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catsafarithewriter · 7 months ago

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Been a bit since we had some angst 👀

"How much more do you need? How much more do you need me to give?"

"All of it. More than you could ever give."

A/N: How dare you throw this angst at me when you know I'm already looking at Slay the Princess AU angst?! How much angst do I need to offer to satiate your thirst?? Anyway, this is not a StP AU, but is loosely based on Moonlighter, an indie game where you play as a merchant moonlighting as a dungeon delver to collect stock for your shop.

I've been eyeing this particular AU for a whlie, so thank you for inadvertently giving me an in for this.

(This, uh, hit 10K, so heads up for a lot under the readmore. I'm gonna post this to AO3 in time, but for now, enjoy this monstrosity here.)

Happy birthday, you menace <3

Baron has been gathering dust in Moonlighter's cellar for longer than he cares to count.

This, however, is less remarkable for him than it might be for another; he is built of magic and wood after all, ageless in a way that makes noting the passage of time meaningless.

There is also precious little to mark such time, down in the cellar. There are no windows, no sunlight, not even the changing breeze that might denote seasons. All he has are the brief sightings of Moonlighter's owners – a man and a woman, and in his early days he had seen them come and go often to the cellar, but now their hair has greyed and their limbs have slowed and their detours to the basement are brief.

Recently, it's been only the woman.

Until one day it's not.

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing to be worth selling down there, Chicky."

The voice isn't young, but it is new. From his vantage point on the shelf, Baron can see the light spilling from the doorway is almost entirely eclipsed by the man on the threshold. Another light – that of candlewick rather than sun – bobs past the man and a significantly smaller form begins the descent.

"Maybe not, but it has to be worth a look."

"Your ma told us everything in here was either impossible to flog or cursed."

"Yeah, my mother also worked herself into an early grave trying to run this place solo," the other voice retorts, "so forgive me if I want to deviate somewhat from her teachings."

The second figure nears Baron, and now he can make out a face notably similar to the woman he has watched grow old. Her hair is darker, and her skin is clear of not only wrinkles, but also the scars that had marked even the younger years of the previous woman. Only her eyes show signs of wear – red rimmed and tired.

"Moonlighter was never meant to be run alone," the man says. He begins a cautious descent after his companion. "It was manageable when your pa was alive; then he could delve the dungeon for artifacts during the night, and your ma could sell them in Moonlighter during the day."

"And people wondered why I was an only child," the woman mutters.

"Moonlighter has been in the Yoshioka family since it started–"

"I know. But a lot of those inheritances were sideways along the family tree for good reason."

"Look, Chicky, if yer need any help, Toto and me can run the shop a few days so you can rest between delving. We used to help yer ma out when Daichi passed–"

"You and Toto have your own shop to run though," the woman says. She opens up a chest and finds only moth-eaten breeches. "And I can't just rely on the kindness of others to make this work, Muta."

"'Course you can."

"There's got to be a way to make ends meet – properly." The woman stops before Baron and looks – really looks. There's a fire in her eyes that Baron hasn't seen in a long time. "You're different," she says, and lifts him off the shelf.

The man joins her, and he eyes Baron with distrust. "Don't bother with that one, Chicky."

"Why not? It looks like fourth tier – and no one's been able to get as far as the fourth tier in decades. Someone's gotta be willing to pay up for it."

"Yeah, yer ma thought the same. Only it kept coming back."

The woman turns Baron over, running calloused hands over the immaculate morning suit and painted fur. The callouses are unfamiliar to Baron, earned from daily chores rather than wielding a sword. "Coming back? Coming back how?"

"Depends. If she sold it to a hero, they'd usually enter the dungeon, do pretty well for themselves, and then one day never be seen again." The man rubs a hand across his chin. "They'd always get... weird towards the end, too. Reclusive. And then yer ma would find it abandoned in the upper levels of the dungeon and no hero in sight."

"And if she sold it to someone who wasn't a hero?" the woman asks.

"Then they'd usually complain about hauntings and return the damn thing. In the end, she gave up on it. Guess she could've kept selling it to wannabe heroes, but she felt bad about it."

"Bet it paid the bills though," she mutters, but without any real rancour. She sets Baron back on the shelf and moves onto the next artifact.

That's okay.

Baron can wait.

He sees the woman half a dozen more times before he makes his approach.

The second time she enters the cellar, she sets to work furiously dividing the room's contents into possible sales versus the lost causes. Some of the latter she removes – presumably to be thrown – whilst others she leaves to gather dust.

She stares at Baron for a good long while before setting him into the final category.

It is some time before she returns. Baron wonders whether she followed in her mother's footsteps and attempted to run Moonlighter solo. Sometimes he wonders if she sold the shop and left for greener pastures. And sometimes he wonders whether she's died, ending Moonlighter's Yoshioka line once and for all.

But return she does, and she looks all the older for it.

Not older in a temporal sense, although Baron would be the first to admit difficulty in recognising that, but life has been unkind in ways other than time. Her skin is sallow, untouched by sun, and a scar clips her jaw. She moves such a way to make him question when she last truly slept. She doesn't stay long, just long enough to gather up some of the less hopeless causes, and haul them into the upper belly of Moonlighter.

He sees her sooner after that, and the following descents into the cellar become more frequent – and each time, she looks the worse for wear. Every time she looks a little bit more like her mother, and every time he wonders if this will be the last time he'll see her.

On the sixth visit, she collects him up and he sees sunlight for the first time in decades.

The light is low outside – either dusk or dawn – and she sets him onto a display stand. There are no sign of the artifacts previously claimed from the cellar; instead the other stands are filled with low-quality offerings, items foraged from the upper levels of the dungeon. Their prices are notably lower than the value she sets before him.

After writing out his price, she leans against his display stand, staring into his gemstone eyes and evidently seeing something else reflected in them. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she says. "If I sell you, I'll make enough to cover this month's rent and be able to skip a few night's delving in favour of sleep." She sighs, and Baron notes a new scar, running along her throat. "And goodness knows I can't keep this up."

"There are other ways, you know."

To her credit, the woman doesn't scream. He's usually found that to be the most common response to his initial greeting – occasionally paired with a clumsy swing of the nearest makeshift weapon – but, then again, she looks too tired to scream. She merely blinks, once, twice, and then says, "Oh goody, the cursed cat doll talks."

He sweeps his hat from his head and gives a once well-practiced bow. It's a little rusty after all these years, but whatever passes for muscle memory in him remains. "Greetings, miss. I think you'll find that I am no cursed cat doll, but a Creation. When someone creates something with all their heart, then that thing is given a soul, you see?"

"I see that the sleep deprivation is already on the hallucination stage."

Personally, Baron thinks the sleep deprivation is probably a few notches further along than that. But, then again, what would he know? He's immortal. "I assure you, I am no hallucination, Miss...?"

"Haru." She yawns, and there's a tremble in her limbs that the yawn exasperates. "And that's just what a hallucination would say, Mr...?"

"Baron. Call me Baron." He sets his hat neatly back between his ears. "And if I am a hallucination, what harm could come of merely listening to my proposition, Miss Haru?"

"Time. In case you weren't aware, I don't have much – or any – of it going spare."

"And if I were your hallucination, I should know such things."

She blinks slowly. He can visibly see her try to comprehend his words. And fail. "I'm too tired for this. I'm going back to..." She falters, brow furrowing. "No, I'm not. I've got a shop to run."

"And then a dungeon to delve," Baron hazards, "and then a shop to run, and then a dungeon to delve, and so on and so forth. Tell me, Miss Haru, when exactly is sleep scheduled in this busy life of yours?"

"Never. Sleep is for the broke."

"It is going to break you, Miss Haru."

"I don't have much choice," she says. "The pittance I make from dungeon artifacts barely cover a day's rent. I don't have the money spare to skip a day." She grimaces. "Or night."

"That's because you're only selling the artifacts from the very highest levels of the dungeon," Baron says. "If you went deeper the artifacts would fetch enough to tide you over for longer." He pauses. "Long enough to sleep."

"Nice theory, save for one fact." Haru gestures to herself. "I'm a librarian. Or I was, until I inherited this place. If I go any deeper than the shallows, I'll get myself killed." She brushes a hand, subconsciously, across her throat. "Quicker than I'm already likely to, anyway."

"As you are, there's no doubt," Baron agrees. "Not without help."

She blinks again – but this time it's laden with suspicion. "Muta said you only stick around with heroes."

"I do."

"I'm not a hero."

Baron cocks his head. "And yet you enter the dungeon."

She snorts. "For artifacts. I'm a merchant. Heroes go into the dungeon for glory, fighting monsters and suchlike, while merchants are just doing a job. Or, at least," she adds off-handedly, "that's the idea. In theory, a job pays."

"I have little interest in glory," he says. "All I'm looking for is someone who wants help in exploring deeper into the dungeon. In the past, that's only ever been heroes."

"Yes, and look what happened to them."

"Yes, indeed."

Her gaze narrows. "What did happen to them?"

"They pushed themselves too far, too fast. My aid can only do so much; they sought monsters too powerful too soon and were killed in the encounter. But, as you said, you're not in it for the glory. Perhaps your survival instincts will be stronger."

Haru snorts. "Given my life choices so far, that's a bit of a leap."

"Maybe," he admits, "but I've been offering my help to heroes for long enough to no avail. Maybe a merchant is exactly what I've been looking for." He offers a hand. "What do you say?"

Haru eyes the tiny gloved hand. "What kind of help did you say you give?"

"I can unlock a human's potential for magic," he says, and it's true enough. "Over time and practice, your power will grow, enough to face even the monsters of the fourth tier. So long as you take it slowly, you will be at no risk."

The first lie he's told but not, he knows from experience, usually the last.

Still, Haru doesn't take his hand. "Why help?" she asks. "What's in it for you?"

"It's what I was made for. All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

For a moment, he fears he's misjudged, that she's going to refuse. But then she glances to the windows, where the sun is steadily rising and the flicker of shadow denotes people passing by, and a fresh wave of fatigue passes over her. Baron wonders just how close she was to breaking.

"Fine," she says, and drops her hand against his. Her palm dwarfs his. "I only need to go a little deeper anyway."

Baron smiles. He's heard that before, and no one has ever kept to it. "Good," he says instead. "Now, lock up the shop and tidy yourself to bed. We have a big night due."

The entrance to the dungeon is much the same as Baron last remembers it. The dirt track opens out into a dirt courtyard, and a large stone doorway is built into the hillside. Seated on Haru's shoulder as she pushes the door open, Baron can see the interior is also much the same – wooden beams outline the tunnel, deceptively manmade, with lanterns set at regular intervals. It almost looks like a mining shaft, except mining shafts don't usually echo with the sound of tiny skittering feet further within.

Haru falters before entering – as if she's tempted to flee – but enter she does, even if the hand that holds her rusty blade shakes.

"Alright, you promised me magic," Haru says, "so how does this work?"

"Magic works through intent. You must focus your desires and manifest them through intention." He thinks of previous would-be heroes. "Start small; that's all you'll be capable of at this point."

"So don't try running straight to fourth tier, otherwise I'll end up barbecued," she says.

"No, the fire monsters are on third tier. If you go up against fourth tier monsters unprepared, your remains will be less the charred type, and more the type best left to a dustpan and brush."

Haru glances Baron's way, eyebrow raised. "Are you speaking from experience or...?"

"Just take it slowly." He's spent years, possibly decades, sitting on a shelf. If he loses this mortal, there's no telling when he'll next find another willing.

Haru raises a hand, and Baron can feel her focus narrow. He converts the magic as needed, unlocking just enough potential – and a smidgen more – to fulfill her request. It's a modest affair, just a sphere of light that chases away the shadows that the lanterns cannot reach. It surprises Baron – but maybe it shouldn't. He's learnt from experience that too much magic, too soon, can burn out a mortal, but that hasn't stopped previous heroes from attempting more than they ought on day one. He's learnt now to keep a tight rein on a mortal's magic level, but Haru is a merchant, not a hero. Her priorities are based in survival, not glory.

Still, too restrained can be as dangerous as too ambitious.

"You can do more, if you so wish," he prompts. "You'll feel it when you reach your current limit."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." After all, he has no interest in burning through a mortal so soon.

Haru focuses again, and the light dissolves into dust. It hangs, suspended in the air like stars, and then begins to dance.

Baron blinks. He's never seen the magic used for that. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Light," Haru answers, and she starts down the tunnel. The lights bob around her, still not using up her current magic potential. "And they're pretty."

"Beauty is rarely advantageous in survival."

"Are you going to be so judgemental the entire time we're working together, or are you just getting it out of your system early?"

Baron begins to reply, but then hesitates. He's never been called judgemental before – but, then again, his own goals have usually aligned closely enough with his current mortal that such remarks are unnecessary... or, if they are spoken, usually readily agreed with. "I don't mean to be judgemental," he says eventually. "I merely am accustomed to a different nature of dungeon delver."

"Yes, and they all died," Haru reminds him. "If I'm gonna be going out the same way, I intend to have some fun with it." She tilts her head enough so that Baron, still seated on her shoulder, can see her grin. "Come on, Baron. You can't say you don't like them."

The lights cascade around him, and from the eddies twirl forms that might be birds. An unfamiliar emotion skitters through his heart.

He suspects it may be bewilderment. Perhaps he had kept with heroes until now for good reason if merchants are all as impractical as this.

He's saved from the indignity of trying to find an answer by a monster dropping from the ceiling.

Each tier has its own biome and, by proxy, its own breed of monster. The first tier carries its facade of man-made origins in both environment and monster, and the creatures here are oft the animated remains discarded by humanity. The monster that attacks Haru appears to have once been an umbrella.

And not a moment too soon.

Baron braces himself for the inevitable overreaction, for the blast of offensive magic and the smouldering remains. Humans always underestimate their power on the first attack–

Haru smacks the flying umbrella with her rusted sword and sends it slamming into the far wall.

It flaps weakly, and then goes limp.

A beat passes. Haru is breathing hard, her face flushed and her sword arm shaking.

"You have magic now," Baron says, eventually.

"I forgot."

Baron glances to the light show, still dancing above their heads. "You... forgot?"

"I've been doing this job a lot longer with a sword than I have with magic," she reminds him.

Yes, Baron thinks, and the sword is definitely showing its age. It looks like it's seen several generations of Moonlighters.

Haru approaches the fallen monster and kneels down beside it. Baron is prepared to believe she's about to perform last rites – he'll believe anything of this not-hero at the moment – but instead she begins to strip it down for parts.

"Most of this will sell," she says, as if she can sense the raised eyebrow. "Attach a piece of the wings to an arrow and it'll fly farther, or use the rods as arrows and they won't break so easily. But the best part to sell is pretty much impossible to get–"

As she reaches further into the monster, the umbrella-creature twitches, and Haru jolts back. Finally – finally – her magic flares into action, and those dust mote lights fire into the beast, where from its body they erupt into vines, twisting and tightening, contorting the monster until it ceases to struggle.

Baron releases a breath he hadn't, until then, realised he'd been holding. "See?" he says. "It's so much simpler with magic."

Haru rocks forward on her heels, and gingerly drops a hand into the mess of vines and umbrella. The greenery parts ways and both wings and rods are mangled beyond use. "Dang it."

"Oh, what a shame," Baron says. "It's for the best, though; anything worth selling is going to be a good deal deeper–"

"Maybe not." Haru cracks open the centre of the main shaft, and a tiny blue stone falls free. "It's a crystal. I've never been able to break open one of these things to get them, but they're meant to be pure magic. Look."

She passes it up to Baron and he does, indeed, look. It emits a gentle warmth, uncomfortably familiar, and he wonders if his own crystal pulses the same steady beat. "Then all the more reason to keep going–" he starts.

"Keep going? This thing will sell well enough to tide me over for a couple of days. No," she says, and straightens up, "I'm going back home so I can catch some sleep while the sun is actually set."

Baron's never had this kind of problem with previous humans. It's infuriating. It's ridiculous. It's... stumped him, honestly.

Usually the promise of power or fame or treasure is enough to lure even the most reserved of heroes into the dungeon's depths, and a merchant should have been no different. After all, everyone knows the deeper one delves, the more precious the artifacts.

And yet Haru is frustratingly, impossibly content with the meagre findings she retrieves from the first tier. The gold she makes is just enough to give her days off and a little to spare.

But that's okay.

Baron can wait.

The push Haru needs comes from an unexpected source, when the town's herbalist approaches Haru with a peculiar request.

"These roots you sold me," the woman says, setting dried tubers on the counter, "I need more of them."

"They're only to be found in the lowest levels of the first tier, and even then only sparsely." Haru picks up the roots. She hadn't even been sure they would sell, but had taken them on the assumption that curiosity would trump common sense and purse strings. "How many do you need?"

"As many as you can get your hands on. Julian's daughter is sick, and nothing I've tried has helped – but these. She's making a recovery, but I fear she'll worsen if I don't get more."

Baron waits for the gentle refusal – the explanation that such plants are too deep for reliable sourcing, the apology – but instead Haru's mouth curls into a stubborn twist that Baron will come to know well. "I'll see what I can do," she promises.

"It was only chance that brought you upon those roots originally," Baron tells her on their next dungeon delve. Usually Haru skips a night and savours the sleep, but tonight she has gone straight from shop to dungeon. "If you want to be sure of finding them, you'll need to descend into the second tier."

"Then that is what we'll do." She glances his way. "Only for as long as it takes to find them, mind you. No more."

He smiles. "No more," he agrees, knowing the oath will never keep. She's already proven a willingness to break such promises, even if she takes longer than most to alter her priorities.

By this point, Haru's magic is strong enough to make the journey down to the second tier almost an afterthought. The monsters that dwell on the upper levels can sense her power enough to steer clear, and most only attack now if cornered.

The monsters on the second tier are a different kettle of cave fish altogether.

The mine shaft tunnels become more natural, more roughly-hewn on the second tier. Here, light is sourced not from ever-burning lanterns, but from glowing moss that clings to the walls and bioluminescent fungi sprouting at the edges. The monsters also alter in appearance, offering threat in the form of carnivorous plants and thorny poison. They are bolder, stronger, than their first tier brethren, and it doesn't take long for Haru to encounter one.

The vines that snare her are uncannily like the ones that spring from her magic, and they are little defence against her new opponent. Baron is quick to leap free – the plants ignore him, as they always do – and even if he was inclined to help, there is little aid he can offer at his current stature.

What he can do is transmute a little more magic her way, strengthening her power.

"You'll never defeat it like that!" he calls. He watches a new wreath of greenery spiral out from Haru and immediately be throttled by the snaring vines. "You must tailor your fighting styles to your opponent! Try fire!"

She stumbles backwards, trying desperately to kick her feet free. "If I lose control of that kind of magic, I'll set everything aflame!" she shouts back.

"You don't have the power to do that!"

"Once it gets going, I mightn't be able to stop it!"

The plant monster lashes out and strikes lucky. Its vines catch around Haru's waist and she is dragged off her feet.

Dammit.

"If you don't do something, you won't need to worry about losing control!" he shouts. Dammit. No other human has ever needed such coaxing; usually he's the one preaching the virtues of restraint. "Attack it, Haru!"

She swings at it with that ridiculous sword, its blade too dulled to do more than dent the monster, and the vines tear it out of her hands almost disdainfully. The vines curl up along her arms, around her shoulders, towards her throat, and Baron remembers vividly the mangled mess Haru's own plant magic had made of that first umbrella monster.

Lesson learnt: next time he sticks with heroes.

All he can do is watch as her feet kick uselessly against the monster, nails scrabbling in vain, face reddening, hands reddening...

Wait.

Hands?

Her fingers dig into the vines about her neck, and now he can see her palms are molten-red. He catches the smell of smoke and firewood, and suddenly Haru is thrown free from the vines. She rolls to the side as a thorn-lined vine slams where she had been only moments before. It hits the ground with enough force that Baron feels the floor shake.

"Baron! In the bag!" Haru yells. She pulls her satchel open and lingers only long enough for Baron to follow her instructions, before she's off running along the corridor.

Thankfully, what plant monsters have in thorns and vines, they lack in the way of feet. Haru outruns it with ease, even injured as she is. When they reach a secure corner, Haru slumps to the floor. Her breathing is heavy, irregular in a way Baron recognises to be pain.

Baron is out of the bag almost before Haru has sat.

"What happened back there?" he demands.

Haru doesn't answer immediately. She has her right arm close to her, her left hand tight just above the elbow. "Plant monster," she says eventually. She proffers a thin grin. "Or weren't you paying attention?"

"Not that. I meant with your magic." He gestures to her obviously injured state. "At your level, you shouldn't have had any such issue with it. Your magic is strong enough, trust me. So why didn't you use fire back there?"

"You're made of wood."

"And?"

She blinks. "You're made of wood," she repeats, slower this time like he's missing something obvious. Like that comment should mean anything in this context, like it should explain why she nearly got herself killed instead of–

Oh.

There's blood seeping through the sleeve of her shirt, ruby-red staining the hand pressed to it. Thorns, most likely. Poison, possibly. And all because she feared she would burn him.

He steps forward, and as he does so, he shifts into a human height. Haru balks, but isn't really in any state to do much more than stare.

"Since when have you been able to do that?"

"I always have. But my role here isn't to fight; yours is."

Her mouth sets into that stubborn line, and he suspects she's thinking of all the time that having another body beside her would have been useful in traversing the dungeon. There's a reason he rarely shows this ability to humans.

"You shouldn't have worried about me," he says. "I'm hardier than I look. But you, it appears, are not." He collects the healing kit out of the bag and passes an antidote to her. "Drink. Not all monsters on this floor are poisonous, but we can't risk it."

She takes the vial and downs it with a wrinkled nose. "These things always taste foul."

"Would you rather risk dying a slow, painful death?" Baron asks. "Or perhaps being petrified. I believe there is at least one monster on this floor whose poison turns one into a chicken. How does that sound?"

Haru snorts, and Baron is surprised by the relief that blossoms in his sternum at the sound. Surprised and... unnerved. His purpose is to find a human capable of reaching the final level, so their survival is always optimum – up to a point – but this feels... uncomfortably personal.

He turns his attention onto safer matters, such as rolling the torn sleeve away from the injury. The skin is equally torn; not deep, but intricate lines mar the arm. He sets to binding the wound with bandages.

"Why did you stay?"

Haru rolls her head away from the wall. "What?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, but now the words are out and his curiosity is whetted. "At Moonlighter," he specifies. Between his fingers, he can feel how soft, how delicate human skin is. He wonders why any mortal would take to this life when it could be ended so easily. So off-handedly. "Surely you needn't have taken over the business, even if it is a family affair."

"Oh. That." She leans her head back against the wall. "Apparently, Moonlighter must be inherited by one of Yoshioka blood."

Baron recalls what snippets he has learnt of Haru's life before. "Yes, but you were a librarian. Surely there were better candidates?"

"You'd think so. But, no; it turns out that having a family of dungeon delvers/merchants is a pretty good way to not have a family before long. The death toll is high and the lifestyle isn't, shall we say, conductive to having a kid."

"And yet you pursued a life elsewhere before coming back here."

"I wasn't meant to inherit this place. That was to be my cousin – but then she got on the wrong side of an ogre, and..." Haru shakes her head. "The only other Yoshioka left is her daughter, all of five years. I couldn't let her inherit Moonlighter so... well, here I am."

"Here you are," Baron agrees. "Would she have really inherited Moonlighter if you hadn't accepted it?"

"There are two things impossible to get out of: fairy deals and legal matters." Haru rolls her head to one side, but this time her gaze lingers on the wound she has been so carefully avoiding until now. "I came, knowing a librarian was never going to be a good owner for Moonlighter but, I thought that I might at least last long enough here to give her a chance to grow up. So maybe she'll be able to handle the job when she inevitably comes into possession of it."

Baron slows in his tending. The resignation in her words sets his heart cold. "Is that really how you feel?" he asks softly. "That this life would be the death of you, and still you came?"

"It's killed pretty much all its previous owners," Haru answered, far too blase for Baron's liking, "and most have been much more capable than me. Sooner or later, everyone slows or errs, and this job isn't the forgiving sort. So, yes, I was pretty sure this would kill me, probably sooner in my case." She glances his way, with a smile Baron does not deserve. "At least until I met you. With the magic you've given me, I might survive this. Perhaps even thrive."

Baron doesn't recognise the emotion that pools in his gut, cold and heavy.

He thinks it might be guilt.

After that, Haru begins to venture regularly onto the second tier. If he had thought her close encounter with the vine monster would push her further onto the path of cautiousness, he is very much mistaken – instead, it seems to have emboldened her. She still plays carefully with her fire magic, keeping it close to her skin, even after Baron's assurances that she shouldn't fret over him, but it works well enough against the second tier creatures.

She gathers enough of the root to satisfy the herbalist, but news that Moonlighter's owner is venturing deep begins to get about. More come to Haru's shop with requests – fetch these seeds, find these leaves – and Haru is happy to help. If they merely spoke of a rich payout, Baron isn't sure Haru would be so willing, but the offers she accepts are always for a worthy cause.

Once upon a time, Baron would have been relieved she was finally comfortable delving deeper, but now the thought seems to give him vertigo; satisfaction and grief warring inside him.

One of the owners of the neighbouring weapon and armour shop stops by, and he eyes Moonlighter's array of stock with a wary look. He's tall, birdlike somehow in the way he holds himself, and avian in his sharp eyes. "When Muta told me you were managing, it set my heart at ease," the man remarks, "but I'm startled to see you've been delving so deep. What did you say your profession was before?"

"Librarian," Haru replies.

"Librarian," the man echoes. "You've caught on well, then."

"Thank you, Toto."

His gaze roams the shop, until it seems to find what it's searching for in the form of Baron. He starts towards it, but Haru is quicker. She scoots between them, as if guarding Baron from the man.

"He's not for sale."

"Glad to hear it. Muta did tell you what happened to the heroes who bought it, didn't he?"

"He did."

The frown burrowed into the man's brow doesn't lessen. He regards the stock around him, salvaged from levels even experienced heroes were reluctant to venture to. "Haru, if things are difficult, if Moonlighter is proving impossible to run along, you know you can always ask myself and Muta for help, don't you? You don't need to turn to... alternative sources for aid, you understand?"

"I understand. Muta made it quite clear what happens to heroes who bought the cat doll." Haru smiles. "So it's just as well I'm a merchant, isn't it?"

Baron knows it is only a matter of time before Haru braves the third tier.

All it takes, as all it ever takes, is someone asking for something from the fire levels – Baron can't even remember what she needs; all he remembers is that she's one step closer to the final level – and she's venturing yet further than she promised she would.

The third tier is one of fire and smoke, lava flowing in molten-red rivers that home monsters built to scorch would-be heroes to cinders.

Haru almost refuses to bring Baron along.

"And if a stray fireball hits you, what then?" she demands. "Poisonous trees and over-active accessories are one thing, but the monsters on the third tier could really kill you."

"I'm at no greater risk than you have been during our adventures," he reminds her.

"That's different."

"How?"

Haru opens her mouth. Closes it. But Baron has a pretty good idea of the kind of answer she'd like to give – that the standards she set for herself, and the standards she set for other people are two very different things.

She admits defeat, and he accompanies her on her next delve.

This would all be easier if he could convince himself the care she affords him is purely self-serving. And he's met plenty of those sorts over the years. Those who have protected him, as far as they have felt the need, have been doing so because of what he grants them; because if he is destroyed, then maybe their newfound magic will be destroyed also. It has always been a means to an end – and that's worked just fine for him. After all, the exploitation goes both ways.

But Baron has seen the way Haru cares for those around her, sometimes even fetching high-priced items from the dungeon and refusing payment if the need is too great and the cost too dear for the recipient. It is easy to believe that same reckless care has been aligned over him. However ridiculous it may be.

"You needn't worry about me," he assures, all the same. "I've been here before and, as you can see, I'm still here."

"You've been to the third tier before?" Haru asks. Here, the only light to be found is in the glowing lava and ever-burning torches, and it bathes the tunnel and its occupants in an ember hue. Her hair carries a reddish shade that almost looks like her mother's in her younger years.

"And to the fourth and beyond," he answers.

"There's a fifth tier?"

Baron shakes his head. "There's only a single floor below fourth tier."

"I wonder why no one's heard of it."

"It's because all who venture there only meet death."

Haru eyes him. "Except for you."

"Except for me," he admits, "but I, as you have probably discerned, am a special case. The monsters here have a preference for attacking humans over a cursed cat doll," he says, echoing her words from so long ago with a smile.

"So what's down there?"

Nothing, he wants to say. Nothing worth seeking.

"The monster," he says instead.

"Same old, same old."

"No. This monster is the reason this dungeon exists."

Haru stops walking. "What?"

He's told this tale a hundred times, and each time tailored to pique his mortal's curiosity. Promises of riches or glory or power tied to success, and yet none will guarantee Haru's aid here.

Good.

"A long time ago, there was a monster terrorising the world, so great in power that to slay it was impossible. Many tried, many failed, and in the end all that could be done was to trap it away. To create a dungeon for it."

Haru blinks. "I never wondered why this place was called a dungeon."

Baron nods. "Some clues to its history have survived the eons. It's sealed away on the very lowest floor, trapped, but still very much alive and very much dangerous."

"Have previous heroes tried to kill it?"

"Yes."

"And I'm guessing none have succeeded."

"None."

He watches her, wary of the urge to seek out such a danger, but she seems to slot this new knowledge aside and move on.

He shouldn't feel relief.

But he does.

The fourth tier is the lowest part of the dungeon – before the inevitable, anyway – and the one that best betrays the abilities of those who built it.

Of those who built Baron.

Baron may be a more complex Creation than his bellicose brethren which occupy the fourth tier, but he is still a Creation, and his artisans didn't deviate far from previous forms. Although all monsters in the dungeon run on magic, those on the fourth tier most obviously owe their existence to it. Living statues, living suits of armour, living gargoyles... they all call the fourth tier home, and are so clearly built for that intention that it is only a matter of time before Haru looks to him and wonders.

They sit in an offshoot tunnel, lit by lanterns that glow blue, and Haru has been quiet ever since taking down a statue with a feline face. Baron sits beside her. He's been taking on a human height more often than he ought recently – more often than he ever has before – but for some reason he keeps coming back to it.

Haru runs a thumb over one of the gemstone eyes she looted from the statue. It's a glittering red, and sure to fetch a good price in Moonlighter... but Haru doesn't seem to be seeing that in it.

"Who are you, Baron?"

He offers the smile that has reassured many a hero before Haru. "I told you before: I am a Creation. When someone creates something with all of their heart–"

"You misunderstand me. I didn't ask what you were. I asked who." She looks to him, and suddenly he's wondering if she's seeing his own eyes echo so closely that of the statue, save for colour. "When I first saw you, I said you looked like fourth tier, but I didn't really dwell on that. I didn't really think through the implications." She rolls the gemstone eye in her palm. "Who created you, Baron?"

For all the heroes he's encountered, he's only had this conversation with a handful. Few seem to care exactly what or who he is, so long as he can benefit them.

He doesn't have the practice for this.

The truth – or as close as he is allowed – it is then. He inclines his head towards her hand. "I think you have a guess."

"Is it true, then?"

"Yes."

Her thumb rolls past the stone, and instead carresses the scar that runs across her palm. "You're not like the other creatures in this place thought," she says. "You don't harm."

Oh, how wrong she is.

"They're made for a different purpose," is all he's allowed to say. "They are designed to challenge heroes, to slowly increase the difficulty so that only the strongest of fighters reach the final floor and, perhaps, will be strong enough to slay the monster trapped there."

Haru considers this. "The dungeon is a test."

"And the monsters are the questions," Baron says.

"So what does that make you?"

The guillotine, Baron thinks. But that would warn Haru of the final step in his purpose, and he's forbidden from such truths. "I was designed to find such a hero," he says instead. "Or, more exactly, to make one. The final monster is beyond any mortal's ability to slay it, therefore I was tasked with finding a willing hero and giving them that power."

"Why?" she asks. "If the final monster is trapped for good, then surely it can just be left as it is, no need to throw wannabe heroes at it, unless..."

She goes quiet, and Baron suddenly realises with awful, heart-wrenching guilt, he knows exactly how to get Haru to the final floor.

"The monsters have been getting worse, have you noticed?" she asks. "Even on the first tier, they're more dangerous now than they were in my mother's time. Back then, the boldest heroes could make it as far as fourth tier – not often, mind, but still, it did happen – but it's been decades since anyone's delved this far." Except for herself. She doesn't voice the thought, but the words still hang in the air between them. "The town used to be bustling, but now even the firrst tier is a risky business."

Baron nods. "The binding wards are weakening."

It's true, but he wishes it were not. Not because of the threat it poses – but because he fears Haru's reckless selflessness, the care that has thrown her as far as fourth tier, breaking her own imposed limits again and again.

"What wards?" she asks.

"The wards that keep the final monster trapped. It was always going to happen – no magic lasts forever – but my creators had assumed I would have found a hero by then."

"The monster is waking up," Haru translates.

"Its power is rejuvenating," he corrects. "And with it, the power required to slay it is increasing. So the rest of the dungeon is adapting accordingly – in order to create a hero able to slay it, the other levels must increase in threat also."

"So, eventually even first tier is going to be too dangerous for anyone to enter..." Haru says.

"And the monster will one day break free," he finishes. "Yes."

Baron has been searching for a hero to slay the monster for longer than he cares to count.

It has been long enough for him to forget the faces of those who made him – and his memory is sturdier than most – and their voices may be gone, but never their words. Never the purpose for which he was created. For in his chest there lies a crystal, a condensed heart of magic, and in that crystal is his purpose carved. He can no more disobey his purpose than he can tear out his crystalline heart and live.

He's never wanted to.

Until now.

"You can still walk away," he says. "There's time."

"If I do, you'll merely find someone else to take my place," she replies. "Won't you?"

He wishes he could deny it. Not because the truth makes him sound fickle – although it does that also – but because Haru's humanity has crawled under his skin and the idea unsettles him. How could he offer his aid to a human, knowing he was just leading them to their death?

And yet he would, because that is the way he was built.

He doesn't answer, and apparently that is answer enough for Haru.

"Maybe the next person will succeed," Haru says, ignorant that success will kill as surely as failure, "maybe they won't. Maybe," she continues, not looking to Baron, "you'll one day offer the same deal to my cousin's daughter. Assuming, of course, the binding wards last that long."

"It's what I was made for," he says, voice hoarse with apology, but unable to deny it. "All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

"That's what I thought," she says, and there's no anger in her words. He wishes there were. He wishes she would rage, wishes she would hate him as she should, but there's only sorrow.

"Tell me truly, Baron: do you think I could do it?"

"You are nearly strong enough to defeat it," he answers, "and, when the time comes, I will grant you enough magic to succeed."

Ask me if you'll live, he wants to beg. Ask me so you can see me lie, so you can see the truth.

But, of course, she doesn't. She trusts him too much by now to doubt, to search for hidden truths. She cares too much to ask after her own wellbeing.

He wishes she could be just a little bit more selfish.

Haru looks to her rations. She has, as always, been careful with her magic and supplies, and despite the long journey down, there's still fire in her veins. "Then I guess there's no time like the present, huh?" She grins, and Baron's heart wishes to break. "Let's go slay a monster."

Baron has been to this final floor only a handful of times. More than once, the hero's eagerness has overtaken sense, and Baron has watched them be scorched into oblivion. The first time Baron got a hero this far, it was his own underestimation of the monster's power that killed them.

But, more often than not, it is the hero's own magic that kills them in the end.

Baron's never spent this long with a single mortal, and Haru's magic reflects that. It's no longer the messy instinct that reacts without thought, but is instead more akin to muscle memory, honed through practice. It moves with her, responding to her needs the way a hound follows the subtlest of its master's orders.

He has created many monsterhunters over the years, but Haru is the first he actually believes will succeed in the task.

It doesn't matter. It'll still kill her in the end.

Even after all this time, she still carries that damn rusted sword at her side, despite the fact that it's even more useless now than it was in the beginning. Her hand flies to its hilt in some remnant self-defence when she sees the creature she plans to slay.

"It's a dragon?" she whispers to Baron.

"Yes."

"You couldn't have told me that?"

"Would it have made a difference?" he asks.

"...No. But it would have been nice to know." She drops her hand away from the sword and flexes her fingers. Magic – that iridescent blue – sparks between her fingers. She inhales slowly and the magic retracts, drawing close under her skin, carefully reined in. "Right. I'm guessing this is a fire-breathing dragon–"

"Magic, but it comes to the same sort of fate," Baron amends.

"Either way, you're staying back."

He bridles at that. "I can–"

"You said it yourself – your role isn't to fight," Haru reminds him, "so you're staying out of the way. Or has your purpose changed since we last talked?"

Baron scowls, but there's little he can do against the truth. He's not sure his purpose will even allow him to intervene – but he wishes he could at least try. "There's still time," he tries once more. "You can walk away."

"I can," she admits, "but we both know I won't."

"I know."

She leans in quickly and kisses him – brief enough to be little more than a breeze brushing him – and she grins that that daring grin that he knows so well. "I'll see you on the other side," she whispers, and then she is gone.

She moves quickly with a speed honed from the delving, and is nearly upon the dragon before it even notices her. She flings her arms out and vines spring up from the ground. They wrap around the beast, thick rope-like shoots binding it down, and already she's moving onto her next stage of attack. Fire simmers in her palms, hot enough to burn blue and she slices through the air with razor-thin flames. They slice through the dragon and it–

It doesn't even notice.

Haru rolls to the side as the tail sweeps towards her, lined with spikes that will kill with a single blow. She tries again, this time with balls of ice, thick enough to be fatal for most monsters.

Again, it shakes it off, this time with a wing that smacks into Haru. She catches herself with her magic – air swirling beneath her to form a cushion – but that damn sword spins out of its sheath and skitters to a halt close to Baron.

Baron can't stand this any more. He steps out into the cavern. "Forget elemental attacks!" he cries. "The only thing that will cut through a dragon's skin is pure magic!"

The dragon swings its tail again, and this time it strikes the columns nearest Baron. He leaps out of the way – but not wholly. Chunks of stone slam into him and he feels the fracture that runs through him. And as he gathers his senses back together, he hears Haru scream.

She screams, but it's not one of pain or terror. It's a scream of rage and grief, and magic erupts from her palms. Jet streams of pure, unaltered power slams into the dragon's chest, and Haru stands before it, hair crackling and eyes glowing, and in that moment she looks as monstrous as the creature she was tasked to slay.

And then the magic runs out and she slumps to her knees, terrifyingly mortal.

When the light has dimmed, both can see the beast is down, a death rattle wheezing through its charred body.

"It's nearly dead," Haru rasps. She tries to rise to her feet, but the strength has gone from her limbs and she doesn't understand why. She looks to Baron, and he braces for the betrayal, but there's only reckless determination. "Magic. Baron, give me more magic like you promised."

The dragon is inches from death, but already it's beginning to stir. The blistering skin is bubbling, healing. This is the way Baron's creators made his own spell to work – the dragon can only be killed by using up everything a mortal had to offer. Even as Haru's magic is regenerating, so is the dragon's, perfectly matched to end them both.

"Baron!"

He knows what his purpose is. He knows he was made to create a hero capable of slaying a dragon, and now success is so close, he can almost see it.

But, more importantly, he can see Haru.

His purpose demands he gives her the means to slay the dragon.

And he refuses.

Baron's magic is carefully crafted to his role. It's designed for exactly two things: to keep him alive, and to transform life force into magic. He isn't designed for combat, and that's a feature, not a flaw. He was never meant to do anything more than watch.

But the dragon is so close to death, perhaps that doesn't matter.

He kneels down to the rusted sword by his feet, and its weight is alien to him, balanced in a way his cane is not. Dulled but still, possibly, deadly.

He starts into a run, aiming for the chest where the scales are still soft from healing, and where the muscle is still so thin he can see the heartbeat pulse within. He hears Haru shouting, but he can't make out the words. All he can do is duck as the dragon swings claws and wings at him, running for his life – for both their lives – and stab the rusted blade into the bubbling flesh.

The sword sinks into the marred skin, past warped ribs and melted muscle, and he feels the give as it pierces the heart. The dragon writhes. Baron clings on, suit tearing and gloves bloodied, and when he is finally thrown free, he feels something crack when he hits the wall.

He watches through fractured vision as the dragon contorts, screaming and curling in upon itself and then, finally falling still.

A silence settles. It settles so deep that he can feel it rooting through him, even as footsteps echo across the room. Haru drops down beside him, her face pale and her limbs shaking, but alive.

He waits for his purpose to remind him that shouldn't be – that he has one more duty to perform – but the silence prevails. He follows Haru's horrified gaze and sees the reason why.

A crack runs down his chest, split open from throat to stomach as cleanly and bloodlessly as a log struck by an axe. He presses a ruined glove to the opening and cradles the fissured crystal as it falls from his shattered chest.

"Ah," he says, and he can already feel his magic drying up, the ebbing tide tugging at his lips. "That would explain it."

"You idiot," Haru rasps. "What did you do that for? I had everything under control; you had just given me that little bit more magic like you'd promised, instead of leaping into the fray yourself–"

"Haru–"

"Hold still, I can help."

"Haru–"

She presses her hands over his, over the shattered crystal, pushing it back into his chest, and he can feel the magic begin to pour out of her, trying desperately to do the one thing it was never designed for – to heal.

"Haru, don't–"

"I can do this, if you'll just unlock that last bit of magic–"

"I can't–"

"You can! Why won't you–"

"Because it'll kill you."

Haru's frantic movements falter, and at last there is that doubt he has deserved all this time. "What?"

"I lied." He curls his hand around hers and gently peels her hold free of his chest. She lets him, too numb to press back. "I don't unlock your potential for magic. I convert it from life force. From your life force."

"What?"

The sight flickers in his left eye. He blinks, and Haru's face falls back into focus. Despite everything, for some reason she's still here, still by his side. "My creators never intended for the hero to live," Baron says, and every word is a truth he was never meant to reveal. But now his crystal lies shattered, and the purpose written within it lost. "From the moment you took this deal, it was designed to be the death of you. No one powerful enough to defeat the monster could be allowed to live; you'd be a threat greater than the dragon you slew." He draws a shuddering breath, but Haru should hear this. She deserves to. "And so the spell I was given was to transmute life force into magic, so that anyone powerful enough to defeat the dragon would have to drain their own life in order to succeed."

He waits for the anger, for the betrayal.

"How much more do you need?" she asks instead. "How much more do you need me to give to heal you?"

"All of it," he replies softly, softly enough he is sure he can hear his nonexistant heart breaking. "More than you could ever give."

"Well," she says, with a twist of her lips that is part smile, part stubbornness that he both loves and hates, "that's not quite true. More than I could give and live, sure... but not more than I could give."

"Don't–"

She untangles her hands from his and presses them back to his chest. "I can't," she agrees, "at least, not without your help. You're the only one who can give me the power to heal you, to create me into someone who can – so let me."

He shakes his head. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I can save you."

"At the cost of your own life," he rasps.

Haru's gaze lingers on her own hands, grazed and bruised after the fight, blood caught beneath the nails, and brushes her fingers over the crevice nearly cleaving Baron. Even now, she's emitting a steady stream of magic, just enought to keep him from collapsing altogether. It's only a temporary remedy; once she stops, it'll only be a matter of time before the inevitable.

"Do you love me with all of your heart, Baron?"

"Yes." And in that moment, he realises it to be utterly, indeliably true. "Yes, of course."

She grins, bittersweet. "Don't forget that. Now, please, just trust me. Let me help you."

When she asks of him such, how can he refuse?

"Don't let me regret this," he says, and transmutes the last of her life force to magic.

Haru heaves a shuddering breath and collapses forward. Baron catches her as she falls into him, but her hands are still pressed against his chest. The magic flowing into him sputters. Flickers once, twice, and for a heartbeat its extinguished entirely.

Then it's like a dam has burst, and the power that sinks into him is like the sun compared to the candlelight of before. The surface of his wound springs to life, greening until branches grow across the fissure and knit it closed, while the crystal within reforges, setting into a new shape, untouched by the purpose once carved into it.

And still Haru is folded against him, her skin glowing with the sheer power held within.

"Haru, that's enough–"

He goes to grab her shoulders, but his hands jolt away, burnt.

No, not burnt. He runs his hands over one another, but there's no sign of scorching. He cautiously reaches for her again, and this time recognises it as intense cold instead, like that of ice, or snow, or...

Or metal.

His hands realise the cause before his head does, and by the time he's fully registered just what Haru's plan had been, he's already reaching to her with his own magic. It's crazy. It's reckless. It's trusting him with far too much heart, and yet – and yet it has to work.

With his own magic, he shapes the raw magic that runs rampart through Haru, and begins to herd it together. He condenses it down, smaller and denser, until he can sense that where Haru's heart used to be is now a crystal made of pure, solidified magic, just like his.

When the light dies down, he's holding in his arms a knight in shining armour. Where once there was skin, there's now only silver, soft flesh traded for metal, and a heart traded for magic. But when she stires – and she does – it is still Haru who stares out of those glittering gemstone eyes.

"Well," she says, and the metal face resembles her own, the metal shifting in impossible ways to facilitate speech. She pauses. Twitches her mouth experimentally. "Well," she tries again, "this is different."

Baron pulls her into an embrace, and the body fits all wrong, too many angular shapes and ice-cold surfaces – but it's her. It's Haru, alive in the closest thing they could be granted a happy ending. "Reckless, crazy, foolish," he mutters into her shoulder. He draws back to see the face again – and those eyes, still hers. "How could you possibly have been sure that would work?"

"I didn't," Haru says. "But you said it yourself – when someone creates something with all of their heart, then it is given a soul." She passes a gauntlet along the line of her jaw. "You were told to create a hero and it seems you succeeded."

"It was incredibly risky."

"I know. But some things are worth the risk." She sighs and glances to the dragon's corpse. "So now what happens to this place?"

Baron follow's her gaze. "Now, the dungeon will begin to degrade. It was made to bring about the monster's death, and now it's succeeded, it has no use."

"Moonlighter will close without a dungeon to maintain it," Haru says.

"Does that sadden you?"

"No." Haru rises to her feet, steadied with Baron's aid. "No," she repeats, "Moonlighter claimed enough lives. It's time us Yoshiokas got to choose our own futures."

She smiles his way, and even amid the metal and magic, Baron still knows that smile.

"And I think I know what my future holds."

#the cat returns #cat writes #tcr fanfic #moonlighter au #also heads up I wrote this in a couple of days #somehow #so there will almost certainly be typos and errors #esp since this is the first thing i've managed to write in months #wording is difficult and up to a certain point you gotta abandon your fic into the big bad world #this was meant to be. uh. 5K AT MOST #this uh. got away from me

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smeddiemunson · 2 years ago

Note

hi! could i request steddie with 56 “shut up and kiss me already” and 149 “since when have we ever been friends?” like hurt/comfort sorta thing? thank you :)

hi @r0binscript hope you like it 🖤 thank you for the prompt!

56: “shut up and kiss me already.”

149: “since when have we ever been friends?”

Steve hadn’t been to a party since Tina’s Halloween extravaganza in high school. He wasn’t traumatised or anything, just ever since he had his heart broken in a bathroom, the smell of teenage vomit and mixed drinks didn’t hold the same appeal as it used to. He wasn’t sure why it ever appealed to him in the first place.

He remembered enjoying the press of bodies against his own, of being faceless in a crowd, and the fuzziness that came with alcohol. He remembered gossiping with girls in his lap, giggling over the things they said, then giggling into one another’s mouths. But now... he wasn’t sure if he could ever feel that again.

But Robin had been invited by Vickie and she’d been too nervous to come by herself. So Steve, as her self-appointed soulmate, had to be there as well.

Robin had found Vickie within about five minutes of walking through the open front door, ignoring Steve’s mumbled gripe about them letting all the cold air in by leaving it open. So Steve had spent most of the night hanging out in the kitchen, refilling his red solo cup with water every so often then nursing it as he people watched. He caught glimpses of Robin every so often, shooting her thumbs up whenever see caught his eye back, looking as panicked as she probably felt. But Vickie hadn’t yet run for the hills so he wasn’t worried about her.

Eventually, the water made its way through his system and he was forced to leave his post in search of the bathroom.

The house wasn’t big, but the amount of people crammed into the hallway made it hard to navigate. He managed to get to the bathroom but on his return to the kitchen, he got swept away by the sea of bodies and ended up in an empty garage.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t King Steve,” A voice said from the darkness.

Steve flipped the light switch on.

“Eddie,” Steve greeted.

Even after their flirt with death and the neighbouring hospital beds that came after, Steve had never quite been able to make it through to Eddie. He kept Steve at arms length, determined to keep their roles the same; Steve the King and Eddie the Freak.

He didn’t know that that wasn’t who Steve was anymore.

“You know this is a high school party, right?” Eddie sneered.

Steve sighed. It was going to be one of those times. Eddie being combative before Steve could even say anything.

“Robin wanted me to come. Vickie invited her.”

The sneer fell off Eddie’s face.

Steve was sure Robin never told him, but he knew anyway and that terrified Steve. Terrified him because it meant that maybe Robin wasn’t being as careful as she thought she was or maybe Eddie wasn’t the only one that had found out. But Eddie had never said anything.

And that counted as something to Steve. It was the sign he needed to keep trying, to keep asking Eddie how Hellfire was when he went to pick up the kids, to offer him an invitation to the Byers-Hopper “we coped with the Upside Down again” barbecue. Eddie hadn’t taken him up on any of it yet. But Steve was determined.

“What are you doing in the garage?” He asked once the silence had stretched on for a second too long.

Eddie chuckled humourlessly. “I can deal but I can’t be seen. It’s social suicide for me to be seen in the house, so I’ve been locked away in here like a fucking dog.” He pushed a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in awkward ways. “But at least I’ve got beer to keep me going.”

He gestured to the dark corner. An empty six pack sat next to a sturdy blue cooler and Eddie’s black metal lunchbox.

Eddie having been drinking suddenly explained why he was so ready to snap at Steve.

“Come on,” Steve said quietly. He crossed the room in four long strides to the door he hoped led to the yard. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about Robin?” Eddie asked sadly. He was still expecting Steve to be pushed away by his attitude.

But if there was one thing Steve was, it was stubborn. He wasn’t going to give in this easily.

“She’s with Vickie, she’ll be fine.”

He cracked the door open, sending up a silent prayer that it was the door to the yard and waited for Eddie to catch up. He went back to his dark corner to snatch up his lunchbox from the floor then strode past Steve without another word.

Eddie placed his lunchbox on the floor next to his feet and turned back to watch Steve, his arm crossed protectively over his chest.

Steve stepped through the door and leant his back against the wall, trying his best to make sure he looked approachable and open to talking. He wanted Eddie to talk.

But Eddie didn’t seem like he wanted to, which scared Steve because Eddie always seemed like he wanted to talk. Steve remembered him in high school, remembered him running his mouth of at teacher or students any chance he got.

So Steve started talking instead. “This fucking sucks, Eddie. You shouldn’t be treated like that, no one should!” Then much quieter, through his teeth, an almost hiss. “You didn’t fucking do anything! You’re a hero!”

Really he didn’t realise just how angry he was until he said it out loud. How dare these people pretend that Eddie wasn’t the best of them, that he wasn’t one of the most special people to ever be in Steve’s life; even though he didn’t know him that well, Steve at least knew that.

Eddie only shrugged. “I’m used to it. Should be lucky I can even sell anymore.”

And that hurt more than anything. The complete resignation to being treated like he wasn’t even human.

“I’m worried about you, man,” Steve confessed quietly, probably not loud enough for Eddie to hear.

But Eddie did. He bristled. “Why?”

“Because we’re friends?” Steve fired back.

Eddie scoffed. “Since when have we ever been friends?”

“Since we went through hell together? We’ve all been trying to tell you this.” Steve sighed, he just didn’t know what more he could do. So he did something he never did. He begged. ��I’ve been trying. You just gotta let me. Please.”

Eddie scoffed again, the noise sounding suspiciously wet. “I can’t, man.”

“Why not?”

“Because what if…” Eddie turned away from him, staring out at the yard and only letting Steve see the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, voice thick with emotion when he continued. “What if you get to know me and realise I’m not worth it?”

“Not worth what?”

Eddie threw his hands up, gesturing towards everything as he turned back to face Steve. “This. All of this. The family barbecues, the fucking niceties.” Eddie looked away again. “Your attention.”

Steve pushed off the wall, standing to his full height. He was ready to fight his case. “I think I know who deserves my—“

“I’m gay, Steve,” Eddie hissed, as if were venom, as if it was something that would scare Steve away. He pushed at Steve’s chest, forcing him up against the wall.

It was so similar to their time in the boathouse. Eddie’s wild eyes daring Steve to make a move, only this time he didn’t have a broken bottle against Steve’s throat. He wasn’t scared, could never be scared of Eddie again. In fact, he felt brave.

Steve closed his eyes as he said it.

“I’m bisexual.”

It wasn’t even something he’d told Robin yet. He’d known about himself for a long time but whenever he tried to tell her, the words got stuck in his throat. They burned as they pushed past the barrier now. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter.

Eddie began to pull away but Steve’s hand flew out to grip Eddie’s shirt, holding him close. It wasn’t cold by any means, but he welcomed Eddie’s heat.

He opened his eyes to meet Eddie’s confused ones.

“I promise you, you’re worth all this, Eddie.”

A wounded noise came from the back of Eddie’s throat. But Steve pushed on.

“And I’ll keep telling you until you believe me. Every day, a million times a day if that’s what it takes.”

Eddie inched forward. “Promise me you won’t regret this in the morning?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.” Steve’s chest brushed against Eddie’s as they breathed in tandem. Steve exhaled a breath, Eddie inhaled the same air. His back was slowly growing wet from where it was pushed against the wall, but all he wanted, all he thought he would ever want again, was to know what it felt like to have Eddie kiss him.

Eddie’s eyes darted across his face.

In the morning Steve would feel bad that he pushed this while Eddie was clearly feeling vulnerable. But in that moment all he could do was tighten the hold he had on Eddie’s shirt and tug.

Eddie’s lips crashed into his, hot and wet and insistent.

It was a start.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #r0binscript #ask #prompt fill #i don't think angst writing is my strong suit tbh; always feels like i don't quite have the words to describe the feelings #so this was difficult for me but i'm actually so glad that i managed to do it?? and it's not horrible??#everyone be nice to me even if you hate it please and thank you 🫶🏻

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