#joyce is FIERCE and if I was a mom who dragged my kid back from hell I'd be worried too

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Byers

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.9k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

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

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Steve’s filled with dread, standing in front of the Byers’ front door at 6:30am on a Saturday morning. Out of all the kids’ parents, he’s pushed Joyce off as long as he could manage. But he’d promised Mike he’d try, and according to Jonathan, this is the best time to catch her.

That doesn���t change the fact it’s not even light out, and a boy she probably hates is about to knock on her door. Hell of a way to start the day.

He knocks anyway.

Joyce opens the door in a soft grey t-shirt and baggy black sweats. Her hair is brushed through, mascara coats her long lashes, and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the open door. At least he can find small consolation in the fact she’s been up for a while.

“Hi Joyce, I mean Ms. Byers,” he stumbles, off to a great start. “Sorry to catch you so early but–” 

“No,” Joyce interrupts, voice firm. 

Steve stands there, mouth hanging open around an unfinished sentence. He watches as her eyes harden. She squares her shoulders and stands straight-backed and tall, only reaching about Steve’s shoulder. Joyce Byers in all her fury still makes him feel small, like maybe this was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Joyce says. “But I know why you’re here. And the answer is no.”

“Oh,” he responds lamely, deflating even further. 

Her voice is soft, but she’s unyielding. “The kids like you, and I know their parents are ok with you watching them. Which is fine, for their kids.”

She pauses, and Steve knows what’s coming. Mentally prepared himself for the worst-case scenario. All of Dustin’s logical arguments and Lucas’ hype talks couldn’t prepare him for how thoroughly Joyce flays him open.

“But, Steve, I would never trust you with my kids.”

Even though he's desperate to run, he plants himself like a tree on her front stoop. He's trying not to be that guy. The kids deserve the best version of him, and on some level, he knows cutting out the bad parts of himself includes letting Joyce Byers drag him through the mud.

He tries to hold her gaze, really he does. Her dark eyes are filled with conviction, but he can see the gentleness to them as well. Almost sad, like he’s making her do this to him. 

Joyce grips the door, knuckles white with tension. She takes a step out onto the front stoop, forcing Steve to take a measured step back. The door stays cracked and the smell of burning toast reaches his nose. Nausea rises in his throat.

“They shouldn’t have even been in those tunnels in the first place,” she says, voice growing louder as she gains momentum. “We asked you to watch them, we trusted you with them, and they still almost got killed! And I know, I know, you helped Jonathan and Nancy last year– saved them from that, that thing crawling out of our walls.”

Her eyes flicker over her shoulder, like the demogorgon’s still haunting her house. He follows her gaze, like Billy could still be standing in her living room with a blood-stained, toothy smile.

She sighs, exasperated. At her wits end for being pushed into a conversation she’s probably been dreading for weeks, since it seems she knew what he wanted. “But you’d be with my baby, my Will, everyday. He’s had bullies since kindergarten, and it’s only gotten worse since everything.

“He doesn’t deserve more bullies. And from what I’ve heard, you’re no different. Just like your father.”

Steve flinches– can’t help himself– the sentence ringing through his head.

Just like your father.

“No, no I’m not, I swear,” he chokes on the words as she steam rolls his pathetic lamentations.

“You’ve pushed my boys– and kids just like them– around your whole life, making them feel small for having less money, less friends, less stuff. Every time Jonathan came home with a new bruise or bloodied knees, how do I know that wasn’t you?”

Steve’s watering eyes are fixated on the small, furious woman before him, flushed with a rage familiar to any decent mother protecting her kids. He’s trying so hard to hear her, but his head is filled with static and his mouth feels stuffed with cotton. Steve wipes his hands down the front of his pants, then shoves them in his pockets.

“You called my boy queer! Something I’m sure you heard from your father. I saved for months to get him that camera for his birthday and you just smashed it, like it was nothing. Like we’re nothing.”

Neither of them notice the pair of shadows moving beyond the door frame in the living room. 

“I cannot allow someone like you around my boys,” she hammers home. This is what Nance meant by a thesis statement he thinks deliriously. “Sue and Karen might be alright with it, but my answer is no.”

Steve sniffles and nods stiffly as turns to leave, hoping to at least make it to his car before the tears start. He knows he deserves what she’s said, knows the truth of it in his gut, but he’s stood here long enough. Now it’s time to run and hide, like his mind’s been screaming to since she set her sights on him.

“Mom,” Jonathan says, out of breath like he ran here from his bedroom. He’s appeared over Ms. Byers’ shoulder like a ghost, or a ninja– silent and on the attack. “What’s going on?”

He’s a sleep-rumpled version of his mom, wearing a plain, soft t-shirt, and grey sweatpants scattered with light bleach stains. Steve notices he still has pillow creases on his left cheek. His gaze follows the red indent down to Jonathan’s jawline where a small, purpling bruise is haloed by faded red lipstick.

All of the air in Steve’s lungs is punched out of him, hard and fast. A feeling he should be used to from Jonathan Byers. 

Steve thinks he sees a flash of pastels in his periphery, dashing through the trees to the road. Or maybe it’s his imagination. It doesn’t matter, because he can’t look away from the uncomfortably familiar mark on Jonathan’s neck.

Jonathan must notice. His hand flies up to his neck, wiping the mark and finding a smear of red on his fingers. The spell holding Steve breaks, and he can breathe again. 

Their eyes meet, and Jonathan’s cheeks now match the stain on his fingers. It’s awkward and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it or how to make this easier. Because Steve never knows how to fix things, only how to break them. Something Joyce seems well aware of.

Distracted, Steve’s just now noticing the small shadow creeping up behind Jonathan. He sees the young boy poke his head out from behind his brother’s back as he takes a small step towards the commotion.

“Steve was just leaving, sweetie,” Joyce answers, voice soft and sweet as she turns away from him to go back inside.

“Wait, no that’s not what I meant,” Jonathan continues. He shakes his head and roughly pushes his unruly bangs from his eyes. “Steve, why are you here?”

Jonathan’s looking at him like he knows the answer. And he should really, considering the only reason Mike agreed to have Steve as his babysitter was because Jonathan promised he’d talk to Will about it, and then they’d talk to Joyce. 

A long train of telephone Steve was relying on to get a head start at Joyce’s good will. Which, apparently, never happened.

Steve plays along into Jonathan’s prompting. She’s already said no, so what’s one more try with a little back-up.

“I was asking if I could babysit Will, since I watch the rest of the gang too. Can’t leave any party members behind,” Steve says, parroting Dustin.

“And I was just telling him–” Joyce starts, before she’s interrupted.

“I think Steve would be a great babysitter,” Will says. His hair’s a mess, and he’s straightening out his matching Star Wars pajama set as he steps further into view.

Joyce rushes over to him, squatting down to meet his eyes. “Will, honey, you don’t need a new babysitter. You can still spend time with your friends at their houses, when their parents are home.” Jonathan takes the distraction to wave Steve into the house, silently closing the door behind them.

“But the other parents don’t know about– you know,” Will hesitates, before mustering up the courage to say “about what actually happened to me.”

“Baby,” she says, gently running her hands up and down his small arms. “You know we can’t tell them. We went over this.”

“It’s not about them knowing the truth,” Will says. Steve watches as the boy tries to make himself bigger, taller, even with the slight shake in his voice. “They just look at me like I’m broken. They’re sad when I’m around and they just think I was kidnapped or lost or– whatever the story is. That I was sick or something.”

Steve can’t help but imagine Will Byers, always the shy, quiet kid in the Party, having to constantly withstand the severely misguided pitying glances from adults who aren’t read-in on vast government conspiracies and alternate dimensions. Steve’s almost nineteen and can barely manage alone.

Her brows are knitted tight and her lips downturned the more Will confesses. “Well, Jonathan can–”

“I don’t want Jonathan to watch me anymore.”

Joyce’s eyes widen, confusion painted across her face as her mouth drops open. Steve turns to glance at Jonathan to find that, unlike his mother, he’s not surprised at all. In fact, there’s a light shining in his eyes and a small uptick to the corner of his mouth.

The tension is thick but familial, leaving Steve unwelcome and gawking at a private conversation. Which he supposes he is: both unwelcome and gawking.

“Go on, Will, it’s ok,” Jonathan encourages. He shines with a proud smile, like he’s watching his little brother walk for the first time. 

Will’s hesitant, his eyes downcast as he shuffles side-to-side. Waiting for him to continue, Joyce stays quiet. Steve can’t help but feel envious of Will and Jonathan at having a mom patient enough to hear her son outright, even when she doesn’t agree with him. She saved him from an alternate dimension, but sometimes the little things are just as important.

“When Jonathan dropped me off at Steve’s for DnD last week, it was fine… at first.”

“You both told me that was at Mike’s,” Joyce interrupts, turning a motherly glare at Jonathan who sheepishly avoids eye contact. She rounds on Steve again, closing the distance between them in three long strides to get in his face. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Steve. What if something had happened and I didn’t know where to find him because of you?”

“Mom,” Jonathan interrupts, irritated. “That’s not fair. We are the ones who said it was at Mike’s– Will and I. I knew you wouldn’t let him go if you knew it was at Harrington’s place, so I told Will to lie.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have let him go,” Joyce argues, turning back to Jonathan. “He’s not safe there! I know Steve Harrington and I know his parents. What if they had been home?”

“They haven’t been home in weeks,” Steve mumbles. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, catching himself off guard. Years of practicing the lie, and he slips in front of the last three people on earth he’d want to know about his home life. He’d never complain, not to them. 

She shoots him a confused glance, an emotion behind her eyes Steve refuses to consider. But it seems she’s the only one whose noticed he said anything at all as Jonathan speaks up again. Shaking her head, she shifts her attention back to her son. In the midst of the chaos, Steve breathes a small sigh of relief.

“Mom, it was fine– everything was fine. Just–” Jonathan stops. He gestures to Will to keep going.

Will puffs his chest up, holding his mom’s gaze as he barrels on. “I liked having it at Steve’s. It smells nice, like candles, not like farts and laundry detergent like Mike’s basement. He had all the snacks we like, and he’s got a huge table that can fit all our stuff.”

The kid’s smiling now, and goddamn if it doesn’t melt his heart. Steve’ll be disappointed if Joyce says no, but at least he knows for a fact Will felt comfortable around Steve and liked being at his house.

“But after Jonathan picked me up, Lucas said they stayed up and watched movies all night. That Steve even made an ice cream sundae bar and there were a million toppings.” Will’s arguing is starting to sound like a petulant child, a slight whine to his tone, and Steve can tell Joyce is losing her patience.

“Will, that’s something you and Jonathan can do. We’d love to do sleepover nights with your friends.”

“No, Mom,” Jonathan states, strong in a way Steve’s never seen from him before. His only tell is the waver behind his voice. Steve’s willing to bet Jonathan would rather face down another demogorgon than take on his own mother. Yet here he is, sticking his neck on the line for Will.

“What do you mean, no?” It’s barely a question.

“I don’t want to babysit Will anymore.” He quickly closes his eyes and shakes his head, like an etch-a-sketch. “No, wait– I’m not babysitting Will anymore.”

The room falls deadly silent. Joyce’s lips flatten into a thin, white line, matching the color of her knuckles. She looks ready to explode, like how his father used to look before the first blow. 

Steve flinches when she takes a step towards Jonathan, and she clocks his reaction just like before, but ignores him to glare at her oldest son.

“I want to spend more time with Nancy.” Jonathan’s eyes are wide, like he forgot Steve was there, and he can see an embarrassed flush painting his ears. Steve just shrugs. It is what it is, he’ll get over it like he always does. Jonathan relaxes a bit. “I want to get a job so I can take her on dates that are more than just driving out to the quarry.” 

“Jonathan,” Joyce jumps in, “you can’t get a job. You’re grades are slipping as it is and you don’t have time–”

“Exactly! I don’t have time for a job right now. But if Steve starts watching Will after school and some weekends, I can get a job and keep my grades up and spend time with Nancy.”

She’s shaking her head, but Jonathan plows on before she can jump back into the fray.

“Billy Hargrove is a goddamn monster, Mom. He almost killed Steve! And we all know the kids would’ve found a way to get to the tunnels no matter what. Steve was beat to hell and still went with them.” Jonathan points at Steve’s face in emphasis, like a fucked up version of a pretty model showboating a new car. Except the model is the guy who stole his girlfriend, and the car is a has-been with a fucked up brain and no future.

“And last year,” Jonathan continues, “Nancy and I would be dead if he didn’t come back for us. After everything that happened between us, he had no reason to turn around. Hell, I’m not sure I would’ve.”

He doesn’t know Jonathan Byers well, but Steve knows for a fact Jonathan would’ve faced death to save him– to save anyone. It’s not even a question.

Joyce still doesn’t seem convinced. “Everything that happened last year is exactly what I’m worried about, Jonathan.”

“It’s my fault, not his!” Jonathan shouts. “It’s my fault he got sucked into this mess, it’s my fault Nancy left him, and it’s my fault he broke the camera!” Color drains from his face. Steve freezes, staring at him. 

Steve still hasn’t told anyone why he broke the camera– none of them have talked about it, and he never planned to bring it up. Ultimately he’s thankful that the pictures exist, since it provided the only clue to Barb’s death and the Upside-Down. 

But he doesn’t understand why Jonathan took the pictures. And it doesn’t change the fact Steve closes his blinds every night.

“What do you mean, your fault?” Joyce asks, out of sorts. 

He stammers a bit, looking to Steve for help. Steve doesn’t want to have this conversation at all, let alone in front of Jonathan’s entire family. He glares back at Jonathan, tersely shaking his head once.

Lie.

He gets the gist, relief stark on Jonathan’s face. 

“Steve caught Nancy and I sneaking around when we were looking for Barb and Will,” Jonathan quickly recovers. “We didn’t want him poking around, so we let him think we were flirting. But some pictures I had taken of Nancy fell out of my bag, and Steve saw them. That’s why he broke my camera.

“We ran into him and his friends later while they were spraying up The Hawk. I didn’t know it was all Tommy Hagen’s idea, so I got in Steve’s face and I hit him first. He called me queer, and that’s shitty. But he apologized, saved our lives, and bought me a new camera. So–”

Jonathan turns to him and holds out his hand. It reminds Steve of his father, but also of Hopper, which he decides is a more apt comparison.

He reaches out and Jonathan grasps his hand firmly, shaking it up and down just once, yet continues to hold on. Forging a new pact for the future.

“Steve, I’m sorry about everything.” He seems genuine– eyes wet, shoulders set, and back straight. Steve tries to match his posture. He might not be as good with words as Jonathan, but he can at least show this moment is just as important to him. “But you helped protect the kids so we could save Will. And you saved Nancy and me. So– I trust you.”

Steve can’t handle this. It’s too early in the morning for heavy emotions and deep confessions, but Jonathan’s searching for forgiveness in the face of a former bully. Steve steps up to the plate and meets him halfway.

“I shouldn’t have broken your camera, I know how expensive they are and how much it meant to you. I was angry and I wasn’t thinking. And I, I umm–” 

Steve realizes he’s never really had to apologize to someone before. Sure he’s apologized to Nancy, but it seemed like a normal thing for guys to always apologize to their girlfriends. He’s apologized to Dustin, but that’s more like placating a rowdy toddler. 

This feels different, somehow bigger. Maybe it’s because Jonathan’s his own age, or someone his parents have programmed him to think is lesser than himself. Maybe it’s the deep regret that’s made itself a home in Steve’s stomach, rotting away at the memory of a vicious word spat haphazardly at a stranger.

“I’m sorry I called you queer. That’s fuc– I mean messed– up, and I’m sorry.” Steve sighs, running a nervous hand through his hair, less painful with the stitches removed. He almost misses the stinging sensation. “It’s something my dad says all the time and it was the first thing I thought of, and I hate that. I’m not my dad, I never want to be like him.”

Jonathan nods and pulls Steve forward into a hug, and when they separate Steve feels lighter. A heavy weight he hadn’t known about, removed from his shoulders with Jonathan’s help. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Jonathan felt the same way by the smile on his face.

“Yeah!” Will shouts, unprompted and overly excited for the tone of this entire conversation. There’s a wide grin on his face when he holds up his hand to high-five Steve and cheers “welcome to the Bad Dads Club!”

Steve scoffs, shocked but completely delighted and confused at Will’s eager declaration. Joyce smacks her hand to her forehead and mutters something like jesus christ under her breath, while Jonathan barks out a laugh. 

He grabs his little brother by the shoulder and shakes him like a rag doll until Will breaks out into giggles. “Will,” Jonathan says, failing to keep a straight face, “remember when I explained the difference between family jokes and not-family jokes?”

Will’s smile fades slightly, red embarrassment splashing his cheeks as he quickly glances between Jonathan and Steve, realizing his social blunder. Jonathan squeezes his shoulder and gives him a sad, reassuring smile. But Steve won’t be the reason for the small frown tugging on Will’s lower lip.

Steve holds out his hand, palm up. He smiles at the kid, eyes alight with mischief. “Bad Dad’s Club,” Steve says, like it’s more than just a fucked up childhood and is instead forging a pact, binding them through one shitty commonality. 

Will returns his smile and high fives him, who then turns to his brother. Jonathan laughs again when he pulls Will in for a hug instead, shrugging at Steve.

Joyce’s gaze travels between the three boys standing in front of her, and Steve can see the moment she cracks.

Her stance has softened. Her lips are still pursed, her eyebrows only slightly furrowed, but her arms hang relaxed at her sides and she’s looking at Steve less like she wants to throw him out and more like she doesn’t know what to do with him.

“You get one week,” Joyce says sternly, pointing a finger in Steve’s face. He goes cross-eyed looking at it, but he can still see Will and Jonathan high-five. “One week of picking him up after school. I get done at Melvald’s at six, so you can bring him home at six-thirty.”

Before Steve can wholeheartedly agree, she rounds on Will and Jonathan next, who stand at attention, trying to stay serious through their own excitement. 

“You,” she points at Jonathan, “better keep your grades up if you’re getting a job.”

“And you,” she gestures to Will, “better have all of your homework done when you get home. If you can’t get it done at Steve’s house, then you don’t get to go.”

She backs away from them, taking a deep breath in and exhaling loudly. “Is all of that clear?”

Waves of yes’s pour from their mouths. Will wraps his arms around his mom’s waist and Jonathan lightly punches Steve’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Ms. Byers,” Steve says as he turns to leave, “I’ll make sure you don’t regret this. Any of you.”

She sighs, a small sad smile on her face. “I really hope that’s true, Steve.”

On the drive home, he realizes she never mentioned the slip-up about his parents’ absence. He’s grateful for it. Talking with adults has never been his strong suit, and his conversations with each of the kids’ parents are starting to weigh on him. 

The Byers’ might not have as much money or means as the Harrington’s, but that doesn’t stop Joyce Byers from being a damn great mom. So he’s not surprised she took note of his own small mishaps. Maybe she’ll bring it up one day, maybe she won’t. All Steve cares about is that he finally has the opportunity to earn the trust of the fiercest parent he knows.

~~~

[just-jordie-things]

The Crown - Steve Harrington

word count: 4462 warnings: dedicated to @high-functioning-fangirl02 <3

You’d give your life to protect these kids.  

These kids you’ve known since you started babysitting them in the sixth grade.  Back when Mrs Henderson hired you to watch Dustin.  Which essentially meant that you’d watch all of them.  But that was alright, over the past seven years of being their designated babysitter, you’d grown to love them all.

Mike Wheeler, the snarky little love-struck shit that you spent grieving with since losing Eleven.  Lucas Sinclair, the sweet boy with the occasional attitude whom you helped construct his Ghostbusters costume. Will Byers, the full time sweetheart that made you cookies for Valentine’s Day after hearing you complain about being dateless.  And of course Dustin, cute little button nosed Dusty with a trash mouthing tendency, whom looked up to you like a role model.

Hell, you were their role model.  Driving them to and from school, covering for them on late nights so they could finish their D&D tournaments.  Fiercely protecting them a year ago when Hawkins was Demogorgon infested.  Standing up for them when you’d see some upperclassmen picking on them.

Those who dared glance the wrong way towards The Party in your presence, were rumored to run home crying with a bleeding nose and terrified shriek.  You never put down the rumors… because maybe it had happened once or twice…

Over time The Party was no longer just a band of middle schoolers.  It had opened up to their babysitter, being you, a senior girl who had not many other friends.  Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, which the boys always claimed was strictly because of family relations.  Not because Dustin was still harbouring a crush for Mike’s older sister.  The town Sheriff, Jim Hopper, who’d proved himself not to be an asshole, and turned out an alright guy.  Joyce Byers, whom you loved like a mother and whom treated you like her own daughter.  You’d frequently been titled ‘the daughter she wished to have had’ which always raised a snarky response from her sons.  Maxine (just Max.  Never Maxine) Hargrove, a high spirited and not your typical girl that you grew fond of easily.  Especially since she was nothing like her big brother.

And then there was Steve Harrington.  Who… really just was at the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up getting roped into the mess that Hawkins Lab had created.  King Steve, as you’d known him before you’d officially met last year by fluke accident, was always the popular boy that had a pretty girl hanging off his arm.  You weren’t sure why that changed so quickly, why he didn’t put himself out there as much as he used to, didn’t party hard anymore, wasn’t bragging about the new girl he was with that week like he was known for.  Maybe that day, when he walked into the Wheeler’s house right as you Nancy and Jonathan were awaiting the Demogorgon’s arrival, maybe he changed then.

Or maybe it was after he’d been sucked into… whatever this all was… and he changed to keep the secret.  Or maybe it was after Nancy had broken up with him, around the same time he started growing closer to Dustin.

But right now as you watched him directing the kids, you were more aware that he wasn’t King Steve anymore, that you had been before.  Sure, you’d realized somewhere along the way he was different.  But it wasn’t until now that you noticed it completely as it was.

“No listen you little shits, no one, is going anywhere” Steve ordered, holding a wash rag in his hand and pointing it between each of the boys, and girl, that stood in front of him.

“Friggin’ pointless just staying here” Dustin grumbled, walking out of the room whilst still muttering.  Mike groaned loudly, dramatically, and left to the living room with Max and Lucas.  You knew that he was still plotting you get out there tonight.  Consequences and dangers be damned.

You looked to Steve with a sigh, a lazy smile on your lips as you walked past him to go after Dustin.  He watched you go, letting out a breath as well as he put his hands on his hips and standing alone in the hall with his thoughts.

He’d give his life to protect these kids.

“Dusty?” You called gently as you walked into the kitchen, seeing Dustin sitting on the floor against the dishwasher.  Your brows furrowed as you sat across from him by the cabinets.  “You alright kiddo?”

“Would I be sitting in here brooding if I was?” He quipped, though you knew he meant well.

“Sweetheart you’re too adorable to be a brooder” You laughed softly, pulling your knees up slightly.  “A pouter maybe, but not a brooder”

“Thanks y/n” He responded dryly.  You rolled your eyes in response to his sarcasm.

“Come on kid, open up a little.  It’s me” Your words were soft, which did prompt Dustin to consider explaining to you his thoughts.  “Please? If we make it out of this alive I’ll take you to the arcade.  I’ve got a big jar full of quarters I’ve saved up-”

“Okay okay I’ll take the bribe” Dustin caved with a laugh that made your mood lighten.  “Look it’s gonna sound lame and cheesy but… everyone else is helping.  Jonathan and Nance and Mrs Byers and Hopper and Elle, but what am I doing?”

“You’re staying safe” Your answer came out instantly, but it didn’t seem to be the one the boy was looking for.

“No I’m not, I’m sitting on the sidelines, watching everyone else go be heroes and getting hurt.  I’m not doing a damn thing!”

“Hey” You hummed softly, and scooted over closer to put your head on his shoulder.  “You’re a hero Dustin.  Don’t tell yourself any differently.  All of you are, Mike too, and Lucas, and Max, and-”

“Steve?” Dustin offered, and you nodded, looking at him confusedly by the strange tone of voice he used.

“Of course, why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason” Dustin shrugged nonchalantly, brushing off the uncomfortable air between you both.

“Alright well, you should believe me” You continued.  “Even if you don’t think so, you’re all my heroes, got it Henderson?” The boy smiled and nodded, prompting you to push the cap of his hat down playfully before he could get up and leave the room.

“Mike’s probably still planning his attack” He told you, but you shrugged and waved a hand.

“Let him plot and brood” You said, and Dustin’s mouth fell open.

“How come Mike can brood but I can’t?” You rolled your eyes, still waving your hand for him to get out of here.

“Just go plot with him, I know you’re itching to” You said, and he grinned wide at you, glad you were letting him go plan their escape and attack.

“Thanks y/n!” He called, already racing out of the room.  “You’re the best!” You laughed, shaking your head as you stood back up and dusted off the pants of your overalls.  Steve came in a few moments later, watching you almost suspiciously.

“What?” You questioned, and he shrugged, shaking his head.

“Nothing.  Just wondering why you’re permitting them to conspire against us” He said.

“They’re not conspiring, they’re just discussing.  No harm in that”

“Um, every harm in that.  As in all of us, being harmed, because of that” He said, but you didn’t really seem to care what he thought about it.

“They’re fine, we’re all fine, don’t freak out so much mom” You said, walking out towards the kids and seeing them all circled up and discussing their big plan.

“I’m not a mom” Steve argued, and you chuckled, turning to see him, his dish rag on his shoulder, hands on hips.  It only made you laugh more.

“Mhm, alright.  Well then what would you call yourself?” You replied sarcastically, nodding towards his own stance, and making Steve second guess himself.

“This- you-! Alright whatever just stay away from the windows and go be safe somewhere” He muttered, walking into the living room where the kids were.  You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the smile on your lips.

Perhaps, you thought, King Steve was the king of something else now.

You watched as he was waving his rag at the kids again, yelling at them for plotting behind his back, and reminding them that no one was going anywhere.  But even as Dustin pouted, Steve was rubbing his hand over the thirteen year old’s head.  Almost soothingly, like he felt bad for ending their little meeting.

“What a mom” You mumbled, and headed back into the kitchen for something to eat.

You used to resent Steve, back when he was the king of school and didn’t care about anything more than he cared about his popularity and his hair.  Back when he didn’t give a shit about pretty much anything.  And looking at him now and seeing him watch over these kids, you could physically feel your heart swelling.  If that isn’t character development, you weren’t sure what was.

You weren’t sure why it made you feel so bubbly either.

“Listen runts, we’re staying here, we’re staying safe, and we’re not dying!” Steve said, for what felt like the fifth time.  But Mike kept arguing back at him.

“Everyone else is out there!”

“Everyone else knows how to fight all that shit!” Steve retorted.  “We are staying, here” He repeated slowly, waving his rag between each word.  “You got that?”

“You’re just saying that cause y/n’s here.  If she wasn’t here, we’d all be getting in your car and going!” Lucas spoke up.  Your brows furrowed at that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, ignoring your search for food and now strutting into the room where everyone else was.  “Am I dragging you down?” You asked, almost sarcastic, but wondering what he’d actually meant by his announcement.  Were you dragging them down?

“No, Steve would just protect your ass over our asses” Max shrugged, and the others nodded.

“What the hell? Everyone here is protecting their own asses, I’m not getting killed for a bunch of kids!” Steve said, making flustered and jerky movements.  You brushed off their newly sprung argument over where Steve’s bat is swinging and who it’s swinging for.

Apparently, The Party was certain that he’d die for you, rather die for them.  But you didn’t care much about what they thought.  They’d always thought that you and Steve were meant to be some power couple, but you supposed it was just cause you were the same age and the kids only ever saw you two together.  There was no real evidence (as far as they showed) towards the ‘chemistry’ you and Steve supposedly had.

You wandered to the window, curiously looking out it with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Will you just shut up?” Mike’s yelling made you jump a little, and you turned to see your friends all still arguing with each other.  You smiled slightly, meeting Steve’s eyes as he gave you a bored look.  You just laughed a little bit back at him.  Steve’s expression softened into a small smile.  Your face flushed with heat, and you nervously turned away from him to look back out the window again.

A light blinded you almost instantly, making you squint your eyes and put a hand over them to try and clear your vision.

“What the hell?” You muttered, leaning closer to the glass to see what was going on.  Headlights, there was a car here.  Someone was here.  “Steve?” You called, not turning away from the window.  He came over right away, looking outside to see a familiar Camaro parked in the driveway.

“Shit” He grumbled, walking towards the front door.

“What- where are you going? Who is it?” You asked, following quickly after him, but Steve quickly turned to make you stay back.

“Just stay in here-”

“Sinclair!” A voice hollered from outside, and you jumped, eyes widening as you recognized it.  “I know you’re in there!”

“Billy?” You whispered to Steve, who nodded.  You stepped backwards, eyes never leaving Steve’s.  “What’s he doing here?” Your voice was quiet.

Billy Hargrove, was the most vile, horrible person you’d ever met.  And his wicked ways of bending people to his will, shook you intensely to your core.  It was no secret to the others that Billy not only terrified you, but would seductively torture you every day.  Sure, you’d been picked on before, but this was different.  Every day he’d come to you, hoping to get something out of you, just to mess with you.

“Come on babe, a little kiss, just a little one, we can discuss the rest later”

“You don’t want to get a ride home with me and have some fun?”

“When’re you finally gonna give this up and just put out?”

You shuddered slightly, practically feeling his hot breath against your skin just thinking about the things he’s said to you.  Stopping you in the hallways, finding you at your locker, approaching you while you waited at Steve’s car for a ride home.

“I know you’re in there you little pig! Come out here or I’ll have to go in!” His voice was dangerous, threatening.  And you felt a legitimate fear for your life, and the kids’.

“It’s fine, you’re fine, I promise” Steve said quietly, out of earshot of the others.  “All of you stay here, stay away from the windows” He ordered, giving you one last look before you turned and went to The Party.  They needed you right now, all huddled around Lucas and Max to make sure if Billy were to look inside, he wouldn’t see them.

“Come on guys” You said softly, ushering them as far away from the window as you could.  Steve, on the other hand, opened the door and stepped outside.

Instead of hiding in a room, completely out of sight of the maniac, you all ducked under the windowsill to see what was happening.

“Am I dreaming or is that really you Harrington?” You felt your entire body quivering upon hearing Billy’s voice.  Dustin, who was crouched next to you, turned and gave you a worried look, but your eyes were dead set on the outside.

“Yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants” Steve responded, walking out towards him as he pulled off his leather jacket.

“What’re you doing here amigo?” Billy asked, the cigarette hanging off his lips moving as he spoke.

“I could ask you the same thing” Steve responded, void of emotion.  “Amigo”

“Lookin’ for my step sister.  Little birdie told me she was here”

“Huh, that’s weird I don’t know her” Steve lied easily, and convincingly.  You prayed to God that Billy believed him.

“Small? Redhead?” Billy replied disbelievingly.  “Bit of a bitch?”

“Ashole” Max muttered to herself inside.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry buddy” Steve replied, still not sounding like he cared even an inkling.  Billy nodded, taking out his cigarette.

“You know… I don’t how this, this whole situation Harrington is um.., it’s giving me the heebie jeebies” Billy said, looking at Steve a little more threateningly.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“My thirteen year old sister goes missing all day, and then I find her with you” Billy pointed accusatory hands towards Steve, giving him a disgusted look.  “In a strangers house” He continued.  “And you lie to me about it” Steve chuckled bitterly, shaking his head and looking away for a moment.

“Yeah, maybe you were dropped too much as a child or what” Steve said snarkily.  But Billy just grinned his twisted grin and licked his tongue over the front of his teeth.  “I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said”

You felt a chill go down your spine as Steve’s protectiveness took over his tone.  Dustin beside you mumbling a quiet, “Holy shit”

“She’s not here” Steve said carefully.  Billy nodded, looking pointedly towards the window where you and The Party were all huddled and looking out of.

“Then who’s that?” He asked, pointing his cigarette towards his sister.

“Down!” You hissed, and the five of you dropped to the floor so fast you all groaned from the impact of the floor.

“Shit!” Dustin cursed.  “Did he see us?”

“Oh shit” Steve grumbled.  “Okay listen-” Billy pushed him to the ground before he could explain anything.  The boy kicked him, before storming up into the house.

“Well well well” Billy smirked, seeing you and The Party standing there together, you in front of all of them.  “y/n l/n, what a lovely little surprise” You grimaced, but he didn’t seem to care.  “And Lucas Sinclair, not so much a surprise at all” You moved over more in front of Lucas, who’s hands grabbed onto your arm out of fear.  “I thought I told you to stay away from him Max”

“Billy, go away” Max retorted, but her voice wavered.

“You disobeyed me” Billy leaned over his step sister tauntingly.  “And you know what happens when you disobey me” He added in a hushed, volatile voice.

“Billy-”

“I break things” He uttered, before pushing you aside, crashing your body into the wall.  Before slamming Lucas up against the cupboards.

“Billy stop!” Max and the others began to yell, Dustin rushing over to help you up, but you were already standing up on your own.

“Get off of me!” Lucas cried.

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will” Billy muttered.  “You stay away from her.  Stay-! Away from her” He yelled awkwardly.  “Do you hear me?”

“I said get off me!” Lucas screamed again, followed by a knee between Billy’s legs.  You gasped, feeling a moment of pride as Billy stumbled back and released him.

“You are so dead Sinclair!” Billy hollered.  “You’re dead-”

“No” Steve grabbed Billy by the shoulder, spinning him around roughly.  “You are” And with that he swung his fist and planted it hard enough against Billy’s jaw to make him topple over.

“Steve!” You yelped out of surprise.  He looked at you for a moment, nodding in reassurance as he shook out his hand.  It’d been a while since he’d hit anybody.  Billy stood back up, laughing menacingly.  “You’re a fucking psycho!” You screeched before you could stop yourself.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all huh!?” He yelled at Steve.  “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about” He stepped closer to Steve, glaring at him.

“Get out” Steve muttered, pushing Billy’s chest lightly to move him away from him.  Billy stepped back and stood there for a moment.  And after a few seconds passed you were certain that he was going to stay back.

Until he swung swiftly at Steve, but missed as Steve ducked just in time.  You gasped, clapping your hands over your mouth in terror.  Steve stood back up and swung his fist again, hitting Billy and making him stumble again.

“Yes! Get him Steve!” Dustin cheered, and the others began to as well.  You couldn’t find yourself to say anything, just wince every time a punch was made.  Steve hit him two more times, and Billy ran into the kitchen sink.  Leaning back and wincing in pain.

“Kill him! Kill him!” Mike was yelling.  But Billy grabbed a plate of the counter, smashing it over Steve’s head, and making him fall to the ground.

“Steve!” You screamed now, taking long strides to get over to him, only to be pushed away by Billy.  Who hit Steve as soon as he stood up again.  He grabbed Steve by the shoulders, staring him down.

“No one.  Tells me what to do” He muttered angrily, and threw his head forward hard into Steve’s knocking him down again.

“Fucking hell” You mumbled, tears beginning to prick your eyes in fear that Billy was actually going to kill Steve.  The mullet wearing psycho leapt onto Steve, pinning him down and swinging punch after punch against his face.

“Stop it!” Mike yelled at the top of his lungs, but it did nothing to end Billy’s attack.

“Steve!” Dustin hollered.

You stood frozen, every scene in front of you soundless, and moving slowly.  You could only feel your heart in your chest, sending you into an anxiety attack, you were sure.  But it barely mattered to you in that moment.  You turned away, and your eyes landed on something.

The syringe used on Will earlier.

Sleep… put him to sleep… your thoughts were broken as you reached for it, looking at it in your hands for a few seconds, before stepping forward and slamming the needle into Billy’s neck without a hesitation.  Mike and Dustin gasped, standing back.  Everyone’s eyes stuck on the syringe hanging out of BIlly’s neck now.  A disgust filling them up at the sight.

“Shit y/n” Dustin mumbled, his hand covering his mouth to stop vomit from flowing.

Billy stood up, wobbling slightly as he turned to look at you.  He pulled the needle out of his neck, vision beginning to fail.  “The hell is this?” He asked, trying to step towards you threateningly, but he was wobbling so much you didn’t even move.  No longer afraid of him.

“You’re fucking done Hargrove” You muttered, and before thinking twice to second guess yourself, punching him across the jaw, and sending him back on his ass.  Billy groaned, staying down where he’d fallen against the couch.

“Shit what did you do” He mumbled, growing dizzy from the mix of drug and pain.

A few moments later he completely passed out.

“Fuck” You hissed in pain, putting your bruising knuckles against your mouth.  You didn’t think punching someone would hurt so damn much.

“y/n holy shit”

“Are you okay?”

“That was badass!”

The Party was fussing and cheering for you, but you didn’t respond, kneeling down by Steve next and counting up all the cuts and bruises he was beginning to sport.  He was unconscious, that was for sure.  But he’d be in for a world of hurt when he woke up.

“Come on, help me get him back to Jon’s bed” You called to the kids.

It was difficult moving him, but after ten minutes you’d managed to get him into Jonathan’s room to lie on the bed there.  You were sat next to him, a cold wet rag in your hand, and the open first aid kit on the ground.  It took you awhile to clean off all the blood and apply bandages where you thought they were necessary.  There was a frozen bag of peas you’d put over one of his eyes to stop the swelling, but so far it still looked pretty bad.

The Party had sat with you for what felt like a long time before you told them to go back to the living room and wait for the others to return home.  Dustin put up a small fight about it, but eventually gave in and listened to your order.  And now it was just you kneeling on the ground by Steve, watching over him carefully.  Making sure he was breathing okay, and that nothing would begin to bleed again.

“Well King Steve, you got quite the ass kicking” You mumbled, just to yourself.  Your fingers placed a few stray hairs on his forehead back into place.  “But your crown is still there” You smiled to yourself, fingertips gently brushing his hair.

“y/n?” Your eyes looked back at him as he mumbled, almost incoherently.  “What happened?” The poor boy’s eyes weren’t even open.

“You put up a really good fight” You told him softly.  He winced, the pain probably beginning to settle in.

“Did I win?” He groaned, eyes clenching shut momentarily.  You bit down on your lip and shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.

“You put up a really good fight” You repeated yourself, playing with his hair again.  Steve sighed, knowing the answer.

“Is he gone?” He asked, eyes finally beginning to flutter open.

“Yeah… yeah he won’t be back any time soon, I’m sure” You answered.  Steve looked up at you, smiling down gently at him.  He smiled back instantly, and moved his arm to push your hair back, but even at it’s slight movement you winced in pain.  “You’re in pretty bad shape” You told him quietly.  “But you’ll heal up alright”

“Are you okay?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine” You shrugged slightly.  “We’re all really worried about you.  Dustin thought you were dead” Steve chuckled painfully, shaking his head a little bit.

“Are they alright? Max and Lucas?”

“Yeah, we’re all good Steve” You hummed with a slight nod.  You leaned forward, a little closer to him to check on the eye swelled under the bag of peas.  You frowned, seeing the black and blue bruise that only seemed to be spreading.

“I’m alright, don’t fuss so much” Steve said, putting his hand over the bag and pushing it back against his face.  Your eyes met his for a moment.

“You’re pretty bruised up Harrington” You sighed, taking the wet rag in your hand and dabbing it gently on his bruised cheek.  “There’s not an inch of your face spared”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll heal up”

“Years from now, maybe” You replied sarcastically, and he smiled at you while you carefully pressed the cold cloth to his face.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He murmured, and you looked at him for the briefest of seconds before going back to work.  Now is not the time to talk about feelings, you thought to yourself.

“Yeah? Go play hero some more and you’ll never see anything again” You told him, and he shrugged slightly, not having a response to that.

“I just wanted to remind you.  In case you haven’t been told in a while” He said.  You bit on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too much.  You looked down at him, your eyes softening slightly.

You leaned over closer to him, pausing for a moment before pressing your lips lightly against his.  It was a chaste kiss, only lasting a few seconds as you didn’t want to hurt him anymore than he already was.  When you pulled back, you smiled nervously at him, and he only smiled back at you.

“You’re lucky you didn’t die Harrington” You said, and got right back to work on pressing the rag to his wounds.

“That I am” He replied cheekily.

You giggled softly, smiling down at him and wondering just when he’d changed so much.

You knew he’d give his life for these kids too, just like you would.

love me some babysitter steve

xoxo ~ jordie

[jennycalendar]

happy birthday bb!!💟💕💞💓💓💟💕 💗💕 I hope this is ur gayest year yet!😚❤🍰🎂🎉 And hmm for prompts (im assuming u want candiles?) hmmm maybe can u imagine jenny meeting like giles' parents or some family anf seeing pictures of him when he was younger and just mocking tf outta him??? sbdihdidfnkf OR also imagine them both hooking up in band candy instead of joyce... dgjdbdjd what would young jenny be like hmm...

this turned out angstier than intended but uh. here it is. whoops.

read on ao3!!

Jenny was curling her already-curled hair nervously around one finger, the ringlets soft and bouncy in a way that looked unnaturally glamorous on her. She looked a bit like a movie starlet, with her long black wrap and even longer deep blue evening gown and impeccably done makeup. She didn’t look at all like herself, and Rupert didn’t like it all that much.

“You know they aren’t expecting—” he began, then decided to try a different tactic. “You could have just worn that red dress you wore to prom.”

“This is England,” said Jenny. “They’re a bunch of you.”

“I resent that statement,” said Rupert, affectionate and patient; he’d been with his love long enough to know that she was at her most sarcastic when nervous. He stepped forward, winding his arms around her stomach from behind, and felt her relax into his chest. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Truly, you do.”

And he meant it. He did, even if it was colored by worry. Jenny looked incredible, but what bothered Rupert was that she didn’t look comfortable with the way she looked. She had been breathless and smiling at prom, wearing a knee-length red number adorned with dark lace that left room for her to dance, and her hair had been done up in a haphazard bun. This polished, perfect look clearly wasn’t something she felt at home in—though she certainly did seem at home in Rupert’s arms. “You think so?” she said in a small voice.

“I’m an expert on the subject,” said Rupert, kissing the top of her head in a way that wouldn’t muss her hair. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

“Okay,” said Jenny, staring distantly at herself in the mirror and swallowing, hard. “But—I don’t know, I mean—we’ve known each other for what, one year?”

“Nearly two,” said Rupert patiently.

“And I don’t want them to start asking about marriage—”

“Marriage,” said Rupert, “is a wonderful gesture, but one that the both of us don’t really need to affirm anything.” He brushed a few locks of hair away from Jenny’s neck, pressing his lips there. She sighed. “If there are any questions you feel uncomfortable with, I’ll handle them.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

It was clear Jenny hadn’t meant to ask that question, because after she did, her face went sort of pink and she bit her lip, looking almost ashamed of herself. Rupert felt a strange, painful mixture of worry and a protective sort of love, and turned her gently around so that she was facing him. He placed a finger under her chin, tilting it up. “What my family thinks of you is positively irrelevant to me,” he said, and wished they were far enough into a long-term relationship that he could say everything he wanted to say without the shy hesitation in his chest.

Jenny seemed to get the words unsaid, though, because she gave him a whisper of a smile and rubbed her nose lightly against his. “I love you,” she said softly. “Like, kind of a lot.”

“I love you kind of a lot as well,” said Rupert, and kissed her, a soft brush of a kiss that only lasted a few seconds. Jenny was smiling fully when they pull back; a sweet, comforted smile that made Rupert feel quite warm. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, looking a little apprehensive at the notion, and reached up to run a hand nervously through her hair. Rupert caught her hand and kissed the knuckles, and her expression relaxed into another smile. “Yeah,” she said again.

The museum was full to bursting with various high-profile Watchers, most of whom did an almost comical double-take upon seeing the black sheep of the Council not only have the audacity to show up at an event, but show up with a date. Rupert kept his fingers interlaced with Jenny’s as he scanned the room for his father; Jenny shifted nervously on the balls of her feet and nearly tripped over her long dress.

It was his father who spotted them first, giving Rupert a small, polite smile as he crossed the room to them. Jenny was clutching Rupert’s hand with an intensity that hurt, and he had to make a real effort not to wince. “Father,” he said, and inclined his head. There always seemed to be some strange distance between him and his father, even now; he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Rupert,” said Mr. Giles, then eyed Jenny, very clearly sizing her up.

Jenny smiled, uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered to Rupert with a strange sort of worry—not for herself, but for him.

Abruptly, painfully, Rupert knew why she was so afraid—her own family, the one she gave so much of her life to, had cast her out and told her she’d failed them. She didn’t talk about it much, but there were certain days of the year that she was quiet and subdued, sitting in the living room with scraps of letters and photographs and a glass of wine half-forgotten on the coffee table.

She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t want her failings to cost him his family.

“Father,” said Rupert, and tucked his arm around Jenny’s waist, steadying her with a quiet strength. “This is my girlfriend Jenny Calendar.”

“Rupert,” said Mr. Giles again, somewhat dismissively, “I don’t entirely know why you’re here. This gala is invitation-only.”

Jenny flinched like she’d been hit, and Rupert felt a twist of worry in his chest for her sake. He was used to his father’s somewhat abrasive manner, knew there was an awkward sort of softness buried very deep underneath, but Jenny was fiercely protective of him and it showed in that moment. “He’s a damn good Watcher is why he’s here,” she said, and gave Mr. Giles a positively stunning smile, eyes glinting dangerously.

Mr. Giles took another look at Jenny, then looked back at Rupert with a somewhat disapproving frown, then turned to Jenny. “How old are you, Jenny?” he asked, sounding doubtful that he’d be pleased with the answer. “You look at least ten years younger than my son.”

Jenny turned pink, stepping away from Rupert immediately and giving Mr. Giles a nervous smile as though not quite sure what to do. Rupert kept on thinking about the way Jenny had reacted upon seeing her uncle’s corpse on the bed (arms crossed against her stomach, lips pressed together in a half-grimace, shaking where she stood) and suddenly realized that it had been an egregious mistake to bring her to meet his father before anyone else. “Excuse me,” he said, and took Jenny’s hand in his, tugging her away from his bemused father and towards the dessert table.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jenny said in a strangled tone of voice, “I’m just—I don’t want—”

“I don’t give a damn about my family, Jenny,” said Rupert.

“You say that now because you have one,” said Jenny, looking up at him and forcing a smile. “Okay? I miss my mom and my cousins and all those dumb little nieces and nephews who thought I was the shit because I knew stuff about computers and I could fix a car. I even miss being told by everyone that I was a bad influence because then at least I was, I was part of something, you know? And I say I don’t miss it, but I do, and I know you would too if you didn’t have it to fall back on. You don’t realize how much you miss these things until they’re gone—”

“Rupert!” came a delighted voice from behind him, and Rupert turned, startled. Lavinia Fairweather was standing with a glass of champagne, looking positively delighted.

“A moment, please,” said Rupert, worried.

“Oh, no, it’s, it’s okay,” said Jenny, whose eyes looked suspiciously watery. She scrubbed at her face with her wrap, smiling nervously. “We’ll just, um, who are you exactly?”

Lavinia frowned, then softened in that horrible-maiden-aunt way that always made Rupert a little nervous. “Oh, poor thing,” she said, stepping up to Jenny and straightening her wrap. “Rupert, you didn’t take her straight to your father, did you? That’s no way to treat a lady friend.”

“Um,” said Rupert, who was getting the sense that he was losing a worrying amount of control over the situation. But Jenny was softening at a friendlier Giles relative, and the shy, hopeful look in her eyes was much too much for him to risk pulling her away from what might make her feel a bit better.

“I’m Lavinia,” Lavinia was saying to Jenny. “Rupert’s aunt.”

“You’re kidding,” said Jenny disbelievingly. “You look younger than me, and—” She paused, flushing, and Rupert caught her sneak a glance at Mr. Giles. “I’m probably way too young to be dating someone like Rupert, right?” she said, sounding only half-joking. Oh, Rupert was going to have words with his father about this one.

“Absolutely not,” said Lavinia. “Rupert’s always been behind the curve when it comes to maturity. Hold on, I have photos—” She dug in her purse, fishing about.

“Oh for the love of god I can’t believe she carries them with her,” Rupert muttered, and tried to decide whether to run and hide, drag Jenny away, or both.

Unfortunately, his resolve completely shattered when he saw the way Jenny was smiling. “That’s kinda what I thought,” she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss Rupert on the cheek. “He’s always been a little behind the curve in all respects, and I love him for it.”

“Good lord,” said Rupert, and kissed Jenny properly, if briefly. She tilted her head up, eyes half-shut.

“Oh my goodness they’re sickeningly adorable,” came Sophie’s voice, and Rupert winced a bit, pulling back. “This must be the new lady friend, then?”

“Lover,” said Rupert, trying in vain to make himself sound like an adult.

“Do notcall me your lover in front of your aunts,” said Jenny, and whacked him lightly with her wrap.

“Pictures!” sang out Lavinia, brandishing a handful that looked like—oh god they were from his fighter pilot phase. Kill him. Kill him now. Jenny shrieked, nearly knocking Rupert over as she all but raced to get a better look at the photos. “Wasn’t he a darling?” said Lavinia innocently, giving Rupert a wicked smile over Jenny’s head.

“Please,” said Rupert. “Be merciful.”

“You inflict your father on this poor, sweet girl and tell us to be merciful,” scoffed Sophie, peering at Jenny in a way that wasn’t at all like Mr. Giles. “Goodness, but she has a lovely face! You two would make be-autiful children—”

Jenny laughed, biting her lip, and looked at Lavinia and Sophie with sparkling, almost hungry eyes. “My aunts back home,” she said, “they always used to harangue me about having children. I hated it. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

“Sensible,” said Lavinia. “I like this one.”

“Can I keep the photos?” said Jenny hopefully.

“Oh, of course!” said Sophie brightly. “We have many copies.”

“Holy fucking shit,” said Jenny, staring at one in her hand. “Rupert, are you wearing one of those dorky pilots’ helmets? How old are you in this picture?”

“Twenty-two,” said Lavinia cheerfully. “He was taking a trip down memory lane and I wisely decided to capture it.”

Rupert buried his face in his hands—mostly for show, and possibly to hide his smile.

They ended up finding their way back to Mr. Giles at the end of the gala. Jenny, though buoyed by time with Giles’s aunts, still looked nervous, but Giles had worked everything out.

“Father, to be quite frank,” he began, “I introduced you to Jenny because I wanted to make it clear that she is and will continue to be an important fixture in my life. We didn’t intend for the situation to become openly hostile—”

“I’m thirty-six,” said Jenny, cutting Rupert off. “And I have commitment issues, and one time I shot your son with a crossbow by accident. Also, I think the Watchers’ Council should start evolving with the times and stop being a bunch of creepy old librarians sitting around and making decisions about young girls.”

Mr. Giles looked vaguely bemused. Then he said, “Good lord, you two are a matched set.”

Jenny bumped Rupert’s shoulder. “That wasn’t a compliment,” said Rupert to her. Then, frowning, “Was that a compliment?”

“Make of it what you will, Rupert, I wash my hands of you,” said Mr. Giles exhaustedly. “Fired from the Council, showing up at galas with a woman nearly a decade younger than you—”

“I know, right?” said Jenny brightly. “He’s definitely doing better than you are, anyway, with that horrible suit you’re wearing.” Belatedly, she realized what she’d just said, and clapped her hands over her mouth, looking wide-eyed up at Rupert.

“We should go,” said Rupert immediately, and tucked his arm into Jenny’s to steer her out of the hall. He didn’t dare look at his father.

“Oh my god I just insulted your dad,” Jenny started saying as soon as they made it onto the front steps. “Oh my god that was not how I intended that to go oh my god I am so sorry I didn’t mean to insult your dad I just so cannot control the sarcasm—”

“His suit really was horrible,” said Rupert, and smiled a bit at Jenny. “And I don’t particularly appreciate when people are condescending to a woman who’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“Love really does make a man blind, sweetie, I spent the entirety of last year telling you off for dressing like a ninety-year-old,” said Jenny, and tugged on his lapel, pulling him into a kiss.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

I can't believe I posted this right before boop-pocalypse....

Anyways here's to round 2

The Babysitter Chronicles - Byers

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.9k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

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

~~~

Steve’s filled with dread, standing in front of the Byers’ front door at 6:30am on a Saturday morning. Out of all the kids’ parents, he’s pushed Joyce off as long as he could manage. But he’d promised Mike he’d try, and according to Jonathan, this is the best time to catch her.

That doesn’t change the fact it’s not even light out, and a boy she probably hates is about to knock on her door. Hell of a way to start the day.

He knocks anyway.

Joyce opens the door in a soft grey t-shirt and baggy black sweats. Her hair is brushed through, mascara coats her long lashes, and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the open door. At least he can find small consolation in the fact she’s been up for a while.

“Hi Joyce, I mean Ms. Byers,” he stumbles, off to a great start. “Sorry to catch you so early but–” 

“No,” Joyce interrupts, voice firm. 

Steve stands there, mouth hanging open around an unfinished sentence. He watches as her eyes harden. She squares her shoulders and stands straight-backed and tall, only reaching about Steve’s shoulder. Joyce Byers in all her fury still makes him feel small, like maybe this was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Joyce says. “But I know why you’re here. And the answer is no.”

“Oh,” he responds lamely, deflating even further. 

Her voice is soft, but she’s unyielding. “The kids like you, and I know their parents are ok with you watching them. Which is fine, for their kids.”

She pauses, and Steve knows what’s coming. Mentally prepared himself for the worst-case scenario. All of Dustin’s logical arguments and Lucas’ hype talks couldn’t prepare him for how thoroughly Joyce flays him open.

“But, Steve, I would never trust you with my kids.”

Even though he's desperate to run, he plants himself like a tree on her front stoop. He's trying not to be that guy. The kids deserve the best version of him, and on some level, he knows cutting out the bad parts of himself includes letting Joyce Byers drag him through the mud.

He tries to hold her gaze, really he does. Her dark eyes are filled with conviction, but he can see the gentleness to them as well. Almost sad, like he’s making her do this to him. 

Joyce grips the door, knuckles white with tension. She takes a step out onto the front stoop, forcing Steve to take a measured step back. The door stays cracked and the smell of burning toast reaches his nose. Nausea rises in his throat.

“They shouldn’t have even been in those tunnels in the first place,” she says, voice growing louder as she gains momentum. “We asked you to watch them, we trusted you with them, and they still almost got killed! And I know, I know, you helped Jonathan and Nancy last year– saved them from that, that thing crawling out of our walls.”

Her eyes flicker over her shoulder, like the demogorgon’s still haunting her house. He follows her gaze, like Billy could still be standing in her living room with a blood-stained, toothy smile.

She sighs, exasperated. At her wits end for being pushed into a conversation she’s probably been dreading for weeks, since it seems she knew what he wanted. “But you’d be with my baby, my Will, everyday. He’s had bullies since kindergarten, and it’s only gotten worse since everything.

“He doesn’t deserve more bullies. And from what I’ve heard, you’re no different. Just like your father.”

Steve flinches– can’t help himself– the sentence ringing through his head.

Just like your father.

“No, no I’m not, I swear,” he chokes on the words as she steam rolls his pathetic lamentations.

“You’ve pushed my boys– and kids just like them– around your whole life, making them feel small for having less money, less friends, less stuff. Every time Jonathan came home with a new bruise or bloodied knees, how do I know that wasn’t you?”

Steve’s watering eyes are fixated on the small, furious woman before him, flushed with a rage familiar to any decent mother protecting her kids. He’s trying so hard to hear her, but his head is filled with static and his mouth feels stuffed with cotton. Steve wipes his hands down the front of his pants, then shoves them in his pockets.

“You called my boy queer! Something I’m sure you heard from your father. I saved for months to get him that camera for his birthday and you just smashed it, like it was nothing. Like we’re nothing.”

Neither of them notice the pair of shadows moving beyond the door frame in the living room. 

“I cannot allow someone like you around my boys,” she hammers home. This is what Nance meant by a thesis statement he thinks deliriously. “Sue and Karen might be alright with it, but my answer is no.”

Steve sniffles and nods stiffly as turns to leave, hoping to at least make it to his car before the tears start. He knows he deserves what she’s said, knows the truth of it in his gut, but he’s stood here long enough. Now it’s time to run and hide, like his mind’s been screaming to since she set her sights on him.

“Mom,” Jonathan says, out of breath like he ran here from his bedroom. He’s appeared over Ms. Byers’ shoulder like a ghost, or a ninja– silent and on the attack. “What’s going on?”

He’s a sleep-rumpled version of his mom, wearing a plain, soft t-shirt, and grey sweatpants scattered with light bleach stains. Steve notices he still has pillow creases on his left cheek. His gaze follows the red indent down to Jonathan’s jawline where a small, purpling bruise is haloed by faded red lipstick.

All of the air in Steve’s lungs is punched out of him, hard and fast. A feeling he should be used to from Jonathan Byers. 

Steve thinks he sees a flash of pastels in his periphery, dashing through the trees to the road. Or maybe it’s his imagination. It doesn’t matter, because he can’t look away from the uncomfortably familiar mark on Jonathan’s neck.

Jonathan must notice. His hand flies up to his neck, wiping the mark and finding a smear of red on his fingers. The spell holding Steve breaks, and he can breathe again. 

Their eyes meet, and Jonathan’s cheeks now match the stain on his fingers. It’s awkward and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it or how to make this easier. Because Steve never knows how to fix things, only how to break them. Something Joyce seems well aware of.

Distracted, Steve’s just now noticing the small shadow creeping up behind Jonathan. He sees the young boy poke his head out from behind his brother’s back as he takes a small step towards the commotion.

“Steve was just leaving, sweetie,” Joyce answers, voice soft and sweet as she turns away from him to go back inside.

“Wait, no that’s not what I meant,” Jonathan continues. He shakes his head and roughly pushes his unruly bangs from his eyes. “Steve, why are you here?”

Jonathan’s looking at him like he knows the answer. And he should really, considering the only reason Mike agreed to have Steve as his babysitter was because Jonathan promised he’d talk to Will about it, and then they’d talk to Joyce. 

A long train of telephone Steve was relying on to get a head start at Joyce’s good will. Which, apparently, never happened.

Steve plays along into Jonathan’s prompting. She’s already said no, so what’s one more try with a little back-up.

“I was asking if I could babysit Will, since I watch the rest of the gang too. Can’t leave any party members behind,” Steve says, parroting Dustin.

“And I was just telling him–” Joyce starts, before she’s interrupted.

“I think Steve would be a great babysitter,” Will says. His hair’s a mess, and he’s straightening out his matching Star Wars pajama set as he steps further into view.

Joyce rushes over to him, squatting down to meet his eyes. “Will, honey, you don’t need a new babysitter. You can still spend time with your friends at their houses, when their parents are home.” Jonathan takes the distraction to wave Steve into the house, silently closing the door behind them.

“But the other parents don’t know about– you know,” Will hesitates, before mustering up the courage to say “about what actually happened to me.”

“Baby,” she says, gently running her hands up and down his small arms. “You know we can’t tell them. We went over this.”

“It’s not about them knowing the truth,” Will says. Steve watches as the boy tries to make himself bigger, taller, even with the slight shake in his voice. “They just look at me like I’m broken. They’re sad when I’m around and they just think I was kidnapped or lost or– whatever the story is. That I was sick or something.”

Steve can’t help but imagine Will Byers, always the shy, quiet kid in the Party, having to constantly withstand the severely misguided pitying glances from adults who aren’t read-in on vast government conspiracies and alternate dimensions. Steve’s almost nineteen and can barely manage alone.

Her brows are knitted tight and her lips downturned the more Will confesses. “Well, Jonathan can–”

“I don’t want Jonathan to watch me anymore.”

Joyce’s eyes widen, confusion painted across her face as her mouth drops open. Steve turns to glance at Jonathan to find that, unlike his mother, he’s not surprised at all. In fact, there’s a light shining in his eyes and a small uptick to the corner of his mouth.

The tension is thick but familial, leaving Steve unwelcome and gawking at a private conversation. Which he supposes he is: both unwelcome and gawking.

“Go on, Will, it’s ok,” Jonathan encourages. He shines with a proud smile, like he’s watching his little brother walk for the first time. 

Will’s hesitant, his eyes downcast as he shuffles side-to-side. Waiting for him to continue, Joyce stays quiet. Steve can’t help but feel envious of Will and Jonathan at having a mom patient enough to hear her son outright, even when she doesn’t agree with him. She saved him from an alternate dimension, but sometimes the little things are just as important.

“When Jonathan dropped me off at Steve’s for DnD last week, it was fine… at first.”

“You both told me that was at Mike’s,” Joyce interrupts, turning a motherly glare at Jonathan who sheepishly avoids eye contact. She rounds on Steve again, closing the distance between them in three long strides to get in his face. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Steve. What if something had happened and I didn’t know where to find him because of you?”

“Mom,” Jonathan interrupts, irritated. “That’s not fair. We are the ones who said it was at Mike’s– Will and I. I knew you wouldn’t let him go if you knew it was at Harrington’s place, so I told Will to lie.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have let him go,” Joyce argues, turning back to Jonathan. “He’s not safe there! I know Steve Harrington and I know his parents. What if they had been home?”

“They haven’t been home in weeks,” Steve mumbles. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, catching himself off guard. Years of practicing the lie, and he slips in front of the last three people on earth he’d want to know about his home life. He’d never complain, not to them. 

She shoots him a confused glance, an emotion behind her eyes Steve refuses to consider. But it seems she’s the only one whose noticed he said anything at all as Jonathan speaks up again. Shaking her head, she shifts her attention back to her son. In the midst of the chaos, Steve breathes a small sigh of relief.

“Mom, it was fine– everything was fine. Just–” Jonathan stops. He gestures to Will to keep going.

Will puffs his chest up, holding his mom’s gaze as he barrels on. “I liked having it at Steve’s. It smells nice, like candles, not like farts and laundry detergent like Mike’s basement. He had all the snacks we like, and he’s got a huge table that can fit all our stuff.”

The kid’s smiling now, and goddamn if it doesn’t melt his heart. Steve’ll be disappointed if Joyce says no, but at least he knows for a fact Will felt comfortable around Steve and liked being at his house.

“But after Jonathan picked me up, Lucas said they stayed up and watched movies all night. That Steve even made an ice cream sundae bar and there were a million toppings.” Will’s arguing is starting to sound like a petulant child, a slight whine to his tone, and Steve can tell Joyce is losing her patience.

“Will, that’s something you and Jonathan can do. We’d love to do sleepover nights with your friends.”

“No, Mom,” Jonathan states, strong in a way Steve’s never seen from him before. His only tell is the waver behind his voice. Steve’s willing to bet Jonathan would rather face down another demogorgon than take on his own mother. Yet here he is, sticking his neck on the line for Will.

“What do you mean, no?” It’s barely a question.

“I don’t want to babysit Will anymore.” He quickly closes his eyes and shakes his head, like an etch-a-sketch. “No, wait– I’m not babysitting Will anymore.”

The room falls deadly silent. Joyce’s lips flatten into a thin, white line, matching the color of her knuckles. She looks ready to explode, like how his father used to look before the first blow. 

Steve flinches when she takes a step towards Jonathan, and she clocks his reaction just like before, but ignores him to glare at her oldest son.

“I want to spend more time with Nancy.” Jonathan’s eyes are wide, like he forgot Steve was there, and he can see an embarrassed flush painting his ears. Steve just shrugs. It is what it is, he’ll get over it like he always does. Jonathan relaxes a bit. “I want to get a job so I can take her on dates that are more than just driving out to the quarry.” 

“Jonathan,” Joyce jumps in, “you can’t get a job. You’re grades are slipping as it is and you don’t have time–”

“Exactly! I don’t have time for a job right now. But if Steve starts watching Will after school and some weekends, I can get a job and keep my grades up and spend time with Nancy.”

She’s shaking her head, but Jonathan plows on before she can jump back into the fray.

“Billy Hargrove is a goddamn monster, Mom. He almost killed Steve! And we all know the kids would’ve found a way to get to the tunnels no matter what. Steve was beat to hell and still went with them.” Jonathan points at Steve’s face in emphasis, like a fucked up version of a pretty model showboating a new car. Except the model is the guy who stole his girlfriend, and the car is a has-been with a fucked up brain and no future.

“And last year,” Jonathan continues, “Nancy and I would be dead if he didn’t come back for us. After everything that happened between us, he had no reason to turn around. Hell, I’m not sure I would’ve.”

He doesn’t know Jonathan Byers well, but Steve knows for a fact Jonathan would’ve faced death to save him– to save anyone. It’s not even a question.

Joyce still doesn’t seem convinced. “Everything that happened last year is exactly what I’m worried about, Jonathan.”

“It’s my fault, not his!” Jonathan shouts. “It’s my fault he got sucked into this mess, it’s my fault Nancy left him, and it’s my fault he broke the camera!” Color drains from his face. Steve freezes, staring at him. 

Steve still hasn’t told anyone why he broke the camera– none of them have talked about it, and he never planned to bring it up. Ultimately he’s thankful that the pictures exist, since it provided the only clue to Barb’s death and the Upside-Down. 

But he doesn’t understand why Jonathan took the pictures. And it doesn’t change the fact Steve closes his blinds every night.

“What do you mean, your fault?” Joyce asks, out of sorts. 

He stammers a bit, looking to Steve for help. Steve doesn’t want to have this conversation at all, let alone in front of Jonathan’s entire family. He glares back at Jonathan, tersely shaking his head once.

Lie.

He gets the gist, relief stark on Jonathan’s face. 

“Steve caught Nancy and I sneaking around when we were looking for Barb and Will,” Jonathan quickly recovers. “We didn’t want him poking around, so we let him think we were flirting. But some pictures I had taken of Nancy fell out of my bag, and Steve saw them. That’s why he broke my camera.

“We ran into him and his friends later while they were spraying up The Hawk. I didn’t know it was all Tommy Hagen’s idea, so I got in Steve’s face and I hit him first. He called me queer, and that’s shitty. But he apologized, saved our lives, and bought me a new camera. So–”

Jonathan turns to him and holds out his hand. It reminds Steve of his father, but also of Hopper, which he decides is a more apt comparison.

He reaches out and Jonathan grasps his hand firmly, shaking it up and down just once, yet continues to hold on. Forging a new pact for the future.

“Steve, I’m sorry about everything.” He seems genuine– eyes wet, shoulders set, and back straight. Steve tries to match his posture. He might not be as good with words as Jonathan, but he can at least show this moment is just as important to him. “But you helped protect the kids so we could save Will. And you saved Nancy and me. So– I trust you.”

Steve can’t handle this. It’s too early in the morning for heavy emotions and deep confessions, but Jonathan’s searching for forgiveness in the face of a former bully. Steve steps up to the plate and meets him halfway.

“I shouldn’t have broken your camera, I know how expensive they are and how much it meant to you. I was angry and I wasn’t thinking. And I, I umm–” 

Steve realizes he’s never really had to apologize to someone before. Sure he’s apologized to Nancy, but it seemed like a normal thing for guys to always apologize to their girlfriends. He’s apologized to Dustin, but that’s more like placating a rowdy toddler. 

This feels different, somehow bigger. Maybe it’s because Jonathan’s his own age, or someone his parents have programmed him to think is lesser than himself. Maybe it’s the deep regret that’s made itself a home in Steve’s stomach, rotting away at the memory of a vicious word spat haphazardly at a stranger.

“I’m sorry I called you queer. That’s fuc– I mean messed– up, and I’m sorry.” Steve sighs, running a nervous hand through his hair, less painful with the stitches removed. He almost misses the stinging sensation. “It’s something my dad says all the time and it was the first thing I thought of, and I hate that. I’m not my dad, I never want to be like him.”

Jonathan nods and pulls Steve forward into a hug, and when they separate Steve feels lighter. A heavy weight he hadn’t known about, removed from his shoulders with Jonathan’s help. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Jonathan felt the same way by the smile on his face.

“Yeah!” Will shouts, unprompted and overly excited for the tone of this entire conversation. There’s a wide grin on his face when he holds up his hand to high-five Steve and cheers “welcome to the Bad Dads Club!”

Steve scoffs, shocked but completely delighted and confused at Will’s eager declaration. Joyce smacks her hand to her forehead and mutters something like jesus christ under her breath, while Jonathan barks out a laugh. 

He grabs his little brother by the shoulder and shakes him like a rag doll until Will breaks out into giggles. “Will,” Jonathan says, failing to keep a straight face, “remember when I explained the difference between family jokes and not-family jokes?”

Will’s smile fades slightly, red embarrassment splashing his cheeks as he quickly glances between Jonathan and Steve, realizing his social blunder. Jonathan squeezes his shoulder and gives him a sad, reassuring smile. But Steve won’t be the reason for the small frown tugging on Will’s lower lip.

Steve holds out his hand, palm up. He smiles at the kid, eyes alight with mischief. “Bad Dad’s Club,” Steve says, like it’s more than just a fucked up childhood and is instead forging a pact, binding them through one shitty commonality. 

Will returns his smile and high fives him, who then turns to his brother. Jonathan laughs again when he pulls Will in for a hug instead, shrugging at Steve.

Joyce’s gaze travels between the three boys standing in front of her, and Steve can see the moment she cracks.

Her stance has softened. Her lips are still pursed, her eyebrows only slightly furrowed, but her arms hang relaxed at her sides and she’s looking at Steve less like she wants to throw him out and more like she doesn’t know what to do with him.

“You get one week,” Joyce says sternly, pointing a finger in Steve’s face. He goes cross-eyed looking at it, but he can still see Will and Jonathan high-five. “One week of picking him up after school. I get done at Melvald’s at six, so you can bring him home at six-thirty.”

Before Steve can wholeheartedly agree, she rounds on Will and Jonathan next, who stand at attention, trying to stay serious through their own excitement. 

“You,” she points at Jonathan, “better keep your grades up if you’re getting a job.”

“And you,” she gestures to Will, “better have all of your homework done when you get home. If you can’t get it done at Steve’s house, then you don’t get to go.”

She backs away from them, taking a deep breath in and exhaling loudly. “Is all of that clear?”

Waves of yes’s pour from their mouths. Will wraps his arms around his mom’s waist and Jonathan lightly punches Steve’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Ms. Byers,” Steve says as he turns to leave, “I’ll make sure you don’t regret this. Any of you.”

She sighs, a small sad smile on her face. “I really hope that’s true, Steve.”

On the drive home, he realizes she never mentioned the slip-up about his parents’ absence. He’s grateful for it. Talking with adults has never been his strong suit, and his conversations with each of the kids’ parents are starting to weigh on him. 

The Byers’ might not have as much money or means as the Harrington’s, but that doesn’t stop Joyce Byers from being a damn great mom. So he’s not surprised she took note of his own small mishaps. Maybe she’ll bring it up one day, maybe she won’t. All Steve cares about is that he finally has the opportunity to earn the trust of the fiercest parent he knows.

~~~

+1 Hopper coming VERY soon!!