#steve harrington is traumatized

[kitchen-spoon]

southern Nights

Pre Season 4 Steddie set Post Season 3:

After the mall fire Robin's parents take her out of Hawkins to go visit family in August so Steve is left to cope without her after spending nearly every day and night with her. So he turns to Eddie who he had been becoming friends with all summer leading up to the fire.

Eddie has to leave Hawkins in August too to go live out in Kentucky with his grandmother (Wayne's mom) at her farm until school starts back up again. He offers for Steve to come with him because he doesn't want to go alone and he knows Robin is leaving and doesn't want Steve to be alone.

Initially Steve being his stubborn self refuses but eventually he relents and agrees to come. They drive out together and once they are there Steve calls Robin Everynight after dinner while Eddie's grandma's cat Bruce sit in his lap and gets attention and pets.

It takes them about a week and a half to start fooling around together after all the tension they had been building at the start of the summer. It Happens for the first time after they smoke weed together on the porch and Eddie teases Steve about hogging the joint because he is spaced out and says "Never learn how to share baby?"

One Night Steve cuts Eddie’s because it was in his face all day and getting in the way and Eddie had been quietly grumbling about it at dinner. He does it at the kitchen table after dinner and its the first time they kiss without having sex. A few days later Eddie gives Steve a small stick & poke star in return.

Steve always insists on sleeping alone in the guest room even after they start fooling around. Eddie hears Steve’s screams when he has nightmares, he always waits until he hears Steve leave his room and go to the porch to check on him and sit with him.

Steve refuses to sleep with Eddie because he sleeps with a little stuffed lamb from his childhood and is embarrassed about it. It helps with his nightmares though. One night Eddie finds it and Steve gets really embarrassed and tries to hide it but Eddie doesn’t let him. They talk and Steve starts sharing a bed with Eddie and bringing the lamb (Cloud) with him. One night Steve falls asleep first and Eddie see’s how Steve rubs its ear against his lips to sleep.

Wayne comes down for the last week of their stay to help move his mom from the farm and back into her home for the winter.

One night Steve has a nightmare and wakes up where it turns into a panic attack. Eddie finds him kneeling on the lawn in front of the porch head in his hands rocking while he mumbles to himself barely breathing. It's when Wayne was coming so he pulls up and sees that and goes to Steve and recognises that it's PTSD. Steve is mumbling about a plan so Wayne plays along with it, assures him it worked and they are safe it's over.

While Wayne is there for the last week they try to be sneaky but he catches on and calls them out when he catches them being all sappy in the kitchen. Steve is cooking dinner and Eddie comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist and kisses him. Wayne *ahems* in the door frame and they split a part, Eddie is out to Wayne so he is more embarrassed but Steve is scared. Wayne is like calm down boy, I knew it the night I got here.

[hairmetal666]

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

[wheneverfeasible]

Bullshit (part 1/3)

Now on ao3

He should probably get a new car.

He didn’t want to. He loved his car, but it wasn’t really cool, was it? Preppy cool, maybe, but not my-boyfriend-is-in-a-metal-band cool. It had certainly seen better days too.

He’d used to reprimand the kids whenever they trailed in dirt and food crumbs or spilled their milkshakes or whatever, but after he stopped doing the same to Eddie, he couldn’t really do it to them either. Besides, he didn’t want to be a stick in the mud.

It was why he’d thrown out all his Wham! and Tears for Fears cassettes, threw out anything that wasn’t Judas Priest or Iron Maiden or whatever else Eddie liked. It was why he boxed away all his brightly colored polos and now just wore the band tees that Eddie let him borrow, why he’d bought some of his own, as well as skinnier dark jeans that he knew Eddie liked the look of his ass in. He even got some bracelets like Eddie’s, and now he actually looked the part of Eddie’s boyfriend and not so much like a sore thumb when he went to all of Eddie’s shows.

The only thing he needed to change, besides his car, was his hair. He’d been putting it off the longest. He loved his car, but he loved his hair more. He didn’t make it quite as styled nowadays, but it was the last part of him that spoke of his former personality. Because he had to change, didn’t he? He knew what happened when you didn’t make your partner happy. Knew what happened when your love was bullshit and he never wanted Eddie to find him unworthy.

So he liked the things Eddie liked now, he dressed the way Eddie dressed, and he did what Eddie did. If he made Eddie happy, if he didn’t make Eddie do anything he didn’t want to do, then Eddie wouldn’t find fault in Steve. It was simple as that. He knew better now. Because Nancy had broke his heart, but losing Eddie? It would break his soul.

So he needed a new car. Maybe a van like Eddie’s, or would that be too much? A BMW was hardly metal, after all. He needed something cooler. And then…then he would change his hair.

He would need to figure out what Eddie thought was cool. Needed to figure out what Eddie liked. Should he buzz it? Should he grow it out? He didn’t know. Eddie had never brought up hair before. He didn’t know what Eddie would prefer. Maybe he could ask Jeff. He’d known Eddie the longest, after all.

Maybe he should dye it. That would look cool, right?

The others had noticed, of course. They’d commented on his new attire, the fact that he didn’t listen to his favorite music anymore, that he only seemed to be doing what Eddie wanted to do nowadays. But Eddie just looked happy whenever Steve agreed to whatever movie Eddie wanted to watch, or what to have for dinner, or what to do on Steve’s days off. That was the important part: making Eddie happy.

So Steve just brushed off their concerns, explained it away as saying that he was growing up and his interests were growing. He even played stupid Dungeons and Dragons now, always making certain he got the names correct, always doing his best to play it how Eddie would want him to play it, even if it always gave him a headache afterwards with all the numbers and words and strategizing.

He always put Eddie’s needs first, be it physically, emotionally, or even just recreationally. If Steve did that, if he was good enough, if he became exactly what his partner wanted, maybe he wouldn’t lose this. Wouldn’t lose Eddie.

Maybe, if Steve made his love good enough, Eddie wouldn’t ever say it was bullshit.

-

Now with a part two

[rambamthxman]

Eddie.

You're thinking out loud, Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie please💀

-Robin

[morganbritton132]

Eddie starts a live-stream in the kitchen and then immediately leaves the room because he forgot half the shit he needed in his studio. Meanwhile, Steve and Dustin are coming in from the backyard. They’re bickering about the injury Steve got.

Steve: It’s a splinter. I don’t care that your mom is a nurse, I don’t need her to drive to Chicago to remove it. This is just like with-

Dustin: Oh my god, if we would’ve called my mom then than maybe your nose wouldn’t look like that and you wouldn’t have spent the whole night at the hospital getting Miss Byers’ plate removed from your skull with Hopper.

Steve: Dude, what were you planning on telling her? The house was torn to shit and we put a dead dog in the fridge.

Eddie, standing in the doorway: …What the fuck?

Dustin:

Steve:

Dustin: It was for science

Steve, at the same time: It was dead when we found it

[harringroveera]

They never put Billy on speaker ever again

[artiststarme]

After the events of Spring Break and long before either of them even consider dating, Steve and Eddie become friends. Eddie shares his weed and buys them alcohol, Steve provides food and a place for Wayne and Eddie to crash for awhile, and Robin kind of freeloads on everything (although she considers her witty one-liners and company payment enough). Even still though, it takes more than just friendship to force Steve to join a DnD campaign. 

With the departure of Grant, Jeff, and Gareth from the Hellfire club, the Party is woefully short on manpower. Will joins and Eleven tries too but even with the addition of their two characters, the Party isn’t strong enough to survive Eddie’s devious campaigns. So they target Steve. Between Eddie’s pleading puppy dog eyes and the endless pestering of the kids, Steve joins. Initially, he’s hesitant. He thinks he’s only going to play a handful of games to get the kids back on their feet before parting with them. But then he discovers that he’s good at it. He discovers that he enjoys flirting with the NPCs and annoying the shit out of his fellow characters. He likes saving the kids and watching their backs in fights all too reminiscent of the Upside Down. It makes him feel useful, needed, wanted. 

Most of all though, he likes seeing how his words affect Eddie. He starts looking forward to  seeing the blank look on Eddie’s face when he does something he’s not expecting, forcing Eddie to dive into the very depths of his imagination. Steve likes seeing Eddie’s lips quirk into a smirk when his flirts land their mark. He imagines kissing the quirk away until those very same lips are bruised red with burst capillaries. He wants to see Eddie’s smile directed at him for every moment of everyday, not just from behind the Dungeon Master’s partition or on a dinner date with Robin. Steve wants to hear Eddie’s husky voice explain his plans for DnD while they cuddle in bed hiding from the cold Indiana winter (although he would never admit something so nerdy to anyone). His thoughts and Eddie’s reactions to his admittedly mediocre flirting only makes Steve like playing DnD with him more. 

He especially enjoys the day when all the flirting finally leads Eddie to corner him once the kids leave to ask him out on a proper date (or in their case, Cheetos and strawberry milkshakes on the roof of Eddie’s van while watching snowflakes fall from frozen clouds). In hindsight, it only made him wish he’d joined the nerdy dragon club sooner. Maybe then he could’ve been kissing Eddie Munson for years by then. Steve guesses he’d just have to keep Eddie around for years to come.

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by an absolutely insufferable boy-mom skit on tiktok

“I was wrong,” Steve announces as he enters the kitchen, “It would have been better to just go by myself.”

Eddie looks up, eyebrows furrowed, because – A) it's not exactly what he’d expected his husband to say first thing after arriving home from a day spent in the Berkshires at his coworker’s wedding, and B) Steve can be stubborn as a mule when he wants to be, and almost never admits defeat – not for dumb, petty shit, anyways, like how Steve almost didn’t go to the wedding at all because Eddie couldn't go with him until their oldest daughter Moe gallantly volunteered to attend in his wake.

(Which Steve had been goddamn thrilled about too, mostly because he’s hoping if Moe sees enough wedding propaganda, she’ll start thinking about popping the big question to her partner, Gray).

“Not a fun party, I take it?” Eddie asks.

“I had a great time,” Moe shrugs.

“Oh, I know,” Steve replies, “I know you had a damn fantastic afternoon.”

Steve has a tone, and it's the same tone he used when he found out Moe helped her friends password-protect all the Fox News Channels on their WASP-y mom's TVs, the same tone he used when Moe got kicked off the basketball team the same day she received an academic award from the school for having a 5.0 GPA (which, for the record, Eddie didn't even think was possible), the same tone he always uses when Moe stirs up her very specific flavor of trouble. Thing is though – Moe is twenty-three, and while she’s been a menace since day-one, she’s got a more than decent head on her shoulders and a fine-tuned sense of place and time. It’s not exactly like her to cause problems at something as important as a wedding – not without cause anyway.

“I think I’m, like, best friends with the bride now or something,” Moe is saying, and again, Eddie’s brow furrows as he looks back at Steve.

“Wasn’t your coworker the groom?” he asks.

“Yep,” Steve sighs, “Moe got into it with his mother.”

“Oh, god.”

“It had to be done,” Moe nods, “She wore a veil. She was openly complaining about how he danced with his wife – the bride – before he danced with her. She kept getting all worked up because her baby boy was leaving her. She needed to be stopped.”

Eddie had to keep a look of understanding off his face (in solidarity with Steve, obviously), because he’s been a certified girl-dad for over two decades now and he’s had his fair share of encounters with the dreaded boy-mom (a girl-dad’s natural enemy, he’s pretty sure).

“Hon, it was not your job to get involved,” Steve tiredly insists.

“I totally disagree,” Moe replies with another casual shrug, “The maid of honor was trying her best but she clearly needed help. And – I maintain that I pulled my punches. I could’ve spilled wine on her dress, but I didn’t. There’s only one rule at weddings and it’s don’t piss off the bride. The bride thanked me afterwards, so…it was fine.”

"You've got an interesting definition of fine," Steve tells her, "I really think there's an unspoken preserve the peace rule or something that wedding guests shouldn't start shit in the middle of the reception – especially not with anyone in the wedding party."

“Oh, what would you know?” Moe fires back, “You didn’t even have a wedding!”

“And even if we had,” Eddie comments idly, “there wouldn’t have been a mother-of-the-groom present to screw shit up. Hey – people get all up in arms over the bride’s mom and the groom’s mom. What about the dads?”

Moe shrugs.

“I think the bride’s dad was just happy they didn’t do the stupid garter thing,” she says, and she misses the way Eddie’s face falls, his eyes meeting Steve’s over Moe’s head to see he’s got a matching grimace on his face.

[kiwibirbkat]

"I love you." Robin's eyes were dead, emotionless. Her eyebags only added to the effect, like straight charcoal was rubbed underneath her eyes. Like she hadn't slept in a week. And she probably hadn't, Steve remembered. Her voice was raspy from misuse, the only sounds Steve had heard her say since he found her being screams and those three simple words. He held her bloody hand, rubbing the joints on her fingers. Too thin fingers. He suddenly realized she wouldn't have had anything to eat all week unless she was eating the monsters corpse.

His eyes trailed down her arms. Covered in inhuman bites and scratches. He could feel splinters in her fingers. That explained the mediocre stake she had. That she swapped for her hands halfway through the fight. He shivered, remembering the gruesome fate that the monsters were doomed to. Even evil creatures didn't deserve such a horrible death. He glanced at the desecrated corpses surrounding them. What had she gone through to make her fight like... THAT?

The thing that really caught his attention was the cut on her forehead. A large scratch, mediocrely covered by a strip of her jacket.

With a start, he realized he hadn't responded. "I..." His voice cracked with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes as he pulled her into a bone crushing hug, breaking down sobbing. "I love you too..." He mumbled into her shoulder.

The corpses surrounding them didn't matter anymore. The sulfur in the air of the upsidedown didn't matter anymore. Not even the fact that they were still in the upsidedown and anything could attack them at any moment mattered. The only thing that mattered was Robin back in his arms.

OR Robin gets dragged into the upside-down and can't be found for a week. Steve finds her and they fight a pack of demidogs (more of Steve watching in horror as Robin decimated them)

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

They're having family dinner at Steve's house when Steve asked Eddie to pass him something. Everyone at the table knew they were together.

Eddie: Here you go, Stevie.

Steve: Thanks, Teddy.

Hopper: Teddy?

Steve: Yeah, because he's my Teddy bear.

Hopper: *snorts with laughter* Your Teddy bear?

Steve: *glares at him and then smiles at Joyce* You know what would be a cute nickname for Hopper? He's like your bunny, your sweet, grumpy bunny.

Joyce: *cooing at Hopper* Are you my grumpy bunny, Hop?

Hopper: What did you do?

Steve: Not so funny now, is it?

It was from that day forward that Hopper never mocked Steve’s relationship ever again. He learned his lesson.

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[steviewashere]

I kinda wanna write a fic with the focus on Eddie and his dad following the years after Eddie's mom dies, leading up to post season four (or what would be post season four, I'm looking at a no upside down au) where he's running into Steve after what is assumed as a nasty fight.

But, I've gotta warn you, I definitely want a focus on DHS/social workers in this story. And, uh, I'd be writing from experience. So it'll be a whole lot real is all I'm saying. Just this focus on his dad who is definitely being abusive and weird in a lot of ways, looking to Eddie and saying, "I don't want to lose you, you're all I have. If somebody knocks on the door, don't answer it. And if somebody needs to ask you a question, because they're a social worker, what should you tell them?"

And Eddie just responds with a soft, "That didn't happen. I don't know who told you that."

I don't know. Just. That happens a lot when it comes to social workers and human services. And sometimes, sure, the parents aren't actually doing anything. But a lot of the times they are. And I think Eddie would face that a whole hell of a lot when growing up.

[rambamthxman]

How to Make Friends!

Step 1: go through several traumatic moments together

Step 2: congrats! Now you're bonded for life 🙂

Edit: removed incorrectly used term! Traumatized buddies still be here tho 💕

[morganbritton132]

Eddie posts a Tiktok of Steve standing in the kitchen, opening their mail with a big ass knife which, you know. Eddie’s not crazy about.

He’s got on a striped polo, the same Member’s Only jacket he’s been wearing since the 80s, jeans, and a pair of blue Nikes. The smile he gives Eddie is a little confused, “Why are you staring at me?”

“Hold this,” Eddie says in lieu of an answer, and then shoved his phone at Steve. You can hear him running away.

There’s a cut to Eddie taking the phone back and him holding up a picture of Steve from ‘87.

In the picture, he’s wearing a blue and white striped polo, a member’s only jacket, jeans, and blue Nikes. He is also opening the mail in Wayne’s tiny kitchen with Eddie’s pocketknife.

Steve just asks, “What?”

Eddie smiles back, “Never change, Steve Harrington.”

[harringroveera]

Billy’s now working out and reassuring Steve repeatedly

[ghosttotheparty]

change of fate

also on ao3 cw: death, wounds, blood, grief, depression spoiling this for you already eddies not actually dead bc i cant do that

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

The bat falls from Steve’s hand when he sees them on the ground. He told them to get out. His breath leaves his lungs, and he barely hears Robin’s voice quietly say, “Oh, fuck.”

Nancy says something too, but Steve doesn’t hear it, his legs carrying him to where Dustin is holding Eddie.

Dustin’s face is stained with dirt and blood and streaked with tears, his eyes glistening and shining in the dim light of the red sky. He’s sobbing, his whole body trembling as he holds Eddie in his arms.

Steve touches his face, panic making his chest so tight he can barely breathe, wiping a tear away from his cheek, quickly looking over him before his eyes fall.

And Eddie.

He’s covered in blood, his hair tangled and matted with dirt, lips parted for each ragged breath that scrapes at Steve’s skin like sandpaper. He looks at Steve and smiles. There’s blood in his teeth and on his lips.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” Steve snaps, ripping the bandana off Eddie’s head and pressing it to his face, where blood is seeping from a wound on his cheek.

“I know,” Eddie says weakly, his voice rough. “They were— They were gonna follow us through, I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“Dustin,” Nancy says. Her voice is thick, wavering. “Come… Come help up,” she says, pulling at Robin’s hand. Eddie’s eyes wander up to her, and he says so softly he’s almost just exhaling the words, “Thank you.”

“But…” Dustin looks down at Eddie, whose eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Come on,” Nancy insists.

Dustin’s lip quivers, and he looks down at Eddie, who nods and whispers.

“‘S alright, man.”

Dustin stifles a sob and carefully shifts so Steve can take Eddie in his arms. Steve watches them go, trembling as Eddie takes a breath.

“‘S okay,” he says quietly when they’re gone from view, looking down at Eddie. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Steve.”

“It— It’s just the same as mine, right?” he says frantically, looking at Eddie’s blood-stained shirt and jacket, at the mangled flesh he can see through the rips and tears in the fabric.

“Steve.”

“We’ll have, like, matching scars, they can— they can be like fucked up friendship bracelets—“

“Steve, please,” Eddie breathes.

Steve shuts up. Eddie is shivering, his limbs trembling, and one of his hands finds Steve’s sleeve, holding the fabric weakly.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Eddie whispers. “‘S okay.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve says sharply. “You’re gonna be fine, they— they’re going to get help, it’s gonna be okay—“

“Steve,” Eddie murmurs. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed over like he’s high. “They just wanted Dustin away from me. He doesn’t… He doesn’t deserve to see this.”

Steve’s throat tightens, and his eyes burn, and he realises what Eddie’s quiet thank you was for, and his whole body hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans over Eddie’s body, suppressing a sob. Eddie’s hand slides up Steve’s arm.

“‘S okay, Steve.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve insists, his voice breaking. His throat feels dry with the dust of the Upside Down. “It’s not okay, and it— it’s not fucking fair, Eddie, you don’t…”

“I know,” Eddie exhales.

He blinks at the sky, and a tear falls across his temple. Steve wipes it away as gently as he can. He’s never been very soft, always a little too rough around the edges, but he doesn’t want to hurt Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asks weakly.

“Yeah, Eds?”

“Can you…” He exhales, breathless as he shivers. “Can you tell my uncle Wayne… that it was quick? Just to… ease his mind.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his chest aching.

“I can do that,” he says as firmly as possible.

“And… Tell Dustin that I’m— I’m sorry.” Eddie’s voice squeaks and breaks as he lets out a weak sob that tears through Steve’s skin. “And Nancy and Rob— Robin that I… thank them.”

“Okay,” Steve says gently, running a hand up and down Eddie’s arm.

Eddie exhales shakily, nodding, relaxing. His eyes trace the dark clouds above them, and Steve shifts so Eddie is laying in his lap, watching as Eddie winces.

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks stupidly. Eddie nods.

“You make it better,” he says quietly.

Steve swallows thickly, the words stirring something inside him even though he can’t tell what exactly it is. His stomach flutters, and he feels like he might be sick.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “I’m… I’m really tired.”

Steve nods, touching Eddie’s face, brushing over an unwounded spot on his cheek.

“You can rest,” he whispers. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

Eddie’s eyes skim over to Steve's face. His eyelashes are clumped with tears, and there are tracks in the dirt and blood on his skin, and Steve briefly thinks that he’s beautiful.

“You… You think God’ll let me in?” Eddie asks softly, a smile teasing his lips.

“If he doesn’t, you better come right the fuck back, you understand me?”

Eddie laughs softly, coughing as he nods.

“Okay.”

He’s quiet again for a moment, his breathing ragged.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly. “If you… promise not to get mad at me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “Of course, tell me.”

Eddie stares up at him for a moment before he slides his hand to Steve’s, holding it to himself weakly. His hand is freezing, trembling and covered in dark, tacky blood. Steve doesn’t mind. As long as he’s touching him.

“I gotta crush on you,” Eddie says after a moment, his voice slurred. Steve blinks, his stomach fluttering again.

“…Really?” he chokes.

Eddie nods weakly.

“Since… high school,” he murmurs. “Always thought you were this… pretty mystery boy. Wanted to… to know all your secrets.”

Steve smiled weakly, his eyes flicking across Eddie’a face, over his glistening eyes and blood stained lips, and his stomach twists, and his heart fucking hurts and

Oh.

Oh.

“You…” He swallows, blinking tears back. “You wanna know a secret now?”

Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s hand falls from Eddie’s face, and their fingers lace. Steve wants to keep him warm.

“I like you too,” he whispers after a moment of hesitation. Eddie blinks at him.

“Don’t do that,” he breathes.

“I’m serious,” Steve says, his voice thin as he tries to hold his tears back. “I… I really like you, I just…” A sob rips itself from his chest, and he gasps, squeezing Eddie’s hand tightly. “If we just— If we just had more time, I—“

“I know,” Eddie whispers. His eyes close as he exhales, and Steve’s stomach lurches, but his eyes open a moment later, cloudy and unfocussed as he tries to find Steve above him.

“I’d take you on a date,” Steve says, forcing a soft smile, ignoring the distant rumble of thunder.

“Really?”

Steve loves the lines in Eddie’s skin that deepen when he smiles. He’s beautiful. Even like this.

“Yeah,” he says. “To the movies. I’d pull all the moves on you, I’d— I’d yawn and stretch and put my arm around you, and I’d pay for everything, and I’d—“ He takes a breath. “I’d tell you how beautiful you are every fucking chance I get.”

Eddie’s smile widens. He exhales roughly.

“Next time,” he whispers.

“Next time?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods weakly. “In our next… next life.”

Steve laughs tearfully, nodding.

“I’ll find you,” he says, his voice too high. “Will you wait for me?”

Eddie sighs.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Steve closes his eyes, biting his quivering lip.

Eddie turns his head and pulls at Steve’s hand, pressing a bloody kiss to his knuckles. He’s quiet for a moment, his breathing shaky as he shivers. Steve pulls him closer, wraps his arms around him, desperate to keep him warm, to keep him safe.

“My uncle…” Eddie starts quietly. “My uncle says people… aren’t really gone until they’re forgotten.”

Steve smiles fondly, running his thumb over Eddie’s fingers.

“I’m not gonna forget you,” he murmurs.

“No?” Eddie teases. “You gonna keep me in that golden heart of yours, Harrington?”

“Yeah,” Steve chokes, smiling. Eddie’s eyes drift away, and he looks at the sky again. The red glow of it reflects in his eyes, gleaming blankly. “Eddie?”

“Wayne never knew my Ma,” Eddie says weakly. Steve blinks, catching up, his heart pounding from the fear of seeing Eddie’s eyes like that.

“Your Ma?”

“She…” Eddie’s eyes flutter, and he’s crying again, a tear falling down his temple. “She died when I was little. And Wayne… Wayne never met her. He took me in when Dad took to drinkin’ and…” He chokes, his chest seizing as he coughs. More blood appears on his lips, and Steve wipes it away, his hands trembling. “She’s gonna be gone when I’m gone,” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut.

“No, tell me— tell me about her,” Steve says quickly, holding his hand tightly. “Tell me, baby, I’ll— I’ll keep her alive for you.”

Eddie blinks tears out of his eyes, looking at him.

“She…” He takes a shaky breath. “She had hair like… like mine. But she was always braiding it and she always had it… tied up. Out of the way. She was always… working. Painting and cooking and fixing shit. She had calluses…” He pulls at Steve’s hand, tracing a light line across his palm, just under his fingers. “All along here.”

Steve smiles, listening intently.

“She loved sweet tea,” Eddie murmurs. “And strawberries.”

He’s quiet again, his eyes closing, his breath slowing, but his fingers keep moving on Steve’s, fidgeting weakly.

“She used to sing to me,” he breathes.

“What’d she sing to you, baby?” Steve asks quietly whispering.

Eddie sighs, melting into Steve’s lap, letting his head rest again his torso. And then he starts to sing. His voice is weak, and uneven, and off-key, but Steve never wants it to end.

“I was dancing, with my darling… to the Tennessee waltz…” His eyes find Steve’s face, shining and wide and unfocussed as he sings, as Steve touches his cheek again, brushing a tear away. “When an old friend I happened to see… I Introduced her to my loved one and while they were dancing…”

His voice cracks when it gets higher, weak and fading.

“My friend stole my sweetheart from me. I remember the night…” He pauses, taking a breath that catches in his throat, that strains on its way out. “And… the Tennessee Waltz. Now I know just how much I have lost.”

He whispers the words, eyes blinking slowly at Steve, and Steve listens, touching his face. The world around them disappears as he listens, the quiet thunder distant screeches of dying creatures fading into nothing, because nothing matters except this.

“Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing, the beautiful…”

And then it’s silent. Except a soft exhale, a final puff of breath from Eddie’s mouth, and Steve watches as his eyes drift and glaze over, his expression fading.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his teeth and gasping for breath as his body seizes, leaning over Eddie’s body.

“Eddie?” he chokes.

Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie,” he tries again, his voice weak, barely there. His vision blurs as he looks at Eddie’s face, and he can barely see him even as he leans close enough that their noses touch. “Eddie, please.”

He falls forward, and Eddie’s head rolls lifelessly, turning away from Steve.

Steve’s arms tighten, and his eyes squeeze shut as he sobs.

He’s never cried like this before. Not when he was a child, not when he’s been injured or scared after nightmares that have made him wake up in cold sweat and tears and sore muscles. It’s never been this violent, sobs and screams ripping their way out of his chest, out of his throat, rough and raw.

He cries until he runs out of tears. Until his voice is almost gone.

He begs him. Pleads with him.

He wants Eddie to finish the song. He wants Eddie to sing forever, until the sun gives out, and he wants Eddie to kiss him.

His throat hurts when he leans down to Eddie’s face, and he gets his own tears on Eddie’s skin as he presses kisses across his cheeks, his forehead and nose and chin and lips. He’s whimpering as he does, each gasp for breath hiccuping and choking as he whispers to Eddie.

My boy, my baby. I’m sorry, Eddie. I shoulda come back sooner, I shoulda… Wait for me, Eddie baby, please. I’ll come find you, I promise.

He makes sure Eddie is comfortable. Folds his hands over his stomach, cleans the blood off his face as best he can. He closes his eyes before pressing soft kisses to his eyelids. He’s so cold. Steve takes off his jacket and drapes it over him, caressing his face, murmuring that he’s okay.

You can rest now, baby, it’s okay. I’ll see you again.

He fluffs his hair out, lays it around his head like a halo, thinking about Eddie’s mother, wondering if she’s holding him in her arms. He sets aside the bandana, the skulls now blood-stained, and carefully takes the guitar pick from Eddie’s neck, holding it in his palm close to his chest as he leans over to kiss his forehead.

“I’m gonna take good care of the little shits,” Steve promises quietly, his voice rough. He sits next to Eddie, holds his hands. He’s so cold. But he’s not shivering anymore. “And I’ll tell Wayne you love him. ‘S gonna be okay, baby.”

He runs his fingers over Eddie’s, over his bloody rings.

He takes one. The one from Eddie’s right ring finger. He rubs the stone on his own jeans, cleaning it before he slides it onto his own finger. It fits.

“Next time,” he whispers, brushing his nose against Eddie’s. “Okay? I’ll take you out, and I’ll treat you real good. We won’t have to worry about… about monsters. Or anything like that. We can just be boys like we’re supposed to.” He’s quiet for a few moments, tracing Eddie’s fingers, gazing at the wound on his face. It doesn’t hurt anymore. “I love you, baby.”

He presses kisses to Eddie’s hands. His fingertips and knuckles and palms. And then he leaves.

He feels heavy. Like every limb is filled with dread, with dirt and broken glass, and every step that carries him away from Eddie’s body makes his throat tighten and muscles ache.

Robin, Nancy, and Dustin are in Eddie’s trailer when he find them. Nancy has Dustin in her arms, his face hidden in her neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs. Nancy’s face is streaked with tears as she runs her hand over his head. They don’t notice him come in until Robin speaks.

“Steve?”

Her voice cracks, weak and unused, and his eyes find her sitting on the floor across from Nancy and Dustin, who both look up at him.

He can’t speak.

Robin’s eyes are filled with tears as they look at each other, but his are dry now. He shakes his head.

Dustin wails, muffled by Nancy’s shoulder, and she gasps, sobbing weakly.

Steve sits heavily on the floor, clutching Eddie’s bandana and guitar pick to his chest. His eyes unfocus as he stares at the floor. There’s a stain in front of him, dark and oddly shaped. He can’t tell what it is. How long it’s been there. If it’s from a childhood accident or a recent spill.

Dustin’s sobbing fades into white noise, blending with the rush of the blood in Steve’s ears. He’s shaking. Even though he can’t feel it.

Steve?

Robin’s voice is muffled, like Steve is underwater. Her hand touches his shoulder lightly, and he shrinks away from it, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to be touched.

She sits next to him. She doesn’t touch him. This has happened before. Some nights after particularly bad nightmares he can’t stand the feeling of anything on him. She waits for him. Always.

“Dustin,” he says after a while, when the room has fallen silent except some weak sniffles and coughs. His voice is rough like he’s sick. His throat is raw. “Come here.”

Dustin comes here. Nancy helps him.

He sits in front of Steve, one of his legs outstretched because his ankle is broken. Steve forces himself to look at him, at his cracked lips and bloody skin, at his glistening eyes and tear-clumped lashes. He looks so… young. He’s just a kid.

He’s just a fucking kid.

Steve swallows his anger down, taking a breath.

“He said…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “He said he’s sorry.”

Dustin’s lip quivers.

Steve’s fingers tighten on the bandana, and then he separates it from the guitar pick before holding it out to Dustin.

Dustin looks at it, reaching for it with a tentative, trembling hand. The fabric shakes. He starts to cry again, bringing the bandana for his face as his shoulders shake, and he falls forward, into Steve’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Steve lies, hugging him tightly, kissing his head.

He closes his eyes, listening to Dustin cry into his chest, running his hands over his head and his back, only stopping when Nancy’s hand rests on his his. It takes her a moment before she notices the ring around his finger.

Their eyes meet over Dustin head, and he knows she can tell. That she knows everything.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs.

He closes his eyes.

Nancy kisses Dustin’s head, whispering something to him that Steve can’t hear, rubbing his back, and after a moment Steve holds his arm out in Robin’s direction, his fingers still tight around the guitar pick. There’s a brief moment before she’s hugging his arm tightly, and he pulls her closer, feeling her press her face into his neck. She’s crying.

The chain of the guitar pick digs into his skin, and Dustin is leaning on his side, over his haphazardly bandaged wounds. (Eddie’s wounds should be bandaged. This isn’t fair.) But he barely feels any of it.

He feels so fucking empty.

—————————

They go to the hospital.

Dustin gets a cast on his leg, and Steve gets fresh, pristine white bandages and antibiotics and painkillers.

Max gets casts on both arms and legs, and her eyes are covered, and she’s silent but breathing. Lucas won’t leave her side. When he tries to, just to get some water, he has a panic attack. Robin holds his hands and talks to him until he can breathe again.

Steve goes home the next day after staying overnight for observation. He doesn’t sleep at all.

He leaves in the morning, after stopping say bye to Lucas and Erica and Max.

His house is empty. There’s plenty of furniture in every room, but it still feels like it echoes, like it’s bare and desolate. He leaves the guitar pick on the counter in the kitchen. Dry blood turns to dust around it when it clatters.

There’s a grandfather clock in the living room. It’s been there his whole life, ticking and ticking and ticking, standing tall in a corner. He never cared about it. Never bothered to notice it.

He stares at it now. There’s still blood in his nails, and his clothes are filthy, stained with dirt and grime and blood and ash, and his throat still hurts.

This clock.

It’s staring at him.

Taunting him.

Ticking in the aching silence of the house.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, glaring at the clock, listening to it tick, the living room dim because the windows aren’t facing the sun. And then, before his brain can catch up with his body, he’s moving to pry it away from where it stands against the wall, shoving it until it tips over and falls onto its face. The glass shatters, and it dings loudly, and Steve’s heart is pounding as he goes back to the kitchen and snatches his baseball bat from where it’s resting by the door. (Nancy had grabbed it when he dropped it in the Upside Down. He’d wanted to be angry that she had, wanted to forget about it completely, but he likes having it here now.)

The first smash of the bat into the clock is loud, but Steve barely hears it. His vision is blurring suddenly, his eyes hot and stinging as he hits the clock again, and again, and again. The wood splinters and cracks, sending chips flying into the air, just missing his face.

Tears land on the wood. He doesn’t notice. He’s screaming. He doesn’t notice that either.

—————————

“Steven?”

Steve’s eyes flutter open. His room is dark, the curtain drawn to keep the sun out, and his blanket is tight in his hands, drawn to his chin.

“Steven?”

His mother’s voice makes him ache. He stares at the wall as his bed shifts under her weight as she sits beside his body. Her hand is gentle on his side.

“Was there a break-in?”

He shakes his head minutely, just enough for her to notice.

“Are you alright?”

He shakes his head again.

“What happened, dear, talk to me,” she says softly, rubbing his arm, and he sighs heavily.

It’s been too long for him to be feeling like this. The Byers and Mike are back. Max is awake. She can’t see, and she can’t use her legs, but when Steve spoke she smiled, and he could swear it was the like the sun rose again.

Robin’s clothes are still on the floor from the last time she slept over a few days ago. She left wearing Steve’s sweatpants and t-shirt, and Steve hasn’t bothered to clean up.

Steve sits up slowly, tiredly. He hasn’t gotten out of bed in at least a day, but he’s barely slept. Eddie’s vest is by his pillow. It still smells like him, like weed and cigarettes and something masculine and warm.

His father is standing at the end of his bed, watching him with the same shining concern his mother is eyeing him with. He hasn’t seen them in months, but it’s not the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other.

His mom takes his hand. Her hands are always a little cold, soft and smelling like floral lotion. They’re covered in wrinkles. They’ve always looked older than they should, but he’s never minded. He’s always found them lovely. Her ring sparkles even though the sunlight is dim in his room.

“My friend died,” he whispers.

They both exhale.

“The earthquakes?” his mom asks, and he nods, looking down at their hands. She squeezes when his lip quivers.

“Not Robin,” his father says carefully, tentatively, and he shakes his head, taking a hiccuping breath.

“Robin’s fine, it was…”

“You took it out on the clock?”

Steve nods.

“Sorry.”

He isn’t sorry. He can’t bring himself to care.

His mom just rubs his hand gently, squeezing, but he pulls his hand away after a moment, wrapping his arms around himself and curling into a ball.

“I just wanna be alone,” he says weakly.

“Do you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as they sting, and he’s so fucking sick of crying. The skin of his cheeks is dry from the salt, and he just wants to feel fine again, but it feels like he’ll never feel fine again.

“I don’t know,” he chokes, his arms tightening. “I just want him.”

“Come here, Stevie.”

He falls into her arms, a sob wracking his body, and she holds him, pulling him closer like he’s a baby again. She doesn’t say anything about the vest, or about the ring on his finger, or about the way he cries I just got him, Mommy, it’s not fucking fair.

They never talk about the clock again. His father cleans it up and throws it all away. Steve finds his bat in the corner a few days later, but they don’t say anything about it either.

—————————

Steve goes back to the hospital for a required checkup. Mandatory. He hates it, that he doesn’t have a choice. He supposes he does have a choice, as a twenty-year-old man (that doesn’t really feel like a man at all) that drives himself. But Owens said if he doesn’t go, he’ll go to Steve’s house, and Steve doesn’t want that.

They test his vision and his hearing. Shockingly, miraculously, his vision is more or less okay. They still give him glasses to wear home. He leaves them on his bedside table.

But his hearing isn’t good. In his right ear, it’s okay. But his left ear is almost deaf, which he had noticed before, but he hasn’t really cared. He gets by with it. Steps around people so they’re to his right, watches their mouths form words that he can’t really hear.

They give him a hearing aid. Beige and white, already fitting fine when they give it to him that day. Owens shows him how to use it, how to adjust it, and kindly ignores the way Steve winces and cringes at the feeling of it. It’s uncomfortable. He knows he just has to get used to it.

He goes back to work. Keith let him take some time off after Robin talked to him.

He hates the vest he has to wear, and he hates how bright the store is with the glass doors, and he hates the customers even though he knows they just want distractions from all the bullshit that’s going on. He hates everything. He’s always angry now.

He’s shorter with customers than he wants to be, shorter with Robin than he wants to be. But she gets it. She lets him be angry.

He closes doors harder than he needs to, and on some day he takes his new hearing aid off with a huff because everything is just too much. Too loud, too bright, too close.

It’s slow today, luckily. He’s still angry. And tired.

Robin has some movie on the television above the counter. The volume is low. She’s doodling on a scrap of paper. Steve is staring at the ground. He does that a lot now.

The bell above the door dings happily when the door opens, and Steve blinks, his eyes refocusing before he looks up, finding a man at the front door, taking a flier go the glass carefully. A lot of people do that now, looking for missing pets or trying to sell cars and furniture before they leave town.

It takes Steve a moment to recognize him, and Robin seems to recognize him at the same time, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” as Steve straightens up, watching. He can see Eddie’s face as the sunlight shines through the paper.

“Mr Munson?” he says weakly as he comes out from behind the counter, approaching him slowly, tentatively, eyes trained on the flier.

“I’m not botherin’ anyone,” Mr Munson says gruffly, the sentence familiar and practiced, like he’s said it a million times. “Just a flier.”

“I was with him.”

Mr Munson turns slowly, tape still sticking to his callused fingertips. His eyes are shining, his brows furrowed, and he looks some awful place between scared and angry.

“What?” he asks, his voice low, breathy.

Robin says Steve’s name behind him.

“During the— the earthquake,” he adds carefully, telling Robin that he’s not violating the NDAs.

Mr Munson stares at him. His breathing is shaky.

“What happened to my boy?” he asks gruffly.

Steve’s throat tightens, and he twists the ring around his fingers, blinking his burning eyes hard.

“Can we talk?”

He takes him to the break room.

They sit at the circular table, across from each other, and Steve never realized how small the room was until now. Their knees are almost touching.

“Tell me.”

Steve takes a breath, his fingers twisting.

“He… He saved our friend.”

Mr Munson stares, but he seems to understand it. He seems to know.

“Who?” he asks quietly.

“Dustin… Dustin Henderson. From— From Hellfire.”

He nods, looking at the ground. His hands are shaking. Steve watches.

“He was…” He takes a breath, swallowing, trying to stop his eyes from burning and his heart from pounding. “He was brave. He was a— a hero.” His voice cracks.

“Did he suffer?” Mr Munson asks the floor.

“No,” Steve lies, the blood flashing in his mind, the sound of Eddie’s strained breathing, his furrowed brows and squeezed shut eyes. “It was quick.”

Mr Munson nods.

Steve hesitates, listening to the painful silence before he reaches to the chain around his neck, pulling the guitar pick out from under the collar of his shirt. Mr Munson watches, his expression shifting as he watches it appear. There’s blood on the chain.

Steve holds it out to him, his hand trembling, and he takes it. His eyes catch on the ring.

Mr Munson holds it, looks at the blood, at the way the red of the pick shines even in the mundane, fluorescent light of the break room.

“What about…” He swallows, blinking. “What about the girl? Chrissy? And— And the other boys, they—“

“It wasn’t Eddie,” Steve says sharply before he can stop himself. “Eddie was just… He was just an easy target, he didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to help Chrissy.”

Wayne stares, eyes flooded with tears.

“They think it was him,” he says weakly. “They all think he hurt them.”

“They don’t know Eddie like we do,” Steve says softly. “Eddie wouldn’t do that.”

Wayne looks away, his lip quivering, nodding.

“He was scared,” Steve says weakly, his throat tight, voice thin. He wants to hide when Wayne looks at him, but he doesn’t. “He ran. It was…”

Wayne nods, wiping his face, smiling a little. He’s quiet for a few moments, gazing at the guitar pick. His hands are shaking, and he’s a little breathless when he speaks again.

“Were you…” He pauses, clearing his voice because his voice is too rough, too wobbly as a tear falls from his eyes. It feels wrong to see him cry, this man with his calluses and sunlight stained skin, with his work clothes and the cigarettes sticking out of his chest pocket. This man that’s gruff and intimidating, reduced to tears. “Were you in love?”

The question makes Steve’s blood run cold, and he doesn’t really know why. He doesn’t ask it rudely, or like he’s upset that Eddie’s ring is on Steve’s finger.

“I think—“ Steve’s voice cuts off. He exhales. “I think we could have been. If we had more time.”

He nods.

“Mr Munson—“

“Wayne. Please.”

“…Wayne,” Steve whispers. Wayne looks at him, eyes oddly soft. “Eddie… Eddie was good.”

Wayne nods, his lips twitching into a smile even though his eyes are glistening with tears.

“He was, wasn’t he?” he says fondly, looking at the guitar pick. “Didn’t deserve any of the shit he got.”

And then he’s crying. Squeezing his eyes shut and leaning over, bringing the pick to his forehead as he shakes silently. Steve wipes his own face, taking a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” Wayne chokes after a while, eyes trained on the pick.

“I wish I could have…”

Helped him. Saved him. Found him sooner.

Wayne shakes his head.

“You did it all right, kid.”

Steve crumbles.

Wayne is there to pick him up.

He smells like Eddie did, Steve learns when Wayne holds him in his arms. Like cigarettes and leather and whatever lingers in their house. Wayne’s hands are rough but gentle on him, running over his head and back as he cries. Wayne is kind.

“He loved you more than anything, Wayne.”

Wayne just closes his eyes.

Robin looks like she’s been crying when they finally emerge from the break room, and Wayne gives her nod before he leaves, hand still clutching Eddie’s guitar pick.

The flier isn’t on the door when he leaves, and Steve finds it a moment later on the counter, next to Robin’s doodles.

“I thought… I thought maybe you’d like a picture of him.”

Steve stops at the counter, looking down at it. Robin is quiet as he touches the paper, brushes his thumb over the photo of Eddie the way he did when he wiped away his tears as he was dying. He skims the text under it, reads Eddie’s description.

Edward.

He was only 20.

He didn’t even get to graduate this year.

Heat rushes through Steve’s body and he briefly wants to grab the paper in his hand, to crumple it up into a ball or rip it to pieces, but he doesn’t. He knows he’d regret it if he did.

The description mentions the vest that’s in Steve’s room, resting on his pillow. His chest hurts.

Steve swallows, his throat tight, and he turns to Robin, arms open. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he hugs her waist so tightly he almost lifts her into the air.

“I love you, Robbie,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he says it. But she seems to get it. She always does.

“I love you, too.”

—————————

It’s nice to get away from it all sometimes.

Steve sometimes takes his car out to the quarry, or to the lake, just to watch the water. Or the sky. Just to sit in the silence by himself, twisting Eddie’s ring around his finger. He stays there for hours, until the air is cold and the sky is dim.

He goes to the woods behind Forest Hills, sits on a dead tree and watches the dry leaves blow across the ground. He stares at the green grass and moss, at the mushrooms and flowers and twigs. He doesn’t look up when he hears branches break and leaves rustle. He can’t really be bothered to care.

He knows it’s all over. That Vecna is gone, as are the demodogs and the bats and the vines. It still lingers in his mind when he hears something in the woods around him, that there might be a demodog watching him, quiet, ready to pounce. But he still can’t bring himself to fight back.

Nothing ever attacks him. It’s always a squirrel, or a deer, and once a teenager looking for a place to get high. The world leaves him alone. It lets him rest.

He leaves Hawkins for a day. Just to get out. To see what it’s like.

He goes to Indianapolis. It’s a quiet drive up, the volume of the radio down low. It’s raining out, and the sound of it is nice on the windows and the roof of the car, tapping like it’s asking to come inside, to join him. The swiping of the windshield wipers is calm, consistent and steady, and as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other lifting a cigarette to his lips, he feels calmer than he’s felt in a while.

He gets a coffee from a cafe and sits at the window, watching people pass in the rain, their umbrellas blurry in the misty window. He takes his hearing aid off. The mug is warm on his hands.

He didn’t bring an umbrella, but he doesn’t mind his hair getting wet.

He walks. And walks. And walks.

He only stops when his eyes find a record store. The sign is big, wood painted with black text and a spiderweb that extends over the building, matching a spiderweb that’s painted on the front door. There’s glowing open sign on the door.

He goes inside. It’s warm, and the music is quiet because he hasn’t put his hearing aid back on. (It’s in the inside pocket of his jacket.) There are more people here than he expected, all looking through stacks of records and tapes and posters.

He explores quietly, avoiding people’s eyes, eyes skimming the records. He sees some that he recognizes, Tears for Fears, Wham!, Duran Duran, and a lot that he doesn’t.

He stops when he finds the metal section. It was unintentional, coming across it, but a part of him wonders if he was looking for it.

He comes closer, stepping past a man with long, straight hair, looking at the row of band names. They’re alphabetical, and he doesn’t know any of them. Some of them sound kind of scary.

DIO

Steve stops, his eyes catching on the name, and he swallows, reaching for it with a shaking hand. He pulls the other records up, moving them out of the way so he can slide a record up, looking at the cover.

THE LAST IN LINE

He lets the other records fall, holding the record to his chest, suddenly protective of it.

He holds it as he looks through the rest of the records, looking for names he recognizes. He stops at Megadeth, recognizing it from a patch on Eddie’s vest, and then Ozzy Osbourne. He can practically hear Eddie’s voice in his head.

Ozzy Osbourne? Black Sabbath? He bit a bat’s head off on stage— No? Doesn’t matter.

Steve blinks at the ceiling, pulling a record out of the crate and adding it to the other two against his chest.

“Hi,” a voice says next to him, on his good side, and he startles, almost fumbling with the records as he turns to look. It’s an employee, smiling at him, friendly. His hair is tied back with a black bandana.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“Do you need help finding anything?” the man asks, speaking slowly like he notices right away that Steve is watching his lips move. Steve hesitates, looking down at the records in his arms.

“Uhm.” He almost says no. But a thought crosses his mind. “I don’t… know what it’s called,” he says, looking back at the man. He’s older than Steve, maybe around Hopper’s age, his eyes hooded and kind. “Something about, uhm— Tennessee waltz?” Steve finishes awkwardly.

“Oh, classic,” the man says, his face lighting up with a smile. “Patti Page, right?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Steve shrugs weakly, but the man tosses a hand.

“I’ll find the tape and you can give it a listen,” he says. “See if it’s the right one.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly, nervously. He follows the man across the store, hands shaking, and he sets the records down while he looks for the tape and brings back a Walkman and headphones. He sets the tape up while Steve puts his hearing aid back on.

He seems to notice how Steve is feeling. How anxious he is. How his eyes are burning a little bit. And he tells Steve he’s going to help some others while Steve listens.

Steve leans against the counter, taking a breath and sliding his thumb over Eddie’a ring before he presses play.

It doesn’t sound like anything Eddie would listen to. It’s almost funny.

It’s slow, and soft. The singer’s voice is lilting, shaking in a way that it’s supposed to, not because she’s breathless and bleeding. Steve presses his hands to the counter, steadying himself.

Now I know just how much I have lost…

He squeezes his eyes shut, the store falling silent as he listens, as he holds his breath.

Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing

The beautiful Tennessee Waltz

It was only two more words.

Eddie missed two goddamn words.

Part of Steve wonders if it would have made a difference. If he’d have been less angry if Eddie had managed to get them out, but he knows that it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s still angry. He’s still heartbroken.

The song repeats it all over again, and Steve finally breathes, inhaling slowly, carefully, trying to release the tension in his shoulders.

When it ends, Steve opens his eyes and blearily stops the tape, pulling off the headphones. His vision is blurry with unshed tears, and he blinks them back, looking up at the ceiling. It’s covered with posters.

A hand touches his back gently, and he startles again, turning to find the man again, smiling at him.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quickly, looking away and blinking hard, pinching his nose as he clears his throat. “Uh, can I— can I get this tape?”

“‘Course,” the man says, his hand lingering for a moment before it falls. “Those records too?”

“Yeah, please.”

The man is quiet while Steve pays, while he puts the records and the tape in a paper bag that’s stamped with the spiderweb from the sign outside.

“Thank you,” Steve says softly when he takes the bag. The man smiles.

“Take care.”

Steve goes back to his car. He sets the bag in the passenger seat. And he cries.

It pours as he drives home, the rain loud and shattering as he breathes. The road is slick, shining in the grey evening light, and his vision blurs as he cries again.

He pulls over.

His whole body hurts. It feels like he’s being burned, like every cell in his body is sizzling, drops of water on a hot pan. His tears sting on his cheeks, and his hands are shaking too much for him to wipe them away.

The rain drowns his screams out.

He brings the bag to his room when he gets home, setting them carefully on his bed after kicking aside the clothes on the floor, dropping his jacket to join them. And then he goes downstairs to where his mom is sitting on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine with a magazine in her lap. He wordlessly pushes the magazine aside and she lets him, lifting her arm as he lays on his side, curling up into a ball, making himself as small as possible, his head on her lap.

Her hand is gentle as she combs through his hair. It’s longer now, practically at his shoulders, always falling in his face. He barely ever has the energy to do anything with it.

“It’ll pass,” his mom murmurs softly, combing his hair gently, lovingly. He closes his eyes, shrinking into himself and exhaling. He falls asleep there, listening to her breathe.

—————————

I was dancing

With my darling

To the Tennessee Waltz…

Steve tightens his arms around himself, his eyes squeezing shut tighter. His hands are gripping his blanket, and his fingers are tired, but he doesn’t move. It’s dark in his room, but it can’t be past three in the afternoon. His curtains are drawn. Robin’s clothes are still on the floor.

His ears are sore from his headphones. He’s been replaying the song for hours, over and over and over, and it’s echoing in his head, but he doesn’t stop. He just wants to fall asleep.

He doesn’t move when he hears his door creak open except to open his eyes, watching as Robin navigates the room in the dim light, stepping over clothes and garbage. He’s embarrassed about it, if he’s honest, even though he knows he doesn’t really need to be. She doesn’t mind. She understands.

She climbs into bed in front of him, rolling onto her side and facing him. They stare at each other for a few moments.

Steve wants to cry. He can’t.

Robin reaches up and touches his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek, over his dry skin, soft and gentle. He closes his eyes, exhaling, and she keeps touching him, running her fingertips back and forth over his cheek and down his neck, avoiding the chord of the headphones. It tickles over the scar on his neck. He doesn’t mind.

He opens his eyes after a while. Her eyes are glistening. She nods at the headphones.

He reaches up to take them off, sighing, and she takes them, putting them on and listening. He can hear his own blood rush when they’re off. It’s too quiet without it. He can still hear it playing faintly as Robin listens.

I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz

Now I know just how much I have lost

Robin takes them off after a moment, a silent question in her eyes, and Steve takes them as she hits pause on the Walkman.

“He was singing it,” he whispers, his voice broken from disuse. “When he died.”

She nods, her lips twisting as she touches his face again, and she leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before their foreheads touch. He closes his eyes again, reaching to pull her closer by her waist. Their legs tangle under the blanket, and she pushes her fingers into his hair, untangling it.

“Will you come downstairs?” she whispers after a while.

“I don’t want to,” he says weakly, almost whining. Childish.

“Your parents are worried about you, babe,” she says softly. “You gotta eat.”

“Robin…” he breathes, closing his eyes, his brows furrowing.

“Come on,” she says gently, sitting up, taking his hand even as he whines in protest. “Your mom made soup.”

He lets her drag him from the bed, sighing heavily as they make their way downstairs slowly, fingers linked. His mom is at the sink, washing some dishes, and his father is at the stove, stirring the pot slowly. They both turn to look when Robin and Steve come in, and Steve stops in the doorway, watching as his dad sets the spoon across the pot.

“You okay?” he asks gently, his hand touching Steve’s shoulder. Steve shakes his head tiredly. His dad pulls him into his arms, swaying gently as Steve melts against him.

They haven’t always seen eye to eye in things. On most things. But Steve lets him pull him close, closing his eyes and burying his face in his shoulder.

“You’ll feel better after you eat,” he says, gently pulling Steve to the island, where he sits in a seat heavily, sighing when a bowl of soup in placed in front of him.

He stares at it. At the pale broth, speckled with flakes of seasonings and herbs, at the noodles and pieces of chicken and carrots and celery, at the spoon shining at him. It’s hot, the steam wafting into his face. There’s lemon in it.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbles.

His father’s hand pauses as it runs over his back.

“Now?” he says. “Or if you eat?”

“If… If I eat.”

“Why don’t you try just some broth first?” him mom suggests gently. “And then try some more if it’s okay?”

“…Okay.”

She takes the bowl back. He waits as she pours it back in the pot, as she ladles broth into his bowl carefully. He’s vaguely aware that Robin leaves, that she goes upstairs, but he doesn’t really notice, too focussed on the bowl in front of him. On the way his hands shake as he brings the spoon to his lips slowly.

It tastes good. But it also feels muffled, like all of his senses are under water. Like everything has to go through something before it gets to him.

It takes a long time for him to finish the bowl. It’s almost cold by the time he gets to the bottom of it.

He sets his spoon down when he finishes, sliding his bowl away, and his dad pats his back gently.

“You wanna try some more?”

Steve just leans against him, exhaling, and he closes his eyes. He hears the bowl scrape across the counter as his mom takes it, and his dad wraps an arm around him, gently hugging him.

He manages to have a half a bowl of soup, including some of the chickens and some of the vegetables, before he feels sick. He pushes the bowl away wordlessly, grimacing, and his dad pats his back again, murmuring, “That’s alright.”

He sits there for a few more minutes, sipping a glass of water slowly, until Robin comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck gently. He lifts his hands to her forearms, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her arm. Her skin is cool.

“I miss him,” he breathes.

“I know. It’s gonna be okay.”

He distantly hears his mom’s voice say, “Thank you, Robin,” as Robin takes him back upstairs, their fingers linked again.

He stops short in his doorway, his tired eyes scanning across the room. The floor is clean, the drawers of his dresser shut neatly. His bed is made, Eddie’s vest folded and placed on his pillow, the Walkman and headphones on top of it. His hamper is gone.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” Robin says quietly, squeezing his hand.

He exhales, pulling at her hand, tugging her into a tight hug before he lifts her up, carries her over to the bed, and sets her down, laying on top of her. She hugs him back, shifting to move the Walkman out of the way, and then she gets the vest, carefully setting it over his back as he nuzzles into her chest, closing his eyes, sighing.

He finally falls asleep.

—————————

Nancy comes over after a while. She brings a casserole her mom made, and when Steve’s parents go out for the day, off to support some displaced families, Nancy drags Steve downstairs. For a change of scenery.

She looks nice. Her hair is curly, tied up in a ponytail in the summer heat. (She comments that the air conditioning is nice at Steve’s.) She crosses her legs when they sit on the sofa, looking over at Steve.

He feels like shit.

He hadn’t realized how long it’s been. Time passes differently when he doesn’t open his windows, and when he hasn’t even bothered to call Keith to let him know that he won’t be coming in.

“Steve.”

He blinks, realizing their eyes are locked.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You’re not eating.”

“Sorry.”

He pokes at the food with his fork. There’s chicken in it. He doesn’t want to eat it.

He takes a small bite anyway, feeling Nancy’s eyes on him.

“You okay?” she asks after a quiet moment.

“…Not really.”

He can see the pain shine in her eyes, but he doesn’t want her to ask, so he interrupts with, “How’s, uhm. How’s Jonathan?”

She nods, taking a bite.

“He’s good. He and Argyle are going to California in a few weeks.”

“Are you still going to Boston?”

“Yeah, just… Term starts in October, so. I have some time.”

He nods. He can feel her pity. He’s pathetic, he knows. She and Jonathan and Argyle are going to college, moving on with their lives, and Steve is here, wearing the same sweater he’s worn for the past week, his hair greasy and flat. He barely cares anymore. But he still feels…

He doesn’t know what. Guilty, maybe.

“How are the kids?” he asks quietly.

“Everyone’s fine, Steve,” she says softly.

“Just… Tell me. Please.”

She’s quiet as he stares at his food. Mostly uneaten.

“Max started physical therapy,” she starts. Her voice is gentle. He thinks it would be a nice voice for story-telling. “She still can’t feel her legs, but she’s getting really good with her arms, she’s getting the hang of pushing the wheels of her wheelchair. El got her some sunglasses, per her request. They’re purple.”

Steve takes a small bite of his food, nodding.

“She misses skating,” Nancy continues. “Erica found some rollerblades and took down a long sidewalk. Jonathan monitored. Max said it was nice to feel the wind in her hair again.”

Steve’s chest hurts, imagining it. Max’s red hair flying in the wind behind her. Her smile. Erica cackling happily. Jonathan watching raptly, just in case.

“Will is good,” Nancy says. “It’s like he can finally rest now. He’s just being a kid again, and it’s… It’s really nice. He and the boys played D&D with Argyle. It was… Well. It was a lot.” He can hear her smile as he speaks, and he half-smiles, softening. Argyle seems like he would enjoy it. “Dustin has a cane. Will painted it for him. Red. Mike said he should get another and paint it like a giant candy cane for Christmas.”

“How’s Mike?”

“Mike is good. …He and El broke up.”

Steve looks up, wide-eyed, and she grins, nodding.

“It’s all fine,” she says. “They’re friends. It seems easier for them now, to be around each other as friends. El keeps making fun of his hair.”

Steve’s lips twitch into another smile.

“Oh.” He pokes at his food again. “Lucas?”

“Good. He convinced Mike to help him practice basketball. It’s funny.”

Steve scoffs in spite of himself, imagining Mike and his gangly arms bouncing around the Sinclairs’ driveway. Complaining, most likely.

“How’s, uhm, Max’s mom? The earthquakes…”

“She wasn’t home,” Nancy says, quickly easing his worry. “She was out, at the, uh, the liquor store. Owens got her a new apartment like he did with— with Wayne. It’s in town,” she says, quickly moving past the mention of Wayne. The mention that makes Steve’s stomach ache. He doesn’t want to eat. “It’s not really… very wheelchair accessible,” she continues. “Argyle helps Max in and out. He usually drives her around anyway, since her wheelchair fits in his van.”

Steve nods. He should be helping Max. He should be driving her around town, taking her and the kids to the arcade, to the roller rink, to the movies, to lunch, to school. Has school even started yet? Probably not, if Argyle and Jonathan are still here. What day is it?

Tears are falling from his eyes before he even notices them flooding, and he drops his head, looking down, covering his face with a hand. He hears Nancy exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “I feel like— like I fucking abandoned all of you, I—”

“You didn’t abandon us, Steve,” Nancy says gently, and Steve feels the sofa shift as she moves closer, her hand touching his arm. “We understand.”

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s not fair. Dustin was close with Eddie, too. Closer than Steve was. And Wayne— He was practically Wayne’s son. But Steve is the only one like this: shut away from the rest of the world, wrapped in fabric despite it being July (August? He doesn’t even know anymore), ears hot from headphones, fingertips cold because he hasn’t been eating enough. It’s not fair.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes, and Nancy sighs as she takes his plate. He lets her, hands falling to his lap.

“Steve,” she says firmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re depressed.”

His body aches. He falls against the back of the sofa, arms wrapping around himself, shivering.

Depressed.

The word feels so grey. Too pale. It’s not dark enough for this, for what Steve is feeling. But he can’t think of a better word for it, for the way he can’t stand the idea of stepping outside, for the way he can barely even remember what it’s like to have enough energy to step into the shower, to cook a meal like he used to. He can barely believe it, the fact that he used to cook and clean and work, like a grown-up. That he used to make meals for himself, pack leftovers for Robin, that he used to drive himself and the others around town, that he used to laugh and banter and tease. That he used to make phone calls when something wasn’t working in the house, that he used to fix his car up, change the oil. He’s so helpless now. He barely eats the food his parents bring him, barely moves enough to keep his muscles from aching every time he shifts. He doubts he’d even be able to carry Max or her wheelchair. The thought makes him cry harder.

“Can I hug you?” Nancy asks.

He nods.

She immediately climbs across the sofa, lifting her arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him close and exhaling when he relaxes against her. Her hands are gentle, combing through his hair even though it’s unwashed, over his back and shoulders. He closes his eyes, taking stuttering breaths, and even though it’s nice, even though she’s soft and gentle and comforting, this feels wrong. Because he feels so small, so helpless and young, but they’re the same age. He might even be older. He doesn’t know.

And he remembers Barb. How everything changed when she disappeared, how the world turned upside down, and how he didn’t even notice that everything changed for Nancy in a different way. Steve feels guilty for being here, for being at home while Eddie is lying lifeless in hell, and Nancy must have felt the same way. Going home to her family, to her house, to her bed, while wondering where the hell Barb was, wondering if she was scared when she died.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve chokes, his voice broken and weak and whining, muffled by Nancy’s arm. “Nancy, I’m so— I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Steve,” she says quietly.

“No, Barb, you— you were missing her, and I— I didn’t get it, but—”

She pulls him back sharply, holding his shoulders, and he thinks she’s angry, flinching, but she just looks into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes are gleaming now, shining with tears.

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

His chest clenches, and he blinks tears out of his eyes, focussing on the firm grip of her hands on his shoulders.

“Nance…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she says firmly. “You understand me?”

He closes his eyes, and she holds his face, pressing their foreheads together. He aches. He aches. He aches.

“You’re struggling,” Nancy says softly, and her voice is tense, tight and thin. The very though of her crying makes him sob weakly. “And I’m sorry I left you down there, Steve, that wasn’t— that wasn’t fair.”

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet no, reaching to hold her arms. She’s wearing a t-shirt, the sleeves cuffed cutely, and her skin is warm, soft. Like summertime. He misses the sun.

“You don’t— Don’t apologize, it’s— it’s okay, Nancy, I…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers anyway. He pulls away, holding her arms, looking at her as best he can even though she’s blurry, swimming in tears.

“Don’t,” he says, chokes. “You— You got Dustin away, that’s what Eddie wanted.”

He hasn’t said his name in a while. It feels foreign in his mouth, but also… oddly familiar. The way it felt to wander the Wheelers’ house in the Upside Down, like he knows it, like he’s at home with it, but like he isn’t supposed to be there. It’s too dark. Lonely. Infested.

Nancy seems to feel it too, and Steve suddenly wonders if the others have talked about it.

About Eddie.

“It’s okay,” he says. Whimpers. She nods, her hands shifting to hold his jaw, cradling his face.

“It’s okay,” she repeats quietly.

They end up tangled together on the sofa, arms and legs wrapped around each other, and it feels somehow easy. Easy as she pets his hair, as he listens to her heartbeat.

“I was thinking,” she says softly after a while, after the tears have dried on their cheeks. “If you aren’t ready to go out yet, we can… we can invite them over here. Robin and Jon and Argyle. For a movie or something.”

He closes his eyes.

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“I miss them.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her hand pausing in his hair, her cheek pressing to the top of his head.

“We miss you too.”

Like she can tell that he’s not really there.

They come over the next week, while Steve’s parents are gone for dinner with some of their friends. Steve told them they’d be coming, and he felt a little better upon seeing the way their faces lit up, the way they smiled at each other. Like everything was finally getting better.

It might be. Just a little.

Steve finally showers. Puts some product in his hair to help it get back to normal. He changes into clean clothes, shorts that used to be sweatpants and a light sweater that hangs down past his hips, and when he drops his other clothes in his hamper, his dad stops outside his room, knocking lightly and asking if Steve wants him to take it downstairs, to put it in the washer. Like he knows how drained Steve already is.

Jonathan’s the first to show up, oddly enough. Even before Robin.

Steve squints in the sun when he opens the door, glancing past him to look for Argyle, but he isn’t there. It’s just Jonathan.

“Hey,” Jonathan says lightly, looking at Steve, who says the same back, holding the door open for him to come in. Jonathan pauses when he’s inside, after kicking his shoes off, and he doesn’t ask how Steve is like Steve expects. Instead he just turns to him and opens his arms, tilting his head, wordlessly asking permission. Steve just steps into them, hugging him tightly. Jonathan’s arms are firm around him, hands rubbing his back. Steve doesn’t know how long they stand there, just holding each other, swaying slightly, but he doesn’t even want to cry.

When they part, they don’t say anything. Steve just leads him to the living room to look at the selection of movies he has laid out on the coffee table.

Nancy and Robin show up together, and they hug Steve at the same time, his head between theirs, their scents mixing. (Nancy uses strawberry shampoo. Robin uses something vaguely masculine.) And then Robin hooks an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer as Nancy moves past them to kiss Jonathan lightly.

Argyle shows up a little later, carrying some pizzas, commenting that they may not be Surfer Boy pizza, but any pizza is good pizza in his book. It’s about the spirit, man. The pizza spirit. He’d been taking Max and Lucas around, following from a respectable distance as Lucas took Max on a date before he took them to Max’s apartment.

“Third wheeling’s not so bad,” he says when he tells them all, arms wrapped around Steve, covering his face almost absentmindedly like he doesn’t even notice that he’s hugging him. Jonathan is watching, an amused grin on his face. “They’re so happy, man. I love love.” And he sighs heavily, laying his head on top of Steve’s.

Steve laughs.

He hasn’t laughed in a long time. Even the thought of laughing felt foreign to him. But he giggles, feeling the weight of Argyle’s head, the secure hold of his arms around his neck, the lingering scent of weed on his arms, mixing with some kind of cologne.

Steve ends up between Argyle and Robin during the movie, his legs tangled with Robin’s, head resting on the back of the sofa. He’s barely watching the movie, nibbling his pizza slowly, quietly. He gets through one and a half slices before it’s too much, and he gives the rest of his second slice to Robin.

When Argyle finishes eating, he wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close, wordlessly asking if he’s okay. Steve sighs, nuzzling into his shoulder, closing his eyes. It occurs to him that he and Jonathan haven’t even mentioned weed all night, that they haven’t offered any up like they usually do, and he wonders if they all talked about this beforehand. If they discussed the fact that mind-altering substances aren’t a good idea for Steve right now.

Steve’s chest flushes with warmth at the thought. He presses closer to Argyle, reaching over to find Robin’s hand, pulling her closer and lacing their fingers. She squeezes three times. He squeezes back.

He tries to watch the movie. He doesn’t know what’s going on it, hasn’t been following the plot for a while. His chest tightens when he realizes that it feels like something is missing, and that something is Eddie. He pushes down the urge to go get Eddie’s vest, to curl back up against Argyle with the vest hugged to his chest, his face buried in it for the remaining traces of Eddie’s scent. He knows how weird that would be. Robin might be the only one that even knows he still has it.

He touches the ring around his finger, brushing over it with his thumb, pushing it to twist slowly. He hasn’t taken it off. He can’t even feel it anymore, like it’s just part of his finger, like the stone is just a small extension of him. But he knows that if he took it off, it would feel like the world is ending. He’s thought about it, about leaving the ring on his bedside during the day, to get used to Eddie’s absence, but the very thought made his chest tighten and breath shorten, and he wondered if this was how Lucas felt when he had to leave Max at the hospital. And then he was just mad at himself, because that wasn’t fair. To anyone.

Robin squeezes his hand again when she notices him touching the ring. He blinks his eyes, taking a deep breath, nodding.

—————————

It feels weird to drive again.

Weird, but now wrong. He supposes it’s like riding a bike. Everything comes naturally, and he barely thinks twice about anything as he pulls out of his driveway, as he scolds Robin for putting her feet on the dashboard. (He lets her put them on her seat, sitting all curled up as she looks out the window. She can never sit normally, both feet on the ground. So he allows it.)

She’s rocking back and forth as he drives, humming along to the radio.

The sun is shining brightly. It’s hot out, and the car is a little cool from sitting in the garage, but the seats are still warm, sticking to Robin’s thighs as her shorts ride up. There are people outside, loading boxes into cars, barbecuing on grills. Children jumping through sprinklers, laughing and smiling. It all feels surreal, seeing them all living their lives in spite of it all.

“You didn’t tell them I’m coming, did you?” he asks after a while. He glances at Robin to see her grinning.

“Nope.”

“Because why would you.”

“Mhmm.”

His heart is beating fast as he pulls into the Wheelers’ driveway, and he puts the car in park, he takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily, his hands falling to his lap as he leans back. Robin leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder fondly.

“They’re gonna be so excited to see you, Stevie,” she says softly. He nods, sighing, blinking his eyes. “You ready?”

“…Yeah.”

Karen opens the door for them. She’s beaming when it swings open, holding a doll that must be Holly’s, and before Steve can even say hello, she’s pulling him into a hug, rocking back and forth.

It’s a good hug. Warm, tight, comforting. She tells him softly how nice it is to see him again. He thanks her for the casserole. She says she’ll cook for him anytime, that if he and his parents ever need anything she’s available. He can feel the doll she’s holding pressing into his shoulder, but he doesn’t mind it.

“The kids are all downstairs,” she says when she finally releases him, reaching to touch Robin’s face lightly, motherly. “They’ll be glad to see you. I’ll keep an ear out for Dustin screaming.”

Steve laughs lightly, nodding. She touches his face, nodding as she looks into his eyes, like she knows. She doesn’t know much, but maybe that thing Steve’s mom’s always said about a mother’s intuition really has something to it. He feels better when he feels her hands on his face, soft and loving, when she looks into his eyes and smiles in a way that says it’s okay even though she doesn’t know the half of it.

Steve heads toward the basement stairs with a heavy sigh, feeling Robin’s hand rub his shoulder.

It’s a little dim downstairs, as usual, and the stairs creak as he descents, but the kids’ voices don’t quiet. Dustin and Will are bickering, Erica is laughing, Lucas is scolding her, Mike is groaning dramatically, El is giggling, Max is commenting dryly. It’s all the same. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs before they notice him, and he manages to take a moment to look at them all. Watching them. Kind of wishing he could just be a fly on the wall, watching them be kids and fuck around, fighting about something stupid and mundane and normal.

Mike notices him first.

“Steve!”

He practically tackles Steve in a hug, gangly arms tight around Steve’s middle, and Steve startles, a grin overtaking his face because Micheal Wheeler is hugging him, hugging him back with a light laugh before the others are joining, all yelling variations of his name. Max pushes herself to sit up straight on the sofa, beaming and turning in his direction, waiting patiently.

“Hi, hi, hi,” Steve says, hugging them all, touching the tops of their heads. Erica has purple beads in her hair now. Eleven’s hair is getting curly again. (Steve likes it like this.) Mike’s hair is even longer, wavy and too dry, hanging over his shoulders. “Hi.”

“God, I missed you,” Dustin says. He pushes Lucas out of the way, bear hugging Steve and tucking his face into his neck. Steve hugs him back, closing his eyes for a moment. It feels surreal, holding him again.

“I missed you, too, man,” he says weakly, tears sparking his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He snorts, squeezing his eyes shut before he opens them again, patting Dustin’s back. Dustin lets go, stepping back.

He has Eddie’s bandana tied around his arm. Steve’s gaze lingers on it for a moment before he tears his eyes away, reaching for El and tugging her close, putting his hand in her hair and ruffling her curls as she giggles.

“Look at you,” he says fondly. She swats his hand away, reaching for his hair and tugging the ends of it.

“You need a haircut.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She giggles again.

Lucas is next, his arms tight as he hugs Steve, swaying a little bit.

“You okay?” he asks quietly before they part, holding Steve’s arms. He’s too fucking tall. Man-sized. But still a kid. His eyes are shining vulnerably, childishly, and Steve wants to scream. He wants to take him back into his arms and hold him until they’re both elderly.

“I will be,” Steve says lightly.

He lifts Erica up when she hugs him, and he’s reminded that she’s even younger, just a little girl. She’s going to be a freshman this year. He thinks. She’s just a baby. He holds her tightly, laughing softly and she complains, “You asshole. I missed you.”

Will holds him for a while. He’s shaking. Steve holds him so tightly it kind of hurts, but neither of them says anything. (His hair is different now too, a little longer, messier. It looks nice on him. More careless.)

“Excuse me,” Max says after a while, her voice loud, sarcastic. “I missed you too, dick.”

“Language,” he scolds lightly, smiling as he sits on the sofa next to her. She faces him when his weight makes the sofa shift, face lit up, eyes wide even though she can’t see him.

“Gimme your face,” she says, holding her hands up. “Gotta make sure you’re still pretty.”

He snorts, taking her hands carefully and lifting them to his face. She grins, touching his face, feeling his cheeks and his jaw, his nose and chin and forehead. He has to close his eyes for a moment so she doesn’t poke them, but he gazes at her while she touches him. Her eyes are cloudy, pale, and unfocussed, but her eyebrows are set, focussed on navigating his face like she’s remembering it. Her freckles are bright, her nose and the tops of her ears red. She’s been out in the sun. Just knowing it makes Steve happy.

He snorts when she tries to stick her finger up his nose, and she gives an evil laugh, reaching to pull him into a hug. The others are all quiet as they embrace, as Steve leans over and pulls her close, closes his eyes and sighs heavily. Her hair smells like El’s.

“I missed you,” she says softly, her arms tightening around him. “Like, a lot.”

“I missed you like a lot, too,” he murmurs.

He sighs when they part, his exhale shaky because he’s containing himself, because he can’t let himself cry in front of them all. They’re all watching him, around the room like he’s about to pull out a picture book and read to them. He ruffles Max’s hair one last time before he looks back at them all.

“So, what’d I miss?”

“Mike and El broke up,” Dustin says loudly, and a laugh bursts from Steve’s chest as El giggles and Mike shoots Dustin a look.

“You are so fucking annoying, you know that?”

“You said he could know.”

“Yeah, but you said it like–”

“Mike and I broke up!” El interrupts excitedly, beaming when Mike rolls his eyes and falls onto his back where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. Will laughs, glancing at him.

“I did weed for the first time,” Will says brightly. Steve’s stomach plummets.

“No, you fucking didn’t—”

“No, I’m messing with you. Erica went on a date, though.”

“Wh—” Steve startles, relaxing for a split second before he tenses again. “You just gave me fucking whiplash, what?” He fixes a look on Erica, who’s reaching across a cackling Dustin to smack at Will’s arm. Will giggles, recoiling.

“It wasn’t a date,” she insists.

“You went to the movies and he paid,” Will says sassily.

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes it…” Will gestures with his hands like he’s conducting a band. “A date.”

“Shut up. Max and Lucas made out.”

“Erica,” Lucas scolds, reaching over to swat at her, his eyes wide.

“Just the facts.”

“Did you walk in on it?” Mike asks, laughing, and Erica nods solemnly.

“Lucas threw a pillow at me.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a dictionary. Stay out of my room.”

She just sticks her tongue out at him.

“El got her ears pierced,” Max says brightly, and El sits up on her knees, lighting up, pushing her short curls out of the way so Steve can see. He leans closer, squinting a little bit. The studs are sparkling flowers, tiny blossoms on her earlobes, and she’s grinning widely, happy.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Very uncomfortable.”

“Fair enough.”

They all keep talking. Bickering and bantering and teasing each other, talking over each other’s voices, laughing and telling Steve everything. Catching him up. Reminding him that they’re all growing up. As they talk, Max reaches over and takes his hand, finding it by grabbing his arm and sliding her hand down to his before she squeezes.

They make him stay over for a movie. Robin curls up next to him on the sofa, and Erica lays between them, her head on Steve’s arm that’s around Robin’s shoulders. Max lays on his other side, her legs lifted to rest across Lucas’s lap. He rubs them gently, absentmindedly, as El sits next to him, leaning against his side and sighing.

Mike and Will sit on the floor, side by side. After a while they relax, and their shoulders press, and a part of Steve wonders. Dustin sits on the floor in front of El, who reaches down to play with his hair.

“Where were you?” Max asks quietly as the movie is playing. Steve looks down at her. Her eyes are open, facing the television, and he wonders if she can see the light from it. She’s close enough that no one else hears, and it’s like she just knows that Steve isn’t really watching the movie.

“Home,” he says softly. “In bed, mostly. Not doing much.”

“Did you miss us?” she asks after a moment. His chest tightens. He turns to kiss the top of her head.

“A lot. Yeah.”

She nods, laying on his shoulder.

“Do you feel better?”

“...I’m trying.”

She nods again.

—————————

Steve’s parents leave in August.

They had been meaning to leave in May, down to Floria so they could find a place for their retirement, but they stuck around longer than they planned to because of Steve. They don’t let him feel guilty about it. His dad very firmly reminds him, you’re our son, Steve. No matter what. Through thick and thin. Love and grief. And Steve cries.

They offer to take him with them. They can find him a job there, he can stay with them for as long as he needs to.

But he refuses. Tells them he needs to stay for the kids, for Robin. He can’t leave yet, not until they’re all gone too, until they’re all at college or wherever they decide to go next.

So they leave him the house. And money. They tell him they’ll be home for Christmas, that they’ll call when they arrive at their new house, and if he needs anything, they’ll provide. They both hug him tightly when they leave. They don’t usually have these long, drawn-out goodbyes when they travel, and it’s really no different now (they’ll only be gone a few months), but it feels somehow different now. Like something shifted over the summer, in every dish that he pushed away, every time he crawled onto the sofa and put his head on his mother’s lap, every time he fell against his father and let him catch him. Every time they came in just to sit on the edge of his bed and put a hand on his arm, just to whisper and ask if he feels any better, to pet his hair and kiss his forehead when he doesn’t respond.

The house feels empty when they’re gone. So he calls Robin to come over, and they fall asleep on the sofa after eating leftovers.

She moves in for a while. She’s supposed to stay in the guest room, but she spends most nights in Steve’s, cuddled up against him. She never says anything about the vest.

The kids come over. Max likes being at Steve’s. The hallways are big and empty (especially after he moves the decorative table out of the way), and she can roll her wheelchair down them as fast as she can, laughing and smiling as her hair flies behind her like flames.

Steve spends more time with them, even when he just wants to lay in bed and close his eyes. He leaves his curtains open, forces himself to let sunlight into the room even though it makes his head hurt early in the morning. He discovers that he can still lift Max and her wheelchair, and when Argyle leaves for college with Jonathan, Steve takes over helping Max get home. When the kids start school, he gets up early to take her. Max is in charge of the music.

Robin decides to take a gap year. Steve feels like it might be because of him, because sometimes she worries, on days that he can’t get out of bed, on days that he just sits on the floor with Eddie’s vest and cries, headphones on, on nights that he wakes her up by sobbing in his sleep. She helps him through it all, holding his hand or just being there until he can stand feeling anything again. She makes brownies and brings home cheesy movies to cheer him up, even though it doesn’t always work.

His parents call once a week. Every Thursday evening, before they go to bed, just to check in, see how he’s doing. He knows they worry about him now. He tries not to feel guilty about it.

—————————

They had sandwiches for lunch. Steve made them. Robin praised them, complete with the obnoxious chef’s kiss. She told Steve he makes a lovely housewife. It made him laugh a little.

She knocks her hips into his as she navigates the kitchen, putting away dishes as he washes them. She pauses to push his glasses up his nose when she notices them sliding down. It’s quiet. Sunny. Warm.

Wednesday. It’s hard for Steve to keep track of the days of the week. He’s always asking Robin what day it is, just in case, and she always tells him before commenting that there’s a calendar in the kitchen. (It’s a nice calendar, every day noted with what Steve has to do, drive Max to school, pick Lucas up after basketball practice, drive El over to the Sinclairs’, get groceries. Et cetera. Every day gets marked off with a black marker, and medical appointments are marked in red. They both hate medical appointments. They go together.)

He’s tired today. He’s tired a lot of the time. Even though all he’s done today is take Max to school and make lunch, he feels drained, fatigued. He wants to go lay in bed in the dark, but he won’t. Maybe he’ll fall asleep on the sofa for a while before he goes to pick Max up.

Robin is humming. He doesn’t recognize the song. It might be some new hit from the radio. He doesn’t really listen to the radio anymore.

He listens to the metal records he got in Indy, and to Tennessee Waltz, and that’s about it. He doesn’t listen to Tears for Fears anymore, or Toto. Instead it’s Metallica, and Judas Priest, and Ozzy Osbourne, all of which are truly weird to cry to, but he manages. It’s noisy, loud and heavy and comforting when the inside of his head feels louder than anything. The music shuts him up, and it’s nice. He plays it while he lays in the living room, staring at the ceiling and thinking, while he cleans and cooks and works out, and Robin lets him. She knows when to leave him alone.

He shuts off the water when he finishes with the dishes, sighing and reaching for the towel in Robin’s hands. He snatches it as she reaches for a cup to dry, and she stares at him, impatiently watching him dry his hands, and when he finishes, he tosses it to land on her head, covering her face. He sees her shoulders rise and fall as she sighs heavily.

Before she can say anything, they’re distracted by the sound of tires rolling over the gravel in the driveway. Steve stops short, and Robin pulls the towel off her head, turning a little toward the hallway. It’s unmistakable, the sound of cars pulling into the driveway. Several cars. Not just one, not Ms Henderson or Joyce, but something else.

Anxiety pits in Steve’s stomach, twisting and knotting, and they wordlessly move toward the hallway, slowly, tentatively, like they’re waiting for the door to burst open. The baseball bat is in the hall, and Steve leaves it, aware of where it is. Just in case.

Robin follows close behind, her footsteps quiet on the floor like they’re hiding.

The cars stop when they reach the door, and they both listen to the silence as Steve’s hand hovers over the doorknob before he pulls it open, shivering in the breeze that blows over him.

Black cars. Shiny black cars. Government cars. Bad cars.

Steve’s chest tightens as he steps out so Robin can see, and the door shuts behind them as they watch. He hates that all the windows are tinted.

It’s silent for a moment before a door opens, and Owens steps out. He gives Steve a tight smile, and Steve exhales sharply, already going through every possible thing that could be happening. A gate reopened. Hawkins lab spilled some kind of chemical or something. Steve’s bites are actually going to cause long-term side effects. He hasn’t gotten a code red today. Fuck, are the kids okay? Steve would know if something happened, right? He would notice something? It’s only been a few hours since he saw them outside the high school, since he waved at them all as they waited for Max. Nothing could have happened since then, right?

As he spirals, more cars open, and men in suits step out. They all have guns. Steve hates guns.

His eyes scan the men, watching them all stand up straight, and his eyes catch on Wayne.

Wayne.

Steve blinks, staring at him, looking at Owens, who takes an awkward breath, still smiling that way he’s always smiling, like he doesn’t quite know what to say.

Wayne’s been crying. His eyes are shining, which Steve can see even from this distance (maybe it’s the glasses), and Steve says his name weakly. Did they tell him? Does Steve not have to hide any of it anymore?

Wayne gives Steve an odd smile, like he knows something Steve doesn’t, and he glances away, still standing behind the car’s open door, an arm propped up on it. Steve stares at him, his eyes burning. He hasn’t seen him in months. He’s been too scared to see him, scared that seeing him will send him into a spiral, scared that Wayne would say or do something that would just break Steve. He feels very breakable.

Steve only looks away from Wayne when he hears Robin’s voice say what weakly, brokenly, and he hears the sound of footsteps on gravel.

He freezes.

Eddie.

Eddie.

EddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddie—

He looks different. His hair is still long, overgrown and curly, and he’s wearing a dark sweater, grey, with black sweatpants, and white sneakers, but there’s something… off. His skin is pale, almost a little grey, but his cheeks and lips are red, like he’s wearing makeup. His hair blows in his face in the wind, and he pushes it back, reaching up. His fingers are… clawed. The ends are dark, like he’s dipped them in ink, like he’s been tattooed. But he’s still Eddie.

Steve can’t hear the car doors shut as Eddie comes closer. He can’t hear the way Robin is stifling gasps, her hand over her face, and he can’t hear the wind rustling the leaves around them. He can’t hear anything. His eyes don’t even hurt in the sunlight anymore. Nothing exists.

Except for Eddie, coming closer. His eyes are wide, still the same, still brown and sparkling and beautiful, looking up at Steve, who’s standing on the top step of the door. Steve looks down at him, hands shaking, breath stilled in his chest, caught in his throat, blood cold and hot at the same time. His vision blurs and unblurs and blurs again, and a tear falls down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away.

He’s dreaming. Or hallucinating, or something. He’s been drugged.

There’s no other possibility that doesn’t include everything happening in Steve’s head. He can only hear the rush of his own blood, loud and pulsing, the steady flow of a violent river, and his lungs ache from holding his breath, and it’s not real. It’s taken this long for it to happen, for him to just imagine Eddie, during the waking day, in the sunlight and not in the dark of Steve’s bedroom late at night when he’s drowning in his own tears, but it’s happening. He’s imagining Eddie. And when he disappears, when it sets in that it’s not real, Steve will break.

But Eddie reaches up and wipes Steve’s tear away, because he’s close enough to, and Steve feels it. His thumb is cold, gentle and tender and soft in spite of the claw, and Steve feels the tear slide across his skin, cold in the wind, but it can’t be real, it can’t be real, this can’t really be happening, Eddie is gone, Steve knows it, Eddie died, he heard him stop breathing, and

Eddie’s voice is the same as it was when he died. Soft and quiet and almost nervous as he speaks.

“He didn’t let me in.”