#either that or steve

[rottenaero]

Hey guys,, so we’re all thinking it right?

[paperbackribs]

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, to his Tiktok audience: One of the best things about knowing a sleepwalker is that sometimes they bring you stuff.

Eddie: it’s like being friends with a crow.

Eddie: I was just given this *thirty-two cents*

[donttellunclesam]

this a @steddieexchange gift for @soaringornithopter !! Happy holidays, my friend! I had a blast planning this fluffy comic for you. I hope you enjoy it!! 🥰💜

[steddie-as-they-come]

"Mom," Steve whispered in the inky blackness of his parents' room. "Mom, there's something under my bed."

Patricia Harrington turned over. "Steven, go back to sleep," she murmured.

"I can't." Steve said. "There's a monster."

"No such thing." his mom said, angrier, more awake. "Go to bed now, and if I catch you out of bed again you can forget going to Tommy's this weekend."

Steve nodded and padded back down the hall, pausing at his door then taking a running jump into bed.

The room was silent.

"I know you're here." Steve whispered, making sure all his limbs were tucked safely away under the covers. "You don't scare me."

A couple minutes of quiet, then Steve heard a scraping sound come from under his bed. He squeaked and pulled his blankets up to his nose.

A horrible, raspy laugh came from below him. "I do scare you!" said a voice. "You lied!"

"No-no you don't!" Steve said boldly. He clutched his blanket tighter, then said, "I can't be scared of something I can't see! That's just dumb."

Something dark began to slither across the floor out of the corner of Steve's eye. Oh, I'm gonna regret that, he thought.

The thing began to pull itself up, looming over Steve. It cracked a smile, and sharp white teeth gleamed in the light from his closet.

Steve screamed.

"Shut up!" his dad shouted angrily from downstairs, and Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking between the shadow and the door like he wasn't sure which monster to be more afraid of.

The monster crept toward him, and Steve dug his fingernails into his face, scooting away from the horror. He whimpered, not daring to close his eyes.

Then the monster began to shrink.

It shriveled away, changing color and backing up, until a little boy, about Steve's age, stood in front of him. He had long curly hair and was dressed in a t-shirt that was way too big on him. When he opened his eyes, Steve flinched, because the whites of his eyes simply...weren't there. His eyes were an onyx black.

"Hi," the boy said. "I'm Eddie."

Steve was too stunned to speak, but he did uncover his mouth.

"I'm the monster under your bed!" Eddie said. "I'm supposed to scare you, but, um-" he risked a quick look at the door "-I don't think you need my help for that."

"Why are you supposed to scare me?" Steve asked.

Eddie shrugged. "Dunno. Every kid's got one. It's just how it works. I was made to be your monster, forever!" He sat down on the edge Steve's bed, bumping Steve's shoulder against his. "Weird to be on this side of the bed. No dust bunnies or anything."

Steve giggled, forgetting his fear. "You're fun!"

Eddie grinned at him. "Thank you! None of the other monsters think my jokes are funny."

"So you have to scare me?" Steve asked. "But you're not scary. Not after talking to me."

Eddie paused. "Oh, right. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Um..."

"What if we just say you're scaring me?" Steve asked. "I'll pretend I'm really scared of the monster under my bed, and you pretend you scare me every single night. But really we're hanging out instead of scaring!"

"Ooh, I like that idea!" Eddie struck a dramatic pose. "I'll be the monster under your bed, but I'll be ready to protect you if you need it too!"

Steve stuck out his hand like he saw his dad do for business deals. "Deal?"

Eddie shook it. "Deal."

-

Steve sprinted through the forest, the kids hot on his heels. "There!" he shouted. "Everyone in!"

The kids bolted to the abandoned cabin, and Steve slammed the door shut. "Is there a bed in here?" he called. "A couch? A fridge?"

"Bed's in here!" Will yelled, and Steve followed his voice to the cluttered bedroom, complete with partially-caved-in bedframe. He gingerly took a seat on the mattress, cringing when it crackled. He did not need to know what was on this.

"Eddie?" he called, tapping on the flaky painted wood.

The shitheads crowded in, and Mike murmured. "What the fuck is he doing?"

Steve ignored him. "Eddie, come on, I need your help."

Something tall, dark, and lanky slid out from under the bed, and all the kids jumped back in fright, raising their various weapons. Steve leapt to get in front of them, raising his hands as a shield. "Chill! Calm down, this is Eddie!"

Eddie shrank into his human form, draping himself over Steve. "You had to summon me to the nastiest bed in Indiana? Really, Steve?"

Steve shrugged. "This was the closest one. We need your help, Eds."

"We?" He focused on the Party. "Well, these must be the infamous buttheads." Eddie slid into the shadows and reappeared behind the Party, inspecting them. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, right?" he said, pointing at each one as he said their names.

"What the fuck are you?" Dustin asked.

Suddenly Eddie was under Steve's arm, wrapping a hand around his waist. "I'm Steve's monster under the bed." he said. "I'm just... friendlier with Steve than most of the monsters I work with."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You can tell him you're my boyfriend, they know I'm bi." He kissed Eddie on the cheek.

The kids all broke into gasps, except for Max, who fake gagged. "Don't be gross!" she yelled. "Demogorgon outside, remember?"

"Ah, right." Steve said. "Eds, can you-"

"On it." Eddie kissed Steve. "I'll be back."

The kids watched Eddie melt into shadows, then wheeled on Steve. "Steven Don't-Know-Your-Middle-Name Harrington," Dustin said. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

edit: i did not expect this response to the short little thing that took me 30 mins max at 2am!! i’m planning on rewriting it and turning it into a full length fic, so i’ll come back and edit this with the link!

edit #2: if there’s anything you guys want to see in the full length version of this please let me know!! i’m trying my best to make it a slowburn which is horrid for my adhd so let me know if there’s anything you want!!

[cringevalue]

eddie asks if steve would still love him if he was a worm, to which steve obviously says yes, because steve would still love eddie if eddie were a sweet gum ball stuck in steve’s big toe.

anyway, steve wakes up the next morning to a worm wiggling across his chest. at first, he almost screams, but then he remembers eddie’s question from yesterday.

oh shit...

did eddie turn into a fucking worm??

after a few seconds of contemplating, steve carefully picks the worm up. “eddie? is that you?”

unfortunately for steve’s ego, the real eddie can’t control the volume of his laughter from outside the bedroom door, and steve’s face is redder than red when eddie stumbles into the room.

now steve wants to know why the fuck eddie put a worm on his chest.

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Steve is Morticia and Eddie is Gomez, do not fight me on this.

Eddie quite literally falls first and falls harder, immediately becoming obsessed with Steve. He brings him gifts, greets him with an exuberant amount of kisses each time he sees him, looks at him with so much adoration in his eyes that everyone feels like they are interrupting a private moment.

Steve warmed up to Eddie after a few days. It took him a bit but then he became extremely devoted to Eddie. He calls him the strangest pet names and accepts the quirkier side of himself once he lets himself fall into love with Eddie. He begins to wear flowy clothing and when he sees Eddie approach, he presents his neck or arm as an invitation for Eddie to place his lips on his skin.

They sit on each other’s laps interchangeably, share food from one another’s plates, and practically agree on everything. They may fight, but the aftermath only lasts for minutes at best before they are rushing back to one another, missing the presence of their other halves.

They share blood and clothing and help the other get dressed. The little things that other people, different people, wouldn’t think to do. Steve and Eddie need to be close to each other in every way possible.

Steve even wears an intricate golden locket around his neck everyday that has a lock of Eddie’s hair in it, while Eddie has Steve’s name tattooed across his chest.

When they die on the same day, five minutes apart, they are buried together in a joint coffin, holding hands, in a desolate cemetery in the middle of nowhere. Maybe one day, someone might stumble across their grave and be able to witness the greatness of their love, even after death.

[fizz-pop-thwip]

I struggle thinking about non consensual human experimentation as a whole, but what happened to Bucky really it does just make me sick.

To start, think of how his stomach dropped when he fell from the train, the fucking fear knowing you're dead. You have 2 seconds and then your dead, this is it.

Then you wake up to 1) being alive, horrifically unaware of the 70 years of hell ahead of you and 2) your arm being not only surgically removed but replaced with a metal arm, a foreign body, a parasite. You fight because what else are you ment to do? But you fall unconscious again.

You wake up to days and days of torment and torture and slowly loose hope that it will ever end, that you'll ever be saved. He didn't know that Steve was dead, how long did he yearn for Steve to find him? How mad did he get? Did he punch the wall, did he scream? Did they have to sedate him because of just how psychotic that made him? How fucking manic he would go?

How long till he lost all feeling, all emotion and hope?

When they started putting him in the chair, did he scream and cry? Did he beg for anything else? Any thing, anything, fucking anything. Did he beg for death? Did he feel himself slowly lose all of his memory, did he sob when he first couldn't picture Steve's face, or when he could remember the most important person in the world, but not a name or a background or a face, not a crumb.

The first time he's put in cryo freeze, does he remember his reflection? Seconds before he fell unconscious, never knowing how long it would be before he woke up again. Did he wake up, begging to just be put back in, the closest fate to death he could ever achieve? The closest thing to mercy? Does he catch himself falling asleep at night and wake up in tears, not even sure if it's been 20 minutes of 20 years.

Did his crys for help fall on the shiney leather shoes of scientists who showed no emotion, did he question if he was even human to begin with? Surely a human would be treated with even a fraction of care. No one treated like this was born from a mother, no one treated like this was ever looked at with maternal love.

He stopped feeling like a person, he didn't even remember he was a person. When things seeped though it just hurt, they hurt him, it made it worse. So he stopped it, he wouldn't let himself. It was impossible to live. He had no coping mechanisms, no outlet, he would show any signs of struggle and be hurt for showing humanity. He had to be what they wanted.

Even after he was broken in, no crying anymore. No begging for mercy. Did he spend his nights awake, just TRYING to remember what he forgot, FEELING the missing spots in his mind? Did he hold that metal arm close because he can't even remember how he got it anymore, all he knows is it makes his shoulders ache.

He was completely and utterly trapped, the more he suppressed, even the minor shards he remembered, the more mania he would experience.

Even once he's free, how do you come back from that, even if it was just a mental thing, the physical, real DAMAGE to his brain was enough to make him never heal again. Bucky is a walking fucking miracle and maybe THE survivor.

He is going to have memory problems, severly. He is going to have intense PTSD flashbacks, total hallucination level, breakdowns. Seriously, this level of trauma is NEVER leaving him, not fully. Phantom pains, endless nightmares, coping mechanisms that don't make sense but comfort him none the less.

He's going to have periods of times where he can't even stand being touched, not Steve, not anyone. Weeks where he can't shower or move out of a space his brain has deemed safe for fear of being hurt. Scratches at the seam between his flesh and the metal of arm, wanting it off, wanting it away from him. Again does it necessarily make sense logically? NO!! but does he feel it 100%? Yes!!

He gets better, his bad periods get less intense, more far in between but they never fully go away. As fuckimg depressing as it is, hydra made a permanent mark on his psyche. It's FUCKED.

Gods strongest soldier is Bucky Barnes.

[the-barefoot-hatter]

WHOSE THAT POKEMON

One of those insists-on-their-full-name kids!

[bugisbonkerz]

pleaz be nice to my son he has no arms

[solarmorrigan]

Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3

-

“I need you to buy me.”

Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.

Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.

“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.

“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”

Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.

“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).

“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”

“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”

“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.

“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”

Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”

“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.

“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.

Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”

“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”

“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.

“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”

“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.

“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”

“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.

“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”

Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”

“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.

“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.

“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”

“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.

“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”

“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.

“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.

“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”

“Shocking.”

“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.

“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”

“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.

“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.

“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.

Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”

“I’m fucking poor.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”

“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.

“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”

“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.

“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”

Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”

Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”

Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”

Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”

[theblack-dog]

Ponyboy is defiantly dramatic as hell. Like him and Steve will be sitting on the couch together, and Steve will just give him a light shove (because he was being annoying) and Ponyboy will fucking launch himself off the couch and then just proceed to lay on the floor like this:

[dreamings-free]

Steve 🥺💔

[morganbritton132]

I want a fic where Robin is adopted.

The only parents she has ever known are her own and the only time being adopted has ever bothered her was when Amanda St. James made fun of her for it in the third grade. But Robin told her that at least her parents wanted her and were not just stuck with her like Amanda’s parents, “And maybe that’s why your Mom and Dad are so unhappy all the time.”

She got in trouble for making Amanda cry and went back to never thinking about her birthparents. She had no interest in knowing anything about them and it stayed like that until she turned sixteen.

On her sixteenth birthday, her mom gave her a letter written to her by her birthmother. Robin doesn’t read it immediately, but eventually gives in to her own curiosity. She reads it over twice before her mind snags on a sentence, ‘I wanted to give you and your brother a better life…’ … you and your brother…. You and your brother…. You and-

“I have a brother.”

This eats at Robin, especially after her dad’s call to the adoption agency goes nowhere. It eats at her so much that she finally gives in – Fred Benson swears up and down that Nancy Wheeler is the best investigator on the school paper – and asks for help.

Nancy says yes and is maybe a little too invested in finding the truth, but honestly, Robin is having fun and she wants to find her apparent twin. She wants to know about his life. Settle the whole nurture over nature thing.

They hit a lot of walls, a lot of dead ends. They break a few rules and maybe commit a felony. They enlist Jonathan Byers to help and even Eddie Munson at one point because he knows how to pick locks, and it’s all for nothing.

One day when they have everything they’ve found spread out across the Wheeler’s dining room table, Steve comes over to pick up Dustin. He looks down at the whole mess and points at her birth certificate like, “Hey, we were born on the same day.” 

[thefreakandthehair]

gatekeeping.

written for ‘one’ | wc: 111 | rated: general | tags: established/married steddie, future fic, successful corroded coffin, rockstar eddie, charmingly bitchy steve @steddiemicrofic

Eddie knew that it was a matter of time until one of their fans tried to shame the wrong person for the latest social media trend.

He should’ve known it’d be his husband. 

“Nice shirt,” a voice teases behind the camera as Steve turns around. “Name five songs.”

“Bet he can’t even name one.” Another voice mocks. 

“I’ll name five that are about me and you can tell all your friends that my husband thinks you’re dumb as shit.” Steve deadpans.

Eddie snorts as he looks up from his phone at Steve in the kitchen wearing the same special edition shirt he’d worn to the grocery store. 

He’s never been hotter.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.