Another bit from the Russian!Steve fic. I need inspiration to keep working on this, so I'm going to share the instigating moment between Steve and Eddie.
The premise for those unaware: Steve and his parents are Soviet spies sent to Hawkins because of the lab. Steve was also an experiment, and he has powers.
Link to the other bit I wrote for this.
Mild NSFW warning for a creepy old man, a somewhat explicit conversation, and mild (internalized) homophobia.
.....
The thing is, Robert Stratton was a creep. Steve knew this intimately, not just because the man enjoyed making Steve deeply uncomfortable, but also because he enjoyed lording the power he held over everyone under his control. He liked getting in Steve's space and putting his hands on him—violently, or in other less harmful but more terrifying ways, and Steve had to grit his teeth and take it, because that was part of the job.
As Stratton leaned into Steve's space and breathed his whiskey breath all over his face, casting red streaks of anger across the car and squeezing Steve's face in an iron grip to keep him still, Steve wondered if he'd ever hated anyone as deeply as he did right then. Unfortunately, the list of people he'd prefer dead was long and tedious. There were the trainers who taught him how to use his powers. He couldn't forget his parents, who he loved more than anything, but hated for bringing him into this mess. Basically everyone in Hawkins qualified, being the absolute mindnumbing bumbfuck town it was.
And then there was Eddie Fucking Munson, the local one man clown show. The man who Steve was currently looking at through the passenger side window as Stratton whispered vile threats into his ear. Steve was intimately aware of how it looked. It was intentional, after all. Stratton was pulling a power move, and Steve had to sit and let it happen so his parents didn't get taken care of. He'd been dealing with this since he was twelve and someone high up told Stratton that Steve's presence was non-negotiable without notifying him of Steve's powers. Stratton didn't like being out of the loop, and he definitely didn't like a teenager getting orders from people above him, working around his carefully staged plans.
Munson's shock and glee tasted bitter on Steve's tongue. This was going to be bad. Of all people to catch him, it had to be the freak? Steve tried desperately to shut down the desire to hit something.
"Get out. And make yourself useful next time," Stratton growled.
The second he let go of Steve's face, he shoved himself out of the car and turned to Munson, who was watching him with absolutely zero discretion, practically calling for any passers-by to come out and stare with him.
Stratton peeled out of the driveway and tore down the road, leaving Steve and Munson to watch each other like cowboys at an impasse. Finally, after several long moments, Munson carefully crossed the street with a huge, mean smile, walking toward Steve until he was almost too close.
"Well, well, well. The King hath fallen so low," Munson said slowly, shaking his head with fake pity.
"Please, spare me the dramatics," Steve said flippantly. Munson didn't fall for it. He leaned against Steve's brand new BMW, probably scratching it with the over-the-top chains attached to his belt, and casually looked Steve up and down.
"What his name?"
Steve crossed his arms. "Whose name?"
"The old man you're fucking," Munson said.
Steve's heart went cold. "Jesus Christ," he said, looking around to see if any of the neighbors were out. It was 10 AM on a Tuesday, so the street was empty, everyone either at work or school.
"So you're not going to deny it?" Munson asked.
"There's nothing to deny. That's not what's happening," Steve said.
"I just saw you," Munson said.
"You saw wrong," Steve said. Munson somehow leaned even closer, nosing his way about an inch from Steve's face. Steve stood his ground and stared him down.
"I know what I saw. He was all over you. He kissed you."
Steve couldn't bother denying it because what was he supposed to say? It wasn't a kiss, he was whispering threats in my ear because he likes that I hate it. As if that made it any better. Steve forced himself to abandon the final dregs of his frustration, letting an artificial calm wash over him.
"What do you want, Munson?" he asked.
Munson placed a hand against his chest and batted his eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Why are you talking to me right now?" Steve asked.
"A guy can't chat with an old friend?"
"We're not friends," Steve said coldly.
"Right. An old enemy, then?" Eddie asked.
"Enemy?" Steve scoffed. "I think I'd have to know your real name for you to be my enemy. What is it again? Edmund? Edison? Sorry, I wouldn't know. I'm used to calling you what you are - the town freak. So go on, let's get this over with. We both know you're not here for a chat. What do you want? Spare change?"
Steve was cutting into several of Munson's insecurities at once. His glee and amusement flipped into a rolling boil of anger.
"I don't know," Munson said as he coldly looked Steve up and down. "I guess I'll think about it."
"You'll think about it?" Steve repeated.
"Yeah. I think I could use some help around town. An errand boy, if you will."
"And what makes you think I'll do that for you?"
"That you care about your image," Munson said. Steve ground his teeth and pulled on Munsons' fear and nevousness, hiking it as much as he could without making him notice. Munson stepped back and crossed his arms, but didn't back down. "King Steve would never let the world find out that he's a queer."
"And you think they'll believe you?" Steve asked.
"It doesn't matter. The rumors will be enough. What will they call you, if I snitch? Queen Steve sounds fitting to me," Munson said.
He had guts. Steve hadn't met many people who could ignore their fear response this well. Steve took another step forward and upped it a little more. Munson stepped back again. His hands were shaking.
"And what will happen when I tell them the truth?" Steve asked.
"What, that you're into older men?" Munson joked nervously.
"That you showed up to my house like a stalker and felt me up like the little freak you are, and when I got mad, you made up this fantasy about some random old man nobody in town has ever seen before," Steve said.
Munson was sweating. Steve had him. But then he forced a smile. "They already think that about me. My family doesn't care. I wonder what your parents would say."
That made Steve pause, because somehow, Munson had picked up on the one thing that Steve actually cared about. In such a boring town with nothing to do, only interrupted by exciting trips with his parents that ended with his return to the middling Americana shit show he'd been left behind to hold in place, how could he care about anything else? His parents were all he had, and Munson was right. They would have something to say. In fact, they'd probably kill him. Munson had no way of knowing it would go that far, but it was the truth.
They'd killed the real Steve Harrington for less, after all.
"Fine," Steve blurted out, before he could think about it more. Munson's fear slipped away, and Steve didn't bother grabbing it back.
"Giving in so easily?" he mocked.
"I said fucking fine, freak," Steve ground out.
For a moment, Steve thought he felt something close to guilt or pity coming from Munson. It didn't last long. He smiled again and patted tapped Steve on the shoulder. "See you tomorow, Queen Steve."
Steve didn't even argue about the nickname as Munson walked away, he was too busy spiraling into a panic over the details. Munson could ruin everything. His entire cover was compromised, and he couldn't tell anyone because, well. He had one job. He was Steve Harrington; the average, unassuming, perfect cover child for his parents. He couldn't be a queer. And if Munson identified Stratton? If someone found out, and went looking for him? Or worse, recognized him, and noticed that something was off? This had potential to become a true disaster.
If his parents knew he'd fucked up, he'd get sent back home to the lab for training. And if Stratton knew...he didn't want to think about what would happen. Steve had witnessed what Stratton did to people who put his operation in danger, and wasn't interested in becoming yet another mysterious red smear in an abandoned warehouse. No, he couldn't tell any of them. There was only one solution.
He had to kill Eddie Munson.
