “There is no way they let you go looking like this!”
“They had other priorities.” Steve said defensively, then hissed as Carol got to work.
“You should have been one of said priorities, idiot!”
Tommy thankfully, had decided to make himself useful by retreating to the other side of the kitchen and pulling various items out of the fridge and pantry.
Inbetween her runs for more supplies and hissing insults at how fucking stupid Steve was, Carol identified the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches--their little groups go to favorite.
Which was good, because it both got him out of the way and meant they could get something in Steve’s stomach before she forced every pain pill she had down his throat.
“I’m fine guys, really.” Steve protested, as if constantly repeating it would somehow make his words true.
Carol stared deep into his watery eyes, before jabbing a finger into the center of the largest bruise on his side.
“Carol!” He howled, bending double and away, panting harshly.
“That,” She informed him with a pitiless stare, “was for lying.”
Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as she first thought--it seemed to be mostly just bruises.
Possibly a cracked rib or two, at worst.
The worst of it was Steve’s eye, and of course, his head, because there was no way he didn’t have a concussion amongst all this.
(Only time would tell how bad it was.)
When Steve was as doctored up as Carol could make him, she promptly turned and frog marched him to his parents' overstuffed couch.
“Sit and stay sitting, while I clean up.” She ordered, not waiting to see if Steve would obey.
She passed Tommy on her way back to the kitchen, a plate piled high with food in his hands.
“Make sure he takes at least a few bites.” She added, low enough so only he heard.
He nodded, and for the first time since the three of them had fallen out, Carol felt something in her finally relax.
Figured it was likely the same for the boys, given their dynamic had always been something one step away from a normal friendship.
(it wasn’t the relationship her mother had once accused her of having, though granted, they had tested those waters once, but something that sat in between ‘family’ and ‘mutual ownership.’
Losing Steve had carved something hollow in her and Tommy both. She’d put on a good show of not caring. Pretended it hadn’t cut deep.
Getting even a taste of it like she was?
Carol wasn’t letting him go again.)
Cleaning up took a minute, long enough hopefully, for the pain meds to kick in, and she didn’t feel too guilty when she came back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, next to Steve (and thus putting him in the middle, between herself and Tommy.)
He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into her the second she sat down, like he’d been waiting for her to return. There was a pause, like he was bracing to be pushed off, but when she scooted closer, the tension left him in a silent exhale.
“I missed you.” He whined softly into her shoulder.
She ran her nails through his hair, silently bemoaning the state of it. “We missed you too, Stevie.”
“I want to be friends again but,” Steve sighed, and Carol watched Tommy tense, staring at Steve with such intensity one would think Steve was about to announce whether Tommy would live or die.
(Honestly, her boys were so stupid sometimes.)
“We can't be mean anymore.” Steve finished. “Not me—but also not, not you guys.”
With an (unfortunately) adorable wrinkle of his nose, he added, “We were too mean.”
Carol rolled her eyes, but only when she was certain Steve was paying more attention to her sweater than her face.
“Compromise. I’ll only be openly mean to people who deserve it.” She countered, as Tommy finally relaxed.
“I can be nicer.” He agreed, slowly sinking down into Steve’s other side.
“Way less mean. No--no more pranks or insults.” Steve continued.
Carol nodded. “Not in public.” She agreed.
She was not giving up her own personality in private, thank you very much. If that made her an asshole that was fine--it wasn’t like she hadn't been told she was nasty before this.
“And I’m friends with Robin now. So you hav’ to be friends with her too.”
“Buckley?” Carol made another face, and knew she fucked up when Steve instantly tried to sit up.
“Robin Buckley. She’s really cool, and--” He started, with that kind of stubbornness Carol knew all too well meant he’d made up his mind and would refuse to change it.
“Fine, fine!” She said quickly, though not without an eye roll. “You have got to stop adopting weirdos though. The kids are enough.”
Steve slowly laid back down.
“You know about the kids?”
“Steve Harrington, town babysitter?” Tommy said, something teasing threading through his voice. “Everybody knows, man. You give so many rides home your beamer has gained several bus themed nicknames.”
“Huh. I hadn’t noticed.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Carol snorted, before laying her cheek atop Steve’s head. Tommy cuddled up close to his other side, the same way they all used to before their parents started insisting their cuddle piles were “inappropriate.”
(That hadn’t stopped them. Nothing had stopped them, until Steve had a crisis of consciousness while dating Wheeler.
It was only half the reason Carol wanted to put her head through a wall.)
“That’s what you have me for.” She informed him.
“Yeah.” Carol could feel Steve’s smile, gentle and radiant as always. “Guess I do.”
A nice, perfect moment followed, the one she knew both her and Tommy had been craving.
Steve, of course, was a creature who required constant reassurance because his awful, neglecting parents never provided any, and she was prepared when he fought against both his pain and sleep to seek it.
“You guys promise to be nice to Robin? And Nancy, and Jonathan?” He asked it quietly, like he wasn’t sure what they'd do if they said no.
“Oh God,” Tommy moaned, “I have to be nice to Byers?”
Steve stiffened once again, snapping out; “Yes--”
“We promise, Steve.” Carol interrupted before Tommy’s giant fat mouth could ruin things.
She moved a hand down to rub gently at his neck, a soothing gesture.
Tommy, of course, wasn’t done, because Tommy was a moron. “Wasn’t he the guy Wheeler cheated on you with?”
“We said we promise.” Carol repeated, steel in her voice.
Tommy met her eyes over Steve’s head, and was greeted with the steel core of his girlfriend’s ‘do as I say or die’ personality.
“Fine.” Tommy conceded with a pout. “I’ll be nice to fucking Byers.”
In a mutter he added;
“Not happy about it though.”
“That’s okay.” Steve mumbled back, seeming to have finally tired himself out.
“Go to sleep, Steve. We’ll be here in the morning.” Carol told him.
It was a longstanding fear of Steve’s--that people just left in the night without saying goodbye.
(Likely because his parents kept doing it.)
It didn’t take long, Steve was the kind of guy who fell asleep quickly.
It was a nice mend to the hole Steve’s departure in her life had made. Carol hadn’t truly been looking forward to living her life without him.
She’d get him back however she could.
Even if it meant being nice.
(Carol hated being nice, but she’d do it, for Steve.
Well. Less for Steve and more to complete the Tommy-Steve-Carol super trio that Carol had lived most of her life in, at least, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.
Not now, anyway.)
xXx
Close to a year later, Carol stood with her arms crossed, staring coolly at one Edward Munson, drug dealer extraordinaire and former (even if he was cleared) criminal.
He grinned at her, the jerk.
With a supernatural slowness, she turned her gaze to Steve.
“I swear to God Steve you better housebreak him before you bring him anywhere near me.” She said, loud and clear.
Hadn’t she warned him about adopting more weirdos!?
Steve winced.
“Come on ‘Ro, you promised not to be mean.” He wheedled.
“I promised to not be mean to people who didn’t deserve it.” She shot back, as Tommy, wisely, stayed silent behind her.
(Robin, she noted, was equally quiet on Steve’s other side.
Normally this would raise alarms—Robin was quick to defend people if she thought Carol was being shitty and as a general rule was never quiet, but it would appear in this case she’d already clocked where Carol was taking this.
Smart girl.)
“Eddie doesn’t deserve—” Steve started but she cut him off with a blue tipped nail, shoved right against his lips.
“Not yet he doesn’t. But Munson,” She leveled her glare on him now, and let him feel the weight of it. “If Steve so much as says your name in a sad tone of voice, I will make your life into the kind of hell that Jason Carver can only dream of. Understand?”
Behind her, Tommy cracked his knuckles, which was overkill and she’d get on his ass later for being dramatic, but presently she was too busy letting Munson figure out just how serious she was.
Eddie’s gaze traveled from Carol, to Tommy, Robin, Steve and finally back to Carol in an assessment she frankly, hadn’t thought him capable of.
She pushed him anyway.
“I’m waiting, Munson.”
In a somber tone of voice, Eddie replied; “It’s gotten. Very, very gotten.”
“Okay, I’m lost.” Steve said, because, as always, he was the last person to know he was in love.
Moron.
“Good. As long as we understand each other. Now.” Carol tossed her hair back with a quick snap of her hand. “Milkshakes?”
“Robin--” Steve whined, no doubt wanting her to spell things out since Carol was refusing, but thankfully Buckley also seemed to realize staying quiet was the best course of action, and instead of answering quickly got Steve off track with a jab at his milkshake order.
Which was of course, why Carol liked her.
(She wasn’t about to share that with Robin just yet. Integrating someone into a trio like theirs was delicate business—and she had a sinking feeling Robin might be sticking around, just like Steve and Tommy had.
My first @steddiebingo fic for round 2! Prompts: Bakery AU, Trapped
Takes place post-Vecna, but in an AU where Eddie wasn't involved. Also - Weirdo Steve Harrington supremacy.
Rating: G | WC: 4,851 | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Coworkers, Crying, Codependent Robin & Steve, PTSD, Head Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort | ao3
If it weren’t for this job, Eddie doesn’t know what he would do. Get a different one, he supposes, but that would suck ass. He likes the one he has. He likes showing up at 4:00 AM after a late-night-turned-early-morning, using the quiet hour of solitude between the drunks and the go-getters to mull over last night’s gig, or the progress he made on his campaign before he had to head out for work. He likes surrounding himself with the smell of proofing sourdough and pies in the oven, and munching on yesterday’s chocolate croissants with an extra-large coffee.
What he doesn’t like is training new hires.
It’s not a common occurrence. The joint is family owned, and small—so small it doesn’t really have a name. People call it “the place by Bradley’s” when they’re talking about where to get a birthday cake, and nobody asks which one when Eddie tells them he works at the bakery. Still, it’s popular enough to get a steady stream of customers until mid-afternoon, and with Chrissy gone for school, he knows they need another part-timer to pick up the slack. He just wishes his morning peace didn’t have to be interrupted for it.
“Hey, Munson.”
“Harrington,” Eddie replies, unlocking the door. He glances up as his newest coworker approaches from the BMW parked on the curb, yawning wide. “Early enough for you?”
“Feel like I’m headed to swim practice,” Steve says through the end of the yawn.
Eddie steps through the door and holds it open for Steve to pass through behind him. “A lot less bread at swim practice, I hope.”
“Definitely.”
Locking the door behind them, Eddie beckons for him to follow to the kitchen. He punches in, grabs a clean apron from the hook by the time clock, and leans toward the rack of cards while he puts it on. When he finds Steve’s name, he mutters, “Aha,” and plucks it from the rack to hand to him. “You ever used one of these before?”
Steve nods, sticks his card into the machine, and puts it back in the rack next to Eddie’s. “Same kind we had at Scoops.”
“That’s right, you worked at the food court. So did I.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Burger King.”
“Oh, wait.” A sly smile makes its way across Steve’s face. “So you had to wear that god-awful red polyester? And I thought we had it bad with the sailor outfits.”
“At least those things looked a tiny bit breathable,” Eddie agrees. “It was honestly a relief when the mall burned down, because I didn’t have to wear that shit ever again.”
Inexplicably, Steve’s smile freezes into an unsettled grimace. “Y-Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, I guess not.”
Okay…weird. Eddie knows that look. It’s the same one Wayne gets when something reminds him of the F5 that came way too close to the trailer park in ’74, or the look his mom would get when her asshole brother came around. Eddie wants to ask why his dumb joke seemed to give Steve a fucking Vietnam flashback, but he holds his tongue. Maybe he was there when it happened, or a friend of his died in the fire. Whatever the case, Eddie’s not about to drag all that shit out of him while he’s supposed to be teaching him how to work the big oven, no matter how curious it makes him.
“Right,” Eddie says. He clears his throat and reaches for a second apron. “So, um…put this on, unless you want to look like a powdered donut. That’s step one.”
Steve obediently pulls the thing over his head.
While he’s tying it, Eddie goes on, “Step two is looking at the list for today.”
“The list?”
He leads Steve to the bulletin board by the walk-in freezer and taps the paper pinned up in the corner. “Everything we’ve got to get in and out of the oven before the morning rush. Some special orders to prep, but mostly—”
“Breakfast stuff?”
Eddie resents being interrupted, but at least it tells him Steve is on the right page. “Yep.” He pulls the list down and reads by the dim bulb above the sink.
“Do you want me to turn on the light?”
“Good god, no. I never turn it on if I can help it.”
“Oh…okay.” Steve stands there looking awkward and useless.
Eddie ignores him, turning his attention back to their morning checklist. He usually thinks aloud, and this morning is no exception. He hopes Steve is listening so he doesn’t have to repeat himself. “Croissants and scones are in the freezer; they can go right in the oven. George made the bagels last night, just have to pull those out of the pantry and put ’em in the case. Muffins: blueberry and…maple flax? Really, Pauline? We haven’t sold more than two flaxseed muffins all month.” He sighs, knowing what he’ll be having for breakfast tomorrow. “Whatever…”
“So we need to make muffins?” Steve says.
Eddie glances up. He’d almost forgotten there was someone else in the room. “Yeah. But we should take care of the scones first. Can you set the oven to four-hundred?”
“Oh,” Steve says again. “Sure.” He turns to one of the two industrial-sized ovens a few feet away, walks over, and stares at it for a moment. Then he turns back to Eddie and says, “Uh…how?”
Trying to suppress a long-suffering sigh (though admittedly not trying very hard) Eddie marches over and shows him, punching buttons with learned precision. “Got it?”
“Yeah. I think so.” Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “You’re a braver man than me.”
“Why do you say that? You afraid of ovens or something?”
“No! God, wouldn’t that be funny, working in a bakery?” Another chuckle. “No, I just can’t turn on an oven without checking inside first. Cleaning up melted Tupperware isn’t something I want to do ever again.”
Eddie stares at him. “You left Tupperware in your oven?”
“My mom did. My family doesn’t bake much, so she stores it there. One time I wanted to make cinnamon rolls, and let’s just say the fire department wasn’t amused.”
“Well, lucky for us, the only thing that passes through this oven is stuff that’s supposed to be there. Speaking of which”—Eddie whirls and heads back to the walk-in—“let me show you where we keep the stuff that gets prepped ahead of time.” He pulls the handle on the massive door and lets it swing wide. A frigid cloud hits them, and he steps forward. Once Steve is inside too, he props the door open behind them.
“Chilly,” Steve remarks, chuckling yet again. “Would suck to get trapped in here.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge the observation. Instead he points at the shelves at eye level and says, “Right here is where you’ll always find stuff for the day ahead. By the time the afternoon shift is here, this will all be gone, and they’ll fill the shelf back up with tomorrow’s.” He picks up a baking sheet, covered in doughy triangles that are just visible through a layer of frosty plastic wrap. “These are orange-cranberry scones. There’s some blueberry-lemon and cinnamon right there. Go ahead and grab a tray, and we’ll start putting ’em in the oven as soon as it’s done preheating.”
Stepping out of the freezer, the temperature of the kitchen is a stark contrast. With the oven heating up, the whole room has started to get a little stuffy. Eddie puts his tray of scones on the counter next to the oven and goes to open the window. Usually he opens it before turning anything on. That’s what happens when something fucks with my routine. He wonders what else he’s going to forget before this shift is through. Hopefully it won’t be anything important.
The next half-hour is uneventful. Steve takes instruction surprisingly well, always rushing to do whatever Eddie suggests—though at times, he realizes just a moment later that he needs further guidance. Over the course of the morning, Eddie becomes more and more willing to give it, because goddammit, despite his misgivings, the guy’s charm is undeniable. He’s still not happy to be losing his quiet time, but at least Steve doesn’t say more than he needs to. With another set of hands there, Eddie is also more productive than usual, and by a quarter to five they’re left with very little to do.
He goes over their remaining tasks in his head. They’re all easy things: packing up Flo’s usual order for the station, feeding the sourdough starter, putting the muffins and loaves in the case once they’re out of the oven, replacing them with the pies of the day. Last thing to do is put together the cookies for the Wheelers’ party platter, but it’s a little early for that.
Time for breakfast, then, he thinks, and he calls out for Steve, who ventured into the freezer at his suggestion to pull out the unbaked pies. “Let’s take a breather. You wanna pick out a bagel? Bet we could get away with raiding the fresh ones.”
He doesn’t get an answer.
Furrowing his brow, Eddie tries again. “Harrington? Do you want some breakfast or not?”
Still nothing.
He rounds the corner to the freezer and finds the big door shut. Whirling around and around for some sign of where Steve went, he starts to panic. It’s not that he’d be upset if Steve decided bakery life wasn’t for him and skipped out on him; it’s more about the fact that Pauline will definitely blame it on Eddie for scaring him off. His snark is no secret, and he’s pretty sure it’s why she gave him the pre-open morning shift in the first place, to keep his mouth from offending any customers. The last thing he needs is for the manager to have another excuse for her weird vendetta.
Eddie breathes a sigh of relief when he spots an unfamiliar set of keys on the hook beside the bulletin board. Steve is still here, unless he decided to leave his car for some reason.
Turning back to the freezer, Eddie cocks his head in confusion. Did he shut himself in? He reaches out, turns the handle, and pulls the door open. On the other side, he does find Steve, though not remotely in a state he anticipated.
He’s huddled on the floor, with his back to a shelf of frozen butter, and though he jumps about a foot in the air at the sound of the door creaking on its hinges, the startled look on his face does nothing to hide how red and puffy his eyes are. “Munson!” He shoots to his feet, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and sniffling hard. It’s clear he’s desperate to look casual, though his voice is thick and rough when he goes on, “Sorry, man. I, uh…I got stuck.”
Eddie stares, blinking. “You got stuck,” he echoes.
“Yeah.”
Because he’s never been one to shy away from the elephant in any room, he purses his lips and says, “Is that all you were crying about? Getting stuck in the walk-in?”
Steve looks startled all over again by Eddie’s candor. He opens and closes his mouth half a dozen times before crossing his arms over his chest and grumbling, “No.”
Now Eddie is even more surprised. “Okay…then why were you crying?”
There are a few different emotions in conflict on Steve’s face. Eddie spots the ones he expects, with fear and shame taking the lion’s share. There’s also a tiny flicker of something hopeful, though, and he realizes a moment before he speaks that Steve must be debating whether or not to be honest. He huffs, then says, “I miss Robin.”
“What?”
“Robin Buckley. This is the first job I ever had without her, since she left for U of L. I mean, I guess that’s if you don’t count that summer I was a lifeguard, but that was totally different, because—”
“You mean to tell me,” Eddie interrupts, because he knows the beginning of a nervous ramble when he sees one, “that you came to the walk-in to cry because you’re used to working with your friend?” When he sees some of Steve’s fear overtaking his shaky confidence, he hurriedly adds, “Which is totally fine! I mean, we’ve all done it.”
Steve stares. “You have?” he says, with the dull monotone of disbelief.
“Yeah. I mean, not for the same reason, but if you ask around you’ll find that the walk-in is a popular spot for the occasional mental breakdown among staff.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Steve says slowly, seeming to mull over the concept. “We did the same thing at Scoops sometimes.”
“Robin worked with you there, too, right?” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible without sounding patronizing.
A leftover tear escapes over Steve’s lashes and drips down his cheek. He wipes it away impatiently and nods. “It’s where we met. And then she basically got me the job at the video store, because Keith hated my guts. When she left for school…I don’t know. I couldn’t stand being there without her around, so I quit.” He grimaces and shakes his head. “Not the best idea I ever had.”
“So you two went from food service straight into retail? No wonder you’re best friends. You’ve been through a lot together.”
The joke does its job. Steve laughs a bit and says, “You have no idea.”
Glad to have diffused some of the tension, Eddie taps Steve’s shoulder with his knuckles and says, “Anyway, I was looking for you. You wanna have some breakfast?”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Steve sighs. He sniffs one more time, but it’s clear his tears have dried up. Before they make it out of the freezer, though, he says, “Oh! I did actually get stuck, though. Is there a way out of here when that happens?”
“Sure. Want me to show you?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Eddie smiles. “That’s what I’m here for.” He takes a step back and lets the door shut with a metallic thud. “It’s really easy. All you have to do is…oh. Wait.” He stares at the lever that opens the door from the inside.
There’s a beat of silence before Steve says, “Everything okay?”
Still with his eyes fixed on the mechanism, Eddie bites his lip. “I, uh. I forgot.”
“You forgot what?”
He turns to meet Steve’s gaze, hoping his apologetic look masks the rising alarm. “It’s broken.”
Steve’s eyes go wide. “So we’re…?”
“Yeah.”
He swallows. “And Pauline—”
“Won’t be here for another half-hour,” Eddie finishes for him.
“But the muffins are supposed to come out in twenty minutes!”
It’s such a strange thing to be concerned about in their current predicament that Eddie actually laughs. In fact, he doubles over, struggling to breathe the frigid air and leaning on one of the shelves to keep himself on his feet.
“What’s so funny?” Steve demands.
“Nothing! It’s just…you’re looking down the barrel of half an hour stuck in the freezer…and you’re worried about the muffins?”
“We worked hard on them,” he says, looking wounded. Before long, though, he seems to understand how absurd it is, and the look morphs into a sheepish grin.
Eddie hates to admit it, but that expression is one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen, and the dopey giggle it’s paired with does his psyche no additional favors. “They’ll be okay with an extra ten minutes. Maybe a little charred, definitely a little dry. That just means Pauline’s vision of a flaxseed empire will crumble.” He snorts at his own pun, then adds, “It’s her own fault for not getting the repairs done as soon as the door broke last week.”
“It’s a safety issue, actually. I’ll bring it up with my mom.”
“Your mom? Why?”
“She’s friends with Pauline. It’s the only reason I got this job,” Steve says. He smirks. “I bet if I tell her about this, it’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”
“Hm. So you’ve got an in with the boss, huh? That could come in handy.” Eddie sinks to the floor, right next to where Steve sat a minute ago.
Steve lowers himself with a groan, joining him. “Don’t get too excited. She’ll only raise hell about the freezer door because it’s a hazard.”
“So that means no raise, huh?”
“I’d say probably not.”
“Damn.” Eddie shoots him a grin. “Well, forcing her to meet OSHA standards is better than nothing. It might be nice having you around.”
“That’s good to hear. I was so worried about fucking up, I hardly slept at all last night.”
“Why? You’re doing just fine.”
Steve sighs. “I guess sometimes it feels like—or, I don’t know, it felt like Robin did most of the work, at Family Video at least. I don’t know shit about movies. Even though she tried to show me some, my memory is total shit, so I didn’t ever retain much.”
“So you’re not into movies. Who cares?” Eddie shrugs. “I’m not that into baking, even though I’ve been working here since my junior year. Everything I do turns out like it’s supposed to, but it’s not like I could bake a loaf of banana bread without the recipe right in front of me. Although,” he says, smirking, “it has given me a lot of ideas for things to add a secret ingredient to, if you catch my drift.”
Steve exhales a short laugh and looks down at his lap, where his hands fidget with the hem of his apron.
“I’m just saying, you probably did a lot more for that joint than Keith’s encyclopedic knowledge of Star Trek ever did.”
He exhales again. “You know about that?”
“Oh, I’m very familiar. One time we got into it over who would win in a fight between Tolkien’s orcs and the Klingons.”
“I have no clue what that means.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Eddie says, waving a dismissive hand. “Just know that he came into that argument with more trekkie trivia than I thought even existed.”
Steve laughs. He actually laughs out loud, instead of letting out one of his nervous chuckles.
It’s a pretty sound, Eddie thinks. Too pretty. The last thing he needs is to start thinking about how cute Steve is, especially if they’re gonna be working together.
Because Steve is cute. He always has been, and Eddie isn’t about to deny it: gorgeous face, melodic laugh, a cleverly self-deprecating attitude that plays Eddie’s heartstrings like a fiddle. None of that changes the fact that Steve Harrington was a cookie-cutter jock in high school, though. He’s the type of guy who would probably kick his ass if he called him cute out loud.
Then again…he’s close enough with some hyper band geek to be weeping over her absence. More importantly, he owned up to the tears, and the potentially embarrassing reason for them. Eddie knows that’s not something his old douchebag friends would’ve ever let him live down. So maybe he’s…sensitive. In a good way.
In a cute way.
“Look, I know I’m not Buckley,” Eddie says, “but maybe I can stand in for her. At least ’til she’s home for Thanksgiving.”
Steve studies his face. It takes Eddie a moment to register that he’s looking for some kind of cruel joke, his wary eyes searching for a sign that Eddie’s putting him on for laughs. Eddie wonders how often that used to happen with his old friends. Lord knows they did it to the rest of their peers, though he hadn’t ever considered the fact that Tommy H might’ve been just as much of an asshole to Steve as he was to everyone.
“I’ll be your work buddy,” Eddie elaborates, trying to sound sincere while keeping his tone light. “You need to bitch about something, you can bitch to me.”
“Okay,” Steve finally says, a cautious smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“It goes both ways, though. You have to let me bitch about management, too.”
“Deal.”
“And I promise that it will be in no way an excuse to get you to tattle on Pauline.”
Steve laughs again. If he’s not careful with that giggle of his, Eddie’s gonna fall in love with him.
They’re quiet for a while. The cold is starting to get to Eddie, but with Steve close to him, it’s not too bad. He checks his watch, starts to comment on how it won’t be long before Pauline waltzes in and frees them, but Steve speaks up first.
“I’m sorry if I was ever a dick to you in high school,” he says, his voice quiet.
Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. “Nah, it’s all water under the bridge.” He pauses, thinking. “You know what? Actually, I don’t think you ever were.”
Steve turns to look at him. “No?”
“No,” Eddie repeats, shaking his head. He offers a soft, playful smirk. “You’d have to know I existed to be a dick to me.”
“I knew who you were,” Steve protests. “I bought drugs from you once.”
“What about the bagels?”
His eye twitches, and he frowns. “Bagels?”
“Your order at the bakery. Sesame bagel with bacon, egg, and cheese. To go.”
“You…remember that?”
“Well, you came in every day at the ass-crack of dawn and ordered the same sandwich. Kinda hard to forget.” Eddie smiles, trying to get across that he’s not offended.
“I thought you said you worked at Burger King before.”
“Only last summer, because Pauline hired her nephew and I couldn’t stand him. I was here through most of high school. Had to come crawling back after the mall burned down.” Because guilt is starting to settle into Steve’s features like it belongs there, Eddie goes on, “It makes sense you don’t remember me, though—it’s not like Pauline would ever let me get away with my signature look working front of house.”
Still frowning, Steve says, “I just can’t believe I forgot.”
“You’re the one who said your memory’s shit,” Eddie reminds him with a gentle smile.
Thankfully, it draws a small one from Steve, too. “Good point.” He tilts his head, staring at the floor in front of him. “You know, Robin remembered that sandwich, too. We were in Click’s class first period, and she was so annoyed with me getting crumbs all over the place every day. I didn’t even know she was there.” The last part is so quiet, Eddie isn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.
“And now it takes a crowbar to pry you two apart,” he emphasizes.
“Not true,” Steve says. “She’s in a whole other state now.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” Eddie shoots back, with yet another good-natured smile. “I bet you talk on the phone every night.”
Steve blushes. Though he doesn’t answer out loud, that’s answer enough.
“And you can always get in that beemer of yours to go see her. Isn’t it just a straight shot down 65? Can’t be more than an hour’s drive.”
Steve shakes his head, looking for all the world like a lost puppy. “I don’t want to bother her. Besides, I’m okay just talking to her on the phone.”
“Sure,” Eddie says. He shoots Steve a sly grin.
It earns him one in return. “Okay, fine. I’d love to go down and spend the day with her sometime.”
“If you need company on the drive…I’ll be around.”
The tips of Steve’s ears go as pink as his cheeks. “Thanks. I’ll keep you in mind.”
It was an experimental offer; the fact that Steve seems receptive makes Eddie’s heart start hammering, and suddenly he’s desperate to change the subject before he asks him out right then and there. He pushes out all his air in a huff and says, “There’s something else that’s bugging me.”
“There is?” Steve says. He looks uncertain again, though not quite as blue as he did when Eddie mentioned his usual breakfast in high school.
“Yeah. And it might a be a little personal, if that’s alright.”
He narrows his eyes, but he says, “Okay.”
“Earlier, when I brought up the mall burning down…you looked like you wanted to ralph. What was that about?” Eddie asks.
“Oh.” Steve surprises him by smiling and shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“I’m trapped in a giant icebox with King Steve, who just got done crying his eyes out because he’s got some kind of weird codependency going on with Robin Buckley, of all people.” Eddie catches his eye and raises an eyebrow. “At this point I’d believe anything.”
“Trust me, man. It’s pretty out there.”
“Try me.”
Steve shakes his head again. “It’s too weird.”
“I’m weird,” Eddie points out. “I’m like, the keeper of weird shit. If there’s something strange afoot and I’m not aware of it, I’m doing a subpar job.”
Fixing him with a wary look, Steve purses his smiling lips. It makes him look like he’s begging for just one more reason to spill the beans. Eventually, he says, “It could put a target on your back if you knew.”
“With who?”
“The feds.”
“Well, now you have to tell me,” Eddie whines, reveling in the short laugh Steve returns to him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to just move on!”
“Okay, fine! I’ll tell you. But you can’t repeat a word of it to anyone.” Steve takes a deep breath, lets it all out, then takes another before he continues. “You remember a couple years ago, when Will Byers went missing?”
Eddie blinks, startled. “Will Byers? What does that have to do with the mall?”
“I’m getting there. You remember it?”
“Sure. Really pissed me off the way people talked about the kid when he came back. ‘Zombie Boy’…like he had a fucking say in the cops thinking that other body was him.”
“You remember the official story?”
Eddie raises his eyebrows and sighs, trying to recall what he heard on the news. “That he got picked up by some drifter, right? He got away from ’em, but he almost died in the wilderness before the Chief found him.”
Steve meets Eddie’s eye and shakes his head. “No.”
“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Then what did happen?”
“He got kidnapped by a monster and taken to this…other dimension, or whatever. I’m not very good at explaining it. But his brother and Nancy Wheeler lured it out—this big fucker, at least seven feet tall, huge mouth for a face—and I fought it with them. Hopper and Joyce found Will and brought him back to the real Hawkins.”
Eddie stares—not in disbelief, because that would require a modicum of understanding, and he’s having some trouble processing what Steve just said. “You…? Hold on. Another dimension?”
“Told you it was weird,” Steve says, shrugging. “Anyway, the mall got attacked by another monster. Different kind, made of melted people, and it possessed Hargrove. The fire was a cover-up.”
“And you…?”
“I was there. Me and Robin, and a bunch of our other friends.” He grins in vague reminiscence. “Weird way to celebrate the Fourth of July, but at least there were fireworks.”
What the fuck? Is he off his rocker? His voice faint, Eddie echoes, “Fireworks?”
“Oh, we threw ’em at the melted-people monster,” Steve explains, dismissive. “Not sure how many I landed, because it turned out the Russians gave me a massive concussion, but—”
Russians?! “Let me get this straight,” Eddie says, turning towards Steve. He needs to see his face, needs to study it the same way Steve studied his earlier, looking in vain for a trace of humor. “Not only are these monsters real, but they’ve attacked people in Hawkins twice?”
“Three times,” Steve corrects. “The fucked-up pumpkin patches were because of the monsters, too. Will Byers got possessed that time.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You regret begging me to tell you?”
“I’m gonna be totally honest, I’m not sure I believe you after all.”
“Fair enough. But I swear I’m telling the truth.”
“You sure you didn’t, like—”
Eddie is cut off by the clang of the door handle, signaling their rescue. As the heavy door swings open, and Pauline’s expression of apology comes into view, Steve presses a finger to his lips. He smirks once again, rises to his feet, and meets Pauline at the door, greeting her cordially.
It takes Eddie an extra few seconds to join them. He can’t move very quickly, because he’s too busy processing everything he just learned—not just Steve’s story, but the nonchalant and honest way he delivered it. Because it was clear that Steve at least thought he was telling the truth, which means one thing, regardless of whether he was right or if he’d had some vivid hallucinations.
Steve Harrington is way stranger than Eddie would’ve ever guessed.
Eddie suddenly becoming really interested in everything Steve has to say and isn’t even calling him a dumb jock anymore. Steve, weirded out, is finally like, “Dude, what’s going on with you?”
“Don’t know if you’re aware of this, Harrington,” Eddie answers easily. “The vibe you’re putting out there is of a man that’s about to off himself.”
“So….youre being nice to me because you think I’m going to hurt myself?”
“Oh, god no,” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m doing this for selfish reasons. I can’t have everyone in this school mourning in black. I’ll look like a conformist.”
That… that actually makes Steve laugh for the first time in months.
Eddie beams at the accomplishment and tells him, “Make my life easier and eat lunch at my table. Don’t wanna have to shout at you from across the cafeteria.”
stranger things, but only from scott clarke's perspective
a kid in your class (a very sweet kid) goes missing. his best friends start acting weird. after their friend's tragic death is announced, you extend your support to the family. after the service they approach you, very seriously, and ask about accessing another dimension. naturally, you assume they're thinking about an alternate universe wherein their friend did not end up losing his life. and they look you dead in the fucking eyes and say no.... no, mr. clarke.... an evil dimension. we want to go to an evil dimension. help us.
and then it turns out it was one of those classic "false positive" deaths wherein a nameless boy that doesn't exist was confused for your student. and also, one of his friends might be dating his cousin now even though you totally thought he was gay. they're calling you at all hours and asking you to help them with their curiousity doors one second and the next the not-dead kid's mom is knocking on your door asking how to turn the gravity off. then the mall explodes. then, six months later, the whole town goddamn explodes. you were literally just trying to vibe to weird al and teach a little science. you're not paid enough for any of this.
Steve ‘that cop isn’t my friend, he just acts like that’ Harrington keeps having his teen rebellion thwarted because Hopper won’t let him die of a head injury.
Steve ‘i swear to god that cop isn’t my friend, he just won’t leave me alone’ Harrington immediately has that point interrupted by Hopper showing up in his history class to drag him to a neurology appointment he’s already missed three times.
Eddie ‘fuck the police but like, maybe listen to that one about this’ Munson watching all this go down and thinking that Hopper might be the only thing keeping Steve alive at this point.
Pre-S4 Eddie who’s completely unaware of the true events of the Starcourt mall.
Pre-S4 Eddie who has to make sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him- that Steve Harrington is actually in the back of his shitty van, cash in hand, waiting for Eddie to pick his jaw up off of the floor and give him the damn weed he’s trying to pay for.
“Sorry- not every day you uh..” Eddie starts.
“..See your high school bully ask you for weed?”
“What? No. No, those are my biggest buyers.” Eddie snorts, and hands over the baggy. Steve goes to hand him the money, and Eddie counts it, giving back half. Steve stares at him quizzically. “Consider it a first-buy deal.” Eddie explains, and Steve shrugs, unamused.
“You mind if I..” Steve grumbles, and Eddie puts his hands up.
“Be my guest. That’s a best-seller. Purple Palm Tree Delight. It’ll have you in another dimension.” Eddie grins, but Steve cringes slightly. He looks to Eddie, who, with slender, ringed fingers, beckons for the baggy back. “C’mon, let me roll it for ya. You look..beat, man. Heard scoops went up in flames.” Eddie lets out a low whistle- if only he knew.
Steve doesn’t answer. He just waits patiently for Eddie to hand him the little joint, offering him a light. Steve places the joint between his lips, and leans forward, allowing the flame to light the tip of the joint. He anticipates the feeling he knows all too well- the calming feeling. The beautiful, floating feeling that had allowed him to drift away from his parents fighting, from his tanking grades, from his girlfriend declaring their love bullshit. And that first drag in feels like bliss…it feels like drifting..It feels like..
Falling. Like spiraling.
Had Eddie’s van always been so small? So suffocating? Steve allows the smoke to leave his lungs, and Eddie leans back. Grinning and reaching out for the joint.
“So..What do you do now?”
“What?” Steve’s mind is racing- this isn’t bliss. This isn’t mellowness. God, why is Eddie’s van so goddamn small? Have the sleeves of his jacket always been so
So tight? Around his wrists?
The tacky lights in Eddie’s van shine brighter- they feel blinding.
“Just asking you where you work now.”
Where he works.
Who he works for.
“Scoops..” Steve mutters, but his voice is far away. Eddie plucks the joint from Steve’s fingers.
“What?” Eddie asks, taking a drag from the joint.
Steve’s mouth is dry.
He reaches out, places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, but the angle is awkward, and his fingers brush-
His fingers brush his neck.
The spot.
It burns. Steve swears it burns the same it did.
God, Eddie’s music is so obnoxious-
Or was it Robin’s screams?
Where even was he? He stares at the door at the back of Eddie’s truck. He crawls toward it, and fumbles helplessly with the handle.
“Hey- Steve? It’s uh- It’s just Indica, man-“
“Gotta- Get out. let me-“ Steve’s hands are trembling- his vision is blurring- is it the drugs? His tears? Was this dying? Had he ever left that dark room? That sterile metal box?
Eddie tries to lean over to open the door, but Steve’s frantic movements leave him blocked off completely. He crawls into the front quickly, and hops out of the van, running to the back to open the door up.
And Steve nearly falls out of the back- if it hadn’t been for Eddie scrambling to break Steve’s fall, he would’ve ended up with a mouth full of dirt. And judging by the ragged breaths leaving Steve’s lips, and the unintelligible ramblings tumbling from his lips, that was the last thing he needed.
Eddie was no stranger to a bad high. No stranger to coaxing his customers out of a panic when they first tried a bit of weed- but this?
If only he knew.
Pre S4 Eddie who’s completely unaware of the true events of Starcourt.
Pre S4 Eddie clutching Steve Harrington’s face, telling him he’s safe. That he’s at Lover’s Lake. That he’s just having a bad high.
Pre S4 Eddie holding the King of Hawkins High in his arms as he shrivels into a broken mess of sobs, and apologies that echo against the silent trees of Lover’s Lake.
Elliot had known the guy for a few years now, ever since Eddie had stepped into the Spellbound Bar with big eyes and a wild grin. The guy hailed from some small ass town in Indiana, but it was clear to see that he hadn’t hidden much of himself over there.
So many kids blew into California freshly freed from their families, still dressed in clothes their old life had forced them to wear. They always had a sort of fragile, reborn look to them that made all the elder queers reach out their hands, welcome them in.
Eddie, whose last name changed on a daily basis (his drivers license listed it as ‘Henderson’ but there were rumors that it too, was fake) had too large of a wardrobe for all of it to be recently purchased, and moved too comfortably in clothes for them to be new to him.
The guy wasn’t mean. His temperment wasn’t why he was terrifying, really, though the constant high energy he whirlwinded around the bar with often grew too much for some of their quieter regulars.
No it was all the shit he casually talked about. How he took things in stride, and said he had to, given he used to be the president of a D&D club he named Hellfire.
(Hellfire. In small town America. The sheer fucking balls on this dude.)
He regaled them all with tales of his lost sheep and the fights he had with his high school principal long before Angel, the bar owner, agreed to take him on as a busboy--then bar back, then bartender, all in rapid succession.
Always winking as he spun a story about how he was caught flagging once from an out of towner stopping by for gas, the story somehow darkly hilarious.
A lot of people didn’t like southern California, or rather, not the way they thought they would at least, but Eddie took to it like a duck to water. There was no denying the man belonged here, in a way he hadn’t truly belonged anywhere else.
Elliot had been the one to help him find a local metal band. He himself was one of those quieter regulars (and not a musician let alone a metalhead) but he knew people. Could make some connections.
It helped that Elliot did play D&D, and was quick to pull Eddie into his orbit that way. Get him connected to others who loved the game like the metalhead clearly did.
And damn, could Eddie DM.
It was here though, that Elliot first picked up that Eddie’s bluster wasn’t just that.
Watched as his new friend's eyes went hard and flat when the Vecna campaign was mentioned, shut it down with such force that it left the table briefly stunned by the sheer venom in his voice.
How he flinched once, hands reaching for the bat he’d hammered nails into under the bar when electricity had stuttered in a heatwave, lights flickering in the bar.
(The bat itself, and the way Eddie had simply looked at the one Spellbound had as their only defense measure and declared it “fucking useless” had not helped the rough, survivalistic story they were all putting together.)
Winter rolled back round to spring and then summer and whispers about his home life, about how he had to survive with all the rural cow farmers looking and acting like he did, how he obviously knew how to fight was practically old news by the time he first showed up in a cropped shirt.
The scars that decorated his stomach still caught the attention of everyone at the bar, and more than once their little D&D group had tried to map out the shape of them, if only to figure out what the hell could cause such a dramatic injury.
No one ever quite succeeded, but then, no one was brave enough to ask the man himself.
What it did do, was cement the idea in everyone’s heads.
Eddie Henderson/Buckley/Sinclair/Wheeler/and one time even Walmart--was a great guy, and one who could absolutely beat the shit out of almost everyone in the bar, hands down.
Nothing he did over the years ever challenged that. If anything, Eddie only cemented it further, which is the only reason Elliot didn’t bolt the second the two of them came home from a shift and found a stranger in front of their door.
Elliot, 5’4, formerly named Eleanor and still not on T despite making every clawing attempt towards it, wasn’t much of a match for an enraged, pissed off jock.
But Eddie was.
xXx
The jock was the straightest looking man Elliot had ever laid eyes on.
Bruises covered half his face and one eye, and he sported a nose that had clearly been recently bloodied. Judging from the scrapes on the back of his hands he hadn’t gotten them willingly--or maybe was just giving as good as he got.
He was walking wildly back and forth in front of their garage, hands opening and closing, a look in his eyes that spoke of someone not entirely in control as he muttered audibly to himself.
Given the preppy polo shirt, expensive looking shorts and shoes that practically shined, they were so new, he was comically out of place, even with the entire homicidal aura he had going on.
(Given the descriptions of the assholes who had attacked Angel only four nights ago on their walk home, Elliot could only see the man as a monster preparing to attack.)
He slammed to a stop, breath in his throat, entirely unsure of what to do.
Thankfully, Eddie was right behind him.
Eddie, who could probably beat this guy and six others bloody. Eddie who carried a knife. Eddie who terrified Elliot sometimes, but not the same way the idea of getting hate crimed did, Eddie who--
Who was coming up besides Elliot, looking both alarmed and confused and not at all challenging the homicidal rich boy.
“Steve!?” Eddie said, voice high and surprised.
They both watched as the figure spun to face them, crazed look crumbling down to something Elliot couldn’t read.
“Hey.” The supposed Steve said, rather miserably, shoulders hunched right before Eddie shot forward, hands hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where to start.
“What the hell Harrington--did you lose another fight!?”
“I don’t lose every fight you know.” Steve snarked back, sounding exactly like every rich snob Elliot’s ever encountered.
It’d get his back up, except Steve’s entire body was curving towards Eddie in obvious relief. “Henderson exaggerates.”
Which was doubly confusing, given Eddie was supposedly a Henderson.
“Sorry for dropping by like this. Wasn’t close to anyone else, so I didn't know where else to go.” Steve continued, as Eddie finally stopped waving his hands around and instead began herding Steve through the door and to the kitchen.
Confused, Elliot followed.
(What the fuck else was he supposed to do?)
“I thought you were on a cruise?” Eddie challenged, sounding more and more normal as he and Steve traded banter.
“I was. Clearly, I’m not anymore.”
“Steve.” Eddie said, voice almost pleading as he patted the only empty spot on their counter, before turning to fish a bag of peas out of the fridge.
(Had Elliot ever heard him plead like that? Had he thought Eddie even capable?)
Steve jumped up on it like a dog that had been asked to perform a trick, while Elliot hovered in the living room, watching it all go down across the little half wall that separated the two spaces.
“Did I just see pop tarts in your freezer?” Steve asked instead of answering.
“Don’t distract me, you dick. Put this on your face.”
And so they went, instantly and immediately comfortable, two people who clearly had known each other for a long time trading insults and catching up while Eddie tried unsuccessfully to pull what happened out of Steve via an increasing number of ridiculous nicknames.
He’d worked his way past ‘Stevie’ and was well on his way to calling the stranger things like ‘big boy’ by the time Anders came home from her shift at the record store.
Swaned through various other, mildly incriminating nicknames until he saw something that made him start cursing, at which point he rapidly fell down the nickname rabbit hole, landing at a final;
“Come on Sweetheart, you look like someone tried to kill you! Just tell me what happened!”
Jake, who had just waltzed in the front door, blinked wildly.
“Eddie has a guest.” Anders informed him, handing their roommate an open beer from the pile she’d put on the floor as he slammed to a halt.
Took in their intruder so starkly out of place on the kitchen counter, nestled between twin pride flags and a poster for Eddie’s band like a misplaced catalog model.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Jake said flatly, as Steve grumbled something lowly at their fearless DM, and Eddie flicked his nose in retaliation.
"He's from Indiana," Elliot offered, the closest thing to an explanation he had. "Same town as Eddie."
He hesitated, then added, "I think."
It was all he’d managed to piece together, the conversation had been all over the place.
“Steven Madonna Harrington,” Eddie snapped finally, spinning to pin his guest with a glare, “you either tell me what happened or I’m calling Robin.”
‘Madonna?’ Anders mouthed at Elliot, as if that was the weirdest part of this entire situation.
Steve kicked at Eddie lightly. “She has finals this week you jerk.”
Eddie slammed both his hands down on the counter, one on either side of Steve’s hips, staring up challengingly.
It put him almost directly in between Steve’s legs, bringing their faces intimately close together.
“And she’s gonna lose her shit when she finds out her platonic with a capital P soulmate ditched off that family cruise he’s been dreading for months, looking like he decided to take up backyard boxing, and then came to my place instead of calling her first--”
“Fine! Fine, you underhanded asshole. Tommy was on that stupid Alaska cruise. Decided he wanted to reconnect.”
“Hagan did all this!?”
“Oh no, this is from my dad.” Steve motioned to himself, a grim sort of amusement curling around the words. “He caught me and Tommy making out. Decided to have a little chat about how he disapproved.”
“That is awful and we are returning to it immediately but first--Steve. Babe.” Eddie stared at him in clear dismay. “Tommy Hagan?”
Another eye roll, this one earning a wince from Steve as it agitated his bruises. “Not the time Mun--”
Eddie coughed loudly right over the rest of whatever Steve was about to say, getting a weird look from everyone around him.
“Henderson.” Eddie corrected softly. “They changed it to Henderson after all the uh.” He paused, as though trying to recall the word he wanted. Went with; “Earthquake.”
That got some glee out of Steve.
“You picked Dustin’s last name? Does he know?”
“Fuck no dude, he’d never shut up about it.” Eddie put a hand on Steve’s thigh, jostling it lightly. “We’re not talking about me right now though. Your dad disowned you?”
“Supposedly.” Steve shrugged, like this was normal and not a huge ordeal. “I’ll check on my credit cards tomorrow, see if he’s serious.”
Eddie’s stare was growing flat, fast. “Even if he isn’t, he beat the shit out of you.”
“Yeah, well, everyone kinda does, I guess it was just his turn.”
“Steve.”
“I’m kidding!” Then, in a far more serious tone; ‘I am sorry about crashing in like this. I can get out of your hair.”
Eddie was already waiving a hand dismissively, head shaking, but Steve plowed forward anyway.
“I mean it. The cruise stopped at a port near here and I needed to get off it before my dad decided disowning me and throwing all my shit over the rails weren’t enough.”
Steve finally looked up, taking in all the people who were watching this play out like a TV sitcom. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game night.”
“There’s no game, they all live here.” He turned and glared, and got one embarrassed face and two entirely unapologetic ones in return. “They’re just enjoying the show.
‘It’s getting a five star rating so far.” Anders snarked at him. “Might lose a star, if one of the main actors keeps breaking the fourth wall, though.”
Eddie flipped her off.
“You’re not going anywhere looking like this. You are at minimum, staying here for the rest of the weekend.”
“If you’re sure.” Steve said hesitantly. To the group at large, he added; “And no one minds me taking the couch.”
“The couch is a shared communal space.” Eddie shot back instantly, before anyone else could protest. “You’re staying in my room.”
“Oh.” Steve said, like he’d half expected, wanted even, Eddie to make that offer. “Okay.”
“I am so confused right now.” Anders muttered, and Elliot could only nod along because, well.
Yeah.
Him too.
“Come on, let’s get your stuff, I’ll show you around. Keep the peas on your face.”
“Eds, man, I don’t have any stuff. I was lucky to escape with my wallet.” Steve vollied, but hopped off the counter anyway, following Eddie as he was led up the stairs, towards the metalheads room.
“This is the weirdest day of my life.” Jake announced when they’d disappeared.
“It’s not over yet.” Anders said, cracking open another beer. “Give it a bit.”
“How on earth could this get any weirder?” Elliot muttered.
“Well thanks Elliot.” Anders told him flatly. ‘If it wasn’t guaranteed before, it is now.”
“How!?”
“She’s right bud, you challenged the fates.” Jake responded. “We’re in for it now.”
(Given Steve never moved back out, they absolutely were.)
Bonus
“You know.” Eddie said, and his voice was quiet but the house was fucking ancient and not in the best of shape, and thus Elliot heard him loud and clear through their shared wall. “I kiss a lot better than Tommy Hagan.”
“Not letting that one go anytime soon, huh?” Steve rumbled back.
“I’m just saying! If you’re going to get disowned for a kiss, it should be a damn good one and not whatever limp noodle bullshit Hagan does. I saw him with Carol, he kisses like a puffer fish.”
A low snicker, followed by; “He did kinda kiss like a fish.”
“See!?” Vindicated, Eddie grew louder in volume. “I could give you a kiss that would actually be worth all this shit! A proper kiss!”
“You offering, Munson?”
“Well if the good knight Sir Harrington doth allow it--”
An ‘mmph!’ noise that took a moment for Elliot to translate as Steve kissing Eddie, which made this entire fucking day suddenly make a whole lot more sense.
“If you stop all the nerd talk we can take it beyond a kiss.”
“I can do that.” Eddie said, voice breathless. “I can definitely do that.”
“Good.”
Elliot snorted in amusement, before reality of their paper thin shared wall and the fact he was going to hear fucking everything asserted itself.
He decided to go sleep on the couch.
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