Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.
It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.
Worse?
It was short.
Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.
The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.
“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.
Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.
“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.
Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.
‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’
“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.
They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.
Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.
Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.
(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.
Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.
The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)
Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.
Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.
Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.
“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”
He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”
To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.
None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.
Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.
Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.
Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.
“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.
A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.
“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”
Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction
“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”
“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!
“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”
As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.
Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.
“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”
It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”
Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.
Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.
(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)
The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.
It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.
Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.
Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.
“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”
He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.
Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.
(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)
“You know who doesn’t look scary?”
Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;
“Steve!”
Eddie’s left eye twitched.
‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.
Cartoon squawking and all.
“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”
So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.
“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”
Eddie had pulled himself back up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.
There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.
Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.
One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.
(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”
“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)
“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.
“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!
“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”
He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.
“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”
A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.
“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”
This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.
Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!
He was right!
Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.
“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.
Because King Steve? Play D&D?
'Ha!'
“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”
“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.
Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.
Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)
The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.
As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.
“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.
"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”
Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table
Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”
The dick.
“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.
He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.
Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.
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Just a silly little jaytim involving never died! Jason's big fat crush on his new friend.
Jason twirls in front of Babs again in case her Oracle eyes see something that he's missed. He worked hard on this, and he'd die of mortification if he there was a mistake he hadn't seen.
He won't lie, he's kind of nervous about tonight. It's been...awhile since he's gone to do something social beyond school (and boy doesn't that make him sound like a loser) and he thinks he might have gotten a little too overenthusiastic about it.
Well, Dick said it was fine but even after the coma Dick's only here every once in a blue moon and Jason isn't sure if he should take Dick's advice to heart when the man's been running around in tights since the day he was born. Plus Jason still remembers that Dick is a lying liar who lies when he thinks something would be funny or was trying to cover his ass. (Yes, he still holds that mask acne incident against him! Barbie laughed at him, Dick! Sure he now has photo evidence of Pizza Face Grayson, but still!)
Everything fits him perfectly despite that last second growth spurt that finally started showing up. A tiny thing, barely an inch but it was enough to finally push him past 5ft so he's happy.
His tunic fits perfectly and the stitching has an Alfred seal of approval. His armor is light, the leather looks good despite being made from old scraps of Bruce and Dick's outgrown clothes that have too much wear and tear to pass down. The cape swishes just the way he remembers, though a deep red instead of canary yellow. He decided against only tights by wearing some sturdy shorts over them, like an adventurer would, everything color matched for the time period.
He looks up at Babs who's giving him a bemused look and he puffs out his chest indigently.
"What?" he says tersely.
"Nothing nothing," comes the amused sing song, the kind she gets when she's teasing Dick. "I just didn't expect this to be the result of introducing you to online gaming."
Jason's cheeks warm but he has nothing to be ashamed of. Sure he's become...a geek after the accident. But he has friends, like actual friends close to his age that go to his school and not just co-workers six years older than him or a penpal from across the country.
Plus Jason can admit he was a nerd before becoming a combo nerd/geek so it's not like his reputation took a hit.
"Nothing wrong with immersion," he says.
Babs gives him a wry grin. "Nothing wrong with impressing Tim you mean?"
And Jason couldn't even be mad at Barbie about that because she's absolutely right. Tabletop was Tim's thing, and Jason was excited to try it out, but it was absolutely a new thing for him. All of this was new to Jason. After being stuck with nothing but a computer for months on end any social skills Jason might have had have atrophied and what little that remains has made Jason the picture perfect geek. And he really didn't want to screw up this friendship when it was the lifeline that Jason used to actually talk to people in real life and not in front of a screen. Well, people that aren't maladjusted larpers punching criminals.
"Seriously Barbie, does it look good? I don't wanna embarrass myself," Jason mumbles.
This time Barbara does laugh and its just as embarrassing as the last time. "Ah, what's the world come to. Robin, the boy wonder himself, worried that he's going to embarrass his best friend in front of his Wizards and Warlocks group," she says wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.
"It's Trailblazer," Jason says automatically, already having corrected Bruce, Dick, and Alfred about this for weeks.
Barbara starts laughing again and Jason resists the urge to stomp out like a child. It wouldn't be dramatic anyhow, he isn't wearing shoes and he refuses to stomp in his fantasy footwear that's basically just a metal band around his arch for support.
Once she stops laughing she finally takes pity on Jason.
"You look fine Little Bird. I don't see anything sticking out, and the outfit looks amazing. Your little fey prince character is gonna knock it out of the park," she says and Jason feels warm enough that he doesn't even correct her that he's a halfling-changeling and not a fey anything, much less a prince.
That warmth stays with him until he's in front of Tim's door. It's then that he thinks that maybe going all out was a terrible idea.
He knows that some people dress up, but it isn't like a mandatory thing. And Tim didn't say anything about needing to dress up for Jason's first tabletop night.
But Jason had been so excited. Tim didn't even finish his invitation before Jason already had a dozen designs scrambling in his head and started creating a character piece by piece. He was dragging out knowledge he hasn't touched since he was Robin. Fashion design, historical trends, and how to use them to create something tangible with the sewing lessons he had begged Alfred for back when he wanted to learn every practical skill he could. In case he got dropped like a sack of steaming shit. Crap what if they think Jason's a nerd? He had read that Traiblazer book cover to cover and made notes like it was a reading assignment! To be authentic to the setting! In case Tim's friend Ives wanted to "Um actually" Jason's meticulously created backstory and full lineage and npcs he built and sent to Tim weeks ago.
Shit, maybe Jason's more of a loser than he thought if he thinks a wizards and warlocks group is too cool for him.
He thinks about calling Alfred to pick him up and make a lie about the campaign being cancelled. Maybe he can persuade Bruce to send him back to public school instead of Gotham Academy. Then he can forget all about Tim and his goofy smile and how he puts his foot in his mouth and how cute he looked when he asked Jason to join in this game because he wanted to share something about himself with—
Jason's thoughts are cut off when the door opens. He looks up, eyes wide with anxiety in his stupid changeling halfling outfit without any shoes because he wanted to be authentic. The guy across the doorway was tall, taller than Jason (but who isn't) and taller than Tim (also not an accomplishment), blonde with glasses.
"Are you sure this guy's a senior, Tim," he says and Jason has to stop himself from punching out Tim's other friend.
Tim's head then pokes out of the door, funny wizard hat and all and just stares at Jason. For a full minute. It gets awkward fast but neither Jason or the other guy know what to say before Jason takes the plunge.
"Hey, I'm Jason, you must be Ives?" he says forcing all his nerves as deep down as he can.
Ives nods, "Sebastian Ives, don't call me by my first name."
It isn't until introductions are done that Tim comes back online.
"Hey! Jason! Wow! Your costume is really good! A changeling right?!" he says loudly, cheeks and ears a bright pink.
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