#Twice Changed Preter Au

[inkstainedheartbeats]

Eddie knew, even before all this Upside Down shit, that Robin Buckley had Changed Steve Harrington. Knew it by scent, by sight, by the way that usually sweet Mrs Buckley of the used bookstore had snarled at Jeff when he made a dismissive remark about him. He knew and judged. It wasn’t law to not change the Mundane. The Preter could change those who gave consent, which usually involves far more government than either he or Uncle Wayne cared to have around them. But it was… it was Law, social kind ya know, to leave three families the fuck alone. The Carver’s, the Hagen’s and the fucking Harrington’s. And yet, there Steve is; all big brown eyes and an ass that won’t stop wagging like he’s got his tail in human form. Robin Buckley of the very small Buckley Pack had changed him. The heir to the third dangerous Hunter clan. All it would take is the elder Harrington’s coming back for a Hunt to happen.

He thinks he understands though. Holding on to Steve in this ash laden hell scape. They haven’t left the Wheeler’s not yet. Not with Steve collapsing and seizing. Whatever the weird ass bat things called saliva clearly not meshing well with Steve’s blood. Instincts scream at Eddie to bit down on that glorious neck. To suck just a touch into his mouth and force Steve to drink some of his own. They scream and scream and scream the longer that Eddie refuses. Tales of hybrids made by bite instead of love swirl around. It’s dangerous no matter the birth, the hybrid often dying an agonizing death.

“Eddie,” Harrington gasps out.

The girls are gathering supplies. They don’t know. But he can hear the race of Buckley’s heart from where she is at the Sinclair’s. She’ll be here soon.

“You… you gotta… gotta promise me. Keep… keep ‘em safe?”

He gives in to the instincts and bites down. Drinks blood that should be disgusting and awful but is instead sweet as candy. Bites down, hopes he hasn’t doomed Harrington. Makes the weak and confused boy drink Eddie’s blood too.

And he waits to see if Buckley is going to tear his throat out for killing her best friend and Pack Mate.

Now with a part two because I can’t leave shit alone.

[inkstainedheartbeats]

Part two of this because I couldn’t leave it alone.

—//—//—//—

The thing about being a Preternatural creature is that there is a society within a society. Instead of learning just one set of rules you have to learn two. And while Robin’s ears have always had a way with picking up language, her eyes did not bless her with the ability to pick up social cues. Despite this glaring weakness, even she knew what Steve Harrington was.

A Preter learns quick to make an in with the oldest living creature in a town. Learn the lay of the lands. And there is none older than Flo who works for the Police Department. The Buckley’s aren’t sure what she is. Just that she named the three, not one oh no, three Hunter clans. The Carver’s are the newest but they’re the most dangerous. Fanatical in their desire to put down a Preter at the slightest hint of mistake. The Hagan’s were the biggest clan, had the most members even if not all of them shared the same last name. The Harrington’s are the oldest. Used to be the biggest, the strongest. And then the youngest son was sent away for some reason and then the current eldest living of the family died and the clan just sorta… trickled out. Leaving Steve and his family.

Robin hadn’t meant to Change Steve. Hadn’t wanted to. Changing was dangerous work. There were hoops one needed to jump through. Consent to be given. Alphas to plead cases. But she had thought she was tied to a dead man. Her ears had been clogged, her nose smelling nothing but decay because of the Gate. Steve Harrington had tried to protect her, had protected her. And she thought he was dead. He wasn’t, not then. More torture, drugs that really fucked with the inner beast. Later she’ll praise the Moons. She’ll burn candles and leave gifts on any alter she can find.

Then there was confessions in the bathroom. Little oh’s and laughter. He hadn’t cared that she was gay. He hadn’t cared that she was a Wolf. Which is when the fleshy nightmare had to ruin everything. It’s a blur. Adrenaline, her mother would coo later. Both parents wrapped around her and a still shaking Steve. The need to protect the Pack. Billy dies. Little Red tries to bring him back but she’s too young, too muddled of blood to do it. They’re waiting for Joyce and Hopper to come back. Waiting for parents to come pick them up when it happens. When Steve goes down like a stack of bricks.

Hearing barely back hones in on the beating of a heart that might as well be her own. She hears it start to stop and reacts without thought. Because a life without Steve was not one she wanted. He was her and she was him. How she knew right then she doesn’t know. Doesn’t care to know. She just needs him like she needs her arms. So she bites him.

Wills the Change be quick and kind. It can be slow. It can be cruel. Rarer still it is both. She watches as his veins turn dark from the bite on his wrist. As they slowly ink and inch their way to his heart. Steve’s eyes are closed, blood pours from his nose, from his ears. He’s dying. The Change races Death and she can do nothing but watch.

Later, after he’s been scented by her parents, her brothers and sisters. Later when it’s just them in the nest he’ll tell her that the reason his parents are never home is because he hates killing. They took him on a Hunt once, out of town hoping that not knowing who he was putting down would help. He threw up, nearly shot his father instead. His mother hadn’t minded. Had kissed his cheek and said this wasn’t the life for everyone.

“He’ll kill me if he finds out. This will be a stain on his ego. Won’t care that it saved my life.”

“Good thing they never come back.”

“Yeah.”

He is her and she is him and Moons willing she’ll never have to know what the sound of his heart stopping sounds like.

—//—//—//—

Now with a part three

[inkstainedheartbeats]

When Steve was little, when Papa Otis was alive and Uncle Theodore was around, he knew he was loved. His mother would run fingers through his hair, sing softly as they danced in the kitchen. Papa Otis would let him help in the kitchen, Uncle Theodore would play the piano. His father loved him too, he thinks, though it was usually shown through cleaning guns and shooting cans in the back yard.

He knew his family was different from the others. That the revolving door of cousins who often stank of gunpowder wasn’t what everyone else knew. Carol certainly didn’t, though father didn’t like him hanging out with her too much. Tommy and the other Hagan boys were acceptable friends. Papa Otis put his foot down about the Carver’s though. Said there was more crazy in that family than a five pound bag filled with ten pounds of crickets. Neither he nor Tommy really got that but mom nodded her head so it was Law.

When Steve was six something happened to Uncle Theodore. He doesn’t remember much. Not like he remembers the piano lessons. Papa Otis and father argued and screamed. The cousins who stank of gunpowder were split, more than half on father’s side. He vaguely remembers Uncle Theodore coming into his room one night. Pressed a kiss to his forehead and said he’d miss Steve. And then he was gone. Later he would learn that Uncle Theodore had fallen in love with a demon. Had made a pact with him so they could be together longer than any mortal would otherwise stay. He would learn that his father was willing to kill his younger brother.

He’s nine when Papa Otis dies. And on the one year anniversary of his death his father takes him on a hunt. Something small, his father had said. Someone you won’t know. His mother and father had dealt with the parents, the ones who broke the Law. Silver bullets can end most Preternatural folk. But the kid, older than him but still so scared, was left for him. Steve remembers the weight of the gun, the stench. He remembers throwing down his gun and how it misfired almost hitting his father. The kid had fled, ran like a hellhound was behind him. And his father beat the shit out of him for it.

At the time he thought that would be the worst thing to ever happen to him. And then monsters came out of walls and ceilings. Dogs had flower mouths and a desire to eat the children he claimed in that moment as his. His father would hate that most of them had at least an eighth of Preter blood in them. Then a monster of melted people and Russians with mean right hooks had tried to kill him.

Gained Robin in that last one, though. He thinks that’s a win. Gained a Pack who loved him. Big brothers, two, a big sister, two little siblings not counting Robin. He is her and she is him. Connected in a way that Changed ones never are with the Biter.

“He’ll kill me,” he had told Robin remembering the arguments. There is no Papa Otis to defend him. To offer to send him away. Just his mother with gun calloused fingers and dead eyes.

“Good thing he never comes back, then,” Robin had said, a promise of protection in her voice.

And then Chrissy Cunningham dies. Nightmares and bloody noses and a cursed pup. Flying monsters with tails that choke and teeth that bite.

“You… you gotta… gotta promise me. Keep… keep ‘em safe?”

Because Steve knew Eddie would protect the pups like he would. That Eddie understood. Like knows like in that regard. Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson was a Birthed vampire with eyes that saw more than Steve had cared for before. If Eddie promises maybe he could sink down into the comforting dark. He’d see his Papa Otis again.

Pain. Gods so much pain and there’s blood in his mouth. He can’t scream. He wants to scream. Fire. There’s fire in his blood.

“Steve!”

Robin! That’s Robin. Robin’s hand in his. Her snarl in his ears. And then peace.

—//—//—//—

Tagging @lawrencebshoggoth

Part three of this find part four here

[inkstainedheartbeats]

This is part four. Find Part One, Two, Three

--//--//--//--

When Steve goes limp in his arms the only reason Eddie doesn’t try to run is he can still hear Steve’s heart beating. Robin’s nails are more claws as she gently takes the limp form from him. It rankles slightly, this breach in protocol. As the Biter, as the Sire as some older Vampires call it, Eddie should be the first thing Steve sees when he wakes. If he wakes the nasty voice in the back of his head whispers. But Steve was Robin’s first.

“What happened?” Nancy asks. She’s holding a first aid kit in her hands.

It’s grimy and dusty and Eddie thinks it might kill more than it heals but he sees the little moon that means it’s Werewolf friendly.

"He just started fucking seizing man. And like clearly the bat things saliva is doing so-"

"So you bit him? Bitten Hybrids barely survive if they were born Preter."

"I know! You don't think I know that?"

They glare at each other the air stinking with their anger and fear. Nancy ignores them both, ignores Robin as she growls low in her throat. Cleans out the bites.

"Do either of you heal quicker than humans? I, admittedly, don't know much about this."

Eddie shakes his head. Vampires heal slower unless they drink blood. Not coconut water or animal blood but from a human. One could survive on those so long as they didn't get hurt. The plus side is that they are harder to hurt. Takes more to tear through his skin.

"A bit," Robin says craning her neck to see the wounds, "but not that quick. Jesus."

The once gapping holes are now more like grazing stab wounds. Black ooze tumbles out of it instead of blood even as Nancy pours alcohol over them. Steve whines lowly, face scrunching up, hands clenching. Then slowly he opens his eyes.

Eddie watches as once brown now black eyes latch on to Robin. As Steve whines again and Robin echoes it. They speak in soft little yips, growls and whines. Then Steve's haunting eyes lock with his. Eddie feels his heart skip a beat.

"Thank you."

--//--//--//--

Tagging @lawrencebshoggoth

((feel free to let me know if you also want to be tagged in this.))