Chapter Text
He woke up to low lights and a stiff back. Eddie had fallen asleep at some point, and there was no clock, but this room seemed purposely designed to obfuscate time from its inhabitants. If he craned his neck though, he could see the night sky fluttering in through the curtains. Steve had slumped over onto the bed at some point, right cheek mushed into the blanket. He pushed off the sheets, wincing as his back groaned ominously, then scanned from Eddie to the other chair that had been pulled up across from him. Robin rested uncomfortably against the top. In the darkness, she looked like some sort of porcelain doll; bone white and clumsily brushed strands of hair poking out in odd places with airbrushed dark circles adorning her eyes. This rest would not be peaceful- the first one after never was- though it was one fought for, and he didn't want to take that away from them. Steve tiptoed across the floor, easing the door open with practiced silence, then hesitated and looked back. Eddie's face was pinched against the pillow. Robin's shoulders had started to shake. Guilt cut into the soft underbelly of his thoughts. In some way, he'd brought this to them. They were only supposed to have one or two years under their belts respectively. Steve had dragged Eddie in without a second thought, like a sullen child clinging to their favorite toy for fear someone else would whisk it away. Robin had only appeared as a consequence, and he hadn't had the good sense to send her the other way as soon as possible.
No, he chided himself internally, you didn't make them to anything. No one is at fault for this. Steve didn't fully believe himself. He eased back into the hall and closed the door gently, then made his way down the path to Will’s room. Barb and Nancy crowded one side near the door, talking in hushed voices. Huh. Either the lab had done a more thorough check than he thought, or someone had surrendered the information of her involvement. Nancy whipped around at the sound of footsteps, hardened expression softening as she spotted him, then it froze over once more. Wordlessly, she started walking towards him, and Steve only had a moment to consider backing up before she threw her arms around him.
“Nance…” The tension melted from his shoulders, and he rubbed her back gently.
Hands tightly bunched up the fabric of his jacket. “Don’t ever, ever do that again. Or I'll take some drastic measures.”
“Don't worry, couple others beat you to that kind of threat…” He whispered. Warmth nestled deep in his rib cage however. He'd missed this- the care. Not that they'd stopped, but with each wave the fierceness of it dulled, acceptance sanding down the edges of the nightmares and diluting the protection. Before Vecna broke into the world, the most he'd been given was a solemn knowing look. Because they had to continue; they couldn't stop, could merely lick their wounds and wait for the next round to begin. He sagged into her arms and glanced over to Barb. “Is your shoulder doing better?”
“More or less.” She tried to smile through her wince. “Nancy has been filling me in. I’m sorry about…” Barb worried her bottom lip, but didn't finish the thought.
Steve only managed a small nod. Sour rage brewed in his stomach. They couldn't even say her name, not that she had one beyond a number- a brand. The nap and the environment must have renewed the shaking snarling beast of emotions that stewed at the thought of this place. Steve tried desperately to shove it down. Maybe it was better she not be addressed properly, especially since anyone could be listening. He pulled off Nance, and turned to the door. “How’s he doing?”
“Same as before. Breathing a bit better.” Nancy rubbed her eyes; it didn't look like she'd taken up the offer of a rest just yet. “Joyce is talking to Hopper. I think she's trying to figure out how to get him out of here as fast as possible while also getting him healthy.” She tucked her arms up, drawing herself up tight.
He took a deep breath as he bobbed his head in acknowledgement, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He needed to know; all the trust in the world couldn't dissuade carelessness. “Nance, did anyone… Robin said you were all questioned. Did anyone say anything?”
“No. I tried to say as little as I could. They’ll probably want to question you now that you’re awake though.” She rubbed her eyes again, stifling a yawn at the mere thought of sleep.
"I kept my story as short as Nancy's. Never mentioned you unless I was asked." Barb gave them a sheepish grin, then stepped back. "Now, we all look like we need coffee, so..." She fumbled then ended her sentence with a huff and disappeared down the hall.
Steve watched her leave. Long dead instincts curled violently at the thought of being in a room alone with one of them. “Shit. Alright. Anything I should know? What's the story I'm working with?” He leaned back into the wall where Barb had once stood and tried to peer past the glass.
“We didn't have a lot of time to come up with something, which was probably on purpose, but I think everyone was on the same page with that anyway. The kids only mentioned you at the house, and Dustin said that when you drove them back to our house, it was so they could pick up some of their school things. Robin said she ran into you and Eddie poking the body, and I know Jonathan only spoke about you in his pictures. I can't speak for Mrs Byers or Hopper, but they're smart. They probably came up with something.” Nancy joined in tracing the figures through the window.
The kids crowded around the bed, each perched on chairs similar to the ones in Eddie's room. Everyone was asleep, awkwardly thrown against each other, and he could make out Jonathan in the corner observing. Nancy nudged him with her elbow. "You can go in if you want." She whispered.
Steve flashed her a grateful smile, then ducked in, scanning over Will. The color hadn't fully returned to his cheeks, but he looked better even with an oxygen mask over his face. His eyes trailed over each kid, silently assessing for injuries and relaxing once he was sure there were none, then up to Jonathan. The older Byers watched him curiously. It was like he was trying to bore two holes in his head in the hopes it would spill his secrets. Steve shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and opted to be the one to break the silence. “How are you holding up?” Anything to keep from talking about himself for a few more minutes.
Jonathan blinked then lowered his head with a tinge of shame. “Fine… I guess. Little worried.” He hugged himself tight. “A lot worried, actually.” He murmured.
“He’ll be alright.”
They lapsed into an uneasy silence, the beep of the monitor the only sound that broke through. Steve turned his attention back to the kids. Dustin was half slumped into Lucas, who leaned forward on the bed near Will’s legs. Mike rested by his head, head propped on the arm of the bed.
“What happened?” Jonathan voice drew his attention again.
Steve raised a questioning brow. “What?”
“Nancy filled me in. Three years is... a lot, and you’re…” Jonathan sighed and picked at his nails as he searched for the right word.
"Softer?" Steve wasn't sure what tone he'd tried to go for, but it came out stale.
He flinched. “Yeah, I suppose. You’re weathered. Quiet.”
Steve kicked down the reflex to twist some joke out of the situation, instead focusing on the line of the heart monitor. “Three years is a lot. Too much." He barked out a laugh missing its humor. "Damn, I don't think I realized how weird this is for you. Just one day-” He snapped his fingers- "like that."
“No shit it's weird.” Jon tilted his head. They fell back to silence, uncomfortable and heavy with words neither of them were saying. That gulf of time felt so much larger now.
Steve set his shoulders. He had an entire apology circuit to do now that he had time; the demure man in front of him looked like a good place to start. “Look. I’m really sorry. About everything I did. And Tommy, and Carol.” He pushed his hair back. “It’s… god, I was so shitty, and I meant it too.” Steve had never been good at getting his emotions out into words, and that was really coming back to bite him now.
Jonathan, for what it was worth, seemed to understand, and even tried to smile. "I think saving my brother helps with that. Doesn’t make it any less weird, but… he’s home because of you.”
“Eh. First time I didn’t do much. Seriously. All I did was bitch about the cops being on me for Barb's disappearance, and slightly made up for it by coming back last second to handle a Demogorgon.” Steve shrugged. “I just…” He shoved his hands into his pockets and drew his shoulders up. “I want you to know that I’m sorry. And that I’m trying to fix it.”
“…thanks.” Jonathan ducked his head.
They fell into silence again, though this one felt less strained. Steve considered the scene before him. They'd all been through question, which hopefully meant they were free to leave. As much as he hated them, he hoped the lab had given them a good cover story. Judging by the lady now strolling into the room, he was about to find out the extent of the damage. She looked around, expression blank, before spotting him and motioning him out, to which Steve reluctantly followed. They didn't speak as they passed halls and doctors, but his heart slammed into his throat each time one crossed their path. It really hadn't been this bad before; Steve had made several trips to the doctor with what he considered a rather rational amount of fear. Maybe the recency stirred it back up.
They went down an elevator and the woman waved him to one of the doors without further comment. Steve's nerves buzzed as he approached, and it took every ounce of self control to not bolt back at the appearance of a figure. The man before him was stout, with greying hair that curled down near his ears. He wore a blue knit button up over a white coat and sported a solid scarlet tie. Tired blue eyes met Steve's when he cleared his throat. Doctor Owens attempted to smile, but it only reminded him of the smile he had to give people at Scoops Ahoy. “Ah, Steve. Hope you had a good rest.”
“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with. Ask your questions.” Steve didn't have the energy to muster up a front. His frustration was justified in his opinion.
Owens let the smile drop. “I see. Well, for the record, I’m Doctor Owens. As you are already aware, I would like to ask some questions about what happened with 011, and Doctor Brenner.” He folded some papers in front of him as the trite professional speak rolled easy from his tongue. “I want you to know, I’m on your side. The more information we have, the better we can help you.”
Steve broiled at the stuffy politeness, but tamped it down to a simmer lest it show in his expression. “Mhm. What do you want to know?”
“It is of my understanding that you and your friend Edward came across the 'decoy body'?” Owens nose turned up at the phrase, though he made no other motion of dissatisfaction at its existence.
“That’s right.” Steve tried to will himself into that ‘King Steve’ persona; no one would look too close at a guy so shallow, but the fight and the fear fled from his grasp. He just wanted to go home. Maybe that attitude could still work in his favor.
Owens peered up from where he'd scratched something down. “And you did not immediately call the police.”
“I was curious not stupid.” He shrugged. “Police don’t have the best track record with Eddie and me. I didn't see any blood or anything, and it had white fuzz around it. I wanted to see what was up. Not gonna get mixed up in anything.” Steve could still pull off brash and impulsive, thank god.
Another flurry of writing. “Okay, okay. And a day or so earlier, you were attacked by one of the… oh, what was the name you kids were using?”
“Demogorgon.”
“Right. Would you mind explaining what happened?” Owens folded his hands on the table.
Steve sighed. He'd been trying to figure out how to walk through this without tripping up alarms, but that had never been his strong suit. “I ran into Eddie in the woods. Sometimes I go on walks when I need to think, guess he does too. We talked, and at some point he cut himself on something.” They would notice the bat in the pictures, but Steve doubted they'd bring him in for more questions about it. “Couple minutes go by, and we hear something. Then one of those things comes swinging at us. We tried throwing whatever we had at it since we couldn't run, and Eddie had this lighter so he tried throwing some burning sticks that it didn't seem to enjoy. It gave us time to escape.”
He watched the door as the scratch of a pen filled the silence. “Is he dead?” The question passed his lips without permission.
The scratch stopped. “Hm?”
“Brenner. Is he gone?” Steve knew better than to ask. He sounded too desperate. In a way, he was. Despite seeing the claws hit their mark, a small voice screamed hes not gone, Papa is never gone, hes a liar he tricked you.
Owens hesitated briefly, just long enough for Steve’s heart to start its climb to his throat again, but nodded and continued writing. “Half his face was… but yes. We’re pretty positive that was him.” He hummed. “Now, if I’m understanding correctly, you helped make the plan to save Will.”
“Yeah. Eddie helped though. He’s gonna be okay, right? It’s just because of all the ash in the air?” Steve leaned forward with a scrap of his remaining energy. “You can fix it?” He urged.
“We’re doing our best.” The confidence in that statement did nothing to settle him. Steve sighed and leaned back. “So, why don’t you tell me what happened with 011?”
It was going to be a long night.
-
Steve spent the next week 'recovering'. The term was a stretch; it implied he actually felt better. He'd mentally checked out from everything and everyone, only surfacing when someone came over. Even then, he floated in and out of conversation. Steve didn't miss the concerned looks he kept getting.
After they’d finished their questions at the hospital, Steve had been allowed to leave. Apparently they'd gotten his car from the school. The mere thought had him cataloguing everything he'd need to replace. Not a single fingerprint from the lab would be allowed to taint what was wholly his. The kids' parents got them all home, though not without their own barrage of questioning, so his entourage only consisted of Robin and Eddie, the latter of which he’d been told to watch overnight. The agreement hadn't been met without argument; Hopper had offered to do it, asking questions about his parents, who was going to watch him and all that. But Eddie had sided with Steve, and that had been the end of it. He’d dropped Robin off, then got himself home.
The first few hours home had been rough. Eddie had nodded off quickly, and in his current state, Steve found himself checking every fifteen minutes to see if he was still breathing. It took till four in the morning for his own exhaustion to win him over, only to be woken no more than five hours later to the smell of smoke and fire. Images of Starcourt mixed with the instinct to run. Steve tore himself from his bed, hurtling down the steps in a haze of panic and fury. Turns out, Eddie was just trying to make toast. He’d only calmed down when the smell of burn started to dissipate, and he hadn’t felt it in him to explain properly.
Some time during that first day, Eddie had gone home. Steve couldn’t remember when, he just remembered he'd tried to dissuade him from driving and kept suggesting they call Wayne instead. Eddie simply laughed and sidled into the driver's seat. Then he was alone in the house. Steve couldn’t bring himself to do anything after that. Maybe he wandered around the halls, maybe he had a smoke out by the pool, but he didn’t do anything substantial. He was a ghost in his own house, too big for his wandering spirit and discordant thoughts.
Every now and again, he’d settle himself on the floor of his bedroom and try to stretch out. Try to find that connection. But all that remained was a blanket of static, and something orbiting just out of reach that stung of simmering rage and discontent. It shied away if it ever noticed him, so Steve left it be. He let most things be; he hadn't changed out of the pajamas he'd chucked on after getting Eddie home, hadn't eaten much, hadn't bothered to call anyone.
Someone was bound to stumble upon him in that state eventually. That 'someone' turned out to be a very worn out Joyce two days after Eddie departed. One look, and she'd bustled through the door, ordering him to go take a shower and get changed. At his bewildered stare, she rolled her eyes affectionately and said "Hopper said to check on you." It didn't take much more. After getting clean and being forced to eat a bowl of cereal, Steve was brought along to the hospital. He stayed quiet, let himself roll under the sway of someone who suddenly seemed like so much more than a passing thought, and he remained by the bed the entire time. When they were told visiting hours were over, Joyce didn't ask where he wanted to go; she drove to the Byers' house and told him to take the couch. Steve couldn’t find it in himself to argue.
The house became a second home for him, if not the first considering the state of the Harrington residence. If Steve wasn’t at the hospital, he stayed there. He started seeing the others again too. Barb and Nancy brought his homework from school as Joyce didn't have the heart to force him to go, and the kids came through the hospital whenever their parents let them. Mike remained the most frequent guest, probably because he had Nancy to take him. Steve made himself more scarce when they were there; he wasn't exactly excluded from the conversations, but they made no move to include him, so he didn't push. Even Eddie showed up pretty frequently, usually discussing DND with Will, though Steve could see it was more for his own benefit. Robin and Eddie made more appearances around him once they took in the state of him. Part of Steve wanted to be annoyed; he didn't need to be babied, but it was drowned out by the way their presence soothed out the dullness. Most times, Steve remained at hospital alone, or as alone as one could be. Nurses were a constant, as were Joyce and Jonathan. Conversations weren't plentiful beyond questions of apatite and other needs, and he wasn’t wholly sure if he preferred it to being constantly fretted over.
But on Wednesday, for a couple hours, it was just him and Will. Will had been getting better, to the point that he no longer had the mask. The doctors wanted to hold onto him for a bit longer until they got some lab work back, as Joyce complained to him over lunch. Her restlessness grew the longer they had to stay, and he couldn't blame her. Will clearly wasn't enthused either, though that was just a guess. Steve might stay there when Jonathan went to school and Joyce had to go to work, but they didn’t really talk much. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to if he was honest; Will didn’t speak to him much the first time around either. Steve instead busied himself with what he could, like the math he was currently bent over, scanning over his numbers with a rueful eye. He’d done something wrong somewhere. The number felt too big, but he couldn’t figure out where he'd miscalculated. Steve groaned and pushed the papers away, then arced a brow as Will scooped them up.
“…you didn’t move the decimal.” He tapped a column of multiplication. His voice was still weak and scratchy, partially from infrequent use and the remaining damage to his lungs.
Steve leaned over. “Oh.” He frowned down at the offending numbers. “Yeah no that… right. Thanks.” He picked up the pencil and started checking the rest of the calculations. Steve drummed the eraser against the paper before tilting his head up. “Hey, you’re kinda good at math, yeah?”
Will drew his arms around his torso, the words coming out stilted and fumbled. “Kinda. I don’t know if I could do high school math though.”
“I was just wondering. I’ve never been that good at it.” Steve began to write again. He still felt Will watching him. The blanket shifted a little, and another piece of paper appeared in his peripheral. He blinked, confused, then threw a questioning glance up.
Will sheepishly looked away. “Uh, Mike told me what you did. He thought it was cool. And you’ve seemed… I know it’s kinda dumb, but I figured maybe I could- I mean it’s just a drawing so I guess take it as a thank you? Or something to cheer you up? Either works.”
Steve returned his attention to the paper. It was a sketch of him in large flowing garb with a small trickle of blood down his nose, hand raised toward a large devil looking creature. A clock was drawn in the background. “What’s this?”
“I drew you as a magic user, and uh…” Color splashed across his cheeks. “You’re fighting a lesser demon, uhm, barbed. I’m usually our party's Magic User, but you- I mean with your stuff. It made sense to me at least.” Will drew further into himself, finding a loose string on the sheets far more interesting at the moment. “Sorry, I know you’re not into that sort of thing-”
“No, it's really cool.” Steve, for the first time since the attack, smiled. “Your art is awesome. And I do understand it; it'd be hard not to pick up something between you and Eddie and the rest of your crew.” He held the paper with the reverence of an archeological find. Maybe Steve could blame the mental fatigue, but he hadn't seen Will drawing when he'd been here. If he wasn't asleep, Will spent his time eating or reading. When had he done all this? For the briefest of seconds, Steve considered crying over the gesture. Then he squinted. “Hang on. Mike told you I was cool?”
Will broke into a wide grin. “Yeah.”
“Mike Wheeler, the guy who told me everything about me was stupid? That Mike?”
He laughed, breathless but steady. “They’ve been filling me in on what happened. They all think it was cool, but-” he sobered slightly, looking up with wide eyes, “don’t- don’t tell them I said anything. They might get mad at me.”
“Wouldn't dream of it” Steve leaned back with a grin, once again scanning over the paper. He would be framing this. “...Hey, I know you’re probably sick of people asking, but… how’re you doing? With all this stuff.”
Will fell quiet. He twisted his fingers restlessly around the blanket before regarding him with a cautious gaze. “You won’t… start monitoring everything if I do if I tell you, right? And you’ll keep it between us?” He shrunk down against his pillow.
“Promise. Just between us.”
“...I can’t help but wonder if it chose me for a reason. The Demogorgon.” Will looked to be trying to make himself as small as possible. “And I feel… I made everyone worry. And they spent all this time looking for me. If I’d just not been there then maybe… but then I wonder if it even mattered what I did. Would it have taken me anyway?” He swallowed around the disjointed thoughts, then shook his head and concluded, “I don’t know. It’s… maybe I deserved it.”
Steve regarded him before remembering to school his pity; Will had enough of that to last a lifetime, so he turned to something more sympathetic. “...Hey, as an expert on extra chances and what ifs, that sort of thinking can make you sick. I don't know if knowing its reason would make you feel better or worse, but I can tell you that people were worried because they care about you. And no one deserves to be stuck there, you included.” He propped his arms on the bed, and Will focused back on his face. “I get that feeling, Will. Really, I do. Hell, I’m still struggling with that kinda thought process. But don’t let that consume you, alright?”
“...It’s hard.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s hard.” Steve looked away. “...But we got each other. Yeah?” He pushed off the bed and gathered up his work before a thought caught him. “Why’d you tell me? Instead of, I dunno. Your brother.”
“I don’t want him to worry more. He's got enough of that. And the Party is…”
“Loud?” Steve supplied.
Will nodded with a huff. “Loud. They mean well, I-I know, but… and you don’t crowd me with questions like everyone else.” He smiled shyly. “You just sit with me. It’s nice.”
Steve smiled back, then let them lapse into an easy silence as he turned back to his homework. At some point, he’d gotten up to get something from one of the vending machines, and when he came back, Will had picked up his book.
“I noticed no one asked how you’re doing.” He shuffled closer when he sat down, an action usually reserved for his friends.
Steve glanced up. “Eh, I think they’re worried I’ll snap in half if I do.” Will laughed softly. “What?”
“They’re scared we’ll both break. But they treat us the exact opposite.” Will grinned like he'd broken some grand conspiracy. “Do you think we could switch?” He flipped the book shut and peered at him over his knees. “Here. How are you doing?”
He opened the can he'd gotten with a bit more focus than necessary. “...it’s complicated.” Steve took a swig, letting the carbination ripple against his throat as he sorted out his words. “I didn’t know the first time this went down. Not consciously, at least, something about this never rubbed me right. But I kept going because what the hell am I going to say? Hey, something about this feels familiar, but I can't tell you any more than that. And then I know, for just a few days, and it’s ripped away from me.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “She uh, she isn’t…” Should Steve really tell him? The reason Hopper had been so mum the first time was to keep her and the boys safe; if they found El, then everyone else could reasonably claim ignorance to her return. But Will was already super on the lab's radar, and he was a reasonably smart child. He knew how to keep quiet too. Steve cleared his throat. “...she’s not dead. But I can’t feel her, and that terrifies me more than anything. What if I messed something up, and she gets killed? What if she ends up hurt or missing a limb or something? I don’t want to lose my sister.”
Will's eyes danced over his face. He didn't look shocked by this news either. “You’ll find her. I’m sure of it.” It was a naive hope, but the blinding sureness of the statement did the trick. The tension melted a fraction from Steve's shoulders. “When I get out of here, we could figure out how to find her, if you want.”
He chuckled. “Alright, Will.” Steve dared to cross the barrier of touch and ruffled his hair, to which Will laughed again. They fell back into that silent eddy. It was nice. Will was nice. He could make this work.
-
After that week, Will was let out. Not because he'd recovered fully- he still needed some medication for his lungs- but Joyce refused to leave him there any longer. Steve also returned to his house once Hopper made sure to check thoroughly for bugs. It was depressing, and not born of personal desire, but he felt like he was imposing despite Joyce insisting otherwise. She didn't need a second person to fuss over. Steve dragged himself through the doorway and stood in the hall, shoulders sagging under the stagnant air. It felt like returning from vacation. The house held its breath for him, and now that he'd returned, the bubble popped. Steve was still very much alone. Eleven’s blip still didn't appear on his radar. Every night beforehand, he’d been stretching out the connection, feeling around as far as he could reach until his head began to hurt.
Steve trailed aimlessly through the rooms, attempting to breath some life into the space, until he stopped in the kitchen. The corded phone over the counter caught his eye. It had only been something his subconscious assumed his mother would want, but... They'd probably bugged the phones, he wagered, since they'd been able to hear the AV club radio, but it was his only option at this point. He plucked up the receiver and stared down the number pad, glared at it really as if it would decide for him. Steve knew the number. It was practically burned into his memory ever since his mother had passed him that slip of paper at the ripe age of twelve.
The line rang once, twice, then clicked. “Hello?” Their personal receptionist greeted him; Lydia had been on the other side of the phone for as long as he could remember. Steve’s mom called like clockwork once a month, but in the beginning he'd called frequently, until his mother slowly stopped being available. Before he'd realized his parents weren't coming back, half of his questions had been answered by the very patient secretary who probably wasn't being paid to handle a lonely child. Steve wondered if she knew anything about the lab.
“Hey, uh, it’s Steve. Is my mom available?”
“Oh, Steve, honey. Good to hear from you. Let me check.” The line crackled as it went quiet. Steve had never met her in person, but her voice and tone reminded him of Lulu Hogg. He always pictured her behind a desk, clacking her long nails together and futzing with her pearls. “She’s in a meeting right now. Would you like me to take a message?”
Steve hesitated. He wanted her to know the urgency of this call, tell her he remembered, that he wanted to ask so many questions, that he was sorry. He could feel it bubbling up in his gut, trying to burst out of his mouth in a blubbery rush. But this wasn’t his mom, and leaving a message like ‘call me now’ couldn't prepare her for the breadth conversation they were about to have. So he settled for something in between. “Yeah. Yeah, just tell her… ‘does it happen all at once, like being wound up?’”
“...okay?” Lydia muttered the words to herself accompanied by a faint scratching sound. “I will tell her that, then. Anything else?”
No questions, no explanation. Lydia was damn good at her job. “No, just that."
He heard her shuffle against the plastic and sigh. "It's been a while since you've called. How are you holding up, dear?"
"I'm..." Steve swallowed thickly. Paranoia wound through his thoughts, hissing distrust at the voice that had been more of a constant than those that played the part of his parents. "I'm alright. Just dealing with a lot."
Lydia hummed in acknowledgement. "Well, if you ever need someone, I'm here. You know that."
It did little to quell the fears, but he forced his voice to remain light. "I know, Lyds. I'll let you get back to work now." They exchanged a quick goodbye, and he hung up. Steve didn’t move too far from the phone after that, sliding to a sit against the wall and waiting for it to ring. His gut didn’t dare settle until then.
Only ten minutes later did the call light turn on. Steve shot his hand up before it finished its first ring. “Hello?” He hated how he sounded out of breath; it must have been from the laps he was running in his thoughts.
“Steven? Dear?” His mother didn't sound much better in that regard.
“Mom?” His heart threatened to spill right into his lap at her voice.
“Hey, honey- I got your message. I- Do you-?”
“...Yeah. I remember, mom.” His shoulders relaxed into the soft sigh she blew against the receiver.
“How… how much?” Her voice softened, and something on the other end started tapping rhythmically.
Steve once again reminded himself of the AV radio. He held the details under lock and key, as much as he wanted to sob them through the phone. “The big things. You, dad, the… the end.”
Another sigh, heavier than the first. “Oh, Steven.” The silence stretching between them weighed down against his chest.
“When… when are you coming home?” Steve lowered his head, voice meek and small as he felt the rush of tears trying to well up behind his eyes. The question wasn't entirely selfish; if his parents came home, he could explain everything.
“Sweetie, I-”
“Please, I’m so- I want you to come home.” He pressed his forehead to his knees, as if that would block out the regret already seeping into her voice. “Please.” Steve felt like he was eleven again, pushing, crying, begging just to see his parents just one more time like he did almost every week.
His mom was quiet then let out a tepid and resigned breath. “Steven, we’re…”
“Busy. I know.” He stared off. It was the response he'd always get in those ensuing years. Steve couldn’t remember when he stopped asking, just that he eventually did, and soon after he stopped actively reaching out to them altogether. They were busy and Lydia had a job she needed to do. “You got work.” A live wire connected to his brain, and suddenly every emotion that had been all but muted the days prior came careening back to life with a belly aching roar. Every scrap of loathing and sadness and anger churned and boiled over in his stomach, falling into the flames as he spoke. A deep well of inadequacy bore itself up then, hidden by time. His parents had always been so careful when he was younger, shielding him to the point where a young Steve asked if they were ashamed of him. Rationally, he knew now there had to be a very specific reason, but such logic had dissolved under the crushing weight of his rage. A rage that had no target other than the one closest to him. “And you’re not here, and you’re never here because I’m not even your son. Did- did you leave because I didn’t remember? Did you ever care? Were you ever going to tell me why I had nightmares for two years, or why I was always so far behind everyone else? Or did you not want me to remember? Cause that would be so much easier!”
It wasn't fair to her, and it hadn't been easier, but Steve couldn't help the bitterness. He hadn't complained much thus far. In fact, he'd kept himself together pretty well, considering everything, but the seams were ripping open now. Steve was crying; he could feel it beneath the yelling, and the words weren’t stopping even if he still had enough presence to chose them with care. “You left me the minute I was functional! What was I supposed to do? I just had a bunch of nannies until I was 16, and you never came back, I just w-” He choked down a sob. “...I just wanted my parents. That's all I've ever wanted.”
There was only silence on the other end save for the feedback of his words. Steve tried to roughly wipe the tears away and even out his hiccups. He wondered if she envisioned having this conversation, if it was going how she thought it would. “...I know, you’re mad.” His mother started. “And- and I’m sorry, Steven, really. You have every right to be. But it wasn’t because of you. It was never because of you, don’t ever ever blame yourself. You were perfect, whether you remembered or not. We were prepared for either case, memories or no. We just... we just wanted you to be normal, Steven.”
“Then why weren’t you here? Why-” Steve bunched the fabric of his shirt into his fist, gripping the receiver so tight he could hear the plastic creaking. He was starting to hate the word 'normal' and all its implications.
“After the accident, your dad and I… We'd been discussing different jobs before everything happened. We'd planned to move anyway but once the incident occurred, we were told we weren’t allowed to stay. We knew too much; we were ah, ‘high risk’.” His mom spat the words with a bit of venom behind them, none of it directed at Steve. “So, they transferred us out of Hawkins. It was all done by the higher ups, and bringing you with us when they handled things was too risky.” His mother cleared his throat. “It wasn’t like you could come after us, you’d be an unaccompanied minor, and they kept us under surveillance for a while. They knew we'd adopted, but had never seen the kid, and having you show up would have alerted someone. Steven, I’m so sorry. We- god, if we could have taken you, we would have. But I didn’t want them finding out about you, it was too early. I didn’t want you going back to that.” She sounded on the verge of tears now. Cracks formed through her voice as she spoke, like her emotions were on a fault line. “I wanted to take you, dear. I would have given anything to bring you with us.”
“...why haven’t you come back?” Steve whispered through the speaker.
Silence. Then a small hiccup.
“Mom…?”
“Because we aren’t supposed to, Steven.” His mother matched his volume, swallowing through the line. ”We signed an agreement when they let us go. No coming back to Hawkins unless we want to work there again.”
Steve sniffled. Shit.
“…but I can see when the earliest flight out is.”
It wasn’t much. Hell, it was the bare minimum for her to do. To come home. To be. But Steve couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he started sobbing. He pulled himself up tight, as if he could squeeze some comfort from his position.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Steve needed someone there, someone to latch onto while he bawled out the emotions he’d been bottling up over the past two weeks. He could hear his mother whispering small empty comforts over the phone, but it was so much more than the nothing he’d had for four years. Steve pulled the band off his arm to stare down at the numbers. They hadn’t ever really been his parents, not in either life. But she wanted to try again. A second chance.
Steve wanted to give it to her. So badly. But not right now. There were plenty of things he needed to do first before he dealt with the bomb that was his parents re-entering his life. Chief among them being finding Eleven. If she was going to show up, it would be soon. Right? “Can you…” He sniffled and readjusted. “Can you wait till the start of December? Things are kind of hectic right now.”
“Of course, honey.” His mother’s voice was watery, clearly having been crying herself. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“...is dad there?” He croaked.
His mother shuffled a little. “No, he’s uh. He went out to grab us some food. I’m not… he doesn’t know yet. If you want to talk to him, let me break it to him first. Alright?”
Steve thought for a moment. This conversation was already draining the shit out of him, he wasn’t sure if he could go another round. Not to mention, he didn’t remember too much about his dad beyond a few fringe memories. “...just tell him. I don’t remember enough to talk to him, I don’t think.”
“Alright, Steven.” His mother’s voice was soft. “...I’m glad you remember.”
“Me too."
-
The next day, Nancy came over. It was Friday, marking a full week he’d been out of school, and when he raised his brow, her explanation was to make sure he was doing his homework. He could see Mike trailing behind her.
“Did you come immediately after school?” He narrowed his eyes.
“No-”
“Of course she did.” Mike rolled his eyes. Nancy sent him a glare.
Steve huffed. “Look, go- I dunno, fuck around by the pool or something. Adults are talking.” He waved him off, watching Mike scoff then plop down in front of the wide tv and mess around with the Atari. It had been more of a decoration piece for Steve, but the kid seemed interested. He looked at Nancy. “So. Why’d you decide to fly over here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. We’re all worried…” The tinges of a lie clung to those words. Steve fixed her with a squint, and she brought her shoulders up. “And, I also wanted to warn you. Carol kind of cornered me?” Nancy chewed her lip. “She kept demanding to know where you were, and told her over and over that you were sick, but she didn't believe me. So if she shows up in the next few days, or hours, then that's why.”
He groaned. “Shit. Will Tommy be with her?”
“I have no clue. Probably, those two go everywhere together.” Nancy messed with the strap of her purse. “You should probably pretend to be sick though.” She edged around her words, and the eye contact was minimal. They lapsed into silence, only broken by bit crushed sounds sparking through his TV's speakers. Nancy only got squirrelly around a few topics.
Steve could take a guess as to which was bothering her so much. He still had that list tucked away in his brain. “...so, do you want to talk about it?”
Her head snapped up, quickly searching his face. “About..?”
“Us. We said we would, you know, before we went off to go fight a Halloween monster.” He smiled, but it felt tight. Last time he’d had this conversation, it was after cleaning spray paint off a movie theater's marquee, and then again in the back of a stolen camper. Both times, he’d fucked up. Third time's the charm though, right?
Nancy looked incredulous. “Are you sure? I mean, seems a little soon.”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” Maybe using such an important conversation as a distraction wasn't the correct thing to do, but part of him wanted it out of the way as soon as possible. The other part wished to stall until the end of time, however that only ever got the both of them hurt. Combined with his call yesterday, Steve was just hoping to get all the emotional stabbings out of the way. “We should probably not do it in the hallway though.” Steve corralled her towards the kitchen, leaving the sounds of Mike and his game behind. “You want anything to drink? Eat?”
“No thank you.” Nancy leaned against the island, propping her elbows on the marble countertop. “So…” She was trying to figure out how to start; Steve was too, given his history of emotional baggage conversations. “Do we- I mean, the future- did we break up already?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed a can of soda from the fridge so he didn't have to watch her face drop. Better to rip the bandaid off now. “I mean, we’re still friends, it’s not awful or messy or anything like that. But we aren’t together like that. After Barb…” he shivered. “After she disappeared from my pool, things got strained. You blamed yourself, you blamed me, blamed the cops. I was… dismissive. I was shitty to you.”
“Why did I blame myself? Did something happen?”
“Uh... you, you and her separated. We went upstairs.” He winced as her eyes widened.
“Oh-”
“Mhm.” Steve cracked the top open on the can. He figured he shouldn’t tell her about Jonathan taking pictures, anything to do with Jonathan really. That felt like something that should take its natural course. “And I don’t think, after everything, I could keep doing this.” He watched her shoulders deflate, eyes tracing the haphazard patterns in the cold rock counter. “I care about you a lot, Nance. Really. You’re a good girl. But I’m not the one for you. I thought- you know, I thought that’s all there was. That’s what everyone told me. I thought that was the golden standard for a guy like me. Find a pretty girl, marry her, have six kids and a dog, retire at like 50 then die.” The speech hadn’t gone down the best last time, and he could tell it wasn’t going great now either. Nancy’s shoulders were pinching upward, and her mouth had that tilt to it when she got uncomfortable. So he pivoted. “But that’s not my dream anymore. There’s more out there; there's better out there for both of us. My dreams changed, Nance. I still want it to include you, just not like that.”
She didn’t respond for a time, but the discomfort bled from her features. Nancy nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I don’t think I could've ever fit that dream anyway. I’m… I’m glad you found yourself.” Nancy stood up a bit straighter. “I imagine it’s difficult coming back after doing all that. I don’t know if I could, myself.” She sniffed. “Damn- I had a feeling this was coming, but-” Nancy dabbed under her eyes.
Steve’s gaze softened and he walked around the island, opening his arms a little. She accepted the hug, but her grip was pretty loose in return. So he did the only thing he really knew how to do. He joked. “Hey, coming back isn’t all bad. Maybe this time I’ll get better grades. That way I won’t be stuck in customer service hell forever.”
It did the trick. Nancy snorted against his collar. “Now what do you mean by that?”
“I didn’t exactly graduate with a stellar GPA.” Steve grinned as they leaned back from one another. “Only jobs I could get after high school were for an ice cream place and a Family Video.”
“Ice cream place?” She squinted. “Where…”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s here yet. They build a mall in ‘85, and there’s a Scoops Ahoy in there.”
Nancy’s eyes widened. “Scoops Ahoy. The place with the whole- the sailor get up?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh my god, Steve!” She laughed, wiping away the impression of tears from before. Good. He managed to have this conversation without emotionally collapsing, even if it was at the cost of his image. “You let yourself work there?”
“No one else would hire me!” He pushed her gently. “I’ll have you know, I looked killer in that uniform.” Steve frowned. “Except the hat. Covered my best feature.”
Nancy stifled another giggle behind her hand. “I might make you work there again. Just to confirm.” She wiggled her brow. “For research.”
“Mhm, research.” He shook his head. “But if I get better grades, maybe I’ll be hired somewhere else, and you’ll never get to know.”
“I’ll tell the others. And they’ll force you.”
“Robin is rubbing off on you too much.” Steve huffed indignantly. As if he’d have it any other way. “And they won’t believe you.” They shared another laugh before they relaxed, leaning shoulder to shoulder and watching Mike play with that console in the living room.
“It sucks, but I get it.” Nancy looked up. “Really. I think I would have done the same thing.” She hesitated for a moment, then leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. It wasn't exactly sad, but it felt like a goodbye kiss; a kiss that said I'll never forget and I love you and I'm sorry all at once. Steve pressed into it, allowing those final tidings of affection flow through him. He loved Nancy- he'd never stop loving her- but he didn't want this with her. Steve was unsure who pulled back first, but Nancy looked up as they parted. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Steve.”
“You too, Nancy.” He let her lean away, turning to look back into the living room. “How's Mike holding up?”
“Yeah, he’s doing better now that Will’s home. All the kids are, I think.” Nancy shrugged. “Actually, everyone is. Means we might actually put this part behind us.”
They stood there for a time, letting the sound of Space Invaders echo through the kitchen, just comfortable in each other's presence for a time. Suddenly, the noises stopped, and Steve heard Mike set down the controller. Footsteps thumped toward the kitchen. “Yeah?” He watched Mike's tense expression give way to a scowl as he appeared around the corner.
“Did Will draw that for you?” Mike pointed over his shoulder to the paper hung on the fridge. Steve glanced back, then nodded. He’d hung it up the moment he’d got home, after the call with his mom, so he could display it while he thought about getting a frame.
“Oh, yeah. It’s cool as hell.”
Mike just scowled deeper then huffed. “Whatever, that’s not why I came in here.” He crossed his arms. “I wanted to talk about El.” The mood plunged at those words, and Steve straightened up off the counter. Mike's foul mood swept away into something somber and nervous. “I... she can't be dead, right? She just disappeared." A small ounce of vulnerability squirmed through the cracks in his facade. "I remembered she could feel you without even being close to you. It’s why she sprinted to the house. Can you do the same thing?”
“I- Kinda? But she’s- I can’t feel her. I’ve tried, Mike. It was one of the first things I did.”
He frowned. “Maybe your powers aren’t strong enough. When El tried to look for people she had to stop feeling outside senses.”
“Mike, I haven’t been able to find her. And my powers don’t really include finding people. Not like hers.”
“Just try.” He tensed, on the verge of yelling. “Okay? It shouldn’t take that long. Maybe she can find you instead.”
Steve chewed his lip, brow arched high. He could always confirm that she wasn't, but the truth was he didn't really know, not until Eleven decided to turn up. The disappointment from a failed scry could damage something, but if he was successful, Mike would want to find her as soon as possible. Nancy watched them silently though her arms braced against the counter, prepared to wrangle her brother at the first sign of an argument. He sighed. Despite everything, Steve knew the outcome even if he'd never really told the kids how far back he'd really traveled. He knew Mike wouldn't give up just because he couldn't find anything; he'd radioed her for a year solid on nothing more than hope. “...fine. What do we need?”
Mike's eyes widened a fraction before he set his face in a commanding grimace. “A blindfold, and something to produce static. We used a bath? But I don’t think it was necessary.”
He nodded. “Go flip the tv to some bunk channel, I’ll find something for my eyes.” Steve called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.
Steve didn't particularly want to use the same cloth used during some of his wilder parties, it smelled too much of booze and bad choices, so he ended up grabbing a scarf from his mother’s closet. Nancy had already drawn the curtains as he stepped out, and Mike was deliberating over remotes while the tv played Springer. Steve held up the fabric. “Got it. And it's that remote.”
Mike picked up the one he indicated to and let the static glow bathe the room. “Okay, sit in front of it. Put the blindfold on.”
Steve wandered over and sat cross legged, folding the fabric over his eyes and awkwardly trying to tie it behind his head. He heard Nancy come up behind him. “Here, I’ll help.” She plucked the cloth from his grip and adjusted it over his face before tying it in the back.
“Alright, now just… do the thing.” Mike called from where he'd remembered the couch to be.
“Oh yeah, just do it.” Steve rolled his eyes but relaxed. The room fell into silence, the sound of static filling the space. It was like flies buzzing around his skin, prickling at the hairs along his arms as he fell into his usual stretch around the area. Maybe there was something to this because his range practically doubled, and it didn't feel like as big a strain to feel around in the void. Steve sucked in a small breath between his teeth and straightened up, quickly casting about for any threads he could grasp. That one that had been floating around just out of reach tugged back, almost unconsciously, and he could feel it twisting with fear adrenaline pridepanicglee . The thrum of emotions wove around him, slipping into his own system as if they were one in the same. It wasn’t Eleven though, it felt rougher, dulled almost. El's emotions were bright and loud, but never intrusive. As it noticed him, it shied back and the connection faded as walls went up. Steve had forgotten how to identify who it was by feel, but it didn't matter. Whoever it was couldn't be reached at the moment. Blood dripped down his nose as he turned his attention outward.
She wasn't there; nothing else was there. Dread pooled in his gut as the field continued to remain as little more than static. That couldn't be right. Steve remembered vividly that he'd helped Ten and Twelve escape. Where were they? Where was everyone else? Did that attack really... no, something was there. An odd blind spot devoid of the ever present static. Just blackness that he couldn't grasp. It rested in the opposite direction of the other number. Steve stretched further, reaching, searching, prodding at this thing that had to be something even though it was nothing. His head was starting to pound. With a gasp, he let go, shaking his head. “She’s not- I can’t find her.”
“Keep looking. She has to be out there.”
“Mike, I can’t find her. She isn’t there-”
“Try harder!”
Steve yanked off the blindfold, and the extra sense dulled to the background. “I have! You think I haven’t tried to find her? You think I haven’t been looking every night!? She’s not there, Mike!”
His face twisted into a sneer. “She would be here if it wasn't for you falling in the hallway!” Mike threw his hands out as he stood.
“Mike!” Nancy called.
“Fuck you!” He turned and stomped out of the house. The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frames on the wall.
Steve slowly flicked off the tv, looking over his shoulder to Nancy. “...doing better?”
“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t- I’ll go talk to him. He’s just upset and looking for someone to blame.” She stepped towards the door, but Steve waved her off.
“No, Nance. Let him cool off first.” He took the tissue Nancy offered and sopped up the blood still shining on his face and took a deep breath. Steve watched the door as he steadied the pounding in his head. “And… I’ll talk to him. He's mad at me, not you.” Steve clambered onto the couch and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, counting silently to himself. At five minutes, he went out the door.
Mike was sitting on the step, his head propped up on his knees. He jerked back at the sound, then quickly looked forward and scoot to the side. Even as Mike tried to hide his face, Steve caught sight of raw tear tracks and puffy eyes.
Steve lowered himself onto the step next to him. “Hey.” No response. “...I’m sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have.” He kept his eyes trained on the street, trying to keep the pressure off Mike to speak. “I did my best to help her. Really.”
“How-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat. “How many times did you go through it?”
“About….” Steve counted on his fingers. “Five. Before I couldn’t anymore.” He looked over. “She fought it, every time. Fought it because she cared about us, about you. I tried, Mike, I really did. But it was her choice.”
Mike went back to silence, playing with his shoelace before meeting his eyes. “...well. She wanted to be a superhero.” He cracked a small smile, but then ducked his head. Steve got the message; Mike had never been good with apologies.
“You and Nance should get home. In case Bonnie and Clyde decide to show up.” He stood, dusting off his jeans. “They aren’t the best with kids.”
Mike rolled his eyes before he stood. At least that was back to normal. He watched him and Nancy drive off, but thankfully neither Carol nor Tommy showed up for the rest of the day. Steve went to bed with an uneasy feeling in his gut.
––
Somewhere, deep in the forest, a tear ripped open in the still night air and a hand clawed free from its fleshy confines. A small form crawled through, followed closely by a long string of sinew and phloem catching the meat of her thigh. They kicked and fought and screamed as the tear pulsed, refusing to release its catch until the very last second. As the cut end of the vine slapped the ground, the squirming under her skin ceased. The girl panted heavily as she splayed herself out, adrenaline bleeding into the packed soil below. The midnight sky stretched far overhead, lacking a sickening red hue, and the light of stars not there before twinkling welcomingly down at her. Any remaining buzz from the predatory presence ceased.
Eleven screamed in victory.
––
Steve wretched awake in a cold sweat. His head screamed and pounded, every inch of his body held to a fire he couldn't see. Something wound tight to the back of his skull and pulled, yanking out in a cry for help that struck every deep rooted instinct in him to protect. He'd clambered his way out of bed and gotten to the door before the rest of his rational mind caught up with him. Despite the screaming, despite the bone deep urges, Steve hesitated. It was El. It had to be. But after everything, a new set of instincts were now fighting for control, whispering caution and distrust.
He grabbed the bat. Just in case.
The thread keeled again in anguish and distress, driving him into the woods as fast as his legs could carry him. Steve fought through branches and shrubbery, hands gripped tight around the bat. “El!” Well, if it was a trap, he’d just sprung it. He tumbled into a small clearing, and caught sight of the girl propped up against the tree, shaking and trying to make herself as small as possible against the sudden noise. “Eleven!”
At the sound of his voice, her head snapped up. “Steve-”
“El!” Steve rushed over and scooped her up, his bat discarded halfway across. Eleven was happy to return it, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. The connection was back, teeming with scared shaking life. He scanned over what he could from his vantage point. She was still wearing the soft pink dress and blue jacket, but it was coated in that thin slime he knew came from the portals. It clung tight to the fibers and stuck between the ridges of her skin. Blood weeped from a gash in her leg, and she was shaking like a leaf. “Oh my god- El, are you- are you okay?”
El didn't answer, instead letting out a rough sob into his shirt. “Okay, okay, hold on. I’m gonna get you home. It's okay now. You're home. You're safe.” Because she was. She was alive, and Steve would be damned if anything got to her now. He exhaled slowly as he smoothed his free hand across her back, trying to still his rapidly pounding heart. Nerves still clouded his thoughts, but the burst of adrenaline that got him there was starting to wear thin. He turned back the way he'd come, shifting her weight into one arm and picking up the bat with the other. Something coiled near the bushes caught his eyes, and Steve squinted before realization knocked the air from his lungs. But the vine didn't move, not even as he hoisted the bat. Another second went by before he walked over and prodded it. Dead. And it looked to be decaying further. "El. Did anything else besides this come through?"
“Don’t- Don’t know-” She sniffed and hiccuped, voice thick with exhaustion. Steve spared a glance around before stepping back into the woods with haste.
“Alright, don’t worry about it- We can talk about it later.” He hurried through his backyard, and moved hurriedly towards the downstairs bathroom. Steve tossed his bat on the couch as he passed, then winced as he flicked on the lights. Eleven made no motion other than a small whimper when he deposited her onto the toilet seat. The first aid kit remained open on the kitchen counter where Steve had lazily refused to deal with it, and right now he couldn't be more thankful for his own lethargy. He knocked a few things about, then gave up and lugged the whole thing back. “Okay, show me your leg, I need to clean that.” He washed his hands and tugged out the hydrogen peroxide while she readjusted herself to extend her leg. Something pushed out from under the surface, black but dormant, and it pulled taut the skin of her calf. Steve considered then picked up a pair of tweezers.
El screamed the minute the blades clamped around the mass. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I know this is going to hurt, but I need to get this out." Steve had seen it before, two years from now in the mall. This one didn't look to be squirming around though. He adjusted his grip again, then tugged, trying to ignore the lurch in his gut as it slapped against his palm on the way out. He damn near threw it, but managed to delicately place it on a paper towel. Eleven moaned weakly against the pain, then slumped as her little chest heaved in exhaustion. “Good, okay. You're doing great." Steve cleaned the wound as gently as he could, then let out a small whoosh of air. The cut was long, yes, but it wasn't deep. The section the mass had forced into looked to be relaxing back into place already. "Good news, you shouldn’t need stitches.” Steve breathed. Good for both of them; his stitches were terrible. Even with the fresh blood welling around the wound, the entire thing felt much more manageable. Steve sifted out the gauze and antibiotic cream. The gunk coating her body made it hard for the stuff to stick, but after a bit more cleaning, it was properly wrapped. “Are you okay enough to take a shower?” He looked up at her.
Eleven hadn't said anything the entire time he'd worked. Even now, she rested her head on the back of the toilet, her eyes half lidded and her breath slow. She blinked into the conversation and nodded, though made no move to stand. Steve turned on the shower for her as she leaned forward to pry off her shoes. “I’ll stay close by. Just call if you need help. Try not to get the bandages wet.” He stood, angling to grab the paper towel, but her hand grabbed his wrist.
“Where.. Where are you going?”
“I’m giving you privacy. Your body is your privacy.”
“...oh.” She let him go. He reached for the towel, then blinked.
The slug was gone.
Steve huffed. Just his luck. He slipped out and sunk down against the wall next to the door. The remaining energy bundled in his chest wanted nothing more than to dissipate, for him to collapse back into a bed, but El still needed him. He nervously tapped his fingers against his leg. Where would that thing go? What could it really do? Part of him just wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, but anything that came from that place was a threat. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, but Steve was very inclined to do just that. A small knock startled him back to reality.
“Steve, water off?”
“Oh, just turn the knob.” He heard a squeak. “I’ll get you some fresh clothes, okay? Just sit tight.” Steve groaned as his body protested the movement, but stood and meandered down to his room to root through his clothes. It wasn’t like he had anything child sized, he hadn’t been small like that in years, and he doubted she'd want to wear any of his polos. Steve gave up and tore through his mother's closet instead, producing a gown after mentally making a note to shop for her as soon as he could. He cracked the door open and held it in for her to take.
Eleven came out a minute or so later, dressed, clean and clearly exhausted. She stumbled as she put weight on her bad leg, so Steve just picked her up. “You want one of the guest rooms upstairs or something downstairs?”
“Your room.”
Steve didn’t argue. He simply retreated to the steps and started up. El was asleep before they reached the landing. He lowered her gently onto the comforter. But now the implications were starting to settle in. There was no way Steve could keep her here. Too many people came around, most times without warning. Keeping her hidden wasn't ideal either; the longer she stayed in, the more likely she was to bolt, but there weren't many options. The lab could catch wind of her, and Steve wasn't ready to handle new inbetween situations. So he needed a balance, and he needed a place for her that wasn’t Grand Central for nerds. Steve pulled the covers up to her chin, then let the crash he'd been stalling knock him back onto the side of the bed.
She shifted unconsciously beside him, giving him enough space to lay. Steve happily took it. He relaxed back and stared at the faded green stars plastered across his ceiling. There were too many things. Too many thoughts that were starting to bleed together into a messy construct of worry and fear that weighed heavy in his gut. As if sensing this, Eleven rolled over and worked her fingers into his shirt again. He sighed. It could be okay, for a few hours. This could all be Morning Steve's problem. Not now. Now, he could just be happy she was here.
Steve could be happy for a few hours.
-
Carol made good on Nancy's warning that Saturday. Steve had cooked El some eggos for her first meal back, and was cleaning the kitchen when the door knob turned sharply. Instinct brought him yanking time to a stop and for just a moment a spill of deep rooted fear rolled around in his gut. He inched down the hall and peered through the peephole to see a mess of wafty brunette. Some of the tension bled from him, but still kept a knowing hand around his gut. Steve maneuvered himself to the hall where he could effectively block her view and let time drop. She tossed open the door and scowled at him. “Carol, you dick, knock first.”
Eleven had the presence of mind to sneak off while he spoke. Carol arched her brow high. “When was that rule put into place?” She tossed the spare key at him. “Key outside is an open door policy as far as I'm aware.”
“It’s always been in place. You people just never listen.” He snatched it from the air and set it on the counter.
Carol waved her hand dismissively as she passed by. “So. Are you going to explain why you’ve gone yet another week not coming to school?” She tapped an acrylic nail against her arm.
“...Is Tommy with you?” Steve turned back to the door for a moment, almost expecting his shadow to be lurking in the frame.
“No. You know how stubborn he can be. He’s still mad at you.” She flicked her hair. “Your girl said you were sick, but you look pretty fine to me.”
“Flu takes a week, it’s been a week.” Steve grumbled, then set to cleaning up the table. El hadn't finished, but Carol would call out the presence of pre-made waffles in his house. Steve always made the effort to at least use a mix. “I have been sick. Okay? That’s it.”
“Bullshit.” Carol pulled out a cigarette from her purse. “You can't seriously expect me to believe that, can you? No. Something weird went on, and you’re gonna tell me what.” She smiled, although it was an impatient one that bordered on predatory.
Steve rolled his eyes at her as she tugged out a lighter next. “No, Carol, I really can’t.” He focused his attention back on the plate, if only to give himself time to think. Carol was similar to Nancy in a way, dogged when it came to figuring things out. If Nancy were a bloodhound, Carol reminded him much more of a fox, enjoying the chase more than the victory. Steve had watched her tease and unspool information out of people before. Sometimes he'd been on the other end of that, though for far different reasons. He'd learned a few deterrents over the years; Him and Tommy were the only people she bothered being sensitive about. That and understanding when the situation could get far worse if she kept going. “Legally. I can’t.”
“Legally? Wow, what the hell did you do? Did you piss off the wrong person?” She frowned, eyes now sharp and calculating. Steve was a puzzle now, and he could see her pulling out the pieces. “What are you allowed to say? Did you sign something?”
Steve hadn’t had time to read through the mound of papers thrust at him, hadn’t even tried. He’d been questioned extensively and then told to sign, and even if it was a bad idea, he just didn’t care. Steve signed. It wasn’t the full truth, 'piss off' was a very unsuitable term for what he'd done, but it was close enough. “Yeah. I did. So I’m not allowed to tell you anything.” He tensed as Carol leaned over, crowded his space as she scanned over his face. Smoke and perfume clogged his nose. “Carol-”
“Holy hell. You aren’t lying.”
“How can you tell?” Steve could see Eleven peering at him from one of the rooms. She probed out with worry and fierce protectiveness that Steve tried to assuage.
Carol's mouth quirked into a sly grin. “Your nostrils flare when you lie.”
“They do not.” He huffed and pushed her back a pace, though she readily leaned back into his hand as the cigarette glowed amber in time with her breaths. “And no. I’m not lying.”
“Is it someone local?”
“No.”
“Some private business?”
“Carol.”
“Is it the government?”
“No!” She finally gave in and stepped back, seemingly satisfied. Steve sighed. “No. It's not your business. Please, stop pushing, Carol.”
She chuckled. “You got yourself into some deep shit, Harrington.” Carol took a long drag from her cigarette and sighed out the ensuing smoke. “When I get my law degree, I’m gonna get you out whatever stupid contract you probably didn't read. You’re a legal minor, it's probably void anyway.”
“I don’t think it works like that, Carol.” Though worn out warmth dared to thread between the words.
“How would you know? Bet you couldn't even sit still long enough to read the intro to law textbook.” She smiled. The predatory nature had gelled into something far too fond. “I’ll save you, Stevie. Always gotta come to the defense of you boys, and that's not gonna change now.”
Steve rolled his eyes at her.
~
He’d just turned thirteen when he’d first been pushed from the nest and plummeted into public school, unprepared for it or his parents departure a month or two later. Steve had barely learned to start untangling his strange attachment to things like rules, he’d clawed his way through a decent amount of English and Math, and the only people he could hold a conversation with were his parents and the nice nanny lady. His hair barely covered his scalp. Steve was completely and thoroughly unprepared.
The school almost swallowed him whole in those first few hours through the door. Steve couldn't form a proper thought above the amount of people pushing and crowding around him, and he’d burst out crying. There were too many numbers, too many words, too much noise. He wanted to go home; he wanted his mom, even if he couldn't blubber the words out past the tears. The teacher had sent him to the office to calm down while quiet snickers followed him out of the room.
Such a predictable outcome shoved him into the path of one Tommy Hagan. He’d gotten in trouble for fighting again, and was slouched in the little lobby chairs with a smug look on his face. Because Tommy knew. Tommy had learned early on that his parents didn’t care as long as he pretended to be sorry enough. He said as much when they were sixteen, throwing rocks off the bridge at unsuspecting fish into the water below. Tommy had also said he’d planned to beat Steve senseless when he’d seen him because he’d thought he was a little bitch.
"You were crying," he languidly threw another rock, "it made you an easy target, and I had to teach the new kid who was in charge, yeah?"
Steve laughed. "Oh yeah, taught me real good. Taught me you're a little softy." The rock that hit his side was more than a deliberate warning.
They sat next to each other there in the office lobby, Steve drawn up as small as he could, and Tommy spread out with defiance and as much dominance as a mid puberty teen could muster. He remembered being caught off guard by how put together Tommy had been. He was this skinny little thing with hair that stuck out wildly dressed in a polo and khakis, and yet he seemed to know his purpose and place. Steve didn't have that. Steve had a waning buzz cut and whatever mismatched clothes had caught his eye that day. He had big gaping holes in his memory and a yearning for a belonging he hadn't known was missing until now. Tommy nudged him with his foot after an indeterminate amount of time. “Hey.”
Steve looked over, tense with some latent instinct to shy away from the touch.
“Hey.” Tommy called again, then squinted. “You speak?” He didn't get a response and scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. Carol said there'd be a new homeschooled freak running around. That's you, ain't it? Someone take your lunch or something?” Tommy waited again, though Steve had no clue what to say to that. He didn't even have lunch money. “Good god, okay. Be difficult. But if you are that new kid, you should know a couple things. One, don’t ever cry unless you’re alone. It’s like blood in the water; they'll be all over you trying to make you the bottom of the pecking order. Two, get better clothes, you look like you crawled out of a discount bin at Sears. Three, my name is Tommy Hagan, and don't forget it. Carol and I run this place. Just stay out of our way, and we won't fuck with you. You understand?”
"Why'd you even tell me that first thing?" Steve took to stacking the rocks instead. "Wouldn't that have been good for you?"
Tommy rolled his eyes. "I like a fair fight, Harrington. You were new. It made it too easy."
"Aw, does Tommy-Bear not want to admit he wanted to help poor little Harrington?" Steve laughed as his pile was knocked over. In the movement, the sunlight caught Tommy's face, and he seemed to glow, for just a moment. It made him look beautiful. Not handsome, not ruggish or pretty, but beautiful like a painting in fluid motion. Steve thought Tommy looked beautiful a lot.
Steve just stared in silence, cataloging the rules diligently in a way he'd been taught. He was also trying to rationalize the use of those words his parents said were off limits.
“Good.” Tommy regarded him, then looked back forward. “Glad we got that cleared up.”
“...Thank you.” Steve found his voice enough to be polite, as his mom had taught him.
“So you do speak.” Tommy fixed him with a flat unimpressed look. “Hell’re you thanking me for? I just threatened you.”
“You were?” Steve tilted his head. “But… you were giving me advice. Mom said to thank people who give you advice.”
There was silence. Then Tommy began to laugh. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You’re a little slow, aren’t you?” He leaned forward and the inspection became a bit more thorough. “Damn. You're a scrawny little shit, huh. You’re gonna get killed here if you don't catch up.” Tommy shook his head. “You're lucky. Carol would love you; she’s got a soft spot for the dumb ones. Think she’d enjoy meeting you.”
Steve didn’t know what these words meant at the time, so he hadn’t even thought to be offended. Later, when they were older, Tommy apologized. Or as close as he'd get to one.
"You're not really that slow, actually." They sat on the back porch, passing a bottle of whisky Tommy had stolen from his father. "I think it was the homeschooling getting in the way. You caught on real quick."
Carol laughed from where she lay on her belly by the pool. "Yeah, at least socially." She held up the homework she was scanning over. "You can't do math for shit, Harrington."
Steve flipped her off with the hand gripping the bottle.
He didn’t now though. “Oh. I don’t want to be killed.” Steve fretted with his sleeves and felt the distinct impression of boots against his sternum.
Tommy let out another disbelieving laugh. “Jesus Christ. Here, you go to the flagpole after school. Carol’ll be there. See you then.”
"Mr Hagan." The receptionist, a stout lady by the name of Brenda, called. Tommy grunted knowingly and disappeared into the office.
Steve didn’t return to that class, instead staying in the office until the bell rung. But he did go to the flagpole. A small group of girls crowded the base, mindlessly talking about some gossip of the day, and Steve, ever the nervous kid, hung around the edge watching. He marveled again. The closeness, the belonging, it was right in front of him and seemed to come to them as natural as breathing. Nicole had noticed him first. She’d peered over Carol’s shoulder, spotted him staring and given him a look so vicious he was surprised he didn't combust on the spot. “Hey, creep! Bug off!” It caught the attention of the others who turned to face him. Steve learned then the pressure of too much attention.
“Hey, that’s the kid that cried in history.” Another girl leaned over, and Steve wondered why she tried to sound like she was whispering when he could hear her clearly. Tommy would helpfully tell him later that it had been on purpose.
Carol only frowned in his direction before Steve fumbled out, “Tommy said to come here…” and her expression lightened. “Oh! Tommy-bear should be here in a second.” She motioned him to mesh into the group of girls as they returned to their excited chatter, only giving him one or two wary looks as he crossed the yard.
Steve was diligent in keeping to the fringe, he didn't want to disturb what they were doing, but Carol zeroed in. “What’s your name, new kid?”
“Steven.”
She reached up and combed her fingers through his short crop of hair. Steve forced himself not to shy back. “Did your parents cut it like this?”
“Uhm, I guess?”
“What do you mean you guess?”
Steve shuffled awkwardly. His parents had been extremely adamant about him mentioning his circumstance as little as possible to other kids, but he couldn't really think of a proper answer. Besides, the real answer didn't seem too bad. “I don’t… really remember.”
Carol scanned over him. There was a twinkle in her eye now. “A mystery, then.” She turned as a bike came rolling down the road. “Tommy-Bear!” She waved her hand frantically, and the boy from the office stopped and sighed.
“Carrie, I told you not to call me that.”
“You know you like it.” Carol was already grabbing her own bike from the rack. “Why’s the new guy here?”
They both turned to observe Steve, whose gut squirmed even harder at the added scrutiny. He hated being looked at. Tommy scoffed. “He’s a weirdo. Met him in the office. Poor schmuck can’t survive a second day of school without help.” He looked around for something. “Where’s your bike, Homeschool? Or do mommy and daddy drive you here?”
“They… they drove me here.” Steve was still trying to figure out Tommy’s tone. He was starting to pick up the weight of an insult, but couldn't quite parse it yet.
Tommy made a disgruntled sound. “Alright, you can ride double with me. C’mon.” He turned his bike around while Carol hopped on her’s.
“Double?-”
“Just get on the back, Jesus, do I have to tell you everything?”
“Mom said not to go with strangers.” Steve fiddled with his sleeve again.
Carol looked at Tommy with wide eyes, and he grinned. “Told you he wouldn’t survive. What you get for being home schooled.”
“Tommy, it’s not his fault.” Carol chided. “Stevie, we'll save you, okay? From now on, you’re with us.” She smiled encouragingly. “You don’t have to worry. We’re friends now.”
And that had been that. She’d said it, and so it was.
Tommy and Carol became Tommy and Carol and Steve. When Steve's parents disappeared, they'd been there to pick up the pieces of a wailing child who didn't understand. Tommy harped on him about being a ‘real man’, getting him into sports because Steve was surprisingly well coordinated, and Carol helped him style his hair once it grew out far enough to work with. They’d been good to Steve, shaping him up so he could defend himself, and hurting those that hurt him. By the time they reached high school, the hole in his chest that didn't know how to belong had been filled, stuffed with cotton and illegal booze. Steve had learned to stop expecting his family to come home because it was here, with the two of them. The group wove itself deeper; they were each others strengths, each others weaknesses, for better and for worse.
It had been fun. It had been terrible. It had been perfect. Just the three of them.
~
“You know, I don’t need saving anymore, Carol.” He turned off the water. “I’m not that stupid little kid with the buzzcut anymore.”
She sighed, crushing her cigarette, now close to the filter, in one of the crystal ashtrays. “Yeah. You did grow up a lot. But that doesn't mean you outgrew him.”
“What do you mean by that?” Steve dried his hands then leaned into the counter and regarded her. The smoke from the crushed out embers were still smoldering.
She shook her head, wavy strands shifting side to side. “You still have no idea how to keep a secret.” Carol pointed. “Those are Eggos. I know you, Steve, you're such a sucker for making food yourself. Besides, there’s a second plate, and I spy with my little eye, yet another mystery trail of blood through your house. You're being very unsubtle. Someone else was here.”
Steve stared at her with wide eyes, some of the previous panic back. He bit down on his cheek until he felt El's confused and concerned threads poking out again. Steve was broadcasting pretty bad, but he was also trying desperately to think of an excuse. It struck like lightening. She said ‘was’ here. “...Yeah. What about it?”
Carol smiled. “I know you, Steve. Always have.” The facade of exasperated warmth faded into an echo of understanding. “Look, if it’s big bad government shit, I won’t pry. I won’t be happy about it, but I know when something's bad, and probably iron clad. You must have gotten mixed up in something big and illegal for this to happen, but you were always good about sticking your nose where it didn't belong.” She crossed her arms. “Are those other assholes in this with you? The freak, the goody two shoes, the sophomore and all that.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.” He grinned just a little at the instructed phrase for tough questions. As if it would make him seem less suspicious sounding like a spokesperson for his own well being. Carol cringed.
“Oh wow. It’s that bad.”
“Yeah.” Steve considered for a moment the ramifications of explaining. Too big, too great for right now. Not when things weren't settled. “…you gonna tell Tommy any of this? Cause he won’t believe you.”
Carol hummed. “Of course he wouldn’t. Once he gets pissed at something, it’s hard to change his mind. But I’ll do what I can.” She turned, then hesitated. “I’d suggest you keep your distance for now. I don't want either of my boys exploding.”
“Right." Steve let the death keel of his previous friendship spread through his chest as she picked up the spare key and strode to the door. "…see you later, Carol.”
She stopped. “See you, Stevie.” He caught the smile in her words.
-
Him and El settled into something of a routine. Steve luckily didn't have to explain school to her, but had to make note of his after school activities. She'd looked rather defeated, but the understanding that he'd never be home later than six or seven seemed to smooth it over. The Sunday after Carol, they'd gone on the shopping spree he'd promised himself, though made sure to go to the town over to avoid scrutiny. They’d grabbed anything she wanted, clothes, food, toys, and stopped at a bakery afterwards. It was quite a sight to see her marveling at everything, now that the threat of the lab had ebbed away. More than once he'd have to stop and let her take in the sights while their link popped with fireworks of joy and curiosity. Nature fascinated her, and Steve couldn't blame her. From the strands of memory he kept on hand, the lab was all cold walls and white tile. That's why everyone liked the rainbow room so much, beyond the implications.
Eleven was entirely enraptured by the concept of a department store. She’d gone into a grocery when she was out, but the rows and sections for anything and everything had left her starry eyed. Steve noticed she liked toys with moving parts, like a Wonderful Waterful, or Weeble Wobbles, hands on things you could push and move. Hell, she liked to touch and move everything she could, nudging the clothes around on their hangers and picking up boxes of cereal to examine them more closely. Steve's heart broke at that; he saw so much of the young kid he'd been in there. That kid that pushed the limits just so he could do the exact same thing Eleven was doing right now without burden. She also enjoyed small things, like Polly Pocket and Micro Machines, though he couldn't discern the reason for it. Steve got her a bit of everything, just because he could.
All things considered, Steve had been keeping up pretty well. Wading into the chaotic nature of school hadn't been as painful as he'd thought. All morning, he'd been prepared for things to slip back to how they'd been with the only change being cut adrift from his previous friends. The entire band of unruly teens he'd thrown together would be for naught and he'd be left rudderless in this sea of people. And then as he'd strolled through the doors, Eddie bound up to him in enthusiastic greeting, and all those fears melted away. He no longer stuck around Tommy and Carol during school, opting to sit with Nancy, Barb and now Robin. Sometimes Eddie came over, but his band of self proclaimed ‘freaks’ were still visibly wary of Steve no matter how many times the guy put in a good word for him. Sure, his social status was stuck in between where both groups didn’t want him because he was ‘too good’ for the outcasts and ‘not good enough’ for the popular clique. But he had his friends. Eddie and him stuck around each other when they could, and the girls were always welcoming. Even Jonathan sometimes let him sit in on his photo developing process. And things were fine. Keeping El at the house had been a bit dodgy at first. He’d had some close calls with Eddie crashing into his house at odd hours, and sometimes Nancy and Barb swung over to help with homework, but the kids hadn't reached a point where they'd started to pop in unannounced.
There was bound to be a slip up, though Steve wouldn't consider it a bad thing if pressed. Will had appeared on the doorstep with an apologetic Jonathan saying he’d been adamant about coming over and that he’d be back to pick him up around 6:30, per Joyce’s request. It was then that Steve remembered Will promising to help find El. He just hadn't expected actual enthusiasm for it, and Steve couldn't swing an entire babysitting gig with her in the house unscathed. So that was how Will found out Eleven was back in his house.
It went a long way to lift El's drooping spirits. She'd grown restless in the time after she'd gotten back, and once Will knew, they both kept pushing for the others to see her. Steve did his best to shut it down, but he knew. In the long run, this wasn't sustainable. If Will started showing up, the rest were soon to follow, and given that group, they'd push the limits. Steve wasn't stupid. He'd seen the glances from 'strangers' and the suspicious placement of cars. They were still on the look out. Taking her to another town to shop had been a risk Steve had gladly taken because she deserved it, but he couldn't put her in any more danger than that.
And handling El... he found some artificial appreciation for his parents; Steve probably hadn't been any easier to handle. It didn't take long to figure out that she had nightmares. Most nights, she ended up in his bed, tucked up under his arms and shivering from afterimages she couldn't properly convey. The kids had given her a crack out into the real world, but Steve still found her asking for permission for things she shouldn't have to, shying away into the little shell she'd carved into herself and following him around when he was home as if too scared to let him out of her sight. Eleven was caught somewhere between the white walls of the lab and the creature comforts of his own home. Steve was doing his best, but it didn't feel like enough. So, he phoned the best person he knew for the job.
Hopper was on the way as soon as he knew who was on the other end. “You wouldn’t be calling if you didn’t need help with something.” was all he said on the matter, and then hung up to avoid being eavesdropped on. Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. The Chief peered down at him from beneath heavy aviators and frowned as his fingers idly rested next to his holster. “So, what’s the issue?” Steve had learned to differentiate between Hopper’s ‘sheriff’ tone and his ‘dad’ tone after watching him and El interact enough. He didn't know how to feel about being the subject of the latter, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant.
“Hey. Uh. So, something- Just-" Steve pointedly looked around the street. No cars. But he couldn't be sure. "Come inside.” He stepped to the side, feeling worry spill down his shoulders as Hopper crossed through the threshold into the house.
“Where are your parents, Harrington?”
“LA. They’ll be back by the start of December.” He said, looking back. “It’s okay. He’s here to help.” Steve called as Hopper raised a brow up into his hairline.
Eleven poked out of her unofficial-official bedroom, and stared down Hopper intently. Behind her, he could see a few pieces of printer paper and a box of crayons laid across the floor. She inched slowly into the hallway, though didn't move beyond as she cast her gaze between them. Hopper let out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ, kid.” He nudged the front door shut with his foot. “How long has she been here?”
“A week, give or take a day.” Steve looked up. “I don’t- I’ve been trying, but I don’t think I can keep her here.”
“What! Why not?” El furrowed her brow.
Steve had to look her in the eyes as he explained this, as much as he found the floor suddenly much more interesting. “People keep coming through here. And if- when the others find out you’re here, they’ll want to see you and bring you places, and… I want that. I want you to do all that. But the lab's still be looking for you. They're still observing us. And if they find out the kids knew the entire time, they might… I dunno. It wouldn’t be good.” He wasn’t sure if Owens was fully in charge yet, but he wasn’t about to risk it. Owens brought El to Brenner, and while he’d done his best to help Will, he wasn't about to put any faith in a man who continued to work with that man. Good didn't work at Hawkins lab. “I don’t want them trying to take you again. And I don’t want anything happening to the others.”
“But you live here. You keep secret.” She pointed to his wrist, the band still firm around it.
Hopper set his hat down on the small wall rack. “The lab doesn’t know about him; they lost track of him years ago. They know all about you, and when they asked us that list of questions, they wanted to know most about where you went. You'll need to stay under the radar until they let up.” He stroked his stubble thoughtfully. “I have this cabin in the woods, use it for hunting and stuff. We could keep her there?”
“But Will!”
“What about Will?” Hopper looked between them, scowling in that perfunctory way he did when presented with a road block.
Steve couldn't hold his strength any longer and let his gaze sheepishly slide to the floor. “He uh, he already knows. He came over and he saw her.” He heard the small intake of breath, but refused to see what expression it had been paired with. "Also keeps coming over, you know, to see her.”
"Jesus Christ, kid.” Hopper began to pace, the rhythmic tap-tap of his shoes on the hardwood set offbeat with his heart. Before, the blanket of disappointment had been easy to shrug off; he'd been left to hide away and lick his wounds in peace. But now Hopper was prying, and with it came the complicated mush of emotions assigned to any adult that got close to him.
El wandered out from her spot by the door, the shadow of her feet creeping across the hardwood until it was place perfectly between Steve and Hopper. “Will won’t tell. He promised, privacy.” Confidence laced her tone. “I’m not going.”
“You can’t stay.” Hopper's pacing stopped.
Steve gathered his thoughts enough to finally lift his head. Eleven stood straight, head tilted back and chin jutting forward as she faced down the man across from her. A fire glowed in those eyes. Hopper of course, stared back, shoulders set and frowning with the same determination. The only way forward would be something that made everyone just slightly unhappy. “How about we split it down the middle?” El and Hopper broke from their staring contest to fix him with wry looks. “Right now, the lab is at its most active looking for El. She needs to stay some place. Once things calm down, though, she shouldn't be forced to stay, so we could have it a week on, week off sort of deal. Or something similar to that, so she isn't cooped up all the time. Heard isolation isn't great for development.”
Hopper's frown didn't lift, but a flicker of sympathy wove through his tired eyes. “You noticed it too, huh." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "But if they don't let up, she's stuck in the cabin anyway. Or they might just pretend to look elsewhere to lure her out.”
“I'm. Not. Going.” Eleven held firm.
“Well. Our only other options are her staying here where the kids eventually find her and all hell breaks loose, or her going to a cabin in the middle of nowhere in almost complete isolation.” He grit his teeth, if only to steal his nerves. Steve was essentially attempting to create a custody calendar, with the chief of police. Not the strangest thing to happen in his time, but certainly up there. “This is the best of both. It keeps the lab off her scent, and I can help her get used to life out here.” The story he'd gotten of her adjustment to school sounded rough enough. Not that she couldn't handle the cruelty of kids on her own, but if she could avoid a Tommy-Carol-Steve situation or the crushing feeling of social isolation, that would be ideal. Not like it did him much good.
Hopper's shoulders slumped in defeat. “Alright. If that’s how you want to deal with this.” He grumbled.
El didn't seem much happier, but the heels she'd dug in the dirt lifted. “When do we tell the others? We need to tell them.”
“I don't know. Not for a while.” Steve felt irritation slap like sandpaper against his ribs, and did his best to look apologetic. “I know friends don’t lie, I know. But it’s for safety.”
“But Will knows.” Eleven turned to gauge Hopper's reaction, but was met with a similar stone wall.
Steve shook his head again. “It's different with him. He understands what would happen. Just trust us on this. Okay? We can't do a lot until we're sure they've moved on.”
Eleven huffed, but resigned herself with a small nod and slunk back to her room. Steve watched the door shut as he chewed his bottom lip. It went better than he'd hoped, at least.
In his peripheral, Hopper scanned between him and the door. "That isn't the only reason you called me over, is it?"
The truth? No. Several other, much softer and angrier reasons had been swallowed down, not daring to show their face until now. The Number tattooed into his soul screamed out for help and comfort, but Steve didn't dare voice those just yet. "Not entirely. I, uh," Steve grabbed at his shirt, needing something to do with his hands, "I don’t know anything about kids. I got her clothes, and some toys and food, but I really have no clue what I’m doing here. Do you have any pointers?”
A somewhat bemused and fond expression went through Hopper’s eyes. “Just support her. That’s the best thing you can do. Talk to her about the things that might hurt her, drugs, alcohol, the wrong crowd," Hopper made a point to eye him intently, and Steve smiled sheepishly, "but mostly just… be there.” Hopper tucked his thumbs under the loops of his belt. “Kids are all different. There’s no manual to this sort of thing, no set rules. Hell, if there was, I think I might've... Most people just learn what to do, and what… not to do,” he inclined his head at Steve at that, “from their own parents.” Hopper let that sit for a second, then cleared his throat. “…They’re coming at the beginning of December?”
Steve bristled at the very expected change in subject matter. “Yeah. Start of December.”
“Well, if you need anything, I’m a call away. Me and Joyce.” Hopper’s dad tone flared up again. “I mean anything, son.”
The impact of that small word tightened the vice of soft and angry things that prowled around his gut. Instinct taught him to shy from family, to burn it to ash and run for the hills, but something even deeper reached out towards its warmth. The rings of personality clamped down tight on these feelings, trying to even it out. “…alright, chief.”
“Just call me Hopper, Steve.”
“Alright, Hopper.”
-
It shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise when Dustin appeared on his doorstep. Really, Steve was surprised it took as long as it did. Right at the end of November, the morning after a particularly harsh snowfall, the heavy thuds of someone knocking against his steps drew him out of his lounging. Padded hands knocked against the wood.
“Steve! Let me in!”
Eddie looked up from where he was on the couch. “The hell is Henderson doing at your place?” He'd taken to hanging around after school, saying the trailer's heating had broken, and Steve didn't care enough to figure out if it was a lie or not. He enjoyed the company.
“I could take a few guesses.” Steve grumbled and pushed up. El was still at the cabin, so given his luck with this kid, the circumstances couldn't get any better.
“Steeeeve, I’m gonna freeze my ass off!”
He hurried over. “Alright alright, get the fuck in here.” Steve yanked open the door and ushered him in. Mrs. Henderson waved from where she idled in the driveway, and Steve threw one back before raising a brow at the bundle of coats and scarves kicking snow off into his carpet. “What are you doing here, Henderson?”
Dustin had the audacity to stare like he couldn't believe that was even a question. “You’re a guy with super powers. I want to figure out how they work. Only reason it took me this long to get over here was because I had to convince my mom you could babysit me.” He shucked off a few layers as he spoke, rosy cheeks shining under the lights.
“You convinced your mom what? Why?”
“I’ve been waiting to talk to you for weeks! But Will said you needed time. Then I found out you’ve basically been babysitting him, so why couldn’t I come over?” He scoffed, and the condescending expression only got worse. Dustin turned once he got the last of his jackets off. “Denim vest guy is here?”
“My name’s Eddie, pipsqueak.” Eddie nudged away the worksheet he'd been pretending to complete for the last half hour. “But the kids got a point. You bothered testing those things since we got Will back?”
Steve followed him back to the couch and leaned against the arm. “Not… really. I mean I've done some small stuff, mostly pausing, but not anything larger than that.”
“Steve!”
“Oh my god, Harrington, come on.”
“Why, what do you want me to do?” He glared at the both of them. “Appear and disappear around a crowd? Cause some weird impossible shit? I’m lucky I’m not back at the lab; I don't need to run around and give them a reason to look into me.”
Dustin groaned. “Not even training, I’m disappointed in you.”
“Yeah, I’d be doing all kinds of shit. Late assignment? Just go back and do it in time. Guy getting on your nerves? Stop and tie his shoelaces together.”
“That’s why you’d be caught by the lab again, Munson. Also, really? Shoelaces? Are you five?” Steve furrowed his brow as Eddie lovingly flipped him the bird. “But fine, Dustin. You want to figure this out. You got a plan?”
The kid’s eyes lit up, and he drew himself a bit taller; the telltale signs that he'd had this information prepared beforehand, and most of it would go over Steve's head. “Well-“
“In layments terms, Henderson.”
Eddie snorted. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘layments’?” He kicked his legs to the side and sprawled back on the couch so he was staring up at him. “'Layments’?” Dustin pressed his lips into a thin line, whether from annoyance or disappointment, Steve couldn't tell. He was a bit too focused on how close Eddie's head was to his thigh.
“…yeah. Layments. You know, say it more simply..?”
“Stevie, baby, that’s ‘laymens’.”
The term baby caught against something in his lungs and curled like a vice around his heart. Eddie had a long list of little pet names for pretty much everyone, and baby was the newest one for Steve. It never failed to throw his emotions off kilter, if only for a second. Just enough time to feel the longing for those two syllables, to sink into the way they rolled off Eddie's tongue, and wish very fiercely that he could bottle that word up and hold it forever. Then Steve would remember himself, and resolutely not think about what that second meant. “Isn’t that what I said?”
“Ugh, this is hopeless, Eddie.” Henderson rolled his eyes. “If you want it in layman’s terms. I want to see how far you can go back, how long you can hold a stop, how large an object you can stop; everything!”
Steve sighed, though it purposefully lacked hesitance. “I’m gonna need a blood transfusion because of you. Fine.” He tipped his head back, then narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. “…How’re you gonna time ‘stopped time’?”
“That’s another thing we need to figure out! You're lucky I thought about this beforehand. I’m gonna give you a watch and tell you to stop, then see if it still goes.” Dustin smiled. “I made a list of things I wanted to test.”
It drew him up short. They hadn't properly said the word 'test' when describing working with his powers, but now that it had been verbalized, it struck like a boot against his rib cage. Dread pooled through his stomach, itching along his wrist as the discomfort pulled a riptide through his thoughts. Suddenly, the desaturated walls of the house looked more clinical, and the lights more harsh, and Dustin's talking filtered through someone much taller and much older-
“Harrington?”
“Hm?” He tipped his head down to Eddie, and realized he was starting to white knuckle the couch. Henderson scowled at once more being cut off.
Eddie eyed the hand, nonchalantly patting the top as if he wasn't watching him with that tenderly worried expression that didn't bother Steve the way it did with anyone else. The tap of cold metal against his muscles grounded him, and he breathed out. “You good with this sorta thing? The testing and all that. Doesn’t give you shell shock or anything?”
“Oh-“ the kid blanched as the implications set in. For someone so smart, Steve found him to be pretty dense at times. “Ah shit, wait, I didn’t-“
“I’m fine with it.” The disorienting foreboding still resided in his chest, but had begun to wane as he focused harder on the room around him. It was his living room, not the lab. He was with people he trusted. Brenner was gone. Brenner was gone. “Seriously. It’s okay.” Steve waved his free hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
Eddie’s expression softened but didn't disappear. "Tell us if it's too much." He gave his hand another small pat, then he looked to Dustin. “You have the floor, wonder kid.”
They set up in a circle around the coffee table, and Dustin dumped his backpack onto the surface. There were a couple watches, a fresh box of tissues, a notebook complete with pen, some hackysacks, other assorted objects such as paper clips and pencils, and a two way radio. Steve couldn't remember where his old one had gone, though he knew for a fact it was lost now. He hadn't thought to replace it until right now. Dustin pointed to the objects. “I noticed you froze those soldiers, I was wondering if you could do it with other objects, and if you have to touch them.”
“I don’t think we can cover all that in a day, Henderson.” Steve couldn’t help but be curious though. His memories of the lab had been trying to come back, but it was a sluggish process. Most memories were tests for abilities he was aware of or staying in the Rainbow room. There was a method to the crawl though; one time he'd dropped a plate and was treated to a memory of having food privileges revoked for a similar offense. Maybe if he expanded his powers, it would expand his memory.
Dustin rolled his eyes. “I told you, my mom think you’ll babysit me, that means every Wednesday when she goes to bingo night. We have time.”
“Wh- every Wednesday? I don’t get a say in this?” It wasn’t like he was going put up too much fight; he’d basically been a glorified babysitter last time. And it was Dustin. He wouldn’t turn that down. Eddie watched him knowingly, being subjected to Steve's accidental slip into fondness whenever he recalled watching any of the kids. The only sticking point was El. He and Hopper had started discussing letting her come back so she could stretch her legs outside the confines of the cabin, and they'd almost settled on a week on/week off policy. And he'd been doing so good with circumstances. “You're the most frustrating child I've ever dealt with. Fine. I can only do every other Wednesday though.”
“What? Why?” Dustin was already checking the stopwatches against his own watch, ‘quality control’ he’d call it, sounding more petulant than anything else. “What are you doing that falls on every other Wednesday?”
“I’m…” Steve blanked. He didn’t have a lot of believable things he could pull out of his ass, but he could always look frantically towards Eddie and not consider the consequences.
Eddie fixed him with a look, mouthing 'you owe me' before tossing a lock of hair over his shoulder. “No need to be embarrassed about it, Steve. He comes to our band practices.”
Dustin’s eyes widened. “You have a band ?” He turned to Steve, more incredulous. “And you watch, and they let you watch?”
“Yeah, Corroded Coffin.” Steve supplied, and he clearly didn’t miss Eddie's amusement bursting into surprise. “They’re pretty cool.”
"Dude! That's so cool! So when did you guys form? And what kind of music is it? Or are you just a cover band?" Eddie stole his gaze away from Steve to gasp out in offense, and Dustin watched expectantly.
"I'll get us some snacks, then." Steve said, but doubted they heard as he scampered off to the kitchen. The snacks were more for himself than the other two. With the bits of experimenting he'd been doing and recalling from memory, he'd found that using his powers did something to his blood sugar, so he started trying to keep things on hand just in case. Steve puttered away as the two argued about the validity of Dustin coming to one of their shows, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. It also gave him an idea. Another thing to add to his list. He came back out with the collection of sliced fruits and mini wrapped candy bars.
“Okay Henderson, what’s first?”
First was recounting each and every use of his powers up until this point that he could remember. Steve didn't delight in it, and made a point to shy away from specifics on the inciting incident, but Dustin didn't seem to care beyond what time he'd bent. He seemed far more interested in the aspects of time stopping and the Upside Down, but thank god they didn't have any way to figure that one out. "So, seems you're pretty solid when it comes to traveling back. It works about the same every time." He looked up from his paper. "That and pausing. I don't want to mess with the timeline too much, so we'll focus on that for now." Dustin picked up one of the stop watches and held it out. "See how long you can stop."
"I agree with Steve, that is weird wording." Eddie sprawled out over the couch, happily chewing a Now & Later. "You're timing the absence of time. I don't think that'll be accurate."
"Well, Steve's still moving and breathing." Dustin huffed. "Time might not be a force on everyone else, but it's clearly still affecting him if he's moving about." He flipped through the pages. "I wonder, if you stayed long enough, would you age? Or is your body doing it because it thinks it has to? And how does moving while paused affect your ability to go back? If you did something while paused, then went back, what would happen-"
Steve snatched the watch out of his hand and sat down. "Okay, I'm doing the damn thing." He hoped they wouldn't pick up on the tremor in his hand, or the way his heart was trying to hammer out of his chest. The scientists had never bothered sharing their findings or their thoughts with the kids, but the enthusiasm was itching the primal part of him that remembered, and wanted no part of what was happening.
He pinched Time hard, then turned to face away from the growing look of concern coming back to Eddie's face. It turned out, the problem with stopping time wasn't even the act of holding it back. Steve found out quickly that this was very, very boring. Dustin would complain if he moved around, probably bring up some point about effort throwing off the data, but he couldn't help himself. Standing in one spot, holding a watch and waiting? Steve couldn't be bothered. He fidgeted back and forth slowly, then turned to the other two, to take in the solidness of their beings. He'd heard of places with wax statues before, but seeing as nothing around Hawkins had something like that, he could only speculate. This must be what it would be like to exist in one of those rooms. Every hair, held as such and every muscle frozen at that exact tension.
Steve wondered more about Dustin's train of thought. Time did affect him here. How old was he, really? With each bout of stopping and rewinding, it had to build up to something. Maybe he was 40. Maybe he was 100. Steve didn't feel that old though. He felt young. He felt stupid and small, and a little bit helpless as the tides of life around him kept shifting. For, not the first time, but something really close, he considered everything in its entirety. The Steve that fought through the Upside Down in the first cycle felt like a distant memory, like some pantomime of what he was now. No one had said anything. No one even hinted at it. Or maybe he was just too stupid to notice. Vecna didn't seem to take any interest in him, and the people at the lab treated him with the same detached air they treated every other teen in their group. It felt like he missed something. Sudden sorrow pelted him, and he quickly knocked himself out of that line of thought. Steve didn't need to be caught crying when they were doing something this small.
There wasn't much else to take up his thoughts though. With nothing moving, Steve could do little else than examine his surroundings. His eyes came to rest on Eddie. For some reason they kept doing that. Something about him simply struck a cord deep in him, brought his eye and his presence back into the cloud of safety that was Edward Munson. For all intents and purposes, the scraggly borderline anxious man shouldn't evoke such comfort, with rough edges meant to guide people away and the thick armor of irony to hide himself away in. But Steve was allowed past that, he realized. He was allowed to see moments where bravado failed and the roughness allowed purchase rather than pain. It had happened that first night in the forest, where Eddie had trusted him, in all his shrieking glory, to keep him safe. Somehow, someway, they'd let their guards down, and by sheer accident, left pieces of themselves in the other. Steve didn't miss the way his van had started being parked right next to him at school, nor the slow ooze of items being left at his house; books and dice and even a hair brush. It was like creeping ivy, the way Eddie tangled himself in his life.
Though, Steve would be remiss if he didn't take into account his own unfolding into Eddie's space. He'd left any number of things in his van, from food to jackets, and found himself starting to mimic Eddie's greedy claim on personal space. He'd like to chalk it up to the same orbit he and Robin got caught in after Starcourt, threaded through each other's lives not by choice but because there was something there, a safety blanket to huddle under where they could say I see you, I know, it's going to be okay, and mean it. Trauma bonding, that was the term. But it didn't taste the same as the storm curling around his chest. It didn't give him the same yearning to throw his entire weight into it, to be swallowed whole or drowned under the current, because he knew Eddie would be there to hoist him to safety.
A sharp stab lanced through his temple. Steve flicked his eyes down to the watch face. Fifteen minutes. His nose was running reckless with blood now, and he figured that would be enough to satisfy the kid. With a small gasp, he let Time run free, and grimaced as Dustin and Eddie startled. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that." Eddie grumbled as he moved to the tissue box.
"Yeah. At least with El you could have seen the blood coming." Dustin plucked the watch out of his grasp and nodded once. "Is this the limit, or did you get bored?"
Steve huffed as Eddie offered him a tissue. "That's the limit before the pain becomes noticeable. I figured you didn't want me to push completely for one trial."
The answer didn't seem to affront Dustin too much. "Not bad. Now, we need to see if it'll be a similar result while you're moving around."
"Won't I still get tired faster anyway?" He picked up one of the water bottles he'd brought out with the tray. "This isn't like exercise where I'm doing reps, you're trying to get the average for this sort of thing. Shouldn't we try each of them fresh? Like you said, we have time."
Dustin bit down on the end of his pencil angrily. "...I hate it when you're right." He shook his head. "We can still see the difference. Part of science is multiple trials." The watch was dropped back into his hand, and Steve fought to not roll his eyes.
They continued like this for a bit. Thankfully, the rest of the tasks didn't allow him to sink too deep into his own head, especially when they dealt with freezing individual objects. It took some serious concentration, but after getting some pointers on visualization, Steve managed to stop the watch without touching it. Time might flow off things similarly, but the way it touched on each was different. Steve had to whittle down his strands until he was looking at the one encircling the thing he wanted to pause. Having thoroughly exhausted himself, they took to brainstorming ideas for the harder elements of his powers.
“I want to know how far you can go back.” Dustin pinched his brow in thought. “That's the hard one. We don't want you changing things, but it's important to know the time range you're working with." He flipped back through a few pages. "I don't want to risk sending you forward either. It might scramble your brain again, and we need as little of that as possible." There was a beat of silence as the hum of the heating kicked on through the walls. "You came back at least a week, yeah?” He was scribbling down in the notebook alongside the data he'd collected.
Steve blearily peered up from his spot on the couch. “Uh. Yeah.” He felt Eddie press a hand against his shoulder, and caught the look he got out of the corner of his eye from where Steve lay against his side. “At least.”
“Did you keep track of your dates?” Dustin tapped his pen as he scanned over the numbers. “Give me a rough estimate. I know your end date; the day after Will disappeared, but when did you come from? Is there anything we need to know for the future? You know, if you even got this far.”
Eddie huffed derisively, but he could feel the nervous change in posture as he tried to parse out what Steve wanted here. “Isn’t there something about telling people their futures? Self fulfilling prophecy?”
“Yeah, I don’t need to tell you everything.” And really, he didn't know either. This piece of information felt so crucial because it opened up far too many questions, none of which he felt comfortable answering. It pinned so many desperate hopes on him to fix something when Steve could only do so much. And it prove just how not over everything was, shattering the peace these kids had managed to cultivate over the months. No one wanted to be told they had a yearly clock of doom hanging over their heads. But it just felt wrong to keep it. It felt like lying, like watching a truck barrel down the highway at your family and choosing not to warn them.
“Oh come on, it’s for science!” Dustin squawked, ill content and pouty. “At least tell me how far you went back.”
Steve groaned. Maybe he could let it slip. Just a little. He didn't have to say anything more. “Couple years.”
“Cou- years ? What the fuck, Steve!” Dustin hopped up. “You- so you know so much more than you're saying! Come on, you can’t keep that to yourself!”
“Henderson, that would change the future considerably, you know that. Besides, what if I tell you something, and we prepare for it only to find out I changed something so it's not going to happen? We'll look like idiots, or worse, we'll miss or cause something else.”
Dustin stopped and looked down at his notebook. A barely visible war between his logic and his emotions played out across his face before he resigned himself with a groan. “Fine, I guess keep all that juicy information to yourself. But I want to know once it's over.”
"Deal."
A scratch of a pencil. Then, "so it's not over. Is it?"
"...no. But I'm not going to let anything happen, if I can help it." Steve focused on the middle distance. If he thought hard enough, maybe he could keep that promise. “Now, don’t go around spouting this information to your little party, alright? This is between the two of us.”
“What about Eddie?”
“Yeah, what about Eddie, Harrington?” Munson leaned over, grinning a bit wider if only to try and smooth the atmosphere more.
He rolled his eyes. “He’s fine too, I guess.” Steve fell back into the couch with a smile as Eddie mockingly mouthed the words back at him. Dustin and Eddie took to each other so smoothly, it almost dulled the memories of the previous ending. “Not like he hasn’t been here since the beginning.”
“Oh now that’s-” Someone knocked. Steve checked himself once more for blood before going over to the door. Mrs Henderson stood on his step, rosy cheeked and hands folded in front of her.
“Steve, dear. Thank you so much for doing this.” She looked past him. “Dusty-Bunny! Time to go!” She then turned to her purse and shuffled out a couple bills. “Here, for your time.”
“Oh- no, Mrs Henderson, I couldn’t. Please.”
“No, I insist.”
“Seriously, it’s no trouble.” Dustin's footsteps clomped up behind him, and the shuffle of coats came down the hall. “Also, I have a band thing every other Wednesday, so uh, sorry Dustin got your hopes up.”
Mrs Henderson just smiled warmly. “Oh, nonsense, Stevie, any time you give is more than perfect. Come on, Dusty.” She ushered him toward the car. Thankfully, the distraction had made her put her wallet away. “Thank you so much for doing this, again. What with the poor Byers kid and everything. I’m so worried about leaving my poor Dusty alone.”
“I understand.” Steve tried to smile, but something hollow struck against his chest. It always did when the kids' parents were around, discounting the Wheelers, whom always scratched at his last nerve with their tense passive aggressive atmosphere. “Have a safe drive home, Mrs Henderson.” He watched her toddle back to the car before closing the door and turning with the intention of making his way back to the couch.
Eddie blocked the way quite effectively. “Alright, Harrington, I covered for you.” He crossed his arms and tipped forward into his space. “You can’t watch your ‘favorite kid’ every week? Why not?”
“Maybe I don't want to deal with that every week, is that so crazy?” Steve grumbled, but even he could tell how unconvincing that sounded.
“Yeah, it is.” Eddie pushed further, and Steve could feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck as his back thumped the door. They were close. Really close. And yes, Eddie was a man who liked everyone’s personal space, but that was usually to the side or from behind, but right now they were facing each other, and suddenly the presence was all encompassing and so so much. “Something’s happening here.”
Steve couldn’t speak for a second, their breaths mingling in the space between. He cleared his throat, caught so off guard he couldn’t scramble together a convincing lie. All his brain could focus on was Eddie . Eddie in his space, Eddie’s warmth dancing across his arms, Eddie’s eyes pinning him to the spot as he stared up, Eddie’s playful smile trying to tease the information out of him. Steve could stay rooted to this spot, to this moment, forever. Pausing time wouldn't do it justice, not when he couldn't see his nostrils flare with each inhale or watch his eyes flick back and forth. Reality zapped back into his senses enough to force his mouth to start working. “...El.”
“El?” Eddie passed between surprise, to happiness, to confusion and back around again rapidly, and Steve marveled at each little shift, silently cataloging the differences. “She’s back? Where-” He leaned back, and Steve did not suddenly kick start his thoughts with a gasp.
“She’s been back for a while. I told Hopper because I didn’t know what else to do. He's got this cabin where he's been keeping her so the lab will get off our tails, and we've been discussing getting her back here so she can have a more normal life. Week on, week off, that's the plan. I don’t want to tell the kids because I still see suspicious cars every now and then. But I want her to get used to the world.” Steve continued. “Don’t tell anyone. Please?”
Eddie shook his head, running his palm roughly over his mouth. “You and your secrets. Harrington, this is gonna come back and bite you in the ass. And you figured it all out without my help. After everything we went through together. Fine.” Eddie harrumphed at the supposed misjustice. “So how’d you know about my band?” He turned back, gleam in his eye and a giddy little bounce to his posture.
“Eh, heard it here or there.” Steve ducked his head.
“No no, we’re long past that excuse.” Eddie prodded a finger into the flat of his chest. “You knew about Corroded Coffin, you, Mr Blondie. And we still haven’t talked about what happened last time because I know for a fact I was there.”
He scoffed, trying to still the squirm in his stomach. It wasn't like Barb where the death had already passed, and he wasn't about to pretend that gave them any kind of safety. The Upside Down could kill anyone it wanted, at any time. "You're sure you want to know? I thought you said something about telling people their future."
"Duh, but that only applies to Henderson. Besides, you'll keep any big bad away from me, I just know it." Mirth danced through his eyes before dulling slightly. "Unless it's really bad. Then, maybe don't tell me."
Steve rubbed his eyes. “Well... it's the Upside Down. It's not going to be good.” He shuffle back to the living room with Eddie dogged at his heels, frowning as they sunk back into the couch cushions. Steve tried to stare at the ceiling, to gather his thoughts, before the twinge in his eye reminded him of ceilings and red vines spilling from above and bed sheets. The floor was much more interesting. “I told you about Vecna, right?" a nod, "That's what got you into this whole mess. It was sheer coincidence. I mean, before that you got Henderson and Wheeler to join your little club, so I knew about you by then, but you weren't involved involved.” Steve slipped his fingers against the band, sliding back and forth slowly. He thought about naming names. He thought better of it. “His first victim died in your trailer. I couldn't tell you the mechanics of it, but that was what started it. You didn’t stick around either, so the town assumed you'd done it.” A small puff of air rushed over his head, and the couch groaned as Eddie laid back. “Didn't help that Vecna has a thing for being brutal. I never saw it happen in person but..." but Max, dangling impossibly high in the air, arms splayed out and eyes rolled into their milky whites. Max in a hospital bed, limbs wrapped tight, possibly blind and certainly paralyzed. "...it breaks you. Snapped her limbs like twigs and gouged her eyes out. And since it was in your trailer, and you... like what you like. They uh...”
"They thought it was satanic." Eddie mused, then whistled low and slow as Steve nodded. "Yeah, you were right. That's pretty bad. And you said first victim?"
Steve tugged at the band just a bit more insistently, hoping that maybe the motion would dislodge the nerves in his chest and work their way into the leather. "Mhm. There were more. Two, and you were at the scene both times. Didn't help your image that much." He snorted. "It's kind of funny if you think about how close they got to the truth." It wasn't, but if he could pretend to find some humor there, maybe the weight across his shoulders would lessen. "You disappeared, but Henderson was adamant about you being innocent, so we went to go find you. I won't bore you with the details, but it involved a lot of walking through the woods, diving into a lake, and Nancy's collection of guns under her bed.
"We got together this plan to kill him because that's what we do. We fight the damn things that try to kill us. You and Henderson stayed back to be a distraction. I should have been more against it, nothing good ever comes from splitting up. I should have known-” He sucked in a breath as his shoulders hiked up to his ears. “I don’t know what the hell happened. We threw everything we had at that mother fucker- shot him out a window and everything- and when we got back to the trailer you were just… dead.” The memory pushed to the forefront of his brain, fresh as the day he’d seen it. Stumbling up with triumph in his veins only for it to turn to lead as the metallic stench of blood mixed with the ash, and the silhouette of Dustin against the bruised sky sunk low into the ground. Steve never did well with death. Those that had been torn asunder in their wake clung to the recesses of his dreams, never saying anything but always present, always judging. Eddie's body made its home there with ease; his sides were ripped open, pieces of organ bubbling through the holes of his jacket, and blood pooled around cracked lips that had the audacity to smile. The sightlessness of those expressive eyes trained upward into the nothing had echoed through his thoughts as the world split around him.
He felt Eddie’s hand grasp his forearm, nudging him into the realization that the world was much blurrier than it had been moments prior. "Harrington?" You can stop remained unsaid, those soft tinges of tenderness that were just between the two of them striking at him. Steve didn't heed it, couldn't comply under the way he was blubbering to get this out.
“We- we had to leave you down there. We couldn’t get your body back through the gate, I had- fuck, I had to drag Henderson away from you.” Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. Hands scrabbling for purchase, screaming at him, screaming at the sky, screaming for Eddie. “You- Wayne was devastated. Henderson barely spoke. I think he-" the sentiment hitched in his throat because in a way, some of him believed it too, "-I think he blames me for part of it. I dunno which.”
“Jesus Christ.” Eddie combed his hand through his hair. Confusion gave way to wary clarity. “...you were staring.”
“What?” Steve blinked. He'd done a lot of staring, but he couldn't mean...
Eddie scratched thoughtfully at his brow. “In the parking lot. I noticed you staring at me. I was gonna turn around and ask what the hell you were looking at. Then your nose started bleeding an-” He furrowed his brow. “Your nose bled. Steve-”
“I didn’t know then.” Steve feel the irritation building like storm clouds. “That's actually what tipped me off to the whole thing. Nothing happened, I promise. You started walking over, and I panicked and then time went backwards.”
Eddie's annoyance mellowed, smoothing over into a contemplative, albeit deeply uncomfortable look. “Fucking hell, Steve. You really know how to make a guy feel special.” And the walls had inched back up. Not to block Steve out, but to pry out the emotional baggage of this knowledge; of what he'd do, of what he had been willing to do at some point in time, and of what he'd do now. Eddie blew out another breath before tipping forward with a "c'mere" and hugging him. “...I’m sorry. Really. I dunno what happened. But I’m sorry.”
Steve wasn't quite sure what Eddie was apologizing for, and he figured the man in question didn't either. He hugged back though. At the smallest squeeze, the heaviness that had made its home across his back dropped away into nothing. He'd said something. Someone else knew, and for the here and now, he had someone else to carry the burden of that knowledge. “I’m not going to let you do that again. So don’t you dare try.”
“Don’t think I will.” Eddie let go after a second, enough to lean back and cut his eyes up at him. Steve felt that heat crash back into him and wash away the chill of memory. “...although, don’t think you can take my place.” He squinted, then fully moved back, collapsing on the couch.
“I won’t try to.”
“Good.”
-
On December 3rd, his parents flew back into Hawkins, landing and disembarking at 7:17 PM. Steve knew this because of how intently he was staring at the oven clock when they'd called. Nervous energy kept him moving through the house, checking and rechecking everything. Steve didn't want any evidence of anything left out in the open. No blood, none of El's things from her first week back in the house, nothing could be seen. And of course it gave him time to search for bugs. Who knew how often those were replaced. One nervous call to Hopper later, and El would be confined back to the cabin for the time being. She put up surprisingly little fuss, though that was after saying that his parents had worked at the lab. Even if Hopper wasn’t saying it, he sounded pretty happy with the whole deal.
Steve debating phoning a friend to help, so he wouldn’t have to face his parents alone, but that raised far more questions than he was willing to deal with in one night. And that was the presiding problem. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted his parents to know everything right now. About the lab? And the Upside Down? Yes, but not about Eleven. Sure, they had a lot more experience with the lab and the children than anyone else here, but was that really safe? They were his parents, the memories he’d recovered with them were positive, but five or so years can change things drastically. Steve should know that better than anyone.
The last ten minutes before they showed up were spent feverishly checking the clock, then looking to the door on loop. Steve double and triple checked that he locked the room El had claimed as her own. A lock would get some questions, but not nearly as many as them seeing the inside.
7:38, wheels on the gravel outside. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to run to the door or hide in his room, so he stood in the landing hallways looking stricken. Steve peered desperately through the frosted glass of the front door, trying to find details to hold onto within the smudge. Emotions crashed back and forth, leaving him rooted to the spot. Anger, relief, hope, a whirling chaotic maelstrom of expectation and the encroaching reality as the door opened.
His mother came through the door first. She was short, blonde hair pulled into a bun and faint wrinkles pulled under her eyes as she hurried up the steps to the door. She was wearing a pencil skirt that went past her knees, a blouse, a jacket and a string of pearls. His mother fumbled with her keys, and the bag she was trailing behind her. Her lips were pinched in a frown, makeup settled into the wrinkles across her face, and her green eyes were tired. Between the flight and the circumstances, he couldn't blame her. The look melted into its own clash of emotions as their eyes met. “Steven.” She hurried over and pulled him into a tight hug. Without thought he caught her, curling his head into the hollow of her neck.
His father hovered in the door, a blur of suit and graying black hair. The anxiety and apprehension were squashed for this fleeting moment of rightness, of feeling arms encircling him and driving out everything bad in the world. Steve wanted them here, and they wanted to be here.
“Oh, look at you. You’re all grown up.” She was shorter than he remembered, but of course his last memory with her was when he was thirteen. “Oh, Steven.”
“Hey, mom.” Steve squeezed her shoulders, attempting to blot out the tears on the edge of her blouse.
She turned. “Deryl, stop hovering.”
His father stepped in, pulling off his hat and closing the door. “...son.” He cleared his throat, looking far too out of place for his own good. Steve smiled wetly as he let go of his mom and closed the distance.
“Dad.” He reached his hand out, waiting for him to grab on before pulling him into a hug. He felt the older gentleman tense. “Good to see you too.”
His father chuckled and stiffly pat his back. Steve let go once sufficiently sure he wasn't going to break down. The nervous jitters had melted away into soft lulls, although the whispers of things unsaid and undone beat at the bones underneath. The rawness had been expressed over the phone, now Steve had to deal with the scabs as his father maneuvered around him almost robotically. Like he didn't want to be here.
“Do you guys want me to cook you dinner? You're probably exhausted. Or, I could help you get your bags out of the car.”
“No, no, don’t worry about that.” She smiled, setting her purse down on the dining table with a heavy clunk. “We’ll get them out later. And we ate before we left the airport.” His mom quickly wiped her eyes before clearing her throat. “How are you, honey?”
“I’m good, uh. How- I mean, how long are you staying?” Steve looked between them, a small lump forming in his throat at the thought.
His father sighed and wrung his hands. “We managed to squeak out a week. They think we're holding onto the house for sentimental reasons, so we told them we wanted to see the old place.”
“But we’re going to try and come back, we’re trying to get a transfer.” His mother was quick to clarify.
Steve looked between them. Maybe he could force the lab to lift whatever ban they had on his parents. A trade, perhaps. He nodded, then followed them into the den where they laid themselves. He asked first. "Hey, how did you explain me still being here? You said they knew you adopted, and I use my last name with things. Did no one say anything?"
His father smiled sheepishly. "On paper, you live with an uncle. And the people we work with now don't care that much about our kid." He drummed his fingers against his thigh. "We've done our best to keep quiet. If we don't cause too much trouble...
"...no one has a reason to go digging." Steve finished. Just like his persona of lazy reckless party boy. If he kept it up, no one would bother to pry past the surface. He wondered what kind of costume his parents wore, which set of characteristics they crafted for themselves.
His mother spoke now, gentle and pliant, like the nurse living in his memories. “What made you remember?”
It was make or break now. They'd been nothing but the kind people living in the recesses of his thoughts, but Steve was acutely aware of how easy it was to hide alliances. He made his decision, and brought up his wrist, tugging the band down. “The skin caught. I peeled it off without even thinking about it. Some memories came back.” His mother's eyes hardened down at the ink, as if it had personally attacked her, and his father bit down against his cheek. Steve let the band slide back up. “I was gonna call sooner, but then everyone got caught up with the missing Byers kid.”
A look passed between the two. Steve had gone over the details in his head. He was pretty sure they were tied, at least tangentially, to the lab, and he couldn't be sure the communication between the two posts. So, he explained. Will Byers went missing. The cover story the lab had ended up making was that Will had been found at the bottom of a ravine passed out from dehydration and had twisted his ankle. It wasn’t the best, but it would be serviceable to the general public. Steve left out his involvement, telling it as if he were hearing it secondhand. He wanted to pretend he did the sensible thing, and saw the lab's involvement but stayed out of it. With half formed memories and a bad feeling, that was the safest thing to do.
Steve wasn’t entirely sure if they believed it.
His mom twisted her wedding ring nervously as he finished his spiel. “That’s just awful. Are you alright? No one came around the house?”
“No.” Steve had drawn himself up smaller the more he talked. He propped his head up on his knees. “And uh. You should know,” everything else he could skip over, but not this, “Brenner is dead. I uhm, I remember him. I figured you should know.”
“What?” His father sat up. “He’s what?”
He did his best to keep the grim satisfaction out of his voice. “He’s dead. I overheard them talking about it. Said his head was split open.” Steve wouldn't revel in death. He wouldn't.
“Oh lord.” His mom covered her mouth, staring at the ground for a moment before sighing. “Split open..?” Once again they cut their eyes at each other, and Steve felt far too out of the loop to figure out their significance. "Terrible." And maybe he imagined the plastic sorrow in her tone.
The next few hours were spent discussing various things he remembered. The details were sometimes sparse, but that was okay. They were there, and they could understand, and that was all Steve ever wanted. He wasn't sure what time they went to sleep, but when he crawled up under his covers, it was midnight. That morning was spent in relative silence, the school routine taking priority off of the existence of his parents in the house.
Steve couldn’t really explain what happened in that week they were home. Between school and his friends, Steve ended up home far less than he had in the weeks prior. The only long stretches of time spent there were when he babysat Will and Dustin. He hadn't had time to prep either party for what they were walking in on, but beyond an initial surprised greeting, neither interacted with the other. He didn't miss his mother's sad knowing smile, and he didn't want to talk about it.
It became abundantly obvious that his parents had forgotten how to be as such, with how they tiptoed around and never spoke too loud. Dialogue between his mother never passed the surface level, barely skimming the depths of his activities for the day before they closed off from one another. His father barely spoke to him; Steve had to wonder if he'd ever really wanted a child in the first place, and how badly they'd all botched this sort of thing. Of course, his dad was trying, he could see that. It was small things, asking how he kept things around the house, dropping a compliment or two. And there, Steve realized he also had no idea how to be a son. He'd run the whole gauntlet; friend, lover, bully, babysitter, wannabe hero, but never a son. Such a term was used with derision by those older than him, to call out his youth. Steve had never been like that.
The house became a black hole, a place where they didn't talk about things, avoiding some elephant in the living room that no one was quite able to see. Steve tried not to be obvious about it, but then again, at some point his ability to put on the layers that shrouded his emotions had gone to shit. Robin had been the one call him out on it. She jumped him after inviting him to the Sonic.
“Alright, Dingus, spill.” They hadn't even ordered.
Steve stole his gaze away from the menu. “Huh? About what?”
She twisted around in the passenger seat so her legs were up on the console. “You’ve been weird all week. What’s going on?”
Steve sighed and thumped his forehead into the wheel. “Is it that obvious?”
“Subtlety isn’t exactly a popular word around you.” Robin shrugged. “So. Once again, what’s up?”
He drummed his fingers against the leather. “…It’s my parents. It's just weird, you know? Them being back. They’ve been away for so long, I really don't know what to do about them. And I thought I wanted them back, but now they’re here its…”
“Awkward? Not what you thought?”
“Yeah, that. And I feel bad. I know they’re trying. But it just doesn’t feel right. It's like we're scared of each other, but I don't know why.”
They broke in their conversation and ordered, then Robin turned back to him. “Not your fault. It’s like a flower bed, yeah?”
Steve lifted his head, but cranked the heat up to combat the cold blast through the window. “Flower bed?”
“Mhm. You made a flower bed, you put all your little peonies and lilies and what have you. And you nurtured it. It’s all filled out, everything’s got its own space. And your parents coming back is like planting another row of roses. You’d think it should work, and it should look pretty. Hell, everyone has roses in their gardens, yeah? But it looks cluttered and it clashes with the lilacs.” Robin watched the people moving beyond the windows. “But that’s alright. Not everyone needs roses in their garden.”
He mused over this. "But I still want the roses somewhere." Steve followed the metaphor as best he could.
"Then put them in a few pots or something. Put them on your porch."
"Okay you've lost me." Steve shook his head in defeat as the waiter came out with their food. He pushed the tray between them. "Tell it straight."
Robin snapped her hand out to scrounge up a handful of fries. "I'm saying limit your interactions. Figure out what kind of relationship works for you." She shoved a few into her mouth, then spoke through her chewing. "Or start small. You jumped into the deep end with this stuff, so go back and start small."
“I guess. I dunno. They came down all this way, and I think they’re breaking some sort of rule. I feel like I should be enjoying this. Or feeling more complete or whole.”
Robin snorted. “Steve, you don’t owe them shit.” She pointed with a spare fry. “If you aren’t happy with them, you just aren’t. That's not your fault, and it's not theirs either. No one's to blame for this.” She leaned into the door. “Talk to them about it. I think they’ll understand.”
“Will they now?”
“Yeah. They should, at least. I can't imagine they're having an easier time. Kids are tricky to deal with, and your situation complicated if we wanted to understate it.” Robin took out another handful of fries. "How long were they around to take care of you?"
Steve played with the burger he'd gotten. "A couple months? Or longer. Honestly, it could have been a few years. My brain still struggled to have memories for a while after getting out of the hospital." He tried to picture his parents. Two people who worked for a company, forced into the acquisition of a child with no memory all because he got a bit too sentimental, then forced to move because of the place you've worked. “Yeah. I think I get what you're saying.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “Probably.” Baby steps. Steve always had a habit of going all or nothing, of course he treated this the same way. It wasn’t the most functional, the distance and the phone calls, but this was worse. This was charging headfirst into something because his heart had screamed 'Charge!' and now his brain was finally catching up. Maybe the lab not allowing them to stay was a twisted kind of blessing.
“Look, they aren’t my parents, and technically they aren’t even yours. But you are all grown adults. I think you should talk to them about it.” Robin shrugged, as if it were that simple.
And hell, it might have just been. Steve pushed it off again and again, clamming up under the oppressive atmosphere that still bodied the house. It seemed that all the trial and tribulation in the world couldn't cure Steve of his serial procrastination. At least now, he could see the elephant everyone so vehemently ignored. They continued their impromptu dance around each other until the week fully elapsed. It was a fine. Nothing more, nothing less. No more demanding than they had any right to be. So leave it to him to wait until they're loading up the car, one foot out the door, to finally make the decision and take the leap. Right before it stops mattering, of course, because Steve hated to see the consequences of his own actions. “Hey. Mom, can I talk to you?”
She lifted her head from where she hovered around the trunk of the car. “Of course.” She broke from the car and came to rest on the bottom step.
“…look. I think it’s kinda clear this,” Steve gestured to the car, “isn’t working. I don’t-“ he’d had a whole speech prepared, a whole list of things he wanted to say but all those words disappeared as he tried to force them into existence, a tangled mess of verbs and nouns he couldn't stitch together to save his life, “I love you, I really do. I want to talk to you. But this whole mess, it's just...” He trailed off. Words were never his strong suit.
Thankfully, though, his mother picked up the slack with something akin to relief in her eyes. “Stressful. I know." She turned to watch her husband load the final case into the trunk. "There's a lot I wish I could apologize for. A lot I wish I could have made better. You’re much stronger than I could have ever been, given everything." His mother looked at him, and for a moment the tenderness present slotted back into place, just like it had the first night. When everything had been correct. "I wish I could have been the mother you deserved."
"You kept me alive." Steve shook his head. "Distantly, but you did. I don't hate you for not being here. I could. But it's all circumstance."
A surprised huff left her small frame. She raised teary eyes to him, full of that once more complicated mix of emotions that they all seemed to pull from. Nothing could be simple; this single fact made him more a Harrington than any part of his DNA. "Are you alright with me still calling?”
“Course. I enjoyed that.” Steve flinched as the trunk shut. “Have a safe flight.” He tensed as she hugged him, mostly at the suddenness, but quickly returned the sentiment. It was less desperate and unsure, easing into warmth that felt like it didn't have to be earned anymore.
“Goodbye, Steven.”
“Bye, mom.”
Maybe this was for the best.
-
The Sinclair's were on his doorstep. The week was supposed to be one with Eleven, but the continual piles of snow made it difficult to get to and from the cabin. And she still refused to be in the snow for too long. Memory harkened back to the labs use of cold to dull the senses, or to punish those that went out of line. Steve couldn't blame the avoidance.
He’d been expecting it them time though; his mom had passed him the phone two days prior with a confused squint, and Mrs Sinclair was on the other end asking if he could take care of the kids on Monday because neither she nor Mr Sinclair would be home. She hadn’t been too specific on times, but that didn't matter. Steve was happy to do it.
And was plural Sinclair’s. Erika came bustling in as soon as he opened the door, throwing a bag onto his table almost flippantly. Lucas sighed and followed after. “Sorry about this.” Mrs Sinclair waved from the car before driving off.
“How does this keep happening?” Steve asked himself more than the two children watching him expectantly.
“If it helps, you weren't the first pick. Mom went through like three other babysitters before she called you. Then Dustin’s mom said you were taking care of him on bingo nights.” Lucas kicked snow off his boots and looked around. “Look, you don’t have to do anything with me. I don’t need a babysitter anymore, mom’s just wigged out over Will still. You don’t have to do anything with me.”
Erika was smaller than he remembered, and she’d already been pretty tiny before. But she still had that sharp quirk to her eyes, the same determined set to her shoulders that demanded to be taken seriously. She pointed. “Unlike my brother, you do need to do something with me .” She turned to her bag and unzipped it. “We are going to play house. I brought over my barbies and everything.” And she pulled out a large bolt of cloth. It spilled over her arms and was a bright garish neon pink. It was a skirt. “You’re gonna be the mom.” Erika held it out. She smiled, almost innocently, but in her eyes there lay mischief. “Unless your fragile masculinity can’t handle it.” The challenge danced in her words as she waggled the cloth at him.
Lucas groaned. “She’s been learning words from tv, sorry. You don’t have to.”
But who would Steve be if he backed down from such a thing? “Hand it over.” He snatched it up. Lucas’ jaw dropped, while Erika began to grin widely. He slipped it on over his pants, hearing the girl laugh in triumph as he spun around in a mock show. “I know, I know, I look good in anything.”
Erika looked at Lucas. “I like him.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the living room where she spilled her dolls onto the floor. There were a couple ken dolls that she grabbed, and shoved a couple Barbies into Steve’s not-exactly-ready hands. Erika was different from his time spent at Starcourt, a bit more reserved and she had to think for a moment before figuring out Steve was joking with her, but he could see how she grew into that kid who wheedled out free ice cream for life.
Lucas had brought his homework, but every now and again he’d look at Steve like he’d lost his mind letting Erika boss him around like this. He shook his head a little when she said “Use your girl voice.”
“Erika, lay off. He already put on the stupid skirt.” He tossed his pencil at her. “He’s not gonna let us come over again if you keep doing that.”
Steve snickered. “I’d never do that, Sinclair.” He pitched his voice up a little, crossing his arms. “How dare you say such a thing about your mother.”
A notebook was thrown at his head. Steve laughed as it slid across the floor, and he could hear Erika almost doubling over in her laughing fit. “Hey, don’t throw things at your mother, nerd!”
“I am not a part of this!” Lucas huffed, gathering his things and sitting just a bit more to the left of them.
Erika rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him, he’s a big baby.” She turned back to their little set up on the floor.
“Am not!”
“Are to!”
Steve shook his head. “Alright alright.” He hummed. “What time is your mom coming to pick you up?”
“She said about 7:45.”
“Want me to make you guys some dinner? I got stuff for it.”
Erika popped her head up. “Mac and cheese!”
“No, it’s alright. She said she’d pick something up before getting us.” Lucas glared at her over Steve’s shoulder. “...could get some sorta snack though. What d’you have?”
Steve hopped up and smoothed off his skirt, going into the kitchen and coming out with a box of little Debbies for them to tear into. As he pulled out a few juice boxes, it really hit him how little he was actually playing house. Sure, Dustin made jokes, or the kids would snarkily refer to him as 'mom' but after spending a bit of time with the woman who on paper fit that title, he couldn't help but think. It wasn't a traditional house by any means, but in his own way Steve had fashioned a little family for himself here. Even if he'd stumbled ass backwards into the role, there had always been a yearning deep in his chest for something more, for something solid. Filtering his thoughts through what he consumed, the idea manifested as his stupid wife-kid-dog thing, but peeling everything back just left his raw beating heart begging for belonging. He'd never gone about setting up the proper parameters for what classified as 'family', but watching Erika and Lucas through the gap in the door, it probably felt a little something like this. A constant, reliable force, grouped together. Steve's family had never been bound by blood, and terms like 'mother' 'father' and 'sibling' seemed nebulous at the best of times, but they cared. At least he hoped; some small insignificant part of him whispered the idea of them merely humoring him, but it was too small to care about. Because either way, Steve would do anything for them. Anything at all.
"What's taking so long?" Erika called from the room over.
Steve huffed out a small laugh and nudged the door open with his foot. "I'm coming, you little monster." He laid out their assortment and sat back down. They went through the night like this for the rest of the time before Mrs Sinclair came knocking, Steve slipping the skirt off before answering the door. She thanked him, asked if they gave him any trouble, then also tried to pay him for his time. He waved off the payment, and helped Erika gather up her dolls before seeing them off.
Steve was now a more official babysitter. And maybe that title suited him better than any other. It made him laugh a little.
-
Christmas remained a weird paradox for Steve. In the years he could remember, he’d learned to find some small merriment with Tommy and Carol, nothing big, but something in the spirit of the season that involved some combination of drugs and alcohol. With them, he could ignore the families spending their time together- hell, Carol and Tommy had people to celebrate with but they chose to come to him- and he wouldn't feel any sadness when the only presence from his parents was a package crammed in the mailbox by a mailman not paid enough to be out in the snow. In ‘83, the first one, he didn't even have them. Add to that the new ability to clam up when he was around Christmas lights, and he'd almost slipped into being a full on Scrooge. Instead of making it anyone else's problem, he snuck some booze from his parents' wine cellar, got the most expensive takeout he could find and sat in a darkened room like a creep after dropping off the only two presents he'd bothered getting. The Christmas' after weren't so great either, always tinged with some kind of pain or that ever present hatred of multicolored lights. Only after Starcourt, when the distance between the holiday and the horror had been the greatest, did it even feel slightly normal.
Now, down a second '83, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself. The list of people to get gifts for had grown, but Steve didn't want to push his luck hanging around where he might not be wanted. The Byers' had their thing, and he figured Robin's family was well adjusted enough to have a normal Christmas, so both those options were out. Eddie had Wayne, and Steve had yet to meet the guy or even attempt to get into his good graces. Maybe he could go to the cabin, and as the thought occurred he almost smacked himself for not thinking about it sooner. Of course.
But then Sunday rolled around, and Jonathan was on his doorstep, shuffling his feet for warmth, telling him they were having a party and ‘he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but mom wouldn’t mind’.
So Steve went. He almost didn’t, he almost talked himself out of it, but after dropping off Robin’s, Eddie’s and Tommy and Carol’s presents, he'd found himself in the Byers' driveway, bundle of presents tucked under one arm. The sun cast rays of gold and magenta over the sky, and the house silhouetted against the forest. With the lights on inside, it invoked something much more homey rather than isolated and dejected. Joyce greeted him warmly as she opened the door, ushering him without any hesitation. Steve realized, belatedly, that he'd never bothered to check in much since getting out of the hospital. It felt like something he should have done. She scooped out the few presents he was close to dropping. "You know, you didn't have to."
"I wanted to." Steve peered into the living room, and took in the various Christmas decorations; tinsel and holly, and a tree tucked in the corner with various sized packages. No lights. The kids crowded the dinner table, stooped over a board and clattering dice. Voices echoed down the hall; Jonathan, Barb and Nancy, all huddled together in Jon's room. He could see them just beyond the group of adults all huddled together on the couch, cradling warm eggnog and laughing. Warmth and the scent of spice drifted from the doorway to the kitchen. With the low light filtering in through the windows, everything had a fuzzy sort of glow to it. The kind of glow that settled around his heart as he took everything in, slowly thawing the indifference to the season. Yeah. Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad, if it was this. Joyce ducked back into the kitchen and Steve followed to see her fussing with a few pots that threatened to bubble over. Another man also crowded the space. Without the dark circles and gaunt guilt ridden complexion, he almost didn't recognize Barb's father. Between them, they had at least three cutting boards, a dozen or so bowls, four pots of varying sizes and a full looking oven.
At the sight of this, he did the one thing he'd learned he was best at. "How can I help, Mrs- Joyce?"
Joyce stole a glance over her shoulder. "Oh, you don't have to-"
"Please." She pursed her lips at him, then nodded her head toward a mixer he'd missed between a few bowl.
Steve let himself get swept up in the hustle as the sounds of the house washed away the need to think too hard. Idle gossip and terse political discussions floated over from the parents, though he couldn't follow the threads for too long before the noise from the kid's table overwhelmed it. Their discussions got heated more than once, and the cheering could probably burst an ear drum, but they looked like they were having fun. Hell, everyone did. Steve had never really experienced this before, the kind of Christmas he'd seen through tv screens and thin gloss text. The ones filled with people just… being. Existing around each other with noisy enjoyment and filling the house to the point of bursting with merriment. It reminded him that soup Carol had brought over when he'd been struck with mono, the one she'd described as a 'hug in a bowl'. That's what this was. A hug in a house. At some point, the three tucked away in the bedroom down the hall relocated to sit on the floor of the living room. Nancy and Jonathan huddled close as they talked, and Steve hid his smile by taking the turkey from the oven.
The moon had made a steady crawl into view by the time they'd finished plating the meal and all its fixings. The kids broke from their game and scrambled out of the way of incoming dishware, muttering disappointments that got lost in the shuffle of everyone squeezing into the extended table. The ensuing feast was a mess; a tangle of limbs reaching for different bowls or plates being passed by those who couldn't reach, and you wanted what? Whose is this? I can't hear- conversations overlapping to the point that Steve couldn’t keep up. He didn't want to keep up; it was far more comfortable to let the movement of the house flow through him and let the emotions resound around his insides until he thought he might melt into the table. At some point, the eating stopped entirely, and they were left with the pleasant chatter that didn't feel any need to hurry toward a specific destination. Barb was talking across from him about a topic he'd long since lost the thread to when Dustin declared with was time for gifts.
The kids peeled away from the table, an adult or two trailing along as they sorted out the presents, each decorated in paper ranging from tasteful to Mrs Henderson's garish Santa graphic wrapping. Everyone got at least one; the adults had done a little secret Santa thing apparently. Steve being a rather last minute addition to the party was perfectly content to sit back and let everyone else have their moment, but then Will appeared in front of him with a box. It was crudely wrapped at best, and used far too much tape. Steve raised a brow. “What's this?”
"It's Christmas." Will smiled. “We all pitched in.” He nodded over his shoulder. Dustin waved with a toothy grin, Mike kept his eyes firmly away, and Lucas, who was currently fumbling with some batteries, nodded.
“Oh.” Something caught in his throat, a notch that bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “You really didn’t have to.”
“Yeah we did.” Will tilted his head. “Everyone in the family gets one.”
It would have hurt less if Will just shot him. The casual way he flung that statement into existence bubbled up those oily thoughts he had pinned to the term and molded them into something far too soft and comfortable. There was a difference between him considering them family, and them confirming it. Steve distracted himself from the mess in his chest by prying open the top and sifting through the tissue paper to reveal a small collection of trinkets; a folded sheet of paper, a set of dice similar to the ones scattered on the coffee table, a painted figurine, and a Supercom. Steve tugged out the sheet and unfolded it to reveal several boxes filled with numbers, and blocky writing under sections labeled 'strengths' and 'weaknesses'. “...what is this?”
Dustin tumbled over, knocking up against his arm with enthusiasm. “Welcome to the party, Steve the Strong!” He pointed. “I made your sheet for you, you're welcome.”
Steve stared down at all the little bits and bobs, and the vice in his chest tightened further, blurring his vision slightly. He cleared his throat, and saw Dustin’s face fall a little. “Do you not like it?”
“Of course he doesn’t like it, we should have gotten him a basketball or something.” Mike grumbled.
“I love it.” Steve wiped his eyes as fast as he could. He was not crying on Christmas god damn it, not in front of everyone. “Seriously- uh, thank you. This is great.” He kept his voice as steady as he could, and figured he did a pretty good job. Steve looked over as Joyce came around with a box of her own, about the size of her palm. It looked like the kind they used for bracelets, but when he pried off the top, there was a key resting inside.
“You can come over, any time, for any reason. You’re always welcome.” Joyce supplied from his right.
This family was really trying to give him a heart attack. Springing this trap of tenderness on him when he least expected it. Steve sunk down into the couch as the kids huddled back around their game, and the adults circled back into their conversation. He soaked in the scene before him, the ease of it all, and he tried to burn it to memory as solidly as he could. Who knew when they would get something like this ever again. Steve couldn't linger though. “I should go." He whispered to Joyce. Someone else was waiting, and he needed to get there before the day was out.
Joyce bobbed her head in his direction, caught in a fervent conversation with Mrs Sinclair. She broke conversation enough to whisper, “Thank you so much for coming, Steve” as he passed to the door, lugging the box with him. Steve unlocked his car and tucked the box in the seat well, then turned back to watch the lights and shadows moving behind the windows. The blob he identified as the Party moved sharply, the catch of hands thrown up in the air. He wondered what it was like to go through this for the first time again. For the fresh wounds to still sting, to still have a steady well of hope for tomorrow. It was times like these that he fell on the other side of his age dilemma. Steve felt impossibly old, worn and weathered, standing on gravel ground bones and dried rubber ligaments. He was a puzzle piece from a separate box, unable to fit into the spot of the piece he replaced. Even doing his best to situate, it never seemed to click just right. Steve twisted the new key between his thumb and forefinger. But they didn’t mind in the slightest. The people in that house took in his rough edges and told him to call this place home.
He shook his head to himself, then ducked down into his car and started it, chasing off the cold that had crept under his skin. The drive to the cabin was a fight through the snow and low light. Hopper had given him directions the first time they'd disappeared to it, but Steve had yet to visit, first because of the lab and then because of the snow. Hopper had also told him explicitly to make sure he wasn't being tailed, but at this time of night, with this visibility, Steve would have better luck trying to convince Dustin to cut his hair. The buzz of excitement pouring through him like heat on a summers day led him on, growing more palpable the closer he got in the twisting, winding paths to the cabin. Steve parked under a crop of barren trees, where he'd been told was far enough to not draw attention, then gathered the package from where he’d tucked it under the seat. Stepping out had him sinking more than an inch or two into the snow, at least up to somewhere mid calf. He passed a kvetching look down, then over to the twisted bramble between him and the front steps. The space that Hopper assured him had enough traps to deter those trying to get inside. Great.
It took much longer than he would ever be willing to admit. Far too much grunting and twisting and wishing he'd brought a thicker coat then praying for a thinner one. Steve had snow over a good percent of his pants, smooches of it across his shoulder and flakes peppering stars in his hair by the time he tumbled onto the first step, panting hard. At least the package had only gotten caught on one corner. He didn't even have time to remember the complicated knock that was supposed to be the safe signal before the door was yanked open by unseen hands. Not like he needed it. El knew it was him, and Steve knew it was her, no matter the walls. If there had been danger, she would know.
A form collided with his chest as he stepped into the bursting warmth of the house, arms clamping him in place. “You’re late.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” Steve hugged back. “I brought you something.” Eleven pulled back and he offered the box, which she took with a grin. “Merry Christmas, El.” It took him to the count of three before it struck him that they'd neglected to teach her holidays. Not that it was that important between some English lessons and math, but the confused expression on her face wasn't doing his conscience any good.
“Christmas?” She undid the wrapping paper- peeled back the tape instead of ripping it- opened the top and pulled out the Rubik's cube he’d bought her. It had pretty colors and twisted, it was perfect for her.
Steve sat down on the couch and kicked half melted snow sludge onto the floor. “Yeah. It’s a day where people celebrate. Remember the year and give each other gifts. Man, I gotta teach you about holidays.” Sure, she knew about birthdays, but even that tradition had been thin in the confines of the lab. Besides, half the time it wasn't their actual birthday they celebrated, but the day they'd been brought into the lab. The staff couldn't care less, but the older numbers could remember when the toddlers and babies had been shuffled through the doors. Things as simple as date and time were hard concepts down there. Clocks were used, that was how they kept a schedule, but the actual understanding of what a day was couldn't really sink in until he'd seen the way time actively dragged the sun across the sky. Without memory, the sudden tears that came at seeing a sunset hadn't made sense. Now they just made him sad. Steve had enough memory now to remember just how much of a stickler Two had been for that sort of thing. He figured out the clocks and kept track of time, to an almost neurotic extent. He'd been one of the few to know a year was 365 days, or that leap years even existed. Maybe that's why he'd never really liked Seven, with the way he threw off that sort of thing.
The quiet clicking of plastic sliding brought him out of his head to see El already messing with her cube. “I didn’t get you a gift.” She frowned as she moved a row of red onto the yellow side.
“You don’t have to, El.” He reclined back. “It’s not required or anything. Not everyone celebrates Christmas either.”
“You do." She pointed out as she dragged over a stack of papers and crayons. "I want to.” And wasn't it just that simple? El and Steve both had wanted things today, and why the hell not just do them? Steve sat by her as she worked, arms folded over his chest as he smiled. The same warmth from the Byers' house surrounded them. It was less dense and frantic, but it was still there. When they could go outside together, he’d treat her to every holiday, even those he'd long since lost allure with.
A paper was pressed into his chest, and he opened his eyes, not having remembered shutting them. Steve pried his head up off the sinking cushion and squinted until his vision righted itself into seeing shapes. It was three stick figures, a small one with stick hair, a medium one with a big scribble around the head, and a tall one with a hat and a frown. ‘Family’ was written at the bottom. Steve chuckled a little. “Hop too?”
“It's family.” El nodded. “He takes care. He’s a part.” She crawled up onto the couch next to him and nestled into his side, turning on the tv and flipping to one of those stop motion Christmas specials. Jack Frost or something. Steve was happy to sit with her, feeling the soft breaths push down into his side as she giggled at Buddy Hackett's crotchety narration. He’d always been a bit scared of these when he’d first seen them, but now, after everything, he could really see the charm. Steve felt her fall asleep near the end, the feedback between them lulling into soft fuzziness. The Rubik’s cube sat on the table, a nonsense of color and half twisted sides.
He eased up off the couch and shut off the tv, draping a blanket over El before going to the door. He could stay, but his car really couldn't. If it came morning and the thing wouldn't start, he'd be screwed seven ways from Sunday. Steve stepped over all the traps again, pawed off the gathered snow and cranked the heat to max as his reddened hands shivered.
There was no package on the front step when he pulled up to the house. Which was odd. It had been there last time. Maybe someone stole it, or maybe his parents thought not to send one this time, or a million other things. Not much he could do about it. Steve gathered his box, blinked the dredges of exhaustion from his eyes and clambered up the steps. The house was darkened, just like he’d left it. He spotted a few boxes on the coffee table that hadn't been there before though, so he set down what he was carrying and-
“Jesus christ, took you long enough.”
Steve didn't scream, no matter what anyone said. “Eddie! You son of a bitch!” He wheeled around, now wide awake. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
The man in question hopped up from where he’d been laying on the couch. “Robbie, get up he’s here.” He toed her prone form that was splayed out between the coffee table and the sofa. “We were waiting on you, big boy! It’s Christmas!”
Robin blinked, then yawned. “Oh, hey, Steve.” She stretched. “What time is it?”
“Like midnight, so it's not Christmas anymore. I thought you two had families to spend it with.” He scanned over the packages as Eddie scoffed.
"Please, Wayne gets it." He got a bit quieter and ducked his head. "Plus, he had work."
"On Christmas?" Steve raised a brow.
"Yup," Eddie cracked his knuckles absentmindedly, "the plant doesn't sleep, not even for Santa. We had our celebrations this morning, so it's not like he missed the whole thing."
Robin stood and combed her fingers through her hair. "And I'd rather be here. My family plus the rest of my mom's side of the family? No thank you. It's like getting between a cage match between a starved lion and a gaggle of hyenas. It's just not worth it."
Steve snorted softly. He'd never known much about the Buckley's beyond name and face, hadn't had any need to spend too much time with them in any capacity. The image forming reminded him of the Wheeler's though. "Okay, fair enough. So what's all this?" He flicked his hand toward the packages.
“We got you something.” Eddie beamed.
“Don’t you dare take all the credit, Munson. I got you something. And he brought over some weed.” Robin crumpled back onto the couch now that Eddie had given her room. "Plus, there were two on your step, so we brought them in.” She picked one up and turned it over in her hands. “I told my parents I was spending the night with a friend, so you can't kick me out.”
Eddie grinned. “And my nest is empty, so I've got nowhere else to be.” He dragged over the small side table, almost knocking the lamp off as he did. A couple joints were rolled and placed by some booze, not a bottle he recognized from the house's collection. Steve remembered the first loop, and his original plans this time around, and Tommy and Carol. The bottle before him no longer looked like an escape; it looked like an invitation. “Cmon, we’re gonna get fucked up and open your gifts.”
Steve rolled his eyes fondly. Robin passed him the gift in her hands as Eddie excitedly pressed further into his side. The box had about two yards of extra wrapping paper clumsily pasted around it and held together with far more tape than necessary. Steve snorted. "Did you lose a fight with it?"
"I can just as easily ungift it." Eddie snapped with no bite. Steve flashed a grin then set to ripping it open to reveal a tin containing a guitar pick strung around a chain. He raised his brow at the man currently lighting a joint.
"Did you make this the morning of?"
“Oh fuck off. We can't all splurge and drop off unannounced really cool gifts.” Eddie crossed his arms and held his expression for as long as he could before barking out a laugh. “Okay, maybe a little. But I've had the idea for a while, so it counts. We can match now!” He hooked a thumb around the neck of his shirt to show the necklace he remembered Dustin giving to Wayne.
Steve blushed, trying to ignore the sudden exposure of skin and the memory. “You sentimental bastard.” He pulled it out and looped it over his head. “How’s it look?”
“It looks like you're trying too hard to be cool.” Robin crossed her arms.
“It’s perfect.” Eddie shoved her gently. “Suits you fine, Harrington.” He snatched up the box covered in newspaper with clumsy creases that seemed almost correct. Robin smiled sheepishly, lips twinging up with a barley concealed joke, the kinds that had her in giggle fits before she could finish her sentence.
A small stuffed bird sat in the box, black button eyes staring up at him. “...is this a fucking robin?”
The floodgates open, and she cackled. “Yeah! You could put it on your dresser so technically I'm always watching you.” Robin snapped her head over as Eddie groaned. “It’s funny!”
“Oh my god, Buckley.” Eddie shook his head. “Shame on you, that’s awful.” He took a drag from his bud and offered it to Steve, who accepted it.
Robin huffed. “Like some plastic on a chain is better.” She stuck her tongue out when he tried to offer the joint. “No thanks, those things make you hungry, right? We already raided your fridge, Steve, I'm not risking starvation right now. Plus, someone needs to be thinking clearly around here.”
"It doesn't work like that, Bucks." Eddie placidly tucked his hands over his stomach and stared off at the snow falling out the window. Robin looked over the two remaining gifts as Steve went for the pristinely wrapped one with a ribbon. Only one person in this town would go through that kind of trouble for him.
The cassette case greeted him under the thick paper, looping writing spelling out ‘ Tommy & Carol’s ‘83 mix ’ along the front. Steve chuckled as Eddie narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is that?”
“Tommy has a thing for mixtapes. You know, getting out of the hospital with no memories, I wasn't exactly a music savant," he could see the way their faces morphed, probably having never considered the ramifications like he has, like he still does most nights, "so they started sharing their cassettes and eight tracks with me. First Christmas together, Tommy gave me one of these and said that I now really did own some culture. Became a kind of tradition after that. Every year he takes a bunch of shit he likes and crams it all together. Some of Carol’s stuff ends up in there. And she designs the cover.” He’d completely forgotten about them, having not received them for the past three years. But maybe they weren't as gone now as they had been. No doubt, Carol had been the one to convince Tommy to bother this time. He wondered what kind of music Tommy enjoyed in '84 and '85. He wondered what his favorite songs were those years; Tommy's music opinions changed like the tides.
Robin inclined her head forward. “I thought they got mad at you for hanging out with us? You still talk to them?”
“Not really.” Steve set the tape down. “But we were friends for as long as I could remember. I think this is more...” He scanned over it. "...I wouldn't be surprised if that's the last one I get." He looked away from the last box. The year before, he'd shoved it in a closet and never opened it, and he was considering doing it again. He'd wait though. Robin started to yawn again. “You should sleep, Rob. Seeing as I interrupted you before.”
She blew a few strands of hair out of her face. “No. Or you two dumbasses might to do something stupid.” She pointed to the half burnt joint.
“Have you ever been high, Buckley?” Eddie laughed. “Weed slows you down, not hype you up.”
“You can still do stupid things slowly.”
Steve grinned, dipping his head. He never did end up opening that box his parents sent.
-
New Years came and went. When the snow melted and the start of Spring brought cool winds, El started coming back to the house more regularly. They kept to a week on, week off schedule they'd decided pre snow-in. Her hair was long enough to curl around her cheeks and neck, so Steve taught her how to style it. He remembered when she’d shown up to the house, buckets of product poured in her hair so it was slicked back. There had to be a healthier way to get that look.
She got more impatient about telling the Party, although not to the point of going out and finding them. He was thankful he trusted her for that at least. The lab might not come around as often as they did in November, but he was sure they'd only taken away the most obvious means. Steve still didn't say much over the phone, and he did bug checks spontaneously when the paranoia got too loud. Those always came up empty. Maybe he was more like Hopper than he thought. The Party kept coming over either way, Dustin every other week to test his powers, Lucas and Erika whenever their mother needed, and Mike whenever Nancy forced him to. They'd had a few close calls, and a few actual calls that Steve undid as subtly as he could.
Things got better, though. Barb and Nancy actually managed to help him drag his grades kicking and screaming up to a C average, and Jonathan had actually started talking to him outside of times of forced proximity. Steve couldn't make heads or tails of their relationship, but it wasn't antagonistic, so he wasn't going to complain. Outside of school, time was always solidly spent with Eddie or Robin. Usually both. At the start, he felt a bit bad, but Robin pointed out her own lack of friends and Eddie's enthusiasm. "Like sea urchins stuck together, the two of you." So Steve let himself feel a bit better about it. Most times, they went back to Steve's house, since they had the assurance of isolation, or the park, where they could walk to the shops or do whatever they wanted. They never went to Robin's, citing her mom as an issue, but sometimes they ghosted a few of Steve's old haunts.
And sometimes, they did what they were doing now. They hung out around Eddie and Wayne’s trailer, smoking and talking and doing a lot of nothing. Most topics of conversation seemed picked out of a hat, seeing as Robin led the charge, and she rarely gave context as to why she was thinking about Elvis' movie career, but it filled the house with noise. One time Robin asked about the guitar in Eddie's room, and they talked about instruments and bands for a few hours. Both of them were surprised Steve could play the guitar (acoustic), and heavily encouraged him bringing it over once or twice. Eddie almost begged.
This time they were smoking. Or, Eddie and him were, while Robin scrounged through some statistics homework, grumbling over it more than actually doing it. Steve leaned back so the crown of his head brushed Eddie's knee, staring at the ceiling as he fiddled with the cigarette. “Statistics are dumb, Buckley, don’t worry about it.” He felt a hand sweep hair off his forehead. He didn't think about how this was always the default position; some part of them pressed into the other, arm to leg, head to knee, back to back, like the cigarette needed a proper circuit. And he didn't think about how they'd never once thought to smoke separate cigarettes, always sharing one like it's perfectly natural. And he really didn’t think about how that means their mouths have touched through a middle man more times than he'd care to admit even in thought.
“Eddie, if I didn’t do something every time you said not to, I’d be repeating every single class I took this year.” Robin scrutinized them with a squint over her notebook. “I’ll get through this, I just want to complain about it first.” She shook her head as she counted over the numbers. “Hey, Steve, you’ve been through this class already, think you could help?”
“You want me to help you with math?” He laughed. "You know damn well how I am with numbers. I'm not smart with them.”
“Hey, I’m not either! I’m just a sophomore, what do I know?”
“A lot apparently; you and Dustin translated Russian in a few days. Don’t gimme that shit.” Steve took the cigarette from Eddie to smoke, but felt the eyes of both of them bore into his skull. “What?”
Robin snapped the notebook closed. “And why exactly would I be translating Russian with one of your kids?”
“Yeah, you mentioned Russians the first time you explained this to me.”
Steve paused. He hadn't exactly forgotten to talk about Starcourt, but he really, really didn't want to. Robin had never asked about the two of them, and he hadn’t had reason to bring it up. That year clung to him the worst; throwing down with a Demogorgon and racing the tunnels had been almost child's play. What were a few bruises and scrapes and ego deaths? But Starcourt, fucking Starcourt. He rolled the cigarette between his teeth before he spoke. "1985.” He spoke, so he didn't chicken out of telling them. Steve took a drag, and felt the smoke in his lungs like he'd breathed in the burning plaster and foam insulation. “They build a mall called Starcourt. But there’s this entire Russian base below it.” Steve shrugged and let the breath go with the same ferocity as Max's screams. “I forgot what they were looking for, but it had to do with the Upside Down. I think they were forcing open a portal.”
Robin furrowed her brow. “Is this one of those things where you turn around and say you can’t believe we fell for that?” She tried to keep her tone light, but a genuine crease of concern folded between her words. Her hands twitched towards her wrists in such a small motion, Steve almost missed it.
“No, I’m serious. That’s where I met you.” Steve gestured to Robin, flinging a bit of ash in her direction. “We were coworkers. You were a big help, actually.”
“In translating Russian. How come?”
Steve passed the cigarette back, though Eddie didn't make a move to use it. “Henderson caught some broadcast on this radio tower he built. We spent our breaks trying to decode it, and it was some… well, at first I thought it was nonsense, but it was a code. We got the idea to sneak into their base because a broadcast like that wasn't much proof. And we went, you, me, Henderson and Sinclair’s little sister.” He sighed. These were the memories that came back as flashes in the night, in the smell of a campfire or the prick of something too sharp against his skin. “And, you know, we got caught. Cause why wouldn’t we?”
"Oh." Robin paled, but her eyes were searching. Her expression wasn't one he could make out at the moment.
“They…” His throat started to burn. The hands hitting his face, the heavy metal boots beating bruises into his ribs, it all played out in that moment of silence as if he were there right now. Right up until the cold invasion of chemicals that clogged his senses with technicolor spots instead of events, he can still recall everything. The rest, from the holding room to throwing up in the bathroom, was gone. Whether willfully forgotten or a side effect of the drugs, Steve didn't know. Something happened in his head in that space of time, but he couldn't piece it back together if he tried. Maybe, for just a moment, he'd known something was off about himself, and as an emergency move, his brain had shut it all down. His brain didn't like to remember. Some things stuck out, like when they asked who he worked for, and the spark of awareness when they'd started breaking fingers, but everything else felt like trying to grasp a dying star. “...We were interrogated.” He sucked down a breath with purpose. They'd both been interrogated, but Steve had made damn sure they never laid a finger on her. Even without the memories, that fundamental truth sat in his gut, and he clung to it when the nightmares had kicked up again. He'd gotten her into that situation, but he'd helped, damn it.
It had to be the proximity, Steve figured, why Starcourt stuck its burs into his brain and didn't slide off easy like everything else had. Shielding Dustin from animals wasn't the same as practically chucking himself onto a sword so it couldn't stab anyone else. He'd been there before. He'd done that with Eight and Three, and his body must have been screaming in tune to the crack of his bones to try and get him to remember. Starcourt had tried to be a wake up call, and he'd hung up the phone. That's where the hollowness began. The missing piece of himself he hadn't noticed until he was actively running from it. That was ignoring the other host of issues that came about; the aversion to driving, the way certain smokes still triggered his fight or flight, the 'death' of one Jim "Chief" Hopper. Those scars never quite healed. Or maybe they'd just been what had caused the rest of his wounds to become infected. Three years not talking about it as hard as he could, it was bound to catch up to him.
“Steve?” Robin’s voice was soft. “Are you okay?” She hovered in front of him, and he wondered how long he'd gone without saying something. He wondered when Eddie had slipped his hand into his, and Steve had started squeezing it like it was the only thing keeping him on the couch.
“They drugged us.” He didn't answer, couldn't because the answer was such a resounding no. If not for himself, then they needed to know. It was important. “Some… I don't even know what, but we couldn't lie. Or at least, that’s what they were hoping for.” Steve draped his arms around himself as the words burbled out from under his tongue. “Those… those bastards thought we were working for the government, they tied us up in this room and they b… god damn it.” His throat clenched around the words, around the images, and he hiccuped softly. “I told them the kids were there," the old clinging drops of dread surged upward, "I shouldn’t’ve- I can’t- I don’t want to do that again-” All those things they just never talked about, never apologized for, and left to fester-
Eddie’s free hand came up and threaded through his hair, dragging down slowly and drawing the words into silence. He had crushed out the cigarette and was checking over his face with worry. “Hey, it’s not your fault.” The softer Eddie peaked out here, and the thundering tide of his thoughts eased. “Drugs do all kinds of wacky shit to you, trust me, I should know.”
“And you're not going to go through that again.” Robin sat with her knees against the couch. “Hey, I was right there with you. If…” She shuddered, clicking her teeth together before continuing. “Shit, if that happens again- and I’m not saying it will- I’ll still be right there.” She leaned her arm beside him. “You and me, together. Russian or Monster.”
Steve looked between them for a moment, then closed his eyes when he couldn't take the weight of their combined attention. He was left with the small catches of Eddie’s rings still combing through his hair and the ridges of Robin's fingers working circles into his palm to keep him present. “...I got two years to avoid that outcome.” He tried to laugh the shaky note out of his voice. “I've got time.”
“Doesn’t change that it happened at some point. And it’s still gonna hurt you, even if you avoid it.” Robin drummed her fingers near his wrist. “You can go back and that’s cool and all, but you remember everything. And that part kind of sucks.” She gently prodded his chest. “if there’s anything else you’re keeping tucked in that grossly big heart of yours you don’t want to share cause you’re worried or whatever, we’re here.”
“Mhmm,” Eddie was still moving his hand. It was nice. A solid rhythm he could latch onto. “You’re just one man, Steve. Can’t keep all that in or you’ll tear yourself apart. We survived an attack. I survived your horrible story telling. We can take whatever you throw at us.”
Steve smiled weakly, allowing himself to crack his eyes open now that he didn't feel like he was going to turn to ash between them. “I think that’s it. At least the major stuff.”
“Minor stuff piles up, dingus.” Robin chided softly. “Tell us that too.”
Steve worried his bottom lip, but could only think of a few other things. “Not right now. I don't think there's much to tell about the times I got my ass kicked, anyway.” He caught her hand going for another little prod. “Please.” Eddie seemed accepting of most things, but Steve knew how stressed she'd been confessing to one person, let alone having that said out loud not by her. Steve might have his moments lacking tactfulness, but he knew enough not to drop that ball in the open.
“Fine.” She sighed and sat back. “...Maybe I should start learning Russian early, then.” Robin picked up her notebook again.
They stayed there for maybe another hour before Wayne's beat up old pick up rolled into the dirt driveway. Steve had yet to meet properly meet the guy, partially on purpose since he knew he still had something of a reputation floating around. Wayne never seemed the type to threaten him directly, but he knew he had a protective streak.
Steve hadn’t even noticed he was back until the door swung open and he came face to face with the gruff older man. He squinted over the tableau before him. Wayne only idled a single beat to knock a brow towards his receding hairline. “... a Harrington?” He hummed, whether in approval or not, Steve couldn't tell. “Didn’t expect either of you to be the type.” Then he strolled to the kitchen, ignoring Eddie squeaking in protest.
“No- Wayne, it’s not- no .”
Steve looked between them, sitting up a little. “What?” Eddie’s hand fell away from his hair as he launched off the couch after his uncle.
“It’s not like that!” Eddie's voice had gone an octave higher. Robin cackled.
“Wh-” Steve looked from her to the kitchen, wondering if he should be embarrassed or not. “The hell did I miss?” He hissed. This only made her laugh harder as Eddie appeared again, face red and spinning his rings faster than he’d ever seen. “Munson, what's he talking about?”
“I- you should go.” He shook his head. “Please. I'm sorry.” Eddie hurried them to the door, burning up to the tips of his ears. Steve could barely get a word out.
Robin shrugged and turned to the car with nonchalant amusement. “Shit. Guess we should head out then."
Steve, ever the bewildered, followed after with a few glances toward the trailer over his shoulder. “Robin, what the fuck just happened?”
She cut her eyes in his direction from the passenger's seat. “You really don’t know?” Robin considered. “Guess it makes sense.”
“Can you people stop being cryptic for five minutes?”
“Well, Steve, it’s not really my thing to tell.” Robin leaned back in his car, folding her arms over her chest. Steve stuck his tongue out in her direction, but started the car and pulled back out onto the main road.
They drove for several minutes before Steve broke the silence again. “You know, there is one thing I didn’t say back there.”
“I’m sure it’s more than one.” Robin tipped her forehead away from the window. “But what is it?”
He realized he hadn't thought much of a speech through, but he doubted a straight up you're gay and that's cool because I like women also and we can talk about them wouldn't really work. “When uh, when we were both drugged, Dustin and Erika somehow got us out, but I don't remember how. That's how fucked up we were.” Steve paused to flick on his turn signal. “There's a big chunk of time I don't remember, started about as soon as they injected us, but when we threw everything up, I think we got a bit of sense back. It was just the two of us in the bathroom, and we started talking. Guess to make sure the other was okay. I think you asked about Nancy, at one point." Steve was rambling, he knew he was, but the context really mattered because Robin needed to know how such poor communication happened. "And I started saying all this shit about how I’d found someone else. Someone who got me, you know? I meant it in a platonic way but…” Robin’s shoulders inched toward her ears, and her eyes bugged before she turned back to the window, posture no longer relaxed. Shit. Shit, she thought he’d confessed again. Just like in the bathroom, when he’d very worriedly whispered ‘did you OD over there?’. He needed to switch gears really quick, and prayed the same words still worked. “I gotta say, you have terrible taste in women.”
Her head snapped around and she punched his arms so hard he almost swerved. “I do not, what the fuck!” But the bubble burst, and he could see relief gleaming through her eyes.
“Ohh, you told me alllll about Tammy Thompson.” Steve broke into a grin and tutted softly. “She’s a bit of a dud, Buckley.”
“She is not!”
He laughed. Familiar lines, familiar conversation. Same ease that he knew how to coast through. “Come on, you know she isn’t exactly quiet when it comes to her dreams of being a singer. And we all know her tuning is a bit... off.”
Robin scoffed, going about as red as Eddie had back at the house. “She has aspirations, unlike you Mr Work-in-a-mall.”
“She sings like a muppet!”
“No-”
Then he launched into his rendition of Tammy singing, laughing as Robin waved her hands about trying to shut him up. They dissolved into giggles, the following silence a bit more comfortable, and Steve let his shoulders drop. “I just wanted you to know. I didn’t care then. I don’t care now. You’re cool, Buckley. And I really did mean it platonically. Still do, capitol P.”
Robin sighed out weakly as the car stopped, body slackening. “...thanks, Steve.” She looked over. “Really. I didn’t…”
“Didn’t think I’d be alright with it?”
“No!” She paused. “Well… yeah. A little.” Robin toyed with a strand of hair. “Thanks. Still, that is super weird, to be out to someone before you even know them.”
"There's a lot that's weird about this." Steve let them sit for a moment, before leaning over with a coy grin. “Guess your taste isn’t as awful as I thought though.”
Robin inched out of his space with a squint. “What do you mean by that?”
“Come on, it’s so obvious. At lunch? You’re practically drooling over Holland.” That earned another smack from Robin, lighter but not by much.
She huffed. “You aren’t being subtle about it either, you know.”
It was Steve’s turn to stare. “Excuse me?”
“Whenever Eddie launches into his nerd speech, you get all dreamy eyed.”
Steve drew up short, and tried once again to very much not think about all the things he'd been not thinking about. And how, slotting that into place, the entire conversation at the trailer made a lot more sense. Wayne had come in to see a sophomore on the floor doing stats work, his nephew propped up on the couch with his hands tangled through the hair of ‘The Heart Throb of Hawkins’ (Tommy’s preferred nickname), and Steve making little to no objections to the touch. Not making objections because it was Eddie, and- “Oh my god, I do not have a thing for Eddie, what the fuck? I like girls.”
Robin tilted her head, regarding him. “Dude. You can like both.” She choked into the following silence. “Holy shit, you didn’t know.”
“I’m still figuring this out! Not like anyone gave me a manual about what you could and couldn't like and what that made you.” Steve shoved her shoulder gently as she snorted. "I guess that makes us even though."
She regained enough oxygen for talking. "Even?"
"We knew about it before the other. Not that you hadn't figured yourself out, but hey. I'm making it count." Steve pointed a finger between her eyes. “And even if I did, I still don’t have a thing for Eddie goddamn Munson.”
She shook her head. “You keep telling yourself that.” She turned to the door and opened it. “See you at lunch, dingus.”
Steve was just left there. Sitting.
He did not have a thing for Eddie Munson, or so help him.
-
Maybe he did. Maybe he really did and now that he knew it was becoming a bit of a problem. Steve could hear Robin pretty much every time he was around Eddie. Which was frequent. Hell, they spent almost every day together with school. Steve would never admit to that though, not to anyone. Even if he was starting to notice just how much he noticed things about the guy. Like the way the edges of his mouth would turn up the split second before he stopped being serious. Or the star chart of freckles over his cheeks and nose that stuck out when he flushed, or the strands of blonde that broke up the deep brown curls of his hair when the light caught just right. Maybe people don't normally catalogue these things on people they just want to be friends with. And sure, yeah, now that he thinks about it, it wasn't too dissimilar to the thoughts he had about Nancy before they started dating, the only roadblock being 'but he's a guy', but now that he's around it he's almost completely out of his depth. Steve had no clue what Eddie looked like when he was interested in someone. Did his eyes linger on Steve longer, or was he just paying more attention to the eye contact now? Yeah, he liked to get into his personal space, but he did that with everyone, right? Damn Robin, and damn her for pointing it out.
Steve shoved all these thoughts down because if he didn't, they'd never have a normal conversation ever again. Plus, Eddie's whole 'it's not like that' with Wayne made him a bit hesitant to try anything. And he would have unhappily continued to break those thoughts into microscopic pieces if it weren’t for an idea he’d had months earlier.
The next time Corroded Coffin was scheduled to play, he had a week with El. He'd been starting to take her out every now and then, to places where people were less likely to notice them so she could have a good time, but he hadn't mentioned this. Steve could make a reasonable guess that these shows weren’t ‘child friendly’ even if they weren't as satanic as the town claimed.
Too bad she didn't seem to care. He’d come down the steps at around 8, dressed far outside his usual attire; vest, black shirt and ripped jeans. The pick necklace he only ever sparingly took off hung out from under his shirt. Steve had snagged them after thoroughly examining the department stores in the area, knowing for a fact anything in his wardrobe would make him stick out like a sore thumb. On a whim, he'd snagged a tube of eyeliner and tried desperately to remember how Carol showed him how to put it on. The slightly confused lines on his face probably counted for something.
El lifted her head from the couch, light from the tv haloing her face. “Where are you going?”
“A concert.” Steve shuffled and tugged at his vest. It wasn't even anything drastic, but it settled on his body weird. He couldn't tell if the clothes made it more or less obvious just how little he fit in, actually.
“What’s on your face?” She pointed.
“It’s makeup.”
"Isn't that for girls?"
"No, it's for anyone." She let out a small 'oh' as Steve grabbed his keys. “I’ll be back around midnight.” The keys didn't move with the rest of his hand as he moved to the door. Steve raised his brow as El hopped off the couch.
She planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips. “I’m going.”
“El, I don’t think this is, like, a thing kids can go to.” Steve made a pass for the keys dangling in the air, but they floated past his fingers easily.
She pointed. “I am going.” Eleven eyed him from head to toe. “And I want makeup.”
Steve had caved. Pretty easily, even for him. Maybe it was because he wanted her to experience it too. El had never been to a concert before, and this was a very out of the way thing. If anyone noticed, they probably wouldn't say anything. Steve stole some of his mother’s products from her bedroom and dusted some dark powder around El’s eyes, then a black leather jacket that was too long to cover her wrist.
The venue was tucked on the very outskirts of Hawkins, so out of the way the parking lot was a square of dirt and some interpretation of stones. It was one of those places that specialized in holding small shows with papered up windows and the distinct musk of mildew and weed. Posters and signage for various other bands were plastered over the windows and doors, like the rings of a tree, the older water damaged ones clinging tight to the frames and weeping ink while the newer ones were slapped over top, soon to become the same. Each logo was just as grungy as the last, not that Steve could read most of them at this point. The crowd outside the venue was dense, though if they were here specifically to see Eddie or because this was just the kind of thing they enjoyed, he couldn't be sure. The guy by the door passed a suspicious eye over El, but wore an expression that said he simply wasn't paid enough to care, and waved them through with a bland "keep outta trouble." Steve didn't respond, only pushing deeper into the venue and keeping his hand wrapped tight around El's so she didn't get lost. The main stage area was a sea of black and leather, pops of color from dyed or bleached hair and the shine of jewelry against the house lights.
He could feel a rising spike of anxiety being driven against the back of his skull and turned back to Eleven who shook her head. Steve waded through the crowd until finding a small bubble of air near the sound booth. El relaxed a bit, pressing hard into his thigh as she turned about. At this distance, she wouldn't have to stand on her tiptoes to see over people. She turned as he passed her the small package of disposable foam earplugs he'd picked up on the way over. “This is going to be loud. Okay? Just tell me if it gets too much.”
She nodded, eyes glued to the lights that rose around the stage. That was a generous statement; it was just a raised platform with some speakers and lights placed around it, but in the darkened room, it was grandiose. A buzz of conversation rose into cheering as the house lights dimmed, only cut through by the sharp chords of an electric guitar splitting the air with crackling energy. People cheered louder, so hard it sliced easily through the earplugs and rattled his skull, as four shrouded forms entered the stage.
Steve practically tunnel-visioned as the lights angled down on Eddie. He was dressed head to toe in black, same as the band behind him, and sported heavy makeup around his eyes. One sleeve of his attire had been torn off, displaying the sleeve of ink running over muscles twitching with anticipation. Eddie's hair is also a bit puffed up, like he... put something in it. Steve hid a smile behind his palm. Oh yeah, he's asking about that later. Any other thoughts blank out as Eddie stretched his arm to the sky, pick clamped between his fingers, and Steve could swear in that moment there is only him. Only Eddie, up on that stage, cast in sharp lights that make him seem like a treasured sculpture in a museum rather than the living breathing being he knows him to be. His hair had fallen in front of his face, obscuring his expression, but every part of his body is wound tight and thrumming with energy. Steve does not see the crowd, does not see Eleven standing beside him, does not even think to see the band members flanking either side of him. No. He sees Eddie.
And Steve? Well, if he pinched Time, just to stare for a moment or so longer, no one really needed to know.
“Are you fuckers ready?!” Eddie crowed from the stage, head tipping back to let the coppery waves fall away from his face and Steve forgot how to breathe. People screamed back at him in response. Yeah. This wasn’t for kids.
Steve ducked his head down towards El. “Hey, don’t repeat anything you hear here, okay? Hop would kill me.”
She looked up with shining eyes. “Promise.” The first note crashed into them like a bullet train, the speakers held on by zip ties and dreams rattling with the force. They flinch, the both of them expecting pain, but the chords and beats that chase after the initial impact still the tension. In its place, pure awe swelled. It's a feedback loop between the two of them, the joy and the intensity of the new sensations hitting El's senses in a way she’d never known possible. Noise like this was a punishment, but these people revealed the sound. He could feel her want to enjoy it too.
Time meant nothing in there. The only thing Steve could note were the transitions between songs and the times where Eddie would work the crowd. His natural showmanship shined through effortlessly, taking up the entire stage with his presence as he strode back and forth like he owned it. And for those hours, minutes, days, he really did. The music was a cacophonous mix of chest shaking drums and guitar that pierced the earplugs as easily as the cheering did, threaded through with Eddie's throaty singing and a lesser person would call it messy. Unpolished. Steve heard beauty. The crowd swirled and bobbed around him in time with the music, the energy threatening to overwhelm him. It was like standing in a hurricane, a balmy black leather and electric guitar gale force wind that he had no choice but to howl into. Steve cheered, screamed, clapped with the crowd when the songs faded out into the room. Eddie was like he’d never seen him before. He was in his element. Steve had seen Panicked Eddie, and Comforting Eddie, and Jokester Eddie. Here, he was commanding, all expression and motion, gnashing teeth and metal. Feral.
Near the end of the show, when the oppressive heat from the bodies around them was starting to make his shirt stick to his neck, Eddie finally caught them. He was in the middle of belting high and dancing his fingers along the neck of his guitar when he cast his eyes over the crowd. He slid past them, before his eyes snapped back to his, and the note imperceivably cracked. A carnal grin split across his face, and under the lights with his skin flushed, sweat sticking his curls to his cheeks and forehead, hallowed in lights and eyes focused only on him- fuck, that was the most attractive thing Steve had ever seen. His dick started to agree before he could dissuade it. If it were at all possible, Eddie seemed to start to perform even harder after that.
Eleven had her hands clamped tight over her ears, but was beaming the entire time. At some point, time returned to the bubble they'd been in, and Eddie played his final note, disappearing off stage as the venue thundered with applause. Steve ushered them to the exit before the rest of the herd rushed it. Humid summer air stuck to his lungs as he pushed out the door, the night impossibly clear overhead as the light of the moon became enough to make him squint. Steve sucked down a lungful of the night as Eleven clung tight to his vest, working out the earplugs with the other hand. “I liked that.” The words were muffled. “I like that music.” El repeated a bit louder for him.
“Yeah?” He hummed. “Well. Not my taste specifically, but I can see why people like it.” Steve turned to the patch of dirt that served as a parking lot and tried to see where his car had ended up in the mess when the only other door on the building burst open and Eddie launched down the stairs.
“Harrington!” He threw himself in their direction. “What the hell are you doing here, you bitch! You didn’t even tell me!” Eddie didn't bother slowing down, instead crashing into him with his full weight and tossing his arms around him, almost sending them to the ground.
“I wanted to surprise you.” Steve wheezed out. The scent of sweat and the perpetual funk of 'old building' hit him, though he probably didn't fare much better in that department.
“Well, color me surprised!” He laughed. Eddie leaned back and planted his hands on his shoulders, eyes raking him up and down again and again. “And with that get up too.” Long fingers came down to tug at the vest. The moon caught Eddie just right, and again he felt like he was caught in a storm, staring down the eye before him as it smoothed over the leather creased near his chest. “If you’d told me, I could have given you a proper makeover.” Eddie's eyes lingered on the necklace, and he saw his smile get even bigger.
Maybe he could pretend the heat still blotting his cheeks was from the venue. “Yeah well. Maybe you can. Next time.”
“There’s gonna be a next time?” Eddie's front teeth caught his bottom lip, and Steve used every ounce of willpower left in him to look at his eyes and not that, nor think about the hands still on his vest..
“Of course.” He felt a tug at his sleeve and glanced back.
El looked up hopefully. "And I'm coming too."
Eddie who gawked. “Wait- you brought a kid to this shit? Harrington!” He smacked his shoulder. “What happened to Responsible Babysitter, eh?”
“Hey, she wouldn't give me my keys till I said yes! Besides, she’s never been to a concert. I’m still a party boy at heart, you know. Not all responsibility.”
He laughed, then turned his attention to El. "Nice job bargaining, little super powers. Though we both know it's easy with him." El giggled softly "But wow, look at you! All grown up and with hair. You want to come to the next one?”
"Mhm." She rocked back on her heels. "I like the noise."
Eddie snorted. "We'll make a thrasher out of you yet, kid."
Steve rolled his eyes in mock disapproval, then watched her smile before stifling a yawn. “I should be getting her home though. It’s way past her bedtime.”
“What was that you just said about not being all responsibility?” Eddie grinned but nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you at school Monday, alright?”
“See you Monday.” He waited for Eddie to walk back around the building before starting to wade through the sea of cars. “You have fun?”
El smiled. “Yeah. Lots of fun.” She tugged open the passenger side door and crawled in, curling up in the seat. “Again?”
“Not any time soon, kiddo.” Steve drove them back into town. As they passed under the muted streetlights, he thought. Steve tried in earnest to hold that image of Eddie in his head, a picture closest to divinity that he'd ever seen. Tried to bottle up that feeling of twisting knots he got in his stomach when their eyes met, tried to imagine slotting Eddie into the place of past girlfriends in his head.
Maybe. Just maybe. He had a thing for Eddie Munson.
––
Maxine Mayfield didn’t know much about Hawkins, Indiana.
She knew it was in the middle of nowhere, it was cold, and it wasn’t California. But other than that, any description of Hawkins she got was the picture of small town America, full of nothing and boredom. She tucked herself into the back of the moving van as best she could, trying to tune out the raised voices of her stepdad Niel and Billy coming from the front. The contents of the fight didn’t matter, they happened so often they all blurred into nothing. They never mattered.
But as they passed the sign welcoming them to the middle of nowhere, she was struck with a feeling skittering up her spine. She'd heard the phrase 'someone is walking over my grave' before, but never understood the weight of that particular feeling until right now.
Maxine Mayfield, whether she knew it consciously or not, felt like she’d stepped into hell.