#this does nothing to deter steve harrington

[hitlikehammers]

unforeseen complications 🩸 steve/kas!eddie

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling, though: the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover— “We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, kas!eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, as in: eddie angsts about his new vampiric tendencies while steve has none of it, true love, blood drinking (just a little), terrified eddie (that he did steve any possible damage), long-suffering steve (who knows it’s all completely fucking FINE and also they’re dumb in love forever)♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: "I'll take care of you." "It's rotten work." "Not to me. Not if it's you." —Euripides

Steve is groggy, his head’s a little fuzzy and unevenly weighted in that way he can already tell will make him dizzy when he opens his eyes and tries to lift it—so he doesn’t, not just yet—but normally he sleeps this part off. Normally the side effects aren’t as sharp as this is already shaping up to be, because his body keeps him blissful conked out long enough where it’s all a little more of a dull roar that he can ignore while he gets through the day and slides slow back to normal.

And it’s not like it gets this intense that often; it’s in extenuating circumstances. Sometimes one’s they create for themselves, sure, but usually it’s some world-threatening shitfuckery that pushes the limits this bad. Like…at least eight times out of ten.

At least.

So it’s weird that he’s waking up before he’s due to shake off the worst of it, when said worst-of-it is still clinging to his skin, his eyeballs, the linings of his veins.

He tries to make sense of what he can feel through the fog: weight, mostly. Something heavy that’s not just his own body rebelling against regaining consciousness too soon. There’s…something on top of him.

Heavy.

Shaking.

There’s a sound, maybe, like…breathing but that’s shaky too and—

Oh.

Oh no, it’s not just shaky.

The weight on top of him’s fucking crying, and trying real hard not to be found out for it.

Steve would goddamn know what that sounds like, specifically. From a whole-ass lifetime of experience in his godforsaken family.

And Steve knows what his own fucking boyfriendsounds like in distress, so—

“Eds,” Steve doesn’t even have to push to open his eyes and sit up too fast because there no dizziness, no nausea he can’t work through when Eddie in need is on the other side of it; “what’s wrong, what happened, I—”

The hand on his chest is firm but awkward, because Eddie is still splayed over his chest, doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving at all.

“Lay back down,” Eddie’s voice is muffled in Steve’s skin; “save your strength, you’re still,” and yeah…muffled, but too rough, cracked down the middle; “you’re…”

More than cracked, fuck. Shattering.

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling.

And the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover—

“We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

—is also not unexpected. Pretty fucking routine now. Steve’s even practiced enough to swallow down the urge to sigh.

Because, considering that Eddie is skin-to-skin, blanketed on top of Steve under about seven blankets, more than Steve even knew they owned as he shudders through something suspiciously close to sobbing while the tone of the words screamheartbreak: Steve would have every right to be concerned when it sounded a whole hell of a lot like his boyfriend was trying to break up with him.

The first time was a fucking doozy, sure. Second time even, that sucked too.

Now though, with it being fairly fucking routine for…close to a year, now, especially after rough runs like last night?

Steve’s kinda learned to take it as the sign of affection he’s come to understand it stems from, deep in Eddie’s too-soft, too-tender chest, always having been ready to feel so fucking much—Steve wishes he’d known it sooner. Maybe they could have felt less alone, together.

Whatever. They’re here now.

Though it’d been a pretty free-and-clear couple of months—Eddie had only crumbled so far as to have shaken in a corner in Steve’s arms for close to probably five hours one of the three or so times they’d had to stretch too much time between regular feedings—because when Eddie came back, when he appeared in Steve’s living room dripping the black sludge the Upside Down seemed to specialize in best—trembling and stammering and…be-fanged.

And Steve had just looked at him, gaped a couple minutes—which he stands by being wholly fair and justified—and then did the only genuinely sane thing he could have done, given the givens.

He’d pushed Eddie toward the nearest fucking bathroom, under some hot water, and cleaned him the fuck up.

And didn’t think—yet—about how warm it made Steve: the sight of Eddie’s naked frame under the spray as it slowly siphoned off the goo.

Nope. Not the time.

He was sick, though, that was clear, but Steve…he can’t explain even now how he knew to be cautious in letting anyone in the Party know that they’re friend, this singular lost member of their family had somehow crawled back to the land of the living. Because yeah, it could have been the fact that Eddie was cool to the touch. Paler than he’d been before. Barely had a heartbeat but was definitely alive enough to insist he was pressed into Steve’s heat every night, in Steve’s bed; to keep shaking, to wretch more of the black slime up until it was just dry heaving, and…

There were plenty of reason to have caused the hesitance. But it wasn’t any of that.

It wasn’t even how, after Steve slit himself on an envelope, Eddie had scurried to his side, made to lunge then cowered back, cried like he was in pain before saying the first words Steve had gotten out of him yet:

Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Stevie, please—

And Steve wasn’t immune to what spending every fucking night wrapped up in another body. A definitely not unattractive body. A body belonging to a personality that Steve was getting pretty interested in getting to know better—literally and…intimately, y’know, Steve crossed the bridge of being totally shocked by that after he’d less-than-half-mourned Billy fucking Hargrove for the sake of his and and literally no other reason—but. Yeah.

He’d have given Eddie anything, at that points while he was hoarding and harboring him, safe as much as selfish in this house. He’d have—

What Eddie wanted was the blood from his papercut. And…well.

The fangs make…wel, they made a lot more sense all of a sudden.

Eddie fought it when Steve dragged him to the couch and offered his wrist because the guy was sucking kinda pitifully, like, way too desperate on Steve’s fingertip and not in a sexy way—and Steve would actually really like to reach the point of it being a sexy way someday, specifically with Eddie, he’d already stopped trying to deny that to himself—so he pulled his hand away, cupped Eddie’s cheek (warmer, more color in it), brushed by accident against his jugular (a real pulse, and racing, but overtaxed, like it needed…more to work with and yeah, if Steve hadn’t made up his mind already that would’ve done the job, flat out)—and when Eddie whimpered, Steve pushed his advantage of having a full blood supply, dragged Eddie into his lap, tore his own bloody strips from above the veins he could see under the heel of his palm straight down and Eddie gasped, cried out, tried to scramble away—

But Steve shoved his wrist to Eddie’s lips—knew it was maybe dirty pool but…he wasn’t stupid. If Eddie needed blood, he…he needed blood.

And Eddie was reluctant, at first, didn’t try to pull away once he realized that Steve had got him in a pretty solid hold from the waist down, and he just was not strong enough right now, not yet but he could be, if he’d just—

Steve hadn’t been worried, but if there’d been reservations, like, if Robin had had any idea he was doing this and voiced her innumerable concerns: if Steve have been worried, Eddie’s presence of mind to even think to resist, to look at Steve like he was in pain to avoid the blood waiting on offer, specifically for him, it’s all he would need.

But seeing that Steve hadn’t even thought to be worried, he ultimately caught Eddie’s frantic eyes, leaned in and brushed his lips to Eddie’s, tasted his own blood as he whispered:

It’s for you, I want you to have it so that you’re okay, and his hand had braced on Eddie’s chest where that heartbeat was struggling, but wild, and he didn’t even dare to blink until Eddie’s tongue lapped accidental at the blood steaming down.

And the rest is…history.

Eddie had tried to set his own limits, but Steve’s old hat at being the victim of the Upside Down’s bullshit, or Russian spy craft at that; he knows when the blood loss is actually a concern. He keeps his hand to eddie chest, makes his own call when that pulse is strong enough to ease his wrist away.

Steve hadn’t been a fucking lifeguard, after all. He does know some things.

And so that had been…that.

They’d told the others, eventually, but just that Eddie was back. It was enough to prove Steve’s fears in and of itself—they already suspected Vecna, Eddie as a sleeper agent or some shit, two guns trained on him in an instant: and that’s without the blood…thing.

So they keep that to themselves. It’s definitely a contributing factor to how they end up in dire enough straits that Steve’s laid up a little after just some casual bloodsucking until eddies heartbeat finds its strength of rhythm again.

It’s not a big deal. Steve’s had so many migraines worse than this ever is.

Except for when it gets to how Eddie reacts. How he falls apart for fear, for Steve.

That’s the worst pain Steve’s ever known, every goddamn time.

“You were cold,” Eddie’s voice shivers as he raps into Steve’s chest hair; “to me, you were cold to me.”

“You’d just fed, and you were hurting for it,” Steve reasons; it takes Eddie time to warm back up when they spread the feeding out too long. “You’re still not evened-out,” he reasons; Dustin would have a good science-y name for it, but they…they can’t risk it.

Steve won’t fucking risk it. Risk Eddie.

He cranes his neck, keeps his eyes closed to make sure he doesn’t aggravate the feeling of being off-balance, but he needs to press his lips to Eddie’s temple, test the heat.

“Close though,” Steve smiles into the skin, then kisses with intent. He…he loves that he can give this to Eddie. He doesn’t think Eddie gets that part, thinks Eddie only sees it as taking, rather than a gift for Steve in return just as strong.

“Steve,” Eddie moans, shakes his head as more a messy swirl of matted curls; “we can’t.”

Again: it stopped being convincing months ago; but Eddie does sound particularly distressed.

Steve brings a hand to run through that unruly hair, careful. Gentle.

“You weren’t moving,” Eddie finally whispers; “I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear,” and Steve knows his limits, knows that Eddie didn’t hear or see even with his enhanced senses now because he’d been frantic, and his own heartbeat and shot quick to pounding after being so weak—it always sets him off kilter for a second or two.

Steve cradles Eddie to his chest rig he re, so he can hear clear the heartbeat Steve knows is steady now, strong.

They’ve both evened out. They’re both okay.

“I can’t risk you,” Eddie breathes into the space where the beat hits hardest; “I can’t lose you.”

“So,” Steve nods, tucks Eddie under his chin a little tighter; “losing me by design instead is your solution,” he sucks his teeth, hums as if he’s actually consider such fucking nonsense:

“Yeah, cool, makes sense.”

He thinks the sarcasm drips just the right amount.

“Stevie,” Eddie whines, like it hurts, and Steve never wants that. But he might…need for it to, a little at least, to get the point across.

“We’ve been through this, Eds,” Steve breathes low; “I’m not actually looking to kick the fucking bucket here,” he knows Eddie won’t appreciate the levity but he can’t help it, pressed the curve of his lips to eddies scalp. “I’m much more interested in making sure you’re not ell enough and strong enough and safe enough,” and he reaches, then, to lift Eddie chin, to turn him, to look, to see:

“To stay with me.”

And like clockwork, Eddie’s eyes widen, darken, narrow and Eddie scrambles up, takes Steve’s face in both his open palms:

“Always,” he hisses; “nothing could make me want to be anywhere else, not ever.”

And Steve knows it. Knows he means it

“But Steve—”

And because Steve knows? He’s happy to cut this the fuck off at the stem, nip it in the bud, press a the same fingertip eddies sucked the blood from so many nights ago, that first time that started the rest of Steve’s whole goddamn life—

Steve’s more than happy to press that fingertip to Eddie’s lips, to shut him the fuck yo when he needs it.

“I grew up not knowing what love was,” Steve says simply, and eddies eyes flash red—only when he’s incensed do they do that, and Steve not-so-secretly finds it hot as fuck. “Except for knowing that what I got wasn’t it,” he shrugs; “or else, not the kind it was supposed to be. Benign neglect,” he flinches a little as other, harsher memories buck their heads and he knows he has to say something because Eddie sees him, Eddie will draw it out himself otherwise and…

“Until the times it wasn’t,” Steve murmurs and, well.

At least he gets another sexy-as-fuck flash of crimson in those eyes he adores.

“But I knew what I did have wasn’t right,” Steve’s quick to press on; “so even though I kinda started from zero on the learning curve, it wasn’t,” he bites his lip and it’s not even weird anymore, to revisit the journey even if it started less-than-happily.

Because Steve knows the ending. And how it’s not even an ending at all.

“I knew I was looking for something that sat at the opposite end of the spectrum from what I did know. What I had been taught,” and he grabs for eddies hands and gathers them under his chin to rest on, to just…look his fill of this impossible man he’s fallen for, that he’s more than happily given his life to all the ways he knows how.

“And once I unlearned the bad shit, and started finding the real deal?”

He waits for Eddie’s eyes to glitter just so, waits for his head to tilts just the tiniest bit before he leans up:

“Love is this,” Steve breathes against Eddie’s lips with real fucking meaning:

“Love is exactly this.”

“Nearly fucking dying because your freak-ass boyfriend has to drink your goddamn blood and—” Eddie tries to deflect but is pretty fucking shirt with it. Not least because there are tears running down his cheek. Not least because Steve knows now. What love is.

He’d just spoken on the truth.

“Not even close to fucking dying at all,” Steve reminds him with a playful eye roll and a squeeze of his hand; “save maybe how much it killed me when I thought I’d lost you before we had a chance,” and honestly: Steve hates thinking about how all of this was almost never know, never had, never felt.

Yeah: that fucking kills him, just to think.

“So add that into the love-column,” Steve grins a little, imagining the upgraded version of a ‘YOU RULE’ board; “this is love because you’re breathing,” and Steve kisses the little divot above Eddie’s top lip; “you’re safe,” and then he kisses, nibble Eddie’s neck;“your heart beats when there’s enough blood for it to move around,” and Steve’s not strong enough to resist nipping at the heady pulse between Eddie’s collarbones.

“You’re as alive as anything or anyone in every way that could ever count,” Steve breathes; “you’re here. With me.”

Then he leans back again, looks Eddie in the eyes:

“You care enough—”

“Love.”

Eddie’s tone is this sharp, unquestionable thing. It’s thrilling every time it comes out.

All the more, said around that one word.

“I love,” Eddie’s hands hold closer, more dear at the sides of Steve’s face again; “whether it’s enough or not, whether it ever could be, I fucking love you—”

“Then you love,” Steve picks back up, pecks Eddie’s lips because he can; “enough to check that I’m okay, when we do this, and it’s just a little more of a challenge than normal.”

Eddie looks like he’s about to choke on something.

“Challenge?”

Ah. About to choke on that word specifically; that tracks.

“I like a good challenge,” Steve reminds him, reaches to pinch his cheek, delights in how blood—Steve’s blood—rushes to the surface; “fills the gap from all the sports-playing.”

Eddie’s mouth moves around silent words for a few seconds and then:

“Normal?”

Steve doesn’t even try not to laugh. With glee, even. With wonder.

“Wild, ain’t it,” he asks, kinda fucking joyful; “who’d have ever thought Steve Harrington would find a love this big,” and he runs his hand over Eddie’s arm, shoulder to wrist; “this perfect, for everything he is, not what he’s gotta twist himself in knots to try and become,” and Steve’s voice gets lower, more earnest, more genuinely fucking grateful for…all of it.

For his Eddie.

“Who would have thought Steve Harrington would fall into a love that held his whole fucking heart in its hands,” he brings those hands to his chest, where they clutch automatic; “to do with what you would, to take as far as you liked,” and his voice goes low—they don’t know what’s been done to Eddie beyond the obvious, what life and death mean for him;

“To keep as long as you decided to want.”

Basically, Steve isn’t too concerned about the whats. He’s more concerned about Eddie having no shred of doubt, that Steve wants whatever it means, to be something they share. He wants whatever it means to mean the same for both of them, if it can. However it can.

Whatever it takes.

“Steve,” Eddie shakes his head, face ruddy, tear-strewn and mouth agape.

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, then breathes in, sharp and shaking; “and you deserve so much more than this.”

“Let me make the decision,” Steve says, sure in it. Maybe for the first time in his life, he has no doubts for anything involving what he feels for Eddie, and the truth of what Eddie feels for him.

“And since I made that decision fucking months ago already, I’ll save you the suspense,” he turns Eddie’s chin on the tip of a finger, one more time.

“There is no more than this.”

And Eddie blinks; blinks.

And then his strings are cut, and he collapses full into Steve again, this time gathering him in by every limb he can tangle, gasping and grasping and needing and desperate and kissing every inch of Steve he can reach.

“Fuck, I love you baby,” Eddie moans deep from the center in his chest: “forever.”

It’s a true thing. It’s a promise.

It’s an acknowledgement of what they don’t yet know, but can agree with all they are to share, together, equal.

For always.

“I know,” Steve tells him simply, pulse pumping only joy; “and I am always gonna know. I’m always gonna be here, to make sure you never forget.”

And Eddie’s face falls for half-a-second, before it steels with resolve, before his hands lace with Steve’s and smack them flat to Eddie’s heaving chest.

To Eddie’s pounding heart.

“Never forget here,” he vow sir; “it’s never a matter of not loving.”

And Eddie’s scared, still, in his eyes; Steve knows.

It almost means more, that he’s promising it all, nonetheless. With his whole goddamn heart.

“I know,” Steve reminds him the best way he knows; pressing closer, tighter to that beat.

“And I’m always gonna be right here.”

Eddie nods, closes his eyes and holds Steve one breath closer to that pumping blood:

“Right here.”

And that?

And that suits Steve more than fucking fine.

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divider credit here

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: I’ve missed this man. I hope you like? Next part will have some saucy little smut. Just trying this out first, also for self-indulgence.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, language, mentions of injuries, self-esteem issues, mentions depression and body image.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Plus size!Reader

Eddie Munson loves his new band of misfit friends, an extended family that has welcomed him and Wayne in with open arms. Hell, he’s even getting along with Harrington, Wheeler is tutoring him, and everyone else just understands. And then, well… Then there is you. He’s never seen someone so in tune with the needs of others without ever considering herself. Someone who purposely pushes herself on the world’s hottest back burner to avoid opening up and letting anyone truly see what’s going on… Behind incredibly beautiful eyes, if Eddie does say so himself.

It’s been over a year since shit unfolded with Vecna. They lost, he died for a little while, the apocalypse reigned down on the town and then he wasn’t dead anymore. Memories are vague, but most things he does remember. And when he wakes up tangled in his bedsheets, scars aching with prickles of phantom pains - you are the only person that he calls. A lot of times he ends up singing you to sleep, but it’s not without you always making sure he’s calmed and okay first.

It was a bond that grew since you began caring for him when he came back with memories. He’s lost track of days spent together, lunches shared, a graduation a long time coming, complete with a party he never expected to have. He isn’t sure when it became a deeper feeling than he’s ever known, one that scared him so damn bad he avoided you for days and began physically ill because of it. If Eddie Munson has to pick one moment, it was probably that day you walked into his Uncle’s living room, (a cookout happening in his yard with Steve and Wayne at the grill outside) your beautiful curves on display, a cherry sundress hitting you in all the right places, and some strappy red sandals adorning your feet. You wore a glowing smile beneath your bright red lipstick, energy matching with Henderson’s as you entertained his enthusiasm for Hellfire’s next campaign.

You didn’t have a clue of what you were talking about, but it didn’t deter you in the slightest. You were passionate about writing, you enjoyed Sci-Fi and fantasy, which meant you had to be the one who helped Dustin create new characters. He knew the game, you had some extra creativity to lend. You’d high fived Dustin, stealing his pen to jot down your scribbled suggestions on his spiral sheet. Eddie was a goner.

And now… Here you are, at his house, on a Friday night. You didn’t have plans, you didn’t make a date - nothing. You did what you normally do and called him up, accepting his invite to hang out all evening. He’d made sure to be off work by a steady time, picking up your favorite bakery cookies at the store on the way home, lingering over flowers that he was sure he should get, but knew it would probably cross a line if he did so. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel spooked, or even anything remotely close to uncomfortable around him.

You’re sitting above him, cross-legged on his bed as he rests with bent knees at the foot, your overalls bagging out at the sides to show your crop top with little lemons and daisies printed all over it, and the most delicious, overflowing curves Edward Munson has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. He’s got a pair of your maroon sweats tied down, extremely loose on his narrow hips, and one of your decorative character shirts with a picture of Eeyore plastered front and center, hanging across his torso. You might not be able to wear his clothes, but he can wear yours, and Eddie would be stupid to say he doesn’t notice your eyes crossing a little whenever he steps into some of your ensembles. You’ve been chattering away at the TV, giving your input on Friday the 13th part 2, whilst being blissfully unaware of sending Eddie to heaven with your pink brush running through his freshly washed curls, your neon yellow painted nails scratching at his scalp. He’s like a mother fucking purring cat in your grasp.

“So, anyways… I can’t figure out if Muffin survived or if that was her in the woods. And did Paul really make it out too, or was Jenny imagining shit?”

Eddie smirks, tilting his head back to look at the curvature of your physique, the contours of your face - upside down (no pun intended). “Haven’t you seen this movie, like, a thousand times before?”

You have a mock look of offense. “Hmph.” He doesn’t like what it brings, because you can tease, but please - for the love of all things unholy - don’t stop brushing his hair.

“Hey, hey. Why’d you quit?” He’s pouting, it’s rather cute. One tattooed arm, decorated with scars - elongates, ring clad hand seeking out your wrist. Anything to get you into motion again.

“You know that you can brush your own hair, Eddie.” You’re melting at those fluttering lashes draped over an enriching, smooth chocolate pair of irises. And his mouth… Fuck.

“But it’s so much better when you do it, sweetheart. Pleaseeeee? Forgive me for questioning your brilliant questions!?”

You make a good show of it, tossing the brush out of your hand, it landing a pile of Eddie’s clothes in an unpacked hamper. They’re clean, but he’d rather wear yours. He gasps, shifting positions so quick that you think Steve must’ve Ninja-fied him. He’s got you by your wrists, the cool of his rings tracking across your arms as they follow warm palms, and dip under your pits to gain leverage - easing you forward into a heap onto the carpeting with him. “Freak attack!” He’s gleeful, tickling your denim clad sides (well, at least where he pretends he can’t see the overspilling flesh more closely now).

He smells good, like that familiar Old Spice wash and whatever shampoo he’s lathered his curls with. He’s hovering, he’s incredibly warm, he’s safe, he’s Eddie. Someone you didn’t know you needed until he appeared and retrieved his piece of your heart, snapping it into the place where all the people you love have their own shards. Hmm, not entirely though. If you could describe it, it’s as if they make up the outside lining, keeping the inside of your heart reserved for a more… Different, private type of love, that only Eddie Munson seems to have found.

“Should spank your ass with that thing for stoppin’,” he starts, interrupting your reverie, moving to shut his mouth when he realizes he crossed a line. Maybe? It’s there, your eyes flicker over his lips, your hidden reaction dancing behind your pretty little temple - he sees, giving him a fraction of hope. He isn’t used to this…

You jolt, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, “Like that would be a punishment,” you finish, effectively crossing that line for him.

Both of you remain silent, your sweet perfume making him lose focus. What he thinks he should do and what he wants to do, those are two very different battles raging inside.

// Eat me paragraph //

[rogueddie]

Steve wasn't born, he was made. The perfect son, wished into existence by his parents. They gave him so much, trying to get him just right. He was made to be perfect after all. They had to make sure they avoided any flaws.

But they didn't understand that their wishes for him were constantly contradicting. They didn't understand that the Gods aren't kind.

They wanted a son who is smart, but obedient. They wanted a son who can take care of himself, but won't ask questions. They wanted a son who puts them first, but is ambitious. They wanted a son who is good, but will lie for them.

So the Gods carved him out of marble. They filled him with light and love. They made him perceptive and gave him one last warning; humans aren't always nice and they will hurt you.

Steve quickly learnt that they were right. He learnt that questions are met with pain, that anything but perfection is met with punishment. He learnt that his love is met with abandonment.

He learnt the hard way. He learnt slowly.

When enough time had finally passed that they could send him out into the world, Steve floundered. He'd been locked away in the cold Harrington house for so long, with nothing but the cruelty of his parents, that he didn't understand how to... be. And the kids in high school were just as cruel.

He wanted to fit in. He wanted to be loved. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to be the one in control for once.

So, when Tommy Hagan invited him into his little circle? Steve jumped at the chance. He clung to the boy like a lifeline, not bothering to question him. He kept Steve afloat, made him popular and loved. He gave Steve what he needed.

But then he met Nancy. Then he got in a 'fight' with Byers. Then he met his first monster.

And it was easy. Hold a hand to his cheek until he can find make up, wince like the punches hurt and keep his head down. No one looked too close. No one noticed that he wasn't really bruised. Not even Byers, who nearly broke his hand on Steves face.

The second time was easier. The third time too. He hated how easy it was, how good he is at lying. He hates how naturally it comes to him, even if it does help him. It just reminds him; he was made for this.

But then, finally, he meets someone who doesn't believe him. He meets someone who sees through the bullshit. He meets someone curious enough to look at him.

Eddie Munson is fascinated by Steve. He always has been but after the Vecna mess, it becomes something of an obsession.

Steve encourages it.

He knows he shouldn't. He knows that it wouldn't be good if people found him out... but he wanted Eddie to know. He wanted Eddie to see him. He wanted to tell the truth. He wanted to be a good person.

"You're a liar," Eddie finally says, pointing at Steve. He's relaxed, lounging on the Byers couch. He smirks when he notices everyone giving him dirty looks. "What? None of you are curious?"

"About what?" Robin asks. She glances between the two of them, curiosity peaked. "What's he lying about?"

"I don't know. Everything?" Eddie shrugs. His eyes are locked on Steve. "He doesn't bleed."

Most people laugh, turning away, dismissing the conversation. Eddie jokes around, is dramatic so often, that it's easy to see this as another play at circus leader.

"No, that..." Jonathan frowns. "What do you mean?"

"That bottle. Didn't leave a scratch."

"You didn't really try to hurt me," Steve lies. But he remembers how the sharp edge had felt against his skin, remembers the shiver of fear he'd felt when he realized that anyone else would be bleeding.

Eddies eyes narrow.

Everyone knows that Eddie is soft hearted now. Everyone knows how unwilling he is to hurt anyone. No one doubts Steve. Even Robin, Dustin and Max, who had seen how terrified he had been that night.

Steve keeps glancing at Eddie the rest of the night. He's not surprised to find him already looking. He is surprised that he doesn't try again. He's not usually deterred so easily.

He isn't, as it turns out. He uses the two beers Steve has as an excuse to drive him home. No one lets Steve try to wriggle out of it, insisting that Eddie is right, it's better to stay safe. Joyce promises to drive his car back in the morning.

Eddie gives him a smug grin when he holds the door open, so he can follow Steve inside. They hover in the living room for a moment.

"Why doesn't anyone know?" Eddie finally asks. "Why don't you tell them?"

Steve debates lying again. He knows Eddie won't believe him though, there's no point. So he shrugs. "I don't know."

"But there is something? I'm not just... losing my mind, right?"

"Yeah, um... it's just- it's hard to believe."

"We've been to an alternate dimension where bat things were going to eat you. We're past that shit."

Steve raises an eyebrow, lets the pause drag out for a moment. "Alright. I'm not human. I wasn't born. I'm marble."

Eddie blinks at him. "Marble."

Steve tugs his top up so his stomach is showing, pointing at his sides. "The bats did try to eat me."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie whispers. He reaches out like he can't help himself, fingers tracing the cracks in his skin. "Jesus- you're marble."

"Yeah. Wild, right?"

"Wild," Eddie echoes, his laugh high pitched and a little hysterical. "How the fuck... what made you?"

"I don't know. My parents always said that it was the work of the Gods, that they'd wished for perfection and got me instead. I kinda... remember, a little. It's weird."

Eddie shifts closer, hands shifting from the cracks to hold his side. "You remember being made?"

"Only a little. Like, uh... they had a little trouble getting my hands right. It's mostly a blur."

"Did it hurt?"

"No? If it did, I don't remember." Steve shifts, struggling to read Eddie with how blank his expression is. "You, uh... I mean... this isn't too weird, is it?"

"Oh, it definitely is," but Eddie grins. He looks excited. "This is so much weirder than the Upside Down stuff. Miles more. Fuck. Can I touch you? More than this, I mean. Is that making it more weird?"

"N-no, um, that's fine."

He's gentle with his exploration, careful and specific with where he touches. He touches his hands, his fingers, feeling the grooves and details. His worn down fingertips, the details slowly smoothing out. He touches his arms, testing the give and the cold, solid stone of his elbows.

He hesitates before touching his chest, lingering on his chest hair. His eyes widen a little when he realizes that, those too, are marble.

Then, he raises his hand to Steves face. He cups Steves cheek, thumb rubbing his cheekbone almost reverently. He looks fascinated. Especially when Steve blushes, shifting his hand out of the way, fingers tracing the warmth.

"You're so..." Eddie whispers, frowning as he struggles for the word.

His hand keeps straying, thumb tracing the skin bellow his bottom lip, tugging down slightly, gentle. Just enough to part his lips.

"Perfect?" Steve offers, keeping his voice hushed so he doesn't break whatever moment they're having.

But Eddie shakes his head, finally meeting Steves eyes. "Human."

He looks at Steve with love. His fingers are still on his face, he can feel the marble, can feel that he isn't. He looks at Steve with the same curiosity, the same desire, that he always has.

"Eddie..." Steve whispers. There's too many emotions, too strong, so unfamiliar. It feels like it's trying to find a way out of him, bloating him with emotions. He wonders if this is what people usually feel like.

"Steve?"

"Kiss me."

Eddies smile is so soft, so gentle. His kiss matches it, so soft and slow and gentle. Loving. His other hand comes up, cupping Steves face like he's something precious. Like he's delicate.

He doesn't learn his last thing about people that day, but it feels like the most important.

Sometimes, humans are nice. And they do love him.

[imbrisvastatio]

Find the Word

tagged by @fearofahumanplanet

tagging: @mjjune @isabellebissonrouthier @calicojackofficial @caligraphyzev @kayedium-writes

my words were: incredible, term(s), level, dribble, house

your words are: breeze, arch, please, moment, tongue

Words from! Autumn WIP, ST RP,

Incredible

Matthews rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, Harrington. It's not that big of a fucking deal. I'm not that fucking dense. I am incredibly hard to like." She admitted. She laughed at his 'demand'. "And how is that going to be fucking possible? Webber knows I did it. There's no getting around that,"

Term(s)

"I thought it would be cheesier," He muttered. It was a lot better than most movies in terms of scares. He was enjoying it. But he hadn't been as prepared as he could of been. And the movie was holding their attention. He smiled and shook his head. "I'm fine. Just surprised,"

Level

"My favorites stay more eye level to my bed," Matthews informed him. "I like to look at them and be reminded of them. The random stashed books are ones I don't like as much," She added. "Oh shush. I just don't want to do exactly what everyone does. It's less fun to me," She said. She looked at him firmly. "Steve, what are you up to?"

Dribble

nothing

House

The wood crackled as it burned. The house was in flames. No one was left. But it had stayed. It dug through the burnt ruins. The smoke and ash not enough to deter it. The sirens got closer and closer. It was running out of time.

[harrygroves]

a simple favor -- chapter four

to chapter three

Billy’s been doing a damn fine job of avoiding all thoughts concerning Steve Harrington. It’s been a blissful, quiet week.

And now that week is up and hell is about to begin.

They’re in Billy’s Camaro, Steve insisted they take his car, and he’s been driving for almost three hours. Steve is fussing with the radio and fidgeting as they get closer and closer to his parents' summer home.

“Dude, you really need to chill out. You want some Xanax?” Billy offers.

“What? No, I don't want any -- why do you have Xanax?” Steve wrinkles his nose, arms crossed.

“I think you of all people would agree that life requires a little anesthesia every now and then.” Billy gives him a knowing look.

Steve looks like he wants to say something snotty so Billy turns up the radio as a way to deter him. Instead, Steve moodily stares out the window.

Billy lets him for a little while before reaching over and taking Steve’s hand, threading their fingers together. When Steve tenses up, Billy gives it a squeeze.

“It’s gonna be okay babe.” Billy says soothingly but his snarky grin gives him away.

“God, I hate you so much.” Steve grumbles, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand away.

*

The summer house is actually a mansion. There’s a sprawling lawn in front of it, with trimmed hedges and a goddamn fountain. Billy wants to make so many jokes about silver spoons but he holds back because Steve looks like he’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey!” Billy says once they’re parked, reaching over and shaking Steve’s shoulder.

Steve looks back at him, like he forgot Billy was there. He’s pale and wide-eyed.

“Oh fuck.” Steve whispers. “Oh my god, oh my god, this is such a stupid idea. What the fuck am I doing, they’re going to see right through this -- ”

Look, Billy doesn’t want to kiss Steve.

Well, actually, that’s bullshit. He does want to kiss Steve but he doesn’t want to want to kiss Steve. It’s very distracting and he’s just in this for the money. The ten grand.

He’s been telling himself this for a week, like a daily affirmation.

However, Steve is freaking out, which is usually good for a laugh or two but Billy needs him to get his shit together so he takes Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him.

Steve is still trying to talk but the words get lost between them while Billy hums against his mouth, trying to be soothing and soft in hopes that it brings Steve out of his head. It works for a few seconds before Steve reaches up and puts one of his hands over Billy’s, which would almost be tender if Steve wasn’t trying to pull them off his face.

Billy lets him go and leans back. Steve is flushed and looks sad.

“Don't just...do that.” He mumbles.

Billy shrugs. “Kind of have to.” He grunts back, getting annoyed that Steve refuses to wrap his head around the thing he planned.

“Yeah, well…” Steve trails off. “Let’s go.”

They get out of the car and Billy grabs his bag from the backseat.

A girl their age with reddish-brown hair is running to them from the front door.

“Steve!” She yells and launches herself at him, wrapping him in a hug.

She babbles and laughs and smiles like Steve’s a goddamn prince.

“Should I be jealous?” Billy calls out to the pair.

Steve and Red Head look over at him.

“Oh, sorry, lost my head for a second. This is my sister, Robin.”

Sister, right. Steve had an older sister. Billy forgot about her, if he was being honest.

“Is this him?” Robin mumbles, but Billy can hear her just fine.

“Yes, uh. This is my...boyfriend, Billy Hargrove.” Steve says, smiling at Billy.

It’s too wide and his eyes are too bright. It’s the most human Billy has seen Steve look in weeks. It’s freaking him out.

Robin marches towards him and stretches out a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Billy. Steve has told me absolutely nothing about you.” She says it with a bright smiles and zero hostility.

Billy shakes her hand and tries to give her a pleasant smile in return. “Yeah, Steve just wants me all to himself, ya know how he is.”

He doesn’t, he’s totally winging it but Robin laughs and Steve clears his throat.

“You guys must be tired and hungry, I’ll let you get settled. Mom and Dad will be on your asses enough at dinner, so why don't you guys go hide out for a while. I’ll keep them occupied once they’re back from the court.”

“Thanks Robin.” Steve says and gives her another hug. “See you later.”

Robin leaves them and Billy leans towards Steve.

“The court?” He asks.

“Tennis.” Steve replies.

*

Steve leads Billy through the house, past floor-to-ceiling windows and paintings that have to be original prints. A few people pass them, all wearing uniforms. Steve says hello to everyone pleasantly and Billy gives them tight smiles. They have fucking housekeepers. Servants. It’s so...rich. There’s a grand piano at the base of a giant staircase and Steve leads him up to the second floor, down halls littered with vases of flowers and tapestries.

“This is insane.” Billy hisses.

Steve shrugs. “It’s home.” He says it hollowly, like it is very much not a home.

They end up in a bedroom the size of Billy’s apartment. It’s got bookshelves built into the walls, armchairs in front of a fireplace, a walk-in closet where Billy drops his bag of clothes, it’s own bathroom and a giant LED television mounted on the wall.

There’s silver-framed pictures on the fireplace and nightstands beside the bed. Family photos, solo shots of Steve as a kid, in bowties with a bowl cut. Billy examines them all.

“Robin’s nice.” Billy says casually.

Steve’s sitting on his bed, which is huge, by the way and absently scrolling through his facebook feed.

“She’s great.” He agrees flatly.

Billy wonders if she is great.

“Facebook.” Steve mumbles.

“What?” Billy asks, looking at Steve.

“We...fuck, we don't have anything on facebook, about us.” Steve says, almost in horror.

Billy shrugs, walks over to join him. “So what? Not everything needs to be online. We can just say we’re one of those couples who don't showboat our love on the internet.”

Steve winces at Billy’s words and nervously chews on his lip. Billy grabs Steve’s phone.

“Hey!” Steve shouts at him, reaching for it.

“Knock it off, c’mon, Steve -- stop it.” Billy says, smacking his hand away. “This is going to work. But only if you calm down. Right now the only thing in our way is you. You’re getting too caught up in the details. Just chill out, hold my fucking hand, and give me a gross pet name and we’ll get through this.”

He says all this, direct eye-contact, no blinking. Steve is quiet for a second before taking a deep, belly-full breath and closing his eyes, making an O with his mouth and exhaling slowly. Once he opens his eyes, Billy gives him a nod. Steve nods back.

*

Meeting the parents at dinner is a stifling affair. Steve’s mom isn’t going out of her way in the slightest to hide how much she does not like Billy. She turns up her nose at his clothes, eyes his hair like Steve’s isn’t an unkempt mess and politely insults him wherever she can fit in a jab.

“Oh, beer. How perfectly simple. A simple man is good.”

“I like that car, Billy. Very rustic.”

“There’s something to be said about plain fabric. Some can be too cumbersome to care for, it’s nice for some things to be easy.”

Billy grins, toothy and fire-eyed, sneaking glances at Steve who is very interested in his salad.

Steve’s dad isn’t much better. He keeps going back and forth between glaring at Billy and scrunching his face together, like he’s scrutinizing.

“And where did you say you’re going to go to school?”

“How exactly did you meet my son?”

“What do your parents do for a living?”

Robin keeps trying to steer the conversation away from them but the parents aren’t having that.

“How long have you two been dating?” Mrs. Harrington asks during the fish course.

“Six months.” Steve says.

“Two years.” Billy says, at the exact same time.

There’s an awkward pause and Billy can practically hear Steve’s heart rate triple. Billy laughs and takes Steve’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“He was courting me for a lot longer than we’ve actually been together. All those fond memories, right, bunny?” Billy looks at Steve fondly.

Robin starts choking on something and has to thump at her chest to clear it up. “Bunny?” She croaks out.

Steve is bright red and staring at Billy with glassy eyes, probably seething but that just makes it more fun.

“Yes.” Steve blurts out, voice a bit high. “We, uh, I...really wanted...to be his boyfriend.”

Billy barrels onward. “He did that thing, with the boombox, stood outside my place till I let him in. It was so sweet.”

Robin is silent-laughing, and her eyes are starting to water. “I’m dying.” She says. “No seriously, I am fucking losing it over here.”

“They don't need all the details, sweetie.” Steve says in a syrupy voice.

“But the letter, I have to tell them about the letter.”

“No, no, I don't think so. That letter was just for you.” Steve says nervously.

“I would like to frame the letter.” Robin pipes in, struggling to drink water as her shoulders quake from laughter.

“So anyways,” Billy continues. “I finally just said, hey, let’s toss the guy a bone here,”

Robin is howling at this point.

“And he did, and we’ve been in love ever since.” Steve supplies quickly. “Now where is that next course, I am starving.”

He makes dagger-eyes at Billy who just takes his hand again and kisses Steve’s knuckles.

Once dessert and coffee have been consumed Steve gets to his feet.

“Well, we’re exhausted. Right, Billy?” He chirps.

“Sweetie, c’mon, how often am I going to get this kinda face-time with your parents? Shouldn’t we stay?”

He is hamming it up and Mrs. Harrington purses her mouth like the very thought is making her nauseous.

“Now, now. We’ll see them tomorrow morning.” Steve smiles back. “Let’s go to bed.”

Mr. Harrington coughs heartily into his napkin.

They bolt and hole-up in Steve’s room.

After changing into pajamas -- Steve changes in the closet -- they sit on the bed watching television and Billy waits for the inevitable.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” Steve finally snaps during their second episode of Golden Girls.

“I never gave you any indication otherwise.” Billy shrugs.

“That was so embarrassing, making it seem like I pined for you.”

“Well we had to say something, Harrington, and you were doing that Bambi-in-the-headlights thing, so I just rolled with it.”

“You rolled with it alright, I can’t believe you said all that shit.”

Billy snaps. “Fine, Steve, then you come up with stuff. Stop acting like a kid who doesn't want to get in trouble otherwise we’re going to get caught. Be a fucking man.”

That shuts Steve up for a long time. When Golden Girls ends and The Nanny starts up, Steve gets up from the bed and goes into the closet.

He’s only gone for a few moments before emerging with beer, little bottles of alcohol, and a bag of individually-wrapped chocolates.

“What the -- ”

“There’s a mini-fridge in there.” Steve mumbles.

He gives Billy a beer, deposits the bottles in between them and starts unwrapping a chocolate.

Finally, Steve says, “I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Billy replies, cracking open a beer.

“I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re really not.”

“...I’ll try harder.”

“Good.” Billy replies, eyes never leaving the television.

There’s this weird tension between them and it lasts for a little bit until Billy is so uncomfortable he has to say something.

“Dinner was...something.”

“Told you.” Steve grunts.

“Man, I don't know which one hated me more.”

“Mom, for sure. She loathes people who don't own at least three boats.”

“Damn, and I just have the one.” Billy deadpans.

Steve grins, actually grins, before he catches himself and pops another chocolate.

“This is like a fucking hotel.” Billy says, grabbing for a bottle.

“I learned very quickly growing up that the less time I have to spend outside this room, the better.” Steve says.

“I want to make so many ‘princess locked in an ivy tower’ jokes right now.” Billy says seriously.

“Shut up.” Steve snaps. “And it’s ivory, dumbass.”

Billy chuckles and drains one of the mini-bottles. “So, we’re essentially trapped in here, is that what you’re saying?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, we can go do whatever you want. There’s a couple libraries, an indoor pool, I actually convinced them to make a bowling alley in the basement.”

“You have a fucking bowling alley?” Billy asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, it was a birthday gift when I was, like, twelve.”

“Jesus christ, Steve.”

“Yeah, but we run the risk of dealing with them,” Steve’s parents, “So, ya know, wage your bets.”

Billy whistles. “Wow, you really don't like them.”

“No, I really do not.” Steve mumbles, eating another chocolate.

“So I gotta ask. Why me?” Billy opens another mini-bottle of vodka.

Steve looks away from the television, eyes Billy, then resumes watching. “You already asked that.” He points out.

“Yeah, but like, you could’ve found someone on Craigslist, like a lot of lonely losers do.”

“Wow, when you put it like that?” Steve rolls his eyes. “Like I said, it was a matter of convenience.”

Billy puts a hand over his heart and pretends to swoon. “I love it when men say that to me.”

Steve throws a handful of chocolate wrappers at him.

Billy grins. “Okay, so really though, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

Steve contemplates this for a moment.

“Ever been horse-back riding?”

part five

[mrvdocks]

Plus One

Summary: Steve gets some closure. You and Nancy get a big surprise.

A/N: well, well, well, here we are. One chapter away from the finale. I hope you guys enjoy it. :) 

Two weeks. You’d been gone for two weeks. 

At first, he thought you just needed some time to cool off, so he waited. And waited.

And waited.

When you didn’t return after the third day, that’s when he started to panic. He’d called Robin, only to be met with an earful of how you were too good for him and that he needed to make a reassessment of his life. He knew that. 

The days started to feel long and lonely. Mickey was there sure, but he was starting to miss your presence. Your loud and annoying laughter didn’t fill his ears when he would watch your favorite shows. He wished you’d come out of the room at times and yell at him for using your luxurious things. 

He’d broken the foot tub. He didn’t know how, but he’d broken it and he wasn’t nearly as knowledgeable about fixing things as much as you were. 

Just when he was cleaning up his mess for the day, there was a knock on the door. He froze.

His heartbeat suddenly started to shake and rattle against his rib cage. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach. One where you know you’ve done something wrong and tried to put it off and now have to face it. 

He exhales slowly, dropping what he’s doing and preparing himself for the worst. Maybe you’d push past him or call him names or take Mickey. He thinks taking Mickey would be worse. He didn’t like being alone with his thoughts and God knows he couldn’t charm anyone else to spend time with him lately. 

He opens the door in a swift motion, ready to say the usual “I’m sorry” but is met with someone he did not ever expect to see in the area.

Don Harrington. And company.

He’s in a grey suit jacket and jeans and sensible shoes, all things Steve hadn’t seen in a long time. Next to Don are two kids, the same kids that he hadn’t seen since he’d left Hawkins.

“Stranger! Stranger!” They yell in unison, pointing at Steve. 

“Guys! It’s okay, it’s just Steve, remember?” Don laughs charmingly, bringing his hands onto the boys’ shoulders and rubbing them to calm them down.

“Dad?” Steve asks, completely wide-eyed.

The kids push past Steve and begin their scream-a-thon again. Steve is too struck by his father standing in front of him to even care that they’re probably making a mess inside. 

“Hey son,” Don shoves his hands into his suit jacket. “Got a minute?”

Steve sighs. 

Steve reaches for the water basin to give his dad water and almost hides his opened bottle of alcohol but in a small thought, offers it to his dad. Don refuses it, saying he’s watching his figure. Steve scoffs to himself, just a few years earlier his dad would’ve loved a cup, or at least the whole thing.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Steve asks, pouring the water. 

Don’s fingers tapped against the wooden table in drum-like motions. “Can’t a father visit his son with his future step-brothers? I’m worried about you, kid, you haven’t responded to any of my calls.”

Steve stops pouring. “Let’s not do this, alright?”

Don’s brows furrow. “Do what?”

Steve shoves the basin to the side. “Don’t pretend like you want to be there for me now. You had all that time then, why now?”

Don shuts his eyes. 

“Steve, I’m sorry. Really, I am. Listen, I know I wasn’t the greatest -”

“You were a grade-A asshole who ruined our family.”

Don doesn’t fight with his son. He knows his sins. But that’s what he’s here for, atonement.

“Did I make some harsh decisions for you to toughen up? Yes. Did I make your mother and you lose trust in me? Yes, but I’m here now Steve. I didn’t leave. I could’ve but I didn’t.”

“So all of this,” he gestures to Don and the kids, “suddenly just makes up for all the bullshit you’ve given me? Do you know how many times I heard mom crying in the middle of the night? All those times she pretended like those business trips you took were actually for business? Hell, do you even remember what happened when I left?”

“Yes, I do.” Don nods, closing his eyes again in uneasy remembrance. 

It would be better if the past was just forgotten.

“I know you’re angry at me. You have every right to be, but I did say I wanted to bury the hatchet. Everything I did is in the past now, your mother and I - you know, we moved on. She found someone and I did too. I think it’s only fair that you do as well. And I see you have.” 

Steve tenses up a little at the latter half of Don’s sentence. He did, didn’t he?

“Yeah. Maybe not, Dad.” Steve avoids his father’s eyes and fiddles with things on the counter.

Don catches on. “Why?”

Exasperated, Steve stops what he’s doing. 

“What happened? You made this girl sound like she was your soulmate tenfold!” 

“Maybe soulmates don’t exist, Dad. Maybe not for me anyway.” Steve plops himself down in front of his dad, clutching the mug of water to sober himself up more.

Don frowns. “What happened?”

Steve hesitates. He’s never bared his feelings to his dad since he left. And even then, it was all just dry replies and sarcasm and bitterness. But maybe it’s the alcohol talking or the fact that his dad really does seem like he’s changed. 

“I screwed it up. I just let myself get in my head and I - I pushed her away.”

Don places a comforting hand atop his son’s own. Steve recoils at first but settles. His father had never been too affectionate, no, that was his mother’s job. It felt off.

But it also felt a little more comfortable, honest. Like there wasn’t a hint of being affectionate for the sake of hiding some grand affair. 

“Steve, you’d tell me the truth if I asked you right?”

“I guess.”

“Do you hate Mary?”

“What? No. No.”

“Then why are you so mad about us?”

“I’m not mad, Dad. I just - when you and mom split, it messed me up. I didn’t want to be like you guys. I just wanted to find the one and hang onto her forever. And now I’m completely alone, so. And you’re just moving onto your next family.”

“Steve, I’m sorry that your mother and I splitting up hurt you so much. I’d be nothing if I hadn’t met her and I also wouldn’t have you. But kiddo, as long as your mother and I are alive, you’ll never be alone. Including your girlfriend. It's not too late to fix things."

“Thanks for letting me crash here, Nancy. I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.” You say, fixing up your couch bed. 

Nancy waves your concern away. 

“Don’t even worry about it, it’s nice having company. Plus it gets kind of lonely at night.” She says, setting the white timer on and setting it down on the counter. 

“You cooking something?”

“No….just trying to time something.” She says vaguely. You don’t read too much into it for now.

Nancy smiles warmly instead, passing you a thick fleece blanket from the other couch. Jonathan was off doing a piece on the Northern Lights somewhere in Alaska. When Nancy had first revealed to him that you were staying with her until things settled, he had a few choice words for Steve.

You felt odd, having turned Steve’s friends somewhat against him. Nancy reassured you that this was familiar territory. They knew how Steve was. This is how she had remembered him in Hawkins during that honeymoon period they were in. 

“Do you miss him?” Nancy asks, settling into the blanket with you and putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. She was about to play the movie you two had debated on for a solid three minutes.

You shrugged as you fiddled with the chipped nail polish on your fingers. “I love him, Nance. But if I can’t convince him that nothing’s going on, then what’s the point?”

You sigh as you close your eyes and try to imagine when the last time you saw Steve happy was. You think the day in California was the best day of your life. He was like a little kid again, running around the boardwalk and trying to impress you with the “test your strength” games. The sunset perfectly illuminated him when you laid on the cooling sand, a single curl falling loose on his forehead from his quiffed hair.

“I don’t think you should let this deter you. Maybe Steve’s just scared. I mean why wouldn’t he? He’s had a fear of unfaithfulness forever. His parents, his friends, me and Jonathan. To him, there’s always been someone better.”

“I know.” You frown. “But, and excuse the cliche, when I’m with him - it’s like nobody else matters. If I was still with Danny the second I moved in with Steve and Robin, I think I would’ve been in trouble.”

Nancy’s brows perk up, intrigued. “How so?”

“I’ve been in love with Steve since the day I moved in. I promised myself I wouldn’t move on so fast after Danny but, I messed up that day.”

Nancy smiles at the sweet thought.

You shake your head in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t his type after all.”

“Oh please, you’re definitely his type. Smart, tough, independent AND you have the balls to call him out on his bull? You’re his dream girl!”

You blush at the compliment. “Thanks, Nance.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s riff on this romcom and throw popcorn when things get too cheesy.” 

The movie goes on for half an hour, the bottom of the tv set covered in popcorn bits and kernels. You and Nancy laugh hysterically and boo at the cheesy romantic scenes whenever they pop up. When the timer goes off Nancy glances over her shoulder and stands, giving you the half-empty bowl of popcorn.

“I’ll be back.” She says, going to the upstairs bathroom.

“Alright, but don’t take too long. I think Tom Hanks gets naked in the next scene.”

“I won’t.” She chuckles and disappears.  

You take a handful of popcorn in your hand and dump it in the hood of your sweater, bobbing for it in an attempt to stay distracted. 

Five minutes pass and Nancy hasn’t returned. You glance at the time on the tape player. It’s only so long that you can bear to stare at Tom Hanks’ eyes before he loses his charm. 

“Nancy?” You call out, hearing shifting from upstairs. No response though.

You count to three, getting up and letting pieces of popcorn fall to the ground. 

“Naaancy.” You step onto the stairs carefully, grabbing onto the wooden railing. 

Still no answer. You huff and resolve to go up the stairs.

“Nancy if this is your idea of a prank, just know it’s not great! I don’t get scared easily!” 

You make it all the way to the top and glance down both ends of the hallway. You see a light on at the end of the hallway on the left, the door left ajar just enough to see the shower. You approach with caution, hoping not to catch Nancy in an unflattering position. 

“Nancy?” You call again, now at the front of the bathroom door. You can hear sniffles like someone’s crying. Your brows furrow.

“Nancy?” You swing the bathroom door open slowly, meeting a crying Nancy on the floor next to the toilet. 

“Hey,” Your voice lowers an octave and becomes soft. “You okay?”

You kneel down to her level and put a hand on her back, rubbing in circles. 

She shakes her head, revealing a white stick in her hand. Your eyes widen when you realize what it is. 

“These aren’t real right? These are joke tests?”

Nancy looks up at you in teary puppy dog eyes. 

“I don’t know,” she hiccups. “I don’t know what to do. I was hoping it was a false alarm.”

Trying to make her feel better, you grab one of the untouched sticks and sit on the top of the toilet. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll pee on one too, and then we can see if it’s a false positive okay?”

“Okay.” She murmurs softly, chin now resting on her knees as she cowers against the shower door. 

“Have you and Jonathan talked about this kind of stuff?” You ask, shimmying your sweats down.

She shrugs and looks to the side. “It’s too early. He’s just so focused on his career and I just got this job….it’s in the plans...just - not right now.”

You cock your head to the side with a sympathetic look.

“Hey. It’s all going to work out fine alright? You don’t have to tell him yet. We can figure it out. I’ll help you.”

Nancy sniffles and dabs at her teary eyes. She nods.  

You both wait for the test results after a few minutes. You try to make her feel better with some small talk but you can tell the results weigh heavily on her mind. You grab the stick when enough time has passed, eager to make her feel better until you take a look at it.

“See? Nothing to be worried about.” You reassure her, waving the stick a few inches away from her face.

Nancy does a double-take. Her mouth formed an “O”. 

“What?” Your grin falls. “Two lines means not pregnant right?” 

She stands quickly, balancing herself on the edge of the sink. “Two lines is….pregnant.”

Your heart drops. 

“Please say you’re joking.”

“No, it says it right here, look.” She hands you the paper from the box and on it clear as day, two lines equal pregnant.

You drop the stick onto the sink and start to hyperventilate. Nancy abandons the paper and wraps an arm around you.

“Are you? Are you - pregnant too?”

“No! No, I can’t be. I - I haven’t had sex since like Halloween week!”

Nancy gives you a knowing look. Your face falls. 

“I’m too young to be pregnant!” You exclaim.

“What?” 

“Nothing, brain fart.” 

You rush out the bathroom door and downstairs to the kitchen where she keeps the home phone. You dial Robin’s number as fast as you can and tap your feet impatiently as you hear the line trilling.

“Come on, pick up.” You whisper.

Nancy rushes downstairs to stand in the doorway, clutching the manual and listening.

“Hello?” Robin’s voice alleviates some of your panic.

“Hold on I’m putting you on speaker.” You say, letting Nancy get a better listen.

“What? What’s going on? Did Steve apologize yet?”

You exhale shakily. “No, no he didn’t, I - um, I have something to tell you.”

You can hear Robin set down whatever she was holding as you capture her full attention. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“There’s no easy way to say this….but…I think, I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?! Shut up!” Robin screeches. “Kali! Get in here!”

“What happened?” You hear Kali’s voice a split second later.

“Say what you just said again!” Robin commands.

“Kali, I think I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?!?!” She gasps.

“I know!” You clap your hands over your face in shame and silently scream into them.

“Oh my god, what have you done? To like - the world?!” Robin cuts in. 

“Robin…” Kali scolds.

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh god, what do I do?” You question the speakerphone.

“That kid is going to come out with a full head of hair and try to flirt with the nurse the second it’s born.” Robin bursts into a fit of laughter. 

“Not funny, Robin!” You glare at the phone, trying to remain calm.

“Well, now you have to tell him!” Kali says.

“No, I don’t! You saw how well things went over a coffee machine, imagine a kid!” 

“You have to! What if this is what he needs to stop acting like a kid?” Robin tries to reason. “He was always good with kids in high school and part of the reason is that those were his only friends!”

You cringe, remembering those stories. 

“If losing his best friend wasn’t enough for him to stop acting like an idiot, what makes you think throwing a kid into the mix would?”

“I dunno. But Kali’s right. You have to tell him. Otherwise what happens when you start showing and the worst thing he can think is you’re getting fat?”

You scoff. 

“Maybe they’re right,” Nancy chimes in. “I mean, how long are you going to go without talking to him? You have to make up at some point.” 

You groan in frustration, raking your hands through your hair. 

“I really hate that I consider you guys my moral compass. I truly do.” 

Having responsible friends really was a pain sometimes. 

The phone line rings and blares red as another call was coming through. 

“That must be Jonathan.” Nancy guesses.

“Robin hold on, Jonathan might be on the line.” 

“Oh good, I want to know what he thinks of all this.”

Nancy puts Robin on hold and picks up the phone from the receiver. 

“Hello? Hold on, hold on, what’s going on?” 

You can hear whoever’s calling speaking fast. 

“No, she’s not here.” She lies.

You take a break from your panic attack to try and listen to the frantic voice on the other end. It’s all too fast for you to understand.

“You’re where? Slow down!” Nancy asks, glancing at you now and pointing to the phone. 

“It’s Steve.” She mouths.

You freeze. 

“Okay! Okay! I’ll let her know if I see her.” She hangs up and presses the button to get Robin back.

“What’s the sitch?” 

“He said something about a dog.” 

“Mickey?” Your voice grows concerned. 

“I guess? He just said that something was wrong and he went to take him to the animal hospital.”

Your stomach dropped to your ass. You rushed over to the front door and put on your shoes as fast as you could. 

“Did he say which one?” You ask, borrowing one of Jonathan’s coats. There was no way you were going out there in just sweats and a henley. 

“Ummm I don’t know, I think the one on West and 61st street.” 

“That’s where I work!” You exclaim. “You don’t have a car?”

Nancy shakes her head. “Jonathan’s the one who drives.”

“What about you Robin?” 

“No can do, me and Kali have a meeting but keep me posted! Good luck!”

“Screw it I’ll take a cab.” You say goodbye to Nancy and rush out the door and brave the cold. 

You whistle down a cab and hop in. “Murray’s Animal Hospital, please. And step on it!”

“Wait, (Y/N)? Is that you?” A familiar voice asks you.

The driver turns around, revealing himself to be…..speak of the devil, Danny. 

“Danny? Oh for fuck’s sake.” You sigh and rub at your temples.

“Hey!” He says in a lighthearted tone. “Long time no see.”

“Danny, I will literally pay you extra to shut up and drive like hell alright?” 

Danny does as he’s told and hauls ass. You grab a hold of the bar on top of your head for each swerve and crazed turn he does that earns him a honk of the horn from other cars and nearly sends you flying out of your seat.

Two messy car ride minutes later and you rush out of the taxi as soon as he parks outside the entrance to the animal hospital. 

“Hey!”

“Give me a minute!” You flip him off and ignore him as you try not to think of the worst-case scenario happening with Mickey.

You must look like a lunatic to the girl sitting at your desk with wild hair and an overall messy appearance. You try your best to fix yourself up.

“Where is he? Where’s Mickey?” You ask frantically.

“Who?” Your replacement sitting at your desk asks.

“A black dog! He came in with someone, big hair? Big head?”

She gets the gist and points to the right and down the hallway. You take deep breaths as you will yourself to put on a brave face. 

Steve’s sitting on a chair with his face in his hands. He looks up when he hears the patterning of your footsteps against the sheet vinyl flooring. He gets up quickly, nearly knocking the chair over.

“H-Hey.” He says nervously, hand on his arm. 

Come on, you can do this. You can do this.

“Hey.” You breathe. 

He’s taking you in from top to bottom. It’s the first time he’s seen you since Halloween night. 

“I missed you.”

“What happened?” 

You both say in unison.

Your mouth falls agape as you take in his confession. Fortunately, he pretends like your question took more priority. 

“I don’t know. One second my stepbrothers are playing with him, the next he’s choking on some toy they brought.”

“What was so important that you couldn’t keep an eye on him? I knew it. I knew I should’ve come back for him.” 

You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but the situation was starting to make you realize something. Say you did have this kid, would it even survive for a month? 

“My dad came to visit.” He stares down at the tips of his shoes, shoving his hands into his pockets. The same way he did last time you saw him. 

“Oh.” You let out. Well, this changes things.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to fix things.”

“Did it work?”

He shrugs. “Having that talk with him, it made me realize something.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “What is it?”

“Hey, you coming or not? The meter’s running.” Danny’s voice comes to interrupt a peaceful conversation.

“Danny.” Steve acknowledges.

“Hey,” Danny replies, eyeing him. “Stan, right?”

“It’s actually Steve.” He corrects.

Danny laughs it off. “Okay man.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you know this situation just took a turn. You grab a handful of bills from your pocket and shove them into his chest. 

“Fuck off.” You command.

Danny takes his wad of money and leaves. 

Things fall silent again as Steve clears his throat. 

“So….Danny huh?”

“Oh shut up, I needed a ride. I didn’t know he was the one driving the damn cab.” 

“Does he know about me?” 

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I figure the whole sleeping with my sister thing cancels out if he sees me with someone else.”

Steve nods, confused. 

Beat.

“Can I...can I tell you something?” Steve asks, getting closer and closer to you. You feel butterflies when he does.

“Please don’t make a big speech.”

“It’s not a big speech. It’s a medium - medium speech.”

“Okay….”

“You were right. You were completely and totally right about me. I am an asshole. And you were right about these weddings. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I would get in my head about all these things that the perfect person should or shouldn’t be. And I’ve been thinking. A lot. Being alone in that apartment made me realize something.” 

“That you’re lonely and afraid of commitment?” 

He chuckles. “No. You’re not there to insult me or make fun of me when I come home from work. You’re not there to tell me how much of an idiot I look in the groomsmen photos or how my speech was shitty. You’re not even there with me and Mickey.”

He’s starting to tear up, his eyes get blurry and watery and he has to wipe discreetly at them. It was time to confront his demons and make it up to you. Being alone was just a taste of what would become of him if he didn’t swallow his pride.

“And I know the only reason you’re not there is because I hurt you. I hurt the one person who never deserved it. And I pushed you away because I’m stupid and I’m selfish and fuck me for being too late but I love you! I love you.”

You felt your lip quivering with each little detail he added about his epiphany. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the declaration of love.

“Y-You love me?” Your voice cracks.

“Of course.” He breathes out, hands reaching for yours to take reassuringly. 

“Steve...I really….I have to tell you something.”

“Please don’t say you and Danny are back together.” 

“No...no it’s not that,” you try to work up the courage to tell him. “I’m....I think - I’m pregnant.”

Steve steps back for a moment. He feels the shock settle in. He lets out a surprised gasp as he takes both his hands and folds them behind his head. 

“You’re what?”

[lightsupinthenorth]

Staring at the starry ceiling

Read on AO3

Steve has a secret. On several occasions, it came close to being discovered, but he has always managed to salvage it.

See, Steve is afraid of the dark. He’s never liked it, as a child, but it gets even worse after Barbara dies in his pool. Having to fight interdimensional monsters sure as hell doesn’t help either.  

His fear is not that hard to deal with, thankfully. He just keeps a lava lamp on his bedside table, makes sure he keeps flashlights and candles in every room of his house in case there is a power shortage, tries to steer clear of sleepovers, and, when he actually has to spend the night with someone, well he just stays awake and tries not to panic until the other person is asleep. Then he goes to a room in which he can turn on the lights without disturbing anyone. He makes it work.

Nancy never notices anything the whole time they’re a couple.

So, after the breakup, when Steve starts having regular sexual encounters with Billy, he thinks it’ll be the same. He’ll do things the way he always does, and Billy, like Nancy and everyone else in Steve’s life, will be none the wiser.

It works, at first. It’s easy, even: Billy can never stay too long after they’re done fucking, because he can’t risk his father finding out he spent the night away from home.

But then Billy nearly dies and, as soon as he’s out of the hospital, he gets his own flat with the government’s hush money. He invites Steve over before he’s even moved in. In fact, Steve’s the one who helps Billy carry the few boxes containing his stuff into his new place.

He starts coming over often, but it doesn’t immediately threaten his secret’s safety, because Steve goes to Billy’s, they have sex, and then Steve leaves. He figures that’s what’s expected of him, anyway. Sex is kind of what their whole arrangement is about, right? Sure, after nearly losing Billy, Steve whishes they could have more than that, but he doesn’t want to pressure him or, worse, lose him entirely by asking for a commitment Billy’s not ready to take.

It goes on like this for a while, and it’s not perfect, but it’s fine. After all the shit that happened, Steve can do ‘fine’.

But, of course, it doesn’t last forever. Nothing ever does.

One night, as Steve is getting dressed to leave Billy’s flat, Billy says:

“You know you can stay, right?”

“Oh… uh… I can?” Steve stammers.

“Yeah… I wouldn’t mind… I really wouldn’t, actually.” Billy says, looking at Steve through his lashes.

“That’s… that’s nice… It’s just that I have the morning shift, so I’d better go home you know… so I’m not dead on my feet at work.”

The excuse Steve just gave is utter bullshit. Yeah, sure, he’s got the morning shift, but it doesn’t even start that early, and Family video is always dead in the morning, so it’s not like it’s going to be very challenging. Also, Billy lives closer to the place than Steve does, so staying the night would actually have made him save time (he would have had to borrow some clothes, but he’s positive Billy wouldn’t have minded much).

Billy also thinks it’s bullshit, if the way he closes off is any indication.

“Right… I get it. See you whenever, I guess.” He says before turning around in his bed, so he’s facing away from Steve.

Steve wants to yell that “no”, Billy doesn’t get it. But then he’d have to explain he can’t stay because he’s afraid of the dark like a five-year old kid (and not even a tough one). So he just leaves without another word, trying to ignore the knots in his stomach.

However, once he’s back at the Harrington residence, he can’t stop thinking about how down Billy looked. He doesn’t sleep all night because of it, and he does end up dead on his feet at Family Video the following morning. That’s karma.

Billy’s probably a bit mad at him, but it doesn’t deter Steve from going to his flat in the evening. He brings beer and a giant pizza from Billy’s favorite pizzeria as a way to ask for forgiveness. They don���t have sex, for once, but Steve still asks:

“Does it still hold?”

“Mh?” Billy mumbles sleepily.

“Your offer to stay the night, does it still hold?” Steve clarifies.

Billy seems a lot more awake, suddenly.

“Uh… Yeah. It sure does.”

“Cool.” Steve smiles, hiding the uneasiness he feels at the prospect of the darkness awaiting him.

When they go to bed, Steve waits until he thinks Billy’s asleep, his breathing deep and regular, and then gets up to turn the bathroom’s lights on. He leaves the door ajar so some of the light spills into the bedroom. If Billy asks about it in the morning, Steve will pretend he went to the bathroom and forgot to turn the lights off when he went back to sleep. Easy peasy.

He feels a bit guilty about rising the amount of Billy’s electricity bill, but he can always contribute. Billy will most probably fight him about it, but Steve will argue that he spends a lot of time at Billy’s and therefore should help with the bills, and they’ll call it a day.

It doesn’t exactly go according to plan, though. Because Billy catches on. Of course, he does. He’s far too observant not too.

One night, before they go to bed, Billy announces he has something for Steve. He assures it’s not much but that he thinks it might be helpful. Helpful for what? Steve doesn’t know and doesn’t ask, choosing instead to tear into the wrapping paper (because, yes, Billy wrapped the gift, which is awfully cute) and open the box it covered.

Inside, he finds a big round object with a wire attached to it.

“Uh… thanks. That’s… nice.”

Steve doesn’t know if he should admit he has no idea what Billy’s just given him. He doesn’t want to look stupid for not being able to identify it.

“Give it here, I’m going to show you.”

Steve does as he’s told and watches as Billy proceeds to sit on the floor and plug the thing, whatever it is, into the nearest power socket. As soon as he does, the walls and ceiling of the bedroom are covered in luminescent stars.

Oh…

“I also got a more low-key one, if you’re not really into the whole starry deal.”

Steve never wanted Billy, or anyone, to find out about his fear, because he’s always thought that people would laugh at him if they did. After all, what kind of grown ass man is scared of the dark? But Billy obviously knows, has known for a while, even, and he’s not laughing. He hasn’t even mentioned it directly. And he got Steve a fucking night light.

Steve’s frozen for a minute. He stays exactly where he is, staring unblinkingly at the stars on the walls.

“Right… You hate it. It’s okay, forget it. We can just sleep with the bathroom lights on.”

Billy’s quick to say, putting his hand back on the plug as if to pull it off from the socket. Steve kneels behind him and plasters himself over Billy’s back, sneaking his arms around his waist. It effectively stops Billy from unplugging the device, leaving them both under the soft glow of the artificial stars.

“I love it, babe. Thank you.” Steve whispers, beaming, even though Billy can’t see him.

Billy turns his head sideways and catches Steve’s upturned lips in a sweet kiss.

That night, under their now starry ceiling, engulfed in Billy’s heat, Steve sleeps more soundly than he has in years.  

*

Thank you very much for reading :)

[femmeharringrove]

we belong - chapter one

tag squad!! - @a-magey​ @harringrovetrashh​ @lostnoise​ @greyspilot​ - if you’d like to be added to the list hmu!!

     Steve Harrington is arguably the strangest beta in Hawkins. Everybody agrees on this one fact. In a town comprised mostly of betas, it’s easy to notice when one is different, and Steve’s behavior has him sticking out like a sore thumb. He’s got plenty of normal beta characteristics, sure. He’s an excellent peacemaker, a level-headed thinker most of the time. But he’s incredibly fiery when he wants to be, aggressively protective, like an alpha hovering over his pack. He’s also adopted six older pups out of the blue, and the rest of Hawkins has watched in utter confusion as he’s marched about town herding his kids along like an omega watching over his litter.

     Billy Hargrove isn’t sure what to make of it.

( read on ao3 )

     And it’s not like he usually spends his time thinking about the brunette’s habits, not outside of the night the other started swinging fists in an attempt to protect Max and her dipshit friends from his rage, but he’s had plenty of time to think lately. He’s had nothing but time in this stupid hospital, with its stupid walls and stupid sterile smell. Once he gets out, he’s determined to never step foot in this place again. Max has been visiting every day, according to the nurses, and her company makes it bearable at best. She actually spent the first three nights sleeping in the waiting room with Harrington of all people.

     Harrington, who, according to Max herself, was admitted into the hospital the night of the mall incident too. Billy just barely remembers seeing the beta there that night; his face littered with bruises and oddly bloody. Max didn’t know what exactly happened, Steve and Dustin won’t tell anyone about it, but from what she gathered the Soviet Union was involved. Billy doesn’t think about that too much – he’s more interested in the way Steve’s been at the hospital every single day with Max, as long as he’s been conscious to see it.

     The nurses say Steve’s been with her ever since he was discharged, coming in every day and comforting her whenever she gets upset. He’s seen the beta do it too, the way he opens his arms up the moment Max’s lip begins to wobble and holds her close until she’s calmed, petting her hair and murmuring in her ear something he can never hear.

     Sometimes he brings little Byers with him, and the kid’s nice. Billy likes him. The first time the pup came to visit, he sat right next to the scowling alpha and told him that he got it, he’d been there before, and if he ever wanted to talk about it he’d listen. At the time, Billy snapped about not needin’ to talk to some pup about any damn thing, but that didn’t deter the kid, and now the blonde was thinking he just may take the kid up on the offer. Every time Will comes, he sits by Billy for a few minutes and makes easy conversation before retreating to Harrington and plastering himself to the beta’s side so Max can be close to Billy, piping up to add to the conversation every now and again.

     Other times, instead of Byers, Steve brings the Henderson kid. This one’s loud and pushy, but it’s clear to Billy that this is Harrington’s pup. Steve looks at the curly-haired bastard with all the fond pride of a pleased parent, even when he’s trying to scold the pup. And the kid’s smart, he knows Steve would be hard pressed to actually get mad at him, but it seems he doesn’t really want to make the beta mad anyway – the bond between them goes both ways, that much is clear. They make an odd pair; Harrington’s on the quiet side, more reserved than the pup. Henderson can’t seem to stay quiet longer than two minutes, and he likes saying whatever comes to mind, almost painfully blunt in his mannerisms. Billy has to admire that a little bit, even if it irks him at times.

     Harrington brings the others too, sometimes, but for the most part it’s Max, Dustin, and Will. El will occasionally tag along, quiet and observant, her large eyes filled with kind understanding every time she looked at him, and Sinclair came by once to keep Max company. The kid’s still wary of him, and the alpha can’t really blame him, not in the slightest. Billy supposes he owes the kid an apology. He’s not good at those, but he’ll spit one out sooner or later. He owes a lot of people apologies – Max, all of her little friends, even Steve. Steve’s promises to be the hardest, because the guy’s got this obnoxious habit of being unbearably kind even when Billy’s a dick. Every day he’s come into this hospital he’s offered a gentle smile, a kind greeting, and brings him books to help ward off boredom when he’s on his own. Last week, the beta brought a bag full of yarn and sat there for a good half hour showing him how to crochet and knit. Billy, of course, bitched about it the whole time, because what alpha willingly learned that shit anyway?

     And, hey, if he now has a scarf in the works hiding in that stupid bag, who’s going to say anything about it?

     The answer is Neil, he knows. Neil would kick his ass if he saw the way Billy’s fingers nimbly dance with those needles, regardless of whether his son is sitting in a hospital bed or not. But the nice thing, if it can be called nice, is that Neil Hargrove hasn’t shown his face once in the hospital. Max told him that he came the night Billy was admitted, stayed until the blonde got out of the barrage of surgeries he’d underwent, and promptly left. And yeah, it’s sucky, but Billy supposes it’s for the best. Neil can drain a room of warmth faster than anything, and Billy’s uncomfortable already. And if he came and found Steve sitting there, the chances of being called a fucking fairy were higher than he’d like them to be, as well as the chances of getting the shit beat out of him. Sure, he supposes he can just tell Harrington to go, but the thing is the beta’s good at making the cold hospital room feel a smidge warmer. Billy isn’t sure he wants to willingly force that warmth out for anyone, let alone his father.

     Which is why Billy’s mad at him. It’d be easy if Steve was cruel to him, but the doe-eyed brunette is surprisingly soft. He’s got his edges, his eyes flash with a certain element of danger every now and again, but he’s overwhelmingly made of soft lines and gentle corners. And Billy isn’t sure how to respond to that most of the time. Today, however, crossing his arms as he stares at the beta and his redhead sister, he knows just the answer to give to Steve’s kindness.

     “Absolutely the fuck not.” Max’s sharp blue eyes are wide as she glares at Billy, unimpressed with the alpha’s stony expression.

     “Why not?” she demands. “Bill, you know you can’t come back home, it’s not a good idea for your recovery. Steve’s house is huge, you could avoid him all you wanted!” Her eyes flicker towards the man next to her, features softening for a brief moment. “No offense, Steve.” Steve smiles faintly in reply, hands raising up slightly.

     “None taken.” Billy rolls his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line.

     “Look, I’m not going to live with your stupid babysitter, Maxine.” His voice is a nasty growl, mean and sharp and fully intended to stop this conversation, but Max isn’t that easy to put off.

     “Can you stop being so stubborn?” she growls right back, arms crossing over her chest and teeth baring in a snarl almost identical to his. “I’m just trying to keep an eye on you, you dumbass, because I don’t want you to end up getting worse, and we both know you’re not gonna be able to recover all the way at home!” She’s so goddamn fiery, Billy gripes internally. She’s learned that from him, however, so he hardly has a right to say anything. If he has to put money on it, he’s almost completely convinced this kid’s going to be an alpha. Neil isn’t going to like that, and the idea sends a flash of worry through the blonde for a fraction of a moment.

     “And, what, you think I’ll do better with him?” His head jabs sharply towards the other man. “I’ll try my luck in my own damn house, thanks.”

     “Billy, please!” Max’s lighter blue eyes clash with his ocean hues, her face pinched and far too serious for any fourteen-year-old. “Look, I get it. You and Steve aren’t friends or whatever, but he said he’d let you stay – not live there, you don’t have to move in forever.” Max’s reasoning isn’t half bad, Billy has to admit. Her hands grasp at one another as she presses on, words tumbling over each other in their haste to escape her lips. “It’s just for a little while, just until you finish recovering, then you can come home. Just think about it!”

     “And you think my absence won’t be noticed?” he interrogates. Because Neil certainly isn’t going to react well to something like this. If the man finds out he’s staying with another boy, it’s going to lead to trouble for him and for Harrington. Max waves her hand frantically.

     “We’ll just tell him you’re still in the hospital! He won’t check, you and I both know that.” And she’s right, he does know it. Neil hasn’t so much as called, the chances of him deciding to do so anytime soon are slim to none. His sister’s eyes are staring at him wide and hopeful, and Billy’s too tired to fight her on the matter any further.

     “Don’t you and your stupid friends spend, like, all your time at his house?” he asks, shoulders dropping slightly. Max sees the move for what it is and grins broadly.

     “Well, yeah, but we won’t bother you! Promise.” Her promise isn’t worth shit, they both know it, and judging from Harrington’s knowing look, so does he. Billy’s icy eyes settle on the man.

     “You’re awful quiet over there,” he grumbles. Steve’s shoulders rise and fall in a loose shrug.

     “I wouldn’t have agreed to do it if I didn’t want to,” he replies. “It’s like Max said, we aren’t friends or anything, but she’s convinced you’ll get better faster at my place. If it means that much to her, then I’m game.” Billy’s eyes narrow as they consider Steve. Brown eyes blink back at him, wide and surprisingly kind all things considered. He really hates that. He hates that Max is so worried. He hates most of all that this is his best bet in all truthfulness. A heavy sigh escapes him, turning into a defeated groan as it draws out.

     “This is only until I think I’m better,” he relents, scowling at Steve’s relieved look and Max’s elated bounce. “I don’t give a shit what the two of you think, when I think I’m done, I’m done. And don’t think we –“ A hand shoots out to point at Steve warningly. “ – are gonna get chummy or something. I’m only doing this to get her to shut up.” The beta’s shoulders relax as he leans into his seat. Max, standing beside Harrington, grins broadly.

     “And I promise, I won’t say anything about it,” she relents. “You can come home as soon as you’re better again.” She moves closer to him, wraps her smaller hand around his, and squeezes, a hesitant smile on her face. This is another new thing about their relationship, the ease with which Max shows her affection now. Billy supposes that’s what happens when you almost die. And he likes it, really. Even if he’s been shit at showing it over the years, he does care for Max. He’s protected her from Neil for a long time, and she’s patched him up more times than he’s willing to count. Their dynamic has always been a strained one. But the way Billy’s seen it, his dad’s a bad alpha, and he’s always needed to step up and take that position for the pup.

He’s not sure he’s ever been particularly good at it, but he’s trying, you know?

     And so it’s settled that day. Billy’s going to move in with his high school rival, and he can’t make sense of it for the life of him.

     The thing is, Steve’s not really used to the idea of having a pack. Richard Harrington needed an heir for his company, and Antonella Bianchi-Harrington thought a baby would solve her marriage problems; that was the only reason they’d had a pup. Both had planned on a quiet, strong alpha son, but Steve destroyed that concept the moment he was born; of all the dynamics, only omegas could be spotted at birth due to their genitalia, and when Richard saw what his son was he nearly abandoned him in that hospital. Antonella’s maternal instincts demanded they keep him however, and so he was brought home; that was where her mothering ended, essentially. Growing up, Steve didn’t know that was the cause for his parents’ distaste for him. He knew they despised omegas, but he hardly knew what an omega was, and certainly didn’t know he was a part of that group. All he knew was that his father always looked at him with disgust, that his mother avoided him like the plague, that they never talked about dynamics except when Richard felt like sneering about omegas and boasting about alphas.

     Neither of them were home when a thirteen-year-old Steve woke up drenched in sweat, his leaking slick soaking the mattress, his abdomen cramping and his mind panicked and hazy. He suffered three days in that state, cried and curled up in bed trying to comfort himself. On the fourth day, he made his way to Melvad’s to purchase scent blockers, and that’s how he’s lived life up to this point. That day he presented was the day it clicked, the day he’d realized why his parents despised him.

     And the thing was, he couldn’t blame them, still can’t blame them. Male omegas are a rarity, and many people think of them as abominations. Those who ended up with women are seen as unmanly, and those who end up with men are called names Steve wouldn’t dare repeat in his own head, let alone out loud. Steve knew that before he presented, and he knows it now, so he’s kept his presentation a secret. As far as Hawkins is concerned, he’s just a beta, and he’s not planning on telling anyone otherwise anytime soon.

     But he’s got the kids now.

It was a matter of instinct; Dustin needed help, and so he helped. Max feared Billy’s rage in the Byers’ home, so he fought the alpha. Mike wanted a listening ear to rant about Nancy too, so he began letting the kid come over. He never meant to adopt the gaggle of older pups, but here he is, constantly scenting them and making sure they’re safe and comfortable. Will likes to joke that Steve’s become their pack omega. He’s not entirely wrong, but Steve’s not going to tell him that.

     And it’s the first time he’s been allowed to be himself, really. With the kids, Steve can just be an omega, he can worry over them and fuss and feed them copious amounts of baked ziti. Steve can let them curl up on his chest and groom their hairlines and listen to their troubles. He can mother them about and spoil them to his heart’s content. He’s allowed to give in to his instinctive need to nurture and care for and protect, and he’s beyond grateful because he can’t do this for other people.

     He especially can’t do it for Billy fucking Hargrove, if he wants to keep some sense of dignity. And that’s going to be easier said than done. He sits in his Beamer and watches silently as Max guides the familiar blonde out of the hospital doors. He looks good, Steve decides. He’s got a little limp, looks a little stiff, but he’s moving on his own mostly, and judging from the faint noise Steve hears and the annoyed, faraway look on Max’s face, his talkative attitude hasn’t taken a hit. The omega takes a deep breath and prepares himself as the passenger door is yanked open by Max.

     “ – Which is why I’m half-tempted to write to one of those big-time newspapers and tell them all about this shit,” Billy is ranting. Max looks ready to stab someone.

     “Can you shut up and get in the car, please?” she growls. The elder of the two alphas obeys without much of a fuss, easing himself into the passenger seat while Max deposits herself in the back.

     “Hey, what did those fuckers do with my Camaro?” Billy questions, his sharp eyes landing on Steve with an accusatory look. “You totaled my baby, Harrington, you might owe me a new fucking car.”

     “I’m not buying anyone a car,” Steve replies, throwing his car in reverse and backing out of the parking lot. The Camaro is sitting in Hopper’s driveway at the moment, Steve asked the chief to help him fix it after the mall incident, after learning that the other boy was still alive. The keys are sitting in a dish in his kitchen right now. But Steve’s not handing that thing over until he’s sure the blonde is capable of driving without keeling over and dying on the side of the road. Billy makes a face at him, narrowing his eyes.

     “Well, you at least owe me a pack of smokes, amigo,” he drawls, that stupid smug look creeping over his freckled features. Steve makes an indignant sound.

     “Are you fucking insane, Hargrove?” he spats. “You’ve been in how many lung surgeries and you want to smoke? Absolutely fucking not.”

     “Aw, you’re no fun,” the alpha groans, slouching in his seat and reaching out to lazily flick the radio to life. Steve’s eyes drift off the road long enough to glare at the other boy.

     “Stop complaining and put your damn seatbelt on.” Billy growls, but obeys again, switching the station to some garish rock music and turning it up loudly. Steve’s head is beginning to throb.

     “Hey Steve,” Max pipes up, “can we stop by McDonald’s?” He notes with interest the way Billy perks up at the mention of the restaurant. It’s been months since the guy’s eaten anything outside of the hospital’s shitty cuisine, he supposes greasy fast food sounds as good as a five-course meal in his grandmother's Venetian home right now.

     “Yeah, yeah, alright.” Billy’s master plan must be to drive Harrington crazy, because he begins chanting various menu items like a child as Steve zips down the road.

     To Billy’s credit, if that’s his plan then it’s working. Steve’s considering driving into the next tree he sees.

     He dishes out a stupid amount of money at McDonald’s; Billy demands four burgers, a hefty order of fries, and a huge milkshake. Max settles for one burger, and Steve orders chicken nuggets for himself, much to Billy’s amusement. He teases Steve most of the way home. The brunette throws a nugget at him at some point and Max laughs so hard she chokes on her root beer. Billy is blissfully silent after that, though he grins triumphantly as he chomps on the thrown piece of chicken.

     In a stunning turn of events, today is meant to be a kid-free day. Steve drops Max off at the Byers residence on the way home and cruises on into Loch Nora. Billy’s silence comes to an end with a low whistle. “Damn, pretty boy, I forgot you live in Rich People Central,” he muses. “I’m gonna get so bored around here, everyone knows rich people are stuck up as all hell.” Steve doesn’t feel like dignifying that with a reply, his hands flexing around the steering wheel instead. By the time they pull into the driveway of the Harrington family’s ridiculously large house, Billy’s openly staring at him, and the omega finds himself on edge. He slows to a stop in his long driveway, turns off the engine, and turns to meet that blue-eyed stare, his eyebrows arched upwards. Billy’s eyes are completely unreadable, he hates it.

     “Do you want a picture, Hargrove?” he deadpans. The alpha skips over the question and instead offers his own.

     “Shitbird says you’re here alone most of the time, that true?” Steve’s hackles go up faster than anything, his arms crossing over his chest as he glares openly at the boy across from him.

     “Why the fuck do you care?”

     “Never said I did, Harrington.” Billy holds his hands up in a placating gesture, before settling back in his seat. “Just wanna make sure I don’t wander into the kitchen one morning with my dick out and find Misses Harrington trying to enjoy her coffee or something.” Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, getting a cheeky grin in response.

     “If I have to wake up and see your dick in the morning when I’m drinking coffee I’m kicking you out, Steve announces, getting out of the car. He hears Billy follow him up to the door, and once the two get in the shorter boy whistles again.

     “Your house feels like a fucking museum, Harrington, you really live in here?” Steve makes a beeline for the kitchen.

     “Yes, I do. And you do too, for the time being.” The brunette yanks the fridge open and grabs a bottle of soda off the shelf. “I let Max bring some clothes and shit over the other day, it’s all in the guest room down the hall on the right.” Steve pauses to give the boy a pointed look. “Do not go into the room on the left, nobody goes in there.”

     “Ooh, sounds ominous. What’s in there, all the Harrington family secrets? Family skeletons? Real skeletons?” Billy’s eyebrows waggle obnoxiously, and Steve rolls his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

     “No, it’s my dad’s office. Nobody goes in there but him. And it’s where the good booze is, and I don’t need you drinking me dry.” Steve already did that a little over a month ago, nearly got alcohol poisoning during a bad night. hopper found him passed out by the pool and took the omega to Indianapolis to buy replacements; he doesn't think the chief will be too keen about helping out again so soon. To his surprise, Billy doesn’t offer any sort of reply, oddly silent behind him. Steve turns around, another soda bottle in hand to offer to the alpha, and finds him staring at the counter. At the dish on the counter. At the keys in the dish on the counter. The omega moves closer and swipes them up, depositing the metal in his back pocket. “You can’t drive yet, don’t even think about it.”

     “You have my car?” Blue eyes look around as if the Camaro might appear right there in the kitchen. Steve shakes his head, then nods, then shakes again.

     “It’s not here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

     “It was fucked to hell, why do you have the keys?” Billy’s face is completely serious now, his body leaning towards Steve’s intently. The taller boy frowns deeply and takes a step back, his eyes shifting away.

     “I, uh, well. Hopper and I fixed it up. Figured you might want it back. We had to repaint it, I don’t think the color’s exactly right, but it’s working now.” Billy’s eyes stare a little longer.

     “Why’d you put me in the room downstairs?” Steve frowns again, brows furrowing in confusion.

     “You’ve still got stitches in, and Max says the doctors said you shouldn’t go up and down stairs.” Large brown eyes blink at the alpha, who seems to be thinking hard about something, before Billy’s face twists into a sneer.

     “What’s your game, Harrington? Why are you doing this?” Steve hasn’t been this confused since high school math.

     “You needed a place to go, and I’ve got space,” he replies slowly. “It means a lot to Max, and if it matters to her it matters to me. Just wanted to be helpful.” Blue eyes narrow and he stares at Steve for a long time. The omega shifts on his feet awkwardly before finally holding out the unopened soda bottle. “You thirsty?”

     It’s meant to diffuse the odd tension, and it works. Billy blinks, looks between Steve’s face and the soda bottle before he shakes his head and takes the offered drink, all smug charm and general obnoxious snarkiness again.

     “Alright, alright. Gimmie the grand tour, pretty boy. I wanna see as much of the Harrington Mansion Museum as I can.” Steve isn’t quite sure what just happened, but he obliges easily and begins making his way down the hall, shaking his head in wonder. Maybe he sould have thought a little harder about letting his old rival stay in his house; this is already beginning to feel like the beginning of a very chaotic nightmare.

[your-iron-lung]

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 8

AKA ‘Knock Knock Knock’; available to read on A03 HERE

Story Synopsis:  Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7213

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Next Chapter: 9

Notes: i dedicate this chapter to my boyfriend, who cleaned out the hole in my finger after my moms dog accidentally bit me. told me i needed stitches then slapped a bandaid on it. guess im a werewolf now awowooooooo

"He's doing it again."

There was a bitterness harbored in Nancy's voice that made Steve look up from the abysmal slop he'd been picking through on his food tray. The tenseness with which she squared her jaw made him frown, and he followed her stern gaze to where she held it, directed towards something over his shoulder.

Turning his head to see what she was referring to, Steve felt he already had a pretty good idea about what it was he was going to see, and, true enough, sitting three tables behind them sat Billy Hargrove and a group of his old friends. Instead of taking part in any of the conversations Tommy was trying to start, Billy was steadfastly ignoring him in favor of staring openly at Steve. Suppressing the slightest of shivers, Steve sighed and turned back around to his food with a resigned expression.

"Yep, he sure is," he said dryly. "Nothing I can do about it."

In the two weeks since the attack, Billy had gone through a series of shifts in demeanor when it came to interacting with Steve. When he'd first returned to school, he'd ignored him outright with a stubborn sense of determination, but his dismissal of him quickly flipped and turned into an obsession that was so prominent, people- or Nancy, at least- had begun to take notice. At any given time, if Billy happened to be in any relative proximity to Steve, he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off of him, and although people had started to talk about it, their words did little to deter him.

Nothing stopped him from staring at Steve, and the attention was beginning to make his skin crawl.

But whatever it was Billy was doing, as long as it didn't get physical, Steve found he couldn't find the energy to care. He was still nursing his wounds, and had to worry about finding a job or something so he could pay his father back for ruining the BMW, and on top of that heap of responsibilities, there was the looming threat of finals, and while he was trying to manage all of those things as best he could, the simple fact that they hadn't yet found the creature that attacked him weighed heavily on his mind.

He had nightmares about it; about it descending from the trees in a heap of vicious limbs that lashed out at him, cutting his flesh to the bone- nightmares where he hadn't acted fast enough to be able to prevent Billy from bleeding out and, and instead had to hold him in his arms while his blood ran out of him, leaving him pale and gasping as the snow turned crimson around them. Hell, he still had nightmares about the fucking demodogs, so if Billy wanted to stare at him, fine. He had more important things to worry about, though he did have to admit that he found Billy's behaviour odd.

Was he staring at him because he realized that Steve had literally saved his life and was now thinking of a way to repay him somehow? He could start by replacing the car seat he'd nearly bled to death in, if that was the case, so he could cross that worry off his list. Or was his interest in Steve fueled by something more sinister, like a desire to seek revenge for belittling him somehow, despite the fact that Steve had done his damnedest to dispel any emasculating rumours that had surfaced after the incident? The last thing he wanted was for their bad blood to start flooding the school's hallways for everyone to slosh around in.

Nancy didn't bother lowering her voice when she spoke, and despite the general ambient tone of conversation that the lunchroom carried, Jonathan overheard what she'd said, and as he came to sit down beside her, setting his brown paper lunch bag onto their table, he looked at her for a confused moment before asking, "Who's doing what?"

He looked curiously between them as he began to unpack his lunch, setting a sandwich and a piece of fruit aside while Steve breathed out another sigh and tried to shrug off the eyes he could feel boring into his back.

"It's Billy," Nancy said when Steve declined to answer. "He's staring at Steve again."

Looking annoyed, Nancy let out a little huff and finally diverted her eyes away from where Billy was sitting to give Jonathan a small smile in greeting. Despite his growing annoyance with the situation, Steve managed to find some amusement in the fact that Nancy was more bothered by Billy's behaviour than he was. It showed she still cared about him somewhat, and that was one of the few good things he felt he had left.

"Why do you think he's been doing that?" Jonathan asked as he unwrapped the plastic surrounding his sandwich. His sunken eyes looked across the lunchroom for a moment to get a look at their subject of conversation before focusing back on his tablemates.

"Who knows with that guy," Steve commented indifferently, shrugging as he stabbed a fork into the meaty portion of his meal. "As long as he stays the fuck away from me, I don't care what he does."

"Even if you don't care, I don't like it." Nancy's eyes flicked briefly back to where Billy was sitting before taking a bite of lunch. Beside her, Johnathan had grown silent, eating his food contemplatively. "It doesn't feel right. It's almost like he's planning some kind of revenge scheme."

"Well you'd think if he was angry with you he'd have done something about it by now," Jonathan said, directing his statement towards Steve as he swallowed down a bite of food. A small smear of mayo streaked across his upper lip. "So far he's shown himself to be the kind of guy who acts immediately on his feelings, you know?"

"Oh, believe me, I know," Steve replied, unable to keep the slow drawl of sarcasm out of his tone, memories of nearly being beaten to death surfacing in his mind. Despite his reluctance to credit Jonathan with a good idea, he knew that he was probably right. If Billy had some sort of beef with him, he'd definitely have taken it up with him before now.

Besides that, whenever Steve noticed him staring and returned the look, he never really thought that Billy looked angry with him. He looked more lost than anything. Confused, even. He never even seemed to realize that Steve was staring back.

"Well if he's not thinking of ways to kill you, then what is he doing?" Using a napkin, Nancy reached out and wiped away the mayo on Jonathan's face, earning a timid smile from him in thanks. "He's been giving you weird looks all week."

"Hadn't noticed," Steve murmured sarcastically.

Nancy didn't appreciate the tone with which Steve spoke, but didn't press the issue beyond giving him a reproachful look. As their conversation died off, they ate in silence, offering Steve a chance to run through a mental list of who was hiring in the area, and what places he could reasonably send in an application, but having no prior experience with working, well, anywhere, left his options sorely limited. The places that would probably hire him were the places he had no desire to work at, but at the end of the day, what was it his dad was always telling him? 'Beggars can't be choosers'.

"The more I think about it," Jonathan said, stirring Steve from his thoughts, "the more I think it looks like he's trying to figure out how to approach you."

"What?" Steve shook his head in a way that he knew made his hair look good and laughed.

"What makes you think that?" Nancy asked.

Jonathan shrugged, looking down when Steve laughed. He picked at the crust on his sandwich as he spoke, peeling bits of brown bread away as he said, "The way he's been staring at Steve kind of reminds me of... me. Like, before I got to know you guys; back when I was on the outside looking in, sort of."

"Jonathan-" Nancy started, a sympathetic look creasing her brow.

The bell that signaled the end of their lunch period rang before anything more could be said. As they stood up and prepared to discard their trays and trash, Steve cast a look back to where Billy had been sitting. The boy was gone, though; lost in the transitional migration crowd as their peers began to make their way back to class.

Even if Steve wanted nothing more to do with him, he couldn't deny the fact that he'd been bonded to him in some regard when they'd both survived the 'bear' attack. If Billy had something to say to him, he'd listen, sure, but Steve wasn't going to be the one to initiate that conversation.

They hadn't even spoken since Steve had last seen him at the hospital, and that particular conversation had been weird enough to the point where he'd decided to give Billy the widest social berth he possibly could.

Whatever Billy wanted to talk about, he'd have to come to Steve first.

Coming back to school hadn't been easy for Steve; his injuries were so incredibly less severe than Billy's that he hadn't needed to take time off, but he wished he'd been allowed to. His writing hand was constantly sore because of all the numerous stitches running up his arm, and with the amount of last minute note taking he'd been doing in preparations for finals, he was half-afraid he was going to pop a few open as a result, but at least returning so soon had given him the opportunity to pretend everything was normal, and the more time that passed that allowed him to think that, the more Steve was inclined to believe that it really had just been a bear.

A mange-ridden, rabid, larger-than-your-average bear, sure, but it was better than the alternative; it was better than the unknown.

Despite his feeble self-assurances that carried him through his school days, he couldn't deny that he held an absurd amount of trepidation when it came to the simple task of opening his locker.

The last thing he wanted was to ruin his fragile psyche by finding more notes stuffed into his locker. But as the days went by and he hadn't yet found another invitation, he allowed himself to grow comfortable in the thought that the whole ordeal was behind him, and would remain as nothing more than another traumatic memory he'd just have to learn to live with.

He could manage that much. Or at least, he hoped he could.

The note that fluttered out of his locker then as he opened it threw his newly reconstructed confidence to the breeze. Steve stared after the offending piece of paper as it fell to the floor, already feeling a slight panic start to build up in his chest. The fear that the note had something to do with the woodland parties blinded him to the fact that this shred of paper was different from the invitations he'd received before.

Printed on fine cardstock that likely would have impressed a businessman like his father with its weight, the note that came fluttering from Steve's locker was the exact opposite of what he feared it was. This was a literal scrap of college-ruled paper, torn from a notebook and folded over itself lazily.

He turned away from the note lying on the floor and closed his locker quickly. He almost walked away without picking it up, and would have, too, if he hadn't caught Billy's eye at that precise moment.

Leaning against a row of lockers further down the hall, Billy was watching him, giving Steve reason to pause. Imperceptibly, Billy broke the stare between them and nodded once to the note Steve had left on the ground. 'Pick it up', he seemed to say.

Steve squinted at him, unsure of what his motives were. Driven by curiosity, he turned back to where he'd left the note and hesitantly bent down to grab it. Relief replaced that slight feeling of panic when he realized that the note wasn't like the invitations he'd received in the past. He turned back to Billy, only to find that he'd moved on. Crinkling the piece of paper in his fist briefly, Steve stepped back to his locker and unfolded the note.

'I need to show you something.

Meet me in the parking lot.'

Despite the fact that it hadn't been signed by anyone, the note had undoubtedly been written by Billy. Anybody else would have just asked to speak with him in person.

Tucking the note into his jeans pocket, Steve sighed miserably as he made his way through the hall, an uneasy feeling about the direction his afternoon was taking settling into his gut.

That feeling was improved upon when he finally stepped outside and saw just how gloomy it was. Wet, half-frozen snowflakes were falling from an overcast sky, creating an uncomfortable slush he had to trudge through to get to the student parking lot. Wind was blowing weakly, occasionally throwing a soggy flurry into his face that he had to wipe away in order to see.

People were peeling out of the lot as quickly as they could, desperate to escape the hideous weather conditions and get somewhere warm. His fingers played with the note in his pocket as he strode through the second-hand mush of winter and made his way to where Billy stood, leaning up against his car feigning nonchalance despite the fact that Steve could see him visibly shivering.

Because of his injury, Billy had taken to wearing his coat half on, half off. The brace that he'd been outfitted with to keep his broken arm in place wouldn't fit in the tight leather sleeve of what must have been his only winter coat. A smarter man would've dressed in layers, Steve thought, and then grinned a little because he himself had dressed in layers. Dress smarter, not harder.

"Wanna tell me what this is about?" he asked as he approached Billy, holding the folded note up for him to see.

"Thought I was being pretty clear when I wrote it."

Billy obviously wasn't in the mood for their typical banter, but Steve wasn't in the mood for being serious. He'd been stewing in serious thoughts all day, and if Billy was going to give him an opening to be an ass, then he was going to take it.

"Well, I mean, this could mean any number of things," he said, opening the note to read it aloud. Billy' looked away with a scowl. "I've only ever gotten notes like these from girls, you know."

"Christ, cut the shit Harrington," Billy said, rolling his eyes. He made to stand up, but was pushed back against the Camaro, a look of surprise overtaking his features as he felt Steve's hand wind itself into his jacket.

"No, you cut the shit, Hargrove!" Steve snapped, his pent-up frustrations boiling over. "You've been staring at me all week like a girl with a crush on me, and now you send me this? What is it you've got to show me? Your fucking dick or some shit? Because believe me pal, I am not interested in whatever kind of fucked up confession this is."

After his outburst, both boys went quiet, each of them stunned into silence after Steve's sudden eruption. Around them, the parking lot was nearly empty, mercifully allowing them a privacy neither of them had thought they'd need to have this conversation.

Realizing he'd had the lapels of Billy's jacket bunched into his hands, he let Billy go and took a step back, running his hand that wasn't wrapped in bandages through his hair.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, then turned back to Billy, who had yet to say anything. "Well?" Steve snapped. "You got something you need to show me or not?"

A mirthful smile spread across Billy's face when he spoke, a mischievous spark lighting his eye. "Yeah, I do, but it's at my house. Get what I'm saying, Harrington? I'm asking you to come home with me, stud."

Steve stared at him blankly for a moment before breaking away to laugh, sucking in frigid air and snowflakes that melted in his throat. Billy shrugged his jacket back into place, covering his injured arm from the cold.

"You're a real piece of shit, Hargrove," Steve finally said, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I'll 'come home with you', or whatever, but I swear, if you actually whip your dick out when we get there I'll fucking kill you."

"Relax, asshole, I'm not asking you over for a fucking conjugal visit," Billy drawled, rolling his eyes again. Steve waited for him to elaborate more about what the nature of the visit actually was, but Billy had evidently said all he was going to about the matter.

"You want me to follow you then?" he asked, gesturing towards where his car was parked a few rows over.

"Try to keep up," Billy replied, smirking a little bit as he rounded the front of the Camaro to the driver's side, whereupon he opened the door and slid awkwardly into the seat.

"Don't you have to wait for Max?" Steve asked, speaking loudly as Billy started his car, but he never heard the reply if there was one. Billy began reversing almost immediately, intent on driving out of the lot as fast as he could to make Steve work for it. Breathing out a hasty "Oh, shit," Steve started jogging towards his car so he wouldn't fall too far behind.

Compared to Harrington's house, Billy knew that his own had no way of stacking up against it. Hell, Steve's house had a pool and Billy's didn't even have a second fucking floor. Everyone that lived in Neil Hargrove's house all lived together on the same miserable floor, cramped together by circumstance, and even though Tommy had cast his friendship with Steve aside, that didn't stop him from talking up how awesome the fucking Harrington house was.

It was one of those things he'd had to punch him out for.

All that aside, Billy honestly didn't give a shit about the state of his house; it didn't reflect him or his worth- only his father's, for he had been the one to settle for the shit-heap. Not everyone could be born into their wealth.

Regardless, he averted his eyes away when Steve's eyes wandered up the front of his home, taking stock in its size and the rundown condition it was in after he pulled into the driveway. He didn't comment on the miserable way it sat on its foundation as he stepped out of the car, or of how grimy the windows were as he walked with Billy up the front porch steps, and even stayed quiet when the wooden boards squeaked and groaned with their weight.

As they stepped through the front door, Billy finally had to address the queer feeling he'd been harboring in his stomach as nervousness. Steve looked around their tiny living room, but refrained from saying anything about its size. But oh, how he must have wanted to; Billy could see it written all over his pretty face. The rich fuck wanted to brag about how much better his own house was, he could feel it-

"Nice set up," Steve said instead, gesturing to where Billy had his work-out equipment set out.

Whether he was being sincere or not, Billy couldn't say, but the compliment had done enough to derail his spiraling train of thought.

"Gets the job done," he replied casually, taking his coat off and throwing it over his workout bench.

"I'll say."

"What?"

"You said you had something to show me?" Steve said, frowning a little at the look on Billy's face. "Please don't tell me you took me all the way out here just to fuck with me."

"Who's fucking with who?" Billy said with a hint of a snarl curling his lip. He had to remind himself that he had been the one to initiate this gathering, and had to bite back on some of the anger that had surfaced out of nowhere. Steve didn't say anything in response, allowing Billy time to simmer down enough to point at his TV. "Turn that on."

"You bring me to your house so I can turn your TV on for you?" Steve scoffed, but Billy looked serious. "Fuck you," he said as he stepped across the living room from where he was standing to kneel down and press the power button.

The screen flickered for a moment, struggling to stabilize as the black screen turned grey before sputtering to life, the colour image slowly beginning to materialize on the screen. Steve took a few steps back as he waited for it to come into clarity, not noticing the way Billy had averted his eyes away from the TV. His gaze was, once again, fixed solely on Steve, waiting to catch and gauge his reaction from what he was about to see.

Billy had rented the VHS tape of 'American Werewolf in London' from the store after Max had returned it, intent on showing the creature on the film to Steve, but had been too unsure of how he was meant to accomplish that show him right away. They weren't friends, or even anything remotely close to that, but ever since he'd seen it he'd known he'd have to clue him in on what he'd found out eventually. That, and he had more than just the movie to show him.

As the movie scene that Billy had paused the tape on finally came to light, he felt his injured arm itch, and longed to scratch it.

"What the hell is this," Steve finally said after a moment.

His eyes had grown wide at the sight at the tormented figure of David lying on the floor, face contorted in pain as he was caught in the throes of mid transformation. It was all the affirmation that Billy needed to know that he'd been right.

"Look familiar?" Billy asked, running his tongue along his teeth.

Steve stared at the creature for a second longer before shaking his head. When he turned to Billy, his face no longer looked frightened, but angry.

"No, really, what the fuck is that?" His tone was accusatory, and he was speaking so loudly he might as well have been yelling. "If this is your idea of some kinda fucking joke-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Billy snapped back, brow creasing as Steve went into denial. "I figured it out, asshole! The thing that got us in the woods- that thing that nearly ripped my fucking arm off- that's it! Right there on that fucking screen!"

Steve turned away from him to stare at the screen again, eyes running over the details presented to him. It did look remarkably like the creature he'd grown content to believe was a bear: the sparse patches of hair, the elongated canine jaw, and the harrowingly thin frame that carried it all left little to no doubt in his mind that this was it. Whatever 'it' was.

"How did you-" His throat had gone dry with the realization. Steve had to wet his lips before he could speak again. "How did you find this?"

Billy looked at him contemplatively, as one might watch a dog that has tried to bite them in the past but still wanted to pet it. "The rental place by the arcade. It's a movie; Max was watching it."

"A movie?" Steve balked. "So you're saying we were assaulted by a movie monster?"

"A werewolf," Billy said decisively.

The unease Steve had felt building up inside him seemed to vanish in an instant. His body wanted to shake with relief, but he wouldn't let it.

"Holy shit," he said, combing a hand through his hair, stifling a nervous laugh. He took a few steps to the side, pacing in front of the TV. "This is unbelievable."

Billy regarded his shift in demeanor calmly, but with a frown. He reached into the back pocket of his pants and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, setting it to his lips and then lighting it.

"I mean, do you hear yourself? A werewolf? C'mon, man," Steve continued, finally coming to a stop in front of Billy. He shook his head and uttered out another short laugh. "I really thought you were onto something here for a minute, you know? Werewolves aren't real. What did you expect me to do after showing me this? You want me to call Hopper up? Tell him that what he's been looking for all this time is a goddamn movie monster?!"

"Well what's your theory then?" Billy finally replied, sneering around his cigarette, his anger smoldering beneath his skin like the burning end of his cigarette. "If it looks like a werewolf, acts like a werewolf, then fuck, what the hell else could it be?!"

"A bear!" Steve shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Werewolves don't exist, dipshit!"

"Then how do you explain my arm?!" Billy hollered, throwing his cigarette to the floor. He stomped it out angrily before he lifted his injured arm up, struggling to pull the sling up and over his head. Alarmed at the action, Steve stepped in to try and stop him but was roughly shoved away. "If it's not some kind of supernatural piece of shit, then how do you explain your hand?" he hissed, throwing the sling to the floor beside the crumpled filter of his wasted cigarette.

"What about my hand?" Steve asked, speaking levelly as he watched Billy's fingers fumble with the brace, managing to all but tear it free from his arm to drop it to the ground alongside the sling. "Are you fucking insane, Hargrove? What the hell are you doing, man, your arm-"

"My arm is fine."

Billy spoke curtly, practically cutting his own sentence short in his haste to show off what he meant. He peeled the bandages that had been wrapped around his arm away with hasty, scratching motions, and then held his arm up for Steve to see it. Where there should have been sections of stripped off flesh and bruises marking where his arm had been broken, there was instead… nothing. Astonished, Steve saw that there was not a single scratch left on his tanned skin. The mutilation he'd endured was gone.

As if that wasn't evidence enough to prove something supernatural was behind his miraculous recovery, Billy stepped towards his workout station and grabbed up one of his heaviest hand weights. Without so much as a grunt of effort or slight whine of pain, he curled it effortlessly in his arm, ultimately proving that his bones were no longer broken. Steve watched his display with wide eyes, mouth dropping open in confusion, because he'd known for a fact that Billy's injuries had been substantially worse than his own, and to see that his arm was totally healed now was baffling. His own arm still had all of the stitches in it, and throbbed painfully sometimes when he wrote with it for too long.

"Your arm was broken-" he stuttered, unable to fully put words behind his thoughts.

"Yeah. In three places," Billy said morosely, as though he were upset by the fact that it now seemed to be intact and unbroken.

"But then… What the fuck…" Steve whispered, reaching out to touch Billy's bicep to feel for himself if what he was seeing was true. The contact was short lived, as Billy immediately flinched away from his touch with a disgusted look plastered all over his face.

"My hand," Steve said flatly, pulling away without a fuss. "You keep saying it's all fucked up, but I don't see it. What the hell's so wrong with it?"

"No one else sees it- not just you; I've been watching people talk to you like it's normal all goddamn week."

"Tell me what you see, then."

Steve waited patiently, giving Billy enough time to put his thoughts in order. He'd been riled up before, and looked to be struggling with how to best describe what it was he was seeing that no one else could, his eyes focused entirely on Steve's hand.

"It looks diseased," Billy finally said after a moment. "There're these… puncture marks in it that just- look infected."

"Infected," Steve repeated, looking over his hand curiously, turning it forward and back. To him, it still looked fine.

"And it smells, too, like... " Billy sniffed and then immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It smells like the air did that night. Rotten."

"It didn't bite me, though," Steve said, frowning. "My hand wasn't hurt at all."

"No," Billy said quietly. "It didn't, but whatever you saw at that bonfire did."

A chill made the small hairs on his body stand upright as Steve was forced to remember the disembodied wolfs head, picturing it in his mind with vivid clarity. He remembered its teeth sinking into his flesh, poking holes into his skin that had vanished the instant he'd thrown it away in shock. No one had believed him then, but the look on Billy's face said he was willing to believe him now, but Steve wasn't sure if he himself actually believed it anymore.

Along with his willingness to write the creature they'd encountered in the woods off as a bear, Steve had written off his experience with the wolf head as just a bad trip, and now Billy was trying to turn it into something else, forcing him to re-examine the trauma as though it was something that had actually happened.

"You can see where it bit me?" Steve asked, speaking slowly and with an air of trepidation. "And you're saying that, what, it's infected now?"

Billy didn't reply right away. There was a strange look on his face as he studied Steve for a moment, his eyes trained on the hand he claimed was injured.

"I wanna try something," he said at last, stepping past Steve and into the narrow hallway that lead to the other rooms tucked away in his house.

Steve followed after him, glancing once back at the image displayed on the screen, wondering if perhaps the idea of a werewolf existing in Hawkins wasn't as far-fetched as he initially thought it was. Walking down the short hallway to where Billy had slipped into the bathroom he shared with Max, Steve took a glance into what could have only been Billy's bedroom.

Beyond it being small, (much, much smaller than even the guest bedroom in his own home), it looked just like what a person might think Billy Hargrove's bedroom would look like. Hot women, a vanity station, and a stereo to blare his music was all a man like Billy could ever need.

"Here," Billy said, stealing Steve's attention away. "Let me see your hand."

"What? Why?" Steve asked hesitantly, holding his hand warily away from where Billy was holding out his own to take it.

"What are you, a fucking child? Just give it here," Billy said impatiently.

Groaning mentally, Steve relinquished his hand. Billy gripped him tightly around the wrist, pulling a face as he drew his hand closer towards him.

"What're you doing-"

"Just hold still."

With his other hand, Billy held a clean ball of cotton and slowly moved it towards Steve's hand, his face pinching up in disgust as he finally rubbed the ball against his skin.

"That hurt you any?" Billy asked as he released his grip over Steve's hand, switching his focus from Steve's skin to the cotton ball he'd just swabbed over it.

"N...no?"

Billy grunted lowly, furrowing his brows as he held the cotton ball up for Steve to see it. "What about this? See anything on this?"

And to his horror, Steve found that he could.

The little ball of cotton had been clean when Billy plucked it out of the package. Steve had seen that, and yet, as he stared at the gruesome mixture of pus and blood on the side Billy had used as a swab, he couldn't help but think for just a second that perhaps it had come like that. No way had that awful mixture actually come from him. The fibers of the ball were stained yellow and bright red, indicating that whatever it was that Billy was able to see on his hand was an open wound. A gruesome, open wound.

"What the hell?" he uttered, mortified by the sight of the cotton ball. He rubbed his hand over the patch of skin Billy had swabbed, but nothing came up on his fingers when he pulled them away. He ignored the way his hands had begun to shake as he inspected the back of his hand uncomprehendingly.

"You see this," Billy said, gesturing to the stained cotton ball, "but you still can't see it on you?" Steve didn't bother replying. "Fuck. Fine, alright, let me see it again."

"Why?" Steve asked, looking over his hands again and again, trying desperately to see what Billy saw and could, evidently, interact with.

"Gotta clean it out." Steve paused with his examination and looked up at Billy who'd gone back to rifling through the things he kept stored behind the sink mirror, sure he'd misheard him. When Billy caught the look of disbelief in Steve's eye he paused, placing a bottle of antiseptic on the rim of the sink. "I know you can't smell it, but I can and it fucking stinks. I can't fucking stand it anymore. If I clean it out, maybe it'll be less, I dunno, putrid."

"I mean, maybe?" Steve could admit that he had no idea if it would make a difference or not, but Billy's logic was sound. "If it'll get you to stop staring at me, have at it, I guess."

Even though Steve knew from experience that nothing Billy did to the wound would physically hurt him, he found himself recoiling out of habit when he poured the antiseptic over the back of his hand. Billy arched a brow at the reaction, but held Steve's hand firmly over the sink as the liquid flowed over his skin. It didn't run off clear.

The tainted antiseptic left murky, bloody streaks that trailed into the basin of the sink as it found its way to the drain. As the bodily fluids left whatever invisible plane they existed on, Steve thought he could catch a faint whiff of whatever smell Billy had been complaining about. A scent of what could have been construed as rotting flesh or a dead animal had begun to take up the small space of the bathroom they stood in, causing him to grimace as Billy began to clean out the wound in earnest. He would have said something witty about how focused Billy appeared to be, using q-tips and cotton swabs to clean out the hidden wound, if not for the strange situation they had both found themselves in.

Instead he watched him quietly, and found himself admiring the way Billy became lost with what he was doing when he decided to really put his mind into behind his work. It was a side of him that Steve had never seen before, and against his better judgement, he found the way Billy furrowed his brow in a way that it wrinkled his forehead kind of... endearing. When he wasn't full of adrenaline and anger, Billy almost came across as personable.

Almost.

"Now who's staring at who?" Steve heard Billy drawl, and he had to blink a few times to draw himself out of his semi-trance.

"Please, don't flatter yourself; I wasn't staring at you," he replied defensively, watching as Billy turned his hand from side to side to make sure he'd gotten all the gunk out of the puncture wounds only he could see. "I was clearly mesmerized by all this shit coming out of my hand."

Billy scoffed, but let the issue drop. Instead of offering up a retort, he said, "You probably need stitches."

This time Steve did yank his hand away from him, pulling it away so quickly it thumped into his chest with a dull thud.

"What the hell Harrington-"

"I am not about to let you put stitches into the imaginary holes in my hand!" He didn't mean to sound so whiny about it, but he couldn't help the way his voice lilted in distress.

"I didn't say I was going to," Billy snapped, his calm demeanor turning into irritation. He cast away the soiled materials he'd been working with in the small bathroom trash can and pushed past Steve into the hallway. "I only said that you probably needed them."

"Yeah, well, what the hell do you know," Steve said, following after him.

Steve continued to hold his hand against his chest as Billy moved into his bedroom. He stepped into the doorway and watched as he made his way to the small, self-constructed vanity and began to rifle through a box of his belongings. Unsure of what it was Billy was looking for, Steve took the time to gaze around his room, eyeing up whatever he could and mentally storing away things he could use to discredit him in future arguments.

"Here," Billy said after a moment, pulling out what looked like a small, self-made first aid kit out of a hidden box. "Gimme your hand again."

"What for?" Steve asked, eyeing the box warily.

"To fucking amputate it, idiot; just give it here." Billy held out his hand expectantly, and rather reluctantly, Steve once again trusted him with the care of his hand.

In the small, inconspicuous first aid kit was an assortment of bandages, gauze, and adhesive tape. Steve didn't ask why he had it; only watched quietly as Billy took out a box of butterfly bandages and began applying them to where the holes in the back of his hand must have been. It looked odd to Steve to see his perfectly fine skin get bunched up underneath the thin, white bandages, but if this was what it took to get rid of the mark (and he was sure, suddenly that it was a marking of sorts), then he'd allow it.

"God, that's gross," Billy mumbled, scrunching his face up before wrapping Steve's hand in the medical tape until the bandages were covered and hidden.

"Gee, thanks," Steve said, examining Billy's handiwork when he was done. He hated to admit it, but he'd done a pretty good job dressing his hand for him.

They stood in the door-frame of Billy's bedroom for a long moment afterwards, neither one of them speaking. The weight of their discovery weighed heavily on each of their minds as they individually wondered about what they ought to do with the information going forward.

"So, I guess I'll tell Hopper-"

"We need to talk about-"

Steve laughed when they spoke at the same time, but Billy only scowled.

"Get the hell out of my room," he said crossly, pushing Steve out of the doorway and into the hall. "I need to show you the rest of that fucking movie."

Steve didn't like the movie. He'd never been a fan of the horror genre- couldn't understand why anyone would be, really-, but the werewolf movie Billy was forcing him to sit through was so violent it was beginning to make his stomach turn.

Worse than the violence, though, was that he had to watch a large portion of the film alone. Not that he was scared to watch it alone, but he definitely would've preferred not to have to watch it by himself in a stranger home. In order to keep up appearances, Billy had left him to re-dress his arm once he'd rewound the movie to a suitable starting point. Steve understood that he couldn't just walk around town with his arm the way it was, but even still, he didn't appreciate having to sit through the horrific movie alone at his insistence.

"Why the hell did you make me watch that," Steve complained once the movie had ended.

Billy had come in around the halfway mark, his arm freshly bandaged and back in its sling. He'd caught Steve cowering on the couch, watching the gorey parts behind the selective censorship of his fingers, and of course he'd laughed at him. He'd taken a seat on his workout bench, leaning against the dumbbell supports and laughed at him for a good five minutes, but at least that instant of humiliation had taken the edge off of the worst of it. Steve had been able to watch the rest of the movie without issue, but he knew he was never going to be able to live that down.

Now that the movie was over, Billy didn't look quite as amused anymore. He was watching the end credits slowly scroll up the screen with a somber, dissociated look. Unsure if he'd heard him or not, Steve was about to repeat himself when Billy finally spoke.

"To make sure you understood what's coming." Confused, Steve could only look at him uncomprehendingly. With a groan, Billy sat up from his hunched over position and turned his eyes away from the screen. "I guess you didn't get to being the 'King' of the hick capital of the world by being smart. Did you pay attention to the movie at all?

"It was a werewolf, Harrington; even you can't deny that now, and you saw what happened to that guy who got bit by one, or did you miss that while you were watching the movie through your fingers?"

"Shut the fuck up," Steve muttered in embarrassment. "It was one part; I watched every other second of the damn movie!"

"Then work it out for me, pretty boy; exercise that tiny little brain of yours for once and show me you're better than all the rest of these inbred Hawkins idiots."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but saw that Billy wasn't actually trying to initiate an argument. Instead, he was trying to reason with him. He hadn't forced him to watch the movie for his own entertainment, but was instead trying to show him something. There was something obvious Steve was failing to see here, and Billy was trying to open his eyes to it.

Mentally, he recounted everything he could that related to their situation. The bonfire, the attack, the recovery, his conversations earlier that day, the bite on his hand-

The bite.

"It- it didn't bite me," Steve finally said, his eyes going wide in realization as he recalled the conversation they'd shared not two hours ago. Billy's face lit up as Steve's succumbed to the horror the movie had exposed him to. "It didn't bite me, it bit you, so then, you- that makes you-"

Billy grinned at him sardonically, revealing his teeth.

"Guess I really am a monster now."