#kid steve

[kikidoesfanfic]

My @steveharringtonbigbang fic has started posting!

The first chapter of When you were young is up on ao3 >here<

I've been paired with two wonderful artists, who created the banner and divider in the first chapter, @raven-cl and @fuctacles, with art to come in future chapters, you should go check them out!

[lizard-ratt]

Again?

Because I am incapable of not writing new fics while working on my old ones, I have written a first chapter for a new fic idea. It's heavily inspired by Time Loop fics. I cannot promise it is good. Thank you for your understanding.

WC: 4,083

Content Warning: Death (he gets better, I promise), Descriptions of child neglect, phantom pain

Steve Harrington was six years old the first time he died. It was the first time he had been left home alone, though at that time it had been an accident. His parents forgot to hire a nanny while they went on a weekend trip. He tried to call, but he couldn’t remember what number to call, so he gave up pretty quickly.

Steve did remember his parents telling him to be good, so that’s what he did. He ate a lot of cereal, and he didn’t touch anything that didn’t belong to him. What he did touch went right back in its place, right where he found it. He was careful with his toys, but it was still really boring, so he swam a lot.

It was the middle of summer, sun beating down on the back yard, but Steve loved it. He could slip into the swimming pool and mess around for hours if he wanted to. He swam until he couldn’t anymore. On the way out of the pool, his foot gripped onto the pool ladder wrong and he fell. His head hit the corner of the pool and things went dark.

He woke up in his bed, pain pulsing behind his temple. He coughed and coughed, like he was trying to expel something from his lungs, but he couldn’t figure out what. They burned, too. He stayed in bed after that. He hurt too much to do much of anything, so he focused on not crying. Harrington men didn’t cry. Echoed in his mind over and over again. He didn’t realize what happened, and later the memory would be so fuzzy he wouldn’t make the connection. 

The next time it happened, Steve was home alone again. He was twelve years old, and there was no nanny. This time, it was on purpose. Apparently, a year old child was old enough to take care of himself, and Steve didn’t want to disappoint them, so he told them he could do it. They left him a hefty stack of cash for groceries, which he shoved into a shoebox underneath his bed, and told him to be good.

The week went on as normal. He tried to make himself something simple instead of ordering out (again), and it didn’t taste awful. He swam, having gotten over his uneasiness with the pool, finally. He took his bike out to Benny’s Diner and got a free slice of pie and a nice talk with Margaret for his effort. 

Steve was having trouble sleeping, about two days before his parents were set to come home. He wandered his way to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. From where he stood, sipping at it, he got a good view of the two men sneaking into the house. They wore all black and had giant, empty backpacks strapped to them. They looked like burglars.

Slowly, hoping to not get the men’s attention, he eased himself out of sight. Or, at least, he tried to. The man on the left caught the movement, and in one quick movement, the man had a gun pointed at Steve. 

Given the chance to predict what might have happened that week, Steve never would have guessed that he’d be held at gunpoint by an intruder. He also wouldn’t have guessed that he’d be shot, square in the face and wake up with a pounding pain behind his forehead. 

The pain was too much. It blurred Steve’s existence down to a single point, making it impossible to really tell what was going on. He might have screamed, cried, or a million other things. The pain didn’t fade, but after what could have been hours, Steve managed to become more aware of himself despite it. He was still in bed, drenched in sweat, and he figured that it was a nightmare. Right? That made sense. Nevermind the lingering pain and how real it felt. Nevermind how wrong the explanation felt.

Steve pushed himself to get up, ignoring the nausea that swirled in his gut at every movement. He dragged himself into his bathroom and took a cold bath. It helped, a little bit. It gave him enough relief to think.

Steve took his sweet precious time scrubbing the sweat from his skin, then got dressed and moved to his calendar. His calendar that marked how long it had been since his parents had left and when they’d be back. The one he could have sworn that he marked off every day. According to the calendar, though, his parents had left just the day prior. 

He shook himself off and decided he only thought that he’d marked the calendar. He fixed his mistake and moved on.

That week felt like it took longer. His headache took its time in fading away. (It did, however, fade. It eased from the explosion of pain behind his forehead to something much more manageable). His parents didn’t come home when they were supposed to. Steve wanted to call to ask what the holdup was, but they were clearly very busy. They were so busy they didn’t even call to let him know they’d be late, like they’d promised they would do. So Steve just let it happen. He tried cooking another meal, and it was edible. He swam some more.

The nightmare came back a few times, but none of them felt as real as that first time. They were hazy, the details were blurrier. Even though it felt real, it didn’t take him too long the next morning to tell himself it was fake. 

About a week after the first nightmare, he was in bed. He couldn’t settle. Something buzzed beneath his skin. 

He got himself a glass of water. 

As he stood in the kitchen, the buzzing in his skin got worse. Like he was waiting for something. The men came into the house, and they looked exactly the same. The same outfits, the same backpacks. Carefully, Steve placed his glass down and turned to run. He wasn’t quite enough. Shouts followed after him. He made it to the door, but something exploded behind him, and pain slammed into his back. 

He hit the floor hard. He tried to drag himself up, but his legs wouldn’t follow his commands. After a split second of observation, he found he couldn’t feel his legs at all. His ears rang, but through the haze, he could hear an argument. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, words too muffled to decipher, but it was angry.

Someone came up from behind Steve and flipped him over to his back. He whimpered as the pain flared so much worse. It was too much. He barely even noticed the growing wet spot beneath him.

The man was speaking to him. He said something, but Steve could barely make out the individual syllables, let alone the words that they were a part of. As gently as possible, the man lifted Steve up. It hurt, like everything hurt. Steve might have cried out as he was jostled. Finally, his ears cleared enough for him to hear what was being said. 

“-taking him to a hospital,” the man addressed the other burglar. “Do what you want. I won’t say anything, but he needs help.”

“I can’t let that happen.” Something else exploded, the man fell back, dropping Steve in the process. Steve, that time, heard himself cry. It was ugly. The other burglar walked forward, stopping a few feet away from Steve. He lifted the gun to point at Steve’s face.

“Sorry, kid. It’s just business.” A third and final explosion rang out. Steve woke up, and the headache was back.

His head screamed at him, but this time, his back screamed at him, too. His legs hurt just as bad, if not worse. With a shaky hand, Steve reached out and pressed a finger into his thigh and he prayed that it would work. 

A barely there pressure broke through the pain in his body, and that was enough to tell him that he could feel his legs again. He gave his foot a little jiggle and regretted it immediately. He stayed in bed that day, working his way through the breathing exercises that he’d learned from his P.E. teacher. Doing nothing but breathing made it pretty effective.

It took Steve a while to get to his calendar. When he did, he froze. He could have sworn that it was well past the day his parents had left. He also could have sworn that he had marked off every day for the last two weeks, but there in front of him was an unmarked calendar showing the last week in June. 

The question popped up: what if he did mark off the calendar that first time? What if that nightmare was real, and he got sent back in time and found himself back to the Monday of the last week of June? What if he did it a second time?

He kept a closer eye on things. He pried himself out of bed, dragged himself across the floor (it still hurt too much to move his legs) and took a cold bath. It helped, a little bit. He managed to feed himself. He didn’t swim, and he waited for some kind of proof that he was wrong, but it never came. His parents never called.

He hid that night. He hoped that he would wake up the next morning. He stayed underneath his bed, the pain in his legs had finally eased to a dull ache, and he didn’t want to bring any of the pain back. He hid and listened. He heard the two men discussing what they had found. He heard them call each other “Al” and “Randy”. He heard them discuss the value of what they found. 

His bedroom door creaked open.

“Jesus…” Al said. “The Harringtons must hate whoever lives in this one…” 

“I think it’s their kids,” Randy responded. “See? There’s summer homework on the desk.”

Steve heard papers being shuffled around. 

“I don’t think the kids room will have anything valuable,” Randy went on. “We have a good haul. Let’s get outta here.”

Al stopped him. “Not quite so fast. This isn’t just any kid. This is a spoiled brat. Check under the bed first.” 

Steve froze. Al wasn’t the one checking. Randy was clearly upset by Al’s actions before. There was a chance that Steve would be fine. 

Randy shuffled, kneeling down beside the bed. A flashlight beam hit Steve and he gave Randy a look, silently begging the man not to say anything. Randy froze, for a brief moment, he stared at Steve. He nodded gently, barely perceptible. He swept the flashlight beam up and down for a moment, then stood back up.

“Nothing. Just blankets and other kids shit.”

Al went quiet, then in a dangerous tone said, “Now why don’t I believe you?” 

“Because you’re a paranoid son of a bitch?” Randy fired back.

Steve could barely breathe. Al was a Bad Man, and if he looked under the bed, Steve was toast. He would die and wake up Monday, fresh pain burning through him, and he’d have to try all over again. He really didn’t want to try all over again. 

Apparently, luck wasn’t on Steve’s side. Al knelt down and shined a flashlight directly on Steve’s face. Steve shut his eyes before the bullet hit him in the chest. It made things a little bit easier. 

Monday morning, Steve decided to call the police. Problem number one was telling them something that they would believe. If he said something like he died and got sent back in time so he knows that two men named Al and Randy are going to break into his house and rob him, he’d get in trouble. Problem two was telling the truth. It’s illegal to lie to the cops. He could get in trouble for that, too. 

In the time it took to wait for the pain to go away enough to exist, he came up with a truth-lie. He’d tell the cops something that was true, but made them think something else happened. 

 He took a cold bath to help with the pain, then carried himself to the phone and dialed 911. 

“911 what’s your emergency?” A lady answered. 

“I think someone is going to try to break into my house,” Steve said. “There were these men and they talked about taking stuff. I think one of them had a gun.” 

“Okay, may I ask who I am speaking to?” She asked.

“Steve. Uhm, Steve Harrington,” Steve answered.

“Okay, and where do you live, Steve?” Her voice was soft, but professional. She kind of sounded like his teachers. 

He rattled off the address. “What’s your name?” 

“My name is Melissa. It’s nice to meet you. The police are on their way right now. Can you describe the men to me while we wait? Is there any way we might be able to identify them?”

Steve hesitated. Randy was nice. Randy wasn’t Bad like Al was. He didn’t have to tell Melissa everything, did he?

“One of their names is Al, I think. One of them called the other Al. Does… does that help?” 

“Yes, that does. What did Al look like?” 

He described the man. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, a beard. He also described the first man, but only because the lady asked. He wasn’t supposed to lie to the police lady, either. 

“Ok. The police are a minute out. You have been a huge help. We will do everything we can to make sure you’re safe, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“You have been very brave, telling me all of this. You should be very proud of yourself.”

A knock sounded at the front door. “They’re here.”

“Okay. Go ahead and let them in. Stay safe and have a nice day.” 

“Bye.” 

Steve hung up the phone and made his way to the front door. There were two men there. One a little older and one a little younger. They looked at Steve like they were a little surprised that he was the one to answer the door.

“Hey, there kid. My name is Officer Andrews and this is Officer Callahan,” the older one said. “Are there any adults in the house?” 

Steve froze for a minute. That sounded like one of those trick questions, but he couldn’t fathom why it would be. “No, they’re on a work trip right now. I can give you their secretary’s phone number if you need to talk to them, though.”

That was the wrong answer. Both Callahan and Andrews got visibly more upset, but looked like they were trying to hide it. 

“Sorry…” he said. He hunched his shoulders, tipping his head down.

“It’s alright,” Callahan said. It wasn’t. “Can we come inside? We just have a few questions, then we’ll figure out what comes next.”

Steve stepped aside. In all honesty, he didn’t think he’d make it that far. He was waiting for them to yell at him for lying, but they seemed to be taking him seriously. He wondered how long that would last. 

He guided them into the dining room to sit down. Way too late, he realized he was supposed to offer them something to drink. 

“Do you, um, do you want something to drink? I can, uh, I can make coffee. We have water. Juice?” His voice got quieter as he spoke, in a way that would have had his dad shouting at him to speak up, but the cops just shook their heads. They still looked upset. 

“Tell us what happened, exactly,” Andrews ordered.

Steve nodded, swallowing his anxiety. “There were these men,” he pointed to where they came in every time. “They talked about taking stuff. One of them had a gun. They, uh, they didn’t see me. I like to hang out in the backyard, ‘cause there’s a pool and stuff.”

Callahan wrote in his little notepad. “Can you describe to us the men?” 

Steve swallowed again, mouth dry. “One was really tall. Dark hair. I think he had a beard? Uhm. The other guy called him Al. He was the one with the gun. Al looked really mean. Like he would, uhm, like he’d use the gun on the other one if he made him upset.” 

Callahan nodded seriously. “Do you think this Al is making the other man join him on the job?” 

That would make Randy innocent, right? He wouldn’t get in trouble? Steve grabbed on the chance with both hands and nodded, almost too much. “I don’t know anything else.” He told them.

Andrews reached out to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve flinched, and Andrews froze. At a slower pace, he placed his hand down, projecting his movements more. “You did good, kid. Do you have somewhere you can stay while we investigate this?”

Steve didn’t like that question. His parents were still out, and would be until he fixed whatever was broken. His friends were strictly for school, so he couldn’t stay over at their houses. He didn’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins or whatever. Did it make him a loser to say no? Would they be upset?

Steve took too long to answer, and Andrews nodded. “That’s okay. You can stay at the station until we can figure something out, for you. Okay?” 

Steve agreed. 

“We’ll get in contact with your parents,” Andrews went on. “We have you until then.”

They told him to pack a bag for about a week, including some toys and things to distract himself with. Andrews sat at the door while he packed, watching carefully as Steve gathered his things. Callahan was on the phone, trying to get through to the secretary and seemed to be having issues.

Steve knew it was rude to listen in on others’ conversations, but it was difficult to not keep an ear out, when Callahan was getting progressively louder. 

“Someone could be robbing the Harrington’s house, putting their young child in danger!” Callahan snapped. “He’s not making it up! That boy was terrified! He’s not just asking for attention, he saw a man threaten another with a gun.” A pause. “Sure, yeah, leave them a message. Have the day you deserve.” Callahan slammed the phone back on the hook. 

“Come on, Callahan, let’s go.” Andrews gently pat Callahan on the shoulder as they headed out.  

On the way to the station, Steve got to sit in a police cruiser, which was cool. He was in the back, where criminals went, but Andrews and Callahan assured him it was because there wasn’t any more room up front. He still felt uneasy sitting where bad people sat, where people like Al sat. 

“We’ll find the men,” Andrews tried to reassure Steve. “We’ll keep you safe.” 

Steve nodded, and followed quietly as Andrews guided him to a couch with a little table in front. 

“We’ll find someone who can watch over you. Until then, stay here. Okay?”

They left him there for a while. A nice lady checked on him every once in a while, but she was busy. Callahan and Andrews were coming and going a lot, and it was a lot. Steve stayed quiet, waiting. He was good at waiting. He could be quiet, make himself small, make himself unnoticeable. 

After what felt like years, Officer Andrews came up to him with a picture. “Is this the man you saw?” he asked. “The one with the gun?” 

It was a headshot of Al. The man was holding a sign that said, ‘Al Munson’. Steve nodded.

“Yeah. That’s him.” 

Andrews nodded grimly. “Okay. Thank you,” he sounded genuine. “You’re being a huge help. We’re still looking for a temporary guardian for you. Do you think you can wait here just a little bit longer?” 

Steve agreed. He was good at waiting. He was getting tired, but he could keep waiting. 

“Thank you, Steve.”

“You’re welcome.”

They left him there again. Through the windows, Steve saw it was getting dark, but he didn’t get into his pajamas. They brought him something for dinner, and they brought him a blanket so he could sleep on the couch for the night while they kept looking for someone. It was late at night, while Steve fought the onslaught of sleep that they brought in Al Munson and his son. 

They brought Al in first, shoved off somewhere that Steve couldn’t see. He could hear, though. He could hear Al’s angry shouts. He said mean words and insulted everyone in sight. He swore up and down that he hadn’t been anywhere near the Harrington house.

Next, there was the other boy. He was angry. He crossed his arms and didn’t respond to anything that the cops said. He even told them to “fuck off”, when they pressed. One of the cops, not Andrews or Callahan, looked very angry. They guided the boy over to Steve and told him to be good. Steve didn’t stare, because staring is rude, but he did take a passing glance. The boy was skinny, bony. His clothes were a bit too big on him and fit oddly. His hair was buzzed and he looked miserable. Steve wanted to hug him, but he got a feeling it wouldn’t be welcome.

“What’re you in for?” The boy asked.

“They said my house wasn’t safe,” Steve said, “and I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Are you the rich kid my dad was gonna rob?” 

Steve nodded. “He was mean to Ra-” Steve stopped himself. “He was mean to the other man.”

“Randy, right?”

Steve glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. “Yeah.”

They went quiet, both a little lost in thought. “What’s your name, Rich Kid?” 

“Steve. You?” 

“Eddie.” 

They sat together for a while. Neither of them had anything to say. After a little bit, an older man came in, looking harried. “Eddie?” he called. 

Eddie shrunk in his seat, head dipping low. 

The lady at the front desk pointed back to them, and the man’s gaze snapped over to Eddie. He rushed over and pulled him into a tight hug. The man only had eyes for Eddie, not even seeing Steve. “Eddie,” the man repeated.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie muttered into the man– Wayne’s– shoulder. 

Steve looked away, choked up. He didn’t think about his own parents, who were still unreachable, or his nanny who used to hug him like that. He didn’t think about any of it. It wasn’t important. 

Wayne gestured for Eddie to get up. Eddie followed for a few paces, but stopped. He turned to Steve and waved. Steve waved back, and they were gone. A little bit later, Officer Andrews came back and kneeled in front of Steve. 

“We found him,” Andrews said, like Steve hadn’t seen the entire scene play out. “He had written plans to break into your house, and the other man, a man named Randy Olsen, agreed to testify against Al. We’re going to make sure he goes away for a long time.” 

They did, eventually, find someone to watch over him. Benny Hammond of Benny’s diner, they said, had an emergency foster license and would look after him. He tried to ask about his parents, but the cops got all shifty. They said they were still trying to get in contact with them.

Steve liked it at Benny’s. Benny was really nice, and he gave Steve some ice cream, even though it was past his bedtime. He did ask some weird questions, in the tone that Steve’s parents got when they were testing him, but he couldn’t figure out what he was being tested on. 

“Do your parents leave you alone a lot?” he asked. 

“Do they hire babysitter’s?” he asked.

“Do they ever get too busy for you?” he asked.

Steve answered honestly, because Benny was nice, and lying was bad. Benny nodded through everything Steve said, then told him he was brave, but Steve didn’t know why. He didn’t do anything hard. Maybe because he went to the cops about Al Munson? But he would have said that before the weird questions. 

Steve still said, “Thank you,” because it was a compliment.

Soon after, Benny ushered him to bed. He told him to sleep in, since it was a late night. Steve thanked him for that, too. When he fell asleep, he was content.

Chapter Two

[steverogers1fan]

I like to imagine that when Bucky was fighting Steve on the Helicarrier he saw the first time he met Steve.

Like Just imagine,

Little 6/yo Steve that got in to a fight bc some older kids were picking on someone smaller then them, and Bucky, who just got yelled at by his mom for fighting with his little sister and was told to go outside, walking down the street and seeing what’s happening steps up and asked what’s going on. Steve said something like ‘there being mean, now move along.’ And instead of laughing at him Bucky helps him.

The don’t win, in fact Steve lost his first tooth, but from that day on they were inseparable. 

[fuctacles]

Alternative kidnapping scenario idea aka a de-aged meet-ugly

Eddie's father accidentally steals a car with a kid inside. He thinks it's a great ransom opportinity and while he waits for the parents to get back to him, he orders his son to keep an eye on the boy.

Eddie feels big, feels trusted with an Importand Adult Thing.

So he puffs his chest and looks at the dumb rich kid in front of him, with his dumb fancy hairdo.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Steve," the boy huffs, crossing his arms. "You're a kid too, you know?"

Eddie snorts.

"I know the world better than you, though. I'm Eddie," he introduces himself. "Your guard for the night. Or however long your folks will take to pay us."

Steve winces at the thought. He might as well make himself comfortable in the other boy's tiny room.

[hushbats]

forget everything (and I’m starting with you)

Read on AO3 (6,955 words)

As a kid, Steve Harrington had a wild imagination and a kind heart.

The first time little seven-year-old Steve met the boy in the woods, he was sure he’d found a real-life wolf child, like that kid he saw on an episode of “In Search of …” that had been abandoned in the jungles of India and raised as a pack animal. That kid had looked a lot like the one crouched on top of the big rock in front of him now; long, untamed hair, dirt-streaked face, and old, tattered clothing hanging from his thin frame. He was clearly in dire need of a home-cooked meal or two and a good, long soak in the bath. Steve briefly wondered where his parents were, before his childish imagination took hold. Maybe, if he could befriend the boy, they could become famous and have their own documentary on TV. Maybe, they could make enough money that the boy wouldn’t have to live like an animal in the woods anymore. Maybe, Steve could make a new friend that wouldn’t judge him or call him childish or stupid. Maybe, just maybe, Steve’s parents would be proud of him and his scientific discovery, and decide Steve was worth their time after all.

Much like he remembered the people in the documentary doing, he approached with caution. He slowly lowered his toy bow and arrow he had aimed at the kid from when his sudden appearance had startled him and gently placed it on the ground at his feet. He then proceeded to raise his hands in a placating manner so as not to scare the wild child away. He remembered how the boy in the documentary didn’t speak like most people, only possessing simple words leftover from his previous life and animalistic grunts. And so, Steve began talking to the boy in broken English and exaggerated gestures, just for good measure.

His fantasy of discovering Indiana’s first ever wolf-child and going on adventure around the world with his find was immediately shattered when the boy atop the rock laughed hysterically at Steve’s attempt to communicate, clutching his sides while simultaneously trying, unsuccessfully, to keep his balance. He tumbled to the ground with a thump into a scattering of fall leaves. In the time it took the kid to brush himself off, Steve’s initial shock and disappointment quickly turned to embarrassment at his own idiocy. Here he was, proving his dad right yet again. ‘Head in the clouds and nothing between the ears’, that’s what he always said of Steve.

“Oh my God, what the hell was that?” the kid finally squawked through his giggles, clearly having no trouble communicating. There were still leaves stuck haphazardly in his tangled dark hair.

Steve’s face flushed a further shade of red and he quickly averted his eyes from the other boy to the forest floor. Steve could feel the tell-tale sting of tears behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was just the embarrassment of the situation or the fact that he’d stupidly allowed himself to hope that there was some way to escape his parent’s indifference. The other boy must have sensed his destress because the laughing suddenly ceased. When Steve peeked up tentatively through wet lashes, he saw the boy had edged closer; a look of concern etched behind the dirt of his face.

“Hey? Are you okay? I won’t hurt you, I promise,” the boy cajoled. He was only a step or two away from Steve now so he could make out the boy’s features more clearly. He looked to be about Steve’s age, just a little taller maybe with the most striking big, brown eyes Steve had ever seen now they were no longer crinkled with laughter. Something about them made Steve feel instantly more at ease and ignited a warm sensation in his stomach. He briefly thought the boy might be pretty underneath all the layers of dirt, before his father’s voice in his head began yelling at him that he’s not supposed to think boys are pretty. Steve made that mistake once, and his father made sure he never made it again. He took a deep breath and fought back the remaining tears, reminded that his father wouldn’t like that either. Crying was for girls and pansies, not for tough boys like Steve. So, he pushed it all down, buried it somewhere deep inside, and responded to the boy.

Steve sniffed, “S-sorry, I just thought…you know…you were-”

“Some jungle boy,” the boy interjected with an eyebrow raised, and Steve cringed at the accuracy, “like Mowgli or something?”

The boy was still smiling and didn’t look offended like Steve would have been if their rolls had been reversed. If anything, a twinkle of amusement shone in his eyes.

“I don’t know what a Mowgli is but, yeah, I guess,” Steve shyly admitted. There was no point in hiding it. Steve was a bad liar anyway; it’s why he got beat so often. “Sorry,” he added again.

“It’s fine, I get it,” the boy shrugged it off like it happened often. “I’m Eddie by the way. What’s your name?”

“I’m Steve, and I’m seven and a half,” he replied enthusiastically, forgetting himself now that Eddie had shown him what seemed to be genuine kindness and interest. He relaxed more into the conversation with his potential new friend; all apprehension quickly forgotten. Steve somehow felt like he’d known Eddie his whole life, at least that’s how Eddie looked at Steve, like they were already best friends.

“Wha’cha doing all the way out here by yourself, Stevie?”

Stevie? No one had ever called him Stevie before. It was strictly Steven at home, and Tommy and the others called him Steve for short, but never Stevie. He thought he kind of liked it if the increasing warmness in his stomach was anything to go by.

“Just playing. My house is just over there by the trees,” Steve pointed back over his shoulder to the way he came through. It occurred to Steve suddenly that he hadn’t seen Eddie at school before. Hawkins was a small enough town that it had a single elementary school. The school was big to little Steve but he was sure he would have spotted Eddie a mile away if he was there. He was kind of hard to miss. He looked nothing like the other kids at school. He decided to ask. “Are you in the same grade as me? How come I haven’t seen you in school?”

The boy, Eddie, suddenly looked a bit forlorn; the sparkle in his eyes clouded over and his smile dropped a little. He seemed uncomfortable.

“Actually, I just turned nine and I- I don’t go to school here,” he said vaguely before quickly regaining his sunny attitude again to compliment Steve. “I really like your costume. You look rad.”

Steve, a little caught off guard by the sudden change of topic, looked down at himself. That’s right, he was wearing an Indian costume. Recently, Steve had gotten really into watching old Westerns on TV and was delighted to find that when his father discovered his new hobby he was met with encouragement; a ruffle of his hair and a ‘That’s my boy. We’ll make a man out of you yet’, rather than the usual belt across his rear and sneer of distain over Steve’s prior interests. Steve had never been so happy to have his father’s attention like that, to have anything at all in common with him, something to share with him; he was ecstatic. He looked forward to Sunday afternoons when his father was home because there was usually an old John Wayne Western on the local channel that meant his father would watch it in his den, where he’d sit back in his recliner and nurse a brandy or two after a long week of business meetings and trips. When he realized Steve had an interest in Westerns, he began to allow Steve into the den to sit on the floor next to the recliner and watch with him as long as he stayed silent and didn’t touch anything. Those moments to Steve were like Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one, but they were becoming increasingly rare lately. When there weren’t any Westerns on TV, Steve spent his days after school entertaining himself in the woods behind his house by playing what he called ‘Cowboys and Indians’. Of course, his father made it known that he was not pleased when his aunt appeared a few weeks back with a Native American costume in tow for Steve instead of the preferred cowboy one, but he’d yet to take it away from Steve.

“Oh, thanks!” Steve replied, suddenly buzzing with excitement and bending to pick up the discarded bow and arrow and dusting it off. “My aunt Patricia bought it for me. She always brings me presents when she visits. She’s super nice, but she lives all the way in Chicago, you know, so I only see her, like, once a year. I like watching cowboys and Indians on TV with my dad so that’s how she knew I’d like it. Do you like playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’?”

He’d paused in his spiel to catch his breath and to listen for Eddie’s answer when noticed the look of surprise painted across the other boy’s face. You see, Steve was a chatty child by nature. Add to this the fact that he spent most of his time playing alone and staying out of his parent’s way, it made sense that he was easily excitable when someone directed their attention to him. But Steve was old enough to realize that this was exactly the kind of thing that drove his parents and the people around him to shun him, after all ‘Children should be seen and not heard, Steven’, and now he feared he’d lose his new friend because of it too.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve rushed to apologize. He couldn’t help the sound of panic that seeped into his voice. “I know I’m not supposed to talk so much. I won’t do it again. I’ll shut up; I promise.”

The other boy’s eyebrows disappeared further into his messy bangs at Steve’s frantic apology, but it quickly morphed into something Steve couldn’t quite read. All he knew was that Eddie was watching him intently. It kind of felt like he was staring into Steve’s soul or trying to read his mind. Steve waited with baited breath for the strike that inevitably came when he spoke out of turn. It didn’t come.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say sorry to me. I liked hearing about your aunt. She sounds great,” Eddie beamed at Steve, and it felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket with a hot cocoa on a cold day. “And I do like playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’. It can’t be much fun playing it on your own though. It’s getting kind of dark now, but how about I come back tomorrow and we can play together? I’ll be the cowboy and you can be the Indian.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. He couldn’t believe his luck! The boy still wanted to play with him, even after hearing him ramble excitedly. His friends at school laughed at him when he asked them to play ‘Cowboys and Indians’ with him and called him a baby. But now, finally, Steve had a playmate that was interested in the same things as him, and he was an older boy too! This moment, rivalled the Sunday afternoons spent with his father; fast becoming like Christmas and his birthday and Easter all at once.

“Wow! You have a cowboy costume?!” Steve asked in wonder at the chances.

“No,” he shrugged, turning back to grab a long stick laying against the rock Steve hadn’t noticed before. It was a really nice stick, the kind Steve or any child with an active imagination would have hours of fun with. “But, whatever, I’ll figure something out. See you here tomorrow then?” Eddie asked, swigging the stick over his bony shoulders.

Steve nodded; his smile wide.

“Cool! See ya later, Stevie!” Eddie called out as he walked deeper into the woods.

“See ya, Eddie!”

Steve watched as Eddie battled his way through the undergrowth, beating back the brush with his trusty stick until he disappeared into the evening gloom, and wished like crazy that it was tomorrow already.

***

As soon as school finished the next day, Steve rushed home, not stopping to chat with Tommy or the others when they called out to him. He wasn’t sure what time Eddie wanted to meet him and Steve didn’t want to accidentally miss him. He had a gift to give his new friend after all.

He carried the precious cargo in a box to their meeting place in the woods wearing his full costume with his bow and arrow slung over his shoulder. It wasn’t far to the big rock from his backyard, but it took longer than usual for Steve to maneuver his way through the overgrown path with the box obscuring his view, much to his annoyance.

The niggling part of his brain that had tormented him all day, telling him Eddie wasn’t going to come and hang out with a baby like Steve, was finally silenced when he spotted the boy lying on top of the rock with one arm behind his head and the other playing with something shiny in the other, glinting in the afternoon sun beating down on him through the gaps in the trees. Little Steve thought he looked less like the wolf-child he had mistakenly thought him, and more like a mystical forest fairy this way, almost ethereal in the way the light caught his pale skin. Steve’s heart leaped in his chest and he fumbled with the box, almost dropping it. The rustling grabbed Eddie’s attention. He sat up and peered over down from his perch at a flustered Steve.

“Hey! Stevie!” he greeted loudly, pocketing his shiny toy and quickly jumping from the rock to the ground. “Whaddya think?” he asked, spinning in a circle to show off his ‘cowboy’ outfit.

Eddie still wore his ripped and dirt-streaked black jeans from the day before with a toy gun shoved into his right front pocket, but up top he wore a white button-up shirt and what looked to be a black vest from a three-piece suit like the ones his father often wore, both of which were a number of sizes too big for Eddie’s scrawny frame. Steve also noticed that Eddie had at least attempted to clean up a bit since they last met. His face and hands were mostly free of dirt, but his clothes and hair remained largely in disarray. Steve still thought he looked great, like the real rugged cowboys he’d seen in the movies, all he was missing was the hat; which reminded Steve.

“Oh, you need a hat! All cowboys have to have a hat. Close your eyes and no peeking,” Steve instructed, setting the box down at his feet. Eddie hesitated a moment, eyes darting around the clearing before grimacing slightly and squeezing his eyes shut which Steve briefly thought was odd but was too caught up in excitement to really take notice.

Steve didn’t have a cowboy hat, but he remembered last night that his father had a big, black-rimmed hat that Steve had seen him wear once when his father and mother went to a formal ball for some big charity event. His father had never worn it again and it sat in a hat box in his parent’s closet gathering dust. Steve figured his father wouldn’t miss it, and with Steve’s boyish imagination, he could easily pretend it was a real cowboy hat. He moved towards Eddie and rose on his tippy-toes to place it on his new friend’s wild, dark curls. Eddie flinched slightly but didn’t open his eyes.

“Okay, you can look now,” Steve announced.

The other boy opened his eyes and felt for the object placed on his head, laughing when he realized it wasn’t a typical cowboy hat. Steve’s self-consciousness returned at hearing his new friend laugh at his childishness, prompting him to begin again with the apologies.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid. I just thought we could pretend or something … I dunno,” he mumbled, knowing there was little point in explaining it to Eddie. It had never stopped his father or his friends from ridiculing him before; in fact, it often made it worse. “Sorry.”

“It’s perfect, Stevie. Thanks!” Eddie said, patting him on the shoulder lightly, surprising Steve with his kindness. Eddie was always surprising Steve with his reactions.

“So, you ready to play?”

***

Eddie was everything little Steve could have wished for in a friend, and then some. He never laughed at Steve, only with him; no matter how stupid Steve felt for not understanding something Eddie was passionately discussing with him and asking endless questions. Steve worried that Eddie would become quickly annoyed by him like everyone else in his life, but in fact the opposite was true. Eddie seemed to be delighted by it and enthusiastically explained it in more detail, his face lighting up and arms flailing in broad gestures as he did so, making Steve’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Thanks to Eddie, Steve learned more in his short friendship with him than the boy ever had from his parents or school friends, and now he had a pretty in-depth knowledge about all kinds of cool things. Eddie knew everything! He learned how to skip rocks so that they bounced more than twice. He learned the best way to catch frogs and bugs at the pond. He also learned the names of plants and animals from Eddie as he pointed them out. He even learned how to identify and avoid poison ivy and some other dangerous plants after Eddie saved him from walking straight through a thick patch of it. He learned how to find himself a cool stick to use as a sword or a staff while off on one of their adventures after he complimented Eddie on his; the older boy helping him choose one and whittle away the unwanted twigs with a small pocket knife. Steve always wished he could repay Eddie in some way, but Eddie was a big boy and there wasn’t anything Steve could teach him that Eddie wouldn’t already know.

They quickly became an inseparable duo; a team. Steve really looked-up to Eddie, until he wasn’t just Steve’s friend; he was his hero.

Never once, in the entire time he knew him, did Steve feel anything but welcome and cared for in Eddie’s presence. He felt like what Steve imagined a real home to feel like, a real family who were always looking out for one another, and he was addicted to it. He sought out Eddie every day after school, and hung around by the big rock from early morning on the weekends hoping that Eddie would show up. Sometimes he didn’t. On those days, Steve was left to play alone in the woods behind his house, afraid to go any deeper without Eddie there. Usually, he’d be back by the next day in his waist-coat and top hat ready to play ‘Cowboys and Indians’ with Steve again, but sometimes he was gone for a while and when he came back, he came back different; subdued and very un-Eddie-like. Sometimes, not often but sometimes, there were physical differences too; faded marks or bruises on his arms and face that looked suspiciously like the marks Steve was often left with a few days after his father gave him the belt. Whenever Steve asked if he was okay, Eddie blamed his lack of coordination and spatial awareness, dismissing it as a fall down the stairs or walking into a door. And Steve had no reason not to believe him. On days like that, the boys didn’t stray far from the big rock or play games really. Eddie usually sat there in silence while Steve saddled up right next to him and tried to fill it with jokes and stories from school. Eddie was the best story-teller ever, and nothing Steve told could compare, but he always tried his best to cheer Eddie up. It was a huge achievement for Steve anytime he manged to get him to crack a smile.

One afternoon, a couple of months into their friendship, Steve finally gathered the courage to ask Eddie outright about it after he came back after a particular long stint away sporting a couple of small, angry-looking, circular red marks on his right arm. Usually, whenever the topic of conversation came around to Eddie and his life in general, the boy would flip the conversation back on Steve. And Steve, who loved nothing more than to talk, was easily distracted. And so, Steve honestly knew very little about Eddie, whereas Eddie pretty much knew all there was to know about Steve. Now that Steve was on to Eddie’s tactics, he was determined to get to the bottom of it this time because if Eddie was hurt and sad, Steve was hurt and sad. Eddie always looked after Steve, and Steve really wanted to show Eddie the same kindness.

“Where were you? It’s been a whole week of school. You’ve never been gone that long before,” Steve commented, careful to keep his voice light. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie’s hand stilled where it was doodling with a twig in the dirt. His whole body tensed.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just a- a family trip out of town is all,” Eddie answered, not meeting Steve’s eye. “Sorry I didn’t give you a heads up. It was kind of a last-minute thing.”

“What happened to your arm? It looks sore. Did your parents take you to get it checked?”

Eddie looked down at his arm where Steve was gesturing, brows drawn and mouth opening and closing in false starts. He seemed to be struggling to come up with a valid excuse and running out of time to make it sound natural, and so Eddie tried to laugh it off instead, though it sounded a little shakily to Steve’s ears.

“Oh, this? It’s nothing, really. I don’t even remember how I got it.”

That was probably the most blatant lie Eddie had ever told him in their short friendship. If Steve had an injury as raised and angry looking as that, he would absolutely remember how he got it. It would be seared into his brain, not just his arm. Steve thought this situation seemed awfully familiar. It wasn’t much different to how Steve acted at school that one time his teachers asked him about his sudden limp the next day after getting a note home about being disruptive in class. Eddie appeared to be afraid of something, or more likely, someone. Steve trusted Eddie with his life, and he wanted Eddie to trust him in return.

“You know, sometimes my dad gets really mad at me when I don’t do things exactly the way he wants me to or talk too much about things I like.”

Eddie’s eyes widen at Steve’s confession.

“Sometimes he just grabs me real hard and yells at me, but when I’ve been really bad, he takes off his belt,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know you can tell me anything, Eddie. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Eddie remained silent for a moment and swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he said, pulling Steve to his side in a one-armed hug. Steve snuggled into the older boy’s side, always relishing in the affection Eddie gave so freely. “Your dad’s a piece of shit for doing that. I guess, both our dads are,” he chuckled humorlessly.

“Is he the one that did that to you?”

Eddie nodded solemnly, his expression slowly hardening. Steve had never seen Eddie angry before. It kind of scared him.

“Fuck!’ he yelled, releasing his hold on Steve. “I can’t fucking wait ‘til I’m bigger, ‘cause when I am, I’m going to make him wish he was- he was- ugh!” Eddie threw the stick he was holding and let out a sigh of frustration. “I didn’t do anything! It’s not fair. It’s just not fair!”

Steve always thought he’d deserved it when his father got angry. If he just behaved normally and kept his mouth shut it wouldn’t happen. ‘Why can’t you be more like the Hagans’ boy, huh? You’re an embarrassment, you know that?’ But maybe Eddie was on to something. Hurting people was bad. At least, that’s what his teachers always said, and the thought of hurting any of his classmates made Steve feel sick. Could his father have been wrong all along? Did Steve not deserve to be hit after all for sharing his thoughts and having the interests he had? Eddie definitely didn’t seem to think so, and Eddie is always right. Eddie always looked after Steve, and never laid a finger on him, even when he said something that would send his father into a rage. He felt safe with him, and would stay with Eddie forever if he could.

That gave him an idea.

“Maybe we could run away!” Steve said suddenly, his face lighting up in hope. “We could live out here in the woods and no one would ever find us! You know a lot about plants and fishing and stuff; I bet we could do it! We would be outlaws like real cowboys!”

Eddie chuckled fondly at Steve, but Steve’s optimism and excitement was absent in Eddie.

“Sounds great, Stevie. Maybe someday. After all, us outlaws gotta stick together, right?”

Deep down Steve knew it wasn’t really an option for them, but it didn’t stop them fantasizing and talking about it from that day on. On particularly difficult, lonely days, it was all that kept Steve going; that there would eventually come a time that he could escape the pressures inflicted on him by his father, and that Eddie would be there with him every step of the way.

Gradually, since that faithful conversation by the rock, Eddie opened up to Steve about his homelife, but only when outright asked and under the pretense that Steve promised never to tell a soul about anything Eddie said. Over time, he learned that Eddie was raised by his grandpa, his mama’s daddy, for the first few years of his life. His parents came and went during this time, and his grandpa was his best friend. It was from his grandpa that Eddie learned all the cool things he knew and passed on to Steve. It was also from his grandpa that Eddie received his most prized possession; a gold pocket watch that Steve had only caught glimpses of before then. He learned that after his grandpa died when Eddie was seven, his whole life came crashing down. His parents sold his grandpa’s house, pulled him from school and all his friends, and moved him to Hawkins to his father’s long abandoned family cabin in the woods.

His responses were still a little vague at times. At first, Steve was worried that Eddie didn’t trust him, but started to think that maybe there was something else going on, stuff happening that Eddie didn’t even understand himself to be able to tell Steve. He learned that Eddie’s parents were often sick, and when they were sick, they forgot Eddie existed, leaving him to fend for himself. When his father was well, he would take Eddie on trips out of town, usually to the city, and make Eddie do what Eddie called ‘bad things’ and beat him if he refused to do it. His parents usually became sick again after this, and Eddie would do his best to look after them and himself with the little resources they had. Steve was surprised to learn Eddie didn’t have hot water, or heating, or much food, or warm clothes. Steve couldn’t imagine a life like that, and his heart broke knowing that that was Eddie’s life; his bestest friend in the whole world Eddie.

As winter set in, and the first flurries of snow began to fall in Hawkins, Steve made it his mission to share with Eddie some of the things he took for granted. There wasn’t much little Steve could do about the lack of hot water and heating, but his house had an overabundance of food that his parents wouldn’t notice was missing, and Steve had an old winter coat that didn’t really fit him anymore that Eddie could use. Eddie had straight up refused to accept any food at first, but he gratefully took the coat that offered much better protection against the cold than a ratty t-shirt or thread-bare sweater; even if it was far too short in the arms for Eddie’s gangly limbs, it zipped up just fine. It meant they could play for longer, too. Steve tried a few times in vain to get Eddie to take food home with him; nothing fancy, just a few tin cans that were lying around the pantry within Steve’s reach and some bread or cereal, but he continued hard-headedly to refuse. So instead, Steve took to packing snacks and drinks in his bag for them to share while they played. Eddie seemed much more receptive to that, though he didn’t take much. As the weather turned colder, Steve became brave; spurred by the knowledge that he found a way to look after Eddie like Eddie did for him. He’d sometimes ask his mother to make him some sandwiches and hot cocoa to take with him for the afternoon. At first, she’d been suspicious about his request of two sandwiches and two cups, but Steve sadly knew the best way to appease his mother was to disappear, and so, he’d told her he would be outside playing longer so he needed an extra sandwich. It was enough of an incentive for her to drop the questions. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to now that he had Eddie, but it still made him a little misty-eyed. He wished his mother would dote on him like his classmate’s mothers did when they picked their kids up from school; ruffling their hair and asking how their day at school went. Some even went as far as to hug their kids at the school gate. Heck, Steve just wished his mother would look at him with a warm smile rather than the look of pure distain that seemed permanently etched on her pretty face anytime she was reminded of Steve’s existence.

A few months later, in early spring, Steve learned to view his mother’s indifference as a blessing rather than a curse. His father had returned to Hawkins for a week after a prolonged absence. His father was promoted yet again not too long ago and he had been transferred to the company’s main office in Chicago, meaning he spent the majority of his time there in a rented apartment and only returned for a few days every couple of months at his mother’s insistence. Steve hadn’t seen him since Christmas. Steve’s frequent ventures out into the woods immediately caught his father’s attention. His father only asked him once.

“Where do you keep running off to after school?”

“Nowhere. Just playing in the woods, sir,” Steve answered innocently, hoping his father would appreciate that he didn’t forget to be respectful, and decide to leave it at that. But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

“With who?”

The answer to this was what his father was most concerned with. He had always taken a keen interest in the type of people young Steve surrounded himself with. If they were not to the Harrington’s ridiculously high social standards, then they were quickly ousted from Steve’s friend group. Steve wasn’t sure what his father said or did to achieve this; all he knew was that his friend would suddenly start fearfully avoiding Steve at school. The friend group he had now was small and carefully selected by his father, and Steve found it difficult to connect with them. If his father knew of Eddie, then Steve knew their friendship would be over and Steve would lose the best friend he’d ever had; the only friend he had that was his.

“No one, sir.”

“Is that so?” his father replied dangerously. “Then who is this Eddie I’ve been hearing about, hm?”

Steve’s heart sank like a stone into the pit of his stomach, and his blood ran cold. How could he possibly know? Steve thought he was being so careful. He was panicking now.

“No, sir, I swear, I just play out there by myself.”

“Funny. I was over at the Hagan’s place the other day and little Tommy had a lot to say about your mysterious new friend. He said you don’t play with him much anymore after school.”

“No, there is no new friend. I- He-”

“Are you calling Tommy a liar?” his father cut in, a warning in his voice for Steve to tread carefully. “Are you calling me a liar? Because I saw you with my own two eyes, boy, out there fraternizing with the scum of Hawkins!” his father yelled, nostrils flared and a wild anger in his eyes. It was over. His father saw them together.

Steve knew it would make it worse but he couldn’t help the wracked sobs that escaped him, snot and tears trailing down his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please,” Steve begged though his sobs. The ‘please don’t beat me’, and more importantly, ‘please don’t take Eddie away from me’, went unsaid.

A knock on the door saved Steve from being berated for crying.

“That’ll be the police. Steven, go to your room,” his father commanded as he went to answer the door.

The police!? A fresh wave of panic overtook Steve. He promised Eddie not to tell anyone about him and now the police were involved. On top of losing his friend, Eddie was going to be in big trouble, and it was all Steve’s fault.

“Officer Jim Hopper, Hawkins Police Department. What seems to be the problem, Mr. Harrington?”

His father moved away from the door to allow a burly man with a thick moustache enter their home.

“Yes. My son is being harassed by a no-good brat and I want you to tell that delinquent to leave my son alone.”

“Okay,” the officer replied carefully, his eyes quickly taking in the scene and lingering a moment longer on Steve, “and what is the nature of this harassment?”

“No, sir, please. He’s my friend-” Steve begged through his tears, stepping forward and pulling on his father’s suit jacket.

“Quiet, boy,” his father admonished sharply, swatting him away and turning back to the officer. “This delinquent is an older boy that has been hanging around my son and being a bad influence on him, perpetuating bad behavior at home. I want him away from my son.”

“That’s not true, sir, please. It’s not true. Eddie is my friend.” Steve was almost hysterical now and struggling to articulate himself clearly so his father and the officer won’t take Eddie away from him.

“Olivia, get your son upstairs and to his room,” his father barked.

His mother hurriedly snapped into action from her spot at the dining room door and grabbed Steve roughly around the arm.

“Come along, Steven,” she said with faux concern, dragging Steve toward the stairs as he struggled against her. Her long, manicured nails digging hard into his arm leaving blood-red marks in their wake.

“Mr. Harrington, I understand your concerns but it doesn’t sound like any crime was committed to me. Have you spoken to the parents of the child in question and tried coming to some agreement?” the officer sighed, sounding done with the conversation despite parroting the polite formalities required of his profession.

Steve struggled against his mother’s hold on the stairs, his free arm gripping the banister of as tightly as he could, and ignored her quiet coaxing. He was thankful in that moment that her fear of making a scene prevented her from yanking him too hard and yelling at him in front of the police. He tried his hardest to stifle his sobs so he could hear what was happening. Maybe he could somehow warn Eddie in time. Or maybe they could run away for real like they always talked about before Eddie could get in trouble.

“Look here, Officer Whatever-your-name-is. I don’t care what it sounds like to you. I pay my fair share of taxes just like any good law-abiding citizen. Those taxes keep you in donuts to protect us from trash like them,” his father spat, by now enraged. “So, you go over there this instant and tell those low-life Munson’s to keep their no-good spawn away from my impressionable son!”

The officer’s impassive face at his father’s rant suddenly morphed into confusion.

“Wait, wait, back up. Did you say Munson? The Munson’s have a kid?!”

“I followed that little shit back through the woods to the old Munson cabin last night. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that that filthy brat is one of them. Despicable, the lot of them.”

The officer’s face noticeably paled.

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington,” the officer said, schooling his expression and picking the formalities back up. “We’ll follow up your claim with the Munsons and ask them to keep their son away from yours. Have a good evening.”

The officer tipped his hat and left, speaking hurriedly into a radio on his shoulder as he briskly walked back to the patrol car.

It was over. There was nothing Steve could do as tears silently streaked down his face. The police would get Eddie before Steve could even try to escape. His mind began to spiral at all the possibility that he’d never see Eddie again.

His father stood affronted momentarily at the officer’s clipped tone and hasty departure. He slammed the door shut, shocking Steve back into his body. A loud, hiccupping sob escaped Steve and he started crying again.

“I thought I told you to take him upstairs,” his father snapped at his mother. “Put him to bed. I’ll be in the den.” And with that, his father walked away.

Steve allowed himself to be pulled harshly into his room and deposited on the bed where he was left to cry himself into a restless sleep plagued by nightmares of Eddie being taken away from him.

***

In the days and weeks following that night, Steve snuck out of the Harrington house and into the woods as often as he could. He waited by their rock for hours each time, hoping Eddie would appear with his boisterous laughter and wild hair, but he never did. And with each failed attempt at meeting, Steve silently cried himself to sleep - worrying about him; missing him. It hurt so much – too much; more than anything he’d felt in his seven years of life. More than that time he fell off his bike and broke his arm, and more than the beating he got from his father the day after his father confronted him about Eddie. He’d take any number of beatings if it meant he could see Eddie again and know he was alright.

As the weeks rolled into months, the hurt and hopelessness became too much to bear for little Steve. His memories of Eddie and the time he spent with him gradually became foggy. So much so, that Steve was having a hard time determining whether it was real or if Eddie had been a figment of Steve’s imagination – an imaginary friend he was growing out of. When he’d asked his mother for confirmation, she denied Steve ever knowing anyone called Eddie. He was too afraid to ask his father. He didn’t even have anything to remember Eddie by, so how could he possibly know for sure.

His father made sure to keep a closer eye on Steve and bullied his indifferent mother into doing the same, much to her reluctance. He was always under someone’s gaze; be it his parents, his teachers, his friends, or even his friend’s parents – every little thing Steve did was noted and reported on and if his father heard something he didn’t like when he was next in town, Steve would be punished, harshly. Any fight Steve had left in him to continue being himself was steadily being beaten out of him, both mentally and physically. He grew colder and uncaring – both about himself and others. Eventually, he sometimes joined in with Tommy when he started wailing on other kids in the playground after school. He started insidious rumors about his more quiet and vulnerable classmates, and slapped books from the hands of kids in the hallways as they walked to their classes if they happened to remind him too much of himself before he stopped caring. The friends pre-approved of by his father encouraged him, egging him on, giving him a celebratory thump on the back and a “nice one, Harrington”. Gradually, Steve began to fit in with those around him and all it took was for him to stop fighting, to stop caring – to adopt the same indifference his mother exuded when he was in the room with her.

In time, Steve forgot Eddie completely. He forgot the things he’d learned from him. He forgot imagination and warmth and happiness and kindness – everything Steve was.

He forgot himself.

And in the wake of losing himself, King Steve was born.

[nakurumok]

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“Because of you, the world changed. I changed.”                                                         — Tony Stark, Avengers (2013) #1

.

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[secretfanartist]

Head cannon time...

Steve was always good at strategies even before the serum. Even before adulthood. So when he is turned into a kid on a mission he still beats everyone at chess. Tony thought he would win this time by switching the board so colourblind Steve couldn't see the pieces properly. But he just remembered which pieces were his instead. Now Tony is rambling about pop culture to try and distract him.

[superdecibels]

I was gonna make a fic to go with this piece but it got corrupted with some of my files so here's a gist of it instead:

Steve and Tony as kids with their best friends Bucky and Bruce respectively. Rhodey is slightly older than Tony here(like a pre-teen or something) and so I just chose Bruce.

(This piece is a year old lol)