#also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant???

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

[matchingbatbites]

Love Grows - Part 5

This part is from Steve's POV, just a little treat for y'all. We'll be back to Eddie in the next part. Also, I've actually done a little planning and this fic looks like it's going to be 10 chapters, which means we're officially halfway through! I'm so excited to share the rest, and I'm glad you've all been enjoying it so far!

Ao3 | Part 1 | Part 4 | Part 6

July 4, '85

Over the last few years, Steve has learned that he’s good at protecting people. He can hold his own in a fight, for the most part, and he can take a hit better than anyone else in their group. When he and Robin get captured by the Russians, his only thought is to keep her safe, to keep their attention on himself so they don't even look twice at her.

He gains a few hits to the face - plus his third concussion in as many years - and loses a few fingernails, but it's worth it when Robin is able to walk away, fairly unsteady from the drugs running through their system, but otherwise untouched.

And Steve is- Steve misses Rosie. As he sits on the bathroom floor, waiting for his nausea to settle, his sweet baby girl is the only thing he can think about. It still amazes him just how quickly she became the light of his life, the absolute center of his world, and now he worries that he’ll never get to see her again. He worries that he won’t be able to apologize to Eddie for not coming back that night, that he never called. 

He hopes that Eddie won't think too badly of him for disappearing for a few days. It’s not Steve’s fault, and he knows it, but Eddie has no idea of what’s been going on in the background of Hawkins, he wouldn’t know why Steve has just vanished. That thought alone is almost enough to make him sick, and probably would if he hadn't just spent the last few minutes emptying his stomach into the nearby toilet.

He’s glad, though, he knows that he’s left Rosie in good hands just in case anything does happen. He knows that Eddie and Wayne will take care of her if he doesn’t make it out of this mess.

Robin starts talking, the room stops spinning, and they throw questions back and forth, trying to see if the drugs have left their system. When Robin asks him “Are you still in love with Nancy?” Steve finds himself answering with a genuine, honest “No.”

“Why not?” she presses, and brown doe eyes flash through Steve’s mind. His head drops back against the bathroom wall as he thinks about silver rings and a teasing smile. 

“I think because I found someone who's a little bit better for me.” 

Steve had always kind of noticed Eddie in school - hard not to notice him, honestly - but had never really interacted with him until Rosie. He had been the first person outside Steve’s little circle to show an interest in the baby, and he didn’t judge Steve for trying to raise her on his own, even offered to help even though he didn't have to, even though he didn't even know Steve. 

And at some point in the last few months, Steve has gone from never speaking to Eddie, to having a full-blown crush on the guy. 

It only gets worse every time he sees the metalhead - when he brings Rosie by the shop while Steve is working, or when they hang out after Steve’s shift, Rosie asleep nearby while something plays on the tv. Little moments that only add to the quickly growing affection he has for the older man.

“And it's crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he's been saying, you know, ‘you gotta find your Suzie. You gotta find your Suzie-’”

Robin cuts in with a confused “Wait, who's Suzie?”

Steve sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “Some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend? To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure she's even real. But that's not… That's not really the point. It doesn't matter. The point is this person, you know the one that I like, it's somebody that I didn't even talk to at school. And like, I know why, we didn’t run in the same circles or whatever.”

He rubs his forehead and winces at the throb of pain behind his eyes. “It's stupid, I mean, Dustin's right, it's all just a bunch of bullshit anyways. Because when I think about it, I wish I had known them sooner. First of all, they’re hilarious. Like, so funny. And they’re smart, but not like, book smart. They’re smart where it counts, and they’re one of the most creative people I’ve ever met, like super multi-talented. You know, they’re honestly unlike anyone I've ever met before.”

Steve waits for some kind of remark, but Robin is silent, to the point that he asks a soft “Robin? Robin, did you just OD in there?”

A soft sigh, followed by a “No. I am still alive.”

Without thinking twice, Steve scoots forward and slides under the wall to join her, ignoring how the motion aggravates his nausea as he sits upright again. Robin’s face scrunches in disgust as she says “The floor's disgusting,” and Steve huffs a laugh.

“Yeah well, I've already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt so… What do you think?”

“About?”

“This person?”

“She sounds awesome.”

And Steve pauses, thinks maybe this once he could be honest, be open with someone about this. He loves Robin, she’s become his best friend so quickly, and if he can’t tell her about himself after the last few days, then…

He replies softly, “Yeah, he is awesome.”

Robin’s jaw drops at the admission and she sits up straighter. “He?” 

Steve nods and shrugs a shoulder. “I always kind of… noticed guys. Like, been attracted to them. But he’s the first guy I’ve ever wanted to actively be with, to date.” 

“Is it Eddie?” she asks, blunt as ever. “Because every time he comes into the shop you get this dopey look on your face, and I’m like 80-percent certain that you stare at his ass whenever he leaves.”

Steve slides down the wall a little and wonders if Robin can see him blushing under the blood smeared across his face. “I- Yes, Rob, it’s Eddie. Didn’t think I was that obvious about it.”

"Don't worry, you're not. Not to anyone who isn't gay, at least."

Steve pauses and blinks at her, asks a soft "You too?" and gets a nod in response.

Robin looks like a weight has been lifted from her, and when she tells him about Tammy Thompson, Steve just beams at her, ignores the ache in his face as he starts to rag on her because really? Tammy? Robin could do better, and he tells her as much, and they're both a giggling mess when Dustin and Erica find them.

July 9, ‘85

It’s a few days after Starcourt when Steve notices something interesting. 

He doesn’t have a job anymore, and though he has been looking for a new one, he’s been loving the extra time he’s had with Rosie, getting to actually spend full days with her without the worry of having to be somewhere, especially while he’s still healing up. It’s a good thing too, because the baby has been extra clingy since he returned from his unexpected kidnapping, with no sign of wanting to let her dad out of her sight any time soon.

Right now though, she’s crawling around the house, going from room to room, occasionally calling out a loud “Ma-ma?” as Steve slowly trails behind her, curious as to what she’s doing. She works her way through the most used rooms, and even smacks her hands on the glass patio door and peers into the backyard. Whatever she’s looking for must not be around, and she seems to realize it as well. 

Her face scrunches up and she sits on the floor, looking dejected, and when Steve goes over she looks up at him with wide eyes and reaches out with a watery “Dada…” The sight makes Steve’s heart ache and he picks her up with a soft “C’mere, nugget,” and carries her up to the bedroom. 

He nearly drops her when she yells “Mama!” and starts wriggling like a worm. Steve turns, sees her reaching desperately for the pictures taped to the nearby wall, and huh. He tugs a polaroid free from the collection and hands it to the baby, and he’s surprised when she settles down and starts babbling once it’s in her hands. Steve stares down at the photo, just a simple, silly one of Rosie and Eddie. And Steve suddenly has a theory.

That's how he finds himself at Eddie's place, Rosie propped on his hip as he unlocks the door with the spare key the Munsons gave him (and god, if that doesn’t make him feel things, that they trust him with a key to their home). He steps inside as Eddie looks up, and Steve sees that the older boy is sitting on the floor, surrounded by pages and pages of what appear to be D&D notes. Rosie lets out a “Mama!” and starts wiggling as soon as she sees Eddie, and Steve carries her over and hands her off to the surprised metalhead. 

“Please don’t tell me I was supposed to watch her and forgot,” Eddie says as he pulls the baby into his arms and hugs her. Steve smiles and shakes his head, sets the diaper bag on the couch before settling on the floor next to Eddie, being careful to not jostle any of the pages.

“Nah. She kept crawling around the house looking for ‘mama’. I figured she was talking about you, and I’m happy to see that I’m right.”

Eddie blinks in disbelief and pulls Rosie back a little so he can look at her. She babbles happily and pats her hands on his cheeks, then squeals in delight when Eddie blows a raspberry into one of her palms. Steve’s heart swells at the sight, as he watches how Eddie interacts with his daughter, sees so clearly just how much they adore each other.

“Mama, huh?” Eddie mutters and presses a kiss to her other tiny hand. “Never thought I’d be someone’s mama.”

Something in his voice makes Steve pause. He hadn’t even thought about what Eddie wanted Rosie to call him, he just thought her automatically associating Eddie as mama was… cute. "If it- if it makes you uncomfortable, I'm sure we can teach her to call you something else-" 

He's cut off when Eddie yelps out a sudden "No!" as he pulls Rosie close and squishes his cheek against hers, an affronted look on his face. “No way! I’m mommy now, fuck you!”

Oh. 

Steve isn’t expecting the bright spike of desire that shoots through him at Eddie’s declaration, and fuck that’s something he needs to think about later and not when he’s sitting right in front of the object of his crush and his infant daughter.

Eddie seems to realize what he’s said at the same moment Steve does, as his face flushes bright red and he immediately averts his eyes. Steve clears his throat, can feel just how warm his own cheeks are as he looks down at the papers around them, desperate for a distraction.

“So, uh, what’s all this for?”

“Uh, D&D stuff,” Eddie replies as he sets Rosie in his lap. She whines for a moment before realizing that he isn’t going anywhere, that he’s just setting her somewhere comfortable, and she settles into him as he distracts her with his ringed hand. “I’m working on the big campaign I plan to run during the school year. Lots of parts, lots of things to have in order.”

“Tell me about it?” Steve asks, genuinely curious, and when Eddie launches into the intricacies of the story, he listens, enraptured. He finds that he’s at his happiest during these moments, when it’s just the three of them, enjoying each other's company and simply existing together.

And like an inevitable fact of the universe, a puzzle piece slotting into place, Steve knows in this moment that he wants this for the rest of his life.

Tag list:

@luciana-rowan @bidisastersworld @little-gae-shit @thehumblefigtree @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @estrellami-1 @shrimply-a-menace @anaibis @livelaughlexa @vampireinthesun @zerokrox-blog @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @idea-less-author @thegingerrapunzel @stevesbipanic @electrick-marionnett @tuesdaycats @seths-rogens @flustratedcas @qomrades @artiststarme @death-the-elf @itsanarrum @linkydinky06 @jaywhohasthegay @aboredowl @maya-custodios-dionach t @eerielake @smolbasilboy @freyaforestafay @gleek4twd @gayngerthings @newtstabber @lucasrightarm @huskysarelife @i-must-potato @thegingervulcan @novelnovella @ryebread375 @stardustonpages @trensu @otaku-bell-livemotto @thev01dd @demolvr @hellfireloserclub @beenovel @anzelsilver @f1ct1onwh0re @ravenphoenix94

[inthewychelm]

@steddie-spooktober day 23 - witch

Alternative ending for my Necromancer AU, 730 words, Rated T, ao3 link

CW for attempted sacrifice, and toxic relationship dynamics

Eddie figures out what he needs to regain his stolen magic at the ridiculous party Steve drags him to, mere days before All Hallow's Eve. It comes to him slowly, as he is distracted by all the bare skin Steve so boldly put on display. He was more concerned about capturing the man's lips as the gears began to turn.

Steve's curiosity reminded him of the events that allowed him to channel dark forces centuries before. His uncle had been sick, so close to death, which was the reason he was desperate enough to go through with the ritual. And it had worked.

He killed the only family that ever cared for him, but he also brought him back. Uncle Wayne remained by his side for nearly a century, never once stopped loving him.

But Eddie couldn't deal with the guilt Wayne reminded him of, or the disappointment as his power began to corrupt. He didn't feel anything after he dismissed Wayne's spirit back to the afterlife.

That night in bed, he watches Steve's sleeping expression, the voice in his head ranting and raving about the fear he felt when Wayne got sick. How Steve was fragile, and would be stolen from him too.

But he hesitates. Because when Steve grins at him in the kitchen, over breakfast. How could he choose to destroy something so pure?

Eddie doesn't plan to ask, and he tries so hard to ignore the urge. Until Steve asks for him.

Eddie tries to explain. He tells himself that if Steve declines, he'll drop it. Except Eddie finds himself unable to reveal the truth about the most important detail. He takes advantage of Steve's unrelenting support and kindness.

"Everything is in order, are you sure you want to do this?" Eddie asks as his hand wraps around the handle of the dagger.

Steve offers his repeated affirmation, and Eddie forces all emotion from his mind when he steps forward. He mutters the same ancient incantation as before, refusing to register any possible change on Steve's face.

He stops at the border of the ritual circle, holding Steve in place as his blade kisses the skin of his neck. Eddie steels himself to slice through, to complete the ritual.

But when he hears Steve whimper from the shallow nick made by Eddie's hand, something in him locks up. He can't make his arm move and corrupt his love by spilling his blood.

Eddie howls, knocking over the candles when he steps fully into the circle. He breaks the ritual as soon as he stepped inside, but he can't bring himself to let go of Steve or the dagger.

He presses his forehead to Steve's and begins to sob. Steve seems to realize the spell isn't going as planned and the tension releases from his body. His hands curl around Eddie's wrists and coax his arms away from Steve's neck.

He drops the dagger now that he regained control of his mind. Eddie finds Steve's face between his palms, searching his eyes for something.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.' Eddie apologizes. "I can't. I can't lose you, but I couldn't hurt you either."

He chokes another repeated apology, and he finds the forgiveness he was searching for in Steve's soft gaze. He brushes his nose against Eddie's.

"It's okay, I'm okay." Steve kisses away Eddie's tears.

"I'm a coward. I had hoped I had found a loophole in this wretched curse, but I can't kill the only thing I love." Eddie shakes his head, burrowing further into Steve's embrace.

"What if it wasn't a curse?" Steve asks. Eddie lifts his head from the crook of his neck, his eyes prickling with new tears at the feeling of Steve's fingers running through his hair. "You said a witch cursed you by stealing your magic, but what if it wasn't a curse. What if it's a second chance, to find love again. To grow old, and find peace in death."

Eddie feels his throat tightening, choking on the thought that he might have thrown away his chance at a future Steve describes. It's a naive fantasy, and Eddie wants it to be true with all his heart.

"And would you be there? With me?" Eddie asks, pleads that he hasn't fucked up his future before he knew it was possible.

"I will." Steve promises, sealing it with a kiss.