#steve munson supremacy

[justrandomfandomstm]

Ok but can we pretty please have a happy ending Frank and Bill Steddie au?

like demodogs are taking over, they gotta live in the upside down, Vecna wins, idc.

But come on, it would be so cute tho, seeing glimpses of their life, how they fall in love, how they grow, how they survive. Maybe the whole squad in a lil town Murrey made, everyone is just there, living and chiling.

I just want steddie growing old together, im a simple man

[transvampireboyfriend]

i just love the idea of Eddie absentmindedly saying something like "i don't know, man" and Steve sharply turning around and going "what did you just call me?" and Eddie getting all flustered and sputtering, hurrying to correct himself like "baby! i meant baby!! i don't know, baby. Sweetheart." and Steve's just like "yeah, that's what I thought."

[str4ngergirlw0rld]

eddie loves you so much he stares at you lovingly , he tells you you’re the prettiest thing hes seen , that you’re his love of a lifetime , that if he didnt have you he would be so lost & that he would die for you. He keeps his lips on yours while he’s fucking you so he can feel your breathy moans against his lips.

ෆ

steve loves you so much he buys you the prettiest outfits to try on in front of him , he scrubs your hair in the shower and uses your shampoo when you’re away so he can smell like you, he does face masks and hair masks with you cause hes so in love its sickening , steve holds your hand when he fucks you to keep him grounded.

[mixsethaddams]

@steddiemicrofic prompt ‘Cake’, 311 words

Rated G, pre-relationship fluff, no warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You need to tell me your favourite flavour,”

Eddie’s head whipped around.

“Wha-?” he asked. “Mine?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, his hands in a sink of soapy water. “Your birthdays up next, right? I need to know what you like,”

Eddie stared at the side of Steve’s head, clutching the dishtowel he was using to dry the clean plates.

They were clearing up after a Party-only (and corroded coffin) get together for Dustin’s birthday.

Steve baked the most amazing strawberry cheesecake, and even made a special dairy-free cupcake for Gareth.

“Gonna bake a cake for me, Harrington?” snorted Eddie.

“Yes,” replied Steve easily. “I do it for everyone’s birthday,”

Eddie focused on the mug in his hands. No one ever baked him a cake before.

When Eddie was a kid, birthday cakes were store bought. They were perfect, don’t get Eddie wrong, but he was always curious about the homemade kind. If Wayne could have, he would have, but Eddie also knew his uncle was working every hour god sent to keep them fed and warm, so he never asked.

Steve was watching him closely, leaning sideways against the sink with a bubble-covered hand on his hip.

“You don’t need to do that,” mumbled Eddie, willing the blush he felt across his ears to go down. “Why would you even want to?”

“Because I care about you,” said Steve quickly, before a flush of red lit up his own ears. He cleared his throat and started washing dishes again. “So just tell me what flavour you like,”

Eddie bit his lip. They were both staring straight down at their own hands, the air thick with a tension matched only by middle school dances.

“I like…” Eddie said meekly. “Lemon. I like lemon, please,”

In his peripheral vision, Eddie saw Steve smile.

“That’s my favourite too,” whispered Steve, nudging Eddie with his elbow.

[midsummer-semantics]

wiggly wednesday 🪱

Okay sure, this sounds fun. I was tagged by @medusapelagia to share a brainworm/headcanon, and I've been trying to get one to develop more fully so here we go.

Today, I'm thinking about...

Steve and Eddie going through some of Eddie's old things as they pack up to move into their own place. Nancy and Robin are there to help even though that mostly consists of Robin picking through already-packed boxes because she keeps getting distracted by all of the things she finds.

Steve finds what looks to be a really old photo album, the sticky pages holding the photos down yellow with age.

"Oh, shit," Eddie says, taking it from him to flip through. "I haven't seen this in ages. I was sure it was lost when all the shit went down."

"Oh my god, please tell me there's embarrassing baby pictures of you in there," Robin grins, trying to snatch it away.

Eddie holds it out of reach, nearly throwing it as Robin tries to tackle him for it.

"Jesus Christ! I'll show you, just keep your insane paws to yourself!" Eddie gripes.

Steve scoots in closer while Robin and Nancy crowd in on his other side, all wanting a closer look.

There's not many pictures in it and most are grainy and out of focus, black and white and hard to distinguish. But there's a few of a baby with an unmistakeable crop of riotous curls.

"Holy shit, you were so cute," Steve coos, running a finger along the 2D cheek of one photo.

"Excuse you, Harrington, but I'm still cute," Eddie snarks, flipping to the next page.

There's one photo of a young man holding baby Eddie, dark curls so similar to his own atop his head. The photo looks to have been torn down the middle, the right side pressed right against baby Eddie's back, like whoever was on the other side was better left out of the picture long term.

"Huh," Steve hums. "It never occurred to me that I had no idea what your dad looks like."

"And for good reason, babe," Eddie says, fighting not to rip the photo out and burn it. "Thankfully all I got from him was his hair and penchant for hot wiring. Everything else I got from my mom I guess."

"You guess?" Nancy asks.

Eddie nods. "She died when I was a baby and the old man kind of went off the rails after. I suspect this—" he runs a finger along the jagged edge of the photo in the book, "is his handy work."

"That's a shame," Steve says softly. He lifts the plastic covering the photo and peels it off the sticky backing, holding it up to his face to get a closer look — his eye sight is pretty back after so many concussions after all.

"Ya know, if his hair was a little longer, like mullet style, he'd almost look like a dark-haired Billy Hargrove," Steve points out.

Robin snatches the photo out of his hand, holding it out stretched like she can see it better that way instead. "Oh, shit. You're right. That's so weird."

Eddie snatches it back, top lip curled in disgust. "I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but how fucking dare you in any way compare my gorgeous existence to that guy."

Steve snickers and presses a kiss to Eddie's cheek. "I'm sorry, babe. You're right."

The photo gets tucked back into its place and they keep flipping through the book. There's more of Eddie as an infant, a few more of his dad, even a couple of a young Wayne in his military uniform holding a toddler Eddie by his arms as he jumps up, legs gangly and wild. Any photo that might have contained Eddie's mom is ripped, none of them cleanly, and there's only the occasional hand or blur of dark hair. Even still, it does stop happening once Eddie's about six months old.

"Wow. So you really don't know what your mom looks like?" Nancy asks finally as they're setting the photo album in a box.

"Oh no I do," Eddie says. "I have one singular picture of her from right after I was born. Wayne saved it for me."

"Oooooo can we see?" Robin pipes in. Eddie shrugs, getting up to dig through a shoebox that Steve's seen before but somehow managed to avoid snooping through — not that he didn't think about it all the time for the last year they've been together.

He comes back with a photo, plopping back into his spot while his friends and boyfriend crowd around him once more.

It's dead silent for several minutes, all of them staring at the picture. Eddie always figured his uncle was on to something when he said Eddie looked more like his mom, but now that he's about her age when this photo was taken, he thinks he can really see it.

On his left, Steve is trying to process exactly what he's looking at. Sure, the woman in the photo looks like she has the same dark hair that Eddie does, though it's a lot less curly, but aside from the hair and the tired look on her face, she could be a dead ringer for —

"Either Mrs. Wheeler has a doppleganger, or a secret twin we don't know about," he says.

He glances at Robin for a second before looking at Eddie and Nancy. They're heads are bowed over the photo, wearing matching expressions of wide-eyed shock.

Wait.

Matching.

Oh shit.

"Eddie," Robin says carefully. "What's your mom's name?"

His jaw opens and closes a few times before he croaks out, "Elizabeth, but Wayne said she only ever went by—"

"Her middle name?" Nancy asks, the fear of knowing the answer obvious in the wobble of her voice.

Eddie flips the photo over to look at the names and date written on the back. He's looked at it a million times, tracing her loopy handwriting so much over the years that it's slightly smudged, but still legible.

Karen Elizabeth Harvey + Edward Wayne Munson, November 1965

"Oh shit."

——————————————

no-pressure tags if anyone also wants to share a brainworm: @tedewitt @hornedqueenofhell @malikat24601 @spectrum-spectre

[paperbackribs]

He was going to ask for a glass of milk

"I've got to have something," Eddie mutters, "I still have Steve in my mouth."

"You're a pig, don't you dare even say it--" Robin groans at Steve as he perks up next to her. She falls back with a dramatic eye roll against the couch while somehow conveying a sense of comraderie to her hive-mind twin, faintly gesturing for him to continue onwards with an indulgent hand movement.

"You mean...?" Steve asks meaningfully, voice earnestly hopeful even while sweet hazel eyes deepen over a dirty smirk.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow over the second lot of homemade cookies halfway to his mouth, clueless until he suddenly, horrifyingly understands how the dynamic duo had interpreted his words.

"You mean..." Eddie echoes incredulously, waiting for the two of them to jump up, do jazz hands and cry out: 'surprise you homo, Steve Harrington is not into you.'

Instead.

Oh my god, Eddie thinks, as they turn and nod at each other, heart beating harder as Steve's face firms in a familiar determined expression, as if Eddie's a goal to be stolen away from the home team.

Swiftly, and in an almost professional manner that has Robin clapping Steve between his shoulders, she swiftly exits their apartment. The slap of the door slamming behind her echoes through the place and Steve steps forward, eyes mischievous in a way that has Eddie's knees near buckling.

"Want to have a real reason to wash out your mouth?"

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a questionable boy-mom tiktok i was subjected to

Eddie can say with confidence that, if he’d been asked many years ago, he would never have guessed he’d be raising three girls. As phenomena go, he doesn’t know how statistically likely it is (Steve maintains it's 50-50, Eddie isn’t so sure). Thirteen years into parenthood, he’s still fuckin’ thrilled about it. He and Steve are raising a kick-ass trio of ladies, and he’s perfectly pleased with his life and his family, which is great because he’d learned pretty quick that most other people are actually miserable with their own lives and like to project their misery onto everyone else.

He also learned that people have a weird complex about raising boys.

Both Eddie and Steve used to get a lot of comments (mostly from strangers in public) about how they’re raising all girls.

When they’re all out together, it’s usually something like at least it’ll only take one boy to even the playing field for you guys, right?

Alone, Eddie gets quite a bit of sexist crap from people who assume he’s straight and raising the girls with a wife, stuff along the lines of you must’ve been disappointed when the last one came out and what’s one more shot, right and the most frequent grimace with sorry, man.

Steve once had a very odd encounter with a woman who’d apparently told him that he needed to give his wife a boy so she’d know what true love really was. Steve had apparently made a very quiet and very polite scene about it which, in Eddie’s opinion, is entirely understandable because that’s weird as fuck for a plethora of reasons.

Now that girls are older, they themselves report hearing the occasional commentary on the subject when it comes up in their own lives. 

Once, when Eddie had (somewhat stupidly) brought all three girls to the grocery store, he’d rounded the corner to see fifteen-year-old Moe leaning against their shopping cart and regarding an older woman with an expression of politely-veiled disdain (it’s a very Steve expression, actually).

“Three girls,” the woman says incredulously, “God, your poor dad.”

Eddie watches Moe make a face 

“Uh…well, they do like us, y’know,” she replies.

“Right you are, my brilliant girl,” Eddie grins, as he walks up to her, “Right you definitely are.”

[straight4joekeery]

Nancy: And then they ran into my knife. They ran into my knife ten times.

Steve: You mean you stabbed them?

Nancy: They ran into my knife.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin: I’ve never asked someone out. How do you even do it?

Steve: Oh, what I do is, I look them up and down and I say: “Hey… how you doin’?”

Eddie, scoffing: Oh, please.

Steve, to Eddie: Hey, how you doin’?

Eddie:

Eddie: *giggles and blushes*

~~~~~~~~~~~

*The squad™️ when they drop food on the floor*

Nancy: Aw man. *Throws it away*

Robin: Five second rule!

Eddie: Foolish germs, thinking they can stop me!? *Eats it off the floor*

Steve: *Sobs on the floor*

~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie: What happened to Nancy?

Steve: She died.

Eddie: She what?

Steve: She died, but she’s okay.

Eddie: …Can you please clarify?

Nancy: Clarification is for the weak.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin: You just saved me? Why?!

Eddie: People would think I murdered you if I didn't.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve: We call that a traumatic experience.

Steve, turning to Robin: Not a "bruh moment".

Steve, turning to Eddie: And DEFINITELY not an "oof LMAO".

~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin: So... what’s goin’ on?

Steve: You want the long version or the short version?

Robin, hesitantly: The short one, I guess?

Steve: Shit’s fucked.

Robin: Oh. Well, yeah, that’s definitely not an optimal situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~

*Robin and Nancy are in a car teetering on the edge of a cliff*

Robin: oh my god, Nancy, backwards!

Nancy: Really, Robin? I thought I might go forwards into the river, I thought that would be a fun thing to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin: I’m the sexiest bitch in this therapy waiting room.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Nancy: I don't want to fight you!

Eddie: I wouldn't want you to fight me either!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie: My assistance will be an act of beneviolence.

Nancy: ...Don’t you mean benevolence?

Eddie: No.

[eddies-artofsuffering]

Part I: Sweet Tooth

(Part II)

Eddie stares down at his wristwatch. One minute to noon. Just one more minute.

“Want us to clear the path?” Argyle claps him on his shoulder and squeezes. “It’s almost time.”

“I don’t – I don’t know. Maybe you guys could stand behind the kitchen doors? You can see through the windows, right?” Eddie scrunches his nose.

He can feel it, he’s been conditioned to it by now, the familiar pit of anticipation. Other people may call it butterflies. Eddie thinks it’s more like pterodactyls breathing fire inside his stomach. He desperately needs someone to hold his fucking hand during this hardship.

But he also really, really doesn’t want anyone up close to witness him making a fool of himself in front of Hot Steve - a new regular customer at their cafe. An incredibly attractive guy who works at the bookstore next door.

Eddie can NOT fuck this up. It only happens once a day, for a maximum of three minutes.

“Maybe today’s the day you ask him out,” Jonathan smiles. Dude never smiles with his eyes. It’s kind of unsettling.

“Absolutely not, have you seen Hot Steve?” Eddie groans. “There’s no way he plays for my team. He’s –“

The doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open. Hot Steve is walking towards him, holy shit. It’s go time. Eddie shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter.

This is always the way he greets Hot Steve. It’s his signature move. Although, it hasn’t really worked yet. If it worked, Eddie would’ve won Hot Steve’s attention by now. But this is the best he got at the moment, damn it.

“Hi, Eds, how are you doing?” Hot Steve is wearing a baby-blue button-down today, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His name tag pin on the left side of his chest glints.

Eddie loves that Steve came up with that nickname on his own, despite only having seen him here at Cafe Byers for, like, two weeks now.

“Better now that you’re here.” Eddie gives him a cheeky smile, If Argyle and Jonathan were here, they might’ve been impressed with how smooth it sounded; they always comment on the way he flirts, the things he says. If you ever said shit like that to me, I’d be hella blushing, brochacho. You know you got game, right?

What they don’t know is that these lines are rehearsed in his head, so many times. It’s all Eddie ever does: practice pickup lines for Hot Steve.

“Right out of the gate, huh? You're makin' me blush,” Hot Steve smiles, and honestly, it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing at all. Or if he’s even flustered. Hot Steve's always so confident. “I’ll get a latte. With oat milk, please?”

“Oh?” Oat milk? That’s new. Steve didn’t care last time what milk he was getting. Interesting. Or is it? Eddie decides to file that information away for later. “Yea, coming right up.”

“Thanks.”

Another thing about Hot Steve that really does something to Eddie’s overworked pterodactyls, is that he never has a phone with him. Or on him. If it is, it's never visible.

Which is odd, because the entire café is littered with folks who cannot tear their eyes away from their little gadgets and devices, especially their phones; most people can’t even wait for their drinks without looking at them, checking something constantly, emails or texts or whatever. 

And, well, Hot Steve never does any of that. He always waits at the end of the counter, patiently watching Eddie making drinks. It always makes him feel so self-conscious. Eddie’s burnt his hands under hot steam a couple of times, actually.

But these two, maybe three minutes of Eddie making a fresh beverage for Hot Steve – this is the only time he gets to make small talk with him. Each time, he learns something new about him, or confirms something that Eddie’s already inferred. The grand question of the day is: “So, who’s the drink for?”

Hot Steve blinks rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. “Uh – what?”

“Whose drink is this?” Eddie says, tamping the coffee grounds. “I’m assuming it’s not yours.”

“How… did you know it’s not mine?” he narrows his eyes.

God. It’s really telling, isn’t it, that Eddie’s noticed these things? “First time for you to ask for oat milk, so. I don’t know, I figured,” he shrugs.

Hot Steve opens his mouth as if to say something. Then he doesn’t. In the corner of Eddie’s eyes, he sees him nodding with pursed lips, with a hint of a smirk. It’s so distracting that Eddie almost heats up regular milk despite this whole conversation being around someone’s (not Steve’s, apparently) preference for plant-based milk. Oops.

He finishes making the latte and walks over to the cash register, handing over the drink. Steve receives it with a small thanks. 

But Eddie knows Steve's not quite done here today. Because, when you have a tiny (massive) crush on a near-stranger, you just, kind of look for patterns. That’s just how human minds work; Eddie has been carefully collecting all the little information about Hot Steve, just based on the few minutes that he spends at the café at noon.

Which is how that Eddie’s almost certain (almost, because there’s always room for anomalies) what Hot Steve’s about to do when he asks, “Is that it for today?”

“Oh – um,” Hot Steve scans the glass case of assorted desserts and baked goods, subconsciously wetting his lips. “Actually, yea. Can I have the blueberry crumble, please?”

This is one of the very few predictable things about him. Eddie doesn’t know why Hot Steve even looks at the shelves of sweets each time as if he’s ever going to make a different choice, because it’s always the same, the only constant pattern besides his entrance that he’s ever shown Eddie: the house blueberry crumble, the ones that Eddie bakes himself.

And every time Hot Steve asks for it, Eddie has to turn around and flex his arms, letting out a silent scream of victory, because Hot Steve is fucking hooked on those things. It’s truly incredible to know that he wants it. Eddie pours his heart and soul into those.

“Of course, babe,” he swoops down, takes a small square piece out with tongs, wraps it in a pocket of parchment paper. “D’you know I bake these every morning?”

“You – it’s you?” Hot Steve’s eyes widen comically. “Wow. I thought they were, like, shipped over from a bakery or something.”

“We do have an oven,” Eddie points behind the kitchen with his thumb and looks back, makes a mistake of drawing attention to the door, only remembering then that Argyle and Jonathan are probably watching this whole thing. Really hoping that they’re being discreet. 

“That’s amazing. I – I love them,” he says, not at all looking behind, thank God. “Guess you’re good with your hands.”

Eddie could practically hear the angelic chorus from the sky. Holy shit. Hot Steve loves his crumbles. Fuck. He could cry. 

But, you know. Everything always comes to an end, and that’s usually how far their conversation goes. Nothing more than just small talk, and then Hot Steve would pay for the stuff, go back to the next-door bookstore where he works. And until the next day, it’s as if he doesn’t even exist. A mythical creature that only appears during those three minutes in time and space, then vanishes afterwards. 

So he tries, just one last time before he leaves. “Steve?”

“Yea?” Hot Steve looks up, batting his lashes. They’re – so – pretty. So long, delicate. Such a fucking contrast to his muscular arms and chest that his thin blue shirt does nothing to hide, sleeves and buttons ready to pop. It’s sinful.

Fuck, and time’s ticking, yet there are so many things Eddie wants to ask. What is your drink, then? ‘Cause you never get the same drink twice.

Why is it always at noon? Is that your break?

Where are you from? When does your shift end? You do work at the bookstore, right?

When are you free?

All of these are more or less reasonable, if not a tiny bit creepy questions. But any of these would’ve been so much better than what Eddie actually blurts out, so out of the left field that he surprises even himself: “So, uh, how much do you bench?”

Oh, fuck. Where the hell did that come from? Eddie cringes hard inside, unsure how those words, that kind of vernacular even came out of his mouth, please, he wants to rewind time - 

But it's spilled oat milk. Guh. He crinkles his nose to prepare himself to apologize. Sorry. That was so – I’m not a gym bro. I’m not! Look at me! He's about to say, but:

“You wanna know?”

Hot Steve has a shit-eating grin on. That’s a first. There might even be a faint blush on his cheeks. Holy shit. Hot Steve took the fucking bait. Not that it was bait – it was just Eddie being a fucking disaster – but he nods all the same, stupidly. Of course he wants to know. He’s committed, now.

“Let’s see.” Hot Steve’s now circling around the counter to take a closer look at Eddie, eyes travelling up and down. It feels like Hot Steve is undressing him with his eyes. It’s kind of insane that they’re doing this in public.

Hmm. 140, 145 at the most – Hot Steve mutters under his breath. “Oh yea. Easy,” he says, still smiling wickedly.

“What do you mean, easy?” Eddie croaks.

His breath hitches when Hot Steve leans over the counter, inches away from Eddie’s face. “Probably could do twenty reps of you,” he whispers, winking.

Eddie’s brain short-circuits. He stares open-mouthed at Hot Steve, unable to move until he exits the café with the drink and a brown bag, fading away from view. Gone for the rest of the day, rest of the evening. Rest of the next morning. Only to return the next day at noon, like a fucking reverse-Cinderella.

“Why were you guys whispering?” Jonathan appears from behind, nudging him on the arm. “What did he say? Did you finally ask him out?”

“I’m about to ask him out myself if you don’t,” Argyle says lazily, earning a sharp smack from Jonathan. “Just joking, man, you know you’re my main dude,” he squeezes a squirming Jonathan on the side.

“He… “ Eddie gulps, closing his eyes, and pictures Hot Steve’s tantalizing smile. “He winked.”

Continue reading on Ao3

Read the sequel: Savour

[vesselforsatin]

Eddie thinks that Nancy and Steve are getting back together. He sees their heads pressed together and laughing while smiling at each other. Wayne comes home to find Eddie laying on the floor and blasting “Jolene” on repeat. He goes about his business while his nephew sings the lyrics into the rug in between mumbled curses at the concept of love.

Turns out Steve and Nancy are not getting back together. They were actually bonding how hot they think Sigourney Weaver is and giggling about how she reminds them of their respective crushes. Eddie finds this out after Wayne calls Nancy to come talk some sense into him after the fourteenth repeat of “I Will Always Love You.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Spring challenge.

Holding Out For Spring

Prompt: Spring | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Alcohol Abuse | Tags: Eddie POV, Corroded Coffin, Future Fic, Struggling, Chronic Pain, Post Break-Up, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Gatorade: Not a Sponsor

Eddie scratches his pen against the page, scribbling forth and scratching away the words that are spilling out onto the loose papers shuffled all around the desk. He reaches for the bottle sitting on the edge of the desk, and takes another long pull.

It was supposed to be a sober month, and he only made it eight days. That's two more than last month, he supposes. 

Writing drunk never gets him anywhere, not really, but he's doing it anyway. Because he feels too much right now. 

The door to the hotel room opens and closes, and Eddie ignores it. He doesn't want the lecture, not from any of them. He's heard it all before, and it doesn't bear repeating.

It's Gareth, and he's quiet as he gathers up the discarded empties, dropping them into the small trash can across the hotel room. Then, he's putting his hand on Eddie's, covering his fingers as they grip the pen, stilling his wrist. Stopping the flow of words.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Gareth tells him, and it's too soft. Too gentle, and Eddie fucking hates it. Hates him. Hates this godforsaken band. 

Hates the never-ending winter he's suffering through. Freezing him to the bone while he moves through the world.

Gareth can't fix that, nobody can, and there's nothing the three of them can scheme up to change this. No amount of babysitting, no amount of coddling, and no amount of treating him like he's fragile. 

He's not fragile. He's broken. There's a difference.

And Eddie wants to fight back, wants to snarl and bite, but he doesn't. He lets go of the pen, and watches as it rolls off the desk and onto the carpet. 

Gareth pulls him up off the chair, and leads him towards the bathroom, getting the water turned on and to the right temperature. Eddie just leans there watching it all happen, numb. 

"Can you stand?" Gareth asks, and Eddie nods.

It's too cold, this winter that's lingering. Steve left, and that saddled him with six more weeks of winter. Only, it's been six months now.

And he's still holding out for spring.

If spring would just come, then maybe he'd be able to breathe again, even if that feels impossible these days, without Steve. 

He gets in the shower, and sticks his head under the spray, trying to sober up. Scrubs at his sides, fingers digging into the scars there. The ones that have faded, but will never disappear. He's in constant pain. The nerve damage, the muscle loss. You can't get gnawed on by bats and just bounce back, at least Eddie couldn't.

Steve did.

But Steve's always been stronger than him.

He's not gonna be fixed, not ever, but they have a show tonight, and if they cancel any more gigs, shit's really gonna hit the fan. He's a goddamn mess, has been since Steve…took a break. 

It's just a break, not a break-up, Eddie tells himself. Over and over, because he won't survive, if this is permanent. Even as the days have turned into weeks, into months.  

He can hear the rest of the band arguing outside the door, Jeff and Goodie now involved. Throwing ideas around. The same old, same old. 

Rehab, again. Canceling the tour, again. Calling Wayne, again.

The last resort, calling Steve.

They can't do any of those things. Won't. None of them will help, will fix him. This is just the way he is, and they have to work around it.  

So, they'll get him sobered up for the night, for the week, and pretend he'll be better this time. He won't be. He never is. The pain will come back, and he'll turn back to the bottle. 

It's genetic. The Munson way. He's cursed, and there's no point in fighting it. 

When Eddie gets out of the shower, Gareth has his scribbled lyrics in hand, waving them around as he talks. Like Eddie isn't even here, listening. Eddie sees the bottle of yellow Gatorade on the desk, that one of them must have gotten from the vending machine, like it'd be enough to sober him up, and Eddie bats it away, sending it skittering across the carpet and into the wall, leaving a dent near the baseboard that they'll have to pay for. That's nothing new. But it shuts them up, just for a second, before Goodie picks the bottle up off the ground and hurls it back at Eddie. Eddie ducks instead of catching it, and it slams against the mirror, glass against glass, all of it shattering to the carpet below.

Eddie lunges towards Goodie, while Gareth and Jeff struggle to hold them both back, and the shouting starts, all over again.

Eddie comes off the stage, and a bottle of Gatorade is pressed into his fist, and he downs it. Ignoring that it's the wrong color. He prefers yellow, and Steve knows that. So does the band. But this stranger, this roadie, doesn't. So, it's red. 

It's fine, but it isn't right. 

Eddie still claps the kid on the shoulder in thanks, and walks away. 

Opening the door to his dressing room, there's a bottle of yellow Gatorade waiting on the coffee table, and Steve waiting on the couch. 

Eddie can't be mad they called him, can't do anything other than crumple in on himself at the sight of him. Steve shouldn't be here, shouldn't be trying to save Eddie from himself, yet again. It hasn't worked before, and it probably won't work now, either.

But Eddie wants it to work. Wants to be good enough for Steve.

"Why?" Eddie asks, and Steve stands. Crosses the room, takes Sweetheart off of Eddie's back, sitting her down gently. Then he pulls Eddie to his chest, those large, warm hands sliding up and down Eddie's back. Soothing him, warming him. 

"You know why," Steve says.

Eddie held out for spring, and he's here now. 

His sunshine, in a yellow sweater.

The start of the thaw.

Inspired by the song Spring by Ed Sheeran.

I said I'd do a sober month, I failed, but tried, and wrote this drunk, Oh, what a state we're in, I'll keep holdin' out for spring Spring, Ed Sheeran

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[rogueddie]

Eddie being completely down for both feminine and masculine things, wearing skirts in the heat of summer bc they're comfortable and look great.

Genderfluid Steve who only really connects the dots bc Eddie explains that he wants to wear skirts for the aesthetic, but Steve wants to wear a skirt because sometimes he feels like a she.

Steve is worried that it might cause problems with their relationship bc Eddie is gay. But it just gives Eddie a crisis bc he realizes that he's bi, it's just so rare that he likes girls that he doesn't even notice.

[munsonfamilyband]

I’m obsessing over Steve and Chrissy being cousins lately. Imagine the potential Shenanigans it presents. For example (most of this is not canon compliant):

Eddie and Chrissy are friends and Steve has a crush on Eddie (this would be post fall from grace for Steve). Eddie complains about Steve all the time because he doesn’t actually know him and Chrissy was sworn to secrecy by Steve so she can’t tell him anything about him, let alone that he’s her cousin.

Eddie finds out that they’re cousins when he and Chrissy are at her house (her parents are like Steve’s and are out of town a lot). They’re hanging out in her living room and he leaves to go to the bathroom but when he comes back, Steve is laying on the couch with his head in Chrissy’s lap talking about a fight he got in with his dad.

Eddie freaks out because “why tf is king Steve here?” and Steve freaks out because “oh god Eddie is here and now he’s seen me all vulnerable” so now Chrissy has to explain that Steve is her cousin and his dad is a POS like hers so they have an open door policy for each other

After that Eddie starts seeing Steve more and slowly learning that he’s not an asshole anymore. It helps that it seems like they aren’t trying to avoid him seeing them together anymore (Chrissy had been telling Steve whenever Eddie would be over so that he wouldn’t run into him).

Some memorable moments for Eddie are: seeing Steve baking with Chrissy with flour in his hair and then hearing Steve quietly explain that the cookies are low carb so that she won’t feel as bad about eating them (both of their mom’s are obsessed with physical appearance so Steve learned a lot of recipes that make them feel less like shit when they eat them), Steve braiding Chrissy’s hair while she complains about how Jason won’t leave her alone despite having broken up with him months ago and Steve offering casual as can be to key his car

As they get more comfortable around each other Eddie gets more and more hints that Steve may not be straight, but he refuses to acknowledge it for a while because then he would have to think about how he feels when Steve is around. He sees Steve let Chrissy practice make up and nail painting on him, most memorably he sees Steve squeeze his hips into Chrissy’s teeny cheer skirt that barely covers his ass, he hears him comment on men in movies, he sees how he reacts when Chrissy talks about the cute girl from marching band who talks a lot and Chrissy wants to kiss.

It goes on like this for a long time, Eddie getting closer to Steve to the point that they hang out without Chrissy, but neither of them do anything about their mutual attraction. Steve ends up getting a job at the mall and his new coworker is the band girl that Chrissy has a crush on, so Robin starts hanging around them as well.

It all comes to an end when the four of them get drunk at Steve’s house that summer and decide to play truth or dare. Steve gets asked by Robin if he likes anyone and he says yes but refuses to elaborate but when Chrissy gets asked who Steve likes, because she’s been drinking and had at least one joint, just tells the truth and says that Steve has had a crush on Eddie since he was 16. It’s silent for a bit before Chrissy turns to Eddie and asks him truth or dare, he says dare because no way is he admitting to anything, but then Chrissy dares him to kiss the boy he’s been crushing on for months and now Steve is staring at Eddie in shock. Eddie doesn’t even remember moving but suddenly Steve is in his lap and they’re making out in the grass of his backyard.

Chrissy decides to go for it and kisses Robin who freaks out before Chrissy kisses her again to stop her rambling

The four of them become a mysterious pack of friends who are clearly dating in some way but no one can actually tell who is dating who, especially with how few people actually know that Steve and Chrissy are related.

[str4ngergirlw0rld]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬𝒀𝑺 𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑹

hi i am lovey, i am twenty one and i love love love ST. if you ever feel lonely don’t hesitate to message me , i love you guys sm !

stevie sweet sex harrington

stevie as a bf

stevie takes his time smutty blurb

steve handsy blurb - coming soon !!

protective stevie

steve vecna’d reader

needy r & steve

steve angst

life saver

one beer

eddies nicknames 4 u

messy eddie

you are eddies comfort

eddies words 2 u

eddie can’t keep his hands off of you

eddie as a bf

angsty eddie blurb - pt2

wayne and eddies chef

subby to dom eddie

needy eddie

NASTY eddie

accidental mean eddie

eddies nightmares

makeup madness

eddies soulmates

steve being all boy til hes w u and eddie

them being the best bfs

smutty thought

their love languages

riding them

sneaky plan

first outing as a throuple

jerkin their own w ur help

[hargrovesswifee]

If flayed, why hot?

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One: Merry Crisis 

It’s also on A03 (this chapter will go up too but not for a bit bc I have stupid adult work to do) 

Five days after New Years and Steve Harrington was haunting Eddie’s head.

This time at least, it was consensual. 

Mostly. 

“I thought you said New Year's resolutions were a total waste of time and a conformist’s mmrrph--” Gareth cuts off as a ringed hand claps (gently) over his mouth, Eddie’s glare burning a hole in the side of his best friend’s head. 

“No one asked you to comment.” Eddie informs him darkly.  

“He’s got you there, Eds.” Jeff teases, seated on a bin in Gareth’s garage, friends occupying the couch across from him. “It is one of your yearly rants.” 

“New Years Resolutions are just a convenient way for normies to understand my quests.” Eddie sniffs, ignoring the fact that he’d been going on about this since he showed up, several hours ago.    

 He releases Gareth’s mouth, springing up to pace another circuit round the garage. “I refuse to repeat another year in this god-awful high school--and!” 

Spinning on his heels, Eddie flings a hand in the air, the exact same way he had when he auditioned for Sherlock Holmes in Hawkin High’s performance of Hounds of Baskerville. “It is my duty as Hellfire’s DM to figure out what the hell those freshmen are wrapped up in with Harrington!” 

“Rii-iiight.” Gareth remarks. “I’m sure your obsession with this has nothing to do with those, what did you call them?”

Grant covers a laugh with a cough as Gareth pretends to think before saying: “Harrington’s big ol’ puppy dog eyes?”

Eddie’s face goes red. “I told you, I’m not crushing on Steve!” 

“Bro.” Grant says, expression calling out Eddie’s lie better than words ever could. 

“The entire planet knows you have a crush on him, Eds.” Gareth adds, leveling his best friend with a knowing look. “Frankly I’m amazed Steve himself hasn’t figured it out.”

“Shut it!” Eddie hissed, face aflame. “This is about everything else!  What he’s hiding! Why the kids--”

“--worship him.” Jeff, Grant and Gareth all finish as one, their impromptu chorus deflating Eddie like a sad balloon.

“We know.” Grant says. “You think Harrington and the kids are wrapped up in some kind of crazy conspiracy that's eating them all alive and because you have a compulsive desire to solve every mystery put in front of you, you can’t leave it alone. This is starting to become something you should really like, work on man.” 

Eddie turns his glare on Grant. 

“You need to drop out of that AP psychology class.” He demands with another sniff. “It’s rotting your brain.”

“Uh huh.” Grant says, voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“You;’ll see.” Eddie mutters as he resumes his pacing. “You’ll all see when I finally figure it out. You’ll be all,” Eddie straightens, clutching his hands together and squeezing them against his chest, “Oh-my-gawd, Eddie, holy shit, you were so right, they were hiding a huge secret!” 

“Keep dreamin’ bud.” Jeff says flatly, prompting laughs from Gareth and Grant.

Eddie takes off a shoe and throws it at him. 

(Jeff swears it was worth it.) 

xXx

10 days after New Years and Steve Harrington was right there.

Right.

There.

It would be easy to walk across the parking lot, strike up a conversation. Hell, the kids' presence makes it even easier, Eddie knows all he has to do is talk about them before Steve drives them home. 

He just--has to do it. 

"You do know the first step is actually talking to him right?" Jeff teases, leaning against the school’s doorway.

Eddie startles, flushing scarlet. 

"Shut up!" He snaps, turning around to run his hand over his face.

 God why was this so hard!? 

He's talked to plenty of people. Hell, he's talked to Harrington before. Talking was the thing  Eddie arguably did best and suddenly he just fucking…couldn't!? 

"He's waving at you." Jeff observes. 

Eddie whips back around to face the parking lot--to find that Harrington wasn't even facing their direction.

Jeff chuckles. 

"Oh screw you!" Eddie shoves  his shoulder into Jeff’s, glowering. 

Jeff playfully nudges him back. "Just go talk to him man. He didn't bite at the party, and he left you that note, so he's clearly open to it." 

"I know.” Eddie grumbles, moving so he could lean against the opposite side of the doorway. 

“So what’s holding you back?” Jeff turns to look at him now, as Eddie tangles a finger into a few strands of his hair. “It’s not like you hesitate instead of jumping into something head first.” 

Eddie hides in his hair for a moment, unsure of how he wanted to handle this question.

Jeff knew he was gay. All the Corroded Coffin guy’s knew he was gay, after the first (and last) time he tried to buy product from a supplier that wasn’t Rick. 

(Eddie was smart, but he’d been young back then. Hadn’t caught on to the fact the weed he’d been sold was laced with who-knew-what. 

What he did know was that when he and the boys tried it out; Grant had given a very emotional speech about love and acceptance, Jeff wouldn’t stop hugging people, Gareth ended up crying over gender issues and Eddie had admitted he was flamingly gay. 

He never bought from another supplier again, even if he did technically owe the guy who’d brought him and his best friends closer together.) 

Being gay wasn’t exactly the issue.

It was being gay, and having a blatant crush on Steve--the guy who the Hellfire kids loved. The guy who had surprised Eddie by being decent and downright fun. 

The guy who kept insisting he and Buckley were “Platonic with a Capital P”and even with Robin climbing all over him like a lemur, he had in fact kept his hands and eyes to perfectly respectable places. 

Who was practically built to appeal to Eddie, between his stupid sexy smile and the weird mystery he was wrapped up in, the same one that caused his smiles to drop the second he knew no one was paying attention. 

Add in the fact he’d played D&D once before and it was like God had made Eddie’s perfect match.

Of course because Eddie’s relationship with a deity of any kind was agonistic at best, they’d made Steve not only the straightest man to ever rule a high school, but also dangled him in front of Eddie constantly. 

Like a treat he could never, ever have, but will always crave. 

“Oh he’s actually waving at you this time.” Jeff says, and despite the high chance of this being another joke, Eddie looks anyway. 

Sure enough there was Harrington, dumb little grin on his face, waving his hand.

Eddie managed to get his brain to function long enough to wave back. 

“Wow Eds, you actually waved at him. That’s a lot of progress for you.” Gareth chimes in, appearing in between his friends with a smirk. 

“We’re proud of you buddy.” Grant adds, standing behind Gareth. 

Eddie groans aloud. “I hate you all.” He mutters, trying to keep a smile on his face for Steve until the guy turns back to herald the children into the car.

“No you don’t.” Gareth sing-songs, to the snickers of Jeff and Grant. 

And no, he doesn't--but fuck if Eddie didn’t want to wring all their necks. 

xXx

January 13th, Eddie finally gets his first resolution breakthrough.

It came in the form of Sinclair’s girlfriend, oddly enough, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“I’m not Lucas’s girlfriend.” The redhead spat, which Eddie thought was a hell of a lot of anger for someone who he had not been formally introduced to but had flung herself into his passenger seat anyway, with a declaration that he would drive her home. 

(He, of course, had been about to protest until Max reminded him with a glare that they were neighbors--which had the effect of making Steve look relieved, like Eddie was doing him some kind of massive favor.

A favor Eddie wanted.

“For totally normal non crush related reasons Gareth, god!”) 

Currently Max is staring out the window as Eddie drives home, arms crossed and in a full sulk.

Eddie recognizes it in her the same way he recognizes it in himself, and knows intimately that he has a chance to be to her, what Wayne was to him.

Someone who didn’t just see the problems he had, but acted on them. 

That began with a conversation. 

“So not that sitting in awkward silence isn’t totally fun, but uh, why am I driving you home instead of Harrington?” Eddie asks, watching Max out of the corners of his eyes. 

She doesn’t even flinch. “What, and miss the chance to ride in the drug mobile?” 

He expects the snappish response but has to give Max credit--she is absolutely the most vicious of Steve’s kids. 

“Ok fair,” He says, because getting angry back was what she wanted. Or at least, what Eddie wanted, back when he was in Max’s shoes. “But don’t all you kids like, worship King Steve? Thought you’d want your beloved babysitting to drive you home..” 

Max’s shoulders hunch immediately, her jaw clenching. “Don’t call him that.”

“Babysitter?” Eddie questions. 

“King Steve, you ass.” She bites back. “If you like him like Lucas and Dustin swear you do, then you wouldn’t be an dick.”  

Quieter, she mutters, “He hates that nickname.” 

“Hate to break it to you, but Steve gave himself that nickname.” Eddie says, if only to buy time while he swallows the fact that the kids have decided he and Steve aren't just cool with each other, but like each other.

Obviously not like-like, as in romantic like, because they weren't psychic, but--

'Focus, idiot! Max is still talking!' 

Max rolls her eyes, huffing angrily as she finally tears her gaze away from the window. “You don’t get it.” 

“I sure as shit don’t and won’t.” Eddie agrees easily, and has to look away to keep the laughter off his face at the confused look it nets him. “Not unless you want to clue me in.” 

She chews over that for a moment, before apparently coming to a decision. “You’re annoying.” 

“Oh come on Red, if you’re gonna insult me at least do it right. Annoying is boring.” Eddie fakes a yawn, and this time does laugh at Max’s outright offended face. 

Thankfully, the antics get him exactly what he wants. 

An answer. 

"Steve saw the real world and decided he wanted to be a better person. To grow up and leave all the stupid high school petty shit behind." Max says, and for a moment it's almost like she's speaking to someone else.

Likely the person she really is mad at, Eddie assumes. 

"Calling him King Steve just takes all that progress away, and for what? Cause you're jealous?" 

She's on a roll now. Eddie remains silent, knowing Max needs to get this out.

That this rant isn't aimed at him. 

"You're mad that things were easy for him? Because newsflash, they weren't. He put in the effort to be a good guy, could even," Max fakes a dramatic gasp, "--apologize!" 

An idea takes shape, both of the unsurprising source of the younger teens' hurt and frustration, and why she at least defends Harrington so hard.

Eddie may not know how exactly Max fits into "The Party" (or even who all is included within it) but it's clear she's just as close to Steve as the rest.

Maybe even a touch moreso, in a way that's eclipsed by Henderson alone. 

Max is still going. "Steve's a genuinely good person and he's earned the right to be acknowledged as one!" 

Her eyes are wet when she finishes and Max angrily swipes at them with her sleeve. 

Eddie knows better than to comment on it, but does take a moment to think her words over. 

"Have you seen it too?" He decides to ask. It's the part that sticks out to him, so it becomes the thread he decides to pull. 

Max blinks. "What?"

"The real world. Have you seen it too?"

"Yeah." Max admits, after a long moment of silence, chewing on her lower lip. "I did. And I wish I hadn't." 

"Sucks huh?"

"You don't know half of it."

"I might not know the exact parts you saw," Eddie agrees, as he pulls up in front of his trailer. "But I have seen plenty of other nasty bits and bobs." 

He puts his van in park. "Just because the monster changes shape doesn't make it any less of a danger, you know?" 

Max sits with that for a moment. Eddie sits with her, his music on even if he has the volume turned down low. 

Waits to see if she'll say more, or if this is all he's getting. 

There’s a slight hesitation--as if for a moment, Max considers opening up--but something in her balks and she opens the door instead. 

“Thanks for the ride.” She grumbles, quiet enough that he almost doesn’t hear, before slamming the door and walking fast to her trailer.

The lights are off, and the car he knows belongs to her mother isn’t in the driveway. 

It’s not unusual to be home alone at this hour. Not for Hawkins kids, and especially not for trailer park kids like them, but for the first time, Eddie finds himself wondering how often she’s alone. 

“Hey, Red!” He calls, as he makes his way out of the van. 

She turns to look at him, and Eddie realizes he must be getting a glimpse of what every adult used to see in him. Fury and discontent, all rolling over a sadness that’s bone deep and afraid to face daylight. 

“You ever wanna explain it to me, you’re welcome to come over.” He says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at his own trailer. 

“Whatever.” Max says with an eye roll, before storming to her front door. 

Eddie waits for the lights to go on, before retreating back to his own house, feeling like he at least established something.

Even if it was just proof that he wasn’t going to blow up or brush her off like everyone else.

xXx�� 

January 13th's luck didn't end there.

A few hours after Eddie made sure Steve's attack chihuahua child made it home safe, a car pulls up in front of her trailer. 

Curious (and nosey as fuck) Eddie peers out the window to spot Harrington’s Beemer flick its lights off, owner crawling out and up to Max's front door with an arm full of takeout.

Steve stands there for a while, alternating between knocking and not-quite yelling, before finally putting the food down.

Eddie knows now that Steve's some kind of pseudo parent to these kids, that the intent he has towards them is a combination of brotherly and maternal. 

Can't help himself from the opportunity that arises when Harrington moves to peek into one of Max's trailer windows, though. 

"Damn Harrington," Eddie calls out, after quietly slipping onto his front porch. "Didn't know you were the kinda creep to stare into teenage girl's windows."

Steve spins, startled, and nearly goes down on the gravel while doing so. 

Eddie laughs--it's like watching Bambi on ice--but regrets it immediately when the younger man trots over to him. 

Puts his hands up and is about to defend himself out of sheer habit. 

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, trotting up the two steps so he can lower his voice. 

Eddie wiggles his raised hands in a “maybe” sort of gesture before lowering them. 

“She’s fine right now, but she’s definitely upset.” 

Steve hums, peering worriedly at the opposing trailer, takeout food sitting innocently by Max’s door. “

“She’s been upset for a while. I just…” He trails off, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do for her, you know? She’s not as easy to figure out as the others.”

Which isn’t the least bit surprising. At least, it isn’t to Eddie. 

While he can’t speak for their missing fourth member, the remaining three freshmen are the kind to wear their emotions on their sleeves, in their own ways. Mike and Dustin compete for loudest but even Lucas, the most likely to let things go, eventually explodes. 

All Harrington has to do to handle any of their issues is simply see that something is wrong, and then ask about it. 

The drive from the high school to the trailer park took less than fifteen minutes but in them, Eddie knew immediately that Max was far more like himself at heart. Angry at everything and everyone, using insults or humor to distract from her real problems. 

Eddie now was better than he was, the eleven year old kid who’d been dumped on his Uncle, extremely wary of adults and furious at the world at large. 

Like recognizes like though, even if he’s made progress. 

“I think the best thing you can do is keep being there for her.” Eddie admits quietly, because this is an area he can actually provide some insight for.  “That all that anger isn’t going to push you away. Just don’t be surprised if it takes her a while to understand you won’t abandon her like everybody else did.”

“Huh.” Steve says, and Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that Steve is taking him seriously. Not after the not-Christmas party, but he is. 

That’s part of the mystery of Steve Harrington, after all. 

The way Steve never quite reacts the way Eddie thinks he’s going to. 

“If she doesn’t take the food can you let me know?” Steve asks, and he sounds so sad about it that Eddie couldn’t possibly refuse, even if he’d wanted to. 

“Sure thing man.” He agrees. 

Harrington watches Max’s door for a moment longer before heaving himself off the porch with a sigh

“Oh,” He says, turning around partway to his car. “ We’re gonna have a movie night next Friday night. You should come.” 

‘Bing-fucking-go.’ 

“Well how could I say no to the King himself? Tell me the time and I’ll be there.” Eddie says, and then watches Steve’s face as he winces. 

Apparently, Red was right. 

Steve doesn’t rip his head off for the nickname though. Plows right on ahead, as if Eddie hadn’t called him it at all. 

"We were planning on making it just the adults--or at least, not the freshmen.” He nods towards Max’s trailer. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Oh I’m sure they’re just delighted to be left out.” 

"You’d be surprised.” Steve says with a long-suffering look. “I've been informed I need more adult friends." 

Eddie can’t help but tease, though he softens his voice and grins to take the teeth out of it. "Band geek and a bunch of fourteen years olds not good enough for you?" 

"You’re forgetting my ex girlfriend." Steve adds, with his own self deprecating tone. 

“Well damn  Harrington, guess the town freak might actually be a step up for you!” Eddie says, loving that this version of Steve is willing to banter like this. 

“I dunno man, I think that nickname might be overhyped.” Steve says, and there’s that grin back on his face, the one he wore when he was stealing meaningless corporate trophies out of his father’s office. “I don’t think you’re that freaky at all.” 

He dips down in a movement that takes Eddie a moment to realize is him mimicking the curtsey he had given Eddie at the Christmas party, before getting in the Beemer. 

Then he’s gone, leaving Eddie trying to recover on the porch, wondering if the last part of that conversation actually happened or if he just wanted it so badly he dreamed the whole thing.

(When he looks back over to Max’s trailer, the takeout by the door is gone.) 

xXx 

20 days after New Years and Eddie didn’t know what he expected from a movie night at Steve’s-- but it wasn’t getting his ass kicked at beer pong. 

Of course, this may have been his fault. 

It started when Steve, three beers into a home recording of Animal House, made an off comment about Nancy Wheeler once putting all of Hawkin’s to shame at a party. 

(“Her aim has always been insane.” He'd added, as Nancy rolled her eyes and tried to hide her pleased grin behind a hand.  

Eddie had been a little surprised to see Steve hadn’t been kidding about Nancy coming--but also realized that Steve might have been serious when he’d joked about not really having a lot of friends. 

In Eddie's head, a miniature bat version of himself donned a detective's hat and cape, whipping out a notepad to dutifully write down; ‘Clue one: Steve has very few friends.’

“You, Nancy Wheeler, beat out four teams of dumb jocks…at beer pong?” Eddie asked, in total disbelief. 

“I did.” Nancy told him smugly. “And I could do it again.” 

“Really?” Eddie had said and it hadn’t been intended as a challenge, but it was taken as one.)

 Three games in, the beer having a long run out (they were actually playing “Vodka Shot Ball") and Eddie has to concur. 

Nancy Wheeler was in fact, god’s gift to throwing small orange balls into cups.

“How are you doing this!?” Eddie yells, throwing his hands in the air as Nancy sinks her last shot, Robin shrieking in victory behind her. 

Hand on her hip, Nancy gives him a lazy, smug smile. “I suppose,” She says, tilting her head, sounding for all the world like a cat who’s caught a canary, “--it would be my incredibly good aim.”

 Robin, who previously had been paired with Steve before insisting they switch (and who is more than a little drunk), shouts; “Take that Munson!” before grabbing Nancy’s wrists, pulling her into a dance. 

Laughing, Nancy goes with her, their celebration a stark contrast to the other half of the table where Steve is leaning heavily on his elbows. 

"Alright. Maybe, you do have some ungodly skills." Eddie admits, putting his hands on his head. “Forgive me for doubting you, oh Queen of beer pong.” 

"Oh, now you admit it?" Steve mutters playfully, head hanging low. "Couldn't have done it before I ran out of beer?"

"Hush Harrington, you enjoyed it." Eddie grins knocking a hip into his teammates

He too, is more than a touch drunk, despite having been on Nancy’s team for the prior two rounds. 

Vodka-Shot Ball, as it turns out, is enough to really mess a person up if you miss enough. 

"Did I?” Steve moans, before hiccupping.

(“Harrington you’re a jock, are you missing on purpose!?” Eddie had asked early in this game, when Steve’s shots had gone from fairly decent to fucking abysmal. 

“He’s two shots in, Eddie.” Robin had spoken for her soulmate, as she aimed a ball at a cup. “All those concussions don’t play nice with hard alcohol. Why do you think I switched sides?”

“I’ll remember this betrayal, Rob.” Steve grumbled in response. “See if I ever do your hair for you again.”

Batective Eddie promptly scribbled; ‘Clue Two, Steve has had a lot of concussions and can no longer handle a lot of hard liquor’ down on his notepad, puffing on his little old-timey pipe. ‘Also he does hair.’) 

“Now that Stubbornson over here has finally admitted defeat,” Steve says, “Can we please go lay down? We're way too drunk for another round.” 

“Speak for yourself, Lightweight. I’m fine.” Eddie tells him, walking towards the door to the kitchen.

Of course life cannot tolerate him being smooth and so Eddie walks dead-on into the closed glass door rather than the open one next to it. 

He staggers back and loses his balance, falling hard on his ass. 

“Shit!” Someone curses. 

“You okay Eddie?” Someone else asks.

“Yeah.” He moans, rubbing at his head. 

Wheeler appears next to him, shooing his hands away from his face so she could examine him. 

“You’re an idiot.” Nancy informs him calmly, hands expertly checking his head. Her touch is professional, but Eddie's surprised by it anyway, “But I think you’ll live.” 

Eddie squints up at her. “How come you’re not drunk?” He asks, and okay, yeah, he definitely hears the slur in his voice this time. 

"I only had three drinks across all three games." Nancy informs him sweetly. "None of them were vodka."

"I hate you." Eddie moans dramatically, before opting to lay down on the porch. 

“No you don’t.” Nancy says confidently, and then pats his head, before getting up from her crouch. “How are you doing Steve?”

“Kill me.” Comes Harrington's voice from across the patio, sounding very pathetic. 

Eddie wishes he could pet his head.  

“Denied!” Robin calls out. “Don’t even joke about that dingus, you got too close last summer as it was.”

(Batective Eddie, swaying a little with a beer bottle in his paw, tries to write that down.

He somewhat succeeds.) 

Nancy disappears for a moment and Eddie wills himself to sit up--or at the very least roll to where Harrington and Buckley are. 

"I'm going to drive myself and Robin home.”  Nancy announces as she reappears, alongside a hovering bottled water. 

Gratefully, he takes it.

With a tone that’s only this side of too-sweet, she asks; “Eddie? Would you like a ride?”

He considers it.

On one hand, that means he leaves his van here. So someone else has drive him to get it back in the morning (unless Harrington drives it to him and while Eddie finds himself weirdly unopposed to that idea, he doesn’t want to impose.

…Or inflict the current sad state of his van’s interior on Steve before he knows the guy better.) 

On the other hand, he’s clearly too drunk to drive, which means more time with a drunk Steve Harrington.

That’s gotta be good for figuring out clues, right? 

(In his head, Batective Eddie shoots him a thumbs up from where he lays, facedown on the floor.) 

 "If I get into a car I’m going to hurl." He announces. “So I’m gonna pass.” 

Nancy makes a very unlady like noise, and Eddie grins, finally managing to lurch up to his elbows. “Nancy Wheeler was that a snort!?” He teases gleefully, as she rolls her eyes. 

“Maybe.” She says, then holds out a hand. 

Eddie slaps his in it, but does his best not to pull on her. Instead he mostly uses her for balance as he works his way to his feet. 

“You guys get home safe okay?” Steve says, voice uncharacteristically serious as Robin helps him up from the pool chair he'd collapsed in. “Check in when you do.” 

That’s weird--Eddie half expects it to be some sort of inside joke or macho, alpha man type comment but instead both Robin and Nancy nod seriously. 

“We will.” Nancy promises. “Thank you for inviting me, Steve. Nice meeting you properly, Eddie.” 

She gifts him with a smile, an honest one, before guiding Robin out the door. 

Who screams; “Bye losers, love you!” as she exits.  

(Eddie thinks this might be another moment for Batective Eddie except he’s sort of getting a headache and kinda just wants to sleep rathe than envision his Sherlock Holmes styled bat-self.) 

They follow the ladies in, Eddie beelining for the first cough he sees. 

“You can sleep it off here.” Steve tells him, zombie-walking to his fridge. He pulls out a soda and chugs it as Eddie falls face first into couch cushions, taking a moment to let his stomach settle before adjusting to a better position. 

"Nah I'm just gonna close my eyes for a second." Eddie mumbles. “Be fine in a ‘lil bit, promise.” 

Does so, and enjoys the sweet, sweet darkness that envelops him. 

He jerks awake a moment later, blinking hard in the dark. A blanket has been draped over him, and his shoes kicked off, though judging from where they landed Eddie thinks he’s done that part himself.

A glance at his wristwatch reveals it's 1 AM, and Eddie goes to scrub his eyes with his hands.

Shit, he hadn't intended to stay this long. 

Harrington’s creepy Christmas shit’s all gone, replaced by walls so blank they look almost sterile. 

It creates a different, quieter vibe that's almost more spooky than the Santa-themed tomb Eddie had previous seen. The large windows throw shadows across the open space, like elongated fingers. It covers parts of the room in thick darkness, giving the appearance than anything could be hiding within them. 

There's blankets on the couch catty-corner to Eddie’s. They're rucked up, and the sound of running water abruptly clues Eddie in to where Steve might be. 

A golden glow erupts from the kitchen, then off again, before repeating the pattern.  

( Batective Eddie returns with a squeak, frantically waving a sign. 

It reads ‘Steve is afraid of flickering lights, remember!?’) 

The noise in the kitchen has gone eerily quiet. The bad kind, that makes the hairs on his neck stand up, and Eddie rolls off the couch and to his feet, making his way to the kitchen. 

Comes around the corner to see Steve frozen halfway to the stove, his head craned upward at the ceiling lights. 

Eddie knew that whatever had happened, a clear trigger for all those involved (the kids, Harrington, hell even Nancy Wheeler that one time in the library--) was electrical issues in lights. 

He clears his throat, the sound coming out like more of a growl. He coughs to clear it, then sidles closer. 

Steve has a stillness to his body that Eddie doesn’t clock until it’s too late, his hand already reaching out to tap the taller man’s shoulder. 

"Hey, uh Steve?"

Gets the shock of his life when Steve yanks his shoulder away, spinning back and around like he's been burned. 

Eddie gets a flash of wide brown eyes, glassy and wild, before a frying pan is swung at his head. 

"What the hell Harrington!" Eddie yelps, falling down on his ass and scrambling backwards, pan missing his head by inches. 

(Envisions in his head his Batective self throwing his notes in the air, taking flight with a startled “Fleeeee!”)

Harrington stands over him. Looks just like Wayne did that one time a car battery caught fire and exploded near the trailer. 

Like he was somewhere else, and prepared to do what he had to in order to get back. 

Chest heaving, Eddie put aside all thoughts of stupid bats and did what he did best.

Talked.

xXx

20 days after New Years, Steve almost takes Eddie's head off with a frying pan. 

Doesn't realize he's swung it like a weapon until he hears the surprised shout, his brain too steeped in adrenaline and old fears. 

Freezes, because the shout sounds like one of the kids but he doesn’t remember them being here...

"--eve?"

"What?" He asks, the ringing slowly easing as his tunnel vision does. 

He'd heard the growl, saw the lights flicker…

A gentle hand presses into his bicep, and he finds himself staring into Eddie Munson’s eyes. 

The guy has a sort of look on his face that says he's trying his best not to freak out, but then Steve blinks and it's gone. 

Replaced with something gentle, if cautious. 

"You wouldn't mind if I just," Eddie trails off as his ringed fingers slowly stroke down Steve's arm, before carefully taking hold of the pan’s handle. "--took this, aye love?"

It's the nickname that brings Steve back fully, and he loosens his grip on the pan, surrendering it to Munson. 

"Thank you Steve." He says, leaning to put the pan back on the stove, far out of Steve's current reach. 

Then his hands return to Steve's wrists, and he finds himself staring at them in confusion.

Not because he doesn't know what happened--he does.

It's  more that he's shocked Eddie is still willing to touch him after he nearly brained him. 

"There's egg on the floor." Steve says, because it's the easiest thought to have at the moment. 

Easier than apologizing. 

Definitely easier than explaining.

"We'll clean the egg up later." Eddie says firmly, and Steve's never heard him use that tone of voice before. Firm and unyielding, like he has all the answers.

It's the kind of voice Steve can surrender his anxiety to and he finds himself almost sinking into it. 

If Munson asked him to walk over a cliff just then, he would be more than a little tempted.

"Let's go sit down, just for a few minutes." Eddie tells him, a gentle tug on his wrists and Steve finds himself breathing out, his body shivering with the release of stress. 

He nods, unable to speak, and allows himself to be maneuvered out into his living room, then down on one of the loveseats. 

Eddie sits next to him, his thigh a line of grounding heat pressed against Steve's leg and he focuses on it to keep himself in the present. 

"You back with me?"

Steve works his throat, hyper aware of how dry it is. "Yeah." He says.

Then adds, "sorry."

"Don't apologize, man. I've done plenty of trip sitting in my day. I know a panic attack when I see one."

Steve vaguely wants to ask what the hell trip sitting is, but finds himself unconsciously leaning towards Eddie instead. 

Somehow he doesn't mind, even though Steve's practically squished up against him. Not that Eddie's ever been one to care about personal space, but Steve knows there's a difference between a teasing joke and whatever this is. 

Eddie's thumb begins to rub gentle, grounding circles into the meat of Steve's wrist. 

It gives his eyes something to track and gratefully Steve does, so he doesn't have to look Eddie in the face. 

Isn't sure he can clear the tears trying to wet his eyes in time to brush this off. 

Claim it's nothing serious.

"You wanna talk about it?" Eddie asks and somehow Steve didn't account for how direct the metalhead could be.

The tears strengthen and for a moment his vision blurs with them, before he sucks in a shuddering breath and forces himself back under control. 

'God Steven, toughen up.' His father's voice rings out in his head, the memory branded into Steve's very being. 'It's ridiculous how much you cry. Do you think anyone wants to put up with that?'

Steve had answered no then, tone wobbling. 

"I--" He starts, "--signed an NDA."

Which is not, at all, what he meant to say, but too late now. 

"The cops and I aren't exactly on speaking terms, your secrets are safe with me." Eddie says, entirely unphased. 

Which ghosts a smile over Steve’s face at least, even as he finds himself totally lost. 

How exactly is he supposed to explain this? 

The Upside Down, the Russians, hell even the way he's become hyper vigilant?

That certain words or references act like bullets, sending him to the floor in a spiral of burning panic? 

Nevermind his finely honed instinct to use anything as a weapon when startled.

Sensing his discomfort, Eddie hums quietly before making a suggestion. "How about you tell me a totally fake, very unreal  story?"

Steve croaks a laugh. 

"I'm a really bad story teller." He warns. 

"Practice makes perfect." Eddie tells him, leaning his shoulder into the taller man's. 

Grateful--and feeling more than a little pathetic--Steve finds himself seeking out the touch. 

"Okay." He agrees quietly, with a jerky nod of his head. "A--completely untrue, over exaggerated story. I can do that." 

So he does. 

xXx 

The story Steve tells in halting, fumbling bursts of words involves monsters, the supernatural, government secrets and coverups. 

The latter half of which doesn't even surprise Eddie--anyone with half a brain could see the sheer number of incidents that happened one after another was a cover up for something big-- but he can't help himself from trying to detangle reality from fiction. 

Monsters he gets. It's easier to pretend the bad guy is an evil creature than a real person, to distance yourself from it in such a way it feels fake. 

The supernaturally gifted girl is a little harder, but if you replace superpowers with some poor kid involved in some kind of shitty, abusive government program, then he can buy it. 

What Steve never explains, is what set him off. 

Eddie tells him so. 

"I told you I was a bad storyteller." Steve says in response, which isn’t an explanation but then, Eddie realizes he is pushing awful hard for a guy who he barely knows to bare his soul--and who, in turn, barely knows him.

Not really anyway.

Not outside of rumors and old wounds. 

"Is there anything that ever helps you feel safer?" 

"People." Steve says immediately. "People always help but ah, well." His smile is pained, self deprecating. "I can't exactly ask for sleepovers every night, can I?”

He shrugs. “So I just keep a few things close.' 

"A few things?"

"My nailbat."

"Is the nailbat a bat…with nails in it?" Eddie hedges, desperately attempting to keep a calm, straight face because what the fuck? 

But this was a no judging zone, and it wasn’t as if a bat with nails in it was the weirdest thing Eddie had ever encountered. Not since Uncle Wayne’s friends informed him they had at minimum, seventeen guns hidden in their own trailer across town. 

‘Things are happening at night, kid. Bad things. Don’t go too far into the woods looking for trouble.’

"Maybe." Steve admits. 

"How about instead of hugging a nail bat to sleep, if things get bad you come over. Wayne works the night shift and I have insomnia anyways." 

"Really?" 

Eddie can’t blame him for sounding surprised. 

"Yeah man. No skin off my nose, though you will be stuck hearing my beautiful sweetheart. She's a guitar sent from heaven. "

"I can handle that." He says, a smile ghosting across his face. 

Then; "Thanks Eddie."

Eddie presses his shoulder against Steve’s. "Anytime, big boy." 

(Crisis over, Batective Eddie returns, swooning. 

Eddie mentally squashes him under his own notes.)