Sweet Child O' His, part 11
Part 10
Tagging: @bardi4l, @sad-and-dumb, @ilovetaquitosmmmm, @scaramou
TW: pregnancy, brief mention of the birthing process
Eddie and Steve bounced between your room and the waiting room, keeping an eye on you while also keeping the fan club from getting overly restless. Minutes passed, then hours. Evening began to settle.
Steve had just broken up an argument over the last bag of pretzels from the vending machine, snatching it from Mike and Lucas’ scrabbling hands, when Cheryl appeared at the edge of the waiting room. “Mr. Harrington,” she said, her voice still somehow bubbly. “It’s time.”
The entire waiting room froze, dozens of eyes on the nurse. Steve wound his way around chairs and outstretched legs, following behind Cheryl. He felt like his feet were cased in lead. His chest felt tight– had he forgotten how to breathe?
Eddie was standing near the door to the room, foot tapping against the linoleum. He turned as Cheryl breezed into the room, heading over to the bed where she began to help move you into position. “You’re up,” he said, his words not holding their usual joking cadence. He looked… scared. His brotherly affection that had carried the two of you through childhood scrapes and bruises could do nothing here. He couldn’t fix this with a Snoopy-themed bandage and the promise of ice cream for dinner. “But watch out– I think she nearly broke my hand.”
Steve gave him a solemn nod, watching as the metalhead dipped out of the room once more. As he approached the bed, he wiped his palms on his jeans, clammy skin scraping denim.
Cheryl looked up from the opposing side. “Okay, Mr. Harrington,” she said, voice still pleasant but taking on a calming level of authority. “If Ms. Munson is okay with it, you’re going to take one hand and slip it under her knee like this.” The nurse demonstrated, gently moving your left knee into a crooked position. “Then you can use your other hand to hold hers, if she needs it.”
Steve looked down at you. “Okay?”
You nodded, face set with determination. “Okay.”
Steve carefully placed his hand in a mirrored position of Cheryl’s. This felt way more intimate than anything else the two of you had done (including what led to the two of you being here in the first place). His other hand found its way to yours, your fingers wrapping around his in a vice.
“Okay,” the doctor said from between your legs. “Let’s push!”
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47 minutes.
47 minutes of teeth-gnashing, grunting, sweating, pushing.
47 minutes of Steve being sure that the bones in his hand were never going to be the same.
But finally, a squall.
“Happy birthday!” The doctor said, holding the squirming, wrinkly baby up for you and Steve to see.
Steve watched in wonder as Cheryl and the doctor bustled about, taking the baby, running those first few tests, helping you deliver the placenta (that chapter in the book had almost scarred Steve for life). You were cleaned up, both of sweat and blood.
“Oh, my god,” Steve whispered to you, his lips brushing your slightly damp hairline. “You did it!” His voice was filled with awe, respect, love. That was the strongest thing he’d ever seen anyone do.
Cheryl came over and carefully set the blanketed bundle in your arms. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad.”
Dad.
A term that Steve had dreamed about, but never really considered being a reality. But here, in the pastel hospital room, looking down at the tiny face poking from the blanket, that reality came crashing down, formidable in its realness.
“I love you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if that was directed towards you or the baby, but either way, it was true. He loved you, both of you, with his whole being.
____________________________________________________________________________
The sounds of the waiting room pulled Steve down the hall. He stood at the entryway, his eyes bouncing from face to familiar face.
Eddie noticed his presence first. He shifted in his seat, sitting up a little straighter. Wayne did the same, his eyes following his nephew’s. Slowly, the entire party shifted, a silence falling over them as they turned to Steve, all of them waiting with bated breath.
“It’s a boy!” Steve finally said, the stretch of his grin felt across his entire face.
There was a split-second delay as the words sank over the group. Then, almost as one, they snapped to attention, a flurry of movement, a cacophony of sound erupting. Questions were being thrown at Steve, overlapping until it was just noise. Figures approached, arms wrapping around him or slapping him on the back, none distinguishable in the mob.
A short, sharp whistle sounded, freezing everyone.
“Okay,” Hopper said, his voice commanding yet gentle. “Okay. Let’s all just… give Harrington a moment. He looks like he’s about to fall over.” The bodies surrounding Steve took a collaborative step back. “Now, the big moment’s over. We’ve been sitting in these uncomfortable chairs for hours. Time to go home. Some of us have work in the morning.”
“But the baby?” Eleven asked quietly. The younger teens nodded– they’d come all this way. Surely they could see what they’d all been waiting for.
“We’ll all see the baby next week,” Joyce promised. “I’m sure Steve will reach out once everyone gets settled back at home. And Y/N probably isn’t in the mood for visitors right now.” She shared a knowing look with Steve, remembering just how tired and sore she’d been in the moments after her two boys were born.
The party nodded, understanding (or at least knowing that there was no wiggle room, if both adults were on board with this). They gathered up their things: bags, jackets, Max’s skateboard. And then they all trudged past Steve, single-file, giving him one more hug, one more wish of congratulations. Joyce and Hopper brought up the end of the train, the small woman giving Steve a hug, the chief of police clapping a hand on his shoulder.
The sudden absence of noise made Steve’s ears ring. He turned, finding only Eddie and Wayne still seated in their uncomfortable chairs. “You want to meet him?”
The two Munsons rose in sync and followed Steve down the hall once more. Half the lights in the room had been turned off, leaving you in the faint glow of a single fluorescent light. The blanketed bundle was still in your arms and you were peering down into it with what could only be called a look of pure, unadulterated love and affection.
“Hey,” Steve said quietly, drawing your attention. “You ready for some visitors?”
You had a small smile on your face as you looked behind Steve, finding only your brother and your uncle hovering in the doorway. “Where’s the rest of the circus?”
“Joyce and Hopper sent them all home,” Steve said with a slight laugh in his voice. “They figured you weren’t in the mood for… all of that.”
Your eyes moved from Steve to Eddie. “You want to meet your nephew?”
Your brother straightened slightly, taking small strides over to you. “Move aside, Harrington,” he said in a low, almost tear-heavy voice. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”
Eddie didn’t move to take the bundle from you. He leaned down, his dark hair falling over your shoulder as he peered at the tiny, scrunched face that was looking back up at him. A smile took over the metalhead’s expression, one that was completely unbridled. “Hey, little man,” he said softly. “I knew you were a boy.”
“You did not,” you said with a laugh. You turned your attention to your uncle, who was still standing in the shadows near the door. “Uncle Wayne?”
The older man finally stepped more into the room. He crossed around to the other side of the bed, taking a stance similar to Eddie’s. “May I?” he asked, his typical gruff tone taking on a warmth, a gentleness that was rarely heard.
You slowly lifted your hands, placing the baby in your uncle’s arms. You, Eddie, and Steve watched as the man carefully cradled the infant, his eyes steady as they watched the baby’s face.
“Haven’t held a baby since you two were little,” he said softly. “But I guess you never forget how. Like riding a bike.” He studied the baby for a few more seconds before turning his gaze back to you. “You did good, kiddo.”
“You want to tell them his name?” Steve asked, looking down at you.
“What, we’re not calling him ‘Jellybean’ for the rest of his life?” Eddie asked, the flicker of his old humor resurfacing, now that the crest of the emotional wave had passed. “I always thought that name was kind of lame.”
“That’s nicer than the things they used to call you,” Steve retorted. There was no heat in either of the young men’s phrases, no harshness. It felt like two brothers simply ribbing each other.
Wayne shot his nephew a look before looking back at you. “Your brother might not want to listen, but I do.”
“His name…” you said, taking a breath. “Is Joseph Wayne Harrington.”
