#Past Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler

[mugloversonly]

It's Jealousy

Written for the @steddiemas prompt: “Cabin, Cold” Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: “Snowfall, Jacket” WC: 745 rated: G ao3

summary: Each week for these two events will be their own contained story. A chapter will be a prompt and the whole story will be in a series on AO3 when it's finished

The holiday cabin they rented was peaceful, but cozy. Set up like college dorms with two twins to a room. The original plan was for Eddie and Argyle, Robin and Steve, and Nancy and Jonathon to share. But on the heels of their break up, Nancy and Argyle switched. Steve hated it, he sat up the night before wondering if Eddie was “helping” Nancy with her break up. Then hated himself for it. Even if they were, it wasn’t his business. But the anxiety ate at him all night until, the sun barely peaked over the horizon, leading him here.

The snow fell in big flakes as Steve cooked breakfast, his stare distant as the rest of the house got up. His mood didn’t improve much and he was fully pouting when Eddie and Nancy came into the kitchen together. Nancy was wearing Eddie’s jacket. No one else seemed to be giving them strange looks, but Steve felt petty.

“Is that Eddie’s jacket?” He asked innocently. He noticed Jonathon’s head snap to stare at the pair. Eddie barely reacted beyond a nod, but Nancy bristled slightly.

“So what if it is?” She asked with that tone that Steve knew meant he was walking on thin ice.

“Just...wondering that’s all.” He said nonchalantly and looked away. But not before he caught Eddie’s eye on him.

“You think we were bumping uglies or something last night?” Eddie asked, calling him out with a knowing smirk that stripped him raw.

“Ew!” Nancy shouted before Steve could respond, as she shifted away from Eddie. He pretended to look offended for all of two seconds before he burst out laughing. Steve wanted to know what was so funny about that but before he could ask, Eddie spoke.

“Dude, she’s my cousin!” He shouted still cackling. He wiped his eyes as he explained, “her dad, my mom, siblings, man.” Steve stared in shock at Nancy, who started laughing right along with him.

“You’re cousins with the freak and you never told me?” He asked harsher than he meant to; the two sobered immediately. Nancy with a mean glare on her face and Eddie with a resigned sigh.

“The second you think I’m fucking your ex I’m resorted back to freak huh?” He didn’t even sound mad, just hurt. He pushed back from the table without a word, stomped up the stairs, and slammed the door of the room. It was barely a minute later that Eddie was bounding down the steps and out the front door, car keys in hand. His van roared to life but didn’t move. Likely he was sitting in it to keep warm but the snow made it hard to drive anywhere.

No one said a word as they watched Steve sit in his guilt. “I shouldn’t have said that. Or asked about the jacket. I’m sorry.” He whispered to Nancy.

“It’s not me you need to apologize to” she said back with a flick of her hair. “I didn’t tell you, because Eddie asked me not to tell anyone.” She sighed. “He didn’t want anyone to judge me because of who he was, the only reason Mike was in hellfire is because he was already different.” She stood, grabbed their plates, and turned away. “I didn’t want to hide it, but he made me promise.” She walked away to the kitchen.

Jonathon followed Nancy without a word as did Argyle. Then it was just Robin...and Robin had questions.

“Why did it matter if they were?” Robin asked. “Like, I guess it might matter to Jonathon, but why you? I thought you were over Nancy.”

“I am!” Steve sighed. “It’s not that I didn’t want Eddie to sleep with her. I didn’t want her to sleep with Eddie.”

“Because he’s a freak?” Robin raised an eyebrow. Steve turned angrily toward her, ready to defend Eddie, before he realized he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He deflated and bumped his head to her shoulder.

“Because I was jealous.” He leaned up to look at his friend. “I think I’m in love with Eddie.” He admitted. He was ready to be grilled and reamed for it, but instead Robin just rolled her eyes.

“I know Steve. Now, go out there, apologize, and explain.” She pointed out the front door.

“But…” Steve asked but she slapped her hand over his mouth.

“Shut up and go!” Steve nodded and bolted outside, forgetting his jacket and shoes in his haste.

buy me a coffee

[springfaekohaku]

Warning Shot

It was only supposed to be a warning shot.

Steve Harrington found himself staring face first into the barrel of a gun, held by none other than Nancy Wheeler — his girlfriend.

Said girlfriend was shouting at him, while Jonathan Byers stood at her side with matching bandages on their hands, the boy looking just as shocked as Steve. His voice echoing around them and getting lost in Nancy’s booming voice, a side he never saw from the girl that he fell head over heels with. Steve could only hold his hands up in a surrendering gesture, he was officially freaking out.

It was chaos. Steve didn’t even know what to think, he arrived with the intent to figure out what was going on with the two of them, Tommy and Carols voices taunting him in his head that something was going on. But this? He was being screamed at, demanding he’d leave and get out of the Byers residence, while Christmas lights were flickering on the wall with an alphabet drawn into it; he felt like he was having a fever dream.

Until the walls started to tremble and shake, Nancy’s voice got desperate and in a panic at Steve’s insistence to know what the hell was going on, he just wouldn’t leave. Jonathan’s panic at the escalation and the added pressure of Steve being in the midst of their plan, making everything go astray. Nancy had to do something to get Steve to leave, she felt herself building in pressure and like a rubber band; she snapped.

Just as the roof was being sunken in and the lights bursting, a loud BANG! rung through the living room and it all went silent…

Steve felt like his ears burst and could only hear ringing as he stared at Nancy. It was like things were in slow motion and his brain didn’t catch up to what just happened until he felt a burning sharp pain in his right hand and turned his head to see a hole in the middle of his palm. That’s when it all set in and realised what the fuck just happened.

He hears both Nancy’s and Jonathan’s voices.

“It was only supposed to be a warning shot. I-It, I…I aimed above I swear. I didn’t mean to.”

“What did you just do?! You shot him! You actually shot him, whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck—”

Steve finally felt everything coming back and clear as the ringing subsided, the adrenaline wearing off and he truly feels the agony and pain in his hand. There is a hole in his hand. In the middle of his palm.

There is a fucking hole in his hand.

And Nancy Wheeler, his girlfriend was the cause of it. Pretty sure it was Ex-Girlfriend now.

He hears the two teenagers shouting in panic and stress, while Steve checked out, only feeling blood pooling out from his wound down his arms and off his elbow. So he releases his hands from the air and cradles his injured hand with his other one, it hurt but his mind was somewhere else and everything seemed to collapse on itself. In his mind and currently in the Byers living room. However, he had a rude awakening as he felt Jonathan call out his name like trying not to spook a wild animal that’s been injured. His name was soft and gentle on his lips. Steve could see the desperation and panic in his eyes, like they were running out of time.

And they were. They were given a moment of peace until hell broke loose again. Only this time, the roof does sink in on itself, with a monster phasing through it and Steve was right under it. He could only look up and see what appears to be a claw, almost puncturing through the roof like it was made out of flesh and stretched skin.

Jonathan didn’t waste a second, discarding the initial plan to coax Steve into safety, they ran out of time; so he lunges for Steve. Grabbing his uninjured arm, tugging him and both jumping over the bear trap and to the room with Nancy ahead, opening the door for both boys and her last, locking it and standing guard.

Steve was walked to the bed and Jonathan sat him down. He had to find something to bandage Steve’s wound, which felt fruitless because there was no medical supplies in this room. So he figured the next best thing is a thin layered shirt that he can tear up and use as a makeshift bandage. It seemed like luck was on his side because he found exactly that. It was a disposable shirt too, it wouldn’t be missed, so he got to work. He had to act fast, he could hear the monster finally break through and its heavy body hit the living room floor. He kneels down in front of Steve and sees the other boy holding his injured hand and trembling. He coaches Steve through it and tells him it’s going to be okay, that it’ll hurt but that he’s here. Maybe it was also to get himself together too. He’s not leaving. As scared as he is, Jonathan knew the monster smelt their blood and now Steve’s fresh flesh wound, he didn’t want it to get any worse than it already is.

They had a plan. It’s all gone to shit and haywire.

Now, they just need to figure out how to trap the bastard and keep it from the others. They can still do this, they need to do this.

Jonathan looks at his handy work and deems is satisfactory for now and turns towards Nancy, meeting her eyes, he sees her guarded, her eyes were stormy and face littered in a ripple of emotions. But it seems like she also has the same conclusion, get it together and focus on the plan; no matter if it’s skewed and ruined.

So, she meets Jonathan’s gaze. She doesn’t even have it in her to look at Steve. Her boyfriend. The boy she shot.

They can still execute in the next phase. They just need Steve to be hidden in a secure place, away from danger.

Away from Nancy and her gun. Which was unsaid but it was spoken in her mind.

Nancy nods, standing guard and Jonathan nods in return. Standing up to guide Steve to a wardrobe, taking everything out and placing him in. Jonathan didn’t feel any resistance, he can clearly tell Steve is still in shock and internally dissociating. He notices that far-away look and how pliant he was with being essentially manhandled into the wooden wardrobe. Sitting him down, Jonathan can only offer a few words of reassurance and telling the older boy they’ll be back for him when it’s over. He wasn’t able to wait for a response as Nancy signals Jonathan and Steve feels the sense of safety and warmth leave his space. A feeling he’d never thought associating with Jonathan, it was new but he couldn’t help but feel his lingering touches, gentle yet firm.

He doesn’t even notice the wardrobe doors close and all he knows next is darkness and being left alone with his thoughts. He can’t help but think back to his and Jonathan’s spat, how Steve taunted him and called him names, said awful things about his family and yet…the younger boy grabbed him and took his hand into safety and out of danger without a second thought. He can’t help but also think about how in their fight, or well, Steve’s beat-down, how Jonathan being on top of him sparked a feeling that felt dangerous and unknown, yet familiar. How he straddled his hips and felt his hands on him and like moments ago, instead of his touch hurting, he was gentle and kind. He felt butterflies in his stomach. It made Steve and his entire world go into turmoil and it seems like he’s come to two conclusions tonight:

Monsters are real.

He’s pretty sure he’s having a Queer awakening.

He didn’t have time to dwell more in the closet, haha, because the sound of gunshots, the sound of like a banshee screeching, Nancy’s voice and Jonathan’s grunts could be heard; Steve had to get out.

So he does.

Steve breaks out of his hiding spot and opens the door, he rushes to the scene of commotion and sees Jonathan pinned down by the monster, which looked to be made out of flesh, its mouth opens like a flower with petals that has razor sharp teeth inside — all wanting to bite into Jonathan’s face as the boy tries to fight against it. Nancy fired shots but it seems to not deterrent the monster, not even bothering it and she seemed frozen and unsure what to do next.

Enter Steve who spots the nailed bat, so he leaps over the bear trap again, grabbing the nail bat and as the adrenaline fills his entire being once again; he doesn’t even feel the pain as he grips the bat in a death grip. He gets close enough and shouts at the ugly bastard. He gains its attention and it screeches at him, now smelling the fresh blood from Steve’s hand and detached itself from Jonathan. It stood and towered over Steve but Steve didn’t feel anything but anger, rage, the instinct to protect and keep them safe.

He twirls the bat to get a better grip and positions himself into a stance to fully swing at the monster, using all his strength and power, he hoped playing baseball for a while payed off.

So he swung, the monster staggering and Steve was hitting blow after blow and that’s when Nancy and Jonathan recoup to see Steve backing the hideous creature into the bear trap. It was working.

Holy shit, it was working.

Steve knew it fell into the trap as it screeched in a guttural scream that he hasn’t heard before.

That’s when he hears Jonathan’s voice shouting at him to stand back and he sees the boy throw a lit lighter into the gasoline which Steve didn’t even notice until it was engulfing the floor and racing towards the trap. Eventually engulfing the creature and the three teens watch as the creature screamed, tried to break free of the trap and even tears off its leg to escape.

Nancy was caught off guard at the unexpected movement and backed away and tugged Jonathan back with her. Eyes trained on it as it advances towards them but then Steve, Steve being the reckless idiot he was, uses the last of his strength and takes only a few strides and twists his body, elbows up and shoulders squared; his feet planted and he swings.

The nails pierced the monsters head before the rest of the bat followed, connecting with the head ripping it clean off its shoulders. The screeching stopped at its decapitation and only the sound of fire burning its flesh remain and the flicker of the lights finally stop and the room stopped feeling like it was going through an earthquake. They stare at the monsters corpse and sees it disintegrating under the flames, taking the heat with it and only leaving scorch marks behind.

Everything was still.

It was over.

Or was it?

TBC…

Next chapter —>

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie: So, Chrissy's made out with Steve at a party once, I know for sure that Nancy's kissed Steve. . .is there anyone in this room besides myself who hasn't kissed Steve?

Of Jonathan, Argyle, Vickie, Steve, Chrissy, Nancy, and Robin. . .only Jonathan and Vickie raised their hands. Everyone looked at Robin in surprise.

Robin: *shrugs* I was curious. . .I still don't like men like that, if you're wondering.

Jonathan: Wait. . .Argyle, when did you kiss Steve?

Steve: A couple of months after he got here, he lured me into his van with weed, and we started talking about our hair. . . Well, one thing led to another. . .

Eddie: Damn. . .I feel left out.

Steve: Well, you can always change that.

Eddie: *to Chrissy* Baby?

Chrissy: *laughing* Go ahead.

Eddie leans over and kisses Steve.

Argyle: Schmackin.

Eddie: Vickie? You want a hit?

Vickie: *laughing* I'm good with only kissing Robin, thanks.

Steve: *grinning* I'm not for everyone.

[emily-mooon]

Happy holidays! Here’s Jonathan in the most devastating au you can put him in: It’s A Wonderful Life au

Colour version↓

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Wheeler

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.6k || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Karen Wheeler stands in the open door of her own house, shock etched into her gaping mouth and wide eyes. She reaches out towards what Steve assumes is the wound across his forehead and into his hairline, an angry red from getting the stitches removed earlier that morning. He sees the moment she decides against it, dropping her hand back to clutch the door handle. "I'm sorry, Steve, but Nancy isn't home right now."

He accepts the change in direction with a sharp pang of disappointment, forgetting amidst all of the bullshit his life has been lately that Karen Wheeler loves her children and the people close to them. And that's not Steve, not anymore.

She’s wearing the red and green sweater she bought on sale last winter. Karen had thrown her handful of oversized shopping bags into the middle of the living room floor while Nancy and Steve were cuddled up watching reruns on the couch. Nancy tried making up an excuse for them to skip the fashion show, but Karen looked so disappointed– plus Steve really does love shopping. So they’d spent the next twenty minutes pouring over each piece she found. The sweater was one of his favorites, and she’s now paired with simple light-wash jeans and a casual pony-tail. 

She looks good, but Karen Wheeler always knows how to put herself together enough to fool anyone, even her own family– like mother, like daughter.

"It's ok," he replies, tone bursting with false cheer. "I was hoping to talk to you, actually. About Mike."

Although Steve practically lived with the Wheeler's for the past year– much to Ted's chagrin– Steve and Mike tended to avoid interactions at all costs. Their arranged seats for dinner were at opposite sides of the table. While Steve and Nancy watched a movie in the living room, Mike would hide upstairs. And whenever Mike beat them to the remote, he would steal Nancy into the basement. Steve was always cordial when he could be, but Mike would only reply with dirty looks or a roll of his eyes.

So when Karen sighs and waves him to follow her into the kitchen, he's surprised that she seems like she’s been expecting him. He takes his normal seat at the table and she hands him a glass of iced tea with lemon on the side. The familiarity clogs his throat, and he thinks the slight twist of her mouth means she's stuck in the same moment, a nostalgia for affection neither of them had a choice in ending, but with an ending all the same.

"Mike told me you got into a fight with a boy from school, but I never imagined–" Karen gestures at his face, mottled brown and yellow like bruised fruit. One scrutinous glance from Karen Wheeler has him mentally cataloging the numerous injuries decorating his face, and he can feel them all at once. 

The swelling in his eye has gone back to normal. His lip's scabbed over for the third time and he can feel the edges peel away where he absently pokes at it with his tongue. Steve wishes he could hide the evidence of his failure in the same way he can with the headaches, fuzziness, and the night terrors. The stiffness in his hands and neck, and the high-pitched static in his ears.

"Yeah, looks like I'm not the best fighter in town." His laugh is hollow. She knows it in the tilt of his lips. He knows she’s figured him out by the tap, tap, tap of her foot.

"Mike said you were protecting them," she says, lilting up at the end in question. "He said something about the new girl, Max, and how her brother didn't care much for Lucas."

When he nods, she pulls out the chair next to him. Her normal spot at the table, Steve on one side and Holly on the other. He never really understood why Nancy and Mike always seemed annoyed by the way she was always around, or how they felt genuinely misunderstood when Karen would ask about their days. Maybe they saw Ms. Byers carve her way into another dimension to save her son, setting a bar so high it forced them to wonder if their mom would do the same. Not realizing some parents wouldn't notice their child missing in the first place.

It's not a competition, Steve repeats to himself whenever he feels that familiar thick bitterness climb up his throat. The Wheeler’s lives aren’t better or worse from one his, just different.

Karen pats his fisted hands, pulling him from his reverie. He unclenches his teeth to take a sip of his favorite drink, and she smiles at him. "Is that what you came to talk about, Steve? About the fight?"

"Kind of," he answers. "I'm worried that Max's brother won't– that maybe it'll happen again. And I want the kids to feel safe, so I was hoping you'd let me watch out for Mike when he's not home. I've already talked with Mrs. Henderson and the Sinclair's, and they're ok with me driving the kids to and from school, hanging out at my house until they're done with work. Stuff like that. Max's mom's alright with it too, not that you know her, I guess."

He takes another large drink to stop his rambling. Talking with the other kids' parents wasn't easy for him– well, except for Claudia, who welcomed him with open arms and a slightly painful kiss on his forehead. But now all he can think of is the fact that he can't remember the last time Karen Wheeler hugged him and that she probably never will again.

"Do you think Mike would feel safe with you?" The question cuts through him. He looks up to see genuine softness in her eyes, and Steve’s forced to realize he's not actually sure what Mike would think. He'd only thought of the kids being together, all in one spot where he can see them and know for certain they’re alright without having to drive all over town in his pajamas in the dead of night just so he can be absolutely certain. "I know Nancy forgave you pretty quickly for what happened last year. And since I've gotten to know you, I've seen you grow and change for the better. But Mike," she trails off.

"I know." He’s not sure of what else to say. How did he get this far without even considering what Mike would want? He spent weeks planning what he'd say to everyone's parents, assuming the kids would be ok with it. How could he be stupid enough to remember that, no matter how hard he fights, Mike’s never quit hating him. "I'm not sure what to do to get him to forgive me."

"My boy might be stubborn," she says, "but he knows right from wrong, and he knows a good person when he sees one." Karen stands from the table, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she bends down to look him in the eye. "If you talk with Mike and he's ok with it, then I'm ok with it." She pats him on the shoulder and he moves to follow her where she’s headed to the side door leading out to the garage.

They find Mike kneeling on the floor, bike flipped upside down and fingers covered in grease as he holds the chain in front of him. Without looking up at them, he huffs, annoyed and frustrated. "Mom, I told you I'd be done before dinner, okay? Jesus–"

"Hey, language," Steve chides in time with Karen. They share a smile until the moment's severed by Mike's shrill screech.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Instead of scolding him once more, Karen gives Steve's arm a last reassuring squeeze before he hears the door close behind him. Mike stares at him, confused and impatient. Steve supposes he can't blame the kid, but it doesn't change the fact he doesn't know what to say.

Steve takes a cautious step down off the entry mat, the hard concrete floor shooting spikes of cold through his socked feet. Mike stands and takes a step back, wiping his greasy fingers on his pants, and he finds himself feeling a little bad for Karen when she inevitably finds them in the laundry pile.

Might as well rip the band-aid off.

"I want to be your babysitter."

"Fuck no!"

"Hey, I said language, Wheeler! How many damn times–" he trails off, the automatic response dying out as Mike's answer settles into his brain. "Why?" It comes out sounding small, more desperate than he likes.

"Why would I want you as my babysitter?” He throws his head back, barking a laugh so full of hate it reminds Steve of himself, of his father. “You think you can get whatever you want just because you've got money and hair and a fancy car. You've convinced everyone to forgive you, and that you're a 'good guy', but you're still just King Steve.” 

Mike throws the chain down on the ground between them, and Steve flinches on reflex. The tantrum unfolding in front of him is red and swollen and hurts more than the cuts on his face. 

It leaves Steve momentarily frozen, long enough for Mike to dash towards the side door and out into the yard. He follows Mike around front to the driveway, socks damp and cold with melted snow. Steve wraps his arms around himself, jacket on the hook inside the front door with only a maroon Henley to fight away the chill of a dark, winter evening. Mike isn’t faring any better in jeans and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt, but Steve breathes a small sigh of relief to see the kid’s at least got shoes on.

"Mike, look, I'm sorry–"

"You're sorry?" Mike yells, turning to get in Steve's face. "Do you even know what you're sorry for?"

Headlights blind them as Nancy pulls into the driveway, hurrying out of the driver's side door. Steve takes a step towards her when he hears another car door close. Jonathan rounds the front of the car from the passenger’s side, taking his place shoulder-to-shoulder with Nancy as they stare at him in confusion.

"What's going on?" Nancy asks, gesturing to the both of them.

Mike scoffs. "King Steve here thinks he's going to be my babysitter just because he's charmed everyone else’s parents into thinking he’s a good person now." He's looking at her like she's in on the joke, but she's looking at Steve with surprised awe in her eyes. Brief butterflies fill Steve's chest, quickly dying out when Jonathan takes Nancy's hand. He sees her squeeze his grip, yet she doesn't look away.

"Steve?" Her eyebrow's arched in question, and even Jonathan tilts his head as they wait for an explanation.

He somehow can't find the words. They're trapped in the fog behind his eyes, and each time he thinks he's grasped it, all he finds are nightmares. 

You weren't there, you left me! You left me and I was scared and alone and I almost died because you weren’t there and youleftmeyouleftmeyouleftme–

“Nance.” A small whisper, a plea. Jonathan squeezes her hand but Steve couldn’t care less. There’s only one thing now that matters. “I just want them to be safe, please.” She frowns, pulling Jonathan in her wake as she stands in front of Steve. Nancy’s gaze pierces through him, and he watches as she catalogs each and every one of his injuries. 

Steve closes his eyes as she gently runs her hand over the cut on his forehead and into his hair. They never talked after they made it back to the house. He doesn’t blame her for it, at least he tries not to. She’d been concerned with Mike, flying to his side as soon as her and Jon had stepped through the door. Mike poured himself over Will’s limp body draped in Jonathan’s arms, and Nancy had wrapped herself around him from behind. It was beautiful and painful and it was in that moment he knew Jonathan Byers was the perfect man for a girl like Nancy Wheeler.  

Steve hears her sigh, and as he holds back tears when her touch leaves him unmoored, Steve looks up to see Nancy and Jonathan share a look of understanding he’s never experienced from her. The way she looks at Jonathan isn’t with what he now understands as motherly exasperation. When Nancy gazes at Jonathan, she sees a partner. Someone who will stand next to her in a fight and support her the way she supports him. 

Jonathan needs her just as much as Nancy needs him back. But she’s never needed Steve, not really. He’s only ever needed her, and that only ever weighed her down. 

He knows she sees the desperation for purpose in his eyes. The drive to be useful if not wanted in full. As Steve holds back tears when she removes her hand from his hair, he’s momentarily bolstered by Jonathan patting his shoulder. A gesture in solidarity that leaves Steve stunned enough to miss Nancy turning to Mike.

"Mike," she says, firm and unyielding in a way only Nancy Wheeler can sound. "You know Steve’s changed. None of us would be standing here if he was still just King Steve. He kept you safe from the demodogs and from Billy. You know he deserves a second chance so why won’t you give it to him?"

Mike sneers at her. "Just because you were stupid enough to give him a second chance doesn't mean I will. He's an asshole, Nancy! He was an asshole to you and you act like it never happened. You just took him back and he got to have Christmas with us like we all loved him. How did you expect us to like him when you couldn't even pretend to?”

Her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open, and she steps back to gain some space. Steve's never seen this kind of anger in a kid before– deep seeded and heavy– and it seems Nancy's just as surprised. 

He turns to face Steve now, screaming at him for all of Hawkin’s to hear. Light from the kitchen window flashes across the snow covered front lawn, and Steve absently wonders if Karen predicted how this would all go and wants to see for herself.

“You're an idiot if you think you’re the one who kept us safe. You got your face beat in while Max did all the work. Why would you think you're good enough to be my babysitter when all you are is a punching bag?" Steve watches Mike's face bloom red across his cheeks and ears, flamed with rage built up over a year of sharing a dining room table with a guy he hates.

When Mike’s first punch hits one of Steve’s bruised ribs, he tries his best not to wheeze and fall back. The second hit sends sparks of lightning through his chest. Even through the searing pain and the high-pitched ringing in his ears, he finally understands that Mike’s right. Steve really is stupid, in a way. 

Because when Mike looks at Steve, he sees every bully who’s ever pushed him down or called his friends names. Every popular asshole who looks at him in the halls and only sees the weird kid who plays DnD and joins AV club. 

Mike looks at Steve and refuses to see the difference between him and bullies like Billy Hargrove. People who find outlets for their anger through violence and scathing slurs instead of brains and compassion. 

Steve’s always been angry. An angry child raised in an angry home by an angry father. All out in the open and easy to see by anyone who looked their way, not that anyone did. Best to avoid Richard and Elizabeth Harrington if they could, but obvious all the same. So Steve tries not to be too hard on himself that he failed to recognize the same undirected anger in Mike’s eyes. It’s not so obvious with the Wheelers.

Maybe monsters and bullies and missing friends drove an angry and confused Mike to his father, unbothered and aloof, leaving Mike with only the same bullies and monsters to model his anger.

Maybe Nancy looked to her own mother to find a polite, mild-mannered woman who kept her feelings close to her chest. Steve only ever saw Nancy as passionate with a fierce sense of justice, when she’s just a girl angry that her best friend is dead and there was nothing she could do about it. How their relationship fell apart because Steve’s never seen a girl filled with rage, so he couldn’t recognize the fire in her eyes for what it was, and how Jonathan’s eyes burn the same.

Maybe, Steve thinks, the four people standing in this driveway are all searching for outlets for the same, too-big emotions bubbling inside of them, and Mike’s picked Steve. 

Good. Because now Steve finally has a purpose for Mike Wheeler.

He’s not sure when his arms wrapped so tight around the boy screaming into his chest that he couldn’t move, but he feels Mike shaking against him as his small, grease-covered fists continue to hit him in the back, each strike slower and softer than the last. Steve’s surprised to see Nancy silently crying in Jonathan’s arms, her hands clenched in the front of Byers’ jacket and knuckles as white as the snow around them.

Steve’s whispered apologies morph into just a string of slurred, repetitive noises. He knows the anger never really goes away, but there’s only so much energy to burn before it flares out and dies. 

Steve’s socks are soaked through, his toes are filled with painful pinpricks, and there’s a wet spot on the front of his jacket where Mike’s head rests against his chest. Whether it’s just a towel and a punching bag or a babysitter and protector, Steve will be whatever Mike Wheeler needs him to be. 

Drained, Mike finally slumps against him. Steve holds him up.

“Mike,” Steve says softly, moving the boy back far enough to look him in the eye, “it’s ok if you don’t want me around, or if you don’t want me to be your babysitter. I want you to feel safe, and if that’s not with me– then it’s not me.”

The kid’s face is a wreck of red splotches, puffy eyes, and a leaky nose. Steve smiles, as soft and gentle as he can manage as he tries to pry Mike’s dirty fingers from his sweater. The small hands hold firm, and he watches as Mike does his best to stop from hyperventilating. 

“What about Will?” Mike asks.

Before Steve can ask what he means, Jonathan cuts him off.

“I’ll talk with Will,” he responds, smiling at Steve. He lets out a small chuckle. “I think Will’s been wanting to meet you anyway. He’s heard enough about you from Dustin and Lucas that I think he feels a bit left out.”

“Really?” Everyone jumps at the volume of Steve’s voice, shocked.

“Yeah, man,” Jonathan laughs again. “They won’t shut up about how cool you are. I think even Max likes you.”

The scab on Steve’s lip breaks open, his smile so wide he can feel it prickle behind his eyes. He hoped the kids had grown used to him by now. Fairly confident that Dustin, Lucas, and Max enjoyed having him around, even if it was just to poke fun at him. All in good spirits, and that’s ok with him.

Knowing Will Byers, of all kids, wants the chance to get to know him is more than Steve could’ve ever hoped.

“I’d love that,” Steve chokes out, releasing his hands from Mike’s shoulders to rub the wetness from his eyes. 

“Come over Thursday morning. Early, like six-thirty. Mom’s usually getting ready by then.”

Steve nods, hard and fast and excited enough that it makes him a bit dizzy. Last year, Jonathan had told Steve all was forgiven, that saving him from the demogorgon more than made up for their fight. He never really believed him. Steve only accepted the apology because it was important to Nancy, not because he felt he deserved it. 

To find out Jonathan not only truly forgave him for what happened, but that he trusts Steve to keep Will safe. After everything the boy’s been through, everything the entire Byers family has survived, he feels overwhelmed with gratitude. 

Mike sighs, low and exhausted. “If it’s ok with Will, then I guess I can give you another shot.”

Steve tastes the metallic tang of copper on his tongue when he smiles again. 

“I promise I won’t let you down, Wheeler,” he vows. He’s met with a hesitant but genuine smile, and it fills him with hope.

Steve walks with them back up to the house to grab his shoes and coat. Karen greets them at the door, pulling Mike, then Nancy, and then Jonathan into a hug. He finds the same bitterness in his throat again, but it’s smaller now. Easy to push aside now that he’s starting to understand the Wheeler’s as they are, rather than how he used to see them.

He hopes he can be more than what Mike sees in him too, happy just to be given the chance to show them all the person he’s trying to be. Someone who’s safe and strong and caring. All the things he needs to be a good babysitter.

[estrellami-1]

So that bit where Steve rips I to Murray about outing his loved ones and pushing Nancy to cheat on him...

Have you considered (yes, I just realized it was part of the initial ask, but I've been dwelling on this for years, man): Not only does Joyce find out that Jonathan helped Nancy cheat on the boyfriend he DEFINITELY knew about, but she also just found out about the photos through Steve's upstairs bedroom window. Photos that could not ever be claimed as accidental. Now, Joyce has been holding a bit of a grudge against Steve since he broke her boy's camera. Jonathan only told her that Steve Harrington got pissed off and busted it, not why. And then Steve went and fought with Jon and her son got arrested while that rich boy got off scott free. That just reinforced her grudge, especially considering the stress she was already under at the time. But then she finds out it wasn't just Steve being a bitchy popular jock, but that her boy was also being a creepy dick. And she recalls that Steve not only apologized for breaking his camera, but that he replaced it, too.

Enjoy! Also @zerokrox-blog hope this answers your prompt :)

Jonathan’s been scared of his mom before, for good reasons: when he was seven and broke a vase after she’d told him to stop running in the house, at eleven when he lied about his grades, at fifteen when he snuck out for the first (and only) time.

Every time she gets really mad at him, she gets quiet.

She’s been silent for a solid ten minutes. The only words she’d spoken had been to Murray, to tell him to leave. She’d been quiet then, too, then just stayed silent.

“So here’s what I thought the story was,” she starts, and Jonathan wants to dig a hole to China and bury himself. “I thought Nancy and Steve had broken up, then you and she had gotten together. I thought he broke your camera because he got mad at you for who-knows-what. I thought he fought you, antagonized you, until you couldn’t hold back anymore. I thought I knew you. I thought I knew the son, the man, I raised, would never sleep with a taken woman. Would never hide in the bushes and take pictures of someone else’s property or body. And to think she’d been half-naked…” Joyce shakes her head, leans back in her chair. Considers the knife still clutched in her hand and very carefully places it down next to her plate. “To think that I thought he’d been acting like Lonnie. Worse than Lonnie, even, which maybe wasn’t a fair comparison for a teenager, but I thought I knew my son.” She shakes her head again, stands, picks up her plate and silverware. Doesn’t look at Jonathan when she says, “I was partially right. Someone was acting like Lonnie. It just wasn’t who I’d originally thought. And to think I held onto a grudge against him for years.” She purses her lips, steps back from the table. Whispers the next line. “You need to think very, very carefully about your next move. I don’t know if Steve’s forgiven you. If I were him, I don’t know that I would.” She steps back again. “While you think about it… well. Forgive me if I need some time to think about it too. After all, you also lied to me.” She tilts her head in thought. “If memory serves, he replaced the camera he smashed. I feel that bears remembering when you think about what to do.” With that, she turns and makes her way to the kitchen.

And Jonathan? He feels about as small as a gnat. Even smaller. Nancy’s trembling next to him, hand over her mouth, and he’s not sure he should reach out. He’s not sure she’d want him to; not sure he wants to. He does, though, grazes the back of her hand with a fingertip. She chokes, looking at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, and he helps her up, helps her out the front door and into his car, gets in and starts driving without thinking about it first.

He realizes most of the way there that he was driving to the Wheelers’. Walks inside with Nancy when they get there, all the way up to her room. Silent.

“We need to talk,” Nancy says, and Jonathan nods even as he feels like the rug’s been yanked out from under his feet.

Fighting monsters was easy compared to this.

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly Track 1: Before the Beginning

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, bad parents all around, era-typical misogyny and sexism, mentions of reader's looks (as being very beautiful), partially interview format, no use of YN

AN: Hi, if you're a longtime TCGU reader, please read this note from me explaining this new format. If this is your first time coming across This fic, welcome! Please enjoy my attempt at a Daisy Jones and the Six!AU with some Fleetwood Mac-messiness thrown in.

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 8.6K

***

STEVE: Right, so I just start talking into this microphone thing?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, but you need to introduce yourself first.

STEVE: You know who I am, we’ve known each other for—ah, okay, okay sorry. I’m Steve. Harrington, obviously. Former lead singer and guitarist of The Downsides. So, uh, where do I start?

INTERVIEWER: The beginning—tell me about how you first got involved with music.

STEVE: Right, okay, I can do that. I grew up kinda lonely. My dad was this big real estate investor but we lived in Indiana of all places, so he was always traveling. I don’t think I remember him ever being home for more than a month straight growing up… and my mom was there but she wasn’t there, ya know? She drank a lot and spent a lot of time in bed, that sort of thing.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

Your childhood is a lonely one but it’s also a boring and predictable one.

Born in sun-soaked LA to a movie director father and his much younger model wife, two people who didn’t know each other well enough to either love or hate the other. They maintained a similar distance in their marriage as the one they tried to uphold in their individual relationships with you, their child.

So, your infancy was spent in a rotation of different nanny’s arms with your parents’ presence only dotting the periphery of your life. Who could blame them, after all? Infants are so contrived and boring compared to the big, wide, world of art that was Los Angeles in the 1960s.  Your parents were far too busy trying to cement their legacy in the art they created and inspired to spend too much time looking after you.

(Much later in life, you would find yourself wondering if your parents ever saw the irony  in the fact that your art ended up eclipsing their entire existence in the end and their only legacy was that of being your parents.)

As a child, however, you spent little time thinking of legacy and instead spent your time trying to feel less lonely.

***

STEVE: When I was a kid I would wonder why my parents even had me. Sorry, that’s like a total bummer thing to say during an interview. But it’s true. And you said to tell the truth. I never felt wanted by them. Until I got famous, and even then… but that’s not new,  a lot of kids grow up feeling lonely, right?

***

The employees who raised you were nice enough, but they saw you for what you were: a means to an end. A paycheck with big, sad, beautiful eyes that may beget sympathy, but they couldn’t get too close to.  The children you came to meet at your elite California private school seemed palatable enough at first, but the more you interacted with them, the more you found yourself at a loss. It was like they spoke a secret language you did not know—a language of price tags, and ever-changing hierarchies and thinly-veiled insults. One that your mother spoke perfectly, but never bothered to pass down to you.

You end up turning to books instead. The home library your father kept up for appearances’ sakes became your favorite room in the house and your teenage growth spurts were fed by any and all novels you could get your hands on from historical biographies to soapy romances, you read them all.  You loved them all, but you loved poetry the most— emotive and raw in ways you were unfamiliar with. You liked the way the syllables rolled gracefully into one another and how each word served a purpose—compact with meaning and so unlike the people around you who were so careless with their words.

As you began to age, and the meaningless mess of childhood shifted into the sharpness of adolescence, you began to write yourself. One day, somehow you had the idea of putting your poetry to music. If you could write songs good enough to be played on the radio then maybe you could earn people's adoration through your art like your parents had, you reasoned. Maybe you could even earn their adoration. You beg your parents for piano lessons, and they scoff at the thought.  “But what’s the point of having one if no one can play it?” You ask, referencing the piano in the grand foyer.

“That piano is not meant to be played,” your mother explains, slowly, “it’s meant to be admired by our guests.”

She walks away from the conversation before you can even protest.

Instead of giving up, though, you went to the library and borrowed all the books you could on music and piano playing and slowly began to teach yourself. You were not very good, at first, and both your parents made a habit of reminding you whenever they were around to hear you practicing. Luckily, they were rarely around.

***

STEVE: My parents signed me up for every single activity and extra-curricular you can think of: karate, basketball, pottery.   The one that really stuck though, was guitar lessons. Soon, that was the only thing I wanted to do it was something I was actually good at. Not something I had potential in, not something I was passable at. It was something I was good at. My dad did not like the idea of me going into music at first—he wanted me to take on a “manlier” hobby—but even he couldn’t deny that I was talented, and he sent me to this specialized music school in Indianapolis. That’s where I met Robin. That’s when I stopped feeling so alone.

ROBIN: Robin Buckley, brass, bass, and synth for The Downsides.

I met Steve when we were thirteen, I think, at this fancy music school in Indianapolis. I was there on scholarship.  I’m not going to lie, he was obnoxious, but most thirteen-year-old boys are. Even then, though, there was something about him that made everyone want to be his friend. He was also really talented. He never had to work very hard to be good at something, but he worked hard anyway. I hated him at first, but he wore me down and we eventually became best friends.

***

1978

Your music became a good outlet for all your loneliness and anger and disappointment, but it was not a cure for any of those things. You craved friendship and commonality and to be liked beyond the surface.

One day, when you were towards the end of seventeen, you decided to go exploring. You had heard Emily Cooke whispering salaciously in the girls’ bathroom at school about sneaking into the Whiskey A Go-Go to see The Six playing and an idea began to blossom.

Your home was only a walking distance from the Strip, the aptly named piece of street that was lined with clubs and musical venues, so that day, after hearing Emily’s plan you decided to try your luck at the Whiskey. You loved music, after all, and you wanted to be good at it, like the musicians that played there. Plus, there were others that shared those interests and the was a chance that some of them would be more tolerable than Emily Cooke.

You waited in line, by yourself, donning an outfit that you hoped made you look older than you were in an organic, cool way. When you made it to the doorman, you smiled trying to look more confident than pleading. His eyes raked over your body once, then twice and you resist the urge to flinch away. You had known then that you were beautiful—mostly because it was the only thing your mother valued in you— but what you hadn’t known was how far just being beautiful could get you. The doorman had let you in the club, not even questioning when your voice wavered while you had told him you were older than you actually were.

***

ROBIN:   Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Steve was my first kiss.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

ROBIN: Oh, right…. Well, whatever, Steve Harrington was my first kiss. He was also the first person I told that I liked girls. I knew from a really early age that I didn’t find men attractive but when Steve kissed me at our high school dance I had this immediate realization and I sorta burst out, “Steve, I like girls.” It was a really great moment of self-awareness for me—growing up as a girl, they always try to put you in this box of like feminity and being whatever men wanted you to be, including an object to be looked at or pawned over. I didn’t know how being gay fit into all that, until that moment.

I don’t think it was that great of a moment for Steve, though.

STEVE: She told you about that? Well, for the record, it wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it's just when you're a teenage boy and if your first crush admits she's a lesbian moments after you kiss her for the first time, well, it does not do your ego any favors, does it?

***

The moment you walked through that door, your life became severed in two: the before and the after. You watched, from the fringe of the crowd, as Billy Dunne crooned soulfully, and the audience sang his own words back to him.

You briefly imagine yourself on the stage, being someone that people would actually want to come see, someone that people would listen to. Someone people would love.  

***

STEVE: I always knew I wanted to be in music. It was the only thing that ever made sense. Wait, no, that’s not right… It’s the only thing that ever made life make sense. So, I started working at it, like seriously working it at, when I was 16. I bought as many records as I could, figured out what I liked, what I could do, and I practiced all the time. Like all the time. Robin did, too. I would play the guitar and sing, and she was insane on the trumpet and bass. I don’t think we ever sat down and had a conversation about whether we wanted to form a band or even what we wanted for ourselves in the future. We just always knew it was going to be the two of us, and we were going to be making music. Of course, you can’t have a band with only a guitar and a trumpet, so we had to start looking for more members.

***

1980

From that point on, your life had purpose.

You began to study everything about music—obsessively. You collected records, you played the piano until your fingers became cramped and sore or until your mother yelled at you to stop.

You filled notebook after notebook with lyrics, some good, many bad.

But you also kept your eyes on the tabloids and the gossip rags and the fashion magazines. To be a successful musician, you had to be good of course, but you also had to be well-liked. Growing up in the environment you did had given you a very unique perspective on this. Since infancy, you had seen hopeful artists-to-be approach your father for a chance, or ask your mother for advice. The most successful of them were not always the ones who had the best things to say, but those who said what they had to say in the best way.

 You practiced giving fake interviews in front of your mirror and in the shower. You stayed on top of trends and bought the best-fitting clothes. And most importantly, you tried to associate yourself with all the right people.

By the time you turned 18, you were well-known, even beyond the Strip. Photos of you standing next to the bass player/drummer/guitarist/lead singer of whatever band might have been riding a momentary wave of popularity at the time began to appear in tabloid magazines.

Most of them were men. Most of them wanted something out of you. You became a master in the art of giving just enough for them to think they had a chance with you if it meant that you could learn from them or convince them to listen to one of your songs. But every time you would even mention the idea that you wrote music, you would come hit a wall of patronizing, feigned interest followed by a grab at your chest.

Then came Jason Carver. Lead singer of the Letterman’s, Jason Carver. You dated him for a few weeks, right after you had turned 18. He was 25 and just charming enough for you to overlook his frequent condescension. Plus, he had promised that he would teach you a few chords on the guitar.

One day, you had come over to his apartment and he was getting all worked up because the band’s label was on his ass about writing a song and he couldn’t quite get it right. He needed to write a love song, something introspective and sweet but Jason could only churn out party anthems and songs meant to be played in dive bars.

Eventually, after hearing him gripe for what seemed like an eternity, you sent him off to take a shower and in the meanwhile compiled all of his shreds of half-lines and began to work filling in the gaps. Forty minutes later, you had a solid chorus and first verse to present to him for a song you thought should have been called “All At Once”. You thought that this would’ve made him happy, after all, you had gotten him one step closer to a possible song. (And maybe, you had secretly hoped, in all of his gratitude he could be swayed to give you a writing credit on the song).  Instead, he laughed at you like you were a child pretending to do an adult task and asked you to leave with a hasty promise that he would call you later that week. He never called. The hurt you felt was only a pin-prick. Six months later, you heard The Letterman’s on the radio: a new song by them called, “All At Once”. You tried to convince yourself for a moment that there would be no way that Jason could blatantly steal your song after having mocked you for even trying to write. But, boy, were you wrong. Those were, in fact, your lyrics, on the radio. Yes, the band had added another verse but, ultimately, your lyrics were all there. The same lyrics Jason had so easily dismissed six months prior.

That was when you realized if you were going to get ahead in the industry, you were going to have to play dirty, like Jason Carver.

***

 ROBIN: We met Argyle in Chicago. Once we graduated high school Steve and I started working as subs for small bands in the Midwestern circuit. Yes, it was as grim as it sounds, but it paid the bills and helped us meet people. Argyle was the drummer of some Reggae band that needed a bass player for a few weeks when their bassist got arrested on possession charges. I subbed in and was immediately super impressed by his skills. People always underestimated Argyle, to this day, because of the whole vibe he gives off, you know? But he’s smart and adaptable. Anyway, when his bassist lost his case, the band broke up indefinitely and I tried my best to convince Argyle to join Steve and me. There were two of us, we’d never played an official gig, and we didn’t even have a name, but Argyle said yes. Next was Nancy. We held open auditions for a keyboardist once Argyle was onboard. After five passable auditions, Nancy Fucking Wheeler walks in in this long skirt and bows in her hair. She had a book of Debussy sheet music for God’s sake. I almost burst out laughing when I saw her because I thought she must have been lost but then, in true Nancy Wheeler fashion she blew us all away. Ugh, was that woman talented. And gorgeous. Steve’s jaw had to be crane-lifted off the floor, it was love at first sight.

STEVE: It was not. She’s exaggerating.

1980

Ironically, you met Murray Bauman at one of your parents’ parties.

You knew he was a music producer for Starcourt Records because he kept loudly boasting to his date about it. The same Starcourt Records that the Letterman’s were signed on to.

You waited until he was two gin martinis in and standing alone admiring your father’s latest art purchase before you approached.

“Hello,” you said, brandishing a dazzling smile, your whole body angled and ready to perform this familiar dance.

“Aren’t you the producer for the Letterman’s?”

He shot you a grin that borders on swarmy and said, “why yes, I am and you look like you’re out past your bedtime.”

You didn’t react to his statement and instead marched onwards, “I loved their latest song, ‘All At Once’ right? It’s so romantic.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure how Carver popped that one out, he’s a bit of a meathead if you catch my drift.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction before laughing at his own joke.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not surprised to hear that considering I dated him,” your eyes flashed in a way that you hoped came off as dangerous, “and that I wrote that song.”

He regarded you for a moment before breaking out in a laugh. When he saw your expression remained unchanged, he stepped back in assessment.

“Oh shit, you’re being serious.”

You only nodded grimly.

“Okay, well that’s a new one. Usually, girls come up claiming that one of those idiots impregnated them, not this.”

He regarded you again, searching for a trace of a lie. He sighed, “So let’s say that you did write the song, which, knowing what I know about those Neanderthals, I am willing to entertain the possibility of this being at least partially true, then what does that mean? You’re going to blackmail Starcourt? Do you want money?”

You gestured vaguely behind you, sure that he must have known who your parents were. “I don’t need money.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I write music. Obviously. I want to write for your label.”

A grin broke out across his face, “Oh, boy.” He started to laugh: a deep chuckle that floated up from his belly.

“You and every other Joe Schmoe in Hollywood, sweetie.”

“But not every other Joe Schmoe wrote a song for one of your most popular bands.”

Murray regarded you again, he gave you a look you’re all too familiar with. One that says he did not expect such a fight in such an unassuming package.

“Here’s the deal,” you start, taking his brief lapse to pounce, “all I want is for you to take my demo tape and listen to it, like actually listen to it. Do that and we never have to mention this again.”

“And if I say no to your little proposition?”

You smile at his question before offering a small piece of paper, “Then here’s the business card to my lawyer he’ll be reaching out.”

This, puzzlingly, makes the man burst out laughing once again.

“Let me get this straight, you just want me to listen to your tape? That’s the grand blackmailing scheme? No record deal, no music video?”

You shake your head in response, “No, I think my music speaks for itself. I just need to get it in front of the right person.”

Murray’s still chuckling to himself as he extends his hand out signaling for you to drop the tape you are now holding in his hands.

“Fine, but you are one shitty blackmailer.”

You were signed to Startcourt Records a month later.

***

STEVE: Once Nancy joined, we were a band, and so we needed a name. I suggested the Steve Harrington experience but the girls shot me down like, right away. We ended up fighting about names for like an hour. It was actually Argyle who ended up coming up with our name. The Downsides, he had said, since we were all so negative about everything. He had said this after Robin had said I was 'all hair and no brain'. Not the best of origin stories, I guess. But we liked it and that’s how we became The Downsides.

***

NANCY: Nancy Wheeler, former keyboardist for The Downsides.

  I had been playing piano since I was eight, it was just one of those things my parents signed me up for to make me more well-rounded for college applications but I ended up loving it more than they had hoped.

I auditioned for the band on a whim, I was going to Indiana State at the time, getting my teaching degree but I loved playing the piano more than I would ever love being a teacher. To be honest, when I auditioned, I didn’t think they were going to take me, not even after I saw they had another girl in the band. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I had the talent for it, I just didn’t necessarily give off Rock and Roll vibes, but they accepted me anyway.

  I had a feeling Steve liked me from the moment we met, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him then. He’s Steve Harrington for God’s sake. Girls had posters of him up on their walls for the better part of the 80s. I just—I didn’t want people to think I got the spot because I was involved with the lead singer. I wanted people to know that I earned my place through talent. Steve was really disappointed when I turned him down, but he was always really respectful about it.

  That didn’t mean he stopped being interested or that I didn’t feel his eyes on me during every rehearsal in the summer of ‘81.  

1981

Of course, you knew that when you had been signed to Starcourt Records it wasn’t completely because of your talent.

You had started to wonder, however, if Starcourt had given you a shot because they didn't want to risk litigation or maybe because those record execs had seen your name floating around in a magazine or, more importantly, your picture.

The more you thought about it, the more insecure about your place you had felt, like an imposter among others who had earned their spots. But, after one week of rubbing shoulders with the musicians over at Starcourt, you realized that to be able to make it, you were going to have to ooze confidence, even if that confidence was fake.

***

NANCY: We started playing gigs together around the Midwest. In the beginning, we mostly played covers but eventually, we started writing our own music. I’m not a great songwriter and, to be frank, neither is Steve, so a lot of the stuff we were coming up with was pretty simple but it worked for us. We went from playing weddings to actually getting gigs that paid money. I mean it was barely enough to cover gas to get there but it was something. I guess, for the sake of transparency, there is one more thing I have to talk about while we’re talking about this time in the band’s life.

Steve and I spent a lot of time writing music together. It was great, being able to get close. I thought we were becoming friends. He was still a bit hung up, though and one night, when we were up late writing at his tiny apartment, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The next day, I told him that that couldn’t happen again. I gave him my reasons and he respected that but still, I could tell he was crushed. I think that between the kiss and us having this talk, he had begun to hope that something would happen between us.

I think that’s what made me and Jonathan hurt him so much more. 

1982

You didn’t necessarily like Murray when you first began to work with him but you did trust him. In the professional capacity at least. He never tried anything with you, which you appreciated although that bar was abysmally low.

You hadn’t known what to expect on your first day in the studio but you had a feeling that as far as the music was considered, you were in decent hands.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

The moment you had stepped into the studio, Murray had handed you a stack of music, all unfamiliar and definitely nothing you had written.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyes crinkling in confusion.

“A few contenders for an EP. The team over at marketing came up with some branding concepts and this is what we landed on.”

He then pulled out a thick folder overflowing with pictures of what you assumed the studio had wanted to mold you into. It was all bubblegum and teased hair and not at all what you had envisioned.

“Wait, Murray, I don’t understand.  I have a brand, one that I've spent a lot of time curating along. This isn't me and this is definitely not my music.  You said I could sing the music that I’ve written.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Murray hummed, condescendingly, “I never said that.”

“Well, if I can’t sing my music then I just won’t sing at all.” You were the full image of a petulant child, arms crossed and lips dangerously close to a pout.

Murray feigned concern for a moment before hunching down so that he was at eye level with you.

“You signed a contract,” he spoke slowly, “Starcourt owns you, and if you don’t like it, then talk to a judge.”

He turned away from you, leaning against the mixing console. He speaks again after what seems like an eternity.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s ethical or right, but if you want to make it in music, you got to play the game. You can’t come in here, swinging your metaphorical dick around, calling the shots when you haven’t proven you can rake in the dough.

“Sure, you’ve got talent, but who doesn’t? Right now, there’s a line of girls around the block who can sing and write and are probably better at following directions, waiting to take your spot.

"Plus, I read the songs you sent over, you have some good lines but there's not a single song worth attaching Starcourt's name to. Take this as an opportunity to learn, to be better, to actually work for something for the first time in your life. You have nothing right now, so nothing is below you, not even this pop dribble they're giving you to sing.

"I’m not saying it’s always gonna be this way, but you have to prove to them that you can play before they take you seriously, and then if you got what it takes, you can start writing your own music. Hell, if you make them enough money, they’ll let you play the fucking didgeridoo and go out in a nun’s habit… well, maybe not the habit, but the point stands. So, can we stop acting like the spoiled princess we are for just one afternoon and get to rehearsing?”

You snatched the book of songs from his outstretched hand and with a smile on your face, tore it down the middle before stomping off.

It had taken five days of Murray, along with various other executives at Starcourt, pounding on your door at the Chateau Mormont—the hotel that was your permanent residence since you had turned 18— before you had even considered setting foot in Starcourt again.

All it took was a gift basket full of Champagne and half a dozen threatening letters from their legal team.

***

NANCY: Jonathan came on as our second guitarist. I remember when he came to the audition he was this quiet, super shy kid who barely managed to make eye contact, but once he had a guitar in his hands, he had this way of coming alive. He wasn’t a showman like Steve, but he was electric when he played.

We—I never meant for things to turn out the way they did but with Jonathan, it wasn’t much of a choice. I know this sounds so cliche, but we were drawn to each other. I remember, during rehearsals, even before we really knew each other, he and I would lock eyes from across the room and I would know exactly what he was thinking.

Soon, we were sneaking around together. We were getting more and more serious, it was only a matter of time, honestly, before the others found out. Jonathan wanted to come clean early on, he could tell it was causing me so much stress, but I didn’t want to tell anyone else. Part of it, was Steve, of course, but also, what Jonathan and I had felt precious and personal and ours. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had built for ourselves.

Of course, it was Steve and Robin who eventually caught us, making out in Jonathan’s car after rehearsals one day.

To say that Steve took it hard is probably an understatement. He skipped rehearsal for five straight days and when he showed up he had this new song he had written, this ballad called, “Regret You”.

“If I never had you, then why can’t I forget you / I hate myself because I could never regret you.”

Yeah, that was an awkward one to rehearse but, to his credit, it was a great song. It was the song that got us noticed.

1982

You had spent months recording your first EP, a five-song collection the studio had decided to name “The Setlist”. It was meant to be a play on your groupie status, or at least that’s what some intern over in the marketing department had claimed, a little too proud of himself for your liking.

While you couldn't ignore the sense of accomplishment that bubbled below the surface, you mostly felt empty. 

The whole thing made you think of your father, whom you hadn't spoken to in years but had a very staunch view on artistic integrity. He despised artists who 'carelessly churned out poor imitations of real art for money'.  "To make art is as close as one can get to being god," he had explained to you once, with self-important tears in his eyes, "why would anyone sell that off? Art should mean something to the artist. Otherwise, they are a peddler of fake divinity." 

Your father had never had to worry about money a day in his life. 

That empty feeling was only exacerbated when, the Friday after you had officially finished recording, Murray had invited you to lunch with a particular proposition in mind.

“No, Murray, not gonna happen. Over my dead body and all that,” you spat from across the table.

“Listen, I don’t want to pull the contract card on you, but I will,” he warned with no real heat as he swirled his gin martini in one hand.

“Nice try,” you mirrored his pose, martini and all, “but the contract doesn't cover this, only original work. Not duets. You know that, I know that, so why don’t you try again and give me one good reason why I would even consider a duet with The Letterman’s.”

Murray gave you a look you had come to familiarize yourself with—one that was equal measures of pride and annoyance. It was the look he gave you whenever you bested him.

“How about the fact that they’re one of the hottest acts right now and being on a track with them would guarantee you a spot on the charts which is a great place to be at any point in time, but especially when you’re about to release an EP?”

Your face dropped in the way it only did when you knew Murray was right about something you didn’t want him to be right about. A look he had been starting to familiarize himself with.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but I want to spend as little time as possible with Jason. He’s a pompous ass.” “No disagreements there, sweetheart.”

The day you were scheduled to record with Jason and the rest of his band, he was an hour late. You hadn’t doubted for a moment he had done this on purpose.

When he finally had shown, he pretended not to know you, a game you had quickly caught on to, and made sure to respond with, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jackson” after he made a show of introducing himself to you which made the rest of his band and Murray guffaw.

Jason narrowed his eyes at you, his voice struggling to stay level, and said, “Watch it. We’re the ones doing you a favor here, remember?”

“I did you one first,” you responded, your eyes meeting his gaze, “remember?”

It had taken 20 minutes for his bandmates to calm him down, but eventually, the two of you got into the booth.

Your only priority had been to do your best job in as few takes as possible because you did not know how much longer you could tolerate being in Jason’s presence.

In the end, after a two-hour session, Murray had sent you both home, either happy with the finished product or at his wit’s end with the tension. Either way, three weeks later you had a duet with The Letterman’s called “It Was You” and just as Murray had predicted, it was quick to climb the charts.

You were getting noticed.

***

NANCY: Not long after Steve wrote “Regret You” we got noticed by a scout from Starcourt Records. I think at first we thought it was some sort of scheme, but it was legit. They had us record a few demos and in something like six months, they moved us to a house in Culver City.

The whole thing had felt like some sort of fever dream. I had to quit school and tell my parents. They didn’t even know I was in a band. Or seeing anybody. Needless to say, they didn’t take any of it well. When we got to LA, we did more test recordings and they even had us playing some shows at a few clubs on the strip.

Like I said: total fever dream.

But, when you’re under the thumb of a label like that, there are certain stipulations. One of the first things they told us was that they wanted to make our sound more modern and pop. We kinda

had an alternative, experimental sound back then. They said synth was going to be the new thing so they wanted Robin to learn how to play the synthesizer which meant that on certain songs, Jonathan would have to take over for bass. Also, they wanted Steve to be more of a frontman and less of a guitar player. Steve could always work a crowd, and they wanted to use that, especially with this new sound they had envisioned for us. All of this meant we needed another guitar player and, believe it or not, the label already knew who that was going to be. Eddie Munson.

***

EDDIE: Okay, here we go.

 I’m Eddie Munson, lead guitar for The Downsides.

 I  grew up trailer trash in some town that no one’s ever heard of. My mom died when I was eight and my dad was in and out of jail pretty much my entire life--well, until those royalty checks started rolling in, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

  People always use the dead mom/jailbird dad thing to either turn me into a sob story or villainize me, so I generally tend to avoid talking about it but since it's you, I'll say this: the thing I remember most about my mother is her absence and there is not a single redeeming thing about ole' Munson Sr. but I don't think they're responsible for any of the ways I've fucked up over the years. Nah, kid, that was all me.

Let’s get to the good stuff, shall we?

At the tender age of ten, I was gifted an old beat-up guitar by my uncle. Clearly, something he had picked up at the local Goodwill to try and keep me occupied and out of trouble. The neighbors hated us after. They hated us, even more, when it turned out that I could actually play.

When I was 18, Uncle Wayne got the idea that I was ready to commit to a life of indentured servitude over at the factory and that did not sit well with me, at all. I wanted to be a musician. But, instead of talking to him about it, you know, like a rational person? I just ran.

I sold my van and got a one-way ticket to LA. The metal scene was starting to pop up on the strip and music—metal—was the only thing I was good at, so I thought, ‘what the hell!’ and booked it. I slummed it for a few months and then, through some stroke of luck, I heard about a band that was auditioning for a new guitar player since their last one got hitched and quit. The Metal Gods smiled down on me the day of the audition because that same afternoon they called me back and told me they wanted me on as lead guitar.

1982

“It Was You”, your duet with The Letterman’s peaked at number 6 on Billboard’s Top 100 in October of 1982.

Suddenly, everyone wanted you to be featured in their songs. Your EP did well enough, but it didn’t even crack the top 30. That didn’t keep you from being the hot new thing on the scene and a

huge part of that was your reputation.

Of course, people knew who you were because of your groupie days, and you unintentionally built a reputation for being romantically involved with different musicians. So, when you broke out on the scene with a romantic duet, people started talking, and the tabloids began to spin stories about you and Jason being romantically linked which only caused a buzz for the song. You, of course, hated this and vehemently denied being involved with Jason to anyone who would listen. Jason, meanwhile, played it coy with the press, only fueling the rumors and your rage.

“Listen, I hate the guy as much as you do, sweetheart, but you got to respect the strategy,” Murray had said after hearing you gripe about one particularly salacious headline.

Before the year was through, you had been featured in five other duets. All with male artists. All resulting in more and more outlandish dating rumors. And all enjoying a lengthy stay on the top of the charts.

Starcourt had begun to push you to take it a step further and Brenner had asked for Murray to arrange outings between you and whatever male artist you were collaborating with. The meetings—you refused to call them dates—were always somewhere that was strategically public, somewhere where there was always at least one paparazzi with their cameras locked and ready. The pictures they would take would always make it to at least one gossip magazine, which resulted in even more publicity for the song.

Your partners—you refused to call them dates—were, at their best, cordial and business-like, one or two of them even asked for your permission before holding your hand. At their worst, though, they were handsy, entitled, and rude. None of them ever tried to ask you out on a real date and you weren't sure what that said about you.

Soon you were racking up duets and notoriety in equal measures. Radio DJs would make jokes about you every time they would play one of your songs—and they played your songs a lot. Once, while you were walking around Rodeo, a woman stopped you in the middle of the street and told you, very brazenly, that you needed to stop sleeping around so much. Before you could even tell her off, though, she proceeded to gush about how much she loved your duet with The Letterman's.

It seemed like everyone seemed to see you in a similar light though: they thought you were some sort of despicable maneater but all they wanted was more of a reason to talk about how you were a despicable maneater.

Murray had his work cut out for him, “We just need to find a way for you to have this same buzz all the time.”

***

EDDIE: Things started to pick up with Corroded Coffin. We were playing shows pretty much every night.  As I said, metal was on the rise and we were at the forefront. Eventually, record label bigwigs had no choice but to acknowledge that.

Some of them got smart and started poaching bands early on, like Starcourt. Corroded Coffin signed with them in ‘82. We thought we were hot shit after that.

There’s a certain lifestyle that goes along with that, though, you know? A reputation that you have to uphold.

I'm not trying to make excuses for myself here, trust me. I'm just...trying to explain myself.

People always love to talk shit. They'll call you all sorts of names before they see you as an actual person. Trust me, I would know. But, these interviews are an opportunity to set the record straight, to finally be seen as an actual person.

So, there I was, a nineteen-year-old kid from Bumfuck nowhere, finally making it big, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere--like for the first time I wasn't a freak whose mom died or some trailer trash high school dropout--of course, I was gonna get swept up in it all. Of course, I was going to start picking up the bad habits and doing drugs. There was no one there to tell me otherwise.

It started out as something to get us through the madness that was our schedule: between the live shows and the studio time, we needed uppers just to keep us on our feet. Then, obviously, you needed the downers so you could fucking relax because the uppers made you so tense. 

I stopped enjoying the drugs pretty early on, but at that point quitting wasn't something that I was willing to put that much effort into. 

1983

The first time someone asked for your autograph, you were at a show at Whiskey a Go Go. Murray, acting as a sort of manager, had set up a photo opp with Charles Riva, your latest duet partner. He hadn’t shown that night but you never walked away from a live show.

Two girls, not much younger than you, appeared behind you as you were ordering at the bar and tapped you on the shoulder.

“See, I told you it was her,” the shorter one, a strawberry blonde with severe bangs whispered excitedly to her friend, a taller brunette.

Before you could ask either of them exactly what they wanted, the strawberry blonde spoke again, “Can we have your autograph?”

You could only nod dumbly as they handed you a cocktail napkin and a pen. You tried to think of something meaningful to write, but in your shock, could only come up with “Best wishes, xoxo”. You didn’t even ask them their names. The best you could do was offer to buy them a drink, which they happily accepted.

You regretted the offer as soon as you registered how young they looked underneath all that makeup, an observation that made you unsettlingly sad. You were reminded of your first days on the Strip: lonely and young and wanting someone to notice you for the right reasons.

Your thoughts became too heavy to deal with at that particular moment and you abruptly excused yourself, leaving the two confused girls behind. A shame, you thought to yourself, in another life you might’ve all been friends, but no one really wants to be your friend these days. They just want to tell people they’re your friends. Walking away saves everyone the disappointment.

You needed a drink.

By the time the main act had taken the stage, your vision had started to haze at the edges as a result of the multiple drinks you had procured for yourself. You watched, half-interested as a band you’d never heard of, Corroded Coffin took the stage, your eyes tracing after each member, eyeing the things only a fellow musician would: the models of equipment they had, the way the band queued each other up.

You didn't know enough about metal yet to know whether you'd consider yourself a fan or not but even with the little familiarity you have, you can tell this band is good. Their playing is unpolished but overflowing with energy and the crowd is feeding into it, screaming the lyrics along with the lead singer.

All of it reminds you of your first show at the Strip—what seemed ages ago—and that memory summons a whole other thought entirely: the reason that you had gotten into music was to actually make music you liked, not to be a topic of discussion in a gossip magazine, getting no say in the music you created.

You don't even remember the last time you had even written a lyric.

You think to yourself that maybe you should wander backstage after the show, like you once did and talk to the band. Maybe you could pick their brains about songwriting. They clearly didn’t care about mass appeal if they were making metal music which means they were probably doing it for the art.

At the very least they probably had a decent stash of pills.

Either way, it would be worth it.

***

EDDIE: It was pretty much love, at first sight, the moment I saw her in the crowd that night at Whiskey a Go Go. I remember seeing her for the first time halfway through our set and it was like I went blind for a moment. I had completely forgotten what I was doing, I think I even missed a cue. After the show, I made a beeline for the bar where she was standing, trying to act as cool as I could but I was shitting it.

***

Once that band had wrapped up, you made your way to the dressing rooms. You maneuvered to the dressing rooms like you had dozens of times before, but the band wasn’t there.

You milled about for a bit, before growing bored and leaving wondering if maybe they had seen you coming and left.

***

EDDIE: I ordered a drink just as an excuse to get closer and it worked. She was even more beautiful up close and so, so kind. Told me she loved our show and even pointed out specific guitar solos of mine that she liked. She always had a way of making you feel special like that. Chrissy Fucking Cunningham. Even her name was perfect, not a syllable too few or too many.

I asked her for her number that night and we went on a date two days later, I could hardly keep it.

together having to wait two days to see her again. Then, after a few weeks, we were going steady, as the kids say. It was perfect. I never really had anyone to myself, you know? She was the first person that ever made me feel seen and cared about.

I remember one time; she was hanging out at my place while the band was in the studio. When I came back, she had done all my laundry. When I asked her why she had done that, she just said “I dunno, just because” then, all of a sudden there were tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like that for me “just because".

My life had never been better--so of course, I fucked it up.

***

While you did not manage to meet Corroded Coffin, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, even days later. It was like seeing them play had awoken you from a daze you didn’t even know you had been in.

You spend a few days getting incredibly drunk by the pool after that. But no matter how much you drank or how many pretty dresses you bought yourself or how many pill you took, you could not shake the feeling.

A few mornings later, you had called Murray, “This stops now, Murray. No more duets or features or whatever else. I want to meet with Brenner. I want to do this my way.”

Murray, not used to being awake so early, gave a weak attempt at talking you down.

“No,” you urged on, “you said once I started making money, I could have a say. Well, now I’m making money and I’m tired of Starcourt just using me for that. So, I want something permanent and I want to write my own music, got it?”

“You have a contract,” Murray parroted back, half-heartedly.

“Yes, I do, and I plan to honor that contract but so help me God I will make life a living hell for you and for Brenner and any other exec that tries to get me to do another duet with Jason fucking Carver. In fact, I will find a way to lose Starcourt money if you don’t get me out of this. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Great, I’ll see you at lunch Murray.”

He signed, “See you then.”

***

EDDIE: My drug use was getting more out of hand. Chrissy hated it, but I couldn't bring myself to quit. Especially the things that I thought I needed to make it through the day.

Chrissy was a saint throughout the whole thing, until one night when she caught me in the dressing room of Whiskey with a girl who was not her. She walked away and I don’t really blame her. Out of all the regrets of my life—and trust me, kid—that was one of the biggest.

She moved out that day and refused to take my calls, moved in with one of her friends and I spent days just calling her, sending her flowers, the works.

She told me she wouldn’t budge unless I got clean. So, I checked myself into rehab. She was a good enough reason to quit. 45 days later, I checked out, clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Chrissy was gone though, I had no clue where she had disappeared to, but wherever she went, she didn’t want me to find her.

On top of that, my band was fucking pissed. I left the band for 45 days without telling anyone, right as we were finishing recording our debut album. Yeah, they weren’t happy. I was in something called “breach of contract” with the suits over at record label and they wanted to take me to court, and not the Star kind.

I definitely didn’t have lawsuit type of money back then, so it was in my best interest to work something out with Starcourt and jump back on fulfilling my contract. Problem was, Corroded Coffin didn’t want me back anymore, even though the guy they replaced me with wasn’t half as good as I was.

I thought that because my old band didn’t want me, that meant that I would be free of my contract. I was wrong. What actually happened was that my fate was then put into Starcourt’s hands and they could place me in whatever podunk production or band they wanted. They owned my ass.

And that’s how I ended up with The Downsides.

PLAY NEXT TRACK

[towanda-is-writing]

*One afternoon in the early 2000s*

Steve: James, son… Are you ready to go to the park? We’re meeting Grace and Natalie there to play

James: *playing in his room, still not dressed* is aunt Robin comin’?

Steve: she can’t make it, she’s runnin’ some errands

James: Mm… Then I’m not comin’ *looks at his father* But thanks for the offer, dad

Steve:

Steve: 💀

[strangerwheelerthings]

Just saw an ask about Nancy’s lack of social behaviors that inspired some thoughts. I didn't want to intrude on them with my disagreements. They make a couple of reasonable points, but I believe they're missing some aspects of Nancy’s personality to interpret them. Obviously, some of this comes down to personal interpretation, but this is my understanding of Nancy Wheeler.

Addressing their points: Canonically, Nancy isn't a social person. She didn't reach out to Robin at all in the year after Starcourt Mall. The only people we see her regularly hanging out with, after Barb's death, is whoever her current boyfriend is. These are all facts. I personally feel her questioning Robin's presence in season 3 was less a 'I have absolutely zero idea who you are' reaction, and more of a 'why the heck is this new person helping us fight a monster and making comments, since when?' type reaction. This is up for interpretation though, so I won't argue that point.

However, Nancy’s lack of social life is not an indicator of a lack of desire for friendship. Nancy struggles with opening up to people. She finds emotional vulnerability and genuine connection both difficult and terrifying. We see this aversion present itself in her relationship with Mike, as well as signs of it presenting in her dysfunctional family. 

Barb was her only real friend in the beginning of the show. We see her change herself, to try to conform to Steve's group, but even then she is very distant from everyone but Steve and Barb. She relied on previous bonds in a social situation, and made no attempts to create new ones. Granted, Tommy and Carol weren’t people she cared to be friends with. However, this seems to be a pattern of behavior, as indicated by her social situations throughout the show. Another example is the party in season two, when she got drunk and only actually talked to Steve.

Nancy stays inside a social comfort zone. She is not outgoing without a purpose. She’s good at listening, but she doesn’t talk to people without an external reason, such as a story. What some people may forget, is that once Nancy is comfortable with someone, many of those barriers go away. She actually stays quite close to people she likes and feels comfortable with, especially in a distressing situation. She made Barb come to the party for this exact reason. 

The Upside Down dangers created the perfect situations to create deep bonds with Steve and Jonathan. They were forced into situations that lowered guards and allowed them to be genuine with each other. There’s a reason she ended up dating both of them, and essentially relying on them for connection over the years. It wasn’t just trauma bonding, but also that barrier free connection. 

Jonathan was the one to distance himself from Nancy in between season one and two. We see Nancy still reaching out at the beginning of season two. He had been placed in the comfortable zone, and as such, she was quite social with him, despite not dating yet. She ends up distanced from Steve because ex status took him out of that zone, alongside lack of communication in their relationship and the inability to be emotionally vulnerable with him. 

Then we go into post-season three territory. Nancy and Robin don’t talk after Starcourt. Why would they? The two saw each other in a dangerous situation, but they never actually connected. There was no bond, and I highly doubt that Robin took the initiative to attempt to develop one afterwards. Steve started dating Nancy because he put persistent effort into showing his interest. She’s not exactly the type to reach out first. Once within the trust and comfort zone, then yeah, she will initiate contact with a person, but she struggles before then. 

As for people outside of the Hawkins Gang, alongside her natural social aversion, there’s also the barrier of being unable to be completely honest with them. This is a major thing for Nancy, who likely values genuine friendships, and has little respect for superficial ones. This, alongside the trauma surrounding Barb, hinders her quite a lot.

After Jonathan moves away, Nancy is left relatively alone. She has working relationships with people in the newspaper, but not much beyond that. Perhaps there was the possibility of a friendship developing over time with Fred, but that was cut short. Even then, once again, the person she’s closest to got there because they were placed in a situation where she had an external reason to initiate contact.

Does that mean she doesn’t really care to make any more friends aside from Jonathan? Turn now to the famous line: "Does that make us friends? As in, officially?"  

Look at that smile, and try to tell me that she isn't ecstatic to have Robin confirm their new relationship.

This girl desperately wants a friend. She just doesn’t know how to make one. Looking just at that scene, Nancy is visibly nervous. She doesn’t say anything until Robin drops the friend-word, and then she feels the need to confirm it with her. She wanted it so badly, and was so relieved when Robin revealed that she felt the same way. This wasn’t a little thing to her.

How do they even get to that point in season four? First, Robin puts herself in Nancy’s orbit, despite Nancy’s discomfort. People have a tendency to discount her ideas and not listen to her. She was an unknown variable in a stressful situation. However, the situation allowed them to really talk and the start of a connection was created. Robin had listened to her, and had validated her theory. 

Nancy was starting to like her.

What did she do next? Take advantage of the situation they were in, to sneakily attempt to grow closer. It wasn’t just the fact that Robin was competent and Nancy respected her after the library, but because she wanted to spend time with her. There were plenty of options within the group of competent people, yet Nancy repeatedly singled Robin out. Nancy was trying to become friends.

I say take advantage of it though, because it is a lot less stressful to initiate conversations with someone if you have an excuse. ('They were in a dangerous situation, it wasn't about wanting to be her friend, whaaatt.' Lies.) Suddenly a lot of the normal social pressure and anxiety around initiating contact is decreased. And look at what Nancy does in that scenario, she immediately reaches out. 

Give her a reason, or a purpose, and she can go up and talk to anyone about anything. Take that away, and she gets too stressed or anxious to be the first. 

Anyway, to sum up, Nancy sticks to people she’s comfortable with. Robin, and maybe Steve depending on how the romance is handled, have managed to maneuver themselves into her comfort zone by the end of season four. She has confirmed friendship with Robin, and as previously established, once Nancy likes you, she is social. She will reach out to you, and spend time with you. 

Outside of danger, she likely takes a while to trust people, so anyone who wants to join in the hangouts would need to be willing to put in some effort and be patient with her, but it isn't impossible. She wouldn’t avoid them, just stick close to comfort people.

She's not completely anti-social. Nancy is an introvert who struggles to trust, but once you have that trust, she is a reliable friend.

[jonathanbyersphd]

You ever think about how despite using some mumbly excuse and already having an exit strategy, the tiniest part of Jonathan hoped Nancy would be on the plane?

[springfaekohaku]

Warning Shot II

Ch1 Ch2

Steve!

Hey, hey — Steve! Stay awake…nonono keep your eyes open!

Please, stay with me, don’t…

…you’re gonna be okay…

Steve felt himself come to, his body felt heavy and like his eyelids were glued together. His lips felt chapped, his throat dry and he felt so groggy, but his brain was finally catching up and the urge to open his eyes grew.

So, he opened them to be greeted with fluorescent lights, a constant ringing sound in his right ear and the strong throbbing in his head, with so much onslaught of feelings and emotions; he felt overstimulated. His face hurt all over and his left eye was squinting, not fully opened. The lights were making this sound and he could feel the drumming of his heartbeat, beeping sounds repeating over and over again, he was nauseous to it all and felt like throwing up. But, he didn’t, he wasn’t going to do that because as a child, he always had a fear of throwing up and he wasn’t going to do that wherever he was. He felt dazed, confused and wait…

Is that a hand?

Steve blinked again and turned his head to the left to find a hand grabbing his uninjured hand, then he followed it to find a huge mass of hair on the side of his bed that belonged to none other than Jonathan Byers.

The young boy couldn’t believe it, Jonathan was resting on his bedside and he felt like his head was exploding. Maybe this all was a dream, he was going to wake up and he’ll be in his bed instead, with his ugly wallpaper his mother decorated without his input and trophies that amounted to nothing. He’ll be greeted to no one and in a soulless room in an empty house.

His thoughts of inner turmoil and disbelief end with a throbbing and burning sensation of his right hand, he hisses and shuffles in discomfort, not wanting to disturb Jonathan who was resting beside him but ultimately doing it anyways. He felt a bit guilty and bad for it but his heart flutters with the younger boys presence, he felt comforted by how after everything, he had someone to wake up to for once. Whenever he was injured or sick as a child, his parents would never stay or be there when he woke up, he never had that kind of affection or love. His Nanny that his mother and father couldn’t he assed to do the same even when he’d plead to her, to stay and be there when he woke up. No bedtime stories, no doting after his injures when he’d get hurt and be reckless on purpose because all he wanted was their love and attention. Sprained ankles, busted knees, he even recalls playing basketball with Tommy in middle school and falling, resulting in his first ever concussion. No supervision, no worried parents, just his Coach telling him what to do and his parents assuring the older man in empty promises and false lies that they’ll look after him.

But here Jonathan was. In all his glory, with a matching bandage around his hand.

And he was waking up.

Steve watched as Jonathan gained consciousness and saw his hand curled around his instinctively, like with no thought to it. He felt those damned butterflies again.

Jonathan lifted his head, he looked so tired and dazed, being hunched over in the chair and resting like that surely couldn’t be comfortable at all. The older boy watches mutely, his right hand demanding for relief to the pain and his head thundering in rows of throbs, pressing into his eyeballs, but he silently observes. Jonathan doesn’t even notice until Steve squeezes his hand and just like that, Jonathan was wide awake and sobered up in record time; eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Steve! Y-You’re awake!” Jonathan states. His volume was a bit too loud for Steve, the brunettes faced pinched in distaste and Jonathan instantly catches on; internally fighting himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll whisper for now, is that okay?”

Steve gave him another squeeze, he was forgiven. He attempts somewhat of a smile that felt like he was grimacing, but Jonathan nodded, smiling back.

“I’m going to call in the nurse okay? Let them know you’re awake and ask them if they can give you some of the good stuff. I can see that you’re in pain — I’ll be right back.”

Steve didn’t have time to react as he watched Jonathan softly pat his hand and depart from his bedside, getting up and making his way to the door and outside into the hallway. That was when Steve realised only now that he was in the hospital. It dawned on him so suddenly that he was hurt, not just, scrapes or bruises or even a broken nose — no…he was…

He was shot.

Oh God, he was shot and Nancy was the one who pulled the trigger.

He felt himself spiralling as the events of that nightmare of a night came flooding back to him and the last moments before he lost consciousness what Jonathans voice begging him to stay awake and calling out his name. The other worldly inner dimensional monster, the Christmas lights and living room lights flickering and bursting, the roof sinking in as its claw reaching for Steve. Seeing his Ex-Girlfriend aiming a gun at him, finding matching bandages on her and Jonathan’s hands, a nail-bat, Jonathan being so gentle and soft with him, sending him into a Queer panic and stepping into the fray to tap the ugly bastard into a bear trap and set it on fire. Steve beheading said creature and the rest…was nothing.

He just wanted to apologise.

These thoughts, not necessarily in order where hitting Steve like a truck. He didn’t even realise he was sending himself into a panic attack as Nurses and Doctors rushed their way in, calling out orders, turning the bright harsh lights off and closing the curtain to his left to drown out the sunlight, his faintly hears his heart monitor going crazy and his bones itching, his skin too tight and body shaking; his breaths were getting harsher and less oxygen was getting into his lungs. He was frantic and the sounds where making him feel like everything was too much, it was too much, fuck.

The last thing he heard was the voices and bodies of white coats pacing around his bed and seeing Jonathan standing out in the corner of the room looking at him in concern.

Then it all went black.

The next time Steve came through was not as slow or nice. He woke up with a gasp, his eyes bugged open and wide, struggling to get up, a voice close to his left side trying to sooth him and calm is sudden awakening.

Only, this time, he was met with Jonathan and Jim Hopper. Jonathan sees Steve’s want to get up and decides to help him prop himself in a seating position, then grabbing the bed post to angle it upright so Steve can lean back in a relaxed posture. Not wanting the older boy to injure himself further or go into another panic attack. Steve struggling to talk and coming out in dry croaks, Jonathan reaches for the glass of water and angles the straw to his mouth. The older boy grateful for the cold clear liquid going down his throat, it felt like bliss.

Jim can only watch the two boys in astound amusement and fondness.

He remembers not only long ago having the both of them in the back of his police vehicle, seeing Steve Harrington’s face busted in and Jonathan Byers without a scratch on him. Knowing that they had a fight — to his surprise, Steve denied any charges against the older Byers boy and explained how it was his fault anyways for pushing the other to snap; while his brother was missing and his mother seemingly going insane. Which he later learned and figured out for himself that was not the case at all. In fact, she was right and Jim needed to help. He needed to get his head out of his ass and be the Chief that this town needs, because as cursed as Hawkins is, it was his home and the people in it, it was his duty and moral obligation to serve and protect. Not only that, but he couldn’t bare to see another parent loose a child, especially not when there is a chance to save them and bring them back home.

He watches as Jonathan takes Steves hand in his own, rubbing circles on the back of his hand and whispering words of reassurance and trying to bring some kind of comfort. He sees Steve finally relax in what seemed in years, like he was waiting for someone to comfort him and be there for him. Something Jim hasn’t been doing. The man has had instances of reports of the Harrington boy throwing huge parties whilst his parents where absent and on work trips…and Jim would always be there to break it up and give him warnings each and every time. He stood there and watched, knowing his parents since high school. Knowing he left Steve with such people. He wished he was more attentive, more supportive and less absent throughout the boys life, the boy was practically screaming on the inside for anyone, anyone, to see through his act and show him that there are people who care about him.

Who’d love and want him.

It’s been a hell of a week and seeing Will and Steve in these hospital beds reminded him too much of Sara. His dear Sara.

Seeing these kids in these beds, even Steve being as tall as he is; he looked so small.

It reminded him that these are just kids. Steve may act big, like everything is normal and nothing could get to him. But it seems like that came to an abrupt halt when everything went upside down and witnessing in real-time Steves ‘King Steve’ persona crumble. Powell even noticed less parties at the Harrington residence, Flo even talked about no more calls being made and despite the call of the boys fight; Jim sees change.

So, the next best thing he can do is call Doctor Owens in.

Now comes the hard part.

Doctor Owens walks in with an air of authority and aloofness around him, with nurses behind him and the surgeon who worked on Steve’s hand.

Jim walks behind them and makes his way near Jonathan as the rest walks to Steve’s right-hand bedside. Jonathan, by Steve’s surprise holds his hand within their presence, firm and with no sense of letting go.

The three waited in baited breath.

“Mr.Harrington, nice to see you awake.” Dr Owens starts, holding the boys chart and smiling. Turning his head towards him and the new people in his room, Steve couldn’t help but think how goofy and weird this man is. He didn’t even care of the open show of affection of handholding they were doing.

“Just, Steve is fine. Please.” Steve replies.

Dr Owens smile broadens and nods in understanding.

“Right. Well, I got your chart here and now that you’re awake, you were quite in-and-out of it and I’m sure you don’t remember it. Now, we’d like to talk about your state of being and I’m sure you’re anxious to know about your right hand there.”

Steve blinks and — yeah, he wants to know, so he nods.

“So, let’s start with the small stuff and then we’ll work our way up to your hand?”

Steve nods again for him to continue. He won’t lie, he feels a bit anxious but he takes a deep breath anyways and exhales.

“Okay, let’s start with your superficial wounds. Some minor abrasions, like cuts and grazes. Nothing too bad. Now, your head. I was told by Jim here that you suffered a Grade 1 concussion before this all started, which I was also told why your face has minor injuries such as your split lip, nose — which isn’t broken, your eye is swollen but lemme just take a quick look now. But also, Jonathan here explained dhow after the fight with the Demogorgan, you passed out and fell to the floor, Which induced another concussion, he tried to keep you awake but you fell unconscious quickly, Grade 2. ” The doctor reads out and explains in a no nonsense manner but his tone soft. He reaches for his pockets and pulls out his torch, now closer to the bed, he leans across from Steve and does a normal eye checkup. Steve’s eyes flinch at the light glaring into his, no matter how less bright it was, he was told to close his left eye, his right eye was still swollen and he could only see blurred lines.

Dr Owens does what he could for the time being and continues where he left off, “Can you see anything at all?”

In which Steve nods and describes his vision blurry but not so bad. Next, his ears were also checked out due to the concussions; which he found the ringing in his right ear never dissipated. As he explained further and telling the truth that he actually started to notice it after the fight with Jonathan. In which Jonathan bows his head in shame but Steve turns to him and reassures him he didn’t hold it against him.

Dr Owen gained their attention again and resumes, “Okay, we’ll have to schedule a hearing test as well as an optometrist appointment later on. Now, onto the news I’m sure you’re wanting to hear most.”

Steve feels like a dowse of cold water is dumped onto him, he would’ve rather been shot in the foot. This news would tell him his fate, his future and how things will play out.

“Regarding your hand, I’ll let the surgeon take it from here. Dr Sheffur?”

Dr Owens parted and gave room for Dr Sheffur to take his place; he had Steve’s undivided attention.

“The surgery went well. As you may know, Hawkins isn’t equipped with specialists and doctors like those in the city. We are limited here and as I have handled gunshot wounds, operating on a gunshot wound in which the cartridge exploded, which I am sure you didn’t realise it’s true damage until later. Adrenaline must’ve been pumping and clouding your pain, I heard from your friend Jonathan here that despite the pain and wound; you handled a bat and gripped it tight. Which meant that your nerves must’ve been working due to pure adrenaline. Possibly, you didn’t even feel a thing.”

Dr Shaffur pauses to let the information sink in, “Do you want me to continue? Or take a break?”

Steve shakes his head and feel himself go a bit dizzy because of it but regains his composure. “Lay it down on me doc…” He tries so hard to play it off but inside, he’s internally vibrating out his skin. He even hears the heart monitor give away his poor attempt at an act. But no one calls him out for it or shows they saw through him.

Dr Shaffur coughed into his hand, clearing his throat and swallows, despite being the bearer of bad and good news; it never gets easy to tell patients the news of their conditions. Not when it’s their worst fears or nightmares come true.

In which he was the Sandman and he was going to give Steve the worst news and turn his nightmares into reality. He has been blamed so many times, on patients who he couldn’t save and despite all the hard effort and the countless lives he does save…the ones he does and ones that leave permanent damage hurt him.

“Your hand has suffered from nerve damage because of the cartridge explosion, it has left a gaping wound. Due to the blood loss of your hand, we had to cut up supply of blood to save it. Sadly, there will not be an 100% recovery for it, your muscles will need time to regrow and the bone in your palm will regrow to some extent but it will not regrow fully. We tried a surgical repair to suture the wound, but due to delayed treatment because of your situation, it has to also heal by a secondary intention. Natures Wound Filler. Your DNA will try to build a complete copy of the body if it is present with a nucleus but the skin and tissue that will regrow won’t be as tough as your original tissue. Due to the use of your hand after and I am sure your friend also tried his best to patch you up in a desperate time — a crucial time.

There are many tendons, nerves, muscles that are tightly packed into our hands…in this case, it hit a lot of them. In your case, I am saddened to say we weren’t able to make out the best outcome for your hand. There was nothing more I could do, the damage was too much and what I can say for the future of your hand won’t ever fully recover or of use. I’d also mention the Chronic Pain that’ll come with it. We can appoint you to a Physical Therapist to see if we can regain any movement and try. Any questions or should I let you and others take some time to ingest all of this?”

When Dr Shaffur finished, it was dead silent and it was like Jim’s toothpick in his mouth could drop and they’d hear it. Steve was trying his best to soak everything in and the more the Dr talked about his surgery and outcome for his hand, the more he felt like sinking into the bed — the urge to disappear was immense. He was speechless,

Steve had to use his hands, both hands, he plays basketball with them, he swims with them, he is right handed and depends on his hand for so many things.

Just like that, he felt his dream slipping away, he couldn’t even fall back on a scholarship with his basketball career, say goodbye to that and swimming championships. His parents would be furious with him, the disappointment in their eyes he could see plain as day, not because their kid got hurt but because of the hospital bills and taking them away from their business trip; not to mention that their kid couldn’t even do what he was only good at. Steve can admit, he loves sports. It was the only thing he excelled at and naturally, he took the chance to do anything to make his Dad and Mother proud. However, as time went on, he fell in love with it. Basketball offered him the adrenaline on the court, he looses himself and relishes in the sportsmanship, he enjoyed it even more because he had Tommy on the team. His best friend. Or, ex-best friend. Wow, he has a lot of past friends with history now. Swimming offered him the cold water, that parts like his body was made for the water, gliding through it seamlessly, it freed his mind and he felt at home. Like the pool in his backyard. It was the only thing that ever felt inviting and his in that damn house. His parents never even use it, only to show off.

He faintly hears Jim’s deep voice and Jonathan’s hand grasp tighter.

What use will he be now?

He looks down at his right hand and never felt so empty.

It wasn’t until he felt hands clasp his face on both sides and is turned to see Jonathan’s face. It was only the two of them in the room now and Steve didn’t even realise tears streaking down his face until the other boy’s thumb wiped them away, careful to mind Steve’s injuries that he was responsible for.

Steve’s head throbbed, the ringing in his ear building and eyes blurring due to the tears and his left eye fully shutting. He hiccuped and sobbed, finally coming to terms with the news and his future.

But for now, he had Jonathan by his side and apparently Jim Hopper in his corner now.

Which is why, when Jim walked out that room with the doctors to give the two boys space and time to feel and be and some privacy. The last he saw was Jonathan bringing Steve in for a hug.

He made his way to the waiting room and found none other than Nancy Wheeler seated in one of the chairs. Head down, elbows resting on her knees, hunched and had guilty ridden all over her; he could practically smell self-hatred in the air around her.

How on earth was he going to break the news to her?

Should he be the one to tell her?

Shit.

TBC…

Tag List:

@jackiemonroe5512 @afewproblems @sensationalsunburst @conversationswithamillennial @ledleaf @raven1234321 @obliosworld @pansexuality-activated @brainsteddielyrotted @royjamie4eva @adaed5 @how-about-nah-honey

My apologies to those I couldn’t tag. I was unable to due to some error. I hope this instalment finds you and you enjoy. Thank you for the overwhelming support. <3

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

"I found a video tape from when Steve was little!" Dustin said as he burst into the living room.

"How do you know that it's a tape from his childhood?" Nancy asked.

"Because, Nance, Steve refuses to show us any photos from when he was little," Dustin said. "And he's had this shoved all the way into the back of the closet like he was ashamed."

The younger members of the party were all hanging out at Steve's house yet again while the older adults were spending time playing poker. It was a parents only evening. Robin and Steve were in the kitchen while the rest of them were sprawled out in the living room. Argyle and Vickie were out getting desserts with Erica and Holly. Dustin had disappeared early on, claiming to have gone to the restroom.

"Well, you know, it could be a different kind of tape," Eddie grinned.

"What else kind of tape could it be?" Dustin asked.

"You know what? Pop it in and find out," Eddie said.

"Eddie!" Chrissy exclaimed, looking down at Eddie, whose head was in her lap.

"Aren't you curious?" Eddie asked.

"A little," she said. "But we shouldn't dig through Steve’s things without his permission."

"Robin does it all the time," Dustin said.

"Robin's also the only person allowed to do his hair," Lucas said.

"Robin also likes to play with fire now," Max said. "As much as I love her, maybe we shouldn't do everything that Robin does."

"I didn't think you'd have a problem with this, Maxine," Dustin said.

"Don't call me Maxine, asshole," she scowled. "And I learned my lesson from spying on our friends."

Dustin rolled his eyes as she high-fived Mike and popped in the tape. He pressed play. It was Steve’s bedroom and what appeared to be a 16 or 17 year old Steve sitting on his bed. He stared nervously at the camera.

"Are you sure about this?" Steve asked.

"Definitely, Stevie-boy," another guy's spoke from behind the camera. "We both need the practice. We need to be good at this when we finally get girlfriends. Remember? This was your idea."

Steve swallowed as Tommy Hagan came out from behind a camera, holding a long blonde wig.

"Right," Steve said as Tommy sat down next to him.

"Do you want to be the girl, or should I?" Tommy asked.

"I'll be the girl. My idea, right?" Steve asked and took off his shirt.

"You're already wearing the bra. You really do want to be the girl. . .Stevie," Tommy said.

"I like that," Steve blushed. "Stevie."

Tommy put the wig on Steve, cupped his face, and kissed him. Everyone watched the screen in stunned silence as they kissed.

"We should really turn this off," Dustin said. "Yeah, I should not have snooped."

"Yeah," Max said as she continued to look at the TV.

"NO!" Robin shrieked as she entered the room.

She dropped the chips and threw herself at Dustin, tackling him to the ground. Dustin screamed as she wrestled the remote out of his hands. She stopped the tape just as Tommy's hand went up Steve’s bra.

"Well, that wasn't necessary," Steve spoke from the living room doorway. "But thank you, Robin, I love you, too."

"Anytime, babe," Robin said as she pulled off Dustin's hat and hit him with it.

"Dustin, did you go through my things?" Steve asked, his hands on his hips.

"I thought it was a video from when you were a kid," Dustin said. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Steve said in a quiet voice. "I'm just disappointed."

"No! Yell at me! Call me an asshole!" Dustin exclaimed. "Ground me! Anything but that!"

"Fine!" Steve said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Go stand quietly in the corner of the room or something."

"Sorry, Steve," Dustin muttered as he moved past him to stand in the corner.

"You'll get this back when I say you can!" Robin exclaimed, holding up his hat. "You nosy little shit!"

"Okay, since Dustin is the one in trouble, you guys can ask the questions. Anything at all," Steve said. "I was going to tell you all of this, I just never could find the right time. Yes, I'm bisexual, and yes, sometimes I do enjoy wearing women's underwear."

"How far did you go with that guy?" Max asked.

"With Tommy? Oh, yeah, all the way," Steve said.

"That's Tommy Hagan?" Max asked with raised eyebrows.

"You never met him?" Steve asked. "He became like obsessed with Billy when you guys rolled into town."

"Yeah, Billy was never keen on me meeting any of his friends," Max shrugged.

"Right," Steve said.

"Did you give him your special flower?" El asked.

"Uh, I mean, guys don't really call it their flower, but yeah, we both lost our virginities to each other," Steve said and squinted his eyes at her. "Did you have the talk yet?"

"Uh, Dad started to talk with her about it before Starcourt, and then later, Mom sat down with her," Will said.

"And who called it her special flower?" Robin asked.

"Who do you think?" Jonathan asked.

"Hopper is the most awkward man alive, and coming from me, that's saying something," Robin said.

"So, you and Tommy were a thing?" Nancy asked.

"Well, we were on and off since we were 16. At one point, I did call him my boyfriend until he started dating Carol. He got offended when I broke it off with him. Excuse me, if I didn't want to be the other man," Steve said. "My mom put up with that shit with my dad. I wasn't going to do the same thing. Tommy and I were both hiding that part of our lives but I didn't want to use another person to do it."

"Starting to understand why Tommy hated me so much," Nancy said.

"So, did you always know you liked men, or was that the first time that you figured it out?" Mike asked.

"Well, I always knew that I liked men. I just never thought that I would like women until Nancy came along," Steve said.

"What?!" Nancy exclaimed. "All those women - "

"Yeah, I have no clue where those rumors came from, but I didn't deny them," Steve shrugged.

"So, Wheeler was the first woman you slept with?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah," Steve said.

"Wait, hold on," Nancy said, standing up and moving to stand in front of him. "When I said - when I didn't mean to say that - "

"Yeah, I thought you were right for a while, that I was bullshit, and I was trying to be something that I wasn't with you. After a lot of late nights, I realized that it was absolutely real for me. How I felt about you was real," Steve said.

"It was real for me then, too, Steve," Nancy said softly. "I want you to know that and it still is."

"I'm sorry for not telling you," Steve said.

"You don't have to apologize for not being ready to say anything. You understood that I wasn't ready to celebrate that milestone in my life when Barb died," Nancy said. "I can't imagine keeping that all in, though."

"I didn't want to make it about me when you were still grieving for Barb," Steve said, blushing. "I was just as confused as you were."

"When did you know for certain that it was real?" Nancy asked softly.

"When I finally realized that I would never be with you again, the pain was very real," Steve said.

"I'm sorry," Nancy said softly.

"I'm not. The pain was worth knowing that what I had with you was real. I needed to know for sure. You're here now. That's all that matters," Steve said.

"So. . .that dream you had as a kid?" Nancy asked.

"Oh, yeah, I totally pictured Tommy there, too, and then for a long time after, all I could see was you drop-kicking Tommy out of the RV," Steve said.

"Hm, I definitely wouldn't have drop-kicked him," Nancy said and smiled, "I would have shot him, though. That spot definitely belongs to me. I won."

Nancy leaned forward and kissed him. He smiled against her lips, pulling her in closer. She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging on it gently.

"Woohoo! Looks like we're getting a live show!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Gross! That's my sister!" Mike exclaimed.

Steve pulled away with a laugh, wrapping his arm around Nancy.

"So, you're all okay with this?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, none of that made us uncomfortable," Max said. "Well, except one thing."

"Yeah, you look terrible as a blonde, man," Lucas grinned.

"Okay, so, two things made us uncomfortable," Max said, rolling her eyes.

"It's okay, tell me. We can talk about it," Steve said as Nancy squeezed him.

"Plaid on plaid?" Max asked. "Gross."

"What? Is there something wrong with it?" Steve asked.

"You actually like it?" Chrissy asked.

"Yeah, don't you?" He asked.

They all groaned and threw pillows at him. Eddie got up and actually started beating him with the pillow. Steve laughed and dodged him, moving away from Nancy. Finally, Eddie pinned him to the floor and hit him over the head with the pillow.

"I'm going to beat some good taste into you if it's the last thing I do!" Eddie yelled.

El giggled and used her powers to knock Eddie off of Steve with all of the pillows. Eddie shrieked, and pretty soon, there was an all-out pillow war.

"Aw, damn it! That sounds fun!" Dustin exclaimed.

"You stay there!" Nancy yelled at him. "And you think about what you've done!"

After several minutes, Steve finally decided that Dustin was punished enough and threw a pillow at him. Dustin grinned and picked up a pillow. Eddie over the couch and ran at him, attacking Dustin with a loud roar. Chrissy jumped onto Eddie's back to stop him. Max was on top of Lucas, hitting him with a pillow. El and Mike were going after Robin together while Robin chased after Jonathan. Meanwhile, Nancy and Steve were circling each other, each holding a pillow.

"Come on, Steve, hit me. Don't be afraid just because I'm a woman," Nancy taunted. "Hit me."

"I feel like this happens a lot for them in the bedroom," Robin said.

"Agreed," Max said.

"Again! That's my sister!" Mike yelled and hit Robin.

They heard the front door open, but the fight continued. Argyle, Vickie came in with Erica and Holly after them.

"Oh, hell no," Erica said when she saw Lucas about to hit Max.

Erica dropped a bag and picked up a pillow. She immediately knocked her brother over with it. Holly shrieked with excitement as she jumped on Mike's back.

"I got you, El, I'll save you from Mike!" Holly yelled.

"Vickie, my love!" Robin exclaimed.

"Aw, hi, babe!" Vickie grinned. "We'll put these away, and then we'll join you!"

Argyle and Vickie immediately dove right in when they did return to the living room. Vickie defended Robin and Argyle dove right in front of Jonathan when Max threw a pillow his way. Argyle took it to the chest and fell dramatically to the floor.

"Jonathan, babe, don't forget to feed our plants," Argyle gasped.

The room was filled with shouts and then laughter as they all collapsed on the floor. Nancy pulled Steve to her, letting him tuck his head under her chin.

"Thank God, Erica and Holly wanted to go with the others," Steve said.

"Yeah," Nancy smiled.

"Erica would have been a lot meaner about my room," Steve said.

"It's not that bad," Nancy said.

"Yeah, right," Steve scoffed. "This is it."

"What?"

"This is my dream. Right here, right now," Steve said with a happy sigh.

"So. . .," Nancy said casually. "I don't suppose you still have that wig, do you?"

Steve laughed.

[emily-mooon]

That one trend of drawing your favourite characters as that one SU comic panel but with a twist and a little bonus for my other two favourites!

[whynotimtired]

Flickergate makes me want to tear my hair out bc it's a cute hc sure! It makes absolutely no sense. The established rules of the universe in-show DO NOT allow for flickergate. They even had the older teens stuck in the Wheeler house and hearing conversations that are happening CURRENTLY. time runs parallel in the upside down but nothing is moving forward because there is nobody there to progress anything. The upside down is NOT "stuck" in the past. It is a world without a society, if there's nobody there to turn the calendar to the next page then is time really moving? In the REAL WORLD. IT IS.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Tread lightly, folks. Discussions of past cheating, which is kinda par for the course for these two. Also, please keep in mind I do not condone Nancy’s actions in the least, nor do I fully believe Joyce has the best intentions for Nancy. It’s not conscious, mind you, but subconsciously, she’s always gonna want to her help kids first. Big gray area here.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 66 | Part 67 | Part 68

Joyce tugs Nancy in even more securely. “I know exactly what you mean. But no one here is like that. I think, this time around, he’s done an excellent job of surrounding himself with people who actually care about him.” She runs a hand over Nancy’s hair. “And you’re part of that group. Regardless of what you want to call what you feel for him, it’s obvious you care. It’s okay to need to take some time, but in the end, when you’re wondering what’s next, just remember he cares for you too.”

Nancy nods. “I think I do need some time,” she murmurs. “It just feels like he moved on so fast.”

“Because it’s not been as long for you,” Joyce nods. “I get it, honey. Take all the time you need. Want Jonathan to keep you company?”

Nancy looks at her. “D’you know who I cheated on Steve with?”

Joyce smiles softly at her. “I do. And trust me, I’d have something to say to him about it later if he’d known you two were still together.” She inclines her head toward Nancy, brows raised, gaze serious.

“Oh,” Nancy whispers, eyes dropping. “I didn’t know that.”

“Mhm. But it’s in the past—well, the future past, I guess—and you can take as long as you need, okay? But I do think someone deserves an apology.”

Nancy sighs. “You’re right.” She picks at the hem of her pants, then nods and stands up, hands on her hips. “I need time. But I need to apologize first.” She just as suddenly deflates, nerves coming in fast. “Will- will you come with me?”

Joyce smiles up at her. “Of course I will. C’mon.” She stands too and offers Nancy another hug, which she gratefully accepts. “I’m proud of you,” she murmurs.

“Thank you,” Nancy whispers, pulling back and squaring her shoulders as she stares at the house.

They walk up together but Joyce walks in first, Nancy following just behind. “Steve?” She asks timidly. “Can I talk to you?”

Robin and Allison both stiffen, but Steve waves them off as he gets up. “Outside?”

“Steve-” Allison starts, but he holds up a hand before turning to her.

“I’ll be fine,” he says softly. “We’re just gonna talk.”

He walks outside with her, Joyce hovering by the door, acting both as support and as a lookout.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy says forcefully, like it was pulled out of her. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset, you broke up with me, and you really didn’t owe me an explanation but you gave me one anyways, even if it hadn’t actually happened yet, but I… I got insecure. And jealous. So I’m sorry.”

Steve nods, shoves his hands in his pockets, looks down. Scuffs his shoe along the concrete. “I get why you’re upset,” he starts cautiously. “But I thought we were okay. And to find out we’re not…” he lets out a harsh breath. “I do still care for you, Nancy. You’re one of my best friends. But I think I’m gonna need some time for this one.”

Nancy looks down at her own feet, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t think I took as much time as I should’ve,” she admits. “Can you count me out of this one?”

Steve manages a smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“And-” she squeezes her eyes shut, lets out a shaky breath. “Jonathan too, maybe?”

“I-” Steve takes a breath, stops himself, looks wide-eyed at the ground before letting out a long, controlled breath. “Yeah. I can do that.” His words are barely a whisper, and he lets out another short, harsh breath before brushing past her. “Excuse me.”

He lets himself back inside, and Nancy stands there, wide-eyed, staring through the spot he’d been standing in.

Then, Nancy Wheeler breaks.

The tears come in strong and fast, and she’s crumbling where she stands before strong arms catch her. “It’s alright,” Joyce whispers in her ear. “It’ll be alright.”

She lowers them both to the ground and lays Nancy’s head on her shoulder.

“I- I don’t get it,” Nancy sobs. “I did the right th-thing and I f-feel terrible!”

Joyce hushes her. “I know, dear. Sometimes the right thing feels terrible in the moment, but is best in the long run.” She runs a hand over Nancy’s head. “Did you drive yourself?”

Nancy nods. “And M-Mike.”

“Okay. Do you think I could drive you home and Jon could follow in our car? That way he can stay with you and I can come back here.”

Nancy nods and look up at her. “C-can you m-make sure Steve’s okay?”

“Of course, dear. Come on, let’s get you home, okay? And I’ll even give you my mom’s recipe to heal a broken heart: a warm cup of tea, a good cry, and a good night’s rest.”

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[towanda-is-writing]

Headcanon from my Stranger Things Universe - From the Past:

Favorite Season:

Nancy: fall (because she likes the color of the oranges leaves decorating the streets)

Jonathan: winter (because he likes the cold)

Steve: summer (because he can swim in the pool / lake)

Emma: summer (because she loves watermelon, which reminds her of the afternoons when she and Robin used to play until dusk while eating it during their childhood vacations)

Robin: fall (because she loves to spend rainy afternoons reading in her cozy apartment)

Chrissy: spring (because she loves flowers and can pick them to make her own bouquets)

Eddie: fall (because it’s Halloween season)