#Steve Harrington is missing
Text
Life is a Game (and True Love is a Trophy)
ao3 link
Chapter 1
*Eddie - 1986*
“That was amazing, Eddie!” Will exclaimed, with a wide smile.
They’d been playing for over 10 hours and Eddie was exhausted. He was only a few years older than the other boys, so he knew it was a poor excuse, but he was getting too old for these marathon sessions. Where he felt dead on his feet, the other boys looked like they could go for another 10 hours, no sweat.
It was well past curfew for the younger boys but since it was Saturday, and spring break, it hadn’t taken much convincing to get all the kids' parents to agree to the late session, as long as Eddie got them all home safe.
The small group said goodnight to Mike and Mrs. Wheeler before walking Lucas next door to his house. Then, Eddie, Dustin, and Will piled into the van. Technically Dustin’s house was closer but Eddie drove Will home first. He liked to drop his cousin off last, so he could stop in and say hello to his aunt if she was home.
Eddie was a little distracted during the drive. He’d been trying to keep busy for the last few days, anything to help him forget about the fact that it’s the anniversary of Steve Harrington’s disappearance, but today that had been impossible. How could he not think about the guy who inspired one of the main characters in a game they had just spent all day playing?
When it's finally just him and Dustin in the car, he allows some of his thoughts to spill over.
“It’s one thing that we use ourselves in this crazy story but do you ever think it’s fucked up that we kept Steve as an NPC after his disappearance?”
Dustin shrugged. “I don’t know, I mean, I didn’t know the guy. Mike always said he was an asshole, so, who cares?”
Eddie almost slammed on the breaks, it’s only for the sake of his beloved van that he didn’t. He can’t believe the kid would say something so insensitive.
“Dude he’s like your best friend, how can you say that!?”
“In the game, Eddie. He’s my character’s best friend, in the game . You always take it too seriously.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over them when Eddie didn’t respond, too upset and lost in his thoughts to make conversation. He pulled his van into the driveway behind his Aunt Claudia’s car and shut the ignition off.
“Mike was wrong, y’know. Steve wasn’t an asshole, not really.” Eddie said, as he followed his cousin up the path to the front porch.
Dustin stopped abruptly, turning on his heel to look at Eddie. “Wait. Did you know him? Were you friends?”
Eddie sighed. His feelings about Steve Harrington had always been…complicated.
“I knew him my whole life. We were in the same grade till I got held back, and it’s a small town. We were never friends, exactly, but I saw him almost every day in school. We talked sometimes in the halls, on the bus. Maybe he was a bit of a dick to people occasionally, but who isn’t? That’s what kids do. He was always nice to me.”
Dustin stared at Eddie like he’d never seen him before.
“I'm sorry, man.” He stuttered. “I didn't know. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
It was Eddie’s turn to shrug. “I don’t really know. I guess I was trying to keep the real Steve and the game Steve separate in my head. I always thought he’d turn back up eventually. That maybe he’d just run away from home, and someday he would come back when he ran out of money or something.
“It could still be that. It's not like they ever found a body.” Dustin offered, not really sounding like he believed it, but wanting to be supportive.
“It’s been 2 years, almost to the day. The Harrington’s have more than enough money to hire fancy private detectives and shit. If he was alive, they’d have found him by now.”
*Steve - 1983*
Steve Harrington had just started dating Nancy Wheeler when Will Byers went missing. Later, he would be embarrassed to admit it, but at the time he was a little pissed off that she wanted to ditch their date to join in the search for the boy. The kid was probably just out playing and lost track of time or something. Everyone knew Joyce wasn’t exactly the most stable person in the world. He knew Hopper only humored her with this search to get her off his back.
When he told Nancy as much, she called him an asshole and stormed out. After sulking about it for an hour after she left, he realized she was right. He didn’t want to be that guy. He didn’t want to turn out like his dad. So, he threw some sneakers on and set out to join the search party.
He walked through the woods looking for Hopper, or anyone else who could assign him an area to search. It started raining before he could find anyone, and he was just getting ready to head back to his car, when he heard rustling in the bushes off to his left. He turned in the direction of the sound, squinting in the dark to try and see if someone was there. He thought he saw movement and then a twig snapped. It sounded loud in the quiet of the trees.
It was so dark out here, he wished he had a flashlight or something.
“Will?” Steve asked, taking a tentative step forward.
The only response was a quiet gasp from the dark. There was definitely someone there.
In a stroke of pure luck, the moon chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds. Her soft light illuminated things just enough for Steve to make out the shape of a small child with a shaved head, wearing a gigantic yellow t-shirt. This was definitely not Will Byers, but the kid sure did look like she was in trouble.
“Hey there, I'm Steve. Do you need some help?”
The girl stared up at him with wide eyes. She didn’t answer, but she hadn’t run away from him yet either.
He tried again.
“Do you want to get out of the rain? My car isn’t far from here.” He didn’t step any closer but held his hand out to her to take, or not, whatever she chose.
The girl studied him for a long time. She looked into his eyes like she was trying to read his soul. He didn’t know what she saw there, but it must have been enough to convince her that he was safe. She nodded, pushing her tiny hand into his, and the two of them walked together back to the warmth and safety of Steve’s car.
-
It wasn’t ideal, bringing the girl back to his house, but at least his parents were out of town. Once he’d gotten her into the car he had tried to take her to the hospital, or at least the police station. She’d shaken her head slowly, ominously, and uttered the first words he’d heard her speak.
“Bad men.”
Steve didn’t know what to do, he was in way over his head. He needed help. He needed people much smarter than him to tell him what to do. The idea occurred to him to take her to Nancy’s. She was smart, and a girl. Surely she'd be better suited for this, she’d know the best course of action to take. But, the girl refused that too. She seemed to only trust Steve.
Tired, and out of options, he went home.
He gathered some dry clothes for her, old sweatpants and a Hawkins High swim team t-shirt from his freshman year, and sent her into one of the guestrooms to change. The clothes would be huge on her but it’s the best he could do for now.
It was late and he kind of expected her to just go to bed once she changed. They could always figure things out in the morning. But, a few minutes later, there she was, standing in his doorway, looking around the room curiously.
“It’s okay, you can come in.” He said, as he shut the closet door. “In fact, why don’t you come sit down. I think we should talk about some things.”
She looked hesitant, but joined him, cross-legged on the floor. She still hadn’t said more than those two words to him but clearly she could speak, and she understood him fine, so he had to try. They’d start small.
“What’s your name?” He asked, voice gentle as he could make it.
She shook her head.
Somehow he knew it wasn’t a refusal, but more like a confusion on her part.
He pointed to himself. “Steve. People call me Steve. What do people call you?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line and held her shaking wrist out to him.
He was confused at first, until he noticed the small writing there.
011
“Eleven?” He asked.
She nodded vigorously, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
That was, well, it was so not good. Shaved head and a number tattooed on her arm. Steve wasn’t a genius but even he knew that something was seriously messed up here. Who would do this to a little girl? Where were her parents?
“Is that what your parents call you?”
“Parents?” She sounded the word out slowly like she was saying it for the first time.
“Yea, like your mom or dad? Mama or Papa?”
“Papa" She agreed, nodding. "Bad man.”
O..k. Well that certainly answered some things.
“Is that why you were in the woods tonight? Were you running from Papa and the bad men?”
She nodded.
That was enough for tonight, he decided. They were both tired and he really needed some time to think, to make a plan.
“I think we should get some sleep. We can talk some more in the morning. Okay?”
She blinked at him and nodded again. She definitely preferred non-verbal communication. It didn’t bother Steve, he could roll with it.
“You can sleep in that other room, the bed in there is really comfy.” He said, rising up off the floor as she did the same.
“Where do you sleep?” She asked.
It was a little jarring, hearing her string together a full sentence like that. It was stilted, the way she spoke. Obviously talking wasn’t something she did very much.
“Here.” He answered, motioning to his bed. “This is my room. So i’ll be right across the hall if you need anything.”
She looked over her shoulder at the doorway and then back at Steve. She made no motion to leave.
“Would you rather stay here?” He guessed and there was that little smile again.
“Safer in here, with you.”
Steve’s heart broke. He kind of hadn’t thought about it until that moment, the night had been so full of weird things and it had all happened so fast, he hadn’t realized how utterly terrified Eleven was. He wanted to fold her up into his arms and squeeze her tight. Promise her that he’d keep her safe from the bad men of the world.
But he couldn't do that. He couldn't promise anything when he had no idea what was going on. He wasn’t sure if she would welcome his embrace either, so he held himself back. Instead he got into bed, scooching all the way over to the wall, and then patted the big space he’d left for her.
She crawled onto the bed and almost immediately curled into a ball. He watched her as she settled on the pillow. She looked so small. He vowed to himself that he would do whatever he could to protect her. He’d hide her in this house forever if that’s what it took. He didn’t yet know what she’d been through, but he knew it was bad, and something no little kid should have to go through.
The rain had turned into a storm while they talked, and it raged now on the other side of his window. A loud crack of thunder startled them both. Eleven was shaking again. Steve laid his hand out, palm up, on the bed between them. An offering of comfort he thought she might accept, since she had taken his hand in the woods.
She hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand on top of his.
Chapter 2
#steddie#steddie fanfic#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#ao3#steve harrington/eddie munson#steve x eddie#fanfic#ao3 link#life is a game#Canon is just a crazy game of D&D#Eddie Munson and Dustin Henderson are cousins#Steve Harrington is missing#This idea has been simmering in my brain for months
188 notes
·
View notes
Photo
*flip* *flip*
#strangerthingsedit#steve harrington#joe keery#steveharringtonedit#I miss him#userallisyn#useralison#useraimz#user-clara#usertiny#usermaguire#kwistowee#userange#userspacey#vclyrias#0ubliettes#userkitkat
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Someone post a Tiktok of Eddie and Steve clearly having their date interrupted by some fans of Eddie’s
Eddie is very obviously trying to be nice. He’s talking to them and taking pictures with them, but he’s also subtly trying to end this interaction. Steve, meanwhile, looks pissed.
The longer this conversation goes on, the more annoyed he looks until he takes a deep breath. He centers himself and then he burst into tears.
His whole body shakes when he sobs, “Eddie, what do you mean you want a divorce?!”
It takes over two hours for the person to post a part two where you can see Steve immediately stop crying when the fans awkwardly shuffle away.
He wipes his face, sticks his fork into their shared dessert and says, “So, anyways.”
Eddie collapses in on himself like a puppet whose strings were cut and whisper-shouts at Steve, “I hate when you do that! I think it’s real every time.”
“Well, I hate when my date is interrupted.”
#Steve’s biggest superpower is that he can cry on command#He only uses it for evil though#Eddie’s DMs are toast. He has 36 missed calls and twice as many texts when he checks his phone after the rest of their date#eddie munson tiktok saga#eddie munson#steve harrington
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
steve “cant get out of bed till middle of the day, barely leaves his house or is never home, isolating himself from everyone, never takes time for himself anymore, depressed and is slowly losing more and more of himself every single day” harrington post 1986’
robin “i know you loved her, and it must’ve killed that she wouldn’t take you back, but nancy is happy steve and she still loves you. she’s not the only one out there for you, and you’ve gotta get over it. we miss you” buckley post 1986’, trying to help her best friend
steve “…this isn’t about nancy” harrington.
robin “wha-?… oh. oh steve.” buckley.
he still wears the vest.
#stranger things#eddie munson#steddie#steve harrington#nancy wheeler#stranger things 4#robin buckley#yeah idk#i just thoight abt this#bc i miss my pooks#steve being so distraught after the events of s4#and it’s understandable and everyone else is kinda the same level of shook up for a while#but for steve it just… continues#and nobody really knows what’s going on#robin tries to get him out of his shell without prying for so long#but eventually she just straight up tells him how it is in an attempt to get him to TALK to her#SAY SOMETHING#bc she thinks it must be he is heartbroken abt nancy#she didn’t want him back#and that’s so rough but#robin wants him to know that she isn’t the only person in his life that loves him#even if it’s not in the way he is wanting#but steve just#he just says; this isn’t about nancy#and robin is confused#then she puts it all together#then she understands.#eddie.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
let me paint you a picture
Vecna is dead. The Upside Down is gone. A thing of the past, really. Except... it's not, of course it's not. Enough time goes by for things to start settling down. But. There's always a but.
Steve disappears and no one notices. But not because no one cared. It's not the case of Steve the Rich Jock. Of Steve the Friendless. Of Steve with Big House and No Parents.
No one notices because no one remembers him ever existing.
Robin feels like a part of her is missing, like there's an itch she can't quite scratch. Her shifts at the bookstore that she owns seem dull and her eyes keep sliding over to the doors like she's waiting for someone to enter. Her flat feels cold. There's an empty room across the hall.
There's a guy Eddie's kissing in the back alley and it makes him feel nothing at all. There's an S tattoed on his hip. He doesn't remember getting it. He must've been drunk. Or high. He keeps wondering why he stayed so close to Hawkins despite all the trouble it brought him. Must've been Wayne, even though his uncle has more than once declared himself ready to move on.
Dustin mourns an older brother he never had. He stylizes his hair but can't remember where he learnt it from when Suzie asks. The Scoops Troops has always been three people; him, and Erica, and Robin, but no, that doesn't sound right. How would they get past that one guard? And those demodogs in '84? Jonathan? Nancy? They were busy with Will, weren't they?
Nancy hates pools. She can't remember why. There was a party of some sort and Barb...Barb got sucked into the Hell that lives and breathes under Hawkins. But...why would they go to a party in the first place? It makes no sense.
And so on, and so on.
Until, one day, Eddie and Robin stumble upon an abondanoed car in the middle of a forgotten road by the forrest. Keys still inside. And a bat full of nails on the driver's seat.
#steddie#stobin#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#st#i offer you tonight a half-baked idea that's been rattling around my school#it's just an excuse to write the party losing their collective mind while obsessing over a thing they don't remember but know is missing#anyway g'night
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
nyahh
#steddie#steddie fanart#stranger things 4#steve harrington#eddie munson#fanart#procreate#pose reference used#i miss them#working on some fic but i'm so fucking slow so we'll see#also out of the drawing loop#but i like to draw and it felt nice to draw again :)
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Robin has a love-hate relationship with Steve-and-Eddie. Love, because those are her best friends and her best friends are in love with each other and they never leave her out of anything. Hate, because sometimes she wishes they would because she keeps accidentally third-wheeling herself.
She doesn't hate it that much though, if she's honest. It's just fun to complain, especially because it riles the both of them up.
But right now, she's being quiet so she can witness one of her secretly-favorite Steve-and-Eddie rituals—of which there are many, but this one is silly and endearing.
It starts like this:
The waitress sets down their drinks, lemonade for Robin, coca-cola for Steve, and a cherry soda for Eddie.
"Don't you dare," Eddie says, even as Steve reaches for Eddie's drink, slipping his straw in next to Eddie's and slurping obnoxiously. Eddie doesn't even pretend to stop him anymore. "Unbelievable."
"I just want to taste it!"
"You could just get a whole glass of it! All for yourself!!"
"It's too sweet, I don't want a whole glass."
"What, so you think you can just help yourself to mine?"
Steve's grin is far too smug, even for Robin, even when Steve slides it to her so she can take a sip. Steve is right, it is really too sweet and she wrinkles her nose, but it's worth it for the offended gasp Eddie makes when she slides it back to him.
The diner is their favorite, because everyone who works there has given up on understanding their weird dynamic: Robin and Steve squished into on side of the booth while Eddie's spread out on the other, Robin making gagging noises whenever Steve brushes against her, even though they never sit in any other configuration. The staff has long since stopped asking which of them was her boyfriend, and that's perfect for her.
Besides, she knows that under the table, Steve and Eddie have their ankles locked together like the disgusting love-sick dorks that they are.
The Steve-and-Eddie show continues when their meals come out. Chicken fingers and fries for Steve because he's an actual child, and breakfast for dinner for Eddie because he likes to be contrary. And then the real performance begins.
They "fight" over the ketchup bottle, which really means that Eddie picks it up and Steve snatches it out of his hands—only for Steve to spread it over Eddie's scrambled eggs (gross) for him before he adds a disgusting amount to his own basket.
Eddie makes a game of stealing Steve's fries when he thinks he isn't looking (Steve is, he's tallying each one up in his head, Robin knows this because she's doing it too), and when he finally "catches" Eddie in the act, he steals Eddie's last piece of bacon—the one that's sat untouched for the last five minutes for this very reason.
Then, Eddie's "forcing" Steve to try his grits, like he does every time, and game eats a spoonful of it, every time, and then complains at length how much he hates it (and he actually does hate it, the texture is just not for him, Robin knows because it's the same for her too).
And then they do the worst, most disgusting thing ever: they split the pancake in half. Without fail. Without argument. Every time.
Robin, slurping on her strawberry milk shake that she will NEVER share with anyone ever, thinks that stupid pancake is like the symbol of their love or something. Sh's sure if they weren't in public, they'd be feeding it to each other.
"What?" They say it in unison, and Robin hates when they do that to her.
(Eddie complains about it right back at her, because she and Steve do the same thing to him all the time. They should blame Steve, since he's the common denominator, but he just looks so pleased about them both that they can't rag on him for it, so Eddie remains Robin's sworn enemy and vice versa.)
"What what?" she sneers at them, voice quiet. "You two are disgusting, it's like you're making out right in front of me right now."
"What are you, homophobic?" Eddie hisses back, just as quiet. "I'm in love with your best friend, Buckley. I'm making out with him in front of you for the rest of your life."
"Ugh! I hate you so much."
"Right back at you."
And then they start kicking at each other beneath the table, no doubt catching Steve's ankles in the crossfire. He doesn't tell them to stop though, and Robin can see that pleased, sappy smile on his stupid face out of the corner of her eye, so she lands an exceptionally harsh blow to Eddie's shin in retaliation for making her best friend so happy. He digs his heel into her toes in return.
#steddie#steddie fic#this was originally meant for a steddie love month prompt but i missed posting it up LOL#when will i write steddie without robin??? never#their three musketeer-ism is so important to me#they probably fight over her for best man at their wedding#and they are joint best man at her's#the robin eddie rivalry for steve's love but also they are steve protection squad and steve gossip mongers and steve hecklers#steve 'affection-starved' harrington absolutely thriving having two ppl obsessed with him rn#my fic#dribble drabble#my steddies
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
steddie and stobin art im 2024…… whew
#realised just how much i missed drawing them!!!#the sillies#steddie#steddie fanart#stobin#eddie munson#steve harrington#robin buckley#stranger things#stranger things fanart#art#fanart
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
who did this to you. part 2
🤍🌷 read part 1 here
pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie
This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window.
It’s not happening.
Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his.
Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light.
It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening.
“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone.
Who’s hurting you, Steve?
Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.
He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and—
“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.”
“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will.
He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again.
He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so…
So much like Eddie’s fucking problem.
He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe.
It’s just not tight.
“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it.
“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?”
He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm.
But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time.
He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—
“I don’t know what.”
It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again.
Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small.
“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.”
Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks.
Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about.
God, he never did like blood.
“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?”
“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.”
“Her.”
Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right?
“What?”
“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”
Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own.
“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.”
That's... really fucking endearing, actually.
And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet.
Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?
He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out.
“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.
Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion.
“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?”
Oh no.
“Why’m I in y—“
“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?”
Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer.
Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too.
Past all of it.
Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house.
But he can’t. So he breathes.
At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people.
But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers.
“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?”
“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.”
And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now.
He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel.
He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view.
The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice.
It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe.
“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?”
He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.
“Ed?”
“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.”
“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—
Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again.
“Ed. Are you in trouble?”
“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“
“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?”
He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.
“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.”
“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?”
Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”
“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.”
It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole.
He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side.
“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door.
It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this.
“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much.
He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on.
Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now.
Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?
“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask.
Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me?
Somehow, Eddie manages a smile.
Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.
“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen.
Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now.
Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away.
Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break.
“Blue, you with me?”
Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.
“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?”
“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest.
Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder.
“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady.
“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.”
“I know.” But maybe I will.
“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.”
Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.”
Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.”
Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is.
Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.
“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.”
It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home.
This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible.
And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie.
He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.
Why not? You need a doctor—
Monsters. Only monsters there.
It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back.
Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch.
He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear.
“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.”
Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.
Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up.
Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away.
It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not…
He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier.
These things don’t happen. They don’t!
“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.”
Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately.
In. Hold. Out. Hold.
He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void.
He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.
Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad.
Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore.
Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue.
He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong.
Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve.
“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.”
“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right.
“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue.
“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds.
“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers.
”I want my mom.“
”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?”
Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away.
He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama.
”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.”
And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”
Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared.
And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted.
And now…
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?”
Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this.
“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…”
“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”
And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment.
He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that?
But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk.
“Thank you.”
Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie.
“For, uh. This.”
“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.”
Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.”
Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness.
“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation.
He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out.
“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.
He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking.
Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small.
Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again.
Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words.
“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?”
“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“
It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again.
“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?”
Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is.
“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug.
Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt.
“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest.
Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again.
“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.
More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment.
“Not gonna break, Eddie.”
“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.”
The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them.
“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”
It soothes the urge to scream.
Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth.
“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car.
Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips.
“Later, Ed.”
And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real.
But it did. And it is.
And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside.
He has a phone call to make.
🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42
(a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)
addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington whump#this is so long i am SORRY#i hope tagging y'all was okay (and equally i'm hoping i missed nobody but also it is 3am)#who did this to you#most of y'all will know most of the beginning already maybe i should have split it up but i wanted y'all to have Something New too#and then the Something New got out of hand and oh well :(#dio words
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Part One
Hellfire did in fact, have cookies to sell.
More than cookies, which Dustin practically preened over when Eddie dragged himself back to their table.
The ornaments they had made were still there, but now the centerpiece was an array of baked goods. Spread out in a spiral, it started from the large cake in the center and spun out into miniature cookies held in tiny decorated bags, all while Harrington stood over them like a proud parent.
It smelled mockingly delicious.
Eddie glared at the display, resisting the urge to upend the whole thing onto the floor.
Cookies and cakes and (--was that frickin bread pudding?) whatever other treats Harrington had shown up with might look good, but Eddie didn’t trust it.
Didn’t trust Harrington, even if the bastard had never really done anything himself--but then, he never had to, had he?
That was the point of all that money, after all. So he could pay other people to do his dirty work while he kept his hands squeaky clean.
“Inch a bit to the left--there, stop!” Harrington was saying, like the bossy asshole he was.
Like he thought he could just come in and expect everyone to follow his lead.
“Perfect! Now don’t touch it.”
God, Eddie had to nip this in the butt, now. Before King Horrorton harassed his sheep all day, and cemented the club's undeserved bad name in the minds of Hawkins.
“Dustin what did I just say--”
Eddie stepped up to the front of their table, preparing himself for war. Looked over to his friends knowing they'd likely need a nod of reassurance. A show from him that said he had this handled.
There was no cowering.
No pleading, helpless, 'What do we do Eddie!?' gazes aimed his direction.
Hellfire wasn’t even looking at him, and not because they were all avoiding Harrington's line of sight.
No, the fucking traiters were flanking the King. Like they were buddies with the bastard instead of mortal enemies.
“Hey, Ed’s, Harrington brought pies. Cakes too!” Gareth said around a mouthful of said cookie when he noticed Eddie standing before him.
It came out a garbled mess, but years of experience had Eddie understanding him anyway.
Jeff was busy playing what sounded like twenty fucking questions regarding the setup, and even Grant appeared comfortable, happily letting Harrington order him around as they finished setting up.
Like this was some kind of cutesy Disney movie where they all held hands and sang songs instead of a hostile takeover situation.
Eddie’s eye twitched.
Sensing a disturbance in the force, Jeff looked up and immediately interrupted himself to point to a series of red and green cookies placed dead center, delighted.
“Check it out man, Steve made some shaped like dice!”
(And he did say ‘Steve.’
Not Harrington, or This Asshole, or The Invading Evil Forces of Darkness.
Just Steve, like Steve was someone Jeff hung out with everyday.
Jeff’s cleric was a dead elf walking.)
Eddie took note of what was in fact, dice cookies.
He hated how good they looked.
“There’s four flavors.” Steve told him, cocky little grin on his face as he observed his work. “Chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodle--and the dice ones are sugar cookies.”
He licked his lips before finally turning to look at Eddie, hair curling over his face and making him wave a hand to brush them out of his eyes.
Eddie hated how good he looked too.
‘Hate, hate, hate, absolutely loathe-’
“Great, sure, wonderful.” Eddie managed, though given the look Grant and Jeff both shot him it might have come out as more of a growl.
Dustin rolled his eyes, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice that Hellfire’s other two youngest hadn’t dared to show their faces yet.
Likely they knew Eddie was having an absolute meltdown over Steve’s presence and were waiting for his reaction to blow over.
(Their characters were dead too.)
“I have two full cakes--one chocolate, on vanilla--and a few individual slices we can sell.” Steve was continuing, as if Eddie wasn’t glaring a hole in his forehead. “Those did really well last year when I made them for the basketball team.”
Insults fought for space on Eddie’s tongue, but he managed to roll a 20 to pick the best one, opening his mouth to let it fly.
"Harr-" is as far as he got before he was rudely interrupted.
“Steve? Is that you?” A woman Eddie didn’t recognize but was clearly someone's mom came up cautiously to the table, side eyeing the Hellfire banner like a nervous horse. “That can’t be your famous tiramisu, is it?”
Steve beamed at her. “Well hi Miss Carpenter. It is!”
Eddie was bumped aside by a massive purse, the woman not even glancing in his direction as she stepped up to the table.
With a sneer, he finally slumped to the back of their little spot as Miss Carpenter looked over all Steve’s (not Hellfire’s and absolutely not Eddie’s) offerings.
Didn’t care to wipe it off right then, even if he knew he needed to if he wanted to make sales.
Jeff sent him a look.
The same one he usually aimed Eddie’s way when he thought Eddie’s antics were going to cause problems.
He ignored it, on grounds that traitors don’t get to be judgy.
“Oh,” Miss Caprtender tittered, the draw of Harrington’s baked goods clearly overcoming whatever fear she had about Hellfire. “Well I just can’t pass that up. The swim team meets aren’t the same without you!”
Eddie pretended to gag.
Waited for her to comment on Hellfire--their clothes, their music, hell even the length of Eddie’s hair--and found he was almost disappointed when there wasn't even a single question about Hawkins precious golden child was slumming it with the weirdos.
Instead, Miss Carpenter's hand went fishing in her purse for her wallet as she loudly called out over her shoulder, to presumably another annoying woman;
“Terry, Steve’s here! He’s been baking!”
For two terrifying seconds, there was a notable dip in the conversations around them.
Grant’s eyes went wide as several women responded to the announcement like dogs hearing food hit the floor, and within seconds their table was absolutely swarmed by the mothers of Hawkins.
Even Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sheer number of them.
“Hold, men, hold.” Dustin cautioned as Jeff and Grant both took a step back. “Come on, we need to get our gold!”
“They’re scary though.” Gareth whispered in horror as four women tried to talk at once, jostling each other so hard they shook the table menacingly.
“Ladies, ladies there’s enough here for everyone!” Steve laughed, showing off his disgustingly cute dimples as he did, getting several of the mom’s to blush at their own behavior in the process.
The sheer amount of attention of course, drew in even more people, and Dustin quickly took up directing, planting Jeff and Grant at either end of their table while he and Steve fended off the hoard from the front.
(Given the way he and Steve were equally ordering Hellfire around, Eddie finally knew where the little shit had picked that attitude up from. He was going to have to cure Dustin of it, ASAP. )
“Here you go Miss Harper.” Steve said sweetly, handing over yet another stack of baked goods.
Without turning his head, and in the tone of voice one used to warn a misbehaving dog, he added; “Gareth don’t think I can’t fucking see you, get back up here.”
Caught trying to sink under the table with another cookie in his mouth, Gareth found himself hauled back to his feet by his collar, putting a snarl on Eddie’s face immediately.
“Hey--” He started, defensive and more than ready to intercede, except Gareth wasn’t flinching or cursing or doing that thing he did with his mouth when he was desperately trying to hold in his temper.
Instead he was giving a sheepish grin and a half-assed apology while he hung in Harrington’s grasp, before doing what the guy told him to do.
(It did not help that Steve patted him on the shoulder when he released him, before handing Gareth a third fucking cookie.)
Eddie’s eye twitched a second time.
(He told it to knock it off.
It didn’t listen.)
No one acknowledged Eddie or his outburst, which meant he was just skulking behind the boys while they all worked.
Arms crossed, rings tapping a rhythm on his forearm, far too keyed up to do anything other than glare at the back of Harrington's skull.
The King seemed perfectly happy to ignore him.
Likewise, Gareth and Grant knew better than to bother him when he was in a snit.
Henderson made the occasional snappy little comment, but the brat had mostly left him alone now that they were well into the swing of selling, chortling over the increasing stack of cash Steve kept trying to get him to put into a “safe place.”
Eddie was seconds away from walking up and snatching the cash himself when Jeff decided it was on him to attempt the impossible.
Get him to help Harrington.
“More hands would be nice, Eddie!” Jeff called, looking more than a little harassed as the mom he was helping changed her order a second time, snaking out the last single slice of chocolate cake from another mom who was eyeing it. “Steve and I could really use your assistance over here!”
Eddie’s glare, which had been doing its level best to try and vaporize the King’s brain, switched targets instantly.
“I’m supervising.”
Jeff made a face like he was about to argue, but the King beat him to it.
“It must be tough,” Harrington said, tilting his head to look back towards Eddie, “to supervise people who are working so much harder than you.”
Which promptly set the mood for the next full hour.
xXx
Harrington was matching him tit for tat.
Every shitty, sneered word out of Eddie’s mouth was met with an equally mean toned barb, though given the repeated looks everyone kept shooting him, Eddie was very much considered the aggressor here.
A fact he cannot believe is coming from his own friends.
What happened to comradery? To Eddie stepping in and protecting them, from the likes of people just like Harrington?
But no, Eddie makes one fucking comment about how the cookies are probably half hair-spray and suddenly he’s the bad guy.
(Nevermind that Steve had fired right back, telling Eddie that any hair-spray taste was probably from all the drugs he did.)
Was somewhat, halfway--okay maybe amazing, Eddie might have snuck a cookie himself--food really all it took to get them all to turn on him like this?
Erase the years of Eddie being their shield in high school?
Act like Harrington wasn’t just as bitchy and awful as he had been in high school (even if he was, admittedly, being nicer about it all right now? Almost--aloof, like he couldn’t figure out why Eddie hated him so much, but likewise wasn’t going to take even one eye roll sitting down--and no, no, Eddie wasn't derailing this by thinking about his stupid eyes, he wasn't!)
Frankly he would have flipped them all the bird and stormed off, if it weren’t for the increasingly weird little comments people were making.
‘Oh Steve, it's a shock to see you here.’
‘Are you doing someone a favor?’
‘You know Pastor Jim said something about this game…’
The last one had put Eddie’s teeth on edge, even if Dustin had brushed it off. It hadn’t been aimed at Steve directly but the women saying it had absolutely been looking at the King, as if waiting for his reaction.
Not that Harrington would take the bait this soon, though.
There were too many people buying fricken…cupcakes and shit, while the King enjoyed the attention of the masses.
Eventually this tiny crowd would die down though, and that’s when Harrington would change his tune. Start answering some of the questions he seemed to be dodging as more and more people got braver about coming up to the table.
This whole thing was a ticking time bomb, and Eddie would be ready when it inevitably blew.
To defend his table, his club, his friends.
Even Henderson, who absolutely didn’t deserve it just then.
“Dude perk up would you? You look like you’re going to stab somebody.” Jeff hissed at him ten minutes later, when there was finally a break in the flood.
Eddie ignored him in place of taking stock of the table. (And maybe, sneaking another cookie.)
“Hope you brought more than this, Harrington.” He said, knowing he sounded like a stuck up ass and not feeling an iota of guilt about it. “Unless you plan to run home and bake more like a good little housewife.”
“Dude.” Grant said, casting him a look like King Dick might leave and take the cookies with him.
“Oh I brought more.” Harrington dismissed, with a small flick of his fingers. “And I’ll have you know you’d never find a housewife more perfect than I am, Munson.”
Then he turned to nail Eddie with the most shit eating grin he’d ever seen the King wear.
Facing flaming a brilliant red, Eddie sputtered for a second before finally getting ahold of himself and spitting;
“How delightful. I--”
“Okay.” Jeff cut in, forever the mediator. “Gary, Dustin can you help Steve pull the extra stuff out from under the tables? While I go talk to Eddie?”
“Can I try the tiramisu?” Gareth asked, inching hopefully towards the treat while keeping an eye on Harrington’s hands, lest he get smacked again.
“Only if you’re a good boy.” Harrington told him sarcastically and goddammit why did that make Eddie blush harder!?
Jeff sighed, before grabbing his arm and hauling Eddie back, away from the table, right as a younger man in some stupid sport’s jacket asked questions about one of the dice cookies.
“Look I get it man, I do,” Jeff started, voice talking on the sort of wheelding, pleading tone it did when he really wanted something and knew Eddie was opposed. “but Steve’s actually been super cool. We might actually make money off this, and he’s giving us all of it. Can you just… not antagonize him for five minutes?”
Eddie stared at his best friend in abject horror.
“You couldn’t have talked to him for more than twenty minutes total. Half of which he spent bitching that you were bagging a cake wrong! At what point was Harrington "being cool!?"
The asterisks were made by his fingers, which Eddie mockingly framed his face with.
He got a flat, unimpressed stare in return.
“It was a very informative twenty minutes and he was right about the cake. Now are you going to help or are you going to glower in the corner?”
Eddie gaped.
“I cannot believe you right now--”
Jeff didn’t even wait to hear him out.
“You’ve chosen to glower. I can’t help you man, but we’d all have a much better day if you weren’t at Harrington’s throat every five seconds.” Jeff turned smoothly on his heel.
Over his shoulder he added; “Seriously, don’t come back until you’ve worked your way out of your snit.”
Shocked, Eddie watched Jeff float back to the front, inserting himself easily between Grant and Steve and immediately striking up a conversation.
With the enemy.
“I didn’t know you baked.” Jeff told Steve loudly (and very obviously, for Eddie to see.)
Steve gave a bashful little smile, then shrugged. “It’s a hobby. Got into it back when the basketball team needed to fundraise a few years ago and Tommy’s mom got it in her head we should sell home baked goods. Turns out its kinda fun.”
“Please never get out of it.” Gareth insisted, a piece of God knows what crammed in his mouth.
“Dude, how many of those have you gotten into!? Stop eating the merchandise!” Dustin commanded, smacking at Gareth’s shoulder.
“I physically cannot stop man.” Gareth dodged, reaching out for another cookie. “I’m not sorry.”
Steve just laughed. All charming and buddy-buddy, like it was natural for him to be here.
Wearing a Hellfire shirt. Making jokes and teasing the guys.
In Eddie’s fucking place.
He seethed, fingers twitching, and envisioned the very unsexy murder of one Steve Harrington.
Cartoon X’s for eyes and all.
xXx
Trouble didn't hit the table.
It in fact, seemed to stay away as if on purpose, to shove in Eddie's face that he was the one in the wrong here.
Even the questions toned done, as the second wave of moms showed up, this round prompted by some former teammate of Steve’s Eddie didn’t recognize yelling about his apple pie.
Instead, Eddie’s wayward sheep finally made their appearance Mike and Lucas trying to sneak in as if Eddie wouldn’t notice during the new rush.
(Eddie himself almost caused trouble when he realized Lucas was wearing a Not-A-Hellfire shirt, which solved the mystery of where Harrington had gotten his.
He was inching his way towards them, a snarky word on his tongue when he saw Sinclair said something about how he was “already on Eddie’s shitlist for joining the basketball team,” in relation to what must have been a question about his Hellfire shirt, that caused Eddie to freeze.
With the air of a sad, wet kitten, Lucas followed it with; “I’m sure it won’t be long before he kicks me out of Hellfire anyway.”
Like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air left Eddie’s lungs.
Because before Lucas had said that, Eddie had been thinking it.
Not really--he’d never kick anyone out of Hellfire.
It was more that he'd thought about it in the way one does when you know you're right, and are having to resort to underhanded tactics to force the other party to come to their senses.
Like a sort of shitty, angry “I should kick you out, let you see what happens when you don’t have us!” kind of innervation.
The same kind he had heard the jocks sling before, when they were mad at each other and--God he wasn’t--he couldn’t be, like them...could he?
Like fucking Harrington, who oh fuck, was patting Lucas sympathetically on the shoulder and giving him some kind of whispered advice.
Sonovabitch.
“I’m going for a smoke.” Eddie bit out, vision tunneling.
He knew he needed to go sit down somewhere, before he fucking lost it in front of Hawkin, Harrington and everyone.
And wouldn’t that just be a treat for King Steve?
To watch Eddie realize he had turned into the very thing he hated, preached against, even?
That Steve was, maybe, possibly, doing a better job of following Eddie’s own Munson Doctrine than he was?
Eddie barely saw the room anymore--waived off whatever Grant was trying to say to him as flew past, shaking hands fishing for a desperately needed cigarette.
Maybe a hope and a prayer too, because apparently he needed it.
How long had he been like this?
Been a douchebag asshole?
Was it the whole year? More than? Or was it just now, with stupid Steve involved? Could he trace this back to that stupidly cute--no, no, annoying, asshole?
Was this some fucked up way of coping with his growing crush!?
Lost in thought and growing self hatred he nearly careened right into Robin Buckley.
Her slightly bent paper reindeer ears marking her as a member of the band kids who had been absolutely butchering ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ a few minutes earlier.
Vaguely heard her yell Steve’s name as he ran off (because that’s what he was doing. What he always did.
Run--from himself and his own fucking feelings, like a total cliche.)
--but didn’t take in that she was doing more than saying hi to, oh fuck him sideways--her friend.
Because she and Steve were friends.
Good ones, if the freshmen were to be believed.
Rather than go outside and catastrophize in the cold, Eddie threw himself threw the doors at the end of the hall, then up the stairwell, to the second floor.
Tucked himself right into a corner, right there by the stairs.
Sank down into a crouch, hands scrubbing up his face before tangling in his hair, head dropping between his knees, cigarette shoved into his mouth.
Somehow, Eddie decided, this was Steve’s fault.
He'd have come up with a reason for that, he was sure. A good one even, except he forgot one of the key features of his life.
He was a Munson, and as a general rule of life, nice neat things did not happen to Munson's--but they did get kicked while they were down.
“Okay, what happened?” Steve fucking Harrington asked, voice loudly echoing up the stairwell from down below, and Eddie threw his head back, nearly slamming it against the wall.
(Maybe he’d pissed off a witch. His life would make a lot more sense if someone had cursed it.)
“She gave me her number!”
That was Buckley, the shrill timber identifiable even as she whispered the words.
Eddie can’t really see them without giving himself away--could probably make his escape if he got down and army-crawled past the railing he’s huddled by, but figured this is their fault anyway.
Not his problem if he overhears a private conversation if they’re both too stupid to check to see if someone was seated literally right up above them.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" Steve was saying. "That’s what we wanted!”
“Is it!? What if she’s just, you know, giving it to me?”
“...I’m not following.”
“Like in a friend way. Not a--”
“Romantic way?”
Harrington has the smarts to say the words quietly. So quietly in fact, that had Eddie not been in the exact right position he wouldn’t have heard--but he almost swallowed his unlit (he should have lit it, maybe they'd have smelled the smoke and fucked off) cigarette anyway.
“Sssshh!” Robin hissed, and Eddie can’t see either of them but he imagined her jamming her hand over Harrington’s big fat mouth.
“Not so loud, Steve!”
“Sorry, God.” Sure enough, Harrington’s voice is muffled. “How did she give it to you? Did she say anything?”
“She asked if I want to hang out after band, but because I have that stupid family thing, I told her I couldn’t today, but I can literally any other day, and she said she’d call me, and I said--”
“Robs, breathe.”
“Don’t interrupt me, Dingus!” Robin said, voice shrill again, before she clearly listened to Harrington and took a breath.
It was big, and deep, and she blasted it back out loud enough for the fucking birds on the roof to hear.
In a calmer voice, Robin continued; “I said we never traded phone numbers so I didn’t have hers. She grabbed my arm and wrote her number on it. Look, she added a heart!”
“Okay, here you go! A hearts a good sign!"
And Harrington sounded--sounds happy for her, practically ecstatic, which doesn’t make much sense given Robin is talking about a ‘her’ and-
And-and-and--
Eddie’s always been quick to connect the dots.
It’s something he inherited from his old man. A Munson trait he’s tried to make his own through being an excellent DM (and not by robbing people blind or boosting cars.)
Here, the dots clearly screamed that Robin Buckley was trying to ask a woman out.
You know, in a gay way.
Which Harrington not only knew, but was supportive of.
Steve Harrington, who famously called Jonathan Byers' a queer before smashing the guy's beloved camera into the ground.
Eddie’s head exploded.
Or was in the process of exploding--he’s not entirely sure given the tunnel vision was back and his soul felt like it had exited his body entirely.
Just knew that his world was being remade for a second time in five minutes, and that he was dealing with it pretty damn poorly.
(Maybe God would be nice for once, and just give him the aneurism he clearly deserved.)
Which was of course, when trouble finally did decide to show face, in the form of Dustin Henderson barging through the doors and into Steve and Robin's little meeting.
Eddie knew, because Eddie could hear him.
“Steve! Steve we have a problem!”
“I’m busy Dustin--”
“Be busy later, we have an emergency on our hands!”
“And what, pray tell, do you think is an emergency?”
Eddie, who had instantly latched onto the conversation by the sheer need to have something distract him from his own thoughts, wondered the very same.
“Jason Carver showed up at the table, with a priest. They’re trying to do some whole kind of crazy sermon--is that a good enough emergency for you!?”
“Oh shit. ” Steve spat, at the same time Eddie yelled it from up high.
He sprang up, all thoughts of Robin and Steve knowing he’d eavesdropped vanishing entirely from his head as he lunged for the stairs.
Flew down them, because the thing he'd been waiting all fucking day for had finally happened.
He nearly crashed into Robin once again as he blew through the barely closed doors, Steve and Dustin already far ahead of him.
“Eddie?” Robin asked, voice noticeably nervous. "Were you--"
"Not now Starbuck, but we can talk later." Eddie told her, flying right past.
After he saved Hellfire.
#Its my birthday have a thing!#sighs in why can’t I ever make things into two parts#THREE IT IS#yes ill do tags#you do have to comment though bc I will miss it if its just in the tags#this will be only three parts so help me#pre steddie#hellfire#steven harrington#eddie munson#dustin henderson#The Party#Robin Buckley#Steve is a Good Friend#Chaotic Gremlin Eddie#and Bitchy Mean Girl Steve#I will die on the “bitchy mean girl” Steve is VERY different from “rich kid asshole” Steve hill#Eddie loves it even if he hates that he loves it rn lol#Eddie does some grade A tier catastrophizing here#things are not nearly as bad as he spirals himself into thinking lol#0o0 fanfics#stranger things#hellfire club
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
ao3
About twenty minutes into the hike, Steve hears Eddie’s breathing change.
They’re bringing up the rear, but they’re still close enough for some of the group’s conversations to be within earshot—Robin and Nancy leading in a silently agreed upon formation, despite Dustin holding the compass. That way, no matter what, the kids are shielded.
Speaking of the kids, they’re currently having a passionate discussion about who among them will reach the Gate the fastest—and yeah, there’s not a chance in hell that’s happening, Steve thinks, but they don’t need to know that yet.
It’s when the debate specifically turns to who’s the best swimmer that he notices the switch in Eddie’s breathing, air sucked in through clenched teeth. A glance behind confirms Steve’s suspicions; Eddie’s breaking away from the party, his face white, eyes steadfastly on the forest floor.
Steve leaves him be, doesn’t draw any attention to it—but he keeps watch in his peripheral, so he spots exactly when Eddie staggers off, soon swallowed up by the trees. He can still hear his footsteps, though, which is reassuring.
Slowly, making sure it seems casual, Steve bends down and picks up the smallest rock he can find, rubs his thumb across it to make sure the edges are smooth enough.
He throws, hits his target: the back of Dustin’s head.
Predictably, Dustin whirls around, mouth already open to voice his indignation.
Steve quickly puts a finger to his lips.
While Dustin doesn’t look all that thrilled about it, he obligingly stays silent. He’s damn quick on the uptake, of course; Steve can see the spark of understanding in his eyes when he notices that Eddie is missing.
He steps forward with urgency, but Steve’s just as quick to shake his head.
No, it’s okay. I’m on it.
He knows it’s not a coincidence that Eddie left so quietly—that having the kids see him in another moment of vulnerability is probably too much to handle on top of the ongoing nightmare he’s found himself in. Steve gets it; God, if he were in Eddie’s shoes, he’d be taking any opportunity that he could to get some privacy.
Even without words, it’s obvious that Dustin wants to protest, frowning hard.
Steve raises an eyebrow meaningfully. Dude, trust me.
Dustin heaves a silent, dramatic sigh, but he nods all the same.
Steve gestures for the water bottle Dustin’s got in his backpack. Mimes for Dustin to throw it to him.
Dustin brings out the bottle, but doesn’t throw it immediately, like he’s doubtful Steve will make the catch.
Steve rolls his eyes. Seriously? Dickhead.
Dustin rolls his eyes right back.
When he throws the bottle, Steve catches it one-handed as a point of pride.
Dustin’s theatrics grow: he gasps, all slack-jawed, wide-eyed disbelief; Steve flips him off.
Then Dustin taps his watch deliberately.
Steve softens, gives him a brief thumbs up before following where Eddie went. He looks back a couple of times, reassured by the sight of Robin and Nancy stopping and rearranging themselves so the group formation is kept up in his absence.
It doesn’t take long to find Eddie. He hears him first, harsh, bitten off retching—and while that’s not exactly a surprise, the sound still makes Steve’s heart sink.
Eddie’s doubled over, leaning against a tree with one hand. Steve feels a sudden impulse to pull his hair back for him but resists it—remembers Eddie violently flinching away from any touch in the boathouse.
So he just makes sure his presence is nice and obvious without being overwhelming—takes leisurely, even footsteps. He sits down opposite, just close enough that Eddie could reach out if he needed to.
But he doesn’t. He’s barely stopped retching before he’s trying to straighten up, grip slipping against the bark. Steve winces at the thought of splinters digging into his palm.
“Woah, man, take it easy—”
“M’fine,” Eddie mutters. He scoffs harshly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s shaking. “This is kinda normal for me now.”
His head’s still half bowed, hair falling across his face like he doesn’t want to be seen. It doesn’t stop Steve from noticing the evidence of tears on his face; he thinks they’re simply from the exertion of throwing up, but he can’t be sure.
“Just—just give yourself a minute,” Steve says. “We’ve got time.”
He stretches out right there on the ground, slow and deliberate. It takes a second or two before Eddie—after another wobbly attempt at standing—mirrors him: sinking down until he’s sat, back pressed up against the tree trunk.
Steve listens to his breathing. It’s lost that nauseated gritted teeth sound, but it hitches once, twice, and then—
“I can’t stop—” Eddie covers his face with his hands.
Steve shuffles closer. “You’re okay.”
But Eddie shakes his head. He drops his hands, leans his head back against the tree. His eyes are distant. Haunted. Steve doesn’t need to guess about what he’s seeing.
“Eddie—”
“You know the funniest thing?” Eddie gasps out, like it isn’t funny at all. “I keep thinking if—if only I hadn’t ditched swimming lessons, I might’ve l-learned something fucking useful.”
At a loss for what to say, Steve tries for something normal. Thinks back to high school, something far away from all of this…
“You showed up to swimming,” he says. “I remember.”
He does, though it’s faint.
Honestly, he spent as little time as he could changing in the showers, wanting to make the most out of time in the pool. He didn’t even goof off with Tommy H or any of the other guys, preferring to do solo laps in the deep end. It was repetitive, calming; he treated it like a vacation from the adrenaline of being on the swim team.
Then came that November, and the whole routine became an escape from much more.
Eddie gives him a look that might’ve passed for amusement at one point, if his breathing wasn’t still so shallow.
“Yeah, I—I showed up for, like, the first week, Harrington. Fucking Lewinsky stole my clothes, you only let that kinda thing happen once.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says sincerely. “I didn’t know.”
A wan flicker of a smile passes across Eddie’s face. “Of course you didn’t,” he says. It’s not an accusation. “You were, like, way too busy being part fish.”
Steve huffs a laugh through his nose, but Eddie doesn’t join in. Instead his breathing quickens, like the distraction of high school hasn’t been nearly enough.
“It’s just—I should’ve been more—should’ve known h-how to—” He shakes his head again. Swallows. “After Chr—”
He chokes on her name.
Steve reaches out, only to hesitate and leave his hand hovering in the air between them. “Hey, man, there’s nothing you could’ve—”
“What if it’s not a coincidence?” Eddie whispers. “What if there’s—there’s a… there’s gotta be a reason that—that it’s me.”
Steve moves closer still. Draws back at the last second; Eddie’s still trembling.
“That’s bullshit,” Steve says firmly.
Eddie laughs bitterly. “Is it? D-don’t fucking kid yourself, Harrington, s’not exactly looking good. Two people died r-right in front of me, and I just…” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’d arrest me.”
“Stop, would you just—”
“Come on, man. You’ve gotta know, even if Wheeler and Buckley are still too polite to say it.” Eddie’s voice is soft in resignation. “I’m just wasting your time.”
It’s Steve’s turn to scoff. “Do you seriously think we’d be doing all of this if we thought you were a lost cause?”
Eddie shrugs, the sleeves of his leather jacket scraping against the bark. “There’s only so many signs a guy can ignore, right? Hell, even my watch has stopped, like I’m literally outta fucking time.”
“Okay, no wonder you failed English,” Steve says, “that is overwrought as shit, dude.”
The jab doesn’t quite land—his barely concealed worry just makes him sound sharp. Fraught.
But Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise, and he finally seems speechless, and this is it, Steve realises, the one chance he has to get through to him.
“Nothing prepares you for this shit, Eddie,” he says—thinks of 1983, of seeing the impossible. Terrified out of his mind. “I mean it, there’s nothing you could’ve done. Nothing,” he adds pointedly, when it looks like Eddie might protest. “Chrissy, Patrick, it’s fucking awful what they—but it’s not—not a, um. Not a reflection on—it’s not your fault.”
It’s not enough, Steve knows it—feels acutely like a shitty school guidance counsellor, only able to parrot empty platitudes. He has to dig deeper.
He looks at Eddie directly, unflinching. Can read the fear lurking in his eyes, the one he keeps dancing around.
A fierce emotion floods Steve’s chest—like being flung into the deep end without warning, the water already over your head before you can take a breath.
He’s felt it before, mixed up in a wave of anger as he watched Powell raise that goddamn picture to the camera.
Don’t you go believing a word this town says about you, Eddie Munson. Don’t you dare.
Steve braves a touch, places a hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie doesn’t move.
“You’re not the curse, Eddie. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Eddie shudders. He looks away, but not quick enough to hide the definite tears this time.
Steve waits. He doesn’t move his hand for a long moment.
When Eddie’s finished roughly wiping at his face with his sleeve, Steve hands over the water bottle. He’s silently relieved that Eddie takes it without a fight, like accepting even this smallest amount of help means there’s still a part of him that hasn’t given up yet.
There’s still hope.
After a few sips, Eddie sets the water bottle aside. He’s breathing deeper now, and when he looks up, his eyes have that keen, almost analytical gaze.
“What’s…?” he murmurs, and then he’s the one that’s reaching out, as if without thinking, fingertips lightly brushing against Steve’s forehead.
He feels cold, Steve thinks. Like he’s still half frozen from falling into the lake.
“Did you… cut yourself on something?” Eddie says.
Steve’s about to say no automatically before he remembers.
“Right, yeah. Um, our flashlights kinda… exploded when…”
He trails off. Watches with sympathy as Eddie fills in the gaps.
“Oh,” Eddie says very quietly.
He keeps following the trail of the cut—Steve can still feel the chill of him: the light pressure travelling across his skin, like Eddie needs the motion to stay calm.
“Ow,” Eddie says, hushed, almost as if it happened to him, too. “You’re lucky you didn’t get glass in your eye, dude.”
Steve doesn’t say what he’s thinking—that he’d have dealt with it, that he would’ve been fine—because he thinks he understands: that maybe by focusing on something small, it helps keep Eddie here, temporarily blocks out the sight of Chrissy and Patrick’s deaths.
He checks his watch. They’re just creeping up on fifteen minutes; they’d better make tracks soon.
He stands but not abruptly, conscious of not rushing Eddie unnecessarily.
“If we cut across, uh, this way,” he demonstrates with one hand as Eddie gets to his feet, “we’ll catch up pretty quick. Don’t need Henderson’s compass to tell me the way. Honestly, he acts like he knows places better than me when I’ve known them, like, all my life. He does it all the damn time.”
Eddie lets out a laugh that still sounds slightly wet; he sniffs as if to cover up the sound. His smile is shaky at best, but it seems genuine.
“Man, he does that to me, too. What is up with that? Last week, he swore he found some shortcut to the Hellfire room that I’d be totally unaware of, like I’ve not spent forever in the damn building.”
He falls into step with Steve as they walk on, and Steve catches the very slight grimace he makes as he swallows.
Steve checks his jeans pocket. It turns out luck is on his side, at least for this: he’s got a couple of mints, still unwrapped.
When he offers some to Eddie, he gets a heartfelt thanks in reply. But at the same time, Eddie also looks suspiciously close to fighting a smirk.
“What?”
“Nothing!” But the smirk’s definitely won; Eddie tucks the mint into the corner of his mouth as he says, “Just didn’t realise I was getting the full Skull Rock experience.”
It takes a second for Steve to catch on. “The experience—?”
Eddie’s smirk grows. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Steve snorts. “Fuck off, are you twelve?”
“Maybe,” Eddie says, halfway to singsong.
Steve shakes his head, half in amusement, half in thought. Sharing juvenile kisses with girls at Skull Rock feels a world away, almost like it happened to someone else. That’s not even why the mints were in his pocket in the first place—not that he’s gonna put a dampener on Eddie’s teasing or anything. In truth, the habit began the night after Starcourt, using a mint—despite his stinging mouth—to help keep himself awake.
Of course he doesn’t say all of that. Chooses instead to nudge Eddie in the side, fighting a smirk of his own.
Eddie acts like he’s been dramatically winded in response, makes a crack about how that move wouldn’t fall under the Skull Rock experience.
Steve thinks he’s getting a handle on how to read him, charting the improvement of his mood through just how stupid he sounds—when smiling no longer seems like it’ll fracture his face from the strain.
By the time they catch up with the others, they’re both stifling laughter (Steve keeps having to remind himself that this is technically a stealth mission), Eddie reaching across to mess with Steve’s hair in retaliation for being repeatedly nudged in the ribs. His hands feel warmer now, Steve realises with a smile, as he pushes Eddie back with a forearm against his chest.
For the most part, it looks like their disappearances haven’t been noticed—Nancy quietly moving to rejoin Robin at the front as if by chance. Steve knows better, knows everything has been carefully coordinated to look that way; as Eddie relaxes at his side, he feels a rush of gratitude for the group’s tact.
Granted, Dustin kind of breaks the illusion when he turns around and starts walking backwards—but what he lacks in subtlety he makes up for in entertainment: using needlessly big, questioning gestures, brow furrowed in concentration.
When Dustin widens his eyes impatiently, Steve relents and nudges Eddie again. “He’s not gonna stop til you respond, trust me.”
“Hmm? Oh.”
Eddie lifts up Dustin’s water bottle with a grin and gives a thumbs up with his free hand.
Dustin brightens, replying with a thumbs up of his own—still stubbornly walking backwards like it’s simply his preferred way to travel.
“Gonna bet on how long it takes for him to fall flat on his face?” Steve says in an undertone.
Eddie snorts in a way that can’t be disguised as anything else, though he gives it a shot with the world’s least convincing cough. He gives up in the next breath, chuckling through a, “Steve,” in joking disapproval, like Steve’s such a terrible influence, which just sets them both off again.
Dustin’s probably too far away to hear them properly, but he’s clearly got the gist, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He does a series of emphatic gestures that Steve can’t make sense of; it just looks like he’s doing a complicated mime for charades.
Eddie must get the same impression because he soon calls out with a shit-eating grin, “Book or movie?”
Dustin flips them both off, but he can’t quite pull off the deadpan expression, his lips twitching, and Steve knows for sure that he’s hiding a laugh when he turns back around to walk with Max and Lucas.
Eddie smiles as if he’s noticed the same thing. He jostles their shoulders one last time, and it feels like there’s something more intentional behind it. A touch that lingers.
It’s easy when there’s still a long walk ahead of them—when there’s still daylight—to be convinced that they’ve got all the time in the world. Steve’s become kind of an expert at it: in his head, he could make swimming lessons last forever.
But even that old trick doesn’t last; he feels the clock restart as soon as that damn vine wraps around his ankle, cold and unyielding.
In the split second before being dragged under the lake, all he can think is thank God the kids aren’t here.
The thought follows him all the way into The Upside Down—later joined by the fervent wish that he could somehow summon up Dustin’s water bottle, as his head spins through the hopefully staunched bat bites.
“Christ, Harrington,” Eddie says when the dizziness persists, and Steve barely catches himself before falling against a vineless tree. “D’you ever take your own advice?”
“What?” Steve says faintly.
He screws up his eyes, forces himself to blink until his vision doesn’t waver—braces his weight against the tree with a sigh, ready to push himself up—
But Eddie’s hand is suddenly on top of his, halting him.
“Just… wait,” Eddie says. “Just a minute.”
Steve doesn’t know if it is a minute; he tries to keep track in his head, but the seconds slip away from him, and all he can focus on is each breath he takes, until they lose that gasping edge, grow deeper. Slower.
The world sharpens around him, like he’s been underwater without realising and has finally broken through to the surface. He feels the muted scratch of damp wood beneath his palm. The pressure of Eddie’s hand—not enough to hurt, but enough for Steve to tell that he’s still freaked out.
“I’m okay,” he says, looking Eddie in the eye. Does his best to silently project the sentiment of I’m not gonna collapse on you, I promise. “We’re not far from Nancy’s place.”
He can see a flicker of light just ahead, off to the side—thankfully not spots in his vision, just the flashlight he gave to Robin and Nancy; he’d tried to make it sound like he was doing them a favour when he actually thought it’d be best to leave both his hands free, just in case he did end up collapsing. At least he’d have a chance to brace for a fall.
There’s an uncertain air to how the girls are walking, and Steve suspects they feel a little like him: at a loss without the kids sandwiched between them. Now the usual priorities are thrown to the wind; what do you do when you want to shield everyone, all at once?
Eddie’s surveying him like he’s far from convinced by his definition of ‘okay.’
Still, he laughs weakly and says, “Good to know your navigating skills still work in this fucking hellhole.”
Steve’s hand shifts beneath Eddie’s as he stands up properly; it’s only then that Eddie moves away.
“Not far, not far,” he’s muttering under his breath, like he’s trying to reassure himself. His voice cracks in quiet desperation, “God, how long have we even been down here?”
Steve glances down to his wrist. He’s met with a watch face that’s smashed, jagged cracks running through it so he can’t even read the time it must’ve stopped at.
“Hey,” Steve says wryly, tilting his wrist so Eddie can see, “we match.”
Eddie doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even crack a smile. His eyes just go all big and dismayed, like he’s looking at something far worse than a broken watch.
Steve suddenly wants to tell him that it’s fine, to cover up his wrist like it’s somehow more gruesome than the wounds on his stomach—maybe it is, because Eddie keeps staring like he’s bleeding out right in front of him.
“Shit, Steve,” Eddie whispers with this horrible, helpless little laugh—almost like he’s on the verge of tears. He sounds like he did after throwing up, trying to say that something was funny when it was anything but. “You’ve had that forever.”
And Steve feels a rush of something still too big and complex to name, flickers of emotion too rapid to keep track of: the initial pang of sadness he’d pushed aside because the watch had been his grandfather’s, after all; wondering faintly what classes Eddie had shared with him, that would allow him enough time to notice something so small, you’ve had that forever—
So what? Steve thinks. So what, what does it fucking matter?
He’d rip the watch off if it’d help, Eddie’s too, stamp and grind them down until they’re indistinguishable from the ash in this place, and who gives a shit if it’s overwrought, it doesn’t have to mean anything—they still have time; they’re owed it.
He doesn’t do any of that, because the ground shakes again, and he’s ready—anticipates the stumble Eddie makes and reaches out to correct it.
They land safely away from any vines.
Eddie’s hand is clamped around his wrist, right at the part where the watch strap used to rub against his skin—back in sophomore year, when he’d always put it on too tight in fear of losing it; “Sorry, sorry,” Eddie’s mouthing, out of breath from the fall, but Steve’s holding on just as tightly, can feel Eddie’s pulse thundering beneath his fingertips.
And it’s so fast and frantic that Steve thinks he can hear it, too, a sound that he can’t get away from, in spite of it all: like a clock ticking. Counting down.
WRIST WATCH
The explosive time shackle
That never goes off
Eternal zero
Synchronize your deaths
—Philip Murray
#s4 missing scenes we are so back baby#the hike from Skull Rock to Lover’s Lake#pre steddie#steddie#steddie fic#steve and dustin#eddie and dustin#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie
747 notes
·
View notes
Photo
STEVE HARRINGTON
2.03: The Pollywog
#stedit#strangerthingsedit#steveharringtonedit#useraurore#usersugar#usermaguire#userashe#usereri#userspree#usertiny#usersen#userclara#userspacey#steve harrington#stranger things#mine*#i've missed giffing him :)
703 notes
·
View notes
Text
#stobin moment#don’t ask what the H brand is for bc idk#they’re at the Hawkins farm convention or smth. decide with your heart#i miss them#I’ve been wanting to draw them in these stupid shirts for so long#the arrows pointing in the wrong direction is crucial#the greatest qpr hawkins has ever seen#<— stobin tag#envy draws#stranger things#fanart#stranger things fanart#steve harrington#robin buckley#stobin
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Robin is positive that Steve isn't straight. At first, she thought she was projecting. Maybe she just wanted to share another aspect of herself with her best friend, but no. She's very confident now. The way Steve acts sometimes makes it so obvious. He's listened to her talk about how scary it is, being a lesbian in a town like Hawkins, and he talks to her about it like he undertands, even if he doesn't realize it. She roped him into watching a movie with a gay couple in it, and Steve's eyes lit up seeing two men kiss on screen. He once cracked a joke about going on a date with a guy that sounded far too sincere to be a joke. She knows, deep in the depths of her very soul, that Steve is a little bit queer.
And she could prove it if she could just figure out what his type is
She's been doing research, real genuine research into what male celebrities are considered hot. Finding movies with said supposedly hot men and making Steve watch them with her. But there's nothing! No reaction, not even the slightest blush when Harrison Ford was sweaty and shirtless right before his eyes. It isn't until she gets him to watch Rocky Horror that she finally catches something. Tim Curry in all his fishnet-clad glory brings a flush to Steve's cheeks. One that gets even worse when the character dons a leather jacket halfway through. It isn't much, but it's enough.
She mentally tallys everything about Tim Curry in that movie. Dark eyes, curls, makeup, tights, and especially the leather. She tries not to get her hopes up too high, knows that Tim Curry was wearing feminine clothes and makeup in the movie, so maybe Steve was just thrown off and confused, but it's a start at least. She makes a new list of movies, and pays close attention to his reactions.
The real breakthroughs come with The Lost Boys and The Breakfast Club. Lost Boys had been planned, one of her choices designed to illicit a response from Steve. Lots of pretty boys, some with dark curly hair, some with big dark eyes, and quite a few wearing leather jackets. Steve had been interested, that was for sure, a lot more than he had in the other movies she'd shown him. The Breakfast Club was a surprise. It had been one of Steve's picks, and Robin hadn't even been paying close attention. But it was impossible to miss the way Steve's eyes shot to the screen every time John Bender was speaking.
So, Robin has an answer. Steve Harrington liked bad boys. Men with dark hair and dark eyes, clad in leather with attitude for miles. Not what she had been expecting, but she's delighted, to say the least.
The delight only grows when Eddie Munson comes into their lives, and she gets a front row seat to Steve Harrington's Big Gay Meltdown. Eddie ticks off all Steve's boxes. Dark curly hair, big brown doe eyes, leather and denim from head to toe, and he has the attitude. But he checks off other boxes too, ones Robin hadn't even realized existed. He checks off the 'great big nerd' box. Because when she thinks about it, yes. Steve surrounds himself with exclusively nerds. He checks off the 'good with kids' box effortlessly, to the point that Robin almost screams when she hears Steve telling Nancy about his six kids and a winnebago dream, because Eddie basically already has part-time custody of Steve's weird gaggle of gremlin children. He tickes off the 'queer as fuck' box too, if Robin's judgement is any good, and she was pretty sure it was. The bandana in his pocket seems like a pretty good sign, if the zines she had smuggled on a family trip to Indy were to be trusted.
Eddie Munson is perfect for Steve, in every way possible, Robin is sure of it. So needless to say, shes thrilled when Steve finally, FINALLY pulls her into the crappy little bathroom at Family Video and asks her how she realized she was gay. This is going to be the start of a beautiful little journey for them both, Robin is going to welcome it with open arms.
Part 2
#steddie#steve harrington#stranger things#eddie munson#stranger things 4#Robin Buckley#Platonic Stobin#Robin is already wingmanning steve before he even realizes he likes men#And she certainly doesnt miss the way Eddie blushes when they watch Indiana Jones as a group#and Shirtless Harrison Ford is on screen#ficlet#steddie ficlet
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
FINAL PART 3 OF EDDIE'S UNFORTUNATE CRUSH IS HERE there will be a couple of bonuses in the future by the way
part 1
part 2
#stranger things#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#hellfire club#corroded coffin#this took me ridiculously long to finish#sorry again if there is some bad english#look! i learned how to hyperlink!#i checked the grammar while being very sleepy#how very brave of me#hope i didnt miss some letters or the whole words in the process haha HAHAHAHA..........#i am exhausted
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Eddie posts a Tiktok of Steve and Robin setting up a chess board to play. They’re both really good chess players but Steve is strategic as hell so he wins more often.
They’re trash talking each other the entire time they’re setting the board and Steve says, “Look at the leader board, Robbie. Who is number one? Me! No one can top me.”
Eddie, waiting for this exact moment, looks into the camera and says with a self-satisfying smirk, “I can.”
#Steve Harrington is good at chess#I take no criticism#also I think he knows the names of all the pieces because he used to play with his mom and she made sure he did#but just to annoy Dustin he gives them all different names#Dustin: You’re missing a rook#Steve: What?#Dustin (deep sigh): Where’s Kevin?#eddie munson tiktok saga#steve harrington#eddie munson
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
travelsafaris
Travel Africa - East African Holidays
garbagebandit
Trash Bandicoot
most-that-position
Untitled
paleotaste-blog
Eat Clean in Hong Kong!