Porcelain Steve - Part 7
Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine
((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))
Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.
"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.
"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).
"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.
"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.
Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.
Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.
He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.
Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.
Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."
Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.
"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.
"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.
"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"
"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.
"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"
Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.
Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."
Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.
Actually, he probably can.
"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.
"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"
"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.
Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.
Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."
When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."
A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.
With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.
Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.
Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.
"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.
Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.
That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.
Fuck. FUCK!
He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.
Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.
He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.
"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.
"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.
"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.
"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"
Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.
"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."
If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).
It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.
"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."
"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."
"You good, though?"
"Uh, I will be."
Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."
He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."
Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.
Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."
"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."
Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.
A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.
Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.
His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.
"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"
That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."
Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.
Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.
Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.
He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?
Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.
He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.
"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.
Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.
"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.
There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.
This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-
Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"
He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!
He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.
It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.
"Hello?"
"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"
"What?"
"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."
"Dude, slow down, what's-"
"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."
"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."
Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.
"Eddie. What is goin' on?"
Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"
"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"
Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.
"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."
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Have a short thing of pointless fluffy bullshit, brought to you by mindlessly going through radio stations while bored and driving.
Dipper catches sight of yellow in the corner of his eye, and starts glaring.
Being caught singing to himself isn’t the worst. Bill’s seen that before, teased him about it before no less - but this time?
This time, he’s not going to get as far as he thinks.
Before Bill can start, he points his toothbrush at his stupid grinning face in the reflection. “Don’t even start.”
“Aw, sapling, look at you! What a massive nerd.” Bill spreads his arms wide, stalking forward. Dipper makes a noncommittal grunt, brushing his teeth again as Bill moves in for the kill. “You weren’t even born when that song came out, and you know it by heart! What’d ya do, wear out Stanley’s old record player in your moodier teen years?”
Augh, Dipper hates it when Bill’s… insightful. Living in the middle of nowhere with spotty internet, the easiest way to get music was by digging through Stan’s old collection.
Anyway, Bill’s taken the wrong tactic. BABBA kind of rules, and Bill’s taste in music - when it’s not way weirder- is way older.
“Ha! Knew it. It figures.” Bill tsks, shaking his head at Dipper in the mirror. “You gotta get out in the world more, kid. Spend less time with some outta touch old man.”
“You can say that again.” Dipper mutters, through foam and brush alike. He spits in the sink, wiping his mouth while his ancient, immortal demon husband makes a face behind him.
“Rude,” Bill responds. He didn’t miss the double-talk; if anything he’s grinning wider. He’s also wrapped his arms around Dipper’s waist, just above the towel. “I’m way more in touch than anyone else you know.”
Technically correct. If you’re into multi-layered conversations. Dipper rolls his eyes anyway.
“I mean it. Don’t. Start.” Dipper jabs the real Bill in the chin with the toothbrush, watching his nose wrinkle up at the foam on his chin. “You’re playing with fire, Bill. I’ll use it.”
“Oh?” The smile is, if anything, more smug. “Go on!”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Why not?” Bill rests his chin in Dipper’s hair, thus sharing the mess. “Go for it, sapling. Let’s see this-”
Dipper doesn’t wait for Bill to finish his taunt. He’s already snagged his phone from the bathroom counter, scrolling through for his perfect retort.
God, he was hoping Bill would open with that, and he has. Now Dipper can use his secret weapon.
“Aha!” Dipper turns around in Bill’s arms, brandishing his evidence right in Bill’s face. “Take that, asshole.”
Bill leans back a bit, eye squinted to get a better look. Dipper guesses he was holding it a little too close.
He takes a second to focus on what Dipper's showing him - then gasps.
“Why, Pine Tree!” Bill exclaims. He sounds scandalized, which is great. And… delighted. Which isn’t really what Dipper was aiming for. “Going around snapping creepy pics of the biggest demon celebs, huh? A real paparazzo.” Bill clasps a palm to his cheek, fluttering his eyelashes. “You pervert.”
“I- What?” Alarmed, Dipper checks the picture he took again.
Shit, right. He had a towel on for his show - but Bill didn’t.
Dipper was so proud of his find, and so used to Bill, that he simply didn’t take it into account. If Bill wasn’t half-turned away in the shot, it’d be completely indecent.
“Okay, shut up. That’s not the point.” And there's another one of those to make - “And we’re married, anyway.”
“How many of these have you got around, huh? A dozen? A hundred?” Bill leans in again, grinning wide. Dipper feels himself turning red, he doesn’t - this was - “Been waiting for me in some tight pants to get a better view of the outline?” The smugness is palpable; Bill’s implying so, so much that’s wrong, and he revels in it. “Lemme know if you need a model for your next-”
“I can hear you in the shower just as well as you hear me,” Dipper interrupts, before Bill can completely change the topic. Though he has to admit, it was a nice try. “I’m not the only one serenading himself, am I?”
Bill’s jaw shuts with a click, and a little huff. Looking annoyed, now that Dipper’s re-railed their conversation.
“I caught you,” Dipper feels a triumphant smile building, he tugs Bill closer by his tie. Let him try and escape now. “Singing pop songs in the shower.”
“Ugh. Sure I was, what’s your point?” Bill shrugs, nonchalant. It’s almost like it barely affects him. “I’ll serenade whoever I like, and lemme tell ya - never met an ungrateful audience for long.”
“Oh yeah? In your own words - ” Dipper tangles his fingers around the tie, smiling now - “What a massive nerd.”
Bill’s nose scrunches up. His eye is narrowed; he’s leaned in close enough to cage Dipper against the sink.
Not that it matters. Dipper’s won this round.
“Takes one to know one, Bill.” Dipper jabs his idiot husband in the chest, with no small amount of pride. “You can’t make fun of me when you do the exact same thing.”
“Sure I can!”
“What?” Dipper gives him a little push, annoyed. Bill certainly doesn’t look like he’s lost; he’d hoped this would deter him longer.
“‘Cause you get embarrassed about your little bathtime ballads.” Bill pats Dipper’s sides, looking pleased. “Have you seen the colors you turn? Look in the mirror sometime, kid. No way I’m missing out on those.”
Ugh. Of course. Stupid Bill; Dipper didn’t think this would stop the teasing, necessarily, but he’d hoped it’d buy him more time. Guess he’s got more of this to look forward to, Bill’s impossibly persistent and he never gives up when he spots a good time to be had.
He turns back around, rolling his eyes. “I need to shave.” Behind him, Bill grins, wide and insane - a bright flash, as a straight razor appears in his hand - “Back off, Sweeney Todd, I’ll do it myself.”
Bill sticks out his tongue, but settles down. He leans up against Dipper’s back as he shaves, eye looking off into the distance as he contemplates something.
Maybe Dipper’s going to hear an earful about this every time Bill catches him - but really. Joke’s on Bill, this time. If he thinks he’s gotten away scot free, he’s got another thing coming.
Bill says he’s not embarrassed about singing in the bath? Well. Dipper has some choice commentary to make about his taste in music. They’ll see who’s turning colors when Dipper teases him right back.
“So! You doing anything this evening?” Dipper glances at him in the mirror again. Bill’s wearing a delighted smile on his face. Like he’s just had an excellent idea, and he’s altogether too pleased with himself. “Just saying, I know a great karaoke bar on the other side of the solar system. Huge playlist. Great drinks! And it’s been a while since I hit up the place.”
Dipper wipes his face, thinking for a moment. Sure, he wasn’t really doing anything. Bill’s warm and close, fingers tapping on his stomach and bouncing slightly on his heels. Waiting for an answer.
“Well, kid? You coming?”
Dipper sighs, and despite himself, starts to smile.
Okay. Maybe he’ll let Bill’s bad taste in music slide for the evening. There’ll be plenty of chances to tease later, and he can’t pick every song.
Who knows? Maybe they’ll find something terrible they both like. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Yeah, alright. Why not.” Dipper relents, and watches Bill beam at him. Feeling squeezed tight, and hearing him start to cackle. He cups a hand over Bill’s, meeting his eye in the mirror. “It’s a date.”
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